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SMILE / HUNTER BAKER This photo was taken in March of 2012 in Havana, Cuba. This trip was part of a class in Tisch Open Arts called Topics in Cuban Culture, in which we studied the history, politics, religion and expressive culture of Cuba prior to traveling there. This photo is in Habana Vieja, or Old Havana.










DALA TOWNSHIP, YANGON, MYANMAR (BURMA) / NADÈGE GIRAUDET At dusk, a young boy walks through his village in Dala Township. Rice fields surround houses on stilts opposite the river from the city of Yangon, Myanmar’s former capital. July 2012.


























LETTER FROM THE EDITOR In its founding in 2010, the Journal of Global Affairs began as a small collaborative effort amongst a group of frien ds with shared interests and goals to create an integrative, globally conscious student-run conference, which included a supplementary publication. Three years later, the Journal of Global Affairs has grown into an organization that is truly Gallatin in its interdisciplinary nature: integrating symposiums, panel discussions and conferences, and film screenings with a publication whose definition of “global affairs� ranges from the political, the critical and theoretical, to creative expression and visual art. This edition has traveled great lengths to reach the point of publication. After working together throughout different countries, continents and time zones, our team pulled together to create yet another beautiful, thoughtful and synthetic issue. Our issue travels throughout Cuba, the Middle East, Brazil, Egypt, Jamaica, Pakistan, Malaysia, and countless other locations, exploring topics from terrorism, child soldiers, ecotourism, hip-hop, and the intense connections formed between places, people, and memory. Each article and each photograph portrays true passion and the hunger for intellectual curiosity that Gallatin encourages. Let this issue serve as a visual and literary journey throughout a vast and complicated world, seen through countless different lenses, stories told through words and images alike. Keep searching for more questions, keep writing, keep thinking, keep moving and traveling and documenting everything you see and hear and wonder. I am so honored to be editor-in-chief my senior year at Gallatin. I am proud of this beautiful and thought-provoking publication, and look forward to a fruitful and inspiring year. Happy reading, Anita Rojas Carroll Editor-in-Chief vii




Rapper Julio Cardenas, speaking of his introduction to hip-hop through the song “Boricuas on da Set” by Fat Joe: “ ‘ Conyo, ‘ta Buena,’ (‘Damn, that’s good’) I said when I heard it. It was a moment that touched my heart and opened my mind. I was hearing a lot of music from Miami radio, LL Cool J, 2 Live Crew, Queen Latifah, Monie Love, but the song inspired me. I thought it could really be the Latino-American-Cuban connection… When Fat Joe said, ‘ Oh, Boricuas, clap your hands, I started saying, ‘ Todo el mundo con las manos arriba, negros, mulatos, blancos.’ (‘Everybody with their hands up, black, white, mixed.’) That was the basis of my first rap, ‘ Hip-Hop Es Mi Cultura.’ (‘Hip-Hop Is My Culture’) It was an old-school rap, but it reached the people.”

- Excerpt from Close to the Edge, In Search of the Global Hip-Hop Generation

In June of 1961, Fidel Castro delivered his famous speech “Words to the Intellectuals,” in which he highlighted cinema, television and the arts as important vehicles for propaganda and “the ideological construction of the people.”i There is no doubt that Cuban culture and identity are markedly shaped by the visual and performing arts - a fact that has provoked much scholarly interest in the somewhat contradictory relationship between artistic expression and the state. An examination of history shows varying degrees of censorship and freedom in the arts, shaping a society in which the artist is both autonomous and dependent. The Special Period, from 19911998, resulted in drastic changes in every aspect of life in Cuba, including the arts, as well as Cuba’s position in the global market. It was an era of crisis, contradictions, and confusion, but it also marked the birth of hip-


hop in Cuba. Through my research, I intend to explore rap cubano as a manifestation of nationalism, identity, and sociopolitical discourse. Specifically, I am interested in its representation of the post-Revolutionary Cuban state’s relationship with art in the public sphere. I have found that these questions can be examined through schemas of race, socialism, and globalization. I will begin by analyzing the specific conditions in which Cuban hip-hop emerged, and by using the characteristics of the Special Period as a basis for examining rap’s representation of Afrocentrism, politics and the global market, and its expression of the conflicts of Revolution and counterrevolution, socialism and capitalism, race and nationalism, and autonomy and hegemony. Rap cubano is a genre of crossing borders and contradictions.


LA HABANA / NILI BLANCK It is a generational phenomenon that seeks to express the narrative of a displaced and questioning youth. Though the Cuban Revolution was generally seen as an empowering and equalizing force for most Afro-Cubans, the Special Period (1991-1998) subverted many of the Afro-Cuban revolutionary ideals of equality and nationalism. The demographic restructuring of urban areas resulted in an increase in racial inequality, causing AfroCuban youth to identify closely with the themes presented in American rap music. In the early 90’s, large numbers of primarily black Cubans were moved to the outskirts of Havana, resulting in a weakened sense of community and fewer economic opportunitiesii the same conditions that spawned the hip-hop

movement in New York. In the 1960s, black communities in New York were moved from their homes by slum-clearance programs and were relocated to areas such as the South Bronx. Displacement ruined long-existing community structures, and hip-hop became a way for displaced New Yorkers to voice their frustrations about marginalization and racism and to form new communities.iii People of all social levels were relocated to the Alamar district of Havana, but the majority were people from marginalized black communities and from slum areas. Isolated from the city, with fewer opportunities for employment and higher education, Alamar residents found it difficult to recreate a sense of community.iv The need to rebuild community and personal bonds gave rise to the popularity



of hip-hop music among the young AfroCuban residents of Alamar. It was also easier to gain access to Miami radio stations in Alamar and there was less social control than in the city. Cuban hip-hop was a local reaction to displacement and impoverishment. Although Alamar is considered the birthplace of Cuban hip-hop, rap music and hip hop culture also experienced rapid popularity in urban areas that mainly consisted of black working-class communities, including Old Havana, Central Havana, Santo Suarez and Playa.v The crisis of the Special Period forced the government to adopt policies of austerity in order to increase Cuba’s competitiveness in the global economy, but anthropologist and historian Alejandro de la Fuente argues that the hardships that resulted from these


policies were most strongly felt by blacks. vi The legalization of the dollar created a dichotomy of those who had access and those who did not. White people usually received family remittances from the United States, while blacks did not. In the tourism sector, blacks were usually excluded because they lacked the education or proper appearance to interact with tourists. Racial prejudice became increasingly visible and accepted in the Special Period. Inspired by racial democracy, the Cuban revolution attempted to create a “colorblind society.”vii As in many Latin American countries characterized by miscegenation, nation subsumes race in Cuba. Although the revolutionary government desegregated schools, parks and recreational facilities, and offered housing and education to black Cubans, it also closed down Afro-Cuban clubs and the black press. de la Fuente believes that racially-based mobilization was spawned by contradictions in the Special Period: “The revival of racism and racially discriminatory practices under the Special Period has led to a growing resentment and resistance in the black population which suddenly finds itself in a hostile environment without the political and organizational tools to fight against it.”viii Although the police brutality described in American rap was more violent and extreme, Afro-Cubans found themselves being subjected to more severe forms of policing during this time of economic crisis than before. It was not uncommon for young blacks to be stopped by the police or asked randomly for ID if they were out at certain hours or talking to tourists.ix Because of the increasingly tangible racism and class separation, the young black population of Alamar and similar areas were


LA HABANA / NILI BLANCK drawn to the militant attitude and powerful message of early American hip-hop. The young people of the late 20th and early 21st century did not live through the revolution’s most glorious days, even though their parents and grandparents may look back on those days fondly. These youth were disappointed and confused by the revolution’s failures to maintain their anti-racist and classist institutions. With American rap as an inspiration, Cuban hiphop began on the streets, in the parks, on the coastal avenue known as the Malecon, and at small suburban house parties called bonches.x Before 1994, the only significant Cuban rap movement was freestyle. With the help of the cultural wing of the official Cuban youth organization, however, rappers were able to

perform publicly on an open-air stage near the Malecon, called the piragua. Some time later, a DJ known as Adalberto created a space near the Plaza del Carlos III and Avenida Infanta.xi This was a turning point for the popularization of Cuban hip-hop, launching some of the earliest Cuban hip-hop stars, such as SBS, Primera Base, Triple A, Al Corte, and Amenaza. A network of rappers called Grupo Uno (Group One) came together to form the first Cuban hip-hop festival in 1995.xii Before elaborating on the relationship between state and music, it is essential to understand the roots of and the global significance ingrained in Cuban hip-hop. Ethnomusicologist Alan Duran calls Cuban and other Caribbean rap a “diasporic dialogue”.



While the first rap that many Cubans were exposed to was of a more commercialized nature, the 1995 festival featured many American rappers and introduced Cuba to an “African-American conscious” rap. The visits from American rappers, organized largely through a network called the Black August HipHop Collective, were essential to the formation of rap cubano. The Black August Collective originated in the California prison system in the 1970s as a link between different resistance movements throughout the Americas. The hip-hop collective specifically tried to create intercontinental bonds through black activism and hip-hop culture.xiv The collective’s goals are to “support the global development of hiphop culture by facilitating exchanges between international communities where hip-hop is a vital part of youth culture, and by promoting awareness about the social and political issues that affect these communities”.xv Early African-American rappers such as Talib Kweli, Paris, Mos Def, and Common Sense exuded an aggressive and powerful message of black militancy that appealed heavily to the Cuban youth. Sekuo Umoka, a member of one of Cuba’s biggest current rap groups, Anonimo Consejo (Anonymous Council), said “We had the same vision as rappers such as Paris, who was one of the first to come here to Cuba. His music drew my attention, because here is something from the barrio, something black. Of blacks, and made principally by blacks, which in a short time became something very much our own, related to our lives here in Cuba.”xvi In countries such as Cuba, Brazil, Colombia, and Venezuela, and even some African countries like Senegal, South Africa and Mali, black communities extract heavily from African American rap to address local issues of marginality and race, xii


no matter how different their region-specific relationships may be.xvii When young Afro-Cubans started creating their own raps, they used them as an expression of protest against the racial hierarchy, demanding social and political justice. Historian Paul Gilroy credits the somewhat fluid intercontinental transference of black culture, specifically hip-hop, to “an inescapably political language of citizenship, racial justice, and equality.”xviii Cuban rappers, through lyrics and performances, fight for the inclusion of young Afro-Cubans in the institution, asking the state to live up to the original promises of egalitarianism that are so central to Cuban socialism. Rappers (especially those who identify as “underground”) address the supposed race-blindness that exists in the official race dialectic and how this makes the hardships of marginalized communities invisible.xix By 1962, all discussions of race except those touting Cuba’s success as a color-blind society had been erased. The revolution had supposedly solved all racial conflicts. For this reason, identifying oneself in racial or ethnic terms, as opposed to simply as “Cuban” was considered unpatriotic. A husband-andwife rap duo called Obsesion, one of Cuba’s more well-known rap groups, referred to this silencing of race in their 2001 song “Mambi” - which refers to mambises, the Afro-Cuban fighters in the war for independence from Spain. Obsesion employs a spoken-word style and uses the berimbau, a Brazilian instrument, and water sounds to evoke the slave era and Cuba’s rural roots. Resulta q’asi Un monton de cualidades cayo encima de mi raza


Y muchos fueron en masa a pasar un curso De como no ser racistas. Se graduaron con honores y fiestas Y hasta el sol de hoy permanecen Escondidos en la frase esta: SOMOS IGUALES TODOS LOS SERES HUMANOS. (It turns out like this A ton of qualities fell upon my race And so many went in masses to pass a course On how to not be racists. They graduated with honors and parties And until today they stay Hidden within this phrase WE ARE EQUAL WE ARE ALL HUMAN BEINGS.)xx

Obesion describes the transition blacks experienced from being in a low social standing before the revolution to having “un monton de cualidades”, or a number of good qualities, when the revolution turned them into social subjects. Yet, the line “fueron en masa a pasar un curso/de como ser racista” suggests that the white revolutionaries’ dedication to anti-racism was mere lip service they paid to the ideal of color-blindness while avoiding the realities and racism of Cuban society. “Se graduaron con honores y fiestas” refers to the self-congratulatory and selfpraising discourse of revolutionaries who marketed the eradication of racism as one of the revolution’s greatest achievements. Part of the reason the young AfroCubans of the Special Period and the early 21st century were so disillusioned by the reemergence of racism and class distinction was the huge contrast between reality and the hopes of the previous generation of blacks that the revolution would mean the end of racism.

One of Cuba’s most lauded Afro-Cuban poets, Nicolas Guillen, wrote a poem in 1964 entitled “Tengo” (“I Have”) that listed the revolutionary changes that empowered blacks. Tengo by Nicolas Guillen Tengo, vamos a ver, Que ya aprendi a leer A contar Tengo que ya aprendi a escribir Y a pensar Y a reir. Tengo que ya tengo Donde trabajar Y ganar Lo que me tengo que comer. Tengo, vamos a ver, Tengo lo que tenia que tener. (I have, let’s see, That I’ve learned to read To count I have that I learned to write And to think And to laugh. I have what I already have A place to work And earn What I have to eat. I have, let’s see, I have what I needed to have.)xxi

In a dark satire of this famous poem, the rap group Hermanos de Causa (Brothers of the Cause) borrowed the title and structure to manifest the reality faced by young AfroCubans during the Special Period. Tengo una raza oscura y discriminada Tengo una jornada que me exige, no da nada, Tengo tantas cosas que no puedo ni tocarlas, Tengo instalaciones que no puedo ni pisarlas,



Tengo libertad entre parenthesis de hierro Tengo tantos provechos sin derechos que a mi encierro, Tengo tantas cosas sin tener lo que he tenido. (I have a race that is dark and discriminated I have a day that takes from me, doesn’t give anything. I have so many things that I can’t even touch I have buildings I can’t even step in I have freedoms between parentheses of iron I have so many benefits without rights, that I am imprisoned. I have so many things without having what I had.)xxii

The first line of the song is very explicit: “I have a race that is dark and discriminated.” The rappers then refer to the institutions the revolutionary government has supposedly provided for blacks: health, education, welfare, but say that they do not see them, cannot set foot in them, cannot touch them. The line “Tengo libertad entre parenthesis de hierro” refers to the hypocrisy of the revolution that Cuba fought to free itself from neocolonialism but whose victors now hold black Cubans’ liberties in ironclad limits. The last two lines, where the singer says “I have so many benefits without rights that I’m imprisoned/I have so many things without having what I had” imply that despite the material benefits the revolution may have provided for blacks, it has taken away young black people’s rights to speak out as an ethnic minority. The group Junior Clan has a song that asks “Para mis negros sigo preguntando, donde esta tu voz?” (“For my brothers keep wondering, where is your voice?”)xxiii Though the state controls virtually every


aspect of Cuban rap, it is very common to see songs that make direct reference to political authorities or the state, referring to police harassment, government corruption or the state’s tendency to silence any dissenting voices. One of the most notable political rap songs by an underground group is “A veces” (“Sometimes”) by the group Anonimo Consejo. In the song, Anonimo Consejo refers to corruption, the black market, and bribery within the government. Los tipos con “money” trafican en sus oficinas, Gritan resistimos y anda en carro noche y dia Robandole al pueblo como el alacaran a su cria The men with money traffick in their offices They shout “Resist” and ride around in their cars day and night Robbing the city like the scorpion his Young.xxiv

The rapper depicts the state and the police as criminals. Anonimo Consejo wanted to subvert stereotypes about crime, pinning these actions on the authorities instead of on the black population that is often accused of them. Government officials are depicted as hypocrites who employ the revolutionary language of resistance but in fact create a wall between themselves and the rest of society with their expensive cars and their offices. Anonimo Consejo accuses them of “robbing” the people. In the same song, Anonimo Consejo draws a link between slavery and modern times to demonstrate how a history of exploitation is still seen in contemporary race relations. The link between slavery and the modern day is a trope that presents itself often in global rap. Ethnomusicologist Paul Gilroy asserts


that history is central to African diaspora music: “it demands that the experience of slavery is also recovered and rendered vivid and immediate.”xxv Musicians use slavery as a metaphor for their current struggles. Hoy parece que no es asi El official me dice a mi, “no puede estar alla, mucho menos salir de aqui.” En cambia al turista se la trata diferente. Sera posibile que en mi pais yo no cuente? Today it seems it’s not like that The oficial tells me, “You can’t be there, even less can you leave here.” On the other hand, the tourist is treated differently. Is it possible that in my country, I don’t count?xxvi

Here the rapper points to the evident racial hierarchy that has presented itself in his country: police targeting young black people to harass, and tourists receiving special treatment. At a different point in the song, the rapper refers to himself as the descendant of a “cimmarón desobediente”, a runaway slave. The allusion to Cuba’s past as a slave nation in a song about modern race inequalities connects the rapper to his slave roots and leads him to ask the question “Is it possible that in my country, I don’t count?”xxvii Part of the appeal that rap had to young black Cubans was that it provided a venue for them to manifest their racial or ethnic identities: something that, due to the colorblindness of the Cuban government, was considered taboo. Yet, hip-hop was viewed as something specifically and especially black. In addition to providing a black voice, hiphop has also become a venue of expression for another voice that often goes unheard in Cuba: that of the black woman.

One of Cuba’s most notable female rap groups, Las Krudas, is composed of three black lesbians. Las Krudas insist that women are “marginalized by the marginalized, at the bottom, in all senses.”xxviii While male rappers commonly refer to slavery on a racial basis, women refer to slavery by machismo. Las Krudas fight against the objectification and silencing of the black woman both in society and in pop culture. The goal is to give black women subjectivity and agency. The all-female rap group Oye Habana (Look, Havana), composed of three members, commonly features themes of black womanhood and empowerment in their songs. Their song “Negra” (“Black Woman”) speaks of the physical beauty of the black woman that stands in stark contrast to traditional Western standards of beauty. Negra con mi bemba, No hay que me sorprenda. Negra con mi nata y mi grande pata, Negra… Quien dijo que por mi color oscuro Debo bajar mi cabeza? Asi soy yo, negra! Black woman with my lips There’s nothing that surprises me. Black woman with my cream and my curvy girlfriend Black woman… Who says that because of my dark skin I should lower my head? That’s how I am — a black woman!xxix

As in many Afro communities, it is not uncommon to hear negative or derogatory descriptions of typically black features. There is a fixation on “pelo malo” (“bad hair”) and even talk of “mejorando la raza” (“improving the race”) by having lighter-skinned children. Oye Habana wishes to subvert the stereotype



of beauty by presenting black features in a way that renders them beautiful and Apart from Las Krudas, Instinto (Instinct), Magia (Magic), and Explosion Feminina (Feminine Explosion) are prominent women in the Cuban rap scene. Inspired by Afrocentric feminism, they deploy race and gender simultaneously to create a specific space of empowerment. Female Cuban rappers use their personal style wearing African hairstyles and jewelry while writing and performing songs and raps with politically charged lyrics to project their individuality and confidence. Magia and Las Krudas are known for wearing baggy t-shirts, head wraps and clothing with traditional African prints on stage. Mariana, an underground female rapper, speaks of her desire to be taken seriously as a woman performer without fulfilling the stereotypical female appearance. Yo me nombro Protagonista pero En la pista y no en la cama, Como muchos prefieren ir de rapero en rapero para comer fama. Yo, Mariana, hago demostrar al mundo que la mujer cubano no Solo sabe mover sus caderas, Sino cuando se habla de hip hop Somos las primeras, Las realistas, Aunque seamos discriminados por Conceptos machistas. I call myself a protagonist but On the streets and not in bed, Like the many prefer going from rapper to rapper to gain fame. I, Mariana, will show the world that the Cuban woman Doesn’t only know how to move her hips But when speaking of hip hop We are the firsts, The Realists Although we are discriminated against


By machismo.xxxi

Mariana wishes to dispel the belief that the black or mixed race woman must be an eroticized figure for the purpose of the tourist economy: they are marketed as products for their lovemaking and sexual dancing. Mariana underlines the importance for women to create art, to be present in the hip-hop world, and to use their minds instead of their bodies. “I am a protagonist on the street, not in bed,” she asserts. She wishes to show the world that “the Cuban woman does not only know how to use her hips.” Women are discriminated against by machismo, and she is calling for an end to this norm. In many senses, black female rappers are the epitome of the original hiphop message. They represent a voice that is the most silenced, the most forgotten, a population that sits the lowest on social and racial ladders. They fight for change and demand justice with the same aggression and confidence as their male counterparts.xxxii Considering Cuba’s history with censorship, it may be surprising to the outside world how much rap is controlled by the state that it regularly criticizes. Yet, just as hip-hop emerged under extremely specific conditions during the Special Period that led to the Afro-Cuban community’s identification with American rap, the Special Period is likewise responsible for the somewhat contradictory relationship of state and music. With the fall of the Soviet Union, Cuba’s cultural industries underwent considerable transformations due to the decline in the traditional export market.xxxiii Culture itself became an exportable commodity, partly commercialized as a way of enticing foreign investment into Cuba. Through foreign licensing of Cuban records, overseas contracts for musicians, joint film productions with


LA HABANA / NILI BLANCK overseas companies, and foreign sales of Cuban art, the Cuban government was able to attract revenue. International projections of vibrant Cuban culture have been vital to promoting the tourism industry. “The international prominence and marketability of the arts has reduced the importance of ideological considerations for the Cuban government.”xxxiv This international marketing of culture has produced a “politics of difference,” according to anthropologists Lisa Lowe and David Lloyd. xxxv This “othering” of one’s own culture reifies the exotic features of a non-Western culture for the purpose of mass consumption: in Cuba’s case, Afro-Cuban themes that had previously been either marginalized or silenced because

of Cuba’s proclaimed “racelessness” have become more visible because the global market finds the “different” alluring. AfroCuban culture is being simplified and made into a commodity to be sold to tourists. The Cuban state, while in some senses creating more leeway for artistic expression due to this need to sell culture, still monitors and determines domestic cultural production. The Cuban state uses cultural expressions to its advantage “by partially incorporating them into visions of a revised revolutionary project.”xxxvi The Cuban state tolerates some counterhegemonic expression (in the form of critical art) because this expression can be deployed by and incorporated into official institutions to raise state popularity, set



LA HABANA / NILI BLANCK boundaries and limits, and promote a specific vision of national unity despite the growing racial and economic disparities of the Special Period.xxxvii Though early rap was looked at with much suspicion during the early 1990s because it was an import from the United States, the state gradually came to accept rap as an authentic expression of Cuban culture once Cubans started to produce their own music. Later, by adopting rap into official discourse, the state gained the power to exercise more control and limitations on its distribution. The relationship the Cuban state has with rap can best be described as ambivalent. Certain sectors of various state institutions try to build alliances with rap networks, and political officials sometimes attempt to appropriate transnational agencies for their own benefit. xxxviii

The state has formed its own record label, “Agencia de Rap Cubano”, which in the early days generally produced more commercialized or salsa-infused rap artists.xxxix Ariel Fernandez, one of Cuba’s biggest rap promoters and intermediary between rappers and the state, said that in the mid- to late-1990s, “the discs


of more politically engaged groups [such as] Obsesion and Primera Base gathered dust on the shelves of music stores and broadcasting studios, and the more commercial discs of SBS, with its dance-oriented mixture of salsa and rap, was heavily marketed.”xi Hernandez states that SBS was more heavily promoted because its qualities were popular and commercial, its lyrics were harmless, and it was good dance music. The state initially tried to promote more commercialized and less politically- or socially-oriented rap to try to undermine rap’s attempts at radicalism. Foreign producers were attracted to the sounds of groups such as SBS because their music used Cuban culture in a way that was accessible and enjoyable to the outsider. “The Cuban state exploited the commercial rap for its revenue earning potential, as part of a push to attract foreign funding through Cuban music and art.”xli At the start of the 21st century, however, the Cuban state realized that it needed to identify more with underground rappers, mostly due to the increasing radicalism that was starting to appeal to Afro-Cuban youth. Minister of Culture Abel Prieto put an emphasis on supporting rappers who were pro-Revolution. Prieto stated that he was impressed with the young rappers he had encountered, “the level of commitment they have to this country and the seriousness and rigor with which they take on real problems, and at the same time rejecting commercialism.” Additionally, the state realized how it could possibly appropriate underground rap to bolster Cuban nationalism and spin the messages to spread revolutionary ideals. Since race is such a prominent factor in rap, the state could take critiques of a colorblind society and market them as an image of Cuba as a mixed race nation with African roots. The state had previously been known


to use Afro-Cubanism as a way of promoting national cohesion during times of crisis, despite the long-standing idea that race was irrelevant. “In post-revolutionary Cuba, race has served the additional purpose of being a formidable ideological weapon against the United States and a source of domestic and international political support.” Since the Special Period increased racial disparities and led to some cynicism about the revolution’s ability to help Afro-Cubans, the state used these pronunciations of blackness to construct an image of national union and to regain popularity worldwide and nationwide.xlii There has even been a change in ideology which has led some Cuban officials to commend rap for showing the existence of discrimination in Cuba. Cuba’s Minister of Culture said, “We are supporting this movement because the vision of rap profoundly reflects our contradictions, the problems of our society, the theme of racial discrimination, and it strongly highlights the drama of marginalized barrios.” The 21st century has paved the way for more institutional support for underground rap, including state-supported concerts and festivals. Yet, this means the government gets to choose who can perform, who gets radio time, and who gets to release CDs produced by their agency. In 2004, Anonimo Consejo and other rappers complained that discrimination, marginalization and limited resources were just as bad as they had been years before. The government rap agency, instead of looking to give rappers autonomy, wants to create a dependent relationship. The rappers have to appeal to the state for funding and permission to produce work. Therefore, it may also be a possibility that part of the state “embracing” rap was a political move

to exercise greater censorship through institutionalization. Since the Ministry of Culture and the Agencia de Rap directly support the rap festivals, this means that the artistic process can be hindered by political control. Rappers are very aware of the increase of control the state has over music as this music is integrated into official institutions. Osmel Francis Turned, a rapper in Cubanos de La Red (Cubans of the Network), does not approve of state control and the lack of rapper’s autonomy. “Rappers can’t wait for the state to resolve their problems, because tomorrow I might say something that bothers the state and then I’ll have to forget being a rapper, because they’re going to tell me I can’t do it.”xliii Many rappers complain about not being able to appear on radio programs until they get rid of offensive language or dissenting political lyrics. Rappers try to take some initiative in maintaining their autonomy by releasing their own CDs or leaking their music online. Today, artists are trying to maintain their close ties with international rappers and agents so they can gain control over their own businesses and futures. The success and exposure of rap groups is almost entirely dependent on their relationships with official institutions, a fact that many artists feel negates the original purpose of rap as a creative and free expression of their generation. Rappers and young AfroCubans definitely appreciate the prominence Cuban rap has reached through state help, but they generally look at state sponsorship with suspicion and reluctance. Ariel Fernandez is worried that rappers will lose the autonomy they have been fighting so hard for, saying “Cuban rap will lose its essence the day it doesn’t criticize anything.”xliv



LA HABANA / NILI BLANCK This individual photograph within the La Habana series depicts one of the most caricature images associated with Cuba: vintage cars. A Havana series would be incomplete without a 1950s car.



THE TRIALS OF THE WRETCHED RHONDA KHALIFEH On Sunday, May 1, 2011, Osama bin Laden, the head of al Qaeda, the extremist group responsible for the fall of the Twin Towers and the deaths of thousands of innocent civilians both on American soil and abroad, was captured and killed by U.S. armed forces. In the aftermath of this monumental event, U.S. President Barack Obama made the following remarks: As a country, we will never tolerate our security being threatened, nor stand idly by when our people have been killed. We will be relentless in defense of our citizens and our friends and allies. We will be true to the values that make us who we are. And on nights like this one, we can say to those families who have lost loved ones to al Qaeda’s terror: justice has been done. i

Americans across the country rejoiced at the death of the man behind the most horrific attack on American soil since the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Yet despite the wave of jubilation that swept across the country, some remained somber and skeptical upon receiving the news of this perceived victory. It is not that these individuals were sympathetic towards bin Laden - on the contrary, they had been stubbornly insistent that justice be delivered and that bin Laden face the consequences of the atrocities he and his followers had committed. However, they remained critical of the situation and loyal to their values upon hearing of bin Laden’s death

for the sake of justice, despite their emotional inclinations. The doubts and questions they raised regarding the mechanisms used to achieve justice are not new to modern times. They are the same questions that have been posed time and time again by society’s critical thinkers since the Nuremberg Trials in the aftermath of World War II. The Nuremberg Trials were an attempt to set an internationally agreed-upon precedent in order to ensure that the tragedies of World War II would never be repeated. Despite this attempt, the years to come would still be dotted with men, such as Saddam Hussein and Osama bin Laden, who would pose a threat to the status of humanity and international peace. It seems then that the trials that followed World War II were not fully successful in leaving a long-lasting legacy. For it remains true that when faced with atrocities of monstrous proportions and horrific intent, the standard for the process of passing judgment on those responsible remains ambiguous. Although there are countless difficulties that result from the trying of those individuals who are horrifically unjust, it remains an imperative that a standard of justice is maintained that transcends any preconceived notions of the defendant. The significance of this position can be summarized powerfully by the words of the late Supreme Court Justice Robert H. Jackson in his opening of the Nuremberg Trials when he said,



The former high station of these defendants, the notoriety of their acts, and the adaptability of their conduct to provoke retaliation make it hard to distinguish between the demand for a just and measured retribution, and the unthinking cry for vengeance…It is our task, so far as humanly possible, to draw the line between the two.ii

To undertake the trials of the unjust with the highest standards of justice is both a testimony to the wrongness of the defendant’s actions and a reaffirmation of the purest, most ideal conception of justice. It is not necessarily the case that the defendant is worthy of such high standards of judicial processes, but it is critical that these standards are maintained so that humanity’s concept of justice remains untainted. In order to begin the process of assessing those convicted of crimes against humanity after World War II and the methods of justice taken against them, one must look back to the trials that immediately followed the war. The Eichmann Trial in particular raises numerous questions that are still applicable to modern standards of judicial processes. Adolf Eichmann, a German Nazi leader involved with the expulsion, relocation to concentration camps, and murder of millions of Jews (as well as others who were also declared enemies of Nazi Germany) managed to escape the clutches of his victors for more than twenty years before he was forced to face the consequences of his actions. What makes his trial particularly interesting is the nature of the proceedings and that it differed in several aspects from the trials that preceded it.iii The first and most basic aspects to be taken into account in regards to the Eichmann trial are the location and timing of the trial. The


Eichmann trial was the last of the postwar trials, yet the first, and only, trial to take place in the newly formed Jewish state of Israel.iv The fact that Eichmann was tried in a Jewish state often leads to the misconception that the central role the Jewish people played in the trial was what distinguished Eichmann’s trial from other postwar trials. While it is true that no other Nuremberg defendant was judged by a Jewish judge and prosecuted by an entirely Jewish prosecution team, the trial in this aspect was not so different from the other postwar trials held in formerly Nazi-occupied territories in which Nazi war criminals were tried in the location of their crimes by the people against whom their crimes had been committed.v While the localized judicial process would surely lead to conflicting feelings between “professional duties and national emotion”vi on the part of those involved in the process, one must take note that this internal conflict must have also existed in the other localized postwar trials, such as those that took place in Poland or the Czech Republic.vii The third, and certainly most concerning, aspect of the Eichmann trial that made the trial different from others of its kind was the process by which Eichmann was brought to Israel in order to be tried. Hannah Arendt, one of the most prominent intellectuals of modern times, describes this problematic aspect of the trial: Hence, the Eichmann trial differed from the Successor trials only in one respect – the defendant had not been duly arrested and extradited to Israel; on the contrary a clear violation of international law had been committed in order to bring him to justice…In this instance, Israel had indeed violated the territorial principle, whose great significance lies in the fact


that the earth is inhabited by many peoples and that these peoples are ruled by many different laws, so that every extension of one territory’s law beyond the borders and limitations of its validity will bring it into immediate conflict with the law of another territory. viii

The moral debate that ensued due to the kidnapping of Eichmann from his hideaway in Argentina in order to bring him to justice makes the Eichmann trial the classic example of the contradictory actions that often result from the attempt to bring civilization’s worst criminals to justice. As the final postwar trial, the Eichmann trial adds a somewhat uncomfortable undertone to the legacy the Nuremberg trials and other postwar trials attempted to leave behind. Furthermore, the trial unintentionally left behind the precedent of violating international law in order to bring an individual to justice. The premises under which the Eichmann trial was conducted, in addition to the rhetoric used by both the accused and the accuser, naturally lead to the examination of the purpose of holding a criminal trial and the circumstances under which legal punishment is necessary and appropriate. First of all, a trial must be founded solely on the pursuit of justice.ix Any other motives, emotional inclinations, or nationalistic loyalties must be pushed aside in order for the trial to be loyal to the notion of justice. The main business of law is to “weigh the charges brought against the accused, to render judgment, and to mete out due punishment.”x To allow alternate motives to enter the scene of the courthouse would deter the trial from reaching a just verdict that is in accordance with the rules of the law. Once a verdict has been reached,

the possibility of punishment can be explored. Arendt explains the grounds on which legal punishment is administered: Consider the question of legal punishment, punishment that is usually justified on one of the following grounds: the need of society to be protected against crime, the improvement of the criminal, the deterring force of the warning example for potential criminals, and, finally, retributive justice.xi

While these grounds are certainly applicable for crimes that occur under “normal” circumstances, it is difficult to see how they could be applicable in regards to criminals of war or individuals who have committed crimes against humanity. It is unclear what is truly achieved when a criminal of war is punished. The fact of the matter is that the circumstances under which crimes against humanity occur are so specific, and the crimes themselves so twisted in their intent, that punishing the individual responsible neither prevents nor encourages the repetition of the act. However, society’s sense of morality would now allow these criminals to go unpunished.xii The problem with trying and punishing those who have committed crimes against humanity is that the conditions under which such crimes occur break “all customary standards and hence are unprecedented in the sense that they are not foreseen in the general rules, not even as exceptions from such rules.” xiii In the face of such unimaginable acts, one is lead to question whether it is the very human conception of justice that is incomplete, or if mankind is unable to maintain this conception fully. In addition, the Eichmann trial, along with the other postwar trials, provoke explorations of the very notion of “crimes



against humanity.” The phrase was relatively new at the time of these trials, and it was only coined in the aftermath of the horrific atrocities that occurred during World War II. By World War II, the methods and instruments used in battle had become so highly developed that the previous notion of “criminal warfare” was deemed insufficient at the start. Instead, criminal warfare was ambiguously understood as an act of aggression that was “outside all military necessities, where a deliberate inhumane purpose could be demonstrated.”xiv However, this definition was not found to adequately summarize the magnitude of the crimes committed during this war, and thus a second definition, “crime against humanity,” was also adopted. The Nuremberg Tribunal took this second definition to be far worse than the first, for it represented what the French prosecutor François de Menthon called “crimes against the human status.”xv In fact, only those defendants who were convicted of crimes against humanity were sentenced to death.xvi Having examined the nuisances that resulted from the prosecution of men who had committed crimes that were previously unheard of in the modern judicial system, one can examine similarly controversial and difficult cases of crimes against humanity that have equally tested the judicial system and the limitations of the modern day conception of justice. Over the last fifteen years, the United States of America has accused two different men of committing crimes against humanity. These men, Osama bin Laden and Saddam Hussein, were dealt with using methods that the United States government wholeheartedly claimed were appropriate measures of justice. And while there is little dispute over the actual crimes these men were accused of, the


process used to achieve a so-called notion of justice is very much in question. It is possible to draw comparisons between some of the troubles faced during the Nuremberg Trials and the recent cases of crimes against humanity. Overall, however, both men were dealt with using a manipulated version of the rhetoric developed by the Nuremberg Trials in a manner that made a sham of the legacy left behind by the Nuremberg Trials. The credibility, appropriateness, and perceived success of the actions taken by the United States government against these men draws great skepticism from intellectuals across the country and globe. The first of these two men to be held accountable for his actions by the United States government was Saddam Hussein. It is interesting to note the extremely intimate relationship that existed between Saddam Hussein and the United States Government throughout the majority of Saddam’s reign as dictator of Iraq. Little known to most Americans, Saddam was scouted by the CIA in his early years to assassinate the Iraqi Prime Minister at the time, due to the latter’s sympathetic stance towards communism. xvii While Saddam himself was a classless “thug” with little credentials, he possessed promising anti-communist attitudes and with the mentorship and support of the CIA, he rose to become the “President” of Iraq. xviii In the decade that followed, he continued to receive decisive support from the United States and several other Western European countries even while carrying out the worst of his atrocities. It was only when Saddam overstepped his “boundaries” and attempted an attack on Kuwait that was not part of the American and European agenda that these countries


suddenly opened their eyes to the horrific crimes Saddam was committing both within Iraq and outside its borders.xix From that point onward, the relationship between Saddam and Western nations, in particular the United States, continued to rapidly deteriorate. On March 19, 2003, George W. Bush launched the invasion of Iraq, also known as the Second Gulf War, due to Iraq’s alleged possession of weapons of mass destruction,xx though the existence of these weapons remains debatable to this day. While the U.S. army continued to search for weapons in their occupation of Iraq, the U.S. forces took it upon themselves to force the now-criminal tyrant Saddam Hussein to face justice. On December 14, 2003, almost nine months after the start of the war, Saddam Hussein was successfully captured by U.S. armed forces.xxi The United States acted quickly to set up an interim Iraqi government and the Iraqi High Tribunal, both of which would play a role in the trial of Saddam Hussein.xxii The opening of Saddam’s trial occurred on October 19, 2005, over two years after the start of the war. This first case would concern the atrocities Saddam, with the aid of various Ba’ath party members, committed against Dujail, a town in Iraq’s central Salahaddin province. Human Rights Watch gives the following summary of the crimes Saddam committed in Dujail: On July 8, 1982, there was an assassination attempt against then-President Saddam Hussein during a visit to Dujail. The prosecution at the trial of Saddam Hussein and his co-defendants claimed that, soon after the assassination attempt and in retaliation for it, Dujail was the object of a “widespread and systematic attack” in which nearly 800 men,

women, and children were detained, of whom an unspecified number were tortured. After a year of detention in Baghdad, approximately 400 detainees were transferred to internal exile in a remote part of southern Iraq. Another 148 male detainees were referred to trial before the Revolutionary Court, are recorded as having been convicted and sentenced to death in 1984 after a summary trial (the number who actually stood trial is disputed), and most of them were executed in 1985. Large swathes of agricultural land and some homes in Dujail were confiscated by the government and bulldozed.xxiii

In late 2006, Saddam was found guilty of the murder of 148 Shiite men in the town of Dujail, in addition to the massacre of 50,000 – 100,000 Kurds in northern Iraq. He was sentenced to death by hanging and executed on December 30, 2006.xxiv The Bush administration hailed this trial as a victory for foreign policy and the “rule of the law.”xxv Since it cannot be denied that Saddam was a fiercely unjust leader who had committed the worst types of atrocities against his own people, it is according to the most basic principles of justice that he be tried for his “crimes against humanity.” However, to call the trial itself a victory for the “rule of the law” is a gross fallacy. There was very little regarding the trial that was conducted according to the international standards of fair trials, not to mention American standards. The deficiencies of Saddam’s trial make the Eichmann trial look like a model for just judicial processes. First there was the unavoidable (as in the Nuremberg trials), yet no less problematic issue of Saddam’s trial occurring in a court largely facilitated by his accusers.xxvi The United States was not only the prosecutor in



the trial, but also the occupying force in Iraq. According to the provisions set up in the fourth Geneva Convention, this is in clear violation of international humanitarian law. xxvii Second, in order for a trial to be fair “the accusers and the accused must be subject to the same standards.”xxviii This was far from the case in Saddam’s trial. Aside from being denied adequate time to prepare for the case, the defense lawyers and witnesses were under extremely high risk. Three of the defense lawyers were mysteriously killed and the defense witnesses that were willing to talk were beaten, threatened, and even arrested by order of the court in order to silence them.xxix Third, if the trial of Saddam was intended to truly to be an attempt to achieve justice the trial would have brought as witnesses all of those who gave support for Saddam during his reign. Among those who would have to stand would be representatives from the Russian, French, German, British, and American governments. xxx These factors are among some of the many that prove Saddam’s trial to be anything but a just and lawful procedure. The second man convicted of crimes against humanity was the leader of alQaeda, Osama bin Laden, responsible for the September 11th attacks that resulted in the fall of the twin towers and the deaths of thousands. The decade-long search for this man, involving America’s longest ongoing war to date, was finally brought to an end when he was captured by U.S. armed forces and intelligence officers. His trial did not drag on for over a year as Saddam’s trial had, because bin Laden received no trial, no chance to speak in his defense, and no sentence. Instead, upon discovering


his whereabouts, the American armed forces had him surrounded and immediately assassinated. In the process of assassination there was virtually no attempt to follow even the most basic principles of justice.xxxi The fact that American forces violated international law by invading Pakistani territory in order to reach bin Laden is not astonishing given the precedent set by the Eichmann Trial, but. it is preposterous that a criminal, regardless of the magnitude of their atrocities, would be killed without trial and that this act should be perceived as the execution of justice. The modern day conception of justice is in grave danger. These two recent cases of individuals convicted of crimes against humanity prove this to be true. The significance of these two cases should not be overlooked or dismissed. Saddam’s trial held by the Iraqi High Tribunal is the first trial since the Nuremberg Trials in which an entire government was held accountable for its gross human rights violations.xxxii Osama bin Laden’s assassination, while differing in its procedure and outcome, brought to the table once again the precedent of breaking international law in order to reach the accused. As Human Rights Watch stated in their assessment of Saddam’s trial, “ at stake is not only justice for hundreds of thousands of victims, but, as in Nuremberg, the historical record itself.xxxiii The steps taken against these men to achieve some form of justice failed because, while they may have appeased the human desire for vengeance, they failed to truthfully document the atrocities and crimes conducted by these individuals so that history could stand testimony for their occurrence.







I. AN OVERVIEW OF THE PROBLEM OF THE USE OF CHILD SOLDIERS An estimated 300,000 child soldiers are actively being used in armed conflicts in at least 30 countries around the world, according to both Amnesty International and UNICEF, but the actual figure may be higher.i In these conflicts, children as young as 7 are being used to perform a wide variety of roles, working as fighters, bodyguards, cooks, domestic laborers, spies, recruiters, and sex slaves.ii This largescale use of child soldiers has severe health consequences for the children themselves as well as for their communities, and presents many grave human rights concerns. Close examination of these health and human rights issues will reveal the importance of the larger problem, and analyzing previously used disarmament, demobilization, and reintegration (DDR) programs such as those used in Sierra Leone will help elucidate how to best overcome it. Furthermore, analyzing the contexts in which children are used as soldiers in addition to formerly implemented DDR methods will help answer the imperative question: how can children be protected from becoming child soldiers across the globe, despite the prevalence of conflict and war? In order to examine the problems resulting from the use of child soldiers, it is important to establish how this term is understood. “Child soldier� is internationally defined as any person under 18 years of age


who is part of any regular or irregular armed force or group, regardless of their function. This includes males and females, and those who join voluntarily as well as those who are forcibly recruited.iii While most child soldiers are between 13 and 18 years of age, there has been a trend towards recruiting even younger children, with boys and girls as young as 7 years old being recruited in countries such as the Democratic Republic of the Congo. In northern Uganda, the average child soldier is now younger than 13, and in a recent survey of six Asian countries, the average age of recruitment was 13, with one third of these children being under the age of 12 at the time of recruitment.iv Due to the length of many conflicts, the obscuring of civilian and military targets, and the proliferation of small arms, the use of children in armed conflict has increased in recent decades.v Youth are not only used as combatants by governments but also by nonstate actors. The current prevalence of the use of child soldiers is evident in the large number of countries where children have recently been exploited as From 2001 to 2004, 27 countries and territories in Africa, the Americas, Asia, Europe, and the Middle East, were cited as utilizing child soldiers. Although media coverage has predominantly publicized the use of child soldiers in Sub-Saharan African countries, child soldiers have also been used in


countries such as Colombia, Nepal, Burma, Sri Lanka, Afghanistan, and Iraq.

II. HUMAN RIGHTS VIOLATIONS Despite cultural and regional disparities between these nations, the use of child soldiers is a violation of the children’s human rights, according to several international documents. The International Convention on the Rights of the Child, which was ratified in 1989 and entered into force in September 1990, states that “State Parties shall take all feasible measures to ensure that persons who have not attained the age of 15 years do not take a direct part in hostilities.”vii Article 38 further specifies that “State Parties shall refrain from recruiting any person who has not attained the age of 15 years into their armed forces… [and] in recruiting among those persons who have attained the age of 15 years but who have not attained the age of 18 years, State Parties shall endeavor to give priority to those who are oldest.”viii While these provisions clearly show that the use of child soldiers under age 15 is a violation of international human rights, they unfortunately do not ban the use of child soldiers between ages 15 and 18. This may be because many societies, particularly in developing countries, define childhood and adulthood in terms of labor and social roles, meaning that people become adults when they do adult work. And in many societies, doing “adult work” at age 15 is the norm.ix Article 38 includes no direct ban on the use of soldiers at this age, but a later addition, the Optional Protocol on the Involvement of Children in Armed Conflict, rectified this omission. The Optional Protocol on the Involvement of Children in Armed Conflict, which entered into force in February 2002, declares that

“State Parties shall take all feasible measures to ensure that members of their armed forces who have not attained the age of 18 years do not take a direct part in hostilities” (Article 1). It stipulates that state parties shall ensure that children under 18 years are not “compulsorily recruited into their armed forces,” (Article 2) and raises the minimum age for voluntary recruitment to age 18 (Article 3).x In addition, the Geneva Conventions of 1949 state: “children shall be the object of special respect and shall be protected against any form of indecent assault…” (Additional Protocol I, Article 77)xi One can interpret the International Convention on the Rights of the Child according to “three P’s: provision, protection, and participation.” Provision signifies “the right to get one’s basic needs fulfilled,” with “basic needs” including, but not limited to, food, health care, education, recreation and play. Protection signifies “the right to be shielded from harmful acts or practices,” such as commercial or sexual exploitation, physical or mental abuse, or engagement in warfare. Participation includes “the right to be heard on decisions affecting one’s own life.”xii Forcing children to serve as soldiers violates all three of these P’s, for if any child under age 18 is being exploited as a soldier, he or she is not receiving education, recreation or play, is at high risk of sexual exploitation, is indubitably facing physical and mental abuse, is engaged in warfare, and has not been heard on a decision which significantly affects his or her life. Thus, using child soldiers violates each of the core human rights identified in the Convention on the Rights of the Child. Furthermore, the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child aims to “ensure to the maximum extent possible the survival and



development of the child.”xiii Child development is a complex process, affected by socialization, cultural values, traditions, gender, ethnicity, emotions, and participation in community life. Spending key developmental years in armed conflict, stripped from families, schools, and communities, has significant effects on child development, particularly on identity construction.xiv “The world child soldiers face is one where the social and cultural environment of family and community has been destroyed or severely disrupted; where their physical and emotional well-being has been affected; where their opportunities for education and vocational or skills training, and ultimately their chances for employment, are limited...”xv Thus, they are deprived of the aspects of childhood that are necessary for healthy development, an additional, critical violation of their human rights.

III. HEALTH CONSEQUENCES Moreover, being a child soldier has various detrimental physical and psychological consequences. Physically, children’s inexperience and frequent lack of training results in high casualty and death rates in combat. Children are commonly given particularly dangerous assignments, such as fighting on the front lines or laying or detecting landmines, often resulting in amputation or even death. Many who are injured during combat are left to die from their wounds or are shot. Those who do not cooperate, are too weak to keep up, try to escape, or avoid recruitment may also be executed. In addition, child soldiers often die from starvation or preventable diseases contracted in the unhygienic conditions in which they live. Because their bodies are still developing, they


are at greater risk of injury and disability from the hardships common to military life, such as poor diet, insanitary conditions, inadequate health care, and the rigors of harsh training routines and excessive punishments, including torture. Sexual abuse of both male and female child soldiers is often reported, enhancing the risk of sexually transmitted diseases such as HIV/AIDS, and pregnancy for girls. This puts girls at risk of additional health threats, particularly if the pregnancy is terminated or the baby is delivered in unsafe, unsanitary conditions.xvi Mental health consequences that result from being a child soldier include Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), anxiety, and depression. A study by the Journal of the American Medical Association comparing the mental health of former child soldiers and children who had never been conscripted revealed that all participants who had been child soldiers had experienced at least one type of trauma. Former soldier status was significantly associated with depression, decreased confidence, and PTSD, particularly for girls.xvii In addition to trauma, other psychological consequences result from the distancing of child soldiers from their communities. For example, in Sierra Leone, some children were forced to kill a member of their own family or village, “thereby severing ties of trust between them and their primary support systems, the family and community… leaving searing memories and emotional, psychological, and social scars.”xviii This type of psychological issue causes serious problems during the reintegration of former child soldiers into society, as well as serious health consequences for the larger community. Because families and local communities are integral to DDR programs, this lack of trust


creates roadblocks to reconciliation and community acceptance of former soldiers.

IV. ROOT CAUSES OF CHILDREN BECOMING SOLDIERS In order to understand how to effectively demobilize, reintegrate, and prevent child soldiers from being used in the future, it is important to first examine the situations in which children most often become soldiers. For in order to reconcile these human rights abuses and address these grave health concerns, the factors initially causing the problem must be addressed. While reasons that children become soldiers depend largely on context, varying per situation, country and conflict, a UN study (The Child Soldiers Research Project) has identified several general trends of which children are most likely to become child soldiers. This study on the impact of armed conflict on children examined 24 countries, and determined that three groups of youth are at the highest risk: the poor and disadvantaged, the inhabitants of conflict zones, and separated children.xix The poor and disadvantaged are at higher risk of forced recruitment because government recruiters often target those they see as a threat, such as potential recruits to an armed opposition group. Impoverished youth are often deprived of their education, so they are also more likely to volunteer to join armed groups, seeing these groups as a “route out of destitution.” Many inhabitants of conflict zones have lost their parents due to violence, so the children become the largest wage earners for their families. If these youth are poor and have been deprived of education, joining armed forces may be the only way for them to support their families. Moreover, separated children, or youth who are not living with

their families, are also particularly vulnerable to military recruitment because without the protection of their parents, there is no one to send them to safety. They are physically less able to resist forced recruitment, and more susceptible to peer pressure from the military without families to guide them. Many separated children have lost their parents due to conflict or terminal illnesses (such as HIV/ AIDS). Lack of guidance and community can lead a child to seek a replacement family within the military.xx While successful DDR programs can disarm, demobilize, and reintegrate child soldiers back into their communities, interventions cannot be effective without addressing these adverse scenarios that cause children to become soldiers in the first place. In order to effectively prevent children from being exploited as soldiers in the future, factors such as education, employment opportunities, and economic security must be addressed. For without education, the army may remain the only available option for a child to earn money and contribute to his or her family’s income. Thus, education and vocational training must be a priority in rehabilitating and reintegrating child soldiers in order to ensure that they do not become combatants again. Moreover, for former child soldiers, “education is more than a route to employment…It is also the system within which the children’s lives can be normalized, and they can be helped to overcome their experiences and develop an identity separate from that of the soldier.”xxi

V. DISARMAMENT AND DEMOBILIZATION As important as they are, education and economic opportunity are only part of the efforts needed to rehabilitate former child



soldiers. Coordinated efforts are required to address issues including mental health, child protection, and primary health care as well. In order to best achieve these necessities for former child soldiers, UNICEF identifies three overlapping phases of “turning a child soldier back into a child�: 1) disarmament and demobilization, or physically taking the child out of a military environment, 2) physical and psychological rehabilitation, and 3) reintegration with families and the community.xxiii While these stages of demilitarizing former soldiers are implemented differently depending on situation and context, several guidelines have been developed based on historical lessons that non-governmental organizations (NGOs) and government agencies should follow. In respect to disarmament and demobilization, all child soldiers should be included in peace accords and demobilization processes. For instance, UN peacemaking missions in Angola and Mozambique tried to limit their mandate and budget to only soldiers aged 15 and older, excluding all younger child soldiers. This is ineffective because it denies demobilization services to the youngest of child soldiers, leaving them without much-needed assistance. Other faulty peace accords have included excombatants only, which excludes soldiers who fulfilled non-fighting duties, such as girls who were recruited for sexual exploitation. This is problematic because all soldiers are in great need of demobilization, regardless of their function. Successful demobilization programs also require effective planning, allocation of resources, and coordination. In many DDR programs, efforts are made by national and international NGOs as well as by local,


regional, and international government agencies. Without proper coordination, this can create an ineffective mess. In Angola, lack of planning led to a DDR program staffed by people who did not have adequate language skills. Military commanders were then allowed to serve as interpreters for the children, enabling them to manipulate registration data to serve re-recruitment purposes, and hinder the children’s recovery processes. Effective demobilization also requires emphasis on community building and should reflect an analysis of local circumstances. Policies should be coherent and program strategies should be clear on how to separate child soldiers from the military and how to encourage processes of family reunification and community acceptance, which are crucial for reintegration. xxiv

The demobilization program implemented in Sierra Leone presents an excellent case study, for there has been an effective, integrated response to the mass-scale use of child soldiers in the region since a ceasefire was declared in 2001.xxv Prior to this ceasefire, civil war had consumed the country since 1991, when an armed group called the Revolutionary United Front (RUF) invaded eastern Sierra Leone from Liberia demanding an end to government corruption and claiming to be bringing peace. Instead, however, the RUF controlled diamond fields and regularly abducted large numbers of boys and girls during attacks, forcing them to provide labor and sex and to participate in combat. About half of their forces were children, and opposition militias, including the civil defense forces (CDF) and the Armed Forces Revolutionary Council, used child soldiers as well. Ultimately, an estimated 10,000 child soldiers participated in this war. xxvi


The demobilization of child soldiers took place during various stages of the war, with UNICEF and other NGOs negotiating the release of children and assisting with family and community reintegration whenever possible. To effectively disarm the child soldiers, the NGOs physically separated them from their commanders and adult members of their armed group to break the links of control. After this separation, children who were still in contact with their families were able to return directly home. Most, however, had lost contact with their families and were taken to an Interim Care Center (ICC) managed by one of the child protection NGOs. ICCs became the primary centers for finding surviving family members and helping the youth begin to transition back into civilian life. They provided an important transition for children, during which they would regain a sense of normal life by participating in activities such as chores, classes, play, artwork, singing and learning culturally appropriate behavior. The length of stay in an ICC was limited to six weeks, to prevent children from becoming accustomed to institutional life and to expedite family reunification and community reintegration. Those who could not be reunited with family after six weeks were placed in foster care (while the search for their family continued), or placed in a living situation with a small group, depending on their age.xxvii This shows great planning, because the ICCs efficiently tackled several issues at once: they gave the children a safe place to go, where health services and a community were available, while giving the staff time to locate their families. This program strategy also shows analysis of the local situation, in which many families did not initially want

their children to return home because of the atrocities they were forced to commit, such as killing family members or neighbors.xxviii It provided a place for the youth to go until their families were ready to accept them, and played a key role in rehabilitation by preparing children to re-enter civilian life.

VI. REINTEGRATION After demobilization and rehabilitation, effective reintegration requires being reunited with family members and an inclusive community environment. While programs like the ICCs can only make limited, shortterm contributions, families and communities are the primary agents in the development of children. They have a better understanding of their children, of why they became soldiers, and of what programs and/or policies will work best in their communities than any external worker can.xxix Reintegration also requires psychosocial approaches: because child soldiers are deprived of normal cultural and moral values while in the military and when separated from their families and communities, reintegration must emphasize forming trusting relationships with adults. It must incorporate family-based environments, in which normal cultural behavior can be taught. Moreover, effective reintegration often must incorporate traditional healing methods. In some places, such as Liberia, there are traditional healing methods such as “cleansing� ceremonies that are important for community forgiveness. All officials assisting with reintegration, despite their personal beliefs, must respect these methods of healing. Lastly, reintegration must address the initial causes of the child solider problem, so the problem does not resurface in the



The Sierra Leone DDR programs further highlight how these reintegration methods can be put into action. Ultimately, 98% of the children demobilized in Sierra Leone were reunited with one or both parents or with relatives, but this success was not achieved easily. In order to overcome the families’ initial unwillingness to accept their children, child protection staff pursued various outreach strategies to encourage families to welcome their children back home. For instance, they worked towards community sensitization by discussing the situation of former child soldiers with traditional leaders (i.e. local chiefs), stressing that they had been abducted and forced by adults to commit the atrocities they did.xxxi They also coordinated with local communities to use traditional cleansing ceremonies or other healing rituals. These ceremonies have been proven to increase community acceptance of the children, as well as to help the children feel acceptable themselves.xxxii Reintegration programs must also respect the “local culture and the ecological context” they are conducted in, meaning that “any intervention must attend to building local capacity, and if the intervention is run by an outside humanitarian aid organization, they must anticipate the reality of a day when they will no longer be present.” Accordingly, the social workers in charge of the DDR program in Sierra Leone focused largely on strengthening parents’ and caregivers’ ability to help returned children adjust to life in their community and resume normal social roles. Training teachers and working with communities to re-establish sustainable schools is also crucial to reintegration and, as previously noted, to providing former child soldiers with an opportunity for development


and future economic success.xxxiiii

VII. LESSONS FROM SIERRA LEONE While these aspects of the DDR program in Sierra Leone underscore the general guidelines for demobilization and reintegration processes in all post-war situations, there are several issues with Sierra Leone’s programs that present lessons to learn. For instance, there was a lack of emphasis on physical and psychological rehabilitation, both of which are necessary in order for the children to move forward. UN peacekeeping strategy changed from a Demobilization, Disarmament, and Reintegration (DDR) approach in 2001 in Sierra Leone to a Demobilization, Disarmament, Reintegration and Rehabilitation (DDRR) approach in Liberia in 2003.xxxiv Greater emphasis on health and psychological wellbeing is critically needed in order to ensure the children’s future progress. Although health care was provided while the Sierra Leonean youth were in ICCs, severe health issues cannot be resolved in six weeks. Better access to health services was needed once children returned to their families.xxxv Increased focus on psychological care, while in the ICCs and after returning to their communities, is also needed. Mental health programs still were not included in the updated DDRR plan in Liberia, but UN staff and NGOs are starting to recognize the need for formalized psychological support. This addition to rehabilitation programs could create more effective, longer-lasting impacts on former child soldiers, as long as the psychological treatment is tailored to local customs and does not impose Western psychological theory on non-Western


societies.xxxvi Perhaps the most important lesson learned from Sierra Leone is that collaboration and ongoing communication between the actors participating in the DDR process is key to success. Moreover, analysis of the situation is crucial to planning, and rather than “prescribe specific child protection actions to a community, it is best to raise questions for its members to consider, [such as] What can we do to help children who have been abducted and involved in fighting to assist them settle back into the community? What can we do to protect our children in a time of crisis?”xxxvii

VIII. UNIVERSALISM V. CULTURAL RELATIVISM There is much debate about DDR programs between proponents of the universalism of children’s rights and proponents of the cultural relativity of childhood and children’s rights. While the former believe that “childhood constitutes a coherent group or a state defined by identical needs and desires, regardless of class, ethnic, or racial differences,” the latter sees childhood as a “social construction, [with] its meaning negotiated between different individuals and groups, often with conflicting interests.” Supporters of the universal-rights argument contend that children the world over have the same needs, and therefore the same support and protection mechanisms should be applied to children worldwide. Advocates of the cultural relativism debate, however, argue for better assessment of local conditions and dynamics that define and shape the experience of the child soldier. Both sides of the debate bring up important points, all of which must be considered when creating effective DDR programs. These programs must take into account the details of the specific conflict

situation, as well as the “important social, cultural and personal influences that lead children to participate in armed conflicts.” Yet they must also aim to protect children’s rights, including health, security, and safety, before they aim to preserve their culture.xxxviii

IX. PREVENTION The most effective way for the international community to reduce the number of children in combat is by preventing them from joining armed forces to begin with.xxxix Reintegration programs must simultaneously be preventative strategies, in order to protect other children from becoming child soldiers and to prevent former child soldiers from becoming soldiers again. In addition to being implemented in post-conflict states with DDR programs, preventative measures should be taken worldwide. These measures include political pressure from the international community, local communities recognizing the role they can play in protecting children, and advocacy. The international community can help prevent the use of child soldiers by putting political pressure on governments and nongovernment forces to recognize international standards such as the International Convention on the Rights of the Child and the Optional Protocol to the Convention on the Rights of the Involvement of Children in Armed Conflict. They should further encourage governments to adopt national legislation banning voluntary and compulsory recruitment of children below 18 years and enforcing proper recruitment procedures. If officials do not abide by such laws, countries should indict and try those responsible for illegally recruiting children, to show that there are legal consequences for such actions.xl International pressure can also



influence governments through measures such as the Child Soldier Prevention Act of 2007. This bill, sponsored by Senators Richard Durbin (D-IL) and Sam Brownback (R-KS) and signed into U.S. law in January 2009,xli puts limits on U.S. military assistance to governments that support the recruitment or use of children in government armed forces or government-allied armed groups.xlii This bill represents an example of how external, influential governments such as the U.S. can decrease the military incentives of utilizing child soldiers, and can help diminish child exploitation worldwide. When international doctrines preventing the use of child soldiers, such as the Convention on the Rights of the Child, are created, community involvement is key in translating such laws into practical interventions that address the needs of children through dialogue, partnership, and advocacy. Community actors, such as social workers on the ground, local NGOs, and small government organizations, are needed to implement such conventions at the grassroots level. Without this link from international law to individual people, such documents cannot be effective. The international community should also support community efforts to prevent recruitment. Such programs, moreover, should focus on assistance to children that are at the highest risk of recruitment: those in conflict zones, those separated from their families, or other marginalized groups (i.e. street children, certain minorities, or refugees/internally displaced youth).xliii These prevention programs are most effective when they include children’s voices. In Nepal, for example, the media organization Search for Common Ground is helping to facilitate children’s voices being heard on


the radio and through other media. The constitutional assembly and elections there also provided an opportunity for children to participate in the political process. It has also been found in Nepal that the involvement of children in politics, such as through dialogue with policymakers, helps increase child protection and build local institutions concerned with protecting children’s rights.xliv Furthermore, other advocacy methods can also be used to help prevention. For instance, raising awareness about what children’s rights are protected according to international legal doctrines can be beneficial, as well as informing people about what community services are available to them. For example, in Sudan, a humanitarian principles project called Operation Lifeline Sudan Southern Sector (OLS) effectively spread awareness about children’s rights on a large scale. Leaflets were disseminated throughout churches, schools, health centers, and military barracks explaining humanitarian principles and children’s rights. OLS also conducted training workshops, attended by over 7,000 people, to make families aware of the prohibition against recruiting children below 15 years of age and to inform people on how to decrease abductions from schools. The media can also be used to help spread awareness, and local and international reporting mechanisms can help engage political and military officials and community leaders in redressing cases of child recruitment.xlv While these human rights doctrines, community efforts, and advocacy methods are beneficial in preventing the use of child soldiers, large-scale, systematic changes are needed in order to most effectively prevent their use. Improved access to education, including secondary education and vocational


training for all children is crucial in order to create opportunities for youth outside of the military.xlvi Moreover, the use of child soldiers stems directly from the prevalence of war. Therefore, conflict prevention must be taken seriously in order to prevent the destruction of children and adults as well. Conflict prevention methods include analysis of the roots of conflict, the establishment of early warning and crisis management, improvements in government and justice systems, and alternative methods of resolving or transforming conflict. These include mediation by third parties, problemsolving dialogues, and unofficial diplomacy.xlvii Although actively pursuing conflict prevention measures can be useful in preventing the use of child soldiers, the global presence of conflict and war today is undeniable. Thus, it is imperative that proactive efforts are made to protect children from becoming soldiers in this war-ridden world. DDR programs can help remedy the

child soldier problem currently occurring in about 30 countries, and preventative measures can help protect additional children from being exploited as soldiers. Not only do these efforts help alleviate the suffering of child soldiers, but investments in youth are investments in the future for entire societies. “When war-affected youth receive the services they need coupled with opportunities to pursue productive lives,� they will inevitably contribute to the economic and political security of their communities.xlvii This could potentially restructure distraught societies, making desperately needed structural changes a future reality. If health and human rights abuses of child soldiers are reconciled and the initial causes of this problem are remedied, children can be educated, skillfully trained, and better equipped to create peaceful tomorrows. Future children could potentially be spared of this devastation, and grow up in more peaceful, stable, and prosperous societies.



ECUADORIAN MASKS / QUITO, ECUADOR This photo is of an old man sitting at the doorway of his mask shop. I enjoyed the old man’s face contrasting the hanging masks. The significance it held to me was the simple facade many people put on when really they’re selling their faces. Thought it was quite interesting and thought provoking.



JAPANESE GAMBLERS / SHINJUKU, JAPAN These are rows of gambling addicts fixated on their machines. I found it shocking. I saturated the colors to represent a media saturated, hyper-stimulated environment.

JAPANESE HEALTH OBSESSION / TOKYO, JAPAN I was shocked the see countless individuals adorned in medicale masks from the fear of contracting illness and hypersensitivity to the pollution within Tokyo.

JAPAN’S OLDEST WALL / SHINJUKU, JAPAN I found this asymmetrical, hand built wall to be beautiful in its imperfections. It was a wall built to guard a temple in Shinjuku.



EDUARDITO GABRIELA GARCIA Papa, sing to me until the fingerprint of Uruguayan diaspora has pressed itself into me and has tattooed its tender ache let’s make believe we live in the same spheres even though your constellations of creases draw breath from some distant greenness in a hue I’ve never dared touch will you cut my meat for me into traces of Abuela’s tales? let’s lean back now, wait for the bite to sink together we’ll exist as slanted lines let’s say “aren’t we lucky?” I’ll play the game, croon grateful melodies but you’re singing to a plate, and I am singing to you no one has to know call me little flower, hijita, gordita, Gabrielita in crunchy Spanish, seasoned with tabasco I’ll call you Eduardito that’s your name, isn’t it? that’s the body you used to wear you said he liked cigarettes


I saw his face once, Papa you inhaled on the deck and fixed your gaze on the pine the smoke spirals lifted from your worn lips Eduardito was whistling with you His legs came first then a branchy, bounding body and dark, clandestine eyes Hush, Papa, let me lend an ear to his fierce murmur. I’ll listen for the unbearable gleam of you yearning for each other do you know how much I yearn for you? can I get you a toothpick?


A ROYAL WEDDING / ANITA ROJAS CARROLL On the way to the Hagia Sophia, I saw these children dressed up for some sort of holiday festivity and asked if I could take their photo. I saw a lot of children dressed like this, but never found out why. Istanbul, Turkey 2013.



CIVIL SOCIETY OCCUPIES THE RIO+20 EARTH SUMMIT MIKE SAMDEL In June 2012, Brazil hosted more than 190 heads of state and high-level ministers — including U.S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, Russian President Vladimir Putin and Chinese Premier Wen Jiabao — for the United Nations Conference on Sustainable Development, popularly referred to as Rio+20.i In addition to governmental representatives, the conference also included over 40,000 participants from civil society — which, by the U.N.’s classification, encompasses indigenous leaders, students, climate scientists and the CEOs of multinational corporations. The formal inclusion of large numbers of civil society groups at the original 1992 Rio de Janeiro Earth Summit was unprecedented and helped make the summit a historically significant event. This year, however, these groups publicly denounced Rio+20’s failure to deliver meaningful results. In 1992, the Cold War had just ended and democratic-capitalist “one-worldism” was being proclaimed as the “end of history.” Yet there were serious reasons for pause. Shortly before the summit, world leaders had just barely managed to agree to stop using chemicals that were tearing an enormous hole in the ozone layer (the hole is still there, but it is no larger now than it was then), and had finally begun to realize that greenhouse gases were causing a worldwide increase in temperature and had the potential to make


large segments of the earth uninhabitable if nothing was done to reduce emissions.ii How could a global growth-oriented capitalist system and a global environmental crisis be reconciled? The inclusion of civil society — an appeal to conceptions of global citizenship and democratic deliberation — was one part of an incomplete answer. The adoption of a set of Rio Principles for sustainable development framed in terms of human rights was another. iii

The creation of processes for the negotiation of climate change and biodiversity loss were a way for member states to appear as if they were doing something to solve the problem while actually avoiding the most politically tricky issues. These processes have failed — in Kyoto, Japan, Copenhagen, Denmark, and Durban, South Africa — to generate meaningful outcomes. Meanwhile, the interrelated economic, environmental and political crises have all become more severe.iv Many had high hopes that a 20-year follow-up to the Earth Summit might be an opportunity to redesign the architecture of multilateral talks, a chance for world leaders to take a step back and address basic systemic problems in a holistic manner. Radical transformation was unlikely, but perhaps some important reforms could be made to hold off irreversible damage to people and planet while


at the same time focusing media attention on the big picture problems of our time. This was certainly the viewpoint of many civil society groups when the lead-up to Rio began, and these groups made a point of coming to the table with many good ideas in mind.v However, most of the more than 40,000 civil society representatives at the summit found themselves following the preparatory talks with increasing frustration. They watched as negotiators bracketed and deleted any and all proposals that might have challenged the global status quo. They fought, sometimes successfully, to retain human rights language, but they knew that ambitious proposals for things like the establishment of an international financial transaction tax or a world environmental court were not going to be politically Some groups had set their sights on smaller but still significant victories, such as the elimination of fossil fuel subsidies or the creation of a World Environment Organization on equal footing with bodies like the World Health Organization.vii,viii Others just prepared to take a defensive stance. Most groups arrived alongside mid-level government negotiators, a full week before the heads of state. Days were spent frantically trying to track developments, lobby delegations, and report back to constituencies at home. Then, two days before the conference was scheduled to begin, it was decided that negotiations would take place behind closed doors. No media. No civil society. A negotiated text was released the next morning, and it was far worse than anyone could have imagined. The document, entitled “The Future We Want,” suggests that an international race to the bottom had taken place.ix It was clear that unless high-level officials reopened the

negotiations, Rio would be a tremendous waste of what U.N. Secretary General Ban Ki-Moon had called a “once in a generation opportunity.” The 50-page document contains almost no actual commitments. It gives lip service to the idea of building a “green economy” but contains no commitments to ceasing the massive handouts often given to polluters.x It acknowledges the need for stronger environmental governance and increased foreign aid, but commits no funding for either. It even fails to openly acknowledge our dangerous encroachment on planetary boundaries, the critical tipping points beyond which science warns that our most basic ecological life support systems may fail us completely.xi In response to the text, civil society groups issued press releases and made speeches condemning the document for its lack of ambition in the face of clear and present dangers. They tried to use the media to put pressure on heads of state to reopen negotiations and add some substance to an otherwise empty document. At the conference’s opening plenary, representatives of youth organizations condemned the document as unacceptable and asked, “are you here to save face or to save us?”xi,xii The enormous caucus of NGOs took an even more aggressive stand, publicly requesting that the phrase “in full participation with civil society” be removed from the document’s preamble.xiv Heads of state clapped politely at the end of each statement and then, as if these interventions had never happened, took turns congratulating themselves on what they had supposedly achieved. By the second day of the three-day conference, it had become clear that none



of the leaders present were willing to reopen the negotiations. The remainder of Rio+20 would just be more photo opportunities and hollow speeches, and the civil society groups would be reduced to set dressing in a spectacle designed to portray the likeness of meaningful action where none had occurred. At around 1 P.M. on that second day, activists from the Canadian Youth Climate Coalition held a satirical press conference in the walkway immediately outside the plenary hall.xv Posing as corporate executives, they distributed copies of a document entitled “The Future We Bought” to the crowd that formed around them and celebrated how Rio+20 had gone forward without actually doing anything to regulate corporate behavior. It was pretty good political theater, but what came next was even more interesting. Copies of the mock-document were ceremonially ripped up and onlookers were asked to sit down on the floor and to join in a “People’s Plenary.”xvi A young woman began facilitating and explaining consensus decision-making. Various participants took turns voicing their frustrations with the U.N. process and its outcome, their words echoed by the human microphone. Were it not for the business casual attire and the U.N. ID badges, it could have been a scene straight out of the Occupy Wall Street protests in Zuccotti Park. The plenary grew as journalists, civil society representatives and members of government delegations from around the world stopped to see what all the commotion was about. Some stood around the edges while others committed to sit down and stay a while. Security was powerless to remove such a large group of people. Eventually, the conversation shifted from an airing of frustration with the document to a plan for collective action. There


was a great deal of discussion about how the group could be most accountable to those who could not be present inside the walls of the fortified conference center. Was there anything left to do in terms of playing the inside game? The consensus process seemed to be moving painfully slowly, but about two hours into the plenary, a decision was reached. Those present felt they had done all they could inside the conference center. Rather than continue to legitimize a failed summit, they would walk out, leave their badges and join the people’s summit on the other side of town.xvii The walkout, like so many of the recent protests around the world, was largely, although certainly not entirely, made up of young people. The group numbered several hundred and included representatives from women’s organizations and indigenous communities, as well as the staff from major international NGOs including Friends of the Earth,xviii Ibon Internationalxix and As the policy experts, students and veteran negotiation-trackers marched out of the complex, they were inundated with cameras. U.N. staff and government officials looked on in awe and embarrassed smiles as the group chanted for “rights, justice, equity, the Earth’s integrity” before switching to the more straightforward “Walk out — don’t sell out.” The protests got the attention of the international press,xx but, perhaps unsurprisingly, there was no reopening of negotiations. Discontent with the political process at Rio was largely reported alongside praise for the individual commitments made by some states and corporations which do next to nothing in terms of challenging the political status quo or reconciling the fundamental structural tensions between economy and ecology that necessitated the first earth


summit 20 years ago.xxi In the wake of all of this there are a great many questions that need to be asked. Have the nations of the world really become so beholden to the short-term interests of financial markets and campaign donors that they are willing to waste a historic opportunity to literally save the world? If so, are we simply doomed to live on a dying planet? Can states be forced to become responsive to a broader base of interests and protect the global commons? Further, one might also ask: What does it mean when those groups which are supposed to be working inside the political system on behalf of broad constituencies feel that they have no other option but to turn to the tactics of an Occupy protest? For those who had devoted months, if not years, to trying to move the U.N. process from the inside, the decision to occupy and to walk out was as desperate as it was romantic. It was

also effective so far as it represented a clear and coherent rejection of governmental selfcongratulation. Yet, the question remains of where to go next. Social movements and civil society organizations are not likely to get very far by only committing romantic acts of desperation over and over again. Moving from passion to real commitment and impact means doing the hard work of building and growing the kinds of independent and resilient institutions and networks that can offer new ways of doing things while also leveraging power against the forces that actively uphold a status quo with bleak implications for the future. This may be alien territory for civil society groups that have traditionally operated with narrow reformist missions and stable funding. However, after Rio, they may have no choice but to reflect deeply on their own methods and take a step into the unknown.






STATE-SPONSORED VIOLENCE: BETWEEN TERROR AND COUNTERTERROR NICHOLAS GLASTONBURY Modern notions of the nation-state are predicated on the responsibility of the state to control and limit violence in domestic and everyday life. Borne of Thomas Hobbes’ Leviathan and the fundamentals of social contract theory, the state exists to preclude the possibility of warre, or a war of all against all. This has been the dominant discourse up until very recently in history. The rise of authoritarian military regimes in the Southern Cone in the mid-20th century, in addition to the advent of globalization, internationalism, and Realpolitik, however, have completely recast the way in which the nation-state is perceived and perceives itself. Furthermore, with the purported proliferation of terror across the globe, a politics of fear has made its way into all facets of the contemporary discourse of the state. Terrorism has similarly instigated the rise of counterterrorism—a field dating back to the early 1970s and involving an approach focused on combating the enemy—as well as the rise of counterinsurgency, a field which emerged mostly in the 1950s and places its focus more distinctly on population-centered, grassroots initiatives for ideological dominance.1 With the expansion of international law, more energy is being focused on maintaining a certain level of peace, freedom, and justice in international society, a human rights norm known as the responsibility to protect.

However, claims of national sovereignty have stymied the efficacy of such laws and have thereby often put domestic conflicts in a realm beyond accountability until after the fact, as in the former Yugoslavia and in Rwanda. These multifaceted and complex developments raise questions about certain paradoxes of the nation-state, governance, and conflict; they further call for a significant reexamination of the shape and role of violence and conflict in what is imagined to be a democratic society. Is it defensible for states to limit the rights of the people in the name of preserving national security, even when those limitations allow violence on the part of the state? Where does a state’s mandate for violence end? What are the lines between terror, a morally reprehensible and condemnable act against a free nation, and counterterror, the state’s responsibility to protect its citizens from violence? Are there ways in which these two seemingly conflicting societal facts can be reconciled with one another? This paper aims to provide a historical understanding of state-sanctioned terror, violence, and oppression, from the perspectives of the regime and of the people living under the regime, thereby attempting to understand the commonalities and basic traits of these regimes. Thereafter, it will examine current domestic conflicts in context and examine the possibility of these states’ devolutions into



regimes of terror, followed by an attempt to delineate, in the terms of Norbert Lechner, between criminality (the legitimate use of state force in domestic contexts) and violence (the illegitimate use of state force in domestic contexts).2 Although state-sponsored violence and terror can be seen across the globe and in a variety of cultural and historical contexts, some of the most relevant examples of state terror are found in Latin America. The dictatorial reign of Augusto Pinochet in Chile, the de facto presidency of Jorge Rafael Videla during the Dirty War in Argentina, and the orchestration of Operation Condor across the Southern Cone all serve to highlight the depth and comprehensive nature of the politics of fear and state-sanctioned violence in the region. Though each Southern Cone country had a different experience with the rise to power of, and suppression by, authoritarian military regimes, there are nonetheless some details that provide a general sense of these regimes’ teleologies and a narrative arc of their histories. First of all, each of the Southern Cone countries—including Brazil, Argentina, Chile, Uruguay and Peru—witnessed an enlargement of its military and police forces in the mid-twentieth century, accomplished through the defeat of leftist guerrilla armies attempting to bring about social revolution. In Brazil, for example, after the 1964 coup, the legal restrictions on the military establishment were whittled away, while in Uruguay and Argentina, the military had claimed full autonomy for themselves even before usurping the civilian governments.3 Furthermore, the polarization of the Cold War managed to play a role in the strengthening of the conservative facets of political life in these


countries.4 The United States, in its vigorous attempts to undermine the Soviet Union and to eradicate communism, quietly impaired the leftist movements and poured money and matériel into the military and its allies. General Videla, during his presidency, once said “A terrorist is not just someone with a gun or a bomb but also someone who spreads ideas that are contrary to Western civilization.”5 The problem of state terror in Latin America, then, is as much a problem of the military establishment and its professionalization as it is an indictment of American foreign policy and Realpolitik. In fact, military leaders in the Southern Cone would eventually go on to proclaim “the intrinsic weakness and decadence of democracy,” an ironic criticism, given that the United States, a self-proclaimed beacon of democracy, managed to wholly undermine and demonize democracy in the Southern Cone countries.6 There have been numerous regimes outside of Latin America that have engaged in the same tactics of terror throughout history. While we could examine a number of states, one that serves as an interesting foil is Turkey, whose history is fraught with the same kinds of disappearances, military coups, and silenced narratives as those of the Latin American regimes. The collective violence committed against the Armenian people between 1915 and 1917 in the process of nation-building and arranging the soon-to-be Turkish Republic, for example, and the subsequent denial by Turkey of the reality of those events, has set a precedent not only for a historical silencing of memories of atrocity but also for the legitimization of military interventions into civil matters.7 Like the Southern Cone countries, Turkey was also the site of several Cold War proxy conflicts that managed to


empower conservative movements, and by extension, the military.8 Since 1960, there have been three military coups in Turkey, totaling more than six of the ninety years that have passed since the establishment of the Turkish Republic. In addition, Turkey has a significant population of Kurds, with whom the government has had a contentious relationship since the establishment of the Republic, and indeed, several cases of disappearance (of Kurds as well as Turks) have been taken to the European Court of Human Rights.9,10 According to anthropologist Carole Nagengast, “more than a quarter of a million Kurds and Turks in Turkey have been beaten or tortured by the military, police, and prison guards since 1980.”11 These events have been accompanied in large part by fierce silence on the part of the Turkish state. The current regime of Turkey, though not a military regime, has become very concerned with national security and the preservation of national ideals, which has resulted in the arrests and disappearances of scholars, activists, politicians, journalists, and students. Interestingly enough, a large number of these arrests have been predicated on a purported conspiracy to orchestrate a coup, ironic given that these actions are congruent with those typically taken by a regime installed by a coup to legitimize and empower itself.12 Other arrests have been for purported alignment and association with anti-government groups and activities, whether they be leftist groups, newspapers, political groups, or Kurdish groups.13 There may be a fear that the events of the Arab Spring could be repeated in Turkey, and this fear may be breeding a desire to undermine potential unrest by whatever means possible. Nonetheless, in contemporary Turkey, the same culture of fear has been

and continues to be promulgated by a state increasingly centralizing its power structures. Though the last of the Southern Cone dictatorial regimes had been removed from power by 1990, and transitions to democracy had finally occurred, the orchestrators of the military juntas often lived in impunity, continuing to benefit from the injustices they committed, and even, in some cases, remaining in positions of power, as with General Pinochet. In the mid-to-late 1990s, though, Spanish attempts to capture General Pinochet and bring him to justice spurred similar attempts across the Southern Cone, particularly in Chile and Argentina, to challenge impunity and bring to justice those who had orchestrated national and transnational terror and disappearances.14 Despite the best efforts of human rights groups and legal advocates to convict General Pinochet, he died before any convictions could be made: the vestiges of the old regime’s judiciary and legislative corruption demonstrating the pervasive and continuing nature of the culture of fear in the Southern Cone countries.15 In both Latin America and Turkey, although much of the work of suppressing opposition groups has been categorized by the regimes as necessary for the protection of national values, the cultures of fear perpetuated by the authoritarian regimes are crippling to society at large. Fear is established, disseminated, and tightly controlled by the state through the establishment of stringent moral, social, and cultural norms, and any sort of diversion, or “transgression,” from those norms is categorically labeled as other, something to fear and oppose.16 Particularly in Latin America, where pluralism did not develop into a collective order in the same way that it did in North America, social and



cultural differences in society tended to rapidly devolve into patterns of factionalization and splintering of social groups.17 The normative indoctrination committed by the military juntas further streamlined this process of devolution and social disintegration. Despite the denial of official involvement in disappearances, murders, and other acts of oppression, all of these actions were “intended to humiliate, demoralize, and terrify a broad population beyond the particular persons detained for punishment.”18 Through the inculcation of such large-scale humiliation, guilt, and fear, these regimes intended to discourage political participation, and even social activity, that might be perceived as subversive, thereby further adding to the disintegration and destruction of any possibility of pluralism. This violence, though very physical, is also highly symbolic: according to Nagengast, “[this] symbolic violence is important in the structuring and ordering of relations of domination and subordination . . . state regimes everywhere justify their own violence as a reaction to the (symbolic) violence implicit in opposition itself.”19 Indeed, the goal of state violence is not to inflict pain, but rather to create categories of people who deserve to be punished.20 There is a remarkable dearth of literature on the subject of this delineation between legitimate and illegitimate uses of violence, but the issue of the use of violence by states in cases of terror is highly controversial. Some scholars who assert principles of pragmatism and relativism often pose the question of proportionality, typically by describing a ticking-time-bomb scenario. Is it better for one morally reprehensible individual to die, or for a thousand civilians to die? While the answer may seem clear, this is a dangerous


line of thought that can trouble the principle of the universal right to life canonized in almost every body of international law, and it can pave the way for further leniency in the government’s responsibility to protect. Indeed, this same opportunistic approach to legalism is deployed by authoritarian regimes that believe in the exceptionalism and the righteousness of their causes and ideas. According to E. V. Walter, “every state has the necessary conditions for terrorism,” which include a group of individuals—a government, a military, or some form of regime—“equipped with the instruments of violence,” and a group of people who would be subject to this violence—a population under that regime, or some segment of that population.21 Given Hobbes’ notion that the state should be the ultimate monopolizer of violence in a free society, it is axiomatic that these conditions cannot be destroyed without the eradication of the notions of liberal statehood that loom over Western discourse. However, there must also be conditions under which the violence of the state is allowable. In much the same way that Lechner delineates between criminality and violence, Hobbes delineates between punishment and hostility as the two forms in which state violence may manifest itself: punishment has certain limitations and is intended to inculcate obedience to collectively agreed-upon law and norms established by virtue of the social contract and social relationships, whereas hostility is only allowable against enemies or subjects who have, by the act of rebellion, forgone their status as subjects.22 Continuing with this line of thought, Walter concludes that for violence to qualify as legal punishment, it must be imposed by


duly constituted public authority for an act within its jurisdiction that is publicly judged to violate a legal rule promulgated before the act took place . . . [and] it must be inflicted with the intention or the reasonable probability that it will strengthen the disposition to obey the laws. (E. V. Walter, “Violence and the Process of Terror,” American Sociological Review 29.2 [1964]: 256.)

Therefore, if a state party issues punishment outside of the framework of this model, it is violating not only the law but also its end of the social contract. However, this understanding of punishment and hostility does not address certain elements that may play a role in the shaping of state regimes engaging in unsanctioned violence. For example, what if the law itself is unjust? What if the state has a popular mandate, and these laws are even democratically written? And even if we are able to identify a state’s deployment of violence as illegitimate, what then? The noncompulsory nature of international law problematizes attempts to hold regimes accountable for their actions. Furthermore, many states, rather than shy away from or feel guilt over engaging in illegitimate violence, revel in it. For example, the Argentinian Minister of the Economy during the time of General Videla’s dictatorship, José Martínez de Hoz, once said in an interview that “we have used the same drastic measures against the terrorists that they have used.”23 The leaders of the Southern Cone regimes were not afraid to shy away from proclaiming their goals of eradicating subversion from their respective nations.24 The sense of exceptionalism propagated through state responses to terror, and the subsequent justifications thereof, is a further

challenge to delineating punishment and hostility in this model. Western countries that trumpet themselves as the bearers of rights and freedom to the world will decry torture, terror, and illegitimate violence while simultaneously asserting that it is sometimes necessary to resort to extrajudicial and ad hoc mechanisms for the sake of their own national security. The United States is a fine example of such a contradiction, and indeed, since 9/11, has been engaged in this exact mode of justification, which is also visible in the above quote from José Martínez de Hoz as well as in the behaviors and speech of other Southern Cone politicians, the most infamous and outspoken of whom was General Pinochet. Therefore, our understandings of delineating legitimate and illegitimate deployments of violence have been obfuscated, if only because states are sometimes unwilling to make that legal delineation themselves. To be sure, the strongest remedies to this would be to not only strengthen domestic laws using democratic methods, but also to empower international law and the bodies that enforce them to have more efficacy in holding states accountable to these norms. Additionally, economic and human development may also provide some remedy to the issues of terrorism and also of robust domestic legal systems. “State failure signifies a return to the conditions of the state of nature” defined by Hobbes as warre; therefore, according to Theresa Reinold, the proliferation of failed states is what is most responsible for the problem of irregular warfare and hence, terrorism.25 But what exactly is a failed state? Though no standardized definition exists in international law or at any international bodies such as the United Nations, failed states can be typified by the following basic characteristics:



“They are unable or unwilling to protect their citizens from violence and perhaps even destruction. They regard themselves as beyond the reach of domestic or international law…. [And] they suffer from a serious ‘democratic deficit’ that deprives their formal democratic institutions of real substance.”26 This can often be traced back to infrastructural deficits— shabby systems of national education, the remnants of colonial and post-colonial power structures, poor healthcare, a lack of food, economic exploitation, and more. However, as Noam Chomsky notes, failed states are not a priori weak states; in fact, “Nazi Germany and Stalinist Russia were hardly weak, but by reasonable standards they merit the designation ‘failed state’ as fully as any in history.”27 The problem, then, is just as much one of systemic failure as it is an alignment of state bodies—whether intentionally or unintentionally—with arbiters of violence; that is, it is the co-opting of the state and its structures as an instrument of terror. Since 9/11, the eradication of terror as a political goal has completely dominated the discourse of international relations. However, rather than fighting a “war on terror,” the more pragmatic approach (and certainly one that is more aligned with Western norms of human rights) is to engage in developing failed states at a grassroots level, and, more importantly, to refrain from violent combat with terror groups, because such combat is likely to


foment the resolve of such terror groups and protract the conflict. Paul Wilkinson, in discussing the violence of autocratic and colonial regimes and the violence of resistance and insurgency, describes the two as having a “symbiotic relationship” in which the actions of each serve to galvanize the other into conflict.28 The use of counterterrorism and even counterinsurgency strategies, while they may seem effective in more short-term contexts, actually continues to problematize and challenge the containment and eventual reduction of terror groups in a holistic and exhaustive manner. Often, in pursuing these techniques, a state becomes the monster it is fighting, as exemplified by José Martínez de Hoz’s aforementioned exaltation of extralegal violence in Argentina as a mirror of the techniques used by terrorists against the state. It is a pipe dream to imagine that the solution to the blurred borders between illegitimate and legitimate violence is to do away with conflict altogether. The most realistic solution, while still somewhat idealistic, is for states to institute a series of legal and political limits on the scope of military and police forces, to reform the democratic institutions already in place, and to facilitate the human and economic development that will preclude the urgency to radicalize. The inhibition of this kind of asymmetric conflict will only be possible when governments stop perpetuating it.


PHOTO BY HANNAH COHEN Berthoud Pass, Colorado




INTRODUCTION Sharif Arafa’s short film, “Retention,” depicts a cross-section of Egyptian society responding to the uprising of January 25, 2011. The film’s six symbolic characters—a police officer, a middle-class youth, a capitalist entrepreneur, a print journalist, a history teacher, and a young Islamist—have very different backgrounds and political beliefs. However, with the exception of the policeman, the men universally support the overthrow of Egyptian President Husni Mubarak.1 Arafa’s film illustrates the degree to which opposition to Mubarak was spread across social groups and classes. Egypt’s urban and rural poor blamed Mubarak for rising living costs and cuts to social programs. Egyptian workers also experienced rising costs and stagnant wages during the Mubarak years. From the late 1990s, financially stable urban youth formed online and activist communities to oppose police brutality and Mubarak’s foreign policy. The urban intelligentsia shared these political concerns and further opposed censorship in print media and stagnant government salaries. Mubarak’s removal of protective tariffs and support of foreign investors threatened Egypt’s moneyed capitalist entrepreneurs and military officers. Many of Mubarak’s policies— including removal of food subsidies, tolerance of police harassment, and crackdowns on


Islamic dress—negatively affected women most directly. Mubarak also alienated the growing number of Egyptians involved in Islamicinspired social and political organizations with his support of Islamophobic Israeli and American policies. Mubarak’s inability to satisfy this array of interest groups—the poor, workers, ‘plugged-in’ youth, intelligentsia, capitalists, the military, women, and Islamists—created a perfect storm of dissent that forced his resignation in February 2011.

THE POOR The bottom class of Mubarak’s Egypt—the roughly 40% of the population who subsisted on less than two dollars a day—included both farmers and urbanites. Both segments of this population grew and suffered increasing financial hardship as a result of Mubarak-era population growth and social welfare policy. For farmers, the Mubarak years brought both a growing shortage of land and water and decreasing profit margins. Many farmers had received land grants under former President Gamal Nasser’s land reform program, but such plots were too small to support families that had often grown tenfold since the initial allocation.2 Farmers’ attempts to expand their holdings were stymied by the expansion of cities and factories onto arable land and by the 600% average increase in rents in the 1990s.3 Some


farmers also experienced water shortages due to the increasing diversion of the Nile for desert reclamation projects.4 Furthermore, Mubarak’s removal of tariff barriers to food importation and cuts to agricultural subsidies decreased the profitability of small-scale agriculture.5 Even with access to land and water, most small farmers came to depend on secondary sources of income such as brickmaking or tourist work.6 Farmers reacted to the financial trials of the Mubarak years in two major ways: many villages organized protests against government agricultural policy,7 and one million small farmers immigrated to major cities where they joined the ranks of the urban poor.8 The urban poor—city dwellers without sufficient stable income—were impoverished by Mubarak-era infrastructure and subsidy policies. Due to overcrowding and demand-induced rent spikes in established neighborhoods, many poor urbanites built makeshift settlements on the outskirts of Cairo and other cities.9 Because Mubarak had not significantly expanded Cairo’s infrastructure since the early 1980s, these new neighborhoods did not receive consistent running water or electricity.10 Poor urbanites also have difficulty obtaining food due to the withdrawal of subsidies put in place by Nasser and his successor, Anwar as-Sadat. In the early 1990s, Mubarak cut the national budget for subsidies from 5.2% of total spending to 1.5%. Of the limited subsidies that remained, only 17% directly aided the bottom fifth of the population.11 Together with rising global food prices, rent increases and the withdrawal of subsidies produced a 75% increase in the cost of living for Egyptians during the last two decades of Mubarak’s rule.12 Further cuts made by Mubarak to social services in the early 2000s failed to help the poor weather this

increase, and, in fact, further impoverished many already poor urban families.13 This trend pushed many members of the urban poor into activism and contributed to a protest by workers in the Aswan tourism sector and the participation of poor Cairenes in the January 25 uprising.14

(ORGANIZED) LABOR Egypt’s industrial working class grew into a significant demographic and political force during the Mubarak era. The early 1990s brought a wave of foreign-funded industrialization—notably in textiles, piece-manufactured consumer goods, and construction.15 These new industries drew their workers from two sources: the urban and rural poor (including many women), and Egyptians who had worked in the Persian Gulf countries until the 1991 Gulf War and a wave of citizen employment programs in Saudi Arabia and Qatar.16 Although manufacturing jobs were initially steadier and more profitable than farming and urban day labor, industrial wages failed to keep pace with ballooning inflation and living expenses. (The stagnation of wages may have been a result of the influx of foreign-manufactured goods into Egypt following Mubarak’s 1991 abolishment of tariff barriers. In order to compete with cheap foreign goods in the domestic market, Egyptian factories were forced to keep the prices of their products artificially low— precluding expensive wage increases.) Between cost-of-living increases and Mubarak’s cuts to subsidies and social services, many workers began to suffer increasing financial hardship in the 2000s. In response, many factory workers began to form unions and organize protests during the latter years of Mubarak’s



reign. In 2004, an anti-regime group called “Workers for Change” emerged during the Kifaya movement (“Kifaya”—Arabic for “enough”—was the unofficial name of the Egyptian Movement for Change).17 In 2008, a textile workers’ strike in al-Mahalla al-Kubra provoked nationwide solidarity strikes and protests. This “6 April Movement” spurred the 2008 formation of an independent public sector union and hundreds of industrial strikes and sit-ins in 2009 and 2010. The post2008 burst of labor activism culminated in the 2011 formation of a nationwide trade union federation.18 Mubarak’s economic policies, therefore, provoked both growth and dissent in the industrial working class.

‘PLUGGED-IN’ YOUTH The spread of the Internet in the late 1990s heralded the formation of a new social class in Egypt: ‘plugged-in,’ or computer-savvy, youth. This group encompasses financially stable high school and university students, unemployed and self-employed recent graduates, and young urban professionals. Significantly, the “AlFace Generation” (to borrow anthropologist Linda Hererra’s term) coalesced around online opposition to particular Mubarak policies— notably the planned succession of Gamal Mubarak, Husni’s younger son, and police brutality—and, therefore, has played a major role in anti-regime organizing since 2000. The Al-Face Generation encompasses three distinct groups of young people: students, un- and self-employed graduates, and young professionals. Egyptian college students (who primarily come from urban areas and financially stable families) use the Internet for leisure activities, socializing, artistic production, shopping, and political


organizing, as do un- and self-employed recent college graduates.19 During the 1990s, 15-20% of Egypt’s high school and college graduates were unemployed.20 This group of graduates (most of whom continued to live with their families in urban areas) gained cheap access to the Internet due to a profusion of cyber cafés in the latter part of the decade.21 Other Egyptian college graduates became self-employed “microentrepreneurs”—supporting themselves by running small businesses such as cyber cafés, call centers, gymnasiums, laundromats, piecemanufacturing workshops, and microbus transit agencies.22 Unlike poor day laborers, micro-entrepreneurs usually have sufficient income and leisure time to join Internet social networks. Al-Face online communities also include well-off young professionals (such as Google executive Wael Ghunim, civil engineer Ahmad Mahar, and banker Walid Rashid). These users tend to log onto the Internet outside of regular working hours, and often from outside Egypt. Common Internet use patterns form the strongest link between Egyptian students, graduates, and professionals. Crucially, all three subgroups of the AlFace Generation are generally united in their opposition to two particular Mubarak policies: hereditary succession and police brutality. The cross-class anti-succession movement erupted in 2004 with a wave of Kifaya protests against the grooming of Gamal Mubarak for the presidency. Significantly, the Kifaya movement spurred thousands of young Egyptians to begin political blogs—which simultaneously protested Mubarak’s policies and provided a significant space for online community building.23 In the last years of the Mubarak regime, members of the Al-Face Generation


spearheaded a major movement against police brutality—which claimed 167 lives between 2003 and 2007. During the campaign, bloggers like Wael Abbas (“Egyptian Awareness”) and Wael Ghunim (“We are All Khalid Said”) spread news about police abuse to online readers and traditional media outlets (Ibid and Hererra). Identification between members of the Al-Face Generation and Khalid Said—an anti-regime blogger and “micro-entrepreneur”—provided crucial fuel to the movement.24 The Kifaya movement and the campaign against police brutality illustrate the extent to which political activism shaped the Al-Face Generation into a largely unified and anti-Mubarak class.

THE INTELLIGENTSIA Egypt’s traditional intelligentsia— composed of doctors, lawyers, judges, teachers, professors, writers, artists, journalists, engineers, and civil servants— has been largely opposed to many of Husni Mubarak’s policies. These groups largely share labor and Al-Face concerns about stagnant salaries, police brutality, and succession. Further, the intelligentsia as a whole opposes regime censorship and other retrogressive cultural policies. Like the Al-Face Generation, the intelligentsia was increasingly involved in online and street activism during the last years of Mubarak’s reign. Educated and financially stable Egyptians protested various aspects of the Mubarak regime in the 1990s and 2000s. In the early 1980s, Mubarak had permitted a proliferation of independent media and professional administrations—both of which had been suppressed under Sadat.25 In the following decades, many sectors and members of this resurgent intelligentsia stood in opposition

to Mubarak. Egypt’s judges repeatedly passed rulings contradictory to Mubarak’s wishes—causing the president to send some high-profile cases to more compliant military courts.26 Journalists reported on government corruption and police abuses— provoking a crackdown on print journalism in the mid-1990s.27 Writer Sunallah Ibrahim dramatically refused to accept a national “Arab Novel Award” in a 2003 protest against the regime’s “illegitimacy.” Artist Ahmad Basiuni presented a veiled critique of the failures of the Mubarak regime to the Venice Biennale with a performance titled “30 Days of Running in Place.”28 Such acts demonstrate a widespread opposition to Mubarak among the intelligentsia. Crucially, such agitation unified the various sectors of the intelligentsia. This trend began in the 1990s. In the early part of the decade, secular and pious lawyers began to collaborate on police brutality lawsuits—closing a significant schism in the legal community.29 The spread of the Internet in the late 1990s provoked the formation of online politicallegal anti-regime groups. Such organizations distinctively included lawyers, litigants, and judges together.30 A middle-aged doctor coordinated the 2004 Kifaya movement, which included significant participation by Egypt’s “Judges’ Club.”31 In 2008, Egyptian doctors and teachers held a joint strike in protest of wage stagnation.32 These joint actions molded disparate professional groups into a more unified sociopolitical class. In addition to fostering a growing unity among the intelligentsia, such protests bridged class distinctions between elite intellectuals, young online activists, and labor organizers. Professional journalists began to collaborate with Al-Face bloggers in the late 1990s and



early 2000s—recruiting anonymity-protected bloggers to release confidential or censored information.33 Kifaya mobilized doctors and judges alongside workers and young people. The 2008 textile workers strike in al-Mahalla al-Kubra provoked civil servants to form independent unions in 2008 and 2010.34 Such cross-class movements effectively infused the intelligentsia with the political consciousness of the emerging Al-Face Generation.

NATIONAL CAPITALISTS Egypt’s elite class of wealthy businessmen—which controls 40% of the country’s wealth—benefited immensely from Mubarak’s privatization policies.35 However, these “National Capitalists” opposed Mubarak’s support for foreign investment, which threatened their privileged access to Egyptian resources and markets. Well-connected businessmen like Nagib Sawiris, Husam Badrawi, and Tarak Tawfiq gained significant wealth from Mubarak’s privatization of government services in the late 1980s and early 1990s.36 Sawiris’ Orascom— the largest private company in Egypt—gained control of parts of Egypt’s transportation infrastructure (railroads and highways), communication sector (cellular telephone service) and energy sector (wind farms). Additionally, Sawiris received privileged access to undeveloped public land on which to develop profitable vacation resorts, hotels, and gated communities. Badrawi took advantage of cuts to Egypt’s public health insurance system to form the nation’s largest private healthcare provider.37 The regime granted Tarak Tawfiq cheap government land, water, and credit in the late 1980s to establish a profitable factory farm north of Cairo.38 Sawiris, Badrawi, and


Tawfiq are representative of the wealthy capitalist class that was significantly enriched by Mubarak’s early free-market reforms. However, Mubarak’s later encouragement of foreign investment in Egypt threatened the profit margins of these businessmen—turning the hugely powerful National Capitalist class into political opponents of the President. In 1991, Mubarak lifted tariff barriers that had deterred foreign companies from importing manufactured goods and foodstuffs into Egypt.39 Consequently, industries that depended on domestic markets (e.g. food and consumer goods) lost some of their profits to foreign companies. Beginning in the early 2000s, the Mubarak administration began to sell significant amounts of public land to companies from China, Russia, and the Persian Gulf region for development. The establishment of industrial parks, telecommunications infrastructure, and vacation resorts by foreign investors threatened the market share of Egyptian companies like Orascom, which had previously held near-monopolies over these industries.40 National Capitalists, therefore, largely opposed the planned succession of Gamal Mubarak (who was largely blamed for Egypt’s support of foreign investment), and eventually endorsed the 2011 overthrow of Husni Mubarak.

THE MILITARY Husni Mubarak entered politics by way of his Air Force service, and the military was generally supportive of the President in the early 1980s.41 Over the past two decades, however, certain sectors of the armed forces have come to oppose particular Mubarak policies. By 2011, Mubarak retained the support of the Air Force and the Presidential


Guard, but was increasingly unpopular among young foot soldiers, the Mukhabarat intelligence services, and top generals. Particular Mubarak policies became unpopular in particular sectors of the Armed Forces during the 1990s and 2000s. Younger soldiers and officers largely originate from Egypt’s poor or from the Al-Face Generation— and significantly share these classes’ anger at cost-of-living increases and police brutality. 42 The Mukhabarat (which has a close relationship with the U.S. Army and the CIA) came to prioritize Egypt’s long-term stability above the continuation of the increasingly unpopular regime. In 2011, the Mukhabarat attempted to calm disruptive anti-Mubarak protests by collaborating in the president’s removal. In the early days of the uprising, the department chief Umar Suliman filled the vacant post of Vice President—symbolically relieving Mubarak of some executive power. At the end of the revolt, the Mukhabarat endorsed the president’s abdication. The military’s top generals also came to oppose Mubarak—in large part because they share common economic interests with the National Capitalist class. As Egypt has not engaged in any substantial military activity since 1973, the generals spend the majority of their time engaged in business (primarily the development of commercial, residential, and vacation facilities on military-controlled land).43 The Mubarak regime’s sale of public land to foreign companies for development in the 1990s and 2000s threatened the generals’ market share of these sectors. Finally, all sectors of the military depend on American aid, and are therefore extremely responsive to the desires of the U.S. government. U.S. calls for Mubarak’s resignation in February 2011 likely encouraged many members of the Armed

Forces to repeat the same demand. Therefore, a mixture of civilian and military concerns turned crucial sectors of the Egyptian military against the Mubarak regime.

MUSLIMS Many Muslim Egyptians opposed three particular Mubarak policies on a religious basis. Firstly, the regime’s crackdown on radical Islamic fundamentalism threatened Muslims’ freedom to observe and propagate their religious practices. Secondly, Mubarak’s collaboration with Israel and the United States ostensibly aided those countries’ Islamophobic policies. Finally, Islamic charitable organizations contrasted favorably with Mubarak’s gutted state assistance programs— underscoring the failings of the regime. Thus, by the end of Mubarak’s tenure, many Egyptian Muslims opposed the president for such religious reasons, in addition to holding class-based grievances. Mubarak’s crackdown on fundamentalist Islam came in two waves: the first came in the early 1990s (in the wake of the assassination of Anwar as-Sadat), and the second in 1995 (in response to a series of terrorist attacks and assassinations). During the first wave, Mubarak arrested a number of vocal fundamentalists, banned several radical Muslim publications, and instituted a secular dress code at public universities.44 In the second wave, the regime arrested a number of conservative Muslim leaders (including 15 members of the Muslim Brotherhood), placed a number of radical mosques under direct government control, and diverted valuable alms payments from Islamic charities to the state.45 Although these measures targeted radical fundamentalist Islam most directly, many Egyptians—



including the #Jan25 protest singer Rami Dungawan—interpreted the policy as generally anti-Islamic. In his song “Against the Government,” Dungawan charged, “they [the Mubarak regime] target your faith.” For Dungawan and others, the campaign against fundamentalism represented an assault on free Muslim religious practice. Many Egyptians viewed Mubarak’s collaboration with the United States and Israel as contrary to pan-Islamic solidarity. Religious opposition to the regime’s foreign policy had four peaks: one in 1991 (at the time of the first Persian Gulf War), in 2001 (at the time of the Israeli crackdown on the al-Aqsa Intifada), in 2003 (at the time of the U.S. invasion of Iraq), and in 2008 (at the time of the Israeli-Egyptian blockade and the Israeli bombing of the Gaza Strip). It is possible to define each of these military campaigns as anti-Islamic for two reasons. Firstly, the vast majority of casualties in each of these conflicts were Muslims. Secondly, the U.S. and Israel justified their actions on largely Islamophobic grounds— producing an upsurge of anti-Muslim sentiment in the Judeo-Christian world. The apparent anti-Islamism of the four campaigns spurred religious-inspired organizations like the Muslim Brotherhood to lead street protests against Mubarak’s complacency or support.46 Such protests melded anti-regime and Islamist sentiments. For many Egyptians, Islamic charitable organizations contrasted positively with— and underscored the failings of—state social services. In the early 1990s, many poor Egyptians began to depend on Islamic organizations for food, healthcare, and other social services that the state had previously provided. Sami Zubaida describes the shift:


[W]ith the withdrawal of the state from the provision of social goods and services, and the insecurity in the face of arbitrary police harassment and humiliation, individuals were thrown more and more on any possible security net… especially the provision of social goods and services by these religious associations.47

Zubaida’s phrasing highlights the relationship between the dependence on religious charity and anti-regime sentiment. Many poor Egyptians did not freely choose to join Islamic organizations; rather, they were “thrown” into such organizations because the government failed to provide the basic social services they needed. Because they had experienced the failings of the regime firsthand, members of Islamic organizations were more likely to be critical of Mubarak than Egyptians who did not depend on the fraying state safety net—making Islamic charities probable hotbeds of dissent. Such regimecritical religious charities—alongside criticism of Islamophobic domestic and foreign policy— melded Islam and anti-regime sentiment.

WOMEN Some aspects of the Mubarak regime— including cost-of-living increases, restrictions on Islamic dress, tolerance of police harassment, and a failure to pass feminist legislation—affected women on a genderspecific basis. Consequently, women of all social classes held gender-based grievances alongside class opposition to Mubarak policy. Some aspects of the Mubarak regime negatively affected particular classes of women. Mubarak’s social service cuts forced many married women to work in order to support their families.48 For women


responsible for domestic work and childcare (a major responsibility in a nation with a high birthrate), a time-consuming job represented a major burden. Although wealthier women did not suffer financial hardship under Mubarak, his regime oversaw the disappointing failure of “Suzanne’s Laws.” These liberalizing policies would have granted women no-fault divorce, legal custody of their sons until age 15, and electoral quotas—but were overturned by the courts.49 As the public face of the regime, Mubarak would likely have been held partially responsible for the collapse of the reforms—threatening his popularity among disproportionately socially liberal wealthy women. On the other hand, social spending cuts and the failure to pass feminist legislation tarred Mubarak for particular classes of women, the regime’s tolerance of sexual harassment— which affects over 80% of Egyptian women— harmed women in general.50 Two particular state policies aided would-be harassers. Firstly, the 1990s ban on Islamic dress on university campuses increased the risk of sexual harassment for Egyptian women. Headscarves and veils provide a measure of privacy to women on crowded streets—and, therefore, serve as a deterrent to harassment.51 For women, the secularizing dress code both increased the risk of harassment and revealed the regime’s lack of awareness of the epidemic of sexual harassment. Secondly, Mubarak’s policemen were generally permitted to extract bribes and torture prisoners with impunity— an extraordinary amount of power for lowlevel state employees.52 Many officers used this authority to sexually harass women—a phenomenon illustrated by Yusuf Shahin’s 2007 film Haya Fawda (It’s Chaos). In Shahin’s narrative, a corrupt police chief harasses and

rapes an unveiled female college student. The film both depicts a realistic narrative and presents a transparent metaphor for Mubarak’s abuse of Egypt (symbolized by the police chief and the student, respectively). Besides implementing secular dress codes and dangerously empowering policemen, the regime failed to enact a comprehensive program against state harassment.53 The harassment epidemic, cuts to social services, and an inability to secure feminist legislation all provided women with gender-specific reasons to oppose Mubarak.

CONCLUSION: ORGANIZING ACROSS CLASS LINES Over the thirty years of the Mubarak regime, Egyptians developed myriad sectorspecific grievances. Crucially, however, the January 25 movement was able to mobilize dissidents from all sectors of society into a single mass movement. Members of the Al-Face Generation like Asma Mahfuz initiated the first major protests in Tahrir Square—which included significant numbers of Egyptian women.54 Many members of the Egyptian intelligentsia also joined the movement in its early days, including a coalition of lawyers from the American University in Cairo. Although initially reticent, the Muslim Brotherhood eventually threw the significant power of political Islam behind the uprising.55 The military gave tacit endorsement to the movement when it refused to use deadly force against protestors and protected some civilians against attacks by pro-regime thugs.56 Nagib Sawiris and other National Capitalists formed a “Committee of Wise Men” to advise the uprising.57 Workers in Lower Egypt and the Suez Canal zone struck in a show of solidarity with the protestors.58



Whereas the Kifaya and April 6 movements involved collaboration between activists in a few different social groups, the January 25 uprising mobilized vocal representatives of every major group of Egyptians. The diversity of the protestors—more than their number— was critical to the success of the uprising. Altogether, only eight percent of Egypt’s adult population participated in anti-Mubarak protests.59 However, observers conflated cross-sector participation in protests with numerical majority support for the uprising


among all Egyptians. The apparent numerical superiority of dissidents motivated powerful and reluctant parties like the United States, the Muslim Brotherhood, and organized labor to endorse the protests—finally forcing Mubarak’s resignation. In reality, it is not entirely clear whether or not a clear majority of Egyptians endorsed the overthrow of Husni Mubarak. However, the cross-class nature of the protests gave #Jan25 more legitimacy and thus greater political strength than any other force in Egypt, including Mubarak’s regime.


INDIA BOYS / HUNTER BAKER This photo is a production still from the documentary Lifting Dreams, which tells the story of an orphanage in Northern India. Hardiwar, India.





On November 9, the New York Times ‘Travel’ section published the article, “A Chocolate Tour of the Caribbean.” The article, written by Baz Dreisinger, which described a journey of indulgence and luxury, hopping between three Caribbean islands in search of the best chocolate in the world. This burgeoning sector of the tourism industry, indicative of a larger trend, bears profound and conflicting implications for the Caribbean. Chocolate tourism is a prime example of eco-chic, the trend in selective consumption that privileges local, natural, and sustainable production as a form of environmental activism. Dreisinger, using words like “artisanal,” “small-batch,” “untouched,” “tree-to-shop,” and “fair-trade,” demonstrates the ethic of eco-chic - the valorization of certain kinds of production and consumption characterized by ethical and environmentally sustainable practices (eco), as well as an appreciation for the highest quality ingredients and materials, authentic inspiration, and luxury (chic).i The article also reveals the paradox of eco-chic, in that it often assumes the superiority of one definition of “local” over another, which has global implications, and it ties the alleviation of poverty to the exclusive consumption of the elite. In the Caribbean, an industry traditionally based on mass production for export now prides itself on its small scale, its locally-rooted production, and its exclusivity.


What has resulted is the creation of a luxury industry meant to serve those with the means to indulge, the same people who have been indulging for centuries in the sweetness of the Caribbean. In his article “Ital Chic: Rastafari, Resistance, and the Politics of Consumption in Jamaica,” Rivke Jaffe describes the rise of eco-chic, writing, “Sustainable development through radical societal change has lost ground, becoming decreasingly popular. Achieving environmentally friendly societies and combating global poverty through ‘green’ lifestyles and ‘ethical consumption’ has proven to be a much more attractive proposition. Green consumerism now places consumption at the heart of the solution.”ii There are multiple factors that qualify chocolate tourism as eco-chic: the cocoa must be grown by small, local, sustainable farm co-operatives and hand harvested by traditional methods. The benefits for both the workers and the environment are framed as secondary benefits of this process, which is ultimately aimed at creating higher quality, better tasting chocolate. Passages from the New York Times article validate this claim. The author discusses the tour chronologically, writing, “The journey began in a very uneco setting: the glinting Hyatt Regency in Port of Spain, a bustling Caribbean capital with some of the region’s liveliest night life.”iii There is a value judgment placed on a certain


kind of tourism, the kind the author is forced to take part in before beginning her tour, which is marked by modern luxury and fastpaced pleasure. She juxtaposes this with the first day of her journey, driving out of Port of Spain to the countryside where, “green erupted everywhere: rolling hills, quaint plant shops, iguanas scurrying across the road.”iv Describing her first experience tasting this chocolate, she writes: “I smelled the bar. I admired its style: a cocoa pod was imprinted on the chocolate. I felt its cool temperature. I broke it in half — ‘it should break cleanly, with a proper sound,’ Ms Jurawan said. Finally, I tasted; the fruity, spicy sensation made me momentarily understand why the Mayans, considered inventors of chocolate, were said to sacrifice humans in exchange for a good cocoa crop. This was to-die-for chocolate.”v

It is clear from the article that chocolate tourism is an experience. It is not just about eating the chocolate; otherwise, people would mail order it, a service many of these chocolate makers offer. Rather, it is about a unique and exclusive setting, distinct from resort style vacationing. Dreisinger writes of her tour: “It carried me beyond umbrellastudded beaches to far-flung fields, untouched island landscapes and a local culture with a legacy well worth witnessing.”vi It is also about interacting with the cocoa growers and the chocolate makers, and the exclusive opportunity to experience culture. Tourism sites offer chocolate-making demonstrations conducted by the Bri Bri tribe of Costa Rica: “In this tour, you will see a demonstration of the Bri Bri tradition of making chocolate that has been passed on through the generations for

over 300 years. You will learn how important Cacao has been to Bri Bri Culture. Cacao is used in healing practices, spiritual and purification ceremonies and has aided in their economic survival.”vii Hotel Chocolat in St. Lucia offers multiple “experiences,” including the “Tree to Bar Experience,” where guests get to participate in every stage of chocolate making beginning with harvesting the cocoa, and the “Engaged Ethics Island Growers Tour,” described as, “A wonderful opportunity to experience the diverse farming of some of our island growers who supply us with some of the best cocoa beans for our chocolate and who maintain the principles and pledges of our Engaged Ethics Programme.”viii This popular tour that Dreisinger participated in offers guests the opportunity to be reassured in the ethics of their consumption. Dreisinger describes meeting a farmer on this tour who told her, “after growing cocoa for four decades, he could finally make a fair wage.”ix Undoubtedly, some of the values associated with eco-chic, and chocolate tourism specifically, are positive ones for society: environmental preservation, economic growth that does not exploit the poor, and appreciation for different cultures. However, these values are complicated by some contradictions within eco-chic that, at least in the case of chocolate tourism, reentrench the colonial relationship of power. Chocolate tourism in the Caribbean profits from its position as an exclusive industry in which the fruits of Caribbean land and labor are meant solely for a global elite market while promoting itself as local and egalitarian. Jaffe writes, “In various sociogeographical spaces, one finds localism, environmentalism, and ethics tied—often paradoxically—to globalized identities, consumption, and elite lifestyles.” x



The juxtaposition of localism and globalism is stark in the case of chocolate tourism. As previously discussed, the industry valorizes localism and small-scale production, one of its selling points. However, as a form of tourism, it is distinctly global by nature. It functions because there is an influx of foreigners seeking leisure and adventure in the Caribbean islands, a non-reciprocal relationship between the servers and the served that has deep colonial roots. Additionally, although the industry promotes itself as being beneficial for the nations of the Caribbean, it is largely foreignowned or foreign-backed. For example, the Caribbean Fine Cocoa Forum is a “European Union-financed networking vehicle working to bolster production and exports in nine countries.”xi Further, many of the farms and hotels discussed in the article are owned by foreigners who immigrated to the Caribbean, rather than locals. Finally, the industry has a wide global reach, assuring that this chocolate can be available even to those who do not venture to the islands: the British-owned “Rabot Estate marquee includes the hotel, an internationally available chocolate label (Rabot Estate), a restaurant chain (Boucanxii, in St. Lucia, soon to be introduced to New York City and London), chocolate cafes in London and Stockholm and the new Roast & Conch shop, which brings small-batch chocolate making to London.”xiii For many chocolate makers in the Caribbean, the next logical step after becoming successful in the chocolate tourism industry is to expand globally. The author writes, “the Caribbean cocoa industry, which has roots in colonial times, is being revitalized.”xiv The problem lies in the fact that its revitalization is uncomfortably reminiscent of the colonial model, which turned Caribbean crops into luxuries only available for the elite of the


developed world, a history well documented by Sydney Mintz in his book, Sweetness and Power. The artisanal Caribbean chocolate industry, the “Champagne of cocoa,” reveals and functions because of vast, geographicallyrooted inequalities.xv After going on the Engaged Ethics Island Tour, guests return to their “luxe pods,” at the Hotel Chocolat, “where even the magnificently minimalist décor (rich mahogany floors, ivory-colored bathroom with open-air shower) evokes the essence of chocolate.”xvi One gets to experience the traditional, the rustic, and the local, while enjoying the comforts of the modern, the grand, and the global. The author so obtusely writes, “Interestingly, most locals seem to prefer Hershey’s and Cadbury to these homegrown, primarily dark-chocolate creations.”xvii The author finds it “interesting” that the largely poor Caribbean population chooses not to spend their shamefully low wages on chocolates, “which range from $20 to $35 for a box, in specialty shops and supermarkets across the island.”xviii The ecochic values embedded in chocolate tourism disguise the fact that it is just as much a classstriated system as all Caribbean tourism. It is also incredibly revealing and problematic that the locals can afford globally sourced massproduced chocolate, a product of industrialism and modernity, and yet chocolate produced by traditional Caribbean methods of chocolate making, with cocoa from their own lands, is reserved for the elite of the developed world. This phenomenon is well summed-up by Jaffe, who writes of eco-chic, “local, natural, and artisanal goods are refashioned in terms of aesthetics and price to allow the gentrification of a back-to-basics, place-based nostalgia.”xix Dreisinger points out of the growing fine


chocolate industry in the Caribbean, “This is excellent news economically: with free trade having all but destroyed the islands’ banana and sugar industries, fair-trade farming initiatives are a welcome boon.”xx Undoubtedly, there are some benefits to the growth of this industry: not only does it bring income to Caribbean nations, but many of the farms that participate are cooperatives that treat and pay their workers much more ethically than large-scale farms in the Caribbean. Further, the small-scale farming methods are more environmentally sustainable and have a smaller impact on the landscape of the Caribbean. However, it is highly problematic that these unique elements, which should

not be exceptions but should be legislated globally, are employed to legitimize the exploitative relationships between developed and developing that this industry is indicative of. Dreisinger writes, “Suddenly I was struck by the fact that I could be in Trinidad, or St. Lucia, or many other Caribbean islands — all of them pinning hopes on this singular crop whose history weaves a storied connection between disparate lands. And this I now know: it’s a sweet, sweet connection, indeed.”xxi The connection—rooted in inequality and dependency—is not a sweet one; it is bitter, just like the cocoa bean, until it is masked with sugar and milk and luxurious golden wrappers, hiding its true nature.










For many Westerners, the name “Kashmir” conjures up images of cross-border disputes between India and Pakistan. Indeed, nuclear threats between the countries heightened in the late 1990s and the early years of the 21st Century, attracting international intervention and rousing the media’s attention towards India’s northernmost state, technically named Jammu and Kashmir. Periods of insurgency and extensive counter-insurgency measures taken by the Indian military have also garnered publicity; however, a driving force of conflicts in the region is often overlooked: Kashmiri nationalism, driven by the people’s struggle for independence and political autonomy. Multiple ruling governments in India have evidently seen this as a political threat, leading them to ignore or stifle Kashmiri nationalist movements; moreover, multiple administrations have misconstrued the resistance as part of a Pakistani agenda in order to bolster their own projects of Indian nationalism. The dispute over Kashmir is rooted in the British colonial administration’s mismanagement of its own departure from India. Under British rule, the region, known as Kashmir and Jammu, was one of roughly 600 princely states in colonial India; these were territorial enclaves that enjoyed relative sovereignty under the direct rule of an


Indian ruler. At the moment India gained its independence, the region was occupied by a Muslim majority but governed by a Hindu ruler, Hari Singh. This, along with its proximity to Pakistan, made the state’s official status particularly contentious after the Partition of 1947. Despite Hari Singh’s “ambitions of Kashmir being an independent state,” the threat of attacks from Pakistan forced him to accede to India in return for military support.1 The initial agreement that gave most of the territory to India stated that later on, the accession could be reversed with the “consent of the [Kashmiri] people.”2 However, the Indian government later determined that a referendum by the people was not warranted, leaving the state of Jammu and Kashmir under Indian control. The northwest region of the disputed territory was eventually granted to Pakistan, and the northeast to China. Despite the statement of Jawaharlal Nehru, India’s first Prime Minister, that “the question of accession in any disputed territory or state must be decided in accordance with [the] wishes of [the] people,” the government demonstrated its strong preference for an Indian Kashmir not long after independence.3 By 1957, the government had managed to ensure that the Instrument of Accession was ratified by the people of Jammu and Kashmir, in part by prohibiting separatist parties


from participating in elections. These claims to the region were linked to components of the nationalist project that the Indian National Congress was pursuing at the time - particularly economic development and the ideology of a cohesive, secular nation. The state of Jammu and Kashmir is noted for its “rich natural resources in forests and water.”4 This made the state useful in developing India’s infrastructure in the image of a heavily industrialized, self-sufficient nation. Indeed, control over Kashmir provided the government with extensive access to cheap timber, which would be used mainly to expand India’s railways, which were an expression of the nation’s literal unity and its aggregate productive potential. The region’s water is a persistent point of contention between India and Pakistan. India continues to divert the Indus River in order to generate power, leading Pakistan to claim that “600,000 people will suffer by getting less water for irrigation.”5 Though this is very much a modern issue, water diversion is rooted in the history of the ever-shifting forms of Indian nationalism. The construction of massive dams in order to generate hydroelectric power was a key component of the industrial nationalist project under Prime Minister Nehru, who “considered dams to be the very symbol of India’s collective growth.”6 Thus, resource exploitation in Jammu and Kashmir began not only as an economic exploit, but also as a projection of Nehruvian nationalism. Such enormous government investment in the energy sector has served greater national purposes, but has come at the expense of Kashmir’s own welfare; though it has fought to maintain control over the region, the national government has made few investments in developing industry within the state. This

reiterates the predominance of Kashmir’s symbolic importance for India over more practical claims to the territory and any forms of ownership that would lend agency to its people. The Indian National Congress’s initial motivation to assert its jurisdiction over Kashmir was also linked to the secular doctrines of Nehruvian nationalism. Conflicts in Kashmir derive largely from the state’s complicated religious demographics - each of its three regions is occupied by a different religious majority; in rough terms, the Kashmir Valley is 76 percent Muslim, Jammu is 82 percent Hindu, and Ladakh is 90 percent Buddhist.7 India and Pakistan’s justifications for control of the former princely state arose from its Hindu leadership and its Muslim majority population, respectively. The history of religious fragmentation made Kashmir an appropriate testing ground for Indian secularism. If the Congress clung to control over the region, it could “demonstrate that the province could thrive in a secular state.”8 The stability of Kashmir would have made a particularly strong case for a unifying secular rule given the region’s complex religious identifications. However, any justifications regarding the merits of a secular Kashmir were later nullified with the emergence of Hindu nationalism in the region. The government’s attempt to use Kashmir as an instrument for a secular agenda demonstrates one of the ways in which it glossed over the will of the population, which encompassed an array of regional and religious identities, in the name of a nationalist ideal. Furthermore, interventions by the national government in later periods of insurgency show that it placed less importance on secularism per se as it did on Indian control over the region.



In the late 1980s and early 1990s, the Jammu and Kashmir Liberation Front (JFLF) engaged in militant protest with a secular agenda of creating an independent Kashmir. The JKLF hearkened back to the region’s pre-1947 sovereignty and coalesced around “Kashmiri nationalism, which foregrounds kashmiriyat or Kashmiri-ness.”9 Due to the movement’s separatist motives Pakistan withdrew its support and the Indian state went as far as to execute or imprison most of its leadership. Such assertions of national authority have consistently undermined Kashmir’s selfdetermination. Indian aggression has often been directed at Kashmiri secessionists rather than at groups that aspire to defect to Pakistan; this indicates that the crux of India’s struggle is to maintain dominion over the people of Kashmir and any traces of Kashmiri identity, rather than its relations with Pakistan. The expression of Hindu nationalism that rose to prominence in the 1980s and 1990s, namely with the right-wing Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), directly opposed the tenets of Nehru’s secular agenda. Nonetheless, like the secular parties, Hindu nationalists used Jammu and Kashmir as a means to promote their own political platform and to define Indian national identity as being essentially and primarily Hindu. The BJP exploited conflicts with Pakistan in particular to assert this form of identity politics, which justified India’s increasing militarization in Kashmir. Indeed, rhetoric about pacifying insurgency in Kashmir was a consistent part of campaign strategies for right-wing Hindus, as demonstrated before the Indian general election in 1996 when the BJP promised to augment “defense expenditure and [to take] a more aggressive posture towards militant insurgencies…in Jammu and Kashmir.”10


In cases like these, influential right-wing Hindu parties were exceedingly influential in galvanizing domestic support for policies that tightened India’s hold on Kashmir. Hindu nationalism and the anti-Muslim actions that it inspired were easy to discern before the 1996 elections. The combination of Jammu and Kashmir’s Muslim majority and the state’s long history of insurgency made it a fitting target for the BJP’s scathing rhetoric. According to the party, the people of Kashmir, along with Pakistan, “embodied India’s external ‘Muslim threat’” which had “clear political reverberations in domestic communal politics.”11 This followed the logic of electoral politics, with the BJP seeking to rally the Hindu base around its cause before the upcoming elections. Inciting fear of a threatening ‘other’ emphasized that the Kashmiri demographic did not align with India’s touted Hindu majority. According to Angana Chatterji, the “Kashmiri Muslim,” in particular, continues to be “execrated as ‘violent’ and as an ‘enemy,’ with allegiance to an entity other than India”; the government frames this “other” as someone who “can never be fully trusted and must be assimilated into the norm to become [an] obedient nationalsubject.”12 Given Kashmir’s contested status between India and Pakistan, excluding Kashmiri Muslims in such a way frames them as an extension of Pakistan and incorporates them into bilateral, as opposed to separatist, antagonism. This fear mongering took place in the context of South Asia’s nuclearization. Tensions grew when India tested its first nuclear devices in 1998, with Pakistan following soon after, and these tensions provided a convenient pretext for the BJP-led government to conflate insurgency in Kashmir


with national security threats. Pakistan’s clear nuclear capacity became an opportune way to frame the conflict as Muslim aggression towards Indian Hinduism. In addition, joining the international nuclear club had been “a long-held symbol of Hindu pride.” The BJP took virtually all credit for India’s nuclear program, despite the years of development that preceded armament and statements about nuclearization that date back to Nehru.13 The nuclear tests were an unmistakable statement of Indian nationalism. The widely publicized events caused a patriotic surge, which meant that to publicly oppose the events “was to risk being labeled as ‘antinational.’”1 Even though the menace of Pakistan was promulgated in part as a political project, security threats from Pakistan were indeed legitimate and imminent for Indians; the standoff ended only after extensive bloodshed on both sides and international intervention. Nevertheless, these security threats came fraught with nationalist sentiments about boosting India’s status as a global power, which thrived on the criminalization of Kashmiri Muslims. The widespread public support for India’s reactions to the perceived nuclear threats, which resulted in increased violence in Kashmir, serves as an example of how one particular form of nationalism ignored the will of other demographics within India. The September 11 attacks on the United States allowed for further justifications by right-wing Hindu parties to conflate Kashmiri insurgency with purely Islamic motives. After the attacks, India’s home minister banned the Students’ Islamic Movement of India under the pretense that it had links to Kashmiri insurgent members of Al-Qaeda and other pan-Islamic groups. Though a number of militant acts in the region have

had clear religious undertones, the official rhetoric had the effect of discounting any non-religious motives for dissent in Kashmir. These motives arose from treatment by the BJP and other Indian governments who have enforced a “systematic and conscious policy of undermining democratic institutions and federal autonomy provisions in the region” in an effort to make Kashmir’s sovereignty an impossibility.16 This created a complex dynamic in which the national government subjugated and criminalized the people of the region, but still exercised its ardent claims over the territory. In the context of Hindu nationalism, India losing its grip on Kashmir would signal the defeat of this majoritarian form of Indian identity; at the same time, acknowledging the stability of a Muslim majority state within India would undermine Hindu claims to national identity. Thus, the BJP’s stance on Jammu and Kashmir stood in stark contrast to the secular nationalism of the past. Where the secular government strove to prove that different religious identities could coexist under the Indian banner, right-wing Hinduism may have benefited from the region’s instability to advance a singular identity. India’s enormous military presence in Kashmir makes its motives in the region contestable. State and media institutions appear to have concealed Kashmiri nationalism and desire for self-determination as a driving force of conflicts, instead emphasizing struggles between Pakistan and India. In the early 1990s, for instance, the government termed Kashmiri separatist riots “Pakistan’s ‘proxy war,’” as a form of rationalizing the “draconian measures it used to quell the rebellion,” which included curfews and unprovoked shootings.17 More recently, the Indian government has been



accused of continuing to oppress Kashmiri society on shaky grounds. The number of troops that occupy India’s share of the region, at around 671,000, is greatly disproportionate to official estimates of the militant population, which amounts to only around 1,000.18 A ‘People’s Tribunal,’ which is administered in part by Angana Chatterji, has been set up to shed light on the military’s actions in Kashmir. Unaccounted-for killings paint an ominous picture. In one example of allegedly “fake” encounters between the military and supposed insurgents, only one out of 47 casualties was found to be a militant.19 Moreover, instances of rape and other forms of violence perpetrated by the military appear to be widespread. Such covert attacks targeting civil society bring to the fore a number of questions regarding the government’s true motives in Kashmir. Mainstream views among the international community would state that “it is in India’s interest to bring the insurgency in Kashmir to a close and to settle its dispute with Pakistan as quickly as possible,” given that strife threatens India’s security and its legitimacy.20 If Indian leaders do prefer peace in the region, this could also be driven by nationalist motives in the current period of globalization. India’s attempts to rise to international prominence in both economic and political arenas are well documented, and can be seen through its continued appeals to become a permanent member of the United Nations Security Council (UNSC). Much of the current nationalist sentiment therefore comes along with assertions that India is a modern, global nation. Conflicts in Kashmir undoubtedly hinder India’s image of modernity. Given that disputes over the territory are rooted in the 1947 Partition and the tensions around princely


states, Kashmir brings to light remnants of colonialism. In other words, the conflict reflects an impasse “in the space between the ‘former colony’ and the ‘not-yet nation,’” in a government that has consistently asserted its legitimacy as a modern nation-state.21 Still, the Kashmiri people’s widespread desire for secession also undermines the strength of the unitary nation. This explains, in part, why the military has suppressed demands for selfdetermination so furtively, as it must project the image of a nation with control over its own territory, one that has evolved from the turmoil of the past. However, not all violent conflicts can be shrouded, and the extremely public nuclear confrontations with Pakistan are a great example. The open criminalization of Pakistan differs from that of Kashmiri society because Pakistan is a clearly sovereign, internationally recognized ‘other’ in relation to India. In fact, friction with Pakistan can help boost India’s own modernized legitimacy, as it allows the “economic, military, and political disparities between India and Pakistan [to become] increasingly stark.”22 In this way, Indian leaders may find that they highlight their nation’s progressiveness and international dominance by placing it in direct contrast to Pakistan. Jammu and Kashmir has been a consistent arena for Indian declarations of its own nationhood. Different styles of nationalist politics, including Nehru-inspired secularism, right-wing Hinduism and globalized definitions of Indian identity have each employed Kashmir to serve their own ends. This has come at immense costs for the people of Kashmir, resulting in immeasurable bloodshed, roughly 300,000 internally displaced Kashmiri Pandits and little capacity for self-governance. Motivations behind


insurgency in Kashmir are often blurry, either because they are multifaceted or convoluted by the national government. Any lasting peace in the region requires a greater degree of transparency so that the true motives and actions of combatants on both sides can be discerned.












STAFF BIOS ANITA ROJAS CARROLL / NEW YORK, NY NYU Gallatin School of Individualized Study, BA, May 2014 Identity and Narrative in Latin America Minor in Spanish

MATTHEW BERENBAUM / NEW YORK, NY NYU Gallatin School of Individualized Study, BA, May 2013 The Aesthetics of Science, The Logic of Dance

MAGGIE CARTER / DALLAS, TX NYU Gallatin School of Individualized Study, BA, May 2013 Anthropology of Latin America

DECLAN GALVIN / WARREN, MAINE NYU Gallatin School of Individualized Study, MA Candidate African Politics NYU Africa House Fellow and a Gallatin Global Human Rights Fellow Declan plans to matrculate into a PhD program in 2014.

ALISSA JACQUES / BROOKLYN, NY NYU Gallatin School of Individualized Study, BA, May 2016 Liberation Through Business Law and Storytelling

ALEXANDRA HANSEN / BOLINGBROOK, ILLINOIS NYU Gallatin School of Individualized Study, BA, May 2016 Anthropology and Theatre

HENRY TOPPER / FORT LAUDERDALE, FLORIDA NYU Gallatin School of Individualized Study, BA, May 2015 Capitalism and Democracy

KIARA WHITNEY / COLORADO NYU Gallatin School of Individualized Study, BA, May 2013 Community Development Minor in Media, Culture, and Communication

ELISA YI / FAIRFAX, VIRGINIA NYU Gallatin School of Individualized Study, BA, May 2014 International Relations and New Media Minor in Web Programming and Applications



NOTES RAP Y REVOLUCIÓN: AFROCUBANISMO AND POST-REVOLUTIONARY CUBA Fernandes, Sujatha. Close to the Edge: In Search of the Global Hip Hop Generation., p.5 Fernandes, Sujatha. Cuba Represent!: Cuban Arts, State Power, and the Making of New Revolutionary Cultures. 231-233. iii Basu, Dipannita, and Sidney J. Lemelle. The Vinyl Ain’t Final: Hip Hop and the Globalization of Black Popular Culture. London: Pluto, 2006. 223-226. iv Fernandes, Sujatha. Close to the Edge: In Search of the Global Hip Hop Generation. 245-246. v Fernandes, Sujatha. Close to the Edge: In Search of the Global Hip Hop Generation.225-227. vi Whiteley, Sheila, Andy Bennett, and Stan Hawkins. Music, Space and Place: Popular Music and Cultural Identity. 178-179. vii Fernandes, Sujatha. Cuba Represent!: Cuban Arts, State Power, and the Making of New Revolutionary Cultures. Durham: Duke University Press, 2006. 233-235. viii Fernandes, Sujatha. Cuba Represent!: Cuban Arts, State Power, and the Making of New Revolutionary Cultures. Durham: Duke University Press, 2006. 134. ix Fernandes, Sujatha. Cuba Represent!: Cuban Arts, State Power, and the Making of New Revolutionary Cultures. Durham: Duke University Press, 2006. 186. xi Whiteley, Sheila, Andy Bennett, and Stan Hawkins. Music, Space and Place: Popular Music and Cultural Identity. 277. xi Basu, Dipannita, and Sidney J. Lemelle. The Vinyl Ain’t Final: Hip Hop and the Globalization of Black Popular Culture. London: Pluto, 2006. 165. xii Fernandes, Sujatha. Close to the Edge: In Search of the Global Hip Hop Generation. 213. xiii Basu, Dipannita, and Sidney J. Lemelle. The Vinyl Ain’t Final: Hip Hop and the Globalization of Black Popular Culture. London: Pluto, 2006. 321. xiv Fernandes, Sujatha. Cuba Represent!: Cuban Arts, State Power, and the Making of New Revolutionary Cultures. Durham: Duke University Press, 2006. 145. xv Fernandes, Sujatha. Cuba Represent!: Cuban Arts, State Power, and the Making of New Revolutionary Cultures. Durham: Duke University Press, 2006. 145. xvi Fernandes, Sujatha. Cuba Represent!: Cuban Arts, State Power, and the Making of New Revolutionary Cultures. Durham: Duke University Press, 2006. 227. xvii Basu, Dipannita, and Sidney J. Lemelle. The Vinyl Ain’t Final: Hip Hop and the Globalization of Black Popular Culture. London: Pluto, 2006. 88. xviii Whiteley, Sheila, Andy Bennett, and Stan Hawkins. Music, Space and Place: Popular Music and Cultural Identity. 162. xix Fernandes, Sujatha. Close to the Edge: In Search of the Global Hip Hop Generation. 99. xx Fernandes, Sujatha. Close to the Edge: In Search of the Global Hip Hop Generation.178. xxi Fernandes, Sujatha. Close to the Edge: In Search of the Global Hip Hop Generation.222. xxii Fernandes, Sujatha. Close to the Edge: In Search of the Global Hip Hop Generation.223. xxiii Basu, Dipannita, and Sidney J. Lemelle. The Vinyl Ain’t Final: Hip Hop and the Globalization of Black Popular Culture. London: Pluto, 2006. 313. xxiv Basu, Dipannita, and Sidney J. Lemelle. The Vinyl Ain’t Final: Hip Hop and the Globalization of Black Popular Culture. London: Pluto, 2006. 321. xxv Fernandes, Sujatha. Cuba Represent!: Cuban Arts, State Power, and the Making of New Revolutionary Cultures. Durham: Duke University Press, 2006. 130. i



JOURNAL OF GLOBAL AFFAIRS | VOLUME 8 | FALL 2013 EDITION Fernandes, Sujatha. Cuba Represent!: Cuban Arts, State Power, and the Making of New Revolutionary Cultures. Durham: Duke University Press, 2006. 131. xxvii Fernandes, Sujatha. Cuba Represent!: Cuban Arts, State Power, and the Making of New Revolutionary Cultures. Durham: Duke University Press, 2006. 132. xxviii Whiteley, Sheila, Andy Bennett, and Stan Hawkins. Music, Space and Place: Popular Music and Cultural Identity. 275. xxix Fernandes, Sujatha. Cuba Represent!: Cuban Arts, State Power, and the Making of New Revolutionary Cultures. Durham: Duke University Press, 2006. 140. xxx Fernandes, Sujatha. Cuba Represent!: Cuban Arts, State Power, and the Making of New Revolutionary Cultures. Durham: Duke University Press, 2006. 127. xxxi Fernandes, Sujatha. Cuba Represent!: Cuban Arts, State Power, and the Making of New Revolutionary Cultures. Durham: Duke University Press, 2006. 140. xxxii Fernandes, Sujatha. Close to the Edge: In Search of the Global Hip Hop Generation. 146. xxxiii Fernandes, Sujatha. Close to the Edge: In Search of the Global Hip Hop Generation. 15. xxxiv Fernandes, Sujatha. Close to the Edge: In Search of the Global Hip Hop Generation. 16. xxxv Whiteley, Sheila, Andy Bennett, and Stan Hawkins. Music, Space and Place: Popular Music and Cultural Identity. 207. xxxvi Fernandes, Sujatha. Cuba Represent!: Cuban Arts, State Power, and the Making of New Revolutionary Cultures. Durham: Duke University Press, 2006. 18. xxxvii Fernandes, Sujatha. Cuba Represent!: Cuban Arts, State Power, and the Making of New Revolutionary Cultures. Durham: Duke University Press, 2006. 18. xxxviii Fernandes, Sujatha. Close to the Edge: In Search of the Global Hip Hop Generation. 154. xxxix Fernandes, Sujatha. Cuba Represent!: Cuban Arts, State Power, and the Making of New Revolutionary Cultures. Durham: Duke University Press, 2006. 114. xl Fernandes, Sujatha. Close to the Edge: In Search of the Global Hip Hop Generation.115. xli Fernandes, Sujatha. Close to the Edge: In Search of the Global Hip Hop Generation.119. xlii Fernandes, Sujatha. Cuba Represent!: Cuban Arts, State Power, and the Making of New Revolutionary Cultures. Durham: Duke University Press, 2006. 16. 122. xliii Basu, Dipannita, and Sidney J. Lemelle. The Vinyl Ain’t Final: Hip Hop and the Globalization of Black Popular Culture. London: Pluto, 2006. 188. xliv Fernandes, Sujatha. Cuba Represent!: Cuban Arts, State Power, and the Making of New Revolutionary Cultures. Durham: Duke University Press, 2006. 16. 122. xxvi

THE TRIALS OF THE WRETCHED President Barack Obama. “Osama bin Laden Dead.” May 11, 2011. Accessed December 17, 2011. ii Robert H. Jackson. “Opening Statement Nuremberg Trials, 1945.” PBS Primary Sources. November 21, 1945. Accessed December 17, 2011. personality/sources_document12.html. iii Hannah Arendt. Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil. (New York: Penguin Books, 2006.) 234-240. iv Ibid. 259. v Ibid. vi Ibid. vii Ibid. viii Ibid. 263. ix Ibid. 253. i


JOURNAL OF GLOBAL AFFAIRS | VOLUME 8 | FALL 2013 Ibid. Hannah Arendt. Responsibility and Judgment. (New York: Schocken Books, 2003.) 25. xii Ibid. 25. xiii Ibid. 26. xiv Hannah Arendt. Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil. 257. xv Ibid. xvi Ibid. xvii Gregory Elich. “Selective Justice and the Trial of Saddam Hussein.” November 9, 2006. xviii Accessed December 17, 2011. xviii Ibid. xix Curtis Doebbler. “The Saddam Hussein Verdict: An Abuse of Justice.” The Jurist. November 6, 2006. Accessed December 17, 2011. xx Faiz Shakir. “A Timeline of the Iraq War.” Think Progress. March 17, 2006. Accessed December 17, 2011. xxi Ibid. xxii Curtis Doebbler. xxiii Human Rights Watch. “Judging Dujail.” Iraq. November 2006. xxiv Faiz Shakir. xxv Gregory Elich. xxvi Curtis Doebbler. xxvii Ibid. xxviii Noam Chomsky. “What a Fair Trial Would Entail.” The Toronto Star. January 25, 2004. Accessed December 17, 2011. xxix Curtis Doebbler. xxx Noam Chomsky. “On the Occupation of Iraq, the Trial of Saddam, and the US Election.” The Guardian. March 16, 2004. Accessed on December 17, 2011. interviews/20040316.htm. xxxi Noam Chomsky. “My Reaction to Osama bin Laden’s Death.” Guernica. May 16, 2011. Accessed December 17, 2011. os/. xxxii Human Rights Watch. 5. xxxiii Human Rights Watch. 6. x


REHABILITATING CHILD SOLDIERS: ALLEVIATING VIOLATIONS OF HEALTH AND HUMAN RIGHTS Verhey, Beth. “Child Soldiers: Preventing, Demobilizing, and Reintegrating.” Africa Region Working Paper Series, World Bank Post-Conflict Unit. No. 23 (November 2001): 1-31. Print. ii Wessells, Michael. Child Soldiers. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2006. Print. p. 8 iii Verhey, p. 27 iv Wessells, p. 7-8 v Verhey, p. 1 vi Wessells, p. 10-11 vii United Nations General Assembly. International Convention on the Rights of the Child, Article 38. 20 November 1989. viii International Convention on the Rights of the Child, Article 38 ix Wessells, p. 5 x United Nations General Assembly. Optional Protocol to the Convention on the Rights of the i


JOURNAL OF GLOBAL AFFAIRS | VOLUME 8 | FALL 2013 EDITION Involvement of Children in Armed Conflict. 25 May 2000. xi United Nations General Assembly. Geneva Conventions, Additional Protocol I, Article 77. 12 August 1949. xii Hammarberg, Thomas. “The UN Convention on the Rights of the Child – and How to Make It Work.” Human Rights Quarterly 12 (1990): 97-105. Print. p. 100 xiii International Convention on the Rights of the Child, Article 6 xiv Verhey, p. 15 xv Bracken, Patrick J. and Celia Petty. Rethinking the Trauma of War. New York: Free Association Books Ltd, 1998. Print. p. 70 xvi Bracken, p 67-68 xvii “Comparison of Mental Health Between Former Child Soldiers and Children Never Conscripted by Armed Groups in Nepal.” Journal of the American Medical Association 300.6 (August 2008): 691-701. Print. xviii Wessells, Michael. “Psychosocial Issues in Reintegrating Child Soldiers.” Cornell International Law Journal 37 (2004): 513-525. Print. xix Bracken, p. 62 xx Bracken, p. 62-65 xxi Bracken, p. 72-73 xxii Betancourt, Theresa Stichick. “Child Soldiers: Reintegration, Pathways to Recovery, and Reflections from he Field.” Journal of Developmental & Behavioral Pediatrics 29.2 (April 2008): 138141. Print. xxiii Young, Aaron. “Preventing, Demobilizing, Rehabilitating, and Reintegrating Child Soldiers in African Conflicts.” The Journal of International Policy Solutions 7 (2007): 19-24. Print. p. 20 xxiv Verhey, p. 12-13 (This endnote applies to the two paragraphs before where the endnote is marked.) xxv Williamson, John. “The disarmament, demobilization and reintegration of child soldiers: social and psychological transformation in Sierra Leone.” Intervention, War Trauma Foundation 4.3 (2006): 185-205. Print. p. 185 xxvi Wessells, p. 13 xxvii Williamson, p. 185-189 xxviii Williamson, p. 189-198 xxix Verhey, p. 15-16 xxx Verhey, p. 18-21 xxxi Bracken, p. 62 xxxii Verhey, p. 17 xxxiii Williamson, p. 189-198 xxxiv Medeiros, Emilie. “Integrating Mental Health into Post-conflict Rehabilitation: The Case of xxxv Sierra Leonean and Liberian ‘Child Soldiers’.” Journal of Health Psychology 12.3 (2007): 498-504. Print. p. 501 xxxvi Williamson, p. 199 xxxvii Medeiros, p. 501 xxxviii Williamson, p. 200-201 xxxix Rivard, Lysanne. “Child Soldiers and Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration Programs: The Universalism of Children’s Rights vs. Cultural Relativism Debate.” The Journal of Humanitarian Assistance (August 23, 2010): 1-15. Print. p. 1 xl Rivard, p. 10 xli Bracken, p. 73-74 xlii “The Child Soldiers Prevention Act.” World Vision: Building a Better World For Children. Web. 9 May 2011. <


JOURNAL OF GLOBAL AFFAIRS | VOLUME 8 | FALL 2013 childprotection-conflict-bill> xliii “Child Soldiers.” Amnesty International USA. Amnesty International USA, 2011. Web. 16 April 2011. <>. xliv Bracken, p. 74 xlv Singer, Merrill and G. Derrick Hodge. The War Machine and Global Health. Lanham: AltaMira Press, 2010. Print. p. 109 xlvi Verhey, p. 3-4 xlvii Bracken, p. 74 xlviii Wessells, 240-241 xlix Betancourt, p. 141

CIVIL SOCIETY OCCUPIES THE RIO+20 EARTH SUMMIT Rio+20 - United Nations Conference on Sustainable Development. United Nations. <www.>. ii History of climate change science. Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. < wiki/History_of_climate_change_science>. iii Rio Declaration on Environment and Development. United Nations Environment Programme. <>. iv Planet Under Pressure. <>. v Challenge Papers. Global Transition 2012. <>. vi Everything you need to know. Robin Hood Tax. < everything-you-need-to-know>. vii <>. viii WHO. World Health Organization. <>. ix The Future We Want. United Nations. < documents/727The%20Future%20We%20Want%2019%20June%201230pm.pdf>. x $1 Trillion in Global Fossil Fuel Subsidies & the Urgent Need for Transparency. The Price of Oil. <>. xi Planetary Boundaries. Stockholm Resilience Centre. < research/researchnews/tippingtowardstheunknown.5.7cf9c5aa121e17bab42800021543.html>. xii Representative of the Children and Youth major group, Opening of the Conference, 1st Plenary Meeting, Rio+20. UN WebTV. < youth>. xiii Brittany Trilford, Opening of the Conference, 1st Plenary Meeting, Rio+20. UN WebTV. <>. xiv Representative of the Non-Governmental Organizations major group, Opening of the Conference, 1st Plenary Meeting, Rio+20. UN WebTV. < representative-of-the-non-governmental-organizations-major-group-opening-of-the-conference1st-plenary-meeting-rio20/1698993624001>. xv - Home of the CYCC CYDD. <>. xvi Opening the People’s Plenary at Rio+20. < RM8MmY&feature=plcp>. xvii Building the People’s Summit Rio+20. Rio+20 Portal. <>. xviii Home. Friends of the Earth. <>. i


JOURNAL OF GLOBAL AFFAIRS | VOLUME 8 | FALL 2013 EDITION IBON International Home Page! IBON International. <>. Rio+20 protestors perform ‘ritual rip-up’ of negotiated text. The Guardian. < le>. xxi Commitments. Cloud of Commitments. <>. xix xx

STATE-SPONSORED VIOLENCE: BETWEEN TERROR AND COUNTERTERROR David Kilcullen, The Accidental Guerrilla: Fighting Small Wars in the Midst of a Big One (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), xv 2 Norbert Lechner, “Some People Die of Fear: Fear as a Political Problem,” in Fear at the Edge: State Terror and Resistance in Latin America, ed. Juan E. Corradi, et al. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992), 27. 3 Patricia Weiss Fagen, “Repression and State Security,” in Fear at the Edge: State Terror and Resistance in Latin America, ed. Juan E. Corradi, et al. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992), 41. 4 Ibid., 43. 5 Ibid. 6 Ibid., 44. 7 Fatma M. Göçek, “Deciphering Denial: Modernity, The Turkish State, and the 1915 Collective Violence Against the Armenians,” Hagop Kevorkian Center for Near Eastern Studies at NYU, Richard Ettinghausen Library, October 17, 2011. 8 Ibid. 9 Timurtaş v Turkey, 2000-VI Eur Ct HR 221 (2000). 10 Ertak v Turkey, Eur Ct HR 193 (2000). 11 Carole Nagengast, “Violence, Terror, and the Crisis of the State,” Annual Review of Anthropology 23 (1994): 119. 12 Bawer Çakır, “Ergenekon’u Bilmiyorum, Buraların Yabancısıyım,” Bianet, October 21, 2008. http:// 13 Zeki Günal, “Bir annenin çığlığı,” Radikal, December 12, 2011. aspx?aType=RadikalDetayV3&ArticleID=1072289&CategoryID=77 14 Naomi Roht-Arriaza, The Pinochet Effect (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2005). 15 Ibid. 16 Lechner, “Some People Die of Fear: Fear as a Political Problem,” 27. 17 Ibid., 28. 18 Fagen, “Repression and State Security,” 62-3. 19 Nagengast, “Violence, Terror, and the Crisis of the State,” 111. 20 Ibid., 122. 21 E. V. Walter, “Violence and the Process of Terror,” American Sociological Review 29.2 (1964): 257. 22 Ibid., 255-6. 23 Fagen, “Repression and State Security,” 46. 24 Ibid., 39. 25 Theresa Reinold, “State Weakness, Irregular Warfare, and the Right to Self-Defense Post-9/11,” The American Journal of International Law 105.2 (2011): 249. 26 Noam Chomsky, “Superpower and failed states,” Khaleej Times, April 5, 2006. 27 Ibid. 1


JOURNAL OF GLOBAL AFFAIRS | VOLUME 8 | FALL 2013 Paul Wilkinson, “Can a State Be Terrorist?” International Affairs (Royal Institute of National Affairs) 57.3 (1981): 467. 28

CROSS CLASS OPPOSITION TO HUSNI MUBARAK “Retention” dir. Sherif Arafa, in Eighteen Days (Egypt, 2011) “The Role of Rising Food Prices in Egypt’s Revolution,” PBS Newshour (30 November 2011), Accessed online at iii Arthur Goldschmidt, Modern Egypt: the Formation of a Nation State (Boulder: Westview Books, 2004), 193; “The Role of Rising Food Prices” iv “The Role of Rising Food Prices” v Goldschmidt, Modern Egypt, 145; “The Role of Rising Food Prices” vi Goldschmidt, Modern Egypt, 192; Tarek Osman, Egypt on the Brink: From Nasser to Mubarak (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2011), 200 vii Mona El-Ghobashy, “The Praxis of the Egyptian Revolution,” Middle East Report 258 (Spring 2011), accessed online at viii “The Role of Rising Food Prices” ix Osman, Egypt on the Brink, 200 x Goldschmidt, Modern Egypt, 189 xi Osman, Egypt on the Brink, 259 xii Osman, Egypt on the Brink, 131 xiii Osman, Egypt on the Brink, 130 xiv Mona El-Ghobashy, “The Praxis of the Egyptian Revolution”; Paul Amar, “Why Egypt’s Progressives Win,” Jadaliyya (8 February 2011), accessed online at pages/index/586/why-egypts-progressives-win xv Amar, “Why Egypt’s Progressives Win” xvi Amar, “Why Egypt’s Progressives Win”; Goldschmidt, Modern Egypt, 194 xvii Osman, Egypt on the Brink, 141 xviii Paul Amar, “Why Mubarak is Out,” Jadaliyya (1 February 2011), accessed online at http://www. Linda Herrera, “Egypt’s Revolution 2.0: the Facebook Factor,” Jadaliyya (12 February 2011), accessed online at xx Goldschmidt, Modern Egypt, 193 xxi Goldschmidt, Modern Egypt, 194 xxii Amar, “Why Egypt’s Progressives Win” xxiii Charles Hirschkind, “From the Blogosphere to the Street: the Role of Social Media in the Egyptian Uprising,” Jadaliyya (9 February 2011), accessed online at pages/index/599/from-the-blogosphere-to-the-street_the-role-of-soc xxiv Amar, “Why Egypt’s Progressives Win”; Herrera, “Egypt’s Revolution 2.0” xxv Osman, Egypt on the Brink, 166 xxvi Mervat Hatem, “Gender and Revolution in Egypt,” Middle East Report 261 (Winter 2011), accessed online at; Goldschmidt, Modern Egypt, 192 xxvii Goldschmidt, Modern Egypt, 142 xxviii Ursula Lindsey, “The Cultural Revolution,” Foreign Policy (4 August 2011), accessed online at xxix Asef Bayat, “Egypt, and the Post-Islamist Middle East,” Jadaliyya (10 February 2011), accessed i



JOURNAL OF GLOBAL AFFAIRS | VOLUME 8 | FALL 2013 EDITION online at xxx Amar, “Why Mubarak is Out” xxxi Osman, Egypt on the Brink, 137 xxxii Osman, Egypt on the Brink, 131 xxxiii Hirsschkind, “From the Blogosphere to the Street” xxxiv Amar, “Why Mubarak is Out” xxxv Osman, Egypt on the Brink, 115 xxxvi Osman, Egypt on the Brink, 129 xxxvii Amar, “Why Egypt’s Progressives Win” xxxviii “The Role of Rising Food Prices” xxxix Goldschmidt, Modern Egypt, 145 xl Osman, Egypt on the Brink, 242 xli Goldschmidt, Modern Egypt, 186 xlii Bassam Haddad, “English Translation of Interview with Hossam El-Hamalawy on the Role of Labor/Unions in the Egyptian Revolution,” Jadaliyya (30 April 2011), accessed online at http:// xliii Amar, “Why Mubarak is Out” xliv Goldschmidt, Modern Egypt, 187 xlv Osman, Egypt on the Brink, 199; “Muslim Brotherhood—in Pictures,” The Guardian (8 February 2011), accessed online at xlvi Goldschmidt, Modern Egypt, 148; “Muslim Brotherhood—in Pictures” xlvii Sami Zubaida, “The ‘Arab Spring’ in Historical Perspective,” Open Democracy: Free Thinking for the World (21 October 2011), accessed online at arab-spring-in-historical-perspective xlviii Goldschmidt, Modern Egypt, 198 xlix Hatem, “Gender and Revolution in Egypt” l Noha Radwan, “How Egyptian Women Took Back the Street Between Two Black Fridays: A First Person Account.” Jadaliyya (20 February 2011), accessed online at pages/index/694/how-egyptian-women-took-back-the-street-between-tw li Osman, Egypt on the Brink, 242 lii Amar, “Why Egypt’s Progressives Win” liii Haya Fawda [It’s Chaos] dir. Youssef Chahine (MISR International Films, 2007) liv Naber, “Imperial Feminism, Islamophobia, and the Egyptian Revolution,” lv Bayat, “Egypt, and the Post-Islamist Middle East” lvi Radwan, “How Egyptian Women Took Back the Street” lvii Amar, “Why Egypt’s Progressives Win” lviii Haddad, “English Translation of Interview with Hossam El-Hamalawy” lix Kurt Anderson, “The Protestor,” Time (14 December 2011), accessed online at http://www.time. com/time/specials/packages/article/0,28804,2101745_2102132_2102373,00.html

BITTERSWEET: CHOCOLATE TOURISM IN THE CARIBBEAN Baz Dreisinger, “A Chocolate Tour of the Caribbean,” New York Times, November 9, 2012. Accessed November 12, 2012, ii Rivek Jaffe, “Ital Chic: Rastafari, Resistance, and the Politics of Consumption in Jamaica,” Small Axe 14:1 (March 2010), 31. iii Dreisinger, “A Chocolate Tour of the Caribbean.” i


JOURNAL OF GLOBAL AFFAIRS | VOLUME 8 | FALL 2013 Dreisinger, “A Chocolate Tour of the Caribbean.” Dreisinger, “A Chocolate Tour of the Caribbean.” vi Dreisinger, “A Chocolate Tour of the Caribbean.” vii “Bri Bri Indigenous Reserve Tour,” Willi’s Costa Rica Tours, accessed November 12, 2012, http:// viii “Tours,” Hotel Chocolat, accessed November 12, 2012, html. ix Dreisinger, “A Chocolate Tour of the Caribbean.” x Jaffe, “Ital Chic,” 31. xi Dreisinger, “A Chocolate Tour of the Caribbean.” xii Boutique Boucan Hotel & Restaurant Saint Lucia, accessed November 12, 2012, http://www. xiii Dreisinger, “A Chocolate Tour of the Caribbean.” xiv Dreisinger, “A Chocolate Tour of the Caribbean.” xv Dreisinger, “A Chocolate Tour of the Caribbean.” xvi Dreisinger, “A Chocolate Tour of the Caribbean.” xvii Dreisinger, “A Chocolate Tour of the Caribbean.” xviii Dreisinger, “A Chocolate Tour of the Caribbean.” xix Jaffe, “Ital Chic,” 31. xx Dreisinger, “A Chocolate Tour of the Caribbean.” xxi Dreisinger, “A Chocolate Tour of the Caribbean.” iv v

KASHMIR AND OPPOSING NATIONALISMS Nivedita Menon and Aditya Nigam, Power and Contestation: India since 1989 (Halifax, N.S.: Fernwood Pub., 2007). 152. 2 P.A. Sebastian, “Kashmir behind the Propaganda Curtain,” Economic and Political Weekly, 1996: 320. 3 Arundhati Roy, “Nehru on Kashmir,” November 29, 2010, roy291110.html. 4 Nivedita Menon and Aditya Nigam, Power and Contestation: India since 1989 (Halifax, N.S.: Fernwood Pub., 2007). 154. 5 The Economist, South Asia’s Water: Unquenchable Thirst, November 19, 2011, http://www. 6 Economic Policies of Jawaharlal Nehru, 2009, economic-policies.html. 7 Siddhartha Prakash, “Political Economy of Kashmir since 1947,” Economic and Political Weekly, 2000: 2052. 8 Sumit Ganguly, “Will Kashmir Stop India’s Rise?,” Foreign Affairs 85, no. 4 (2006): 46. 9 Nivedita Menon and Aditya Nigam, Power and Contestation: India since 1989 (Halifax, N.S.: Fernwood Pub., 2007). 157. 10 Sanjay Ruparelia, “Rethinking Institutional Theories of Political Moderation: The Case of Hindu Nationalism in India, 1996-2004,” Comparative Politics, 2006: 321. 11 Ibid., 327. 12 Angana P. Chatterji, Ritty A. Lukose and Ania Loomba, “Witnessing as Feminist Intervention in India-administered Kashmir,” South Asian Feminisms. 238. 13 Sanjay Ruparelia, “Rethinking Institutional Theories of Political Moderation: The Case of Hindu Nationalism in India, 1996-2004,” Comparative Politics, 2006: 326. 1






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Journal of Global Affairs Fall 2013  

The Fall 2013 issue of the Gallatin Journal of Global Affairs.

Journal of Global Affairs Fall 2013  

The Fall 2013 issue of the Gallatin Journal of Global Affairs.