Thursday, June 22, 2017

The war for democracy and peace: a review of Adam Tooze’s “The deluge: The Great War, America and the remaking of the world order”



There are at least three ways to look at the period around the end and just after the World War I, from 1916 to the early 1920s, which provides both chronologically (in terms of the years covered) as well in terms of the relative size of the book, the core of Adam Tooze’s “Deluge”.

The first approach is “imperialist-socialist”. Not only is the cause of the war seen to lie in imperialist competition, but the carnage of the war as well as inequitable peace that followed it, are used as illustrations of the predatory nature of capitalism. Successful socialist revolution in Russia, and the failed ones in Germany, Austria, and Hungary, are only a natural response to such a system and a pointer of the better days to come. In other words, socialist revolutions directly emerge from the womb of rotting capitalism.

The second approach is “realistic”. The Great War is viewed like many others in the past and those that are yet to come, as a struggle of great powers for pre-eminence in Europe and the world. Most books written around the hundredth anniversary of the War’s outbreak fall in that category.

Adam Tooze’s book belongs to the “democratic” strand. The war is seen through the prism of the struggle of democratic powers (with Russia uneasily aligned with England and  France) against militarist autocracies of Germany and Austria-Hungary.

Putting democracy at the center-stage provides coherence to the book and clarifies the narrative. Not unlike in the “imperialist-socialist” narrative where the revolution is the “rightful” culmination of the war, here the same role is played  by democracy. Tooze discusses in some detail the democratic transformations of Russia in February 1917, Germany in October-November 1918 and China in 1913 and 1917. He describes a number of episodes that are perhaps not sufficiently well-known, such as the fact that Russian election for the Constituent Assembly (that was, after the elections, unceremoniously dissolved  by the Bolsheviks) was the largest exercise to date in mass democracy with three times as many voters as in the American 1916 Presidential election or that the number of voters in China exceeded 20 million vs. only 1 million in Japan.

But using as the central theme the struggle that pitted the “freedom loving” peoples of the United States, France and England against the Central Powers has its limitation.

The first is the already noted incongruent role of Tsarist Russia as a key ally. Such alliance can be much more easily explained by the appeal either to the “imperialist-socialist” narrative or to the “realistic” narrative. Within Tooze’s approach, the February revolution plays the role that the October revolution plays in the “imperialist-socialist” narrative. The February revolution transformed Russia from an autocracy to democracy and thus provided, Tooze argues, consistency to the natural alignment of democracies against autocracies. But every realist could equally (or perhaps more) persuasively argue that the Entente’s support for the Provisional Government had much less to do with democracy than with Anglo-French hopes that Russia will remain in the war and not sign a separate peace with Germany. Likewise, the intervention of the Western Powers and Japan against the Bolsheviks  can be more easily explained by the fear of socialist contamination or by great power politics (approaches 1 or 2) than as a war of Western democracies against a nascent dictatorship.

The “democratic” narrative becomes quite threadbare when the question of  the peace with Germany and Austria-Hungary emerges. Suddenly, the new democratic, and presumably “freedom-loving”,  Germany is severely punished for the crimes of Kaiser’s regime with which its population and the freely-elected political class (the coalition of SPD, Liberals and Centrists) have decisively broken off. The inconsistencies pile up: if the war is waged for democracy why is the new Germany not treated as an equal of France and England? If the war should lead to “peace without victory” as Wilson famously claimed, why did Versailles treaty look like a Carthaginian peace, or to use a closer contemporary example, why was it so similar to the Brest-Litovsk peace that a militaristic Germany imposed upon Russia? Was not the zone of German influence in Northern and Eastern Europe envisaged in Brest-Litovsk  replicated in the French-dominated “cordon sanitaire” directed against Germany? If the war was fought for the right of national self-determination, why were many peoples denied it, many decisions so clearly made in breach of the principle, from absence of the plebiscite in Alsace and Lorraine to the ban of Austria ever rejoining Germany, not to speak of the non-existent right of self-determination for Africa and Asia, whose soldiers, paradoxically, played such a big role in Western allies’ victory?

What the Entente powers and the US did was, in the words that Harold Nicolson in “Peace-Making 1919” acribes to Italian observers, “to feel in terms of Thomas Jefferson but to act in terms of Alexander Hamilton”, in other words to divorce their rhetoric from policies. Hence the not unreasonable charge of hypocrisy that Adam Tooze, indirectly, tries to explain away.

          There are two other aspects of this extremely well-researched, erudite and well-written book, that may be worth mentioning.  One is the reassessment of Woodrow Wilson. In most of the books I have read (and this may not be an entirely random sample of the literature) he comes very close to the portrait immortally drawn of him by Keynes: a pretentious, preaching hypocrite. In Adam Tooze, Wilson has a much more sympathetic observer who, while not excusing all of his many wrong decisions, is cognizant of the conditions of the time and exigencies of politics. These “wrong” decisions do not affect the basic thrust of what Woodrow Wilson, according to Tooze, stood for: democracy, anti-imperialism, and a qualified national self-determination. Very American, moralistic foreign policy, with the warts and all, but still basically right—so much so that one would not be remiss to draw a straight line from Woodrow Wilson to Carter to Obama.

The second topic is Tooze’s description of America’s (somewhat) reluctant rise to the pinnacle of world power. Tooze argues that the global power of the United States was never as high as in 1918-19. Not in 1945, when, although economically even more powerful than at the end of World War I, it had to face the Soviet Union; not even in 1989, after a victory in the Cold War, when the Chinese challenge was already looming on the horizon.

At the end of each of the three big wars that the US waged in the past 100 years and which it all won, its power peaked, but never so much as at the end of the First War. That this power was in the subsequent twenty years dissipated and wasted because of many domestic and foreign policy mistakes is a part of the book with which I cannot deal here but is also a part that today’s US policy-makers (if any of them have the intellectual stamina to read Tooze’s book) may well be advised to reflect on.

Thursday, June 1, 2017

My response to DeLong and Pseudoerasmus


I am sometimes puzzled whether (very sharp) people so deeply immersed in their world and their thoughts, do not want to understand what the topic of discussion is, or pretend not to understand.

My post (here) to which both Brad DeLong (here) and Pseudoerasmus (here) strongly (and at times intemperately) reacted does not at all ask whether capitalist strategy to contain and defeat Communism was rational (ex ante or ex post) nor what conflicts could have been avoided, not even whether all conflicts could have been avoided and still the 1989 outcome would have been the same.

The stated and clear objective of the text is to argue that the current crisis of liberal capitalism is not something new and unique. It is in that context that I discussed capitalism’s actual (factual) response to Communist challenge. And that actual response was indeed a combination of the use of “power and intimidation” and "superior economic performance" that with time became even more so, compared to Communist countries. So my point is that in fighting off the challenge, capitalist countries used the means, domestically and internationally, that were neither liberal nor only peaceful. (They used, of course, the peaceful means too: e.g. supporting land reform in Latin America or providing World Bank loans).

But throughout the text I look only at the actual response and the actual means used, not whether these means made sense at the time or with the hindsight now, nor whether these means were better or worse than the means used by Communists. I am simply arguing (and I think examples are so numerous, some of which are cited by me and others by Pseudoerasmus; they are not worth listing here) that many of these means were violent and thus invalidate a vulgar Fukuyamian contention that the triumph of capitalism was achieved through the force of example and by peaceful means exclusively.

Tuesday, May 30, 2017

The hidden dangers of Fukuyama-like triumphalism



Tomorrow, I am attending a conference that deals with the decline of Western “liberalism capitalism” and how it should be arrested. In the past year, I have been submerged with articles and books that discuss the same topic. They come from all parts of social sciences: economics, politics, sociology, anthropology, geopolitics…It seems that you cannot write anything meaningful today unless you first address “populism” and the crisis of “liberal democracy”.

Throughout all of this I have had a strong feeling of “unreality”. Not only because the  people who write about the crisis live the lives that are, by far, the best lives in the history of humankind, but that the talk of the crisis seems vastly exaggerated. And I was wondering where does this extravagant fear, “the end is nigh”, come from. The cause I think, is twofold: lack of knowledge of history and more importantly the Fukuyama-like narrative of post 1989 triumphalism.

The post-1989 narrative that was, often for self-serving reasons, promulgated in both the academic and popular circles in the West (and in the former Eastern bloc for obvious reasons) saw the period after the end of World War II as a victory of liberal capitalist democracy that was not allowed to take place in some parts of the world because of the imposition of Soviet “glacis”. Once the Soviet pressure relaxed all these countries, and of course all the others (according to the triumphalist narrative) from Iraq to China, saw, or will soon see, the advantages of liberal capitalism and adopt the system. It was a very simple and seductive narrative. While Fukuyama’s original essay was based on important, Hegelian historical and ideological precedents, it gradually got watered-down into a simplified  Hollywoodesque story of a battle of good and evil—where it was even incomprehensible how the “evil” (except for its intrinsic “evilness”) was able to put up such a good fight for decades.

In reality, as even amateurish students of European history know, that narrative is deeply flawed. Europe, as it emerged after the World War II with fascism defeated in Germany and Italy, but its many tentacles present all over Europe, was internally deeply divided between the democratic and Communist factions. The former eventually prevailed but after having to keep in check, and often by very brutal and undemocratic means, one-quarter of the electorate in France and Italy, large organized trade unions linked with communist and socialist parties in most of Continental Europe, all the while supporting capitalist dictatorial regimes in most of the Mediterranean Europe and in places as far away as Chile, Guatemala, Taiwan and South Korea. And not to mention fighting innumerable colonialist and post-colonialist wars where the “liberal democracies” invariably and not accidentally supported the “bad” guys : from Mobutu in Congo to Holden Roberto in Angola.

“Liberal democracy” was in a continual crisis, fighting for its mere survival, buffeted domestically by strikes, wage demands, RAF and Brigate Rosse, and internationally by the challenges of the Third World emancipation and Soviet influence. It fought off all challengers and survived, not because everybody, as the triumphalist narrative would have it, saw that it was a more “natural” system but because it used power and intimidation on the one hand, and superior  economic performance for the masses on the other. In 1945, the chances of democratic capitalism winning over the Soviet system were 10% (read Schumpeter), in 1965, they were 30% (read Samuelson, Galbraith and  Tinbergen), in 1975, they were 60%, by 1985, they were 90%, and in 1989, it won. So at the end, the system that, up to the mid-1970s, did not even dare mention its name (“capitalism”), because it was used only by the left and only as a term of opprobrium, could openly declare what it was and hyphenate it, dubiously, with the adjective of “liberal”.

When you have in your mind this (I think) much more accurate narrative of the past half-century, the current crisis can only be seen as one of the many crises of capitalism. Like a swimmer that at times goes down under water when  the winds are high and then reemerges when the winds die down, liberal capitalism is now going through one of its periodic episodes of withdrawal and weakness. There is no guarantee that it will emerge victorious from this one—it did not in 1917, nor in 1922, nor in 1933—but it allows us to think of the problem much more clearly than if we view the world through the misleading lenses of a continuous and conflictless march toward the chiliastic reign of democracy and “liberalism”.

This is where unfortunately the vulgarizers of Fukuyama terribly misled the young Western generation. Having had no direct experience of attractiveness and importance of nationalism, Fascism, populism, or Communism (the Orwell of “Homage to Catalonia” is never mentioned but the Orwell of the “Animal Farm” is known by all) they imagined that no rational human being could ever entertain such views.  The imagined that such beliefs had to be imposed from without—by  the use of extravagant force. So, they believed (in part because it also economically suited them as many of them came of age in the last decade of the 20th century), that the foreordained teleological march toward the system about which their parents and grandparents entertained serious doubts, could no longer be forestalled. When the march deviated from the planned course, they panicked. But they should not. They should look back at history: historia magistra vitae est.