Amy Stewart: International Medieval Congress 2018

International Medieval CongressAlthough I have been helping with the behind-the-scenes organisation of conferences for 6 months now, this month I got to experience an academic conference front and centre selling books at the Princeton University Press booth for the first time.

From the 2 – 5 July, the University of Leeds opened its doors to medievalists from over 60 different countries for the annual International Medieval Congress – the largest annual humanities gathering in Europe! The IMC is a unique gathering that breathed with a deep enthusiasm for all things medieval, including an historical craft fair, live medieval music, costumes and even live medieval combat displays.

2018 was Princeton University Press’s fifth year in a row to exhibit at the IMC’s Bookfair in the university’s Parkinson Building alongside academic publishers from all over Europe. This was a good chance for us to catch up with our contacts at other academic presses, as well as meet new contacts and learn more about their medieval lists and what they’re working on at the moment.

For our UK Humanities Editor, Ben Tate, the IMC is a good chance to meet up with current and prospective authors. It’s also an opportunity to attend some of the many seminars the conference organises to stay up to date with the current trends in medieval research.

From a publicity and marketing perspective, it was great to see Princeton University Press’s medieval list in its context, with academics browsing the stand between seminars. We had several academics asking after one of our latest books, John Blair’s Building Anglo-Saxon England, mentioning that they had seen it advertised, read an article about it or heard about it on the grape vine. It’s really rewarding to know that our efforts to bring new titles to their audiences really do work – we completely sold out Building Anglo-Saxon England! It was also good to see a lot of attention for our most recent medieval history monograph, Trustworthy Men by Ian Forrest and to spot the author browsing the Princeton stand too.

We will see you next year Leeds.

Hans-Lukas Kieser on Talaat Pasha: Father of Modern Turkey, Architect of Genocide

PashaTalaat Pasha (1874–1921) led the triumvirate that ruled the late Ottoman Empire during World War I and is arguably the father of modern Turkey. He was also the architect of the Armenian Genocide, which would result in the systematic extermination of more than a million people, and which set the stage for a century that would witness atrocities on a scale never imagined. Here is the first biography in English of the revolutionary figure who not only prepared the way for Atatürk and the founding of the republic in 1923, but who shaped the modern world as well. In this major work of scholarship, Hans-Lukas Kieser tells the story of the brilliant and merciless politician who stood at the twilight of empire and the dawn of the age of genocide.

Though you have written a number of books in history, this appears to be your first biography. What led you in this direction?

I have written a variety of biographical articles, all related to the modern Levant. Yet, this is indeed my first book-length biography. There were two main motivations for writing me this biography of Talaat Pasha.

First, Talaat was the main political actor in the 1910s, the last years of the Ottoman Empire, when he led a single-party regime. All those interested in that area in modern history must therefore be able to know him well. Yet, oddly, there doesn’t exist any non-Turkish biography of this paradigmatic politician.

Second, the last Ottoman decade and its wars, including the Balkan Wars, the Great War, the Armenian genocide, and the war for Asia Minor, have remained a Pandora’s box in need of historical clarification. I navigate with my readers through turbulent and complex, dramatic and impactful times, always focusing on the mastermind Talaat as well as late Ottoman Istanbul and its provinces. The Ottoman capital was the center of a still-huge Empire, a hub of European diplomacy, and a hotspot of international dynamics.

What is an example of Talaat Pasha’s influence still being felt in Turkey today?

A blatant legacy is ongoing genocide denial based on arguments already made by Talaat in 1915. Another legacy is favoritism instead of meritocracy, because leader-centered partisan regimes need systemic corruption to maintain their power. Talaat’s leadership had blended imperial pride, Turkish nationalism, and Islamism. Turkey’s current re-embrace of charismatic leadership and its post-Kemalist return to political Islam is not surprising if we understand that Talaat had been a first father—before Kemal Atatürk—of post-Ottoman Turkey. The “Kemalist revolution” did not undo pre-republican fundamentals. In his effort to concentrate power, the current president Erdogan largely draws on patterns and ideologies used by these historic leaders, both marked “sons of an Empire.” Whereas both Talaat and Atatürk had claimed a progressive departure from religious conservatism, Erdogan identifies also with the conservative legacy of Sultan Abdulhamid II and other sultans before him.

How do modern Turks reconcile the positive things that resulted from Talaat Pasha’s actions with the atrocities that he perpetuated?

Talaat’s corpse came pompously back from Berlin to Turkey in 1943, in a joint venture of Adolf Hitler’s and İsmet İnönü’s governments. Lauding books and articles by former party friends were published in the years afterwards. Talaat, the former grand-vizier, won thus again public credit as a patriot and great statesman. Streets, schools, and mosques were named after him. Nevertheless, he remained associated with the Great War: a lost war little-remembered in Kemalist Turkey, except for the victory at Gallipoli. The atrocities against non-Turkish Ottoman citizens in and after the Great War were almost totally repressed from public memory. For such a spirit, almost no negative things must be reconciled with the progressive revolution achieved by the unique Atatürk, prepared by Talaat. Compared to previous governments, the current AKP regime publicly remembers much more the Great War, that great jihad and its battles. Yet, it does this without soul-searching or an acknowledged need and effort of reconciliation—because, in Erdogan’s words, there was “never genocide or ethnic cleansing in our history.”

What are some of the things you’d like readers to take away from this book?

I’d like my readers to take away from this book interest in, respect for, and better knowledge of topical challenges of the late Ottoman world, today’s Middle East. These are challenges that subsist to this day because their peaceful solution surpassed the political resources and the will of the contemporary rulers. More than a hundred years later, consensual polities for people from different religions, but with equal rights, are still utopian. The Levant, the cradle of monotheism, is under the spell of competing apocalyptical expectations.

Also, I’d like my readers to revolt in spirit and intellect against attempts at doing away with, instead of meeting, universal challenges, and against disfiguring historical truths for state and personal interests. Talaat pioneered patterns of miscarried modernity, in particular demographic and economic engineering including genocide. Inspired by his party friend Ziya Gökalp, a modern prophet of Turkish-Muslim greatness, Talaat had given up in the early 1910s on seeking a democratic social contract, starting instead comprehensive press control and prosecution of rivals. Talaat’s rule made Asia Minor a “national home” for Muslim Turks, excluding other peoples rooted in the same geography. Talaat thus shaped politics in the post-Ottoman Levant for a hundred years to come.

Hans-Lukas Kieser is associate professor in the School of Humanities and Social Science at the University of Newcastle in Australia and adjunct professor of history at the University of Zurich in Switzerland. His many books include Nearest East: American Millennialism and Mission to the Middle East, World War I and the End of the Ottomans: From the Balkan Wars to the Armenian Genocide, and Turkey beyond Nationalism.

Brian Stanley on Christianity in the Twentieth Century

StanleyChristianity in the Twentieth Century charts the transformation of one of the world’s great religions during an age marked by world wars, genocide, nationalism, decolonization, and powerful ideological currents, many of them hostile to Christianity. Written by a leading scholar of world Christianity, the book traces how Christianity evolved from a religion defined by the culture and politics of Europe to the expanding polycentric and multicultural faith it is today—one whose growing popular support is strongest in sub-Saharan Africa, Latin America, China, and other parts of Asia. Transnational in scope and drawing on the latest scholarship, Christianity in the Twentieth Century demonstrates how Christianity has had less to fear from the onslaughts of secularism than from the readiness of Christians themselves to accommodate their faith to ideologies that privilege racial identity or radical individualism.

Have there been any previous world histories of Christianity in the twentieth century before?

Perhaps surprisingly, the answer is only one or two, and they tend to be shorter text-book surveys that concentrate on Christianity in the Western world. There are several good one-volume histories of Christianity, and a few introductions to the contemporary reality of Christianity as a world religion, but historians of religion have generally avoided the twentieth century. They have been much more interested in the nineteenth century, when the churches were wrestling with the problems of industrial society and the questions raised by modern science and biblical criticism. The implicit, and false, assumption seemed to be that by about 1914 the crucial issues had all been decided, and that it was all downhill for Christian belief from then on.

What has been the biggest challenge in writing it?

Having written the book, I can readily appreciate why nobody has attempted quite this sort of project before: the need to try to do justice to all continents and all strands of the Christian tradition has made this the most difficult book I have ever undertaken.

Possibly the stiffest challenge has been deciding what to leave out, since no book of this nature can be totally comprehensive. I had to make my own decisions about which case studies to include and which to omit, and inevitably these decisions become quite personal. Another historian coming from a different sector of the Church and possessing different expertise would make a different selection.

Do you think Christianity was weaker or stronger in the year 2000 than it was in 1900?

Undoubtedly stronger, at least in terms of its global reach and its absolute numerical strength. Christianity by the end of the century was truly a global religion in a way it was not in 1900, despite all the efforts of Victorian missionary expansion.  Many parts of the Christian community had also discovered new sources of vibrant spirituality and confidence in their sense of mission, though it is hard for hard-pressed Christians in Europe or the eastern seaboard of the United States to appreciate that. But this is not a triumphalistic narrative of Christian progress: the churches in every continent in the twentieth century had to negotiate obstacles that were, if anything, even greater than those they had faced in the nineteenth century. Moreover, the percentage of the world population in 2000 that professed Christian allegiance was marginally lower than it was in 1900.

What challenges does your book pose to Christians?

It will force them to ask hard questions about the frequent failure of their predecessors to preserve the integrity of Christian faith in the face of enormous pressures—and I am not thinking of the pressures of overt state persecution so much as the insidious attractions of alluring ideologies that gnawed away at the fabric of historic Christian belief from the inside. The Church in every age, including our own, faces such pressures, and it is not very good at spotting them when they come along.

And what challenges does it pose to those who are not Christians?

My book suggests that the once-popular grand narrative of the twentieth century as the age of irreversible secularization on a global scale is demonstrably false, even though, as I have just acknowledged, the churches too often laid themselves open to racist or materialist perspectives that subverted the foundations of Christian belief. The history of Christianity is a constantly fluctuating narrative in which multiple challenges, such as those of injustice and oppression, provoke remarkable resurgences of Christian faith. These in turn invite their own contrary reactions whenever growing churches become too powerful or comfortable for their own spiritual good. Both believers and unbelievers should be challenged by this book.

What predictions would you make about the shape of Christianity in the year 2100?

My stock answer to this question is to say that the future is not my period. Most predictions made in 1900 about the spiritual course of the century to come—whether from Christian or atheistic sources—proved spectacularly wrong. Hence caution is the order of the day. But it seems likely that Christianity will continue to diversify in its multiple centers of gravity, and that its historic European lines of division inherited from the Reformation era will continue to fade in importance, being replaced by other fault lines of a more cultural nature. The current arguments over sexuality are one obvious example of that. Whatever the world Church will look like in 2100, it is probable that it will need another historian ambitious (or foolish!) enough to attempt a century from now to explain exactly what has changed, and why.

Brian Stanley is professor of world Christianity at the University of Edinburgh. His books include The Global Diffusion of Evangelicalism: The Age of Billy Graham and John Stott and The World Missionary Conference, Edinburgh 1910.

Sara Blair on How the Other Half Looks

BlairNew York City’s Lower East Side, long viewed as the space of what Jacob Riis notoriously called the “other half,” was also a crucible for experimentation in photography, film, literature, and visual technologies. Sara Blair takes an unprecedented look at the practices of observation that emerged from this critical site of encounter, showing how they have informed literary and everyday narratives of America, its citizens, and its possible futures. How the Other Half Looks reveals how the Lower East Side has inspired new ways of looking—and looking back—that have shaped literary and popular expression as well as American modernity.

How have representations of the Lower East Side changed since the mid-nineteenth century?

In surprising and powerful ways, they haven’t. A set of complex associations—with vice, poverty, raw energy, the threat of the alien and the unassimilated—have continued to swirl around New York’s historical ghetto through its many lives and afterlives, well into our own moment. Over time, these associations have drawn image-makers and writers there to experiment with new visual technologies, new perspectives, and new media. In a real way, the Lower East Side and its received image have helped shape modern practices of seeing and imaging—not just the other way around.

What do recent representations of the Lower East Side tell us about our cultural moment?

They remind us how much cultural work we do to continue imagining the project of America, what it means to be or become an American and to have a collective future. In the 2016 Harry Potter franchise film Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, for example, the unfolding of Magic as a contest between nativism and progressive aspirations (one that’s all too familiar to us IRL) depends on the Lower East Side as a space defined both by its threat to a “pure” citizenry and its promise of a more robust and dynamic nation. In a very different mode, the award-winning 2014 documentary Chasing Ice draws on images of the Lower East Side both to make real the unprecedented effects of climate change—and to hold out hope for its reversal. However unexpectedly, images of the Lower East Side continue to be a resource for apprehending the way we live now, bringing America’s histories and possible futures into view.

How did you approach the research for this book?  What surprised you?

I began this project by trying to answer a broader question: how did the Lower East Side become both a key subject of representation and a powerful force in shaping practices of representation? The problem of seeing that space—of making sense of its staggering density, heterogeneity, and energies—challenged image-makers, writers, journalists, guardians of public order, and everyday citizens alike to test new visual technologies, whose cultural uses came to reflect on-the-ground encounters with the world of the tenements and the streets. As I worked my way through a host of archives—of everyday photographs, print media, literary projects and more—what surprised me most was the range of practices that turn out to have been shaped by encounter with the Lower East Side, from the emergence of photography as an art form and the rise of the U.S. film industry to efforts to revive print culture in digital contexts. On all these and more, the Lower East Side has left its own indelible mark.

Are there instances of images that represent the Lower East Side shaping the site itself?

By all means. Early photographs of New York’s ghetto and tenements, made by Jacob Riis in the 1880s, not only codified uses of the camera as an agency of social seeing. They drove projects of slum clearance and social reform that shaped the built environment of New York’s downtown as well as hugely influential ideas about the city, its modernity, and its citizens. By the mid-1930s, in the grip of the Depression, photographers who had themselves been children of the ghetto were experimenting with new ways to represent its complex histories, using them as a vantage point to look critically at the American success narrative. Their work helped photography reinvent itself as a postwar art form—alongside the attention of urban planners who would undertake to redesign the tenement landscape in service of twentieth-century urbanism as a master plan. From lurid accounts of Bowery poverty and as-if “documentary” images of nuclear strike on the U.S., the iconography of the Lower East Side has remained vitally available, and it has continued to enter into the material life and lived experience of that generative place.

What do you hope readers will take away from reading this book?

I hope they’ll think differently about the Lower East Side, as a place of entry not just for historical newcomers to the United States but for understanding how we’ve come to view and imagine this rich, ongoing, incomplete experiment we call America. As my mother said (to my delight) when she browsed the book, this isn’t just about Jews. It’s about the way history lives and continues to shape our lives in images, and how we might learn to look back more acutely at that history, at a time when we urgently need to learn from it.

Sara Blair is the Patricia S. Yaeger Collegiate Professor of English and a faculty associate in the Department of American Culture and the Frankel Center for Judaic Studies at the University of Michigan. Her books include Harlem Crossroads: Black Writers and the Photograph in the Twentieth Century and Trauma and Documentary Photography of the FSA.

Konrad Jarausch on Broken Lives: How Ordinary Germans Experienced the 20th Century

Broken LivesBroken Lives is a gripping account of the twentieth century as seen through the eyes of ordinary Germans who came of age under Hitler and whose lives were scarred and sometimes destroyed by what they saw and did. Konrad Jarausch argues that this generation’s focus on its own suffering, often maligned by historians, ultimately led to a more critical understanding of national identity—one that helped transform Germany from a military aggressor into a pillar of European democracy. The result is a powerful account of the everyday experiences and troubling memories of average Germans who journeyed into, through, and out of the abyss of a dark century.

How did ordinary Germans experience the cataclysms of the 20th century?
During the tumultuous twentieth century, ordinary Germans often felt overwhelmed by events over which they had no control. Starting with the defeat of World War I, they ex­perienced a series of disasters such as hyperinflation, depression, Nazi dictatorship, renewed war, Holocaust, flight and expulsion, division, and Communist repression that left them scrambling to survive. Except for short periods in the late Empire, middle of the Weimar Republic, and beginning of the Third Reich, times were tough and unpredictable, putting a premium on adaptability. As a result of the disastrous decisions of elites, they had to deal with a stunning succession of five different political systems within the course of a single century. In contrast to the normal progression of life stages in more fortunate neighboring countries like Switzerland, the past seemed problematic, the present challenging, and the future uncertain. This book seeks to explore this neglected human dimension of events by drawing on seven dozen untutored autobiographies that cover their entire life-spans from the Empire to united Germany.

What amazing stories do their memoirs tell about suffering, survival, or success?
As related in these personal memoirs, the facts regarding the impact of such upheavals on individual lives are often stranger than fiction. While perpetrators of crimes rarely admit their misdeeds, the many bystanders recount their struggle to cope with multiple dangers by compliance or evasion, seeking to get through them as best as they could. Endlessly repeated at bars and kaffeeklatches, their life-stories focus on avoiding death at the front, not dying in bombing raids, fleeing from the Red Army, making it through post-war hunger and cold, while dealing with a succession of shifting ideological demands. The narratives of political or racial victims such as Communists or Jews instead focus on their suffering and miraculous survival, unlike many comrades or family members killed in mass murder. Only after the war are Western narratives able to celebrate successful rebuilding and prosperity. These are astounding accounts show how normal individuals were trying to live in highly abnormal times. Offering a chorus of diverse voices, the present book is an effort to present their stories to a wider public.

Why did young people born in the 1920s get drawn into the Nazi dictatorship?
The children of the Weimar Republic proved especially vulnerable to Nazi appeals because Hitler’s propaganda promised to lead the young to a better future. The inability of their parents to deal with the effects of the Great Depression had discredited adult leadership. While schools indoctrinated adolescents in racist nationalism, the peer group in the Hitler Youth pressured insecure youths to join the exciting activities like hiking, camping, and paramilitary training. Too inexperienced to develop a political judgement of their own, most young people fell under the spell of the Führer and a movement that vowed to create a true “people’s community” without class distinctions and to make Germany great again by overturning the “shameful peace treaty” of Versailles. Only children from religious families, Communist parents, or Jewish backgrounds were excluded. The overwhelming majority of the young Aryans could feel emboldened by being treated like the avant-garde of a better future. Most did not understand that they would have to pay for this allegiance with their own lives.

How did World War II, the Holocaust, and the Cold War break their lives apart?
Instead of ushering in a brighter future with Germans ruling the continent, the Nazi dictatorship unleashed repression, war, and genocide. Already before 1939 the political and racial victims of the Third Reich experienced persecution, incarceration, and expulsion, if fortunate to get away. During the war many Nazi enthusiasts among the young men were killed in action in the Wehrmacht’s war of annihilation during its spectacular victories and inexorable defeats. Young women at the home front had to work in war-production factories, huddle in air raid shelters, and try to flee from the advancing Red Army in order to avoid repeated rape. While political victims suffered in penitentiaries, those Jewish Germans who had not managed to escape in time struggled to survive in the underground, during selection in concentration camps, and in death-marches at the end. Even after the fighting ended, many died of starvation, cold, and disease. Without regard to political commitment or racial belonging, this vortex of death and destruction broke millions of lives apart, leaving even survivors in a sea of suffering.

How did they as adults gradually turn into democrats or communists after the war?
With the end of hostilities, the remaining Weimar children had to pick up the pieces and become responsible adults. Trying to make sense of their horrible experiences, many retreated into their private lives by finishing professional training, getting jobs, and founding families. In the remnants of Germany, divided by the Cold War, they faced an ideological choice: should they try to become Western style democrats or follow the Communist dream of a classless society in the East? Since with American aid the Federal Republic of Germany experienced an Economic Miracle, many were willing to side with the West. Attracted by the promise of a peaceful egalitarianism, others chose the German Democratic Republic of the East even if it was a Soviet satellite. Though a series of Nazi scandals tarnished the Bonn government, ultimately the generational rebellion of 1968 turned it into a liberal society whereas the anti-fascist promise of the SED regime became a communist dictatorship. Only with the peaceful revolution and reunification of 1989/90, did Western democracy win the ideological contest in the end.

Why did their memories become surprisingly self-critical decades after the events?
Though Weimar children were too busy to confront their own past during their professional careers, many begun a painful process of self-examination after their retirement. In a diachronic reflection, these authors compared their youthful Nazi enthusiasm with their adult convictions as democrats or socialists, and tried to figure out how they could have believed such a racist nationalism as adolescents. Encouraged by political leaders, intellectuals and the media, they began to question their own earlier lack of sympathy for their persecuted Jewish neighbors as well as the exploited slave laborers or Russian POWs, pondering what they had witnessed of the mass murder during the Holocaust. In some cases, this admission of guilt for supporting the Third Reich and failing to act humanely towards its victims even led to nervous breakdowns, healed only by active engagement for progressive causes. While all memoirists stressed their own suffering, a minority went even further and embraced a public memory culture that has made Germans exceptionally self-critical when compared with to their former allies.

What lessons of human rights, pacifism and social solidarity do they hold for the future?
In a surprisingly broad consensus, ordinary autobiographies show that Germans have drawn largely similar conclusions for the future. Unfortunately, there are still some nationalist holdouts who blame the harsh treatment by the Allies or hold Hitler and the Nazi bosses responsible for their predicament. But most writers want to teach their own families as well as the general public an essential lesson in order to prevent the recurrence of such horrible events: their political messages cluster around the importance of human rights as antidote to dictatorship; the need for peace as barrier against another devastating world war; and the imperative of social solidarity as obstacle to a return of demagogic populism. Beyond the sheer drama of their life-stories, it is this collective learning process which makes reading these personal accounts worthwhile. As a paradigmatic resume of their broken lives, the autobiographies of the Weimar children emphasize that everyone should heed the warning of their disastrous experiences during the Third Reich.

Konrad H. Jarausch is the Lurcy Professor of European Civilization at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. His many books include Out of Ashes: A New History of Europe in the Twentieth Century and Reluctant Accomplice: A Wehrmacht Soldier’s Letters from the Eastern Front. He lives in Chapel Hill and Berlin.

Konrad H. Jarausch on Broken Lives

LivesBroken Lives is a gripping account of the twentieth century as seen through the eyes of ordinary Germans who came of age under Hitler and whose lives were scarred and sometimes destroyed by what they saw and did. Konrad Jarausch argues that this generation’s focus on its own suffering, often maligned by historians, ultimately led to a more critical understanding of national identity—one that helped transform Germany from a military aggressor into a pillar of European democracy. The result is a powerful account of the everyday experiences and troubling memories of average Germans who journeyed into, through, and out of the abyss of a dark century.

Broken Lives is a response to an Amazon customer review which called my synthesis of 20th century Europe Out of Ashes “interesting and worthwhile, but in the end unsatisfying.” In that previous volume I had attempted to interpret the development of the old continent as a struggle between Communist, Fascist, and Democratic modernities. Using the pseudonym “Spinoza,” the reader criticized: “Working from this narrative angle, from what you would really experience on the streets of these German cities as you walked around (what, in a word, Hitler would have experienced as he walked around as a teenager a decade or so later), would be far more powerful, and effective, in understanding the why of the 20th century than some ab­stract concept as modernism.” Since he was, in effect, calling for a history from below, I decided to rise to this challenge, albeit limited to a single country which I know best, namely Germany.

In order to reconstruct the experiences of ordinary Germans, I turned to the fascinating stories of Nazi repression, wartime suffering and post-war privation with which I grew up in a defeated and divided country. While some adults were unable to talk about what they had done or witnessed, many others were all too willing to unburden themselves. As an adolescent I had little patience with the endless tales of family members killed, possessions lost, flight and expulsion from home, and struggles to resume a normal life, because I wanted to escape the physical rubble and mental disorientation into a better future. But in retrospect I understood that these shared narratives constituted an archive of popular memories that had largely been ignored by academic historians because such accounts focused on German suffering rather than on the pain of racial and national victims of Nazi genocide and aggression.

With the passing away of the war-time generation, I realized that these stories were going to disappear unless they were preserved in written form as autobiographies. My search for such ego-texts was surprisingly successful, turning up over eighty untutored memoirs of people who were born in the Weimar Republic and put their experiences on paper in retirement at the end of the twentieth century. Many of the narratives, such as the nine volumes by the composer Gerhard Krapf, were in manuscript form as well as in private possession, reaching me through personal contacts. Others, such as the life-story of the Rhine River captain Hermann Debus were printed privately, appearing in little publishing houses below the radar of academic reviews or university libraries. Others yet, such as the amazing account of the Jewish historian and personal friend Werner “Tom” Angress were printed by reputable publishers. Surprisingly enough, the surviving authors and their descendants were eager to have their stories shared with a wider public.

As an ensemble, these popular memoirs constitute a set of private memories, largely absent from accounts of public memory culture. Quite a few scholars have analyzed the contentious development of an official memory culture that has become self-critical and contrite about the Nazi crimes and the complicity of the majority of the population. But this unofficial layer of recollections, below public protestations of guilt, has been largely neglected, since it is focused on German suffering, thereby initiating a competition of victimhood in which Germans also claim to have experienced terror and pain. This discrepancy has always fascinated me, since both the stress on critical public memory and the emphasis on apologetic private recollection seem to have a point, posing the question of how these contrary positions relate to each other. Hence I wanted to explore how later self-representations dealt with earlier Nazi complicity.

While working on a wide range of popular autobiographies, I was surprised to see that in a process of decades-long reflection many of the authors had become critical of their previous selves. For instance, Leonore Walb, on rereading her girlish Third Reich diary was so shocked by her adolescent enthusiasm for the Hitler Youth that she required psychiatric help in order to reconcile her later anti-Fascism with her earlier self. While this was, no doubt, an extreme case, other authors like Dieter Schoenhals wrote not just to convey family history to their off­spring but also in order to impart a timeless lesson to the public. Even if many remained reticent about their own reluctance to help Jewish acquaintances or Slavic slave laborers, virtu­ally all of them condemned the war and the dictatorship, seeking to make sure that such horrors would not recur. Encouraged by the reflective speech of President Richard von Weizsäcker in 1985, the official critical and private apologetic memories have gradually grown somewhat closer to each other.

Weaving the many diverse life-stories together into an over-all tapestry of experiences made me appreciate the human dimension of the descent into the Third Reich and the subsequent recovery. This shocking trajectory of a purportedly civilized nation was propelled by many small individual decisions which collectively gathered such enormous force that they shattered entire countries and people in Europe. It has not been appreciated sufficiently that the Nazi complicity broke millions of lives, not just among their political, racial, and ethnic victims, but also among their Aryan and German supporters. Far from apologizing for such misdeeds, I want to explain the youthful attraction of the NS dictatorship as well as the subsequent adult understanding of its terrible consequences. It is this crucial nexus between perpetration and suffering that charac­terizes German stories of the twentieth century—including that of my own family.

Konrad H. Jarausch is the Lurcy Professor of European Civilization at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. His many books include Out of Ashes: A New History of Europe in the Twentieth Century and Reluctant Accomplice: A Wehrmacht Soldier’s Letters from the Eastern Front. He lives in Chapel Hill and Berlin.

Sebastian Edwards on American Default: The Untold Story of FDR, the Supreme Court, and the Battle over Gold

EdwardsThe American economy is strong in large part because nobody believes that America would ever default on its debt. Yet in 1933, Franklin D. Roosevelt did just that, when in a bid to pull the country out of depression, he depreciated the U.S. dollar in relation to gold, effectively annulling all debt contracts. American Default is the story of this forgotten chapter in America’s history. At a time when several major economies never approached the brink of default or devaluing or recalling currencies, American Default is a timely account of a little-known yet drastic experiment with these policies, the inevitable backlash, and the ultimate result.

Americans believe that the Federal government has never defaulted on its debt. Yet in your book, you tell the story of a massive debt restructuring that happened only eight decades ago, in 1933. A debt restructuring that changed contracts unilaterally and retroactively, and imposed losses of 61% on investors. Why do you think that this episode is so little known?

This is a case of “collective amnesia.” Americans think of themselves as law-abiding citizens. We think of the United States as a country where institutions work and where contracts are sacred; a country where the rule of law prevails at all times. Reneging on contracts is not something this nation does. And, certainly, we don’t change contracts retroactively. It is something that “banana republics” do. And when they do it, we scold them and denounce them. We also demand compensation for damages.

When the Supreme Court heard the gold clause cases in 1935, most analysts thought that these were among the most important cases ever considered by the Court. Today, however, they are not even taught in most law schools. We have forgotten the episode because it is convenient, because it helps us maintain the view we have about our nation: a nation that always pays its debts. But, as I show in this book, this is not the case.

Your book is about the annulment of the gold clauses in 1933, and the Supreme Court decisions that ruled that it was legal to change debt contracts retroactively. What were the gold clauses, exactly? And what was their role?

Historically, most long-term debt contracts in the United States were written in terms of gold. That is, the borrower committed himself to paying back an amount of gold (or gold equivalent) equal to the amount borrowed, plus interest. This practice started during the Civil War to protect lenders from possible inflation.

In 1933, when President Franklin D. Roosevelt took the U.S. off the gold standard, all public debt included the gold clause. In addition, most railway and public utility bonds had gold clauses, as did most mortgages. Overall, debt equivalent to approximately 120% of GDP was subject to these escalation riders. That is a huge number. To put things in perspective, it is about twice as large as the debt that Argentina restructured unilaterally in 2002.

You write that the abrogation of the gold clauses was closely related to the abandonment of the gold standard in 1933.

In 1933, President Roosevelt thought that the U.S. could benefit from devaluing the dollar with respect to gold. This had been done by the United Kingdom in September 1931, and it appeared to be helping the UK get out of the depression. However, FDR was told by his advisers that the gold clauses stood in the way of a devaluation. With the gold clauses in place, a devaluation of the USD would immediately trigger an increase in debts by the same amount as the devaluation. This would bankrupt almost every railway company, and many other businesses. It would also be extremely costly for the government. It was at this point that FDR decided to abrogate the gold clauses. The actual annulment took place on June 5, 1933.

When emerging countries, such as Argentina, devalue their currency and restructure their debts, we often brand them as “populists.” Was there a populist element in FDR’s decision to abandon the gold standard and abrogate the gold clauses?

One of the main issues in 1933 was how to raise agricultural prices, which had declined by almost 70% since 1919. After the 1932 election there was a large bloc of populists, pro-agrarian members in Congress. The better known one was Senator Huey Long, but there were others. Two very influential ones were Senator Elmer Thomas from Oklahoma, and Senator Burton Wheeler from Montana. They were “inflationists,” and believed that getting off gold would help increase commodity prices. To a large extent the devaluation of the dollar—from $20.67 to $35 per ounce of gold—was to placate this group of “populist” lawmakers. Wheeler was also an isolationist. In Philip Roth novel The Plot against America, Wheeler is a fictional vice president, and aviator Charles Lindbergh is the president.

There are still some people who believe that getting off gold was a mistake. Was it necessary? Did it work? Should the U.S. go back to gold?

Most economic historians—including Milton Friedman and Ben Bernanke—agree that one of the main consequences of devaluing the dollar in 1934 was that the country received a huge inflow of gold. This additional gold was monetized by the Federal Reserve. As a consequence, there was a large increase in credit. This triggered a recovery, and helped reduce unemployment. A key question, which I address in the book, is whether it was possible, at the time, to put in place an expansionary monetary policy and still maintain some form of a gold-based standard. This is a controversial issue; British economist John Maynard Keynes believed that it was possible; many modern economists believe that it was not.

You argue in the book that at the time most economists were perplexed and didn’t know how to face the Great Depression. Apparently they didn’t understand the effects of fluctuating exchange rates.

In the 1930s the economic analysis of currency values and currency adjustments was in its infancy. Some well-known economists, such as Yale’s Irving Fisher, were very critical of the gold standard, and suggested pegging the value of the dollar to a basket of commodities. Other, including Princeton’s Edwin Kemmerer and Chicago’s Jacob Viner, were convinced that, in spite of some shortcomings, the gold standard was the best available monetary system. In the book I tell the story of how these two groups for FDR’s ear. I discuss who said what and how the President reacted to their advice.

You write that in 1933 George F. Warren was the most influential economist in the world. However, today almost no one knows his name. Who was he, and why was he so important?

George F. Warren was a professor of agricultural economics at Cornell, and a friend of Henry Morgenthau Jr.

Morgenthau was a neighbor and friend of President Roosevelt, who eventually became Secretary of the Treasury. In 1931, Warren published a book titled Prices, where he argued that agricultural prices were related in a one-to-one fashion to the price of gold. If the price of the metal increased through a devaluation of the USD, the price of wheat, corn, cotton, eggs and so on would increase immediately and by the same amount. Starting in July 1933, Warren became Roosevelt’s main economic adviser. In October the president put in place a “gold buying program” based on Warren’s theories. Every morning FDR would determine an arbitrary price at which the government bought small amounts of gold. The president’s expectation was that agricultural prices would follow in short order. But that didn’t happen; the program did not work as expected. John Maynard Keynes criticized it strongly, and in January 1934 the program was abandoned. In the book I discuss, in great detail, Warren’s theories and I compare them to those of other prominent economists, including Irving Fisher’s.

You devote quite some time to the cases argued in front of the Supreme Court. What can you tell us about them?

At the time, the Court was deeply divided. There was a conservative bloc led by Justice James Clark McReynolds, and a liberal bloc that included Justices Brandeis and Cardozo. Charles Evans Hughes, the Chief Justice, was often the swing vote. The cases were fascinating for several reasons; first, the Administration used a “necessity” argument to support the Joint Resolution that abrogated the gold clauses. This argument is very similar—in fact, almost identical—to the argument used recently by countries such as Argentina when restructured their debts unilaterally. Second, the government made very sophisticated economic arguments; in order to support them, it included a number of charts and diagrams in its briefs. Third, the rulings were very convoluted and controversial. In the case involving public debt (a Liberty Bond, to be more precise), the Court ruled that Congress had exceeded its power, and that the abrogation was thus unconstitutional. However, the Court said, there were no damages involved. That is, the government had violated the Constitution, but didn’t have to compensate bond holder for losses.

In modern times, countries that default and/or restructure their debts unilaterally pay a cost. Generally speaking, they have great difficulties accessing the capital markets. However, this was not the case for the U.S. What do you think are the reasons for this?

I discuss this issue in great detail in the book. Milton Friedman argued that by expropriating property rights the abrogation had severe negative effects on the U.S. economy. It negatively affected investment. I combed the data and didn’t find significant dislocations or signs of distress in the weeks and months following the Supreme Court rulings. In the final chapters of the book I give a possible explanation for this. I point out why the U.S. case is so different from recent default episodes, including Argentina and Greece.

Sebastian Edwards is the Henry Ford II Professor of International Economics at the University of California, Los Angeles. His books include Toxic Aid: Economic Collapse and Recovery in Tanzania and Left Behind: Latin America and the False Promise of Populism. He lives in Los Angeles.

Frederick Cooper on Citizenship, Inequality, and Difference

CooperCitizenship, Inequality, and Difference offers a concise and sweeping overview of citizenship’s complex evolution, from ancient Rome to the present. Political leaders and thinkers still debate, as they did in Republican Rome, whether the presumed equivalence of citizens is compatible with cultural diversity and economic inequality. Frederick Cooper presents citizenship as “claim-making”—the assertion of rights in a political entity. What those rights should be and to whom they should apply have long been subjects for discussion and political mobilization, while the kind of political entity in which claims and counterclaims have been made has varied over time and space. Citizenship, Inequality, and Difference is a historically based reflection on some of the most fundamental issues facing human societies in the past and present.

What are the biggest differences between how citizenship is understood today versus how it was understood in ancient Rome?

Citizenship, Inequality, and Difference is both an historical panorama and an essay about politics today. As a twentieth-century specialist, I found that beginning with the Roman Empire was quite a challenge. Fortunately, citizenship is as essential a question for historians of Rome as it is for scholars of present-day politics. In both instances, citizenship was less a precisely defined juridical notion than a framework for political action, for claim-making. For the Roman elite, citizenship was an incorporative notion, a means of giving people, including those conquered by military means, a stake in an expanding imperial system. Citizenship under the Roman Republic entailed a voice in political assemblies as well as the right to serve in a Roman legion and to have legal cases tried in a Roman court. The egalitarian dimension of citizenship was in tension with the accumulation of power and wealth by an elite, and such tensions have their echoes into the twenty-first century. When Rome became a monarchy, citizens’ political voice was attenuated—although not entirely eliminated—but citizenship still provided juridical protection. In AD 212 citizenship was extended to all male, non-slave inhabitants of the entire empire. When we talk about the word and the concept of citizenship today as having roots in classical times, we are thus talking about “imperial citizenship,” a concept centered on a diverse polity rather than a homogeneous national society.

Readers might be surprised that imperial citizenship was a focus of debate in the mid-twentieth century. The French government (and less directly the British one) tried to give empire a renewed  legitimacy after World War II by extending citizenship rights to the inhabitants of colonies. French African activists seized on citizenship to claim social, economic, and political equality. Their claims included the right to settle in the metropole, and here we find the roots of the multicultural societies now found in France and Britain, with all their possibilities and problems.

The long-time perspective thus puts into question the idea that citizenship is essentially a national concept. People have claimed rights—and have tried to expand those rights—in a variety of political contexts, bigger than territorially bounded states and smaller as well. Today, citizenship is often associated with a set of rights, but in countries like China, Turkey, and Egypt rights claims are met with strong resistance from rulers. Since the early twentieth-century, citizenship, particularly in Europe, entailed social rights—a right to protection from the state against the risks of old age, illness, and unemployment—but social rights are everywhere under threat. So the usefulness of going back to Rome in thinking about citizenship in today’s world is not so much to find the origins of a certain set of norms or practices as to lay out a terrain of political contestation, where the consequences of incorporation of diverse peoples into a political unit is set against assertion of cultural specificity, where egalitarian ideals conflict with concentrations of wealth and power, where the boundaries of inclusion and exclusion of different categories of people from the body politic are argued and sometimes fought over.

How have different societies reconciled inequality of power among individuals with the equality of status offered by citizenship?

Citizenship in itself doesn’t posit that citizens should be equal in all senses of the term, but because it emphasizes that people belong as a body to a political unit it does imply that there is a relationship of citizens to each other as well as citizens to a ruler or to a state. That opens the door for debates within the construct of citizenship over how much inequality among citizens is acceptable. In Republican Rome, the controversy among writers was about the dangers of oligarchy and greed. In the French Revolution, the new political language emphasizing “nation” and “popular sovereignty” quickly revealed tensions that were not resolved: between the rights of every citizen to equal participation in society and the right to property which implied differences in resources, between popular sovereignty and the exclusion of women from the vote, and between the insistence that overseas colonies were “French” but that most people living there could legitimately remain without rights. Indeed, the idea of popular sovereignty made the policing of the boundaries of citizenship a more acute issue than it had been. In newly independent countries in the Americas as well as French, British, and Spanish colonies, slavery and the status of indigenous peoples—as well as the exclusion of many people from full citizenship on grounds of origins, color, gender, culture, and religion—confronted what seemed to be the fundamental tenets of the political regime.  When territories in Africa and Asia were forcefully incorporated into empires, millions of people were forced into a situation where they were “French” or “British” but were excluded from citizenship. In Europe itself, the mobilization of workers, the development of socialist parties, and the beginnings of welfare policies provoked debates over how much inequality was acceptable among citizens and between citizens and others in the territory. When empire itself came under fire, the debate was not just about political rights, but social and economic rights. Because citizenship as a principle—not just one’s own rights—was in question, some intellectuals and activists argued that whatever rights it entailed should be universal, that the notion of “belonging” had to be pushed upward to include all of humankind as a rights-bearing community. That by the 1970s, with the end of colonial empires, almost all of the world’s population was a citizen of someplace both continued and recast long-standing debates over how much inequality was tolerable within and among sovereign states. And the more universal the concept of citizenship became, the more the situation of people who did not fit into a citizenship regime became a source of tension—people like Palestinians, Kurds, or Rohingya, as well as refugees or economic migrants. The relationship of citizenship and equality has been a part of political thought and political action for a very long time, but in shifting ways.

How did the collapse of empire affect ideas of what it means to be a citizen?

The collapse of empires in the mid-twentieth century entailed a reimagining of history based on a vision of a well-defined society moving as a unit through time.  Not only did elite intellectuals of new states in Africa and Asia carved out of colonial empires try to naturalize the nations they were forging, but elites of France, Britain, and other imperial powers tried to project backwards their national identification onto an imperial past. They not only sought to obscure the violence and exploitation that was part of empire building, but also to deny the incorporative dimension of empire, which they had recently tried to promote. They feared that ex-citizens or recent migrants from former colonies would find in the imperial past a basis for making claims.

What changed when citizenship began to be thought of as a birthright for the inhabitants of a given nation rather than an exclusive status conferred upon individuals who meet a certain set of criteria?

Some scholars have pointed out the limits of “birthright citizenship”—that the luck of being born in a particular place shapes, more than anything an individual can control, a person’s fate. But remedies to birthright citizenship might be even worse than the disease—insisting that people merit their citizenship, making people’s rights subject to invidious distinction-making, to exclusionary notions of who really belongs where. In actual practice, legal regimes have tried various mixtures of jus soli—citizenship based on place of birth—and jus sanguinis—citizenship based on descent from a recognized citizen. The first can be arbitrary, the second exclusionary. We don’t want to lose the sense of common belonging and collective well-being that we share with our fellow citizens. Nor should we lose awareness of the fact that our collectivity was built out of the mixing of people of different origins, that we live among people some of whom resemble us and some of whom do not, and that our well-being depends on interaction with people across as well as within political boundaries. Since neither a rigid politics of national identity nor an amorphous notion of globality corresponds to the reality of today’s world, we need to think in nuanced ways about problems of immigration and integration in our own countries and about the conditions in which people in other parts of the world live.

How did you approach writing this book?

In much of my career, I have liked to change focal lengths: to do archivally-based research on a well-bounded topic and to write about general issues of history and theory in the social sciences. My Princeton book Citizenship between Empire and Nation: Remaking France and French Africa, 1945-1960 falls into the first category, and the present book, along with Empires in World History:  Power and the Politics of Difference, co-authored with Jane Burbank, falls into the second. Citizenship, Inequality, and Difference began as a series of lectures, and in turning them into a book I tried to retain the sense of an extended reflection on an issue that is as much a concern of today’s politics as it is a subject of historical interest. Writing in such different genres helps to avoid the pitfalls of either. Immersion in the particulars of historical situations helps focus not only on the limited knowledge on which generalizations are based, but also on the uncertainties and contingencies with which people lived. The temptation is usually to start an historical story at its end point, to see how we got where we are, to write off paths not taken and dead ends.  Getting into the nitty-gritty of historical research enables us to reconstruct the hopes, despairs, possibilities, and constraints, in which history was made. At the same time, immersion in the particular can mask the large spatial and temporal scale at which important actors operate.  Moving back and forth between archival research and theoretical reflections, between small and large scales of time and space, while following connections with their extensions and their limits and looking at continuities and evolutionary changes as well as moments of radical transformation seems to me a way to explore the possibilities and limitations of history writing.

What do you hope that readers will take away from reading this book?

Citizenship is both a powerful and fragile notion. Thinking about citizenship historically confronts us with the salience of the choices that we face today, as in the past. We have seen that from the early Roman Empire onward the commonality of citizens coexisted with social hierarchy and political oligarchy. They coexisted uneasily, for citizenship provided a framework for contestation, for some to push for greater equality and for others to use their resources to maintain and enhance their privileges. Citizenship has been an incorporative and an exclusionary notion. Today, we are confronting a world economy that offers a high degree of mobility to commodities and capital, and that fact provides a rationale—if not a reason—for the governments of the most privileged countries in Europe to erode the hard-won social benefits that citizenship has provided. Meanwhile, the closures of national citizenship tempt many people to scapegoat immigrants rather than confront the basic structures of inequality. In other parts of the world, we find citizens vigorously asserting their political rights against would-be dictators, and we see governments willing to kill or drive into exile millions of their citizens in order to preserve their power. Whether in today’s world citizens in different circumstances will be able to make good their claims by defending themselves within a strictly national framework is far from evident. An historical perspective on citizenship reminds us that we need to work with different kinds of political relationships at the same time, to define communities that live together and help each other without walling ourselves off from others. In the future as in the past we need to make our way in a world that is economically and social unequal, politically fragmented, culturally differentiated, and highly connected.

Frederick Cooper is professor of history at New York University. His many books include Empires in World History and Citizenship between Empire and Nation.

David Vogel on California Greenin’

VogelOver the course of its 150-year history, California has successfully protected its scenic wilderness areas, restricted coastal oil drilling, regulated automobile emissions, preserved coastal access, improved energy efficiency, and, most recently, addressed global climate change. How has this state, more than any other, enacted so many innovative and stringent environmental regulations over such a long period of time? The first comprehensive look at California’s history of environmental leadership, California Greenin’ shows why the Golden State has been at the forefront in setting new environmental standards, often leading the rest of the nation. As environmental policy debates continue to grow more heated, California Greenin’ demonstrates that the Golden State’s impressive record of environmental accomplishments holds lessons not just for the country but for the world.

Why did you decide to focus your book on California?

Much has been written on every aspect of California’s environmental history. Books have been written on the state’s forests and wilderness areas, cars and air pollution in Los Angeles, oil drilling in southern California, the protection of the coast and the San Francisco Bay Area and, most recently, the state’s regulations to improve energy efficiency and stem the risks of global climate change. But no one had ever sought to answer what struck me as a central question, namely why has California long been the nation’s “greenest” state? I wrote this book to answer that question.

What are some important examples of California’s environmental leadership?

California enacted the world’s first emissions controls on automobiles and established the nation’s first coastal protection authority. Yosemite was the first protected wilderness in the United States and by 1890 three of nation’s four national parks were located in the state. California issued the nation’s first energy efficiency standards for appliances and buildings. Its greenhouse gas reduction targets are the most ambitious in the United States. Half of the nation’s rooftop solar installations are in California.

How do you account for the state’s long record of environmental innovation?

It traces back to California’s geography. The “Golden State” has an unusually beautiful natural environment. Its coastal area encompasses the best weather in the United States. It has a long and scenic coastline, miles of sand beaches, and inland there are the granite formations, rivers, lakes and valleys of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The state’s forests contain the spectacular redwoods and sequoias, the largest and oldest living species on the planet. But every aspect of this attractive environment has been continually threatened by rapid economic development and population growth. It is in response to these threats that Californians have mobilized to protect the environmental amenities that they valued.

What is the “California effect?”

The “California effect” refers to the impact California has had in strengthening environmental protection outside its borders. The most important example is automotive emissions standards These were first introduced in California and then subsequently adopted by the federal government. Virtually all of the important innovations in emissions controls, such unleaded gasoline and the two-way catalytic convertor, originated in California and were then nationally mandated. California’s innovative greenhouse gas emission standards for vehicles were subsequently adopted by the Obama Administration. Significantly, California is the only state permitted by the federal government to issue its own automotive regulations. Other states then have the option of adapting California’s more stringent standards and several states have chosen to do so.

What most surprised you in writing this book?

I was most struck by the role business has played in supporting environmental protection. Business has been traditionally viewed as the main opponent of stronger environmental standards. But in the case of California influential business interests have often actively backed stronger regulations  For example, during the late 19th and early 20th centuries the Southern Pacific Railroad lobbied to protect the sequoias in the Sierra Nevada mountains, while during the mid 20th century, the Los Angeles real estate community led the political struggle to reduce air pollution. Southern California’s shoreline property developers were the main opponents of coastal oil drilling. California’s renewable energy industry and clean tech investors have benefited from and been strong supporters of the state’s climate change initiatives. In sum, many business interests have recognized the economic benefits of placing the state on a greener growth trajectory.   

What practical lessons can other states learn from California?

The United States is a federal system in which states can play important policy roles. They have enormous potential to improve environmental quality. What other states can also learn from California is that regulations are more likely to be supported if they directly improve the quality of life of local communities, provide economic as well as environmental benefits, receive some business 6backing, and are administrated by competent public authorities. California’s example of regulatory leadership can and hopefully should be followed by other states.

What do you hope readers will take away from the book? 

That protecting the environment and growing economically can go hand in hand. Since the 1860s California has consistently enacted the nation’s most stringent, comprehensive and innovative environmental standards and its economy is now the sixth largest in the worlds. Had it not made such vigorous efforts to protect its fragile natural environment, California would now be a much less desirable place to visit, to live to work, and to invest. California’s economy has benefited substantially from its environmental regulations. This can be true for all states as well.

David Vogel is professor emeritus in the Haas School of Business and the Department of Political Science at the University of California, Berkeley. His many books include The Politics of Precaution and The Market for Virtue.

Dr. John C. Hulsman: The Ten Commandments of Political Risk

Disturb us, Lord, when we are too well pleased with ourselves
When our dreams have come true because we have dreamed too little
When we arrive safely because we sailed too close to the shore.

Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly, to venture on wider seas
Where storms will show your mastery
Where losing sight of land, we shall find the stars.

—Excerpts from Sir Francis Drake’s prayer, 1577 (apocryphal)

HulsmanThe great goal, the Everest of my book, has been to identify the historical elements that comprise the rules of the road for mastering political risk analysis and to holistically put our ten commandments to use in explaining the baffling world we presently live in. Having discovered these commandments—and illuminated them through the use of historical story-telling, deriving them from real-world policy situations throughout the ages—we can get to the Holy Grail of actual understanding.

Here at the end of our story, through the use of this unique heuristic method, we have delineated the long and neglected history of political risk analysis, linking this important tale to the broader efforts of both business and political leaders to master risk in general. Confident in what geopolitical risk analysis has been, is, and can be, it is clear that the Delphic dream of soothsaying—in a limited way, over limited issues, for a limited period of time—can be partially fulfilled.

  • “We are the risk.” As the history surrounding Sejanus and the decline and fall of the Roman Empire makes clear (alongside the corroborating tale of present-day Europe’s decadent decline), geopolitical analysts have a terrible time looking in the mirror and seeing that the society they are part of can itself be the major geopolitical risk problem.

 

  • Gaming out “lunatics.” Far too often geopolitical risk analysts let those with very different belief systems off the hook by lazily assuming that they must be crazy, rather than looking for the method to their madness. As the story of “The Old Man of the Mountain” and the Third Crusade (with inter-chapters on both Charles Manson and ISIS) makes clear, there is almost always an internal logic to any seemingly mad geopolitical interlocutor that can be followed and assessed.

 

  • Gaming out “chess players.” Amidst the daily tumult of a constant barrage of information, it is easy to lose sight of the intellectual needle in the haystack: the assessment of “chess players,” those geopolitical decision-makers who have stable, rational, coherent, long-term strategies in place to further their geopolitical goals. As reviewing the history of Niccolo Machiavelli and Pope Julius II (with an inter-chapter on George Washington and Alexander Hamilton) illuminates, finding these rare geostrategic birds is well worth the effort, as once they are identified (which is difficult), their future actions can rather easily be predicted.

 

  • Recognizing game changers. As the stirring story of John Adams in the sultry summer of 1776 makes clear, seeing the bigger picture—discerning how specific contemporaneous events fit into the larger historical pattern—is a mighty tool in political risk analysis. Separating the wheat from the chaff and intellectually drilling down on what really matters and its historical meaning (as we see both Adams and inter-chapter hero Winston Churchill doing in very different historical contexts) allows the political risk analyst as well as the foreign policy practitioner to see the world as it actually is.

 

  • Balance is the key to foreign policy. Having discovered the secrets of one major driver of geopolitics—be it macroeconomics, geopolitics, or cultural power—far too often analysts quickly forget that there are others and that it is the mix that explains everything. The twin stories of a beleaguered Venetian Republic and a seemingly all-conquering Napoleon in 1797 allow a dual critique of both an economics-only and overly militaristic policies and the doom to which both one-sided initiatives inevitably lead.

 

  • If you are digging yourself an intellectual hole in foreign policy analysis—stop. The “losing gambler in Vegas” syndrome affects both policy-makers and analysts. As the legendary Robert E. Lee found to his supreme peril at Gettysburg (and also “the best and the brightest” of the Kennedy and Johnson administrations as they met their nemesis in Indochina), pushing ahead with an already failed policy in a desperate effort to recoup past losses leads to calamity.

 

  • Know your country’s place in the world. The singular case of the late Victorian titan Lord Salisbury—who bravely and correctly righted Britain’s foreign policy to fit the paradox of its relatively declining but still dominant place in the world of the 1890s—highlights this vital requirement for both policy-makers and analysts alike. Only by fearlessly and correctly assessing your country’s true place in the world (as the inter-chapter on the Genro of Japan makes clear happened across the globe from Salisbury a generation earlier) can you pursue successful political risk analysis.

 

  • Do not put all your eggs in one strategic basket. Distantly related to the “losing gambler in Vegas” syndrome, the “promised land fallacy” besets decision-makers and analysts who ruinously rely on one overall strategy to magically attempt to alter their country’s overall geopolitical position in the world. In the case of Wilhelmine Germany, Admiral Von Tirpitz’s disastrous plan to challenge British naval might (echoing the inter-chapter on Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev’s equally ruinous “Wars of National Liberation” gambit) helped lead to the Great War and Germany’s destruction.

 

  • Know the nature of the world you are living in. The trials and tribulations of Beatle George Harrison (with the inter-chapter focusing on the diametrically opposed case of the fall of Brian Jones and the rise of the Rolling Stones) and the stunning, lightning-quick dismemberment of his band dramatically underline that successful systems can collapse in the blink of an eye if their underlying power realities change, failing to any longer reflect the systemic power facts on the ground that created such a system in the first place. Policy-makers as well as political risk analysts must know both the nature of the global system they are living in (is it characterized by one great power, two, or many?) as well as if that system is durable, fragile, or evolving.

 

  • Prepare for the “butterfly effect.” The telling present-day case of Deng Xiaoping and the colossal success he made of both Chinese foreign and economic policy must not obscure the reality that East Asia today sits on a powder keg, a single random event away from 1914; just one drunken Chinese sea captain could quite plausibly upset the strategic equilibrium in Asia. The best policy-makers and political risk analysts (as the inter-chapter example of Harold Macmillan also makes clear) see the weaknesses in even the most successful foreign policies, having resilient initiatives at the ready to stave off seemingly unexpected disasters.

 

In traveling far from home, as Sir Francis Drake bid us to do in the swashbuckling, mesmerizing prayer that opens this article and To Dare More Boldly, our journey through history has been bountifully rewarded. For yes, within limits, the future can be foretold through the use of political risk analysis. Truly venturing far from our intellectual shore, in daring more boldly, we have come to see the stars. 

Dr. John C. Hulsman is the president and cofounder of John C. Hulsman Enterprises, a successful global political risk consulting firm. For three years, Hulsman was the Senior Columnist for City AM, the newspaper of the city of London. Hulsman is a Life Member of the Council on Foreign Relations, the preeminent foreign policy organization. The author of all or part of 14 books, Hulsman has given over 1520 interviews, written over 650 articles, prepared over 1290 briefings, and delivered more than 510 speeches on foreign policy around the world. His most recent work is To Dare More Boldly: The Audacious Story of Political Risk.

The Promised Land Fallacy: Von Tirpitz Disastrously Builds a Navy

by Dr. John C. Hulsman
Hulsman

The Dangerous Mirage of the Promised Land Fallacy

Distantly related to the losing gambler’s syndrome is the promised land fallacy, the naïve view that one attribute of power or one strategy is sufficient to overcome the complexity of the world and—in silver bullet-like fashion—change the terms of the geopolitical game. In essence, it’s the very human effort to falsely manufacture a game-changing strategy rather than recognising that game-changing events generally happen organically.

Political risk analysts throughout the ages, frustrated by the constraints of living in the world as they have found it, are often highly susceptible to dreaming up analysis designed to liberate them from the shackles of reality. Ruinously, reality always wins.

In the years following the innovative genius of British Prime Minister Lord Robert Salisbury’s foreign policy, Anglo-German relations nevertheless spiraled out of control. No one was more responsible for this than Admiral Alfred von Tirpitz, whose wrong-headed promised land strategy to supersede the British navy instead led Germany directly over the cliff into the charnel house of the Great War.

For Wilhelmine Germany, the building of a fleet from scratch to challenge the mighty Royal Navy was meant to be the country’s ticket to its place in the sun. The German political and military elite, frustrated that the world (especially haughty Great Britain) failed to recognise the ascension of Germany to Great Power status, set about rushing the forces of history, rather than merely waiting for their yearly relative gains in global power to become apparent over time. Already possessing the greatest army in the world, the Kaiser became intent on building a threatening navy.

Instead of heralding an era of German dominance, the elite in Berlin unwittingly started a process that led to its doom. The naval race awoke an alarmed London to the coming German threat to its position as the single greatest power in the world (though one in relative decline), a fact that helped directly lead to war and ruinous German defeat. Far from leading to the promised land, this approach puts political risk analysts forever at the mercy of the latest intellectual fad, often leading to simplistic analysis that doesn’t stand up to the realities of a complicated world.

Von Tirpitz Recklessly Challenges British Naval Dominance

Grand Admiral Alfred von Tirpitz became the living embodiment of the Kaiser’s drive to build a world-class navy, almost from scratch. Born March 19, 1849, pictures of von Tirpitz show a man looking like nothing so much as an enraged walrus, with his long, flowing beard, fierce eyes, and stern countenance.

Yet von Tirpitz was much more than this caricature of a stiff-necked Prussian. For one thing, he knew the English personally and well, spoke the language fluently, and even sent his two daughters to the prestigious Cheltenham Ladies’ College. For another, von Tirpitz rose through the German navy’s ranks largely through his own merits, something unheard of at the time. Tirpitz, for all the Prussian glowering, was essentially a creative, outward-looking, self-made man.

In 1897, von Tirpitz was made head of the powerful Imperial Navy Office, an unassailable bureaucratic perch that allowed him to relentlessly focus on making the German navy a force to be reckoned with; he was to remain central to German naval thinking until 1916. His primary strategic recommendation was that Germany must build as many battleships as possible and challenge British naval hegemony. Initially, von Tirpitz advocated the creation of two squadrons of eight battleships, plus a fleet flagship and two reserves.

Between 1898 and 1912, von Tirpitz managed to get four naval acts through the German Parliament, greatly expanding the size of the country’s High Seas Fleet. Over time, his clearly stated strategic goal became to construct a navy that two-thirds of the size of the dominant British Fleet. In the narrowest of terms, von Tirpitz was successful, in that he took the very meagre German navy he had inherited in the 1890s and transformed it into a world-class force.

The Germans miscalculate

The irony was that, for both von Tirpitz and the Kaiser, the German naval build-up was essentially defensive in nature. They did not wish to overwhelm Britain as a revolutionary power, but merely to be taken seriously by it as a valued guarantor of the status quo. The von Tirpitz strategic plan was to build the world’s second-largest navy after Britain’s, announcing Germany’s arrival on the world stage as an undisputed great power.

In this vision, the naval build-up would get the Germans to the promised land, making the British see sense and accommodate Germany’s rise to great power status. Yet, as so often has proven the case for those whose political risk analysis leads them to adopt the promised land strategy, unintended consequences overwhelmed these initial goals.

In direct reaction to von Tirpitz’s naval programme, Britain (between 1902-1910) embarked on its own massive naval build-up, with the express purpose of safeguarding its naval dominance and seeing off the perceived German strategic threat. As such, von Tirpitz’s build-up, far from cowing Britain into supporting Germany’s overall strategic rise, instead came to be seen as a mortal threat in London.

Conclusion: The promised land strategy and unintended consequences

The unintended result of the von Tirpitz plan was to leave Germany in the worst of all possible strategic worlds. Its efforts to catch up with the dominant British navy narrowed, but did not eliminate, Britain’s maritime advantage. In an immediate, limited sense, the Germans won the naval arms race by whittling down British dominance. But the cost of this pyrrhic victory was exorbitant.

For the change in strategic circumstances was enough to alarm Britain into fundamentally changing its foreign and strategic policies, but did not alter the overriding fact that in 1914 it still possessed by a long way the most powerful naval force in the world. It was the naval arms race that persuaded Britain to wholly adopt Lord Salisbury’s evolving policy and instead look for allies to deal with what was seen—as the result of the von Tirpitz plan—as an increasingly malevolent German threat.

Unwittingly the promised land fallacy unleashed by von Tirpitz directly led to the closer Anglo-French ties that were to form the basis of the resistance to Germany in World War I. With Britain pressed to withdraw its Mediterranean fleet to its home waters to fend off the impending German naval threat, much closer ties with Paris became an absolute strategic imperative so as to safeguard (through the French navy taking London’s place in the Mediterranean) the Suez Canal, the jugular of the British Empire.

Britain, turning its back decisively on its nineteenth-century post-Napoleonic foreign policy heritage, formally allied itself with European powers France in 1904, and Russia, in 1907. Incredibly, the Germans—in pursuing their promised land strategy to secure in von Tirpitz’s words German ‘political independence’ from England—had instead forced the British into their eternal enemy France’s waiting arms, the worst possible strategic thing Berlin could have done. World War I was not far away.

Dr. John C. Hulsman is the president and cofounder of John C. Hulsman Enterprises, a successful global political risk consulting firm. For three years, Hulsman was the Senior Columnist for City AM, the newspaper of the city of London. Hulsman is a Life Member of the Council on Foreign Relations, the preeminent foreign policy organization. The author of all or part of 14 books, Hulsman has given over 1520 interviews, written over 650 articles, prepared over 1290 briefings, and delivered more than 510 speeches on foreign policy around the world. His most recent work is To Dare More Boldly: The Audacious Story of Political Risk.

John Hulsman on To Dare More Boldly

HulsmanOur baffling new multipolar world grows ever more complex, desperately calling for new ways of thinking, particularly when it comes to political risk. To Dare More Boldly provides those ways, telling the story of the rise of political risk analysis, both as a discipline and a lucrative high-stakes industry that guides the strategic decisions of corporations and governments around the world. It assesses why recent predictions have gone so wrong and boldly puts forward ten analytical commandments that can stand the test of time. To Dare More Boldly creatively explains why political risk analysis is vital for business and political leaders alike, and authoritatively establishes the analytical rules of thumb that practitioners need to do it effectively.

What’s audacious about political risk?
It’s a great and arresting word, isn’t it? It’s also entirely accurate. After the Cold War (though you can actually date it back to the Pythia of Ancient Greece as I do), the political risk industry seemed to spring fully formed out of nowhere, with leading businesses, multinational corporations, and even governments hanging on the words of erudite soothsayers, who in the tradition of the Pythia or Merlin seemed to promise the magic of uniquely understanding the present and the future. As a member of this select fraternity, I wanted to tell the true story of what is actually going on here, in all of our audacity.

Why did the notion of audacity inspire you to write To Dare More Boldly?
The curse of our present age is that despite the omnipresence of communication, no one seems to have very much to say. Certainly I have found this true in my field of global geopolitical analysis, of political risk. Instead, people with precious little to say describe rather than analyze, ape other ‘right-thinking people’ clustering around one safe opinion, so that even if they are wrong, everyone is incorrect together, and there is no accountability, no price to be paid for analytical mediocrity.

I was inspired to do exactly the opposite, due to my impatience with the present very poor state of imagination in the political risk analysis field, and empathy for creative figures like Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys, who in Pet Sounds bravely and audaciously swung for the fences, and in doing so re-made popular music. I want to do nothing less than the same for the global analysis of political risk.

What’s audacious about the book?
As was true of Brian Wilson’s work, it is baroque in structure, with inter-chapters pointing out the principles—our ten commandments of political risk—that apply across time and space and are truly universal, rather than artificially cherry-picked to suit my argument. For example, there is a chapter on the need to know the nature of the world you actually live in, where the power resides, and if such a system is politically stable. I look at the rapid, shocking decline of the Beatles (epitomized by the increasing creative frustrations of George Harrison) as my main example of what I mean. But there is also a fascinating inter-chapter on the rise and surprising durability of the Rolling Stones, a band who in the mid-1960s seemed on their last legs—as another example of how systems can determine outcomes. Emulating Brian Wilson’s baroque structure allows for a creativity, a timelessness, and a richness that a straightforward analysis would not have made possible.

Examples of pop groups are not the usual fare for books focused on political risk analysis or about practical analytical insights for businesses. Is this another example of the book’s audacity?
Absolutely. Along the way, and it is part of the cult of mediocrity which so pervades modern thinking, we have falsely equated being boring with being profound. I have the opposite approach, that Shakespeare is for everyone, that murky writing and thinking are indicative of bad writing and thinking, that the novelist E.M Forster was right and that the key to life as he said at the beginning of Howard’s End is only to connect.

I use examples across all of history, but ones that fascinated me and I hope my audience. The Greco-Persian Wars, the fall of Rome, the Assassins and the Third Crusade, Machiavelli and the Borgias, John Adams and July 4, Napoleon and Venice, Robert E. Lee and Gettysburg, Lord Salisbury and the British Empire, the fall of the Kaiser’s Germany, the Beatles and the Stones, and Harold Macmillan’s friendship with Jack Kennedy are all covered. But so are more immediate topics like Charles Manson, ISIS, Europe’s present crisis, the rise and rise of China, and power ebbing away from the west as the world becomes truly one of many poles of power. We have forgotten the powerful intellectual pull of Homeric storytelling, which this book is entirely based on. I hope my analysis is profound. But I also hope it is fun.

What does To Dare More Boldly put forward to creatively improve this intellectual wasteland you describe?
That’s exactly the right question. For if you are going to tear down the present, you must put something in its place, or otherwise what you are doing is just nihilism. To Dare More Boldly puts forward ten analytical precepts derived from the real world of history—our ten commandments—a ‘do’s’ and ‘don’ts’ list across all of recorded history that makes an analytical understanding of how to master political risk in the world possible. Rather than saying nothing or being laughably wrong (how many of my colleagues called Brexit correctly?) the book underlines that the present and the future in terms of political risk can be mastered for businesses by the following of such principles that have stood the test of time throughout and across history, the real world laboratory we all live in. I hope the book is creative and valuable both for businesses that need to master the confusing new era we find ourselves in, and for the general reader who rightly also wants to understand the times they live in.

John C. Hulsman is president of John C. Hulsman Enterprises, a prominent global political-risk consulting firm. His books include Ethical Realism: A Vision for America’s Role in the World (Pantheon), The Godfather Doctrine: A Foreign Policy Parable (Princeton), and To Begin the World Over Again: Lawrence of Arabia from Damascus to Baghdad (St. Martin’s). He lives in Painswick, England.