Diplomatic figures

Posted by louisclerc at 3:36 pm in New Diplomatic History Blog · Comments ( 0 )

Not to turn this blog into a series of obituaries, but two fascinating diplomatic figures have died recently. One of them is probably known of this blog’s readership: the French Stéphane Hessel, who passed away late February; the other certainly less so: the Finn Max Jakobson, who died on March 9th.

These two figures had a lot in common. They were both classical examples of a specific type of diplomat: the multilingual, cosmopolitan, worldly man of words and networks. Both were gifted with great intelligence and fascinating public personalities: while there was an endearing, youthful petulance to Hessel, Jakobson carried himself with, in turn, brooding elegance or the sort of British “service with a smile”-attitude one would expect from someone raised in 1950s London. Both were good writers, and had had full, tortuous lives between borders and languages. Jakobson was born in Viipuri to a Jewish family, before the city became a part of the USSR in the aftermath of World War II. His life unfolded between Helsinki, London and the US, first as a journalist and foreign correspondent, then as a Finnish diplomat, finally as a public intellectual, writer, and the head of a business lobby group, EVA. In 1960s-1970s Finland, he was surprisingly cosmopolitan and unabashedly capitalist. The life of Berlin-born Hessel was an even more bewildering maze of people, places, countries, religions. With a father of Jewish origins and a protestant mother, he had grown between Germany and France, settling in France and to an eventful life between World War II and a post-war career in the French diplomatic services. Both worked in the UN: Hessel in the late 1940s as a modest “errand boy” (his terms); Jakobson in the late 1960s as Finland’s permanent representative.

Hessel was known in France by those with an interest in public affairs, but he came to a wider fame in his later years, with the publication in 2010 of his pamphlet Indignez-vous! (translated in English as Time for outrage!).  The retired diplomat, resistance fighter, death camp survivor, became the grand old man of engagement against injustice, the elegant and soft-spoken godfather of all indignados. Notwithstanding the merits and defaults of this short text, it gave one the occasion to dig deeper into the man’s life and listen to what he had to say about his diplomatic work. France Culture, an operation of the French public radio broadcaster Radio France, did part of the job by re-running a series of interviews Hessel did in 1988 with the journalist Bernard Pingaud. In the second installment of the series, Hessel comes back on the first years of the UN with great candor, and I noted at least two things. First, he insisted on the enthusiasm and energy that characterized the early years of the organization. Hessel describes an unlikely cast of all nationalities, trades and ways of life gathered in New York around the conviction that a new international environment was in the making, that would topple down the old states. For a young French diplomat who had fought in the resistance, New York was one of the obvious places to be, and the UN was a calling. Hessel describes the role of jurists like René Cassin, political figures like Eleanor Roosevelt (for whom he has no compliments strong enough) and others. But, and this is the second thing, the disillusion was quick, and Hessel’s decision in 1951 to ask his transfer to Paris comes from this disappointment. The resilience of the nation-states, he concludes, forced those who stayed, the “international civil servants”, “to feel happiness when anything, however small, succeeds – because they see modest steps towards an international society in even the smallest things, born after the most gruesome debates, through the most difficult compromises.” This part of the interview is a fascinating dive in the mind of  “multilateral diplomats”.

One would never associate Jakobson with this kind of elated hopes and enthusiasm. If he worked also in the UN, he was there always very clearly as Finland’s representative, and as a cold warrior born and bred, was always more tuned to the thoughts of a Henry Kissinger or a Raymond Aron. He also shared with those two the same taste for elegant, witty writing, dry humor, and the slight sneer of those who are always right – and, of course, he was often right.

If Hessel brings us something on multilateral diplomacy and the interesting world of the early UN, Jakobson’s story is a fascinating dip in the meanders of Finland’s foreign relations, political life, and “national image management” during the Cold War. After starting his career in London as a journalist, Jakobson joined the Finnish foreign service as a press attache, then in the late 1950s as the main responsible for Finland’s public diplomacy in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. He was the head of the Ministry’s Press and Culture Bureau from 1953 to 1962, then moved up the ladder to the Political Department, the UN as a permanent representative (1965-1971) and Stockholm as an ambassador. In all these posts he followed the lead of Ralph Enckell, one of the grand old men of Finland’s diplomacy in these years. Following Enckell, Jakobson became one of the most influential diplomat in Urho Kekkonen‘s Finland, and a master in the strange games of Finland’s “neutrality in the shadow of power” (to quote from George Maude). Jakobson’s writings over the year do give a good idea of his vision for Finland’s foreign policy. His book on the 1939-1940 Winter War works as a fine entry point in this vision, where Jakobson chastised the Finnish 1930s leadership’s “idealism”, insisted on Finland’s loneliness during the conflict (he would continue to write on Finland as the “lone wolf” of European politics), and advocated a policy of balance between West and East, devoid of grandstanding but conscious of the realities of Finland’s geographical position.

But in the frame of this blog, what makes Jakobson stands out is his activity as an indefatigable, proficient and clever propagandist of Finland’s foreign policy towards foreign and especially Anglo-Saxon audiences. Finnish neutrality during the Cold War had two parts: convincing the East, and convincing the West. Convincing the West, explaining the position of Finland to Anglo-Saxon audiences, journalists, academic, was an important part of what Jakobson did during his career – both in public service and after his diplomatic career ended. Publishing, chaperoning foreign visitors to Finland, providing information to the likes of Stanford University’s Anatole Mazour, reacting to anything written on Finland by foreigners were just some of the activities through which Jakobson worked to spread certain notions on Finland’s foreign policy. He did that naturally as a diplomat, but he continued to do it as a private citizen and as the head of EVA. For many foreigners showing an interest in Finland, the first stop during fact-finding trips to Helsinki was in Max Jakobson’s office. In the small confines of Finland’s public life, marked by a strong sense of common purpose despite differences in visions and interests, participation in this “national” work came naturally. Jakobson’s skillset was also precious, and he is a good example of a series of Finnish figures standing between the private and the public, working from the aisles, especially in contacts with foreigners, “on behalf of Finland” (Suomen asialla). While most studies on Cold War Finland have concentrated on the guys at the top, Kekkonen and his inner circle dealing with the Soviet top brass, the activities of someone like Jakobson was extremely important as well. For anyone from France, the US, or Britain, starting academic research or writing journalistic pieces on Finland in the 1950s-1960s, peoples like Jakobson, Keijo Korhonen and the like were obvious and practical points of contact with a little-known country nobody cared about. Their visions pervaded books, articles and publications, and contributed to make up “what was known” about Finland.

 

The Inventor of Diplomacy is Dead

Posted by Kenneth at 7:56 am in New Diplomatic History Blog · Comments ( 0 )

Allan Calhamer, the man who invented the board game called Diplomacy, has died. That his game reached its peak of popularity in the 1960s and ‘70s but appears to have gone out of fashion since may be of interest to historians. The game, according to Calhamer’s obituary,” leaves nothing to chance: there are no dice to roll (as in the comparable board game Risk, which relies on armies to conquer the world), no cards to shuffle (ditto), no pointers to spin. Instead it relies on strategy, cunning and above all verbal prowess.” It is set appropriately in pre-World War I Europe and the players are the then Great Powers. The game was reputedly a favorite of Henry Kissinger and John F. Kennedy.

They are just two of the more famous aficionados of Realpolitik in the second half of the twentieth century. Historians continue to debate whether or not they were much good at it. They probably would have found it difficult to enjoy this form of pleasure as unabashedly during the 1940s or even the 1950s when collective security was still in vogue. But something of that changed by the end of the latter decade. Matthew Connelly and others have touted the idea of a diplomatic revolution then which rotated the globe from a predominantly East-West axis to (or back to) a North-South one. These years actually may have marked the midpoint of that trend, which began at least two generations earlier. Some people may have seen the Third World struggle, as it was called, as a forerunner of globalization—that is, as the deeper integration, for better or worse, of former colonial territories with the forces of global modernity. Others like Kissinger and Kennedy may have just seen them as being up for grabs. Like any game, in this one there were meant to be winners and losers.

Calhamer was one of the winners. After a very brief time in his country’s diplomatic corps, he settled into the quiet life of a postman. Meanwhile his game sold more than 300,000 copies and was admitted to Games magazine’s Hall of Fame.

Concerned citizens and secret operatives?

Posted by louisclerc at 8:02 pm in New Diplomatic History Blog · Comments ( 0 )

The French scene provided recently two archetypes of informal “diplomats” and other operatives: the concerned citizen, and the dubious cast of private operatives, politicians, diplomats and soldiers one can find around “intelligence” or “secret” issues.

Saturday last week, the family of AQMI-held French hostage Pierre Legrand set a video online asking the group to propose something regarding the fate of Legrand and his three colleagues, whe were all kidnapped in 2010. In the video, Pierre Legrand’s brother Clément addresses AQMi – could it be that direct contacts or this kind would prove more efficient than what the French state has been attempting to do? The Legrand family’s video, however, seems to be more about domestic than international politics; its message is addressed to the government, asking for more involvment in a case that drags on. If technological change, globalization and the new role of technological media have made possible the direct intervention of concerned citizens in international relations, it is still difficult to reach results without the channels of official diplomacy. Clément Legrand’s video exerts public pressure, not so much on AQMI than on the French state.

Hostage situations, that happen at the crossroad between public and private, open and secret, legal and illegal, diplomacy and intelligence, naturally bring to the fore an undefined cast of informal actors used as relays between governments and the groups holding hostages. A recent documentary on three French journalists held hostages in Iraq presented a wonderful series of such archetypes. The documentary evoked the kidnapping and eventual liberation of three French reporters between 2004 and 2005: Christian Chesnot, Georges Malbrunot and their iraqi driver were kidnapped in August 2004 and liberated in December; Florence Aubenas and her guide Hussein Hanoun were kidnapped in January 2005 and liberated in June. The documentary described the negotiations prior to their liberation, especially presenting the actors on the French side.

On the official side, one could meet an impressive cast of diplomats with ties in the intelligence community. First was Pierre Brochand, a former diplomat, then head of the French Directorate-General for External Security (DGSE); second came his colleague Bernard Bajolet, the then French ambassador in Irak, fluent both in Arabic and in the meanders of intelligence, Irak, and diplomacy. Those were two specialists, in-between the diplomatic and intelligence communities, who didn’t seem to get along too well with two other actors, “les abrutis” in Brochand’s terms. First of all Philippe Brett, archetype of the shabby in-between with friends in high places, an overblown past as a “security adviser”, and an obvious desire to be involved. Second, the MP Didier Julia, well-versed in Iraki matters under Sadam Hussein, former friend of Tariq Aziz, and “ready to help”. In the case of Chesnot and Malbrunot, Brett and Julia involved themselves seemingly without asking anyone; Brett would even pretend for a while that he managed to obtain the hostages’ liberation, only to have to acknowledge that he didn’t…

It is easy to become unhealthily fascinated by these networks, their high-flying characters and dubious deals. But, if conducted with the necessary caution, the historical study of intelligence activities gives one a wonderful openning on diplomatic relations and a rather unorthodox “diplomatic community”. In the French case, Thomas Gomart, Pierre Lacoste or Olivier Forcade, for example, have worked to develop this area of research in the history of French foreign policy.

 

A cas d’école in informal diplomacy: Carne Ross’ Independent Diplomat

Posted by louisclerc at 5:20 pm in New Diplomatic History Blog · Comments ( 0 )

In August 2009, Foreign Policy blogger Michael Wilkerson decided to write a short piece about the intriguing organization run by former British diplomat Carne Ross, Independent Diplomat. Referring to an Associated Press piece and a few other sources, he described Ross’s outfit as diplomats-for-a-fee, professional lobbyists providing unrecognized international entities with the know-how and networks they need to bring up their cases in international arenas. Money would come from either the clients themselves or from foundations and donors eager to help the international representation of micro-nations, autonomous regions, governments in exile and the like. Ross, who says he left the British Foreign Service in disgust after Britain’s involvement in the Iraq war, did not appreciate Wilkerson’s snarly tone. He commented, and Wilkerson shot back. Four years before, The Guardian had also published a long piece on Ross.

ID was brought back to the attention of FP’s readers this week with a profile of Ross and an analysis of ID’s activities helping Southern Sudan. The article, written by Cristina Odone, did a good work at, first presenting ID’s activities as groundbreaking, and then deflating it some. In fairness, Ross does most of the inflating himself: he has a knack for web-savvy self-promotion, and grand ideas to express about the democratization of international relations by private actors, the greediness and narrow-mindedness of state diplomacy, or diplomats as an “unaccountable elite”. An “anarchist diplomat”, eager to represent the small and weak in the bleak arenas of world politics. Odone, however, does point to a few problems. While Ross affirms that ID represents only “the good guys”, one would hesitate to qualify some of their clients as such: can the “Georgian dream” coalition, for example, one of their clients, be qualified as one of the good guys? ID is a non-profit organization, but running it might also mean accepting money from unsavory or dubious sources. Also, while in the conclusion of his book (Independent Diplomat, Hurst, 2007) Ross denounces the discrepancy between the power of corporate lobbying and the weakness of many public international entities, picking the good guys among these public entities might be tricky: integrity is ID’s source of legitimacy, but keeping it might be difficult. Such an outfit might also be limited to certain operations: while they provided Southern Sudan with expertise and networks to voice their concerns in the UN’s Security Council, it would have been a bit more difficult for them to weight on the negotiations where the recognition of Southern Sudan was decided.

Finally, Odone emphasizes the diplomatic conservatism of new world powers (China, Brazil, India, etc), that might be a barrier to the activities of the likes of Carne Ross: new states, or states arriving to new statuses in the world system, tend to go for what they see as the traditional way of doing things in the “diplomatic community”. In order to be credible, you have to “look” credible. One can see that in the case of Finland in the 1920s-1930s, with its diplomats eager to look, act, talk like the diplomats of old Europe, or in the first Soviet diplomatic service, that Sabine Dullin for example has described as strongly attached to forms and protocol inspired by old Western European powers. Diplomacy is not just lobbying for specific interests: it is also an artificial space where people with certain norms and standards socialize and interact. ID’s men know these norms and standards, because most of them are former diplomats. But they don’t really “belong” to this diplomatic space, especially since it welcomed new, more conservative actors – they act at the fringes of it.

In the frame of this blog, ID looks like a great cas d’école of informal diplomacy. The phenomenon and the reactions it triggered are not new. NGOs or personalities have done the same thing at different times, sometimes packaging their lobbying into a wider project for the international community: turn-of-the-century movements for international law and peace, for example, lobbied for the emergence of an international community guaranteeing peace. National lobbying for small nations in Eastern Europe also worked the same.

But there are also very contemporary elements in ID’s case. Ross’s rhetoric of grassroots global activism bears resemblance to some of Julian Assange’s musings: old traditions work as impediments to democracy and justice, some forces are deprived of representation in the world as it is, and things should be set right by courageous activists and grassroots movements. The erosion of the nation-state and its legitimacy as the center of international politics also gives a space for these kind of organizations: ID’s March 2012 communique announced that Ross would participate in an exercise exploring Texas’ theoretical secession from the United States… In this case, the confusion in terms reveals a contemporary confusion in notions: can the term “diplomacy” be used in what should be considered as a “domestic” context? There is the same interesting confusion in Ross’ book, where he writes that

“Every action, whether buying fruit, employing a cleaner, or choosing where to take your holidays is international, and is, in its way, a form of diplomacy. Everyone is a diplomat.” (p. 216)

This is interesting because it deprives the term “diplomacy” of its meaning: what I would call “international relations”, Ross calls “diplomacy”. But if everyone is a diplomat, then why would anybody need Ross’ organization? Maybe because diplomacy is still a particular space within international relations, strongly differentiated, and where specific know-how is necessary. Ross’ logic blurs all these lines, in a world where such blurring has become easier.

The end of the Cold War also meant the resurgence of small, semi-official local entities in need of representation but that do not fulfill nation-state criteria, essentially giving birth to an under-growth of international actors in need for representation. Ross’ organization also seems to work mostly in some of the many multilateral settings available today (the UN, the EU, etc). The scene looks a bit like the 1920s, with international organizations and a host of different territories with different statuses.

But, despite Ross’ denegations, ID seems to be mostly about lobbying, consultancy, and public relations activities by former professionals in a specific, highly technical field, with all the problems and dilemmas associated with that. We are switching a set of motivations (national interest, etc) for another one (belief systems about the transformative power of private enlightened activism, philanthropy, economic interests, etc) in a diplomatic system where old norms remain pretty much the standard. What Ross provides is expertise and networks, a sort of attorney service to international actors. His activities catch the eye because of the image one could have of traditional diplomats as extremely important civil servants, loyal representatives of one state. But in the post 9/11 transatlantic world, where notions of national bond are evolving and many are not anymore ready to shout “my country, right or wrong”, some diplomats might consider putting their skills to someone else’ use than their “own” state.

PS. Talking about ID just after a post on Martti Ahtisaari’s CMI brings interesting problems of classification to the surface. Both are clear examples of informal, private, you-name-it “non-national” diplomacy. But at the same time they function at different levels and in different ways.

Who are the best diplomats?

Posted by Kenneth at 3:14 pm in New Diplomatic History Blog · Comments ( 0 )

The award goes to the French, according to the BBC, reporting the findings of a sixty member group called the Diplomatic Excellence External Panel, convened by the British Foreign and Commonwealth Office. The panel’s criteria for judgment are traditional. Simon Fraser, head of the Diplomatic Service, noted that the French were considered “more organised … hard headed and focused on delivering the national interest.”

Would this have been the verdict five, ten or fifty years ago? Fifty years hence? Does it say more about how the British regard themselves (the UK came second in the survey) than about anything else? How do the standards of diplomatic skill and effectiveness change over time? In the United States, the received wisdom seems to be that they have declined since the golden years of the mid-20^th century, although this may not be the case. Given the uproar over the Benghazi tragedy, diplomats—at least some diplomats—would appear to be valued more than in the past. The French prize raises the possibility that the quality of diplomacy may not track the quantity of a nation’s power. It’s been said that those who can’t live by their wallets must live by their wits. Surely the correlation is more complicated?

“Semi-official diplomacy” case: Martti Ahtisaari and CMI

Posted by louisclerc at 6:45 pm in New Diplomatic History Blog · Comments ( 0 )

[Published originally at The Ogre of the Tale]

The first thing one notices when opening the Helsinki-based Crisis Management Initiative‘s website is the big DONATE button. Money, of course, is of the essence for an organization such as this. It was reminded to the Finnish-speaking readership through a long article in Helsingin Sanomat (paywall, in Finnish) a few weeks from now; under the title “A peace mediator with money issues” (“Rauhanvälittäjää riivaa rahapula“) was basically a long advertisement piece for the CMI. The organization’s executive director, Tuija Talvitie, showed journalists around and complained about the scarcity and project-based nature of the Center’s funding.

According to the Center’s website:

CMI’s main funder is the Government of Finland with a share of 53%. Private foundations and societies are also significant supporters (21%), as well as other governments and the European Commission.

The article quotes Talvitie saying that 15% of the 7 millions they needed for 2012 had to come from private sources and were difficult to come by. A normal situation for any University or research center, but the CMI is Finland’s leading semi-private peace-mediation organization, that The Economist classified recently amongst the four top players in this field. CMI has been created in 2000 by Martti Ahtisaari, former Finnish diplomat and former president of Finland. In the early 2000s, Ahtisaari was active as a mediator in ex-Yugoslavia, and for example in the Aceh dispute. He was awarded the 2008 Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts.

The Economist‘s piece gives a good run-down of the main issues involved in the activities of such “private mediation”, “track 2 diplomacy” offices as CMI. The article pinpoints four particularly active organizations:

In what has become a crowded field, the biggest players are: the Crisis Management Initiative (CMI) based in Helsinki and founded in 2000 by Martti Ahtisaari, a former president of Finland; the Carter Centre’s Conflict Resolution Programme, which helped win Jimmy Carter the Nobel peace prize in 2002; the Congress-funded but independent United States Institute of Peace (USIP); and HD, which was established in 1999 by Martin Griffiths, a British diplomat and former UN assistant secretary-general.

These organizations have interesting specificities. Most of the time they revolve around a prominent personality, ex-Head of state or diplomat, his network and reputation as a good will ambassador. This is not a new phenomenon, as the example of Fridtjof Nansen and his International Office for Refugees can show, but it seems to get a new dimension in the post-Cold War world.

These organizations also seem to work in an intermezzo between state-funded and private, official and non-official. Most of those depend on the states that host them for money, but also, one might think, for other resources: intelligence, personnel, networks, communication, etc. The CMI does not act completely in a vacuum, and if it cannot be seen simply as an extension of the Finnish Foreign Ministry, it remains very much in contact with official diplomats. CMI and organizations of this sort should not be mixed with “corporate diplomacy“, for example, or even with the work of classical NGOs. Contacts with state activities are important, especially in “small states” like Switzerland and the Nordic Countries, which have been classical players in peace-building and mediation. Amongst the Nordic Countries, Norway appears as the most involved in these activities, through a combination of tradition as an “in-between” country, political will and resources. The Oslo Forum of Mediators stands as a good example of Norway’s involvement.

As The Economist emphasizes, these organizations have a function. As non-official, they can act quicker and at different levels than state diplomacy. They bring different patterns of legitimacy, involvement, interests than pure state diplomacy. They make excellent mediators, good will ambassadors, fact-finders, first contacts and such activities lying either below the level where states’ authority and resources should be mobilized, or beyond that level. The feeling coming from the Helsingin Sanomat‘s article is that an organization like CMI has most of its daily activity in peace-building, expertise, disaster relief, reconstruction, and development aid. Actual armed conflict mediation or “diplomatic” work seems to be just a part of these organizations’ work, not necessarily the most important. Also, while Ahtisaari is still active, the Center cannot be reduced to just Ahtisaari’s activities.

These organizations form a very interesting field for studies, at least around two questions: their link with official diplomatic efforts, and the changes this semi-official diplomatic organization went through in the post-Cold War context. CMI has been the object of only a few studies, one of them Mette Vuola’s Master’s Thesis for the University of Helsinki. Vuola rises an interesting point: the need of an organization like CMI to prove its legitimacy and its relevance, mostly by emphasizing its specific expertise. She writes about the “marketing logic” through which CMI has managed to sell its activities as legitimate and worthy of consideration and funding by the Finnish government. This rises the question of a “privatization” of peace mediation, in a sort of parallel process to the emergence of private security contractors in and around the US war effort in Iraq and elsewhere. Vuola also emphasizes the term “semi-official peace mediation” (puolivirallinen rauhanvälittäminen) as the best way to designate CMI’s activities.

Ahtisaari’s case brings another problem: the link between diplomats and domestic policy, the way diplomats and envoys are perceived by domestic opinions. There is a complex interplay of politics and representations in that. Ahtisaari became in 2008 one of the most famous Finns abroad, but to many Finns he is a domestic figure with political enemies and skeletons in the drawer. A vaguely ridiculous follower to sportive, straight-up presidents (Urho Kekkonen, Mauno Koivisto), mocked for his chubbiness or his limping way of walking (the infamous “Mara Walk”), he also represents the diplomat and party apparatchik who rose to presidency as a surprise candidate, and the pro-NATO/pro-EU wing of the Social-Democratic party. Beyond these domestic political elements, one also gets the feeling of a vague suspicion linked with a wider doubt about diplomats, those in-betweeners between the national group and the wider world, that the most nationalistic can see as too worldly to really understand anymore or represent their own country. There would be an interesting link to be made here between political, social, national conceptions and the perceptions of diplomatic envoys.

Ahtisaari has given his version of the Aceh talks, his morceau de bravoure, in various places: Here, here, and here.

The Task Ahead

Posted by Kenneth at 11:16 am in New Diplomatic History Blog · Comments ( 1 )

Four years ago I wrote a short note in the quarterly newsletter of the Society for Historians of American Foreign Relations about the state of our field. I’ve been asked to update and expand upon it here.

The first thing to mention, and to question, is whether that appeal should apply to non-Americans. There’s no reason why it shouldn’t – at least in theory. Yet it is important to acknowledge the initial audience. Some American historians, like some Americans, tend to regard themselves and their country (including its history) as “exceptional.” The note was addressed in part to these people. It was an attempt, on the one hand, to challenge the basis for an obsession with novelty in the promotion of particular subjects and methodologies, an obsession that seemed to me at the time to be especially prevalent among historians based in the United States who neglect the consequences of intellectual spontaneity, bordering on amnesia; and, on the other hand, to suggest that neither Americans nor historians are the first and only people to succumb to fads, however much the plight of the “American diplomatic historian” seems an especially peculiar one.

It is neither peculiar nor recent, as even the most parochial of American historians, if pressed, are likely to admit. They know that the country’s diplomatic record did not disappear after 1815, only to reappear with a vengeance in 1898. They know that two oceans and two peaceful [sic] land borders do not isolate a nation but do the opposite. They know that American politics, society and culture have been among the most open, diverse and penetrated of any modern nation, and that many of these realities have been deeply dependent, and influential, upon the country’s diplomacy. They know that the fluid nature of the country’s institutions, especially its political institutions, has meant that the lines between “state” and “non-state” actors are often blurry, and that any proper diplomatic history must treat them and their roles honestly and openly. They know that where their subjects sit in or out of officialdom is important, but generally less important, than what they do and how and why they do it.

A few historians persist in promoting these distinctions in what one of them once confessed to me was a recurring orgy of scholasticism. They invent biases that dominate the concepts and questions that guide their work. They urge students to focus on this or that subject instead of another rather than on reaching the best possible explanations of how and why something happened or did not happen. The subjective quality here is almost perverse. To insist prima facie on the superior historical value of some subjects over others is to skew the historical record, no matter how rich the lives and stories of these “new” subjects may be.

In other words, the thrust of the note was directed against a form of subjectivity which, to me at least, seems connected to a parochialism so pervasive it hinders the work of even the most cosmopolitan of Americans—its international historians. For better or worse many of them must describe their courses as falling under the heading of “America and the World,” as if the two exist separately in time and space. They must uphold the state/non-state distinction alongside the normative depiction of power— “hard” is bad and “soft” is good—with the implication that to study the former is to condemn and the latter is to celebrate. The attempt to broaden and diversify subject material has merely served, it would seem, to deepen subjective bias.

These are oversimplifications, to be sure, and do not apply only to U.S. historians. There is nothing inherently wrong with novelty. And why shouldn’t we question and rethink the ways we “do history,” including our choice of subjects and our sources of subjectivity? That is why I suggested a possible way out of the either/or condition that has seemed to predominate in so many of these discussions: “traditional” diplomatic history “versus” international (and now, transnational) history; state “versus” non-state actors; war “versus” peace; and so on. The proposal was a simple one. It was an appeal to heterodoxy and a suggestion, for those who like novelty, to embrace the trend of network analysis. This would mean including all relevant actors as inhabitants of a society or system, and examining their “webs”—as the McNeills have urged—and inter-relationships in time. Surprisingly few international historians have done this until only recently.

There is more to this than sociography. Like any map, social maps reveal the realities of humanity, often in new ways. They can alter the standard chronologies and redirect attention to “new” areas and sets of causes. An interest in historical networks has been popular in Europe for some time and has begun to catch on elsewhere. The difficulty has been its conflation to a degree with the “non-state” actor category wherein networks are identified and described for their own sake. That really is mere sociography. It differs from other approaches (prosopography, for example) in emphasizing the “what” over the “how” and the “why,” which naturally has reinforced the paradox of subjectivity already discussed.

Inclusion and inclusiveness are generally good things. Thus the shift in Anglo-American historiography from “diplomatic” to “international” over two generations ago was also good. Where inclusion has given way to subjective hierarchies of actors, phenomena, periods, and so on, however, the impulse has merely perpetuated the shortcomings of its predecessors.

This is the root of the call now for a new diplomatic history. It is not meant to supplant the “old,” whatever that may be, or international history. It is really a subset of the latter, although diplomats—again, broadly speaking, include both official and unofficial actors and many others in between—may act inter- and transnationally, as well as nationalistically, all at once. The members of our network may differ on who is a diplomat. My own view emphasizes the functional or operational definition: the history of diplomats focuses on the people who perform diplomatic roles, which means anyone who imparts to himself or herself the role of intermediary for reasons beyond his or her own individual interests. They need not serve or represent states, although many do. They must, however, serve a set of interests, cause or collective unit above and beyond themselves, and which in some way involves the crossing of borders and the inter-relationship of political entities.

How does this differ from what most people now call international history? Or transnational history? These are even broader categories. International history relates to anything, animate or inanimate, that mediates (or fails to mediate) between two or more nations. Transnational history relates to anything that crosses a border or, as some would have it, transcends, or even transforms, a border into a borderland. The two differ from one another in that the former would appear to re-inscribe the nation-state, while the latter would diminish or overtake it. Both types of actions are possible in diplomatic history as I have described it. But unlike the other two categories, diplomatic history deals primarily with the human record.

To return to the initial point: to innovate is not the same as to renovate. American culture prizes innovation. This includes academic culture. It even includes historians, who should theoretically be among the more skeptical of innovators. None of this is necessarily fatal to sound scholarship. At the same time, some cultural self-awareness is in order. American history is part of world history just as America is part of the world. The burdens of inclusion for American historians (and historians of the United States, whether Americans or not) therefore demand a perspective that does not excuse the exclusion or marginalization of significant groups of actors in the name of scholarly innovation.

Put differently, it is long past time to stop asking, where are the diplomats? They have ranked low in American popular tradition and many are unknown historical figures; this is less the case elsewhere. It is all the more reason why, in addressing my letter to historians of American foreign relations, I sought to address the problem at one of its principal sources today and, at the same time, imply that American diplomatic history in principle is no more or less exceptional (and therefore ought to be no more casual or marginal) than anyone else’s.

Other historiographies may be more or less culpable of revealing the same sins of omission. This is for others to decide. Diplomats meanwhile may like their anonymity, but their rich and complex histories need not disappear from the record. Its standards of scholarship should be at least as high as diplomats’ own standards of performance. This network is devoted to filling the gap.

Visualize and Quantify Diplomatic Networks?

Posted by Kenneth at 9:21 am in New Diplomatic History Blog · Comments ( 0 )

[by Louis Clerc, originally posted at The Ogre of the Tale]

I just read this blogpost [fr.] by Martin Grandjean on the use of basic quantitative methods to organize data related to networks. Grandjean took as an example a series of Franco-German academic meetings in Davos during the 1920s-1930s, and applied various filters to analyze the data: the participants’ origins, their age etc. The result is a convincing illustration of the way quantitative and statistical tools can bring to the surface evolutions, tendencies, progressions that even an experimented researcher will have difficulties to perceive from the raw material.

There is an obvious connection with some of my research efforts linked to diplomatic or international networks. Let’s take two examples.

First of all, Leo Mechelin and his networks of correspondents. Mechelin was a Finnish national activist at the turn of the century, who entertained an impressive network of correspondents across Europe, Russia, Finland and the United States. What would quantitative methods of analysis and visualization tell us about these networks?

Second, Great Powers’ diplomatic envoys in the Baltic Sea area during the Interwar period. Here again, extensive networks with regular gathering places (the sea resort in Hanko every summer, etc) and contacts. Again, what would quantitative analysis tell us about their contacts, and the quality of their information? Did they copy each others, for example? From a qualitative hunch I would say yes, but it would be nice to back that up with a quantitative analysis…

Potentially, a good and seldom used tool.

False Hierarchies

Posted by Kenneth at 10:23 am in New Diplomatic History Blog · Comments ( 0 )

[by Giles Scott Smith]

Several interesting themes have been coming up on this site in recent months: the issue of explaining diplomatic behavior, the periodisation of history according to standard perspectives, the actor/activity nexus, the whole relevance question. I trained as an International Relations scholar, not a historian, which can be an advantage in terms of conceptualizing material, but a disadvantage in terms of missing the subtlety of historical characterization. Prosopography is new to me, but it looks like I’ve been taking elements of that approach for quite a while. One of the things I have exactly been struggling with is the way in which certain individuals can be ‘categorized’ as international actors – what is their identity, their motivation, what are their goals? Do these different levels fit together? How and why does someone put themselves in a position where historians might see them as worthy of ‘diplomatic history’?

An example is one of the figures I looked at during the Cold War conference in Finland in June. Willem van Eeghen was an entrepreneur, scion of a prominent Dutch colonial trading family, and economic interests were one motivation for his interest in establishing East-West links during the 1980s. Religion was another, and this fed into his broader aim – to facilitate peace at a time when nuclear escalation was threatening the European continent. For a while, the Netherlands was a front-line state in the decision to upgrade NATO nuclear forces, and the peace movement was a powerful force. Van Eeghen was involved in several peace missions to Moscow involving Dutch politicians, ostensibly to lay a path open for some kind of a direct dialogue on the nuclear issue.

The results were disappointing – the Russians did not seem to appreciate how they could make use of these overtures, the Netherlands being merely a small power between bigger targets such as West Germany and the USA. But what is noticeable is how these events have either been ‘flattened out’ in the historical record, or simply ignored. ‘Flattened out’ in the sense of them being just one more event among many in that period, and ignored because they don’t qualify as official policy-influencing input. Just as van Eeghen was partly shunned by his political ‘colleagues’ at the time as a diplomatic dilettante, so Dutch diplomatic historians have passed over his role as (at best) a walk-on part in a larger ‘high politics’ drama. Yet this was someone who founded a Dutch equivalent to the Dartmouth conference, and someone who set up a possible deal between Prime Minister Ruud Lubbers and the Kremlin in November 1985. This was a diplomatic ‘player’ for sure, but not one of the conventional kind, and both Dutch diplomacy and Dutch diplomatic history passed him by.

As previous posts have pointed out, much of this new diplomatic history focuses on the role of individuals, albeit within certain wider definable networks. By focusing on individuals, alternative histories can be opened up that contrast with the ‘official’, ‘high politics’ version. It is in a way another form of bottom-up v. top-down, although that only perpetuates the false hierarchies at work in the field. Better perhaps to think of bringing people, events, and linkages into focus that were either wholly blurred in the background or simply cut out altogether when the picture was edited.

Tinker, tailor, soldier, spy…

Posted by louisclerc at 1:23 pm in New Diplomatic History Blog · Comments ( 1 )

While discussing amongst participants in this network, one of the things that seem to endlessly fascinate us is the role of individuals in international relations – especially private individuals. Not official diplomats, but private individuals involved for one reason or the other into high international politics. What exactly is their role? To what extent can they act? And why?

I was recently reminded of these deliberations while attending a thoroughly enjoyable conference in the University  of Jyväskylä, Finland. The seminar was organized by the local History and Ethnology Department, and it dealt with East-West cultural relations during the Cold War. One of the conference’s presentations, given by Leiden-based Professor Giles Scott-Smith, dealt precisely with “private diplomacy” (I have no link to the working paper, but will add one as soon as I get one).

Scott-Smith presented the audience with four private individuals of Dutch origins who moved in the shadow of the Netherlands’ official foreign relations, working to advance certain ideas, and for some of them to create spaces of mediation between East and West: the ex-resistant, ex-intelligence officer Kees van der Heuvel, who used his networks to create contacts with Eastern European and Soviet diplomats; the Professor of Law Frans Alting van Geusau, founder of the JFK Institute in which he organized informal seminars between Eastern European partners and Dutch private or official interests; Rudolf Jurrjens, an Amsterdam-based Academic, main organizer of the Foundation for the Promotion of East-West Contacts; and finally, H. van Eeghen, the heir of a Dutch merchant family who organized meetings between Eastern interests and Dutch officials.These individuals worked in international relations as actors moving outside of “official” diplomacy (either informal or formal).

Scott-Smith quickly organized this fascinating gallery of portraits around their motivations, their links with the Dutch government, their means and  possibilities. He reflected on their potential effect on the mood of Dutch Cold War policy as well as on specific decisions (especially the 1985-86 decision to welcome US missiles on Dutch soil). I specifically gathered two things from his presentation. First of all, for several reasons, these people all seemed to share a certain faith in what Scott-Smith called post-ideological problem-solving; creating links and spaces of mediation between the two blocks seemed to them a way to concentrate on real issues, apart from grandstanding ideological issues. Second, Scott-Smith underlined two ways to look at the work of these characters: an optimistic approach, which sees these actors as useful in-betweeners able to bring enemies to the negotiation table; another, more “negative” approach would describe those either as potential spies, useful idiots subject to manipulation from one side or the other, or disruptive elements in the well-oiled movements of the diplomatic machine.

This presentation brought to my mind the categories and reflections I had been toying with while working on Franco-Nordic relations. These relations appeared as populated with networks and the kind of “private diplomats” Scott-Smith described in his presentation. One could isolate two clear cases and one a bit less clear.

The two clear ones are Paul Boyer and Albert de Lapradelle. Boyer was a French linguist, specialist of the Russian language, whom I studied mostly for his role during the winter 1917-1918 as a lobbyist for the recognition of Finland’s independence. Albert de Lapradelle was a French jurist, specialist and prominent defender of International Law, who assisted from 1899 to 1918 the Finnish national movement in their contact with the French government and international institutions. The less clear one is Raoul Nordling: probably the best-known of these three, Nordling was the Swedish consul in Paris for the first half of the 20th century. A consul, but also a businessman and before everything a citizen of Paris, a town he is credited for saving during the last days of German occupation in August 1944. All of these characters are interesting, and I have been waiting for a suitable time to study these “unorthodox” diplomats. Archives are hard to come by, though. De Lapradalle’s papers, for example, were taken by the Germans in Paris in 1940, then by the Russians; recently repatriated in Paris, they are still awaiting classification in the French Diplomatic Archives. Off-limits for researchers for the time being, unfortunately.

All these characters move in a fascinating interplay between motivations, incentives, networks, contacts, and loyalties. They are in-betweeners, lobbyists for a cause or an interest (often with an internationalist, humanist streak). Sometimes they are also useful idiots used by one camp or the other, or quasi-spies, the intermediaries doubling normal diplomatic networks and doing things official diplomats cannot do… Sometimes they also come across as crafty socialites who managed to reinvest their personal networks and natural skills into an unorthodox career path. Reading the way they present their own action is always interesting, but also problematic: working outside administrative diplomacy, they leave only a small paper trail, and their own accounts are to be treated with care. One of the main things one finds by studying these people is that they are often allowed to work only inside a specific context: change the context, change the people they are used to talk to, and their capacity to influence is dramatically reduced.

Nearer from us, examples abound. One of those is the epitome of the high-profile “public intellectual à la francaise”, Bernard-Henri Lévy. Recently, Lévy came to international fame as the grey eminence behind France’s decision to push for an overthrow of Libya’s leader Muammar Gaddafi. Not long after the conclusion of the Libyan campaign, he wrote a book and produced a documentary on his role in this affair. The book especially is interesting, and will be doubtlessly used by future historians as a document on this conflict – with proper criticism applied. Lévy is a controversial character, and not a little overbearing. The movie as well as the book literally burst at the seems with self-aggrandizement, and Lévy comes out of these “oeuvres” as the grand architect of Gaddafi’s downfall. The French President Nicolas Sarkozy and most “second characters” in the show appear as mere small fry to be observed, then persuaded by Lévy as he leisurely strides around an ailing planet. In a way, this presents an interesting problem linked with the criticism of sources: pretty much as we mostly know Raoul Nordling through his own diary, we know Bernard-Henri Lévy’s role in the Libyan affair through his own report.

One could very well imagine that Lévy acted mostly as the useful public figure of an operation decided around Nicolas Sarkozy, or merely tilted the balance in the direction of intervention – one influence amongst others. Like always, the matter would look much more like a dialogue between man and context – but of course, for BHL there is only one man: himself. One can’t blame him for setting his priorities straight.

Finally, check the program of this Jyväskylä’s conference. There were lots of interesting presentations on various cultural aspects of the Cold War. East-West relations came out of that as much more complex than one could imagine. The periodization of the Cold War also appeared differently when put under a cultural lens. For the student of the Interwar period, there also seemed to be a lot of phenomena resonating with or finding their roots in Interwar Soviet-Western relations.