Sense Hofstede

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  • The argument for democracy is its mediocrity

    Any review of the argument for democracy as the best form of governance as a matter of tradition starts with Churchill’s citation in the House of Commons of the quote that Democracy is the worst form of government, except for all the others. I oblige. Its popularity shows how wary many people have become of democracy. Gone is the faith of Enlightenment that the sublime wisdom of the people would lead us to a glorious future once education would have been sufficiently perfected. Instead a disenchanted Churchill-like the-alternatives-are-worse attitude has taken hold of an elite that vaguely remembers being told that democracy is morally superior, but is increasingly hard-pressed when having to say exactly why. Even a partial challenge arising in the nineties from the Asian Values debate already caused great panic. Only the Asian Financial Crisis saved the democrats when it appeared just in time to undermine the credibility of the Asian Values proponents.

    Now the world is turning multipolar, the challenges to the democracy of the West will only gain in strength. This time it will take more than a short financial crisis to dislodge the counterarguments. Meanwhile, the structural problems facing the West only seem to become worse and worse, while the success of extreme right and populist politicians show a powerful desire for a strong leader to solve all the woes in one fell swoop. Unfortunately, less and less people are prepared to boldly state the case for the compromise-based, inclusive democracy we need. That is the following:

    The argument for democracy is that it produces mediocre outcomes.

    It might sound rather disappointing and of course: democracy as a provider of information from bottom to top, and as way for the bottom to be represented up high are both essential as well, but they are both not the ultimate argument for why democracy is the best form of governance. The latter point might even at times be present in other regimes when the leadership is particularly charismatic.

    It is very tempting to look at so many success cases of developing countries where strong leaders seem to have produced such impressive results. The smart and capable strongman seems to have lead his country to improbably heights by developing a system that is not entirely democratic But without checks such a system also allows the leaders to drive the country into the ground once their excellency starts to fade and the products of meritocracy become less suitable.

    History is about cycles. nunc obdurat et tunc curat Leaders and their genius rise and fall. Bad judgements follow good judgements. In democracies, too, good governments can be followed by bad governments. What is important is whether a system is capable of dampening the extremes of the inevitable highs and lows. In an autocratic or oligarchic system really smart people might in theory be able to achieve greater things more rapidly than you see happening these days in the ‘mature’ democracies. But those very same systems also allow less qualified leaders to destroy many things more rapidly than is possible in a proper democracy

    The points democracy is so often criticised for are precisely what creates this dampening effect. Socialisation into party machinery and the lagging effect in representation of shrinking societal support for a party sometimes seem archaic, but they create stability. Taking a true democratic decision requires taking into account views from a large majority of the people, necessitating compromise. Media and societal forces can make the government more cautious, but also ensure it goes not too far beyond what its citizens are comfortable with.

    Say there is a plant which grows best when the temperature is as high as possible, but dies immediately when it goes below zero even once. There is country A where the temperature during the day is 15° C and at night 5° C, and country B where during the day it is 35° C but at night -5° C. Land A surely is preferable if you want to have at least something left to grow. The days in country B are much warmer and the average temperature is 15° C, 50% higher than country A’s meagre 10° C. Still, even if it were one million percent better, in country B our precious plant dies when night falls.

    Surely, the outcome of a democratic process might not always inspire the greatest enthusiasm. But a meh view of politics is still much better than the thrill you get from the swift and well-executed destruction of your economy. When choosing a system to govern a country, it is imperative to think long-term, to think beyond the current generation. And that is precisely where its tepid results start to shine.

    Long live democracy’s mediocrity!

    NB: I purposely ignore the debate in developmental studies about democracy versus autocracy in developing economies. That is an entirely separate discussion besides this more general argument about democracy long-term.
    NB2: Yes, this is a pro-stability post: I could write a whole separate post on how revolutions often end up benefiting mostly the mobile higher classes and only hurt the downtrodden they are supposed to help, because they more than anyone are helpless without any system. (Unless the system is designed to kill or dehumanise them.)

  • Closed meritocracy in a segregated Dutch society

    It must have been a news article on the occasion of a report from the Netherlands Institute for Social Research (Sociaal en Cultureel Planbureau; SCP) where I read this interesting observation: the Dutch upper class is both very open and closed. This outwardly nonsensical statement could be rephrased by saying that the Netherlands has ‘closed meritocracy’. It is very possible to join the elite, but once you have been allocated to a group, the borders close. Subsequently, there is very little interaction amongst the different groups. This is the direct consequence of the Dutch educational system.

    Our school system in the Netherlands has three (four) tiers. After an optional stint at nursery school each child has to go to primary school for eight years when they turn four years old. An exam and the opinion of your teacher determines to what kind of secondary school you will go; your educational level is determined when you are twelve. In theory you can stack levels, but that rarely happens. Only the highest level, VWO, grants you direct access to an academic Bachelor.

    The consequence is that once you get into the right secondary school and manage to stay in, your membership of the middle or upper class is virtually assured. Starting from puberty Dutch children are socialised into their stations in society. This allows everyone, even those from humble backgrounds, to learn ‘proper’ behaviour and keeps them on track to finish with the rest of their cohort. It also clearly demarcates the boundaries between the classes. People who are part of the elite not because of inalienable birthright constantly have to signal and stress their belonging.

    My background is not humble, but it is also not spectacular. I come from a countryside family, and my brother and I are the first to go to university. In the Dutch system this is perfectly possible. Once we will graduate with a master’s degree, we will be part of the upper middle class. With that comes a set of thoughts, behaviour and social spheres that are very different from those of the world in which we grew up. Our meritocracy is open, because everyone can be selected, but closed, because the separation seals the groups off socially at a very early stage.

    Dutch society in the past was plagued by what is called the verzuiling, the ‘pillar-isation’. Everyone was part of their own group. You had the labourers, the Catholics, myriads of Protestant denominations, the urbanite left-wing, and so on. These groups had their own news papers, public broadcasters, social organisations, political parties, and even shops. Even though the other was better, my grandparents would only shop at the baker who went to their church.

    These denominational pillars are gone now. But commentators argue, and I agree, that a new kind of pillar system has come up: education. Whereas in the past people with different educational levels could be found in one pillar, these days different educational classes lead different lives. Papers and political parties seem now to be speaking to the world views of distinct educational groups—de Volkskrant used to be the Catholic daily, is now the paper of the centre-left elite—rather than of different religious or political convictions. If you have money, you go to concept stores, if you need to watch every penny, you shop at Aldi or Lidl.

    There is very little exchange between the educational classes. SCP research showed that people marry within their class, have friends within their class and live amongst their class. When I leaf through the country’s main tabloid I see a different country.

    The SCP argued that one important change with the past is that there are less people in the lower educated group that are there because they missed out on educational opportunities. Where I come from it was not uncommon in the past for parents to send their children to lower-level secondary schools than possible, because that was what befitted their station. Nowadays that would be unthinkable. Study finance and the growth of universities and polytechnics have done the rest. In other words: it seems that our meritocracy is working well, but because of that is only making inequality worse.

    The current situation of deep cleavages is not conducive to the solidarity that is necessary to keep up our welfare state. If there is no interaction amongst the classes, there is no understanding of what matters to people outside your own group. A clear example was the public outrage against salary increases for the directors of state-owned (because state-rescued) bank ABN AMRO of €100,000 a year. When the bankers appeared before a parliamentary commission they were incredulous. To them it seemed very reasonable.

    Worse is that empathy is necessary for the good functioning of our government. Policy makers need to have some relation to the life world of all classes in our society. If voters all live in their own world, they will drive their parties to different extremes and be estranged from politics when inevitably compromises have to be made that seem inconceivable from the voter’s perspective.

    Another issue is that the meritocracy is not entirely fair. The primary school teacher’s advice matters more than the final exam when it comes to your secondary school level. It is a well-known fact that non-white pupils get lower advices than white pupils. When I tried to find the recent newspaper article to support this claim, I instead found one from 2007; this issue has been playing for a while.

    Moreover, social mobility is never absolutely blind to background. Children from parents with an academic background have higher changes of making it to university too. This is in part related to natural selection, but has also to do with their environment: better family life, more stimulation, better neighbourhoods with better schools, and so on. As the educational classes become more physically concentrated, this disparity will only become more pronounced.

    What can be done against this? Discrimination is obviously something that has to be eradicated via action. But if besides that our meritocracy works well, the education system ought to be left alone. Instead, we should look carefully into ways to weaken the walls between the groups. Perhaps one solution can be gleaned from officially multiracial Singapore.

    There, around 80% of all housing is public and the government uses that to enforce a policy whereby every flat has to reflect the ethnic composition of the population. The Netherlands, whose urban planning was a source of inspiration for Singapore, could be inspired in its turn: the government ought to make neighbourhoods a reflection of the educational composition of our population.

    Kurhaus and apartments at the beach in The Hague.
    Kurhaus and apartments at the beach in The Hague.

  • Reis door Korea: de laatste weken van de zomer

    Voor ik vertrok naar Korea beloofde ik hier om niet zo’n typische reisblogger te worden die elk wissewasje met het thuisfront deelt. Daarin ben ik geslaagd: ik heb in Korea welgeteld één blogbericht geschreven. Gefeliciteerd! Maar ik denk dat ze thuis toch wel ietsje meer hadden willen horen. Daarom, nu ik in een kleine maand al weer terug vlieg naar Nederland, een overzichtje van waar ik me zoal mee bezig heb gehouden in de afgelopen maanden. Eerst de zomer!

    Suncheon

    Zonsondergang bij de Baai van Suncheon (순천만).
    Zonsondergang bij de Baai van Suncheon (순천만).

    Toen ik mijn laatste teken van leven gaf, was ik nog maar net begonnen met mijn rondreis door het land. Dat is jammer, want wat volgde waren misschien wel de interessantste twee weken hier. Ik was net vanuit Daejeon aangekomen in Gongju en stond op het punt om verder te trekken naar de zuidkust.

    Daar zat ik drie nachten in een hostel in Suncheon. De stad zelf lag niet aan de kust, maar met de trein was je binnen twintig minuten bij Yeosu, een kustplaats bekend van het schildpadschip van admiraal Yi Sun-shin en de Expo van 2012. Maar het meest bijzondere uitzicht lag dichter bij mijn hostel: de Baai van Suncheon, een wadlandschap omgeven door rijst- en rietvelden. De zonsondergang die ik daar vanaf een heuvel zag tussen de ontelbare koppels, die je in Korea over ziet, was de meest indrukwekkende die ik ooit gezien heb.

    De slaapzaal waar ik sliep in Suncheon.
    De slaapzaal waar ik drie nachten sliep in Suncheon.

    In Suncheon ontdekte ik ook het plezier van het reizen langs hostels door Korea. In de zomer zijn er veel groepen of enkele Koreanen die ook door het land reizen, buiten de enkele buitenlander. In Suncheon regelden de eigenaar ‘s avonds het meest typische Koreaanse studentenvoer – gefrituurde kip met cola en bier – en op die ‘chicken parties’ leer je mensen kennen! Dan zit je zomaar in een bar met wildvreemde mensen in een willekeurige stad ergens in Korea.

    Daegu

    Een traditioneel huis in Hahoe Folk Village bij Andong.
    Een traditioneel huis in Hahoe Folk Village bij Andong.

    Mijn volgende uitvalsbasis voor vier nachten was de grote stad Daegu. Vlakbij is een grote Amerikaanse militaire basis en dat was te merken in het winkelpubliek. Daegu was zelf niet heel erg interessant, maar het lag precies tussen drie plaatsen die ik wilde zien in: het nog altijd bewoonde Hahoe Folk Village bij Andong, de oude Shilla-hoofdstad Gyeongju met haar vele oudheden, en de Haein-tempel waar ze al bijna zeshonderd jaar de bijna achthonderd jaar oude Tripitaka Koreana bewaren, de oudste en meest complete kopie van de boeddhistische geschriften in Chinese karakters. In het hostel hier kwam ik vooral buitenlanders tegen die Engelse les gaven, maar ook een Koreaan die leerde voor dirigent en opgewonden was binnen niet al te lange tijd in Amsterdam het Concertgebouworkest zijn geliefde Mahler te kunnen horen spelen.

    Busan

    Het strand van Haeundae in de mist.
    Het strand van Haeundae in de mist.

    De laatste dagen van mijn vakantie was ik in Busan. Ik had gehoopt op een rustige strandvakantie om bij te komen van bijna vijf weken non-stop wandelen, maar helaas begonnen mijn vijf dagen daar met regen en mist. Maar niet getreurd, want er was genoeg te zien! In Suncheon had ik twee jongens uit Busan leren kennen, die hadden aangeboden mij hun stad te laten zien en dus kreeg ik een dagtour langs een indrukwekkende tempel die haast over de rotsen aan de zee gedrapeerd leek, de VN-begraafplaats, waar ook 122 Nederlands liggen, en het drukke stadscentrum. Busan heeft onder andere het grootste warenhuis ter wereld (Shinsegae) en is de thuisplaats van het grootste filmfestivals van Azië. Toen het de laatste dagen ook nog mooi weer werd, leek Busan haast een leukere stad van Seoel!

    Maar zaterdag 23 augustus was het toch echt afgelopen met mijn gereis. Ik ging weer terug naar mijn startpunt: met de hogesnelheidstrein (KTX) naar Seoel om me daar weer tussen de toch altijd schrikbarende drukte naar de metro te begeven, op weg naar wat voor de volgende vier maanden mijn thuis zou zijn: de Universiteit van Korea.

    Strandwacht op Haeundae Beach

  • Drie weken Seoel, Jeonju, Gongju

    Inmiddels drie weken en drie dagen geleden landde ik voor de eerste keer in Korea. Wat volgde was een drukke tijd vol met paleizen en musea. Na afgelopen vrijdag afscheid te hebben genomen van een reisgenoot en een weekeinde bijkomen van de stadse drukte in het rustige Gongju, kom ik er nu eindelijk aan toe iets te schrijven over wat ik zoal heb meegemaakt.

    Vooraanzicht van het Korean War Memorial Museum
    Het Korean War Memorial Museum omgeven door de vlaggen van de deelnemende VN-lidstaten.

    Het grootste deel van de afgelopen tijd was ik natuurlijk in Seoel, vanaf mijn aankomst op 17 juli tot de reis naar Jeonju vorige week dinsdag. Seoel is een indrukwekkende stad met zoveel te zien en te doen, dat je aan twee weken niet genoeg hebt, Toch heb ik het gevoel dat ik aardig geslaagd ben: ik heb zoveel gedaan!

    Eerste hof van Gyeongbokgung
    Eerste hof van Gyeongbokgung

    Seoel heeft de Vijf Grote Paleizen en ik ben ze allemaal bij langs geweest: van Gyeonghuigung, waarvan enkel de troonhal herbouwd is, tot het groots opgezette Gyeongbokgung. Je kunt zien dat Korea druk bezig is alle paleizen te herstellen tot hun oorspronkelijke staat. Vooral bij het grootste, Gyeongbokgung, gaan ze daarin ver. De Japanse bezetters hadden grote delen gesloopt en voor de troonhal stond pontificaal het gigantische gebouw van het gouvernement-generaal. Dat wordt nu allemaal weer ongedaan gemaakt.

    Het is onderdeel van manier waarop een steeds assertiever (Zuid-)Korea zich aan het presenteren is: een trotse natie met een trotse geschiedenis. De paleizen zijn daar gigantische herinneringen aan en zijn daarnaast ook buitengewoon mooi – het is allemaal wat ingetogener en meer uitgebalanceerd dan het bombast in Peking.

    Dit nationale verhaal komt erg duidelijk naar boven in het Korean War Memorial Museum, waar niet alleen de slachtoffers in grote ernst worden herdacht, maar waar om de reflectiekamer heen een oorlogsmuseum zit met een martiale toon die je haast een beetje verrast. Heldendaden van strijders voor lang vergane staten worden met terugwerkende kracht in sterke nationalistische taal op één lijn gezet met de huidige verdedigers van het land.

    Jeongneung graftombe, in Gangnam
    Jeongneung graftombe, in Gangnam

    Het herinnert je eraan dat je in een land bent dat officieel nog in staat van oorlog verkeert. En die zin mag dan misschien inmiddels wel cliché nr. 1 zijn in alle stukjes die over dit land geschreven worden, maar je ontkomt er wel niet aan. Van de musea, tot de metrostations die tegelijkertijd schuilkelders zijn, en de dienstplichtige jongens die je overal in het openbaar vervoer ziet, in uniform op weg van of naar de basis.

    Maar makkelijk vergeten doe je het wel. De hoge torens van Gangnam, Yeouido en Jung laten een flitsende kant van Korea zien die nog eens versterkt wordt in het gedrag tussen de Koreanen en de talloze Chinese toeristen in de winkelstraten van Myeong-dong. Maar dan loop je ineens in een buurt waar sinds de jaren tachtig niks meer gedaan lijkt te zijn, of staat er ineens een groot boeddhabeeld buiten een tempel tegenover een gigantisch conventiecentrum.

    Op bezoek bij de Halmoni's
    Op bezoek bij de Halmoni’s in Gwangju

    Een ander deel van de geschiedenis kwam langs in een trip met een vriend naar de ‘House of Sharing’ in het kleine Gwangju even buiten Seoel. Dat centrum niet alleen een museum over het Japanse seksslavernijsysteem, maar ook het tehuis voor enkele van hen, aangezien de meeste na de oorlog geen gezin meer konden beginnen door de schande.

    Na een rondleiding door een gepassioneerde en goed belezen vrijwilliger, hadden we vijfenveertig minuten om via een tolk met de vrouwen te kunnen praten. Omdat het woord ‘troostmeisje’ &ndash want wie werden er eigenlijk ‘getroost’ &ndash te beladen is en ‘seksslaaf’ veel te hard, gebruikt men in Korea ‘halmoni’ (할머니), oftewel: grootmoeder.

    Deze trip was niet per se ‘leuk’, maar wel enorm interessant en leerzaam. Het rondsloffen door paleismusea steekt er een beetje schril tegen af. Qua gewicht kwam alleen de tocht naar de DMZ, de grens met Noord-Korea, een week later enigszins in de buurt, maar dat was toch veel meer een attractie, compleet met vrolijke muziekjes die tentoonstellingen met machinegeweren opluisterden.

    육회비빔밥, het beste wat Jeonju te bieden had
    육회비빔밥, het beste wat Jeonju te bieden had

    De trip van drie dagen naar provinciehoofstad Jeonju in het zuiden van het land was een welkome verandering van omgeving na de vloedgolf van prikkelingen die Seoel is. Samen met nog iemand sliep ik in een hanok, een traditionele Koreaanse woning, waar je ‘s nachts voor het slapen gaan je bed eerst moet uitrollen op de grond. Jeonju had frisse lucht, een feestelijke atmosfeer tussen alle Koreaanse toeristen – en wonder boven wonder een Nederlands gezin – en geweldig eten. Alles was net wat frisser, net wat lichter dan in Seoel. Alleen de kimchi is daar beter. Op een regenachtige laatste morgen had ik de meest klassieke ervaring tot nu toe, toen we in een oud theehuis langzaam een potje gele thee opmaakten terwijl de regen de bladeren in de speciaal vormgegeven tuin waarop we uitkeken bespeelde.

    Wandelpad over de muur van Gongsanseong
    Wandelpad over de muur van Gongsanseong in Gongju

    Inmiddels ben ik al via Daejeon naar Gongju gegaan, zo’n anderhalf millennium geleden een tijd de hoofdstad van Baekje, een oud koninkrijk, waar ik in een via AirBnb geregeld appartement van een particulier zit. Het uitzicht over de Geumgang vanaf de bruggen is spectaculair en de bezienswaardigheden zijn best interessant.

    Morgen trek ik verder naar Suncheon, aan de zuidkust.

  • Onderweg naar Korea

    Seoul

    Morgenochtend vroeg vertrek ik via Frankfurt naar Seoel, voor uitwisseling aan de Universiteit van Korea. Daarvoor heb ik eerst heb een dikke vijf weken om het land te leren kennen. Het beloven vijf interessante maanden te worden!

    Net als mijn reis naar Hangzhou van vorige zomer wil ik ook deze keer mijn blog bijhouden voor de thuisblijvers en de andere geïnteresseerden. Ik zal proberen het leuk te houden door er zo min mogelijk een droog reisdagboek van te maken – met die details kan ik thuis wel lastig vallen via Skype of de mail – en in plaats vooral het land te laten zien en wat ik onderweg leer.

    Met vijf weken heb ik ruim genoeg tijd om het land te leren kennen, maar dan moet je natuurlijk niet in de grote stad blijven hangen. De eerste twee weken is dat nu juist wel mij plan; ik blijf in Seoel om op mijn gemak te kunnen wennen aan het land. Bovendien is daar meer dan genoeg te doen! De definitieve plannen voor de rest van mijn zomer moet ik nog maken, maar één ding staat vast: 23 augustus meld ik me bij de universiteit voor mijn introductie. Dan zal ik Korea van weer een heel andere kant leren zien.

    Allemaal mooie dingen om naar uit te zien!

  • Ironies of history captured in photo

    Bijeenkomst presidentieel paleis

    The above picture shows the delegation of the Dutch prime minister, who is currently on a trade mission in Indonesia, meeting with their Indonesia hosts inside the Presidential Palace in Jakarta. The irony here is that Merdeka Palace—named after the slogan of the Indonesia struggle for independence, ‘freedom’—was built as Paleis Koningsplein, the residence of the governor-general of the Dutch East Indies.

    Where now hang portraits of former presidents, once were the solemn gazes of Dutch kings caught in paint. The very red and blue flag standing proudly in this room stands for everything that was prosecuted from here.

    The Delftware in the back and the Dutch colonial architecture show there is a historical link that cannot be forgotten. But it is clear that the tables are turned. Where the power of The Hague was once on display, the Dutch prime minister is now a humble guest, hoping to be noticed amongst other possible trade partners. This is the irony of history.

     

  • Speak out against trivialisation of the North Korean issue

    Today an issue played regarding a September publication in fashion magazine Elle that listed ‘North Korean Chic’ as a top fashion trend for this autumn. Small as this slight may seem, it is a good example of trivialisation that happens with regard to the North Korean issue. Look at those silly North Koreans in their retro uniforms and their retro concentration camps!

    One problem is the lack of realisation that what is going on there is seriously horrific. We are talking about a country where in the past few years up to 100,000 inmates have disappeared from the concentration camps, many of which presumably starved when the new regime redirected scarce food resources to prop up its support base. Regardless of the accuracy of that number—earlier reports talked about 20,000—it is still an incredibly crime that merits global attention on its own. Jokes about the outfits of North Koreas Army, essentially ten years of forced corvée labour for the men, is not fitting.

    However, of course is has not only got to do with a lack of knowledge, but also with defining a group so much as the Other, that empathy is reduced. Only that can explain the fact that things like the grueling, child-abusing Arirang Mass Games are filed under entertainment. Stories about sex scandals and executions are passed on like Snowden files at a journalist get-together, only for their entertaining value. We have to stop seeing North Korean lives as worth less worry and care than those of people we can culturally and physically relate to more easily.

    I believe that the above justifies that even such small issues such as the Elle gaffe should be addressed, proportionally of course. A few angry responses to Elle Magazine have already sorted some effect: the magazine has removed the reference and expressed regret. This is a good way to address this issue and I encourage every reader of news media to do the same.

    Is your news source of choice oversimplifying the situation, trivialising suffering or just being plain racist? Send a letter and show the editors that you care!

  • Dickinson on forcing democracy

    ‘But what proud nation will accept democracy as a gift from insolent conquerors? One thing that the war has done, and one of the worst, is to make of the Kaiser, to every German, a symbol of their national unity and national force. Just because we abuse their militarism, they affirm and acclaim it; just because we abuse their militarism, they affirm and acclaim it; just because we attack their governing class, they rally round it. Nothing could be better calculated than this war to strengthen the hold of militarism in Germany, unless it be the attempt of her enemies to destroy her militarism by force. For consider—! In the view we are examining it is proposed, first to kill the greater part of her combatants, next to invade her territory, destroy her towns and villages, and exact (for there are those who demand it) penalties in kind, actual tit for that, for what Germans have doen in Belgium. It is proposed to enter the capital in triumph. It is proposed to shear away huge pieces of German territory. And then, when all this has been done, the conquerors are to turn to the German nation and say: “Now, all this we have done for your good! Depose your wicked rulers! Become a democracy! Shake hands and be a good fellow!” Does it not sound grotesque? But, really, that is what is proposed.’

    — Dickinson (1916: pp. 77-78) has still a few words everyone considering military intervention should beware.

  • Hedley Bull’s downside of nuclear deterrence: not so stable after all

    Students of International Relations are probably familiar with the concept of nuclear deterrence so loved by especially neorealism. Simply put, the utter and complete destruction that today’s nuclear weapons are capable of, combined with second-strike capabilities, they say, create stability in the international system. Because attacking a nuclear power is too costly, no state will do so.

    However, in his book ‘The Anarchical Society’, famous English School theorist Hedley Bull highlights an important deficit in the line of reasoning followed here by the neorealists. Bull paraphrases Spinoza discussing Hobbes’ “warre of all against all”. The problem, Spinoza says, is that man has to sleep sometime. He can be sick or distracted or deluded. In the absolute anarchy of Hobbes, where there is no authority, this is incredibly dangerous. Because it takes only one good hit to kill a person.

    Note that it is the Hobbesian kind of international anarchy that neorealists hold for true.

    But, says Bull citing Von Clausewitz, war between states is not as immediate as the act of killing a person. It takes several different blows for one state to ‘kill’ another, but most wars do not even end in the complete annihilation of one party. This means that the anarchy experienced by states is not so Hobbesian after all.

    However, since states have acquired nuclear weapons, from a neorealist conception the Hobbesian anarchy seems to be more and more realised. Nuclear powers now have the ability to kill an entire state at once. How more states become nuclear powers, how closer we get to the kind of Hobbesian anarchy as described by Spinoza.

    So, Bull shows in an aside from the main line in his book, strive for nuclear deterrence might only increase the state of anarchy for a neorealist.

  • Ue o muite arukou or Sukiyaki – the saccharine Japanese song with protest roots

    Above is the sweet Japanese song 上を向いて歩こう (Ue o Muite Arukō) with its characteristic whistling. Known in the West under the virtually meaningless name ‘Sukiyaki’, this is the most famous version, sung by Kyu Sakamoto (坂本 九) in 1961. The song was written by Ei Rokusuke (永 六輔). When you read the lyrics, you see the text of a saccharine tune about love lost or desired.

    However, its origin is not as sweet. The composer wrote this song after he returned from a protest against a revision of the Security Treaty with the United States. Ei was so disappointed by the failure that he wrote the following words:

    I look up as I walk
    So that the tears won’t fall
    Though the tears well up as I walk
    For tonight I’m all alone tonight
    (whistling)

    The text was adapted and turned into a general tune that had little more to do with political engagement and it went on to conquer the world as one of Japan’s first successful cultural exports. As such it is already important. However, I find the context of this song also noteworthy.

    The early sixties, the period in which this song was published, was one of great turmoil for Japan. The occupation by the US was over, but the country was still in the process of restoring its full sovereignty and it was grappling with the issue of balancing sovereignty with very useful security guarantees from the US and a volatile society.

    At the same time, the Japanese society was also undergoing changes: the first postwar generation was growing up and the country was only on the outset of the huge economic growth that would later make Japan so huge. The political climate was fraught with tension while the left battled the right. The on-stage assassination of socialist leader Asanuma Inejirō (浅沼 稲次郎) serves as a shrill illustration of this era.

    One grouping in this political tumult were the pacifists. Consisting for a large part of people grown up or born during or after the Second World War, they were abhorred by what had happened in that war, especially the atomic bombing. They—of course, there is no one ‘they’ here—did not like to be drawn into further conflict and were afraid that by choosing one side in the Cold War, Japan would risk being drawn into a new war. That is why they often demonstrated against alignment with United States. Apart from them, there were also leftists who were just against the conservative-dominated government.

    Composer Ei participated in protests organised by groups like these. It was about the failure of one such protests that he wrote this song. The tears shed for compromised sovereignty or neutrality compromised, I feel, show the emotional side of Japanese nationalism or patriotism.

    It is therefore somewhat ironic that this song did so well in the United States and the rest of the West. It reached the top of the charts, is still one of the best sold single ever and has been covered many times. Still, behind this ostensibly saccharine love song lies an interesting story!

    Sources

    http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sukiyaki_(song)
    http://www.learn-japanese.info/ueomuite.html
    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C35DrtPlUbc
    Best, Anthony – International History of the Twentieth Century and Beyond, 2nd Edition
    Totman, Conrad – A History of Japan, 2nd Edition