Virginia Journal of International Affairs - Fall 2020

VIRGINIA JOURNAL of INTERNATIONAL AFFAIRS

FALL 2020

Virginia Journal of International Affairs Fall 2020

Contents Editorial Staff

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Information

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From the Editor

Manaal Khwaja

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Out of Sight, Out of Mind: How Newspaper Genocide Coverage is Shaped by Misinformation and Racial Stereotypes

Libby Scully

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Environmental Effects and Socio-Environmental Consequences of Structural Adjustment Programs

Tahi Wiggins

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State Sovereignty and Intercountry Adoption: A New Form of Immigration

Katherine Timothy

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Continuities in the Sino-North Korean Relationship From the Ming/Qing-Joseon Relationship to Present PRC-DPRK Relations

Gauri Prakash

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Does Hate Media Incite Genocide? An Analysis of Genocidal Processes in the Third Reich, Rwanda, the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria, and Myanmar

Ali Acker

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Facebook’s Façade: Understanding the Disillusionment of Tunisian Youth

Adam Cooper

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Editorial Staff Editor-in-Chief

Manaal Khwaja

Co-Managing Editor

Ben Gustafson

Co-Managing Editor

Emily Ma

Production Chair

Nicole Luz

Media Manager

Priya Viswanathan

Event Coordinator

Anna Bickley

Special Projects

Matt Heller

Editing Staff

Lara Arif

Maya Nir

Sukanya Barman

Carina Ritcheson

Jeanette Hosmer

Catie Claire Smith

Tristan Guarnieri

Elisabeth Tamte

Akshi Kalavakonda

Jule Voss

Jack Massingill

Aria Zareibidgoli

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Information About the Virginia Journal The Virginia Journal of International Affairs is the University of Virginia’s preeminent publication for undergraduate research in international relations. The Virginia Journal is developed and distributed by the studentrun International Relations Organization of the University of Virginia.

The Virginia Journal is one of the only undergraduate research journals for international relations in the country, and aims both to showcase the impressive research conducted by the students at UVA and to spark productive conversation within the University community. The Virginia Journal seeks to foster interest in international issues and promote high quality undergraduate research in foreign affairs. The Journal is available online at vajournalia.org.

Submissions Interested in submitting to the Virginia Journal? The Journal seeks research papers on current topics in international affairs that are at least ten pages in length. Only undergraduates or recent graduates are eligible to submit.

Submissions should be sent to thewilsonjournal@gmail.com.

Contact Please direct all comments to thewilsonjournal@gmail.com

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From the Editor Dear Reader, With global cases of COVID-19 growing above 50 million as I write this, the ongoing pandemic knows no end in sight. This pandemic undoubtedly will shadow the memory of this year. Even so, the world continues to spin. Elections, such as our own recent critical presidential election, continue and people carry out their habitual routines. Even in light of a global pandemic, violent events brought on by colonial land division, histories of brutality, and exploitation make their faces known. The Yemeni Civil War, the Syrian Civil War, and the Tigray military operations still persist and bring suffering to millions. In our own country, in June, there was renewed attention upon the history and reality of racism as the tragic, unjust killings of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Rayshard Brooks, and countless others were brought to light. Even an international force as powerful as the virus cannot halt individuals for long, as people are still torn and hungry for change.

A fatalistic perspective would tell us there is no room to foster growth. But we must know this cannot be true. Throughout history, humanity has shown resilience in the face of uncertainty and fear. Through connection and understanding, we can envision a better future. We saw that through the expansion of the Black Lives Matter movement. Now existing as more than just a hashtag, it’s a global rallying cry. Even the ArmeniaAzerbaijan conflict came to a sudden halt through a peace deal. Now, more than ever, we are interconnected with others around the globe.

The Journal itself, to combat the legacy of racism in this country, was recently renamed. Previously named in honor of Woodrow Wilson, the 28th President of the U.S. and a law student at UVA, the Journal now recognizes and has reacted to the racist, segregationist values his name upholds. This change is the least we can do to address the systemic racism that permits ignorance to go unchallenged.

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In such a unique global age, the Virginia Journal finds itself at an important position. For over fifteen years, the Journal has sought to promote robust discussion of critical foreign issues. Considering our ever-increasing global interdependence and unification inadvertently brought upon by the virus, it’s all the more vital to examine our place and the place of others on the global stage. This edition, featuring a unique cohort of topics which span from international adoption issues to the political role of Facebook, allows for that critical examination. While you read this edition, I hope it offers you a break from present-day worries and permits you to explore discussions and ideas priorly unknown to you.

Our Journal could not exist without the support of countless individuals, groups, and the University of Virginia. Firstly, I thank the International Relations Organization at UVA for its invaluable, consistent support of the Journal and our mission. Additionally, I offer many thanks to those who helped the Journal transition to a predominantly virtual format this semester and the previous one. It was no simple feat to reconstruct the operation of the Journal.

My sincerest gratitude also goes out to professors and students involved in the submission process and promotion of the Journal. Moreover, I would like to thank the editorial staff for their tireless work, and the Executive Board, without whom this publication would cease to exist. Our staff ’s opinion editorial pieces have also played a wonderful role in bringing foreign affairs discussion right to the heart of this university. Finally, I would like to thank you, the reader. Your interest in global affairs strengthens our commitment to providing an avenue for academic discussion of international affairs and enkindles the international awareness greatly needed in these inconceivable times. We are honored to have you with us.

Sincerely,

Manaal Khwaja Editor-in-Chief

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Out of Sight, Out of Mind: How Newspaper Genocide Coverage is Shaped by Misinformation and Racial Stereotypes

By Libby Scully About the Author Libby Scully, of Fairfax, Virginia, is a second year Master of Public Policy Student. She graduated from the College of Arts and Sciences last year with a Bachelor of Arts in Global Studies Security and Justice, with a focus on genocide studies. Her areas of interest include international relations, human rights, conflict resolution, and national security. At UVA, Libby has been a member of The Cavalier Daily, International Relations Organization, Formative Change Group Consulting, and a research assistant for both the Department of Religion, Politics and Conflict and the National Security Policy Center. Upon graduation from the Frank Batten School of Leadership and Public Policy, Libby plans to enter the government.

Foreword Libby Scully originally wrote her article, Out of Sight, Out of Mind: How Newspaper Genocide Coverage is Shaped by Misinformation and Racial Stereotypes, as her thesis paper in my GSSJ 4991 Capstone Seminar in Security and Justice course. All GSSJ majors take this course in their final semester at UVA, working collaboratively in small workshop groups of like-minded students, but also toiling away individually while receiving weekly feedback from me to complete a thesis in a single semester. The requirement is that every student make a genuinely original contribution to knowledge, and Libby's thesis does that extremely well.

Specifically, the article utilizes systematic content analysis to consider

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Libby Scully

how, if at all, US newspapers have changed in the racialized language that they use to discuss past and present instances of genocide. Libby finds that newspaper coverage has certainly changed, and that, for example, the racist stereotypes used to discuss the Rwandan genocide in 1994 are less prevalent today than they were at the time it occurred. That said, hers is also not a simple story of straightforward improvement over time, with, for example, Islamophobic language in newspaper coverage gaining prominence after 9/11.

In conducting these analyses, moreover, Libby has made important updates to an in some case dated existing scholarly literature.

In summary, Libby's article has the rare combination in an undergraduate paper of being at once topical, interesting, scholarly, and concise. I am very pleased to see it published here and I am hopeful your readers will enjoy it as well.

Peter A. Furia Director of Global Studies-Security and Justice University of Virginia Abstract This article provides findings concerning American newspaper coverage of the Bosnian and Rwandan Genocides. To varying degrees, newspapers used racially-coded words in their articles to describe both conflicts with a heavier usage for the Rwandan Genocide. This can be attributed, at least in part, to minimal background knowledge of Rwanda, leading reporters to rely on racial stereotypes instead of research. Original contribution furthers this research into the modern era by adding two additional time frames: one year after the end of each genocide and 2019, to explore whether newspaper coverage gradually became less racist. The findings ask us to consider why each raciallycoded word was used more frequently at each time and place. This article suggests that racially-coded language occurs more frequently during a period in which a stereotype is prominent in American pop-culture.

Introduction There are very few cases in which the international community has intervened to stop genocide even though the United States and other

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leading nations were presented with the opportunity to stop an assortment of genocides in the twentieth century. These events included the Armenian Genocide, Nazi Holocaust, Cambodian Genocide, Kurdish Genocide in Northern Iraq, Bosnian Genocide, and Rwandan Genocide (Power 2013).

While US policymakers use many excuses to explain why intervention did not occur, the most common refrain is a lack of knowledge. Evidence that demonstrates the occurrence of a genocide is typically accumulated from humanitarian organizations, intelligence reports, and news organizations.

Many times, news organizations have information that the government has not been able to confirm yet. Therefore, the way that media portrays genocide can be very impactful in government response.

Two of the foremost genocides from the 1990’s occurred in Rwanda and Bosnia-Serbia, former-Yugoslavia. Although both conflicts were very similar and had comparable message potential, news outlets did not balance coverage fairly. Due to lack of background knowledge, the press failed at covering Rwanda sufficiently and accurately, relying on racist stereotypes to shape their stories.

Background on Cases The Rwandan Genocide started on April 7, 1994 and lasted 100 days. During this short time, 800,000 Tutsis were murdered by Hutus (BBC 2019). The ethnic tensions between the Hutus and Tutsis originated from Belgian colonial influence. Prior to Belgian rule, Tutsis were the cattleherding minority and Hutus were the farmhand majority (PBS 1999). The social class was not a strict division, but changes rarely occurred. Belgian colonists furthered the divide by giving positions of power to Tutsis and forcing everyone to carry identity cards.

During the genocide, the Hutu majority led military campaigns against the Tutsi minority to gain power. A typical genocide involves a male-dominated militia attempting to kill all men, women, and children of one ethnic group. The Rwandan genocide was unusual because all members; men, women, and children; of the Hutu group were killing all members of the Tutsi. The Hutu militant leaders gave out weapons to local Hutus so that they could identify and kill their Tutsi neighbors and ‘friends’. This amount of violence is atypical, even in genocide (Sarkin and Fowler 2010, 64).

The Bosnian Genocide and Rwandan Genocide share many

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characteristics. Both genocides involved a high death count, political origins, and ethnic conflict; additionally, both occurred around the same time. The main difference between the two was that the West chose to intervene in Bosnia, while choosing not to intervene in the Rwandan Genocide.

Even though Bosnia did have some form of intervention, critics such as Samantha Power say that America could have done significantly more for the Bosnians. Since the end of the Vietnam War, America has restrained itself from intervening in conflicts for humanitarian reasons (Power 2013, 284).

However, by the time Clinton became President in 1993, 58% of Americans believed that the military should be used to prevent further deaths in Bosnia (Power 2013, 294). In August 1995, Clinton was pushed by American public opinion to engage in Bosnia through NATO airstrikes. These airstrikes were able to satisfy America’s desire for a balance between nonconfrontation and humanitarian intervention since no Americans were placed in danger. If Americans had been truly committed to conflict intervention, ground troops would have also been used.

Literature Review The Rwandan and Bosnian Genocides had what is called “comparable message potential” (Myers, Klak, and Koehl 1996, 22). This statement means that both conflicts could have received similar press coverage. They both involved an ethnic genocide and had imperialist influences. To generate more interesting stories, news sources sometimes push their reporters to frame stories in a certain way. Editors and producers decide what stories will be published, what perspectives to take, and where articles are printed. News stories are generally evaluated based on seven criteria: impact, timeliness, prominence, proximity, bizarreness, conflict, and currency (NCCAT 2020).

The stories coming out of Bosnia satisfied the demand for bizarreness, impact, timeliness, prominence, proximity, and conflict. They claimed that if the former-Yugoslavia became a failed state, it could present a security risk to the West. Rwanda could only meet the criteria of bizarreness, timeliness, and conflict. The situation in Rwanda was reportedly caused by “ancient ethnic hatreds” (Robison 2004, 378 - 401). The first portrayal makes intervention seem necessary while the second makes intervention seem fruitless.

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Coverage of Rwanda Racial bias significantly impacted the way that reporters covered the Rwandan Genocide. This ranged from portraying Africa as the “Dark Continent” to labeling the genocide as tribal killings (Thompson n.d.).

Reporters generally described Africa as conflict-ridden and hopeless, and used broad generalizations rather than address the complicated political situation caused by colonists: “what we do not like are long, open-ended, complicated involvements far from home, in which America's good intentions are misunderstood.” (Sarkin and Fowler 2010, 35 - 86).The depiction of foreigners without morals, constantly plagued with crises and conflict, attracted readers more than the more accurate, albeit more complicated news stories. The story in Rwanda was manipulated to attract readers. Rwandans were portrayed to be inherently different from Americans, and the genocide was a conflict in which “they are mad, we are sane, we must save them from themselves” (Allen and Seaton 1999).

Most media outlets did not have bureaus in Sub-Saharan African nations. Therefore, very few reporters had sufficient background knowledge to be able to fully understand the situation (Myers, Klak, and Koehl 1996, 24). Many reporters would rely on misleading third party sources to write their reports. These stories would then be spread among news outlets through this system. This insufficient coverage reduced pressure on the international community to respond to or acknowledge the genocide (Melvern 2006, 93 104).

Some reports described the conflict as inane, which added to the international impression that the ongoing conflict was ‘tribal’ in nature. The genocide was conducted with machetes, blunt weapons, and other household objects. Reporters emphasized how primitive these weapons were. They would use terms such as ‘blood bath’ or ‘chaos’ to describe the conflict which further denigrated the victims and tribalized the genocide (Myers, Klak, and Koehl 1996).

The Rwandan Genocide occurred only one year after Battle of Mogadishu, an incident in which Somalian forces took down two American Black Hawk helicopters, killing 18 and injuring 73 Americans (NPR 2013).

Fearing another failed humanitarian intervention in Africa, the West quickly took intervention in Rwanda off the table. Referencing the ethnic tensions in Rwanda, the international aid community described the genocide as a

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tribal conflict that could not be solved with external intervention, stating, “if a conflict has existed between two groups for thousands of years, then what solution could possibly be found today to mitigate the violence?” (Sarkin and Fowler 2010, 35 - 86).

The international communities’ resignation to the genocide encouraged the Hutu perpetrators to continue their actions. Hutu extremists wanted to believe that the Tutsis were inherently different from themselves, and found ideological validation in the international community’s media portrayal of the conflict (Allen and Seaton 1999, 277). They believed that the international community would not stand in their way. Raphael Lemkin, the neologist who coined the word ‘genocide,’ had the additional requirement for genocides that perpetrators believed outside interference will be minimal (Melvern 2006, 93 - 104). With this knowledge, Hutus continued to feel justified in their killings.

Critics say that this form of reporting was done to advocate for more intervention. By portraying the situation as the West needing to save Africa from itself, news outlets gave the impression that decolonization -- and thus removing Western influences from the region -- was a bad idea (Allen and Seaton 1999, 270). Additionally, the inane weapons made intervention appear easy. The West was led to believe that it needed to intervene because Africa was not enlightened enough to govern itself.

Journalists did not attempt to bridge the gap in their stories on Rwanda. Instead, they emphasized the lack of a security concern, the physical distance, and racial bias to create a more fictitious narrative. Rwanda was not an area of American national interest. The genocide occurred in the same decade as the Gulf War, in which the United States expelled an invading army from an American ally. Rwanda had no geographical importance to the U.S. and it did not “constitute a threat to international peace and security” (Mckinnion 2000, 20). Journalistic description of Rwanda as dark and chaotic made the country seem like it was in a different realm.

Aside from misleading newspaper reports on the genocide, there was very little media coverage at all. Oxfam, a known and well reputed non-governmental organization, affirmed that the conflict in Rwanda was a genocide on April 28, 1994; The Guardian gave only a few paragraphs to the topic (Melvern 2006). International news stories are typically only 27% of a network’s total coverage (Thompson, n.d., 191). About 50% of the network’s

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international coverage pertained to Bosnia (Livingston 1997). With the fallout of Somalia and elections occurring, there was very little space reserved for coverage of Rwanda. Each news outlet published about 2.2 articles per month on Rwanda (Myers, Klak, and Koehl 1996).

A week after Oxfam reported genocidal conditions in Rwanda, The Guardian published an article titled “Glum pragmatism dictates there is precious little the international community can do to stem the fighting in Rwanda” (Melvern 2006). This title was an example of the narrative perpetuated by news outlets that nothing could be done to prevent further conflict in Rwanda, and thereby excused the international community from intervening. This quick acceptance of ‘fate’ may have discouraged citizens from pushing for even minor interventions. Roméo Dallaire, the Force Commander of the Rwandan Peacekeeping mission, believed that just 5,500 troops could have prevented the genocide from spreading (Melvern 2006).

Framing Rwanda to be inaccessible decreased public awareness of possible interventions. Allan Kuperman said that Dallaire’s prediction was not accurate. Even if an operation that size had been sent out in April, it could not have saved even half of the victims. This is because almost half of all Tutsi victims were killed during the first two weeks of the genocide (Kuperman n.d., 98).

Bosnia-Serbia Coverage The way that reporters covered the genocide in Rwanda can be sharply contrasted to how they covered it in Bosnia. Bosnia received accurate coverage within Western media because reporters humanized the victims, conveyed the importance of the genocide, and gave sufficient context. The media standard of proximity influenced both the humanizing aspect and national security concern.

Bridget Robinson (2004) cites two frameworks used to cover Bosnia.

The most impactful storytelling tactic was to portray Bosnia as the center of Europe and demonstrate how the citizens of that country were similar to those living in other Western countries. This approach made the stories feel relevant and prominent. From this narrative, many newspapers advocated for intervention. They claimed that if the former-Yugoslavia became a failed state, it could present a security risk to the West. In addition, this genocide occurred during the Cold War between America and the Soviet Union, so American

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interests laid in containing communism. By reclaiming the former-Yugoslavia as a newly created democratic state, America could further their wartime strategy.

The Bosnian conflict was discussed at length in the media. News outlets published daily updates on events occurring in former-Yugoslavia (Myers, Klak, and Koehl 1996, 22). Media outlets had, on average, 2 articles published per day on the topic, which is nearly 400% greater daily coverage than for Rwanda (Myers, Klak, and Koehl 1996, 30).

Reporters called Bosnia ‘the heart of Europe’ and described the victims as ‘just like us.’ Comparing the descriptions of Bosnia to Rwanda, the racial undertone is very apparent (Myers, Klak, and Koehl 1996). Bosnians were described as human; Rwandans were described as animalistic. Bosnians were also characterized as civil and intelligent through the description of weapons. The way that Serbs and Bosnians used warfare was portrayed as modern and strategic (Myers, Klak, and Koehl 1996, 22). The way that Rwandans used warfare was portrayed as brutish.

Even though both conflicts were very similar and had comparable message potential, news outlets did not balance coverage fairly. Due to their constrained values and lack of background knowledge, the Western press failed at covering Rwanda sufficiently and accurately.

Contribution to Literature There has been significant research on how media outlets covered the Rwandan genocide. More researchers have furthered this investigation by analyzing the different perspectives of media outlets on the Rwandan and Bosnian Genocides; however, there has been very little research on whether the media has changed since the backlash of Rwandan reporting. My original contribution will take this additional step forward by determining whether the media changed its racial undertones when covering genocide.

Methods and Variables I will build off of existing literature by doing an analysis of whether American newspapers continue to have a racial bias when covering genocide through a content analysis. I will search NexisUni, formerly LexisNexis, for racially-based descriptions used in genocides. All American newspapers will be considered. The words that I will search for include “tribe,” “tribal,”

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“savage,” “bloodthirsty,” “gangs,” and “terror.” These were identified in a previous study done by Garth Myers, Thomas Klak, and Timothy Koehl (Myers, Klak, and Koehl 1996). These words were identified as particularly symbolic terms that imply uncivilized people engaging in a chaotic war without strategy. They also used these words to compare coverage between the genocides in Rwanda and Bosnia. I will take this research a step further by analyzing time periods past when the genocides occurred. I will conduct this study by searching initially the name of the country, such as: “Bosnia”.

The results will then be filtered by adding a derogatory word, such as “gangs”, restricted to only American newspapers, and adding the timeframe (see Figure A for further explanation). The timeframe will include the entirety of each year that experts say the Bosnian genocide occurred in, as there is much debate regarding the specific month or day that it began/ended on.

FIGURE A: EXAMPLE SEARCH

This will be a three-pronged investigation. The first prong will look at coverage during the genocide. This first stage will inherently be different as each genocide lasted for a different period of time; Rwanda’s only lasted four months while Bosnia’s lasted for years. The length of the conflict will affect how many total articles were published about each genocide, therefore the difference in time will be accounted for. Previous studies, specifically the ones conducted by David Patrick Garth Myers, Thomas Klak, and Timothy Koehl, controlled for these time differences by limiting the time frame to only 112 days. I believe this is a measurement error that resulted in biased results. Depending on which 112 days are chosen, researchers can find different results since the beginning, middle, and concluding coverage of a

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genocide varies. Instead, I will control for the time difference by dividing results by the total amount of articles written about the genocide. Looking at the entire timeframe will give a more wholistic perspective of what reporters believed throughout the genocide. The second prong will be the immediate hindsight of journalists. This time frame will last the entire year after the end of each genocide. The third prong will be a more modern hindsight report, lasting through 2019. The second and third prong will be used to see if the way journalists cover genocides change. This research may indicate whether journalists moved away from a racially biased reporting style after the genocide ends or journalists changed the way they report all genocides.

Moreover, it may coincide with the change of stereotypes in American pop culture.

Findings and Analysis Coverage During the Genocide TABLE 1: RWANDA, APRIL 1994 - JULY 1994 Key Terms Searched

Number of Articles

Percentage of Total Articles

"Rwanda"

3,487

"Rwanda' and "tribe"

248

7.11%

"Rwanda" and "tribal"

288

8.26%

"Rwanda" and "savage"

78

2.24%

"Rwanda" and "bloodthirsty"

2

0.06%

"Rwanda" and "gangs"

163

4.67%

"Rwanda" and "terror"

116

3.33%

The terms within the list that were used most in articles about Rwanda from April 1994 to July 1994 are “tribe,” “tribal,” and “gangs.” Many reporters during this time did not have sufficient knowledge to report on the intricacies of African, specifically Rwandan, history and government. Instead, they fell back on assumptions that Africa was a monolithic continent and used racist stereotypes. Western nations have used “tribe” to indiscriminately describe African peoples. This term has been abused by Western nations to a point where the word “tribe” has endured a semantic change. “Tribe” now recalls imagery of “primitive timelessness” and “savagery”; a secondclass nomenclature for ethnic group (Teaching Tolerance 2001). Reporters rationalized using “tribe” or “tribal” to describe Rwanda and not Bosnia because of the historic prevalence of tribes in Africa. In reality, tribes did not

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exist in Rwanda. In fact, what existed in Bosnia would be more similar to what we now consider a tribe than what existed in Rwanda. Reporters used this stereotype to perpetuate a false narrative. While this may not have been a consciously racist act, it is important to note the lack of awareness and research that went into reporting on the Rwandan genocide.

TABLE 2: BOSNIA-SERBIA, 1992-1995 Key Terms Searched

Number of Articles

Percentage of Total Articles

"Bosnia"

55,333

"Bosnia" and "tribe"

169

0.31%

"Bosnia" and "tribal"

366

0.66%

"Bosnia" and "savage"

411

0.74%

"Bosnia" and "bloodthirsty"

15

0.03%

"Bosnia" and "gangs"

519

0.93%

"Bosnia" and "terror"

1,405

2.54%

In comparison, reporters for the Bosnian Genocide did not use any of the terms in 3% or more of the articles from 1992 to 1995. The only word to surpass usage in more than 1% of articles was “terror,” at 2.54%. Using a word in only 1% of 55,333 articles is substantially insignificant when tracking the entire coverage.

FIGURE B: PERCENT OF ARTICLES USING RACIALLY CODED LANGUAGE DURING GENOCIDE

Figure B provides a side-by-side comparison of the percentage of articles that used each racially-coded word. The most prominent results are

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the differences between the use of the words “tribe,” “tribal,” and “gangs.”

The differences in usage between the words “savage,” “bloodthirsty,” and “terror” are less significant. “Tribe” was used 2,193.55%, “tribal” 1,151.52%, and “gangs” 402.15% more often in Rwandan stories than Bosnian. It is important to note that gang violence did not play a significant factor in either genocide. There is no reasonable logic to attribute significantly more gang violence to Rwanda than Bosnia. It is possible that gang references were used disproportionately due to the gang violence going on in America during the 1990s. According to the National Gang Center, gangs were on the rise in the 1980s -1990s due to redevelopment of cities, slum removal, and ethnic migration (Howell and Moore 2010). Gentrification forced gangs to leave their territories and face-off to win new control. By the 1960s and 1970s, most European gangs had dissipated, leading most people to associate gang violence with black or Hispanic communities (Howell and Moore 2010). The term ‘black-on-black violence’ became popular nomenclature during this time to describe urban violence caused by racist systematic exclusion towards the black community (Braga and Brunson n.d., 22). This stereotype of African American gang violence carried over into American newspapers’ reporting on Rwanda. These were buzzwords that Americans were used to interacting with. Even though the Rwandan Genocide was a planned, institutionallyled genocide, the violence was attributed to informal gangs in American newspaper coverage in the 1990s due to racial stereotypes already prominent in American news.

The Year Following the Genocide TABLE 3: RWANDA, 1995 Key Terms Searched

Number of Articles

"Rwanda"

2,463

"Rwanda" and "tribe"

61

2.48%

“Rwanda” and “tribal”

98

3.98%

“Rwanda” and “savage”

14

0.57%

“Rwanda” and “bloodthirsty”

0

0%

“Rwanda” and “gangs”

38

1.54%

“Rwanda” and “terror”

124

5.03%

22

Percentage of Total Articles

Libby Scully

FIGURE C: COMPARISON OF RWANDA 1994 VERSUS 1995

The use of racially-coded words significantly fell in 1995, as demonstrated by Table 3 and Figure C. Only one word, “terror,” was used at or above 5%. This word was used more in 1995 than it was in 1994. “Tribe,” “tribal,” and “gangs,” which were the most used words previously, significantly fell in usage. “Tribe” was used 65% less, “tribal” was used 51.81% less, and “gangs” was used 67.02% less often.

TABLE 4: BOSNIA-SERBIA; 1996 Key Term

Number of Articles

"Bosnia"

18,169

“Bosnia” and “tribe”

72

0.40%

“Bosnia” and “tribal”

141

0.78%

“Bosnia” and “savage”

70

0.39%

“Bosnia” and “bloodthirsty”

5

0.02%

“Bosnia” and “gangs”

341

1.88%

"Bosnia" and "terror"

552

3.04%

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Percentage of Total Articles

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FIGURE D: COMPARISON OF BOSNIA DURING THE GENOCIDE VERSUS YEAR FOLLOWING

As shown by Table 4 and Figure D, there is a slightly higher percentage use of many of these key terms in articles about Bosnia-Serbia in 1996 than during the genocides. This is not a substantial change, especially considering between the two periods, total article coverage dropped by 67%.

FIGURE E: PERCENT OF ARTICLES USING RACIALLY CODED WORDS DURING YEAR FOLLOWING END OF GENOCIDE

Figure E is a side-by-side comparison of percent of the articles in which racially-coded words were used in the year following each genocide.

Even though Rwanda’s percentages dropped and Bosnia’s slightly grew,

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Rwanda remained to have nearly twice as many of these key words. The only words that were used at a higher rate in Bosnian articles are “bloodthirsty” and “gangs.” That year, gang references in Rwanda dropped dramatically in comparison to Bosnia’s. During each genocide, Rwanda was described using “gang” at an almost 5x higher volume than Bosnia. This dropped to a very similar usage. This could be credited to the culture of the newspapers changing and placing an emphasis on equity, or it could be due to an increased exposure to research and facts on the Genocide. This furthers the theoretical argument that gangs was only used in Rwanda’s coverage initially as a racial stereotype, instead of real news.

Present-Day Coverage; 2019 TABLE 5: RWANDA, 2019 Key Terms

Number of Articles

"Rwanda"

4,285

Percentage of Total Articles

“Rwanda” and “tribe”

31

0.72%

“Rwanda” and “tribal”

31

0.72%

“Rwanda” and “savage”

15

0.35%

“Rwanda” and “bloodthirsty”

1

0.02%

“Rwanda” and “gangs”

15

0.35%

“Rwanda” and “terror”

69

1.61%

Then, Tables 5 and 6 show that the use of key terms dropped dramatically in the twenty-first century. Only one term, “terror,” passes the 1% usage level. Journalists used a comparable amount of racially-coded words for Bosnia-Serbia and Rwanda in 2019. The only word which is used over 1% is “terror.”

TABLE 6: BOSNIA-SERBIA, 2019 Key Term

Number of Articles

"Bosnia"

3,460

"Bosnia" and "tribe"

12

0.35%

“Bosnia” and “tribal”

15

0.43%

“Bosnia” and “savage”

7

0.20%

“Bosnia” and “bloodthirsty”

0

0%

“Bosnia” and “gangs”

11

0.32%

“Bosnia” and “terror”

76

2.20%

25

Percentage of Total Articles

Libby Scully

FIGURE F: PERCENT OF ARTICLES USING RACIALLY CODED WORDS DURING MODERN ERA

The use of all key terms began to even out in *insert year* Figure F. This affirms the fact that each genocide had a comparable message potential and should have been reported on similarly. These results are expected.

Comparing Figure E and F, one notices the sudden rise in the use of the word “terror” to describe Bosnia, rather than Rwanda. Reporters used the word “terror” to describe Bosnia at more than a 25% higher rate than for Rwanda.

This could be due to an increase in American islamophobia in the 2000s after 9/11 because Rwanda is 93.4% Christian, while Bosnia is 51% Muslim (PEW-GRF n.d.; WorldAtlas n.d.). According to the Southern Poverty Law Center, hate crimes against Muslims skyrocketed in 2015 and 2016 (Cohen 2017). It is likely that this Islamophobia transferred into reporting on Muslim countries. The Washington Post conducted a study on their articles and found significant negative tone within articles about Muslims (Bleich and Veen 2018). Even articles on Muslims, with no correlation to terrorism or a negative event, contained “substantially more negativity than articles about Catholics, Jews or Hindus” (Bleich and Veen 2018).

Conclusion Looking at the overall trends, there is a higher proportion of derogatory words used by journalists to describe the Rwandan Genocide than the Bosnian Genocide. After each genocide ended, there was a dramatic

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decrease in use of these words to describe Rwanda, decreasing by nearly 50% for each word. There was not as dramatic of a decrease in Bosnian coverage. This means that reporters continuously used derogatory words more frequently when reporting on Rwanda. In this period right after the genocides, “gangs” and “savage” had a similar rate of usage. In the present day, there is nearly no evidence of unequal racist reporting between the two countries, aside from the word “terrorism” which spikes dramatically in coverage of Bosnia.

There are two reasons why the amount of racially-coded language could have decreased dramatically for Rwanda over time while the language for Bosnia remained consistent until 2019. First, reporters recognized their codified language, and actively attempted to correct it. Second, American journalism followed stereotypes that followed American pop-culture. This can be seen from the usage of “gang” for Rwanda in 1994 and “terror” for Bosnia in 2019. American racism and Islamophobia influenced the coverage of each genocide through codified language.

Americans get their information about the world from the news more than any other source. Systematic, long-term coverage that relies on racist stereotypes will influence both American citizens’ beliefs and policy preferences, such as whether to stop a genocide. Newspapers need to continually examine their word choice to ensure they are not using raciallycoded words to promote false stereotypes, inadvertently or otherwise.

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Bibliography Allen, Tim, and Jean Seaton. The Media of Conflict: War Reporting and Representations of Ethnic Violence. Zed Books, 1999.

Bleich, Erik, and A. Maurits van der Veen. “Analysis | Newspaper Coverage of Muslims Is Negative. And It’s Not Because of Terrorism.”

Washington Post. Accessed April 17, 2020. https://www.

washingtonpost.com/news/monkey-cage/wp/2018/12/20/newspapercoverage-of-muslims-is-negative-and-its-not-because-of-terrorism/.

Braga, Anthony A, and Rod K Brunson. “The Police and Public Discourse on ‘Black-on-Black’ Violence,” n.d., 22.

Cohen, Richard. “Hate Crimes Rise for Second Straight Year; Anti-Muslim Violence Soars amid President Trump’s Xenophobic Rhetoric.”

Southern Poverty Law Center. Accessed April 17, 2020. https://www. splcenter.org/news/2017/11/13/hate-crimes-rise-second-straightyear-anti-muslim-violence-soars-amid-president-trumps.

Howell, James C., and John P. Moore. “History of Street Gangs in the United

States: (566392010-001).” American Psychological Association, 2010. https://doi.org/10.1037/e566392010-001.

Kuperman, Allan J. “Rwanda in Retrospect,” n.d.

Livingston, Steven. Clarifying the CNN Effect: An Examination of Media Effects According to Type of Military Intervention, 1997. http://media.leeds. ac.uk/papers/pmt/exhibits/61/steveliv.pdf.

Mckinnion, Michael G. “The Evolution of U.S. Peacekeeping Policy Under Clinton: A Fairweather Friend?,” 2000.

Melvern, Linda. “Rwanda and Darfur: The Media and the Security Council.”

International Relations 20, no. 1 (March 1, 2006): 93–104. https://doi. org/10.1177/0047117806060931.

Myers, Garth, Thomas Klak, and Timothy Koehl. “The Inscription of

Difference: News Coverage of the Conflicts in Rwanda and Bosnia.”

Political Geography 15, no. 1 ( January 1996): 21–46. https://doi. org/10.1016/0962-6298(95)00041-0.

“News Values | NCCAT.” Accessed February 11, 2020. https://www.nccat.org/ news/strategic-communications/values.

Patrick, David. “A Concern for Humanity? Anglo-American Press Coverage of Bosnia and Rwanda, 1992–1995.” International Politics 53, no. 1

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( January 1, 2016): 138–53. https://doi.org/10.1057/ip.2015.41.

Power, Samantha. A Problem From Hell. Basic Books, 2013.

______. “Bosnia.” In A Problem from Hell, 246–327. New York, NY: Basic Books, 2013.

______. “Bystanders to Genocide.” The Atlantic, September 1, 2001. https:// www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2001/09/bystanders-togenocide/304571/.

“Religions in Rwanda | PEW-GRF.” Accessed April 17, 2020. http://

www.globalreligiousfutures.org/countries/rwanda#/?affiliations_ religion_id=0&affiliations_year=2010&region_name=All%20 Countries&restrictions_year=2016.

“Religious Demographics Of Bosnia And Herzegovina - WorldAtlas.Com.” Accessed April 17, 2020. https://www.worldatlas.com/articles/ religious-demographics-of-bosnia-and-herzegovina.html.

Robison, Bridget. “Putting Bosnia in Its Place: Critical Geopolitics

and the Representation of Bosnia in the British Print Media.”

Geopolitics 9, no. 2 ( June 1, 2004): 378–401. https://doi. org/10.1080/14650040490442908.

“Rwanda’s 100 Days of Slaughter.” BBC News, April 4, 2019, sec. Africa. https://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-26875506.

Sarkin, Jeremy, and Carly Fowler. “The Responsibility to Protect and the Duty to Prevent Genocide: Lessons to Be Learned from the

Role of the International Community and the Media during the

Rwandan Genocide and the Conflict in Former Yugoslavia.” Suffolk Transnational Law Review 33, no. 1 (2010): 35–86.

PBS NewsHour. “The Heart of the Hutu-Tutsi Conflict,” October 8,

1999. https://www.pbs.org/newshour/politics/africa-july-dec99rwanda_10-08.

Teaching Tolerance. “The Trouble with Tribe,” April 1, 2001. https://www. tolerance.org/magazine/spring-2001/the-trouble-with-tribe.

Thompson, Allan. The Media and the Rwandan Genocide. Ann Arbor, Michigan: Pluto Press, n.d.

“What A Downed Black Hawk In Somalia Taught America.”

NPR.org. 5Accessed February 12, 2020. https://www.npr.

org/2013/10/05/229561805/what-a-downed-black-hawk-in-somaliataught-america.

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Environmental Effects and Socio-Environmental Consequences of Structural Adjustment Programs

By Tahi Wiggins

About the Author Tahi Wiggins is a second year in the College studying the intersections of development, economics, and the environment. She is particularly interested in participatory sustainable development, biological oceanography, environmental justice, the philosophy of science, glaciology, and climate politics. At UVa, she researches environmental inequality and is an editor at the Virginia Review of Politics, a member of the University Guide Service, a tutor with Madison House, and co-host of a podcast about rural politics.

Foreword I am so glad to see that Tahi Wiggins’ paper on the environmental impacts of Stuctural Adjustment Programs (SAPs) is being published by the Wilson Journal. Ms. Wiggins’ article was the result of the Politics of Developing Areas class in Spring 2020, in which the effects of SAPs across a broad variety of contexts played a central theme. Over the course of the semester, students were given the opportunity to come up with their own research question related to the class material. They had the freedom to engage with some of the major theories that were covered, and then conduct further research by investigating at least one case study. Ms. Wiggins and I met to speak about her ideas several times over the semester. This started off at a very broad level, as Ms. Wiggins showed an interest in a few areas, and eventually narrowed this down to SAPs and the environment. Finally, we discussed the layout and research design for her paper, before submission.

After the semester, Ms. Wiggins requested further feedback to enhance her paper and research interests beyond the class.

This paper grapples with the debates surrounding the environmental

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effects of SAPs, drawing on evidence across a number of different countries.

Ms. Wiggins therefore demonstrates the importance of this research by illustrating the many facets involved, such as the links between SAP-driven privitization and deregulation with a variety of environmental concerns, including deforestation, coral reef damage, and especially the adverse impacts on the poor. Taking this all into account, Ms. Wiggins develops a highly compelling thesis which is then applied in a rich and thorough case study on Kenya. In conclusion, her paper shows the importance of more fully considering the indirect effects of SAPs, not only on the environment, but also on existing socioeconomic inequalities in developing areas. Whilst this paper is sensitive to context and its history, its significance is further highlighted as its main argument is generalizable - and unfortunately very timely - to many environmental concerns across the world.

Sally Bonsall Department of Politics University of Virginia Abstract Structural adjustment programs, the 1980s economic reforms set as conditions of loans from Western international financial institutions to Global South Countries, mandated policies including the privatization of industry, deregulation, austerity, and devaluation of local currency. The stated goal of these programs was integration of Global South countries into the global market, but their effects have been criticized for emphasizing shortterm profit maximization, worsening poverty, and increasing dependency.

SAPs’ impact on the environment was either not a consideration, or the environment was only considered from a narrow, resource-specific perspective.

I argue that SAP implementation had complex environmental effects which are dependent on the social, economic, and ecological contexts in which they operated. Some such effects include diminished state capacity to provide environmental enforcement, a shift to environmentally exploitative industries, growth of the tourism sector, and most importantly, impact on the poor. I propose a “vicious cycle” view of poverty-environment linkages in which the poor are incentivized to overexploit the environment, leading to diminished resource access and higher vulnerability to poverty. Effects may also be seen

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in the mass migration of peasantry to urban slums and forced movement of the indigenous and landless. I illustrate the complexity of SAP-socioenvironmental linkages with a case study of Kenya, where effects may be seen in state capacity, agricultural shifts, land conflicts, tourism, and poverty.

The term “structural adjustment programs” is an umbrella phrase for the 1980s policies of economic reforms set by Western international financial institutions; their implementation was conditional to loans for Global South countries. SAPs emphasized domestic-centric economies’ movement toward integration into the global market (Oringer & Welch 1998). This objective was manifested in policies mandating industry privatization, deregulation, austerity, devaluing of the local currency, and free trade (Pettinger 2019).

The on-the-ground results of SAPs were mixed. They have come under criticism for emphasizing short-term profit maximization, worsening poverty, increasing dependency, and diminishing state capacity to provide social services (Oringer & Welch 1998).

Broadly, SAPs included little to no concern about their environmental effects (Panayotou & Hupé 1996, 4-5). The World Bank and other multilateral development banks did not recognize the environment as a “priority investment” during the SAP implementation period (Redclift 1994, 58). In certain specific cases (Cambodian forestry, Mauritanian fisheries, and Equatorial Guinean timber, for example), the IMF structural adjustment program included environmental benchmarks (Gandhi 1998). However, even these examples considered only a surface-level environmental characterization as a solely economic resource; that is, these examples did not consider analyses of the systemic, diffuse effects of SAPs on the environment. The IMF argues that SAP economic reforms had a positive effect on the environment in that they “tended to promote a more rational use of resources and discouraged waste” (Gandhi 1998). Nonetheless, it is difficult to draw any absolute conclusions about the concrete, local effects of SAPs on the environment, as their influence is a product of dynamic and complex social, environmental, and economic factors. Moreover, since most SAPs do not explicitly mention the environment, their impacts are bound to be indirect.

Despite this difficulty, SAP advocates rebut criticism on environmental grounds with claims that they remove inappropriate subsidies that encourage resource exploitation; introduce economic stability, which

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reinforces proper resource management; and increase living standards, which may cause greater demand for environmental quality (Gueorguieva and Bolt 2003, 43). In a few countries, SAPs produced benign or positive environmental effects. For example, 1983 SAP policies around cocoa and maize crops in Ghana “may have helped reduce demand for forested land and thus have aided in biodiversity conservation” (Gueorguieva and Bolt 2003, 15). However, as this example and others demonstrate, isolating SAPs as the cause of environmental benefit or detriment is difficult to impossible-- they are part of a more extensive social, economic, and ecologic system with many complex inputs and outputs.

However, it appears that specific SAP environmental effects depend on distinct factors, including the economy, stock of natural capital, and particular agricultural practices. Panayotou and Hupé (1996, 2) noted that the efficacy of market depended on the legitimacy and efficiency of the markets in which they operated (and indeed, whether such markets even existed).

SAP effects were also dependent on the natural resources themselves, which were, in turn, “dependent on the extent to which existing patterns of resource use place burdens on the ecological system” (Redclift 1994, 61). The mode of agricultural production also played a role: areas with high-external-inputagriculture (HEIA) and high agricultural potential benefited from SAPs, which reduced pollution, but those characterized by low-external-impactagriculture (LEIA) had the opposite effects (Gueorguieva & Bolt 2003, 5).

It is important to note that there are many examples of SAPs and environmental detriment occurring concurrently, despite the difficulty in empirically isolating their individual effects, demonstrated by case studies from around the globe. The negative results of SAPs usually originate from one or more of the following factors: incapacitation of social service due to budget cuts and privatization, and therefore decreased presence of institutional enforcement of environmental regulations; movement towards overly exploitative practices (cash crops, mining, tourism, etc.) caused by trade liberalization and emphasis on profit-generating exports; and increased pressure on the poor, incentivizing further resource overexploitation.

Importantly, SAPs emphasized the decrease in public spending and privatization of industries (Welch 2005). It follows that this public spending cut leads to diminished state capacity and a greater inability to enforce environmental regulation. Reductions in public expenditure drastically reduce

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the resources available to government officials to enforce environmental regulations (Panayotou & Hupé 1996, 10). For instance, Reinsberg et al.

(2019, 1222) noted that SAPs caused “deleterious effects on bureaucratic quality” by incentivizing corruption and reducing the potential of available policy instruments. Just a few of many examples of this include the capacityweakening of the Venezuelan Ministry of the Environment, the Tanzanian National Parks and Wildlife Service (Gueorguieva and Bolt 2003, 47-48), and wildlife officials in the Indian province of Gujarat (Kothari and Kothari 1993, 474).

In addition, SAPs generally encourage a shift in the goods and services produced by a country by emphasizing the importance of profitgenerating, export-worthy products. This shift is usually to environmentally exploitative industries such as mining, tourism, and environmentally intensive cash crops. Such products in the primary commodity export sector generally increase rates of deforestation, desertification, erosion, and water pollution (Panayotou & Hupé 1996, 10). For example, SAP’s emphasis on beef exports in Costa Rica has resulted in thousands of hectares of deforestation, overgrazing, and topsoil erosion. Similarly, higher silt deposition rates also harmed the coral reef off the country’s coast (Kothari and Kothari 1993, 474). Tanzania provides another example: after implementing SAPs in 1986, there was a 17% increase in land used for agriculture, 80% of which was for crops characterized as “erosive” (Gueorguieva and Bolt 2003, 47).

However, the exportation of goods is not the sole cause of environmental detriment. In many countries, the service sector, particularly the tourism industry, establishes an additional source of environmental damage that these policies influence. In India, SAPs’ emphasis on exports compelled the opening of previously protected areas for tourism and construction of resorts (Kothari and Kothari 1993, 474). The expansion of the Jamaican tourism industry provides another example. This expansion resulted in significant erosion, pollution, and coral reef damage (Panayotou & Hupé 1996, 21). Of course, tourism can provide an incentive for better ecosystem management (as seen in Zimbabwe, for example); however it nevertheless puts a strain on the environment, particularly if tourist loads are high. Additionally, for tourism to be sustainable, there must be infrastructure present to surround and support it (i.e., the existence and enforcement of regulations, means of wildlife management, etc.) (Muir and Bojo 1994, 2).

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Moreover, perhaps the most critical effect to explore is SAPs’ impact on the poor and the intractable relationship between SAP policy’ social and environmental impacts. Gueorguieva and Bolt (2003, 6) aptly note that “SAPs rarely affect the environment directly, but their effects are transmitted through society via changing class structure, shifting social relations, and evolving institutions.” The relation between social and environmental is reciprocal; that is, people influence the environment, and the environment influences people.

Thus, the implications of SAPs for the poor also impact the environment, and environmental implications affect the poor. As Redclift (1994, 57) notes, “Poor people in developing countries are represented as both the victims and the unwilling agents of environmental degradation.” Given that the populations most vulnerable to experiencing poverty often live in the most “ecologically fragile regions” (Redclift 1994, 58), it only makes sense that worsening their situation would incentivize them to utilize whatever resources necessary to improve it: namely, the environment in which they live. The 1992 International NGO Forum on World Bank and IMF Adjustment Lending noted that SAPs worsened the economic conditions of the poor, thus “forcing them to overexploit natural resources that were available to them and to move on to marginal lands.” (Panayotou & Hupé 1996, 10). El Salvador and Venezuela exemplify this idea, where the exacerbation of poverty has led to environmentally degrading means of survival in rural areas (Gueorguieva and Bolt 2003, 47-48).

However, it is not only that the poor exploit and degrade the environment due to their situations. Rather, this incentivization to degrade is part of a larger vicious cycle (Figure 1). Environmental degradation worsens the situations of those living in environmentally fragile areas and highly dependent on natural resources. Peru demonstrates this concept, where worsened environmental conditions had drastic public health consequences-a cholera outbreak in 1991 (Kothari and Kothari 1993, 475). Additionally, environmental degradation itself tends to disproportionally affect the poor, who are more likely to depend on natural resources for survival (Gueorguieva and Bolt 2003, 32). Diminished resource availability and worsened environmental conditions simply contribute to this vicious cycle.

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FIGURE 1: THE "VICIOUS CYCLE" OF ENVIRONMENTAL DEGRADATION AND POVERTY

Additionally, we may also witness SAP effects on the poor in the peasantry’s mass migration to urban slums (Davis 1946). For example, the SAP-compelled decline in the price of maize in Mexico led to a recession in that country’s rural areas, causing a mass of maize farmers to migrate (Kothari and Kothari 1993, 475). Similarly, Gueorguieva and Bolt (2003, 47) point to the example of El Salvador, in which SAPs have compelled urban migration, therefore increasing quantities of waste, poor air quality, and increased deforestation (from greater housing projects and need for fuel).

Balogun (1995, 80) likens the proliferation of urban slums (the onus of which he places squarely on SAP policy) to a natural disaster. Slums are areas of intense population density and few to no utilities, which exerts tremendous pressure on the environments they occupy. In addition to slums’ detriment to the environment, individuals living in these areas are also uniquely vulnerable to the environmental consequences. The terms “hazardous”, “toxic”, and “otherwise unbuildable” characterize the areas these slums inhabit (Davis 1946, 16). These conditions subject their inhabitants to a host of health and safety concerns. Additionally, slum dwellers are particularly vulnerable to natural disasters given the fragile, often temporary nature of their infrastructure (Migiro 2010).

Furthermore, the aforementioned impacts evidence the close relationship between the social fabric and environmental situation of a state or community subject to SAPs. As Redclift (1994, 56) put it: “The question remains central: structural adjustment policies carry

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implications for the organization of civil society and the distribution of power that are in turn linked to the achievement of environmental objectives.” As the vicious cycle entails, SAPs’ detriment to the environment furthers the consequences for individuals living in economically and environmentally vulnerable situations, including the indigenous, marginal farmers, and the landless (Kothari and Kothari 1993, 473). Conversely, we can then posit that solutions to environmental and social problems may be brought about by policies that assist and empower the poor to cultivate collective ownership of sustainable practices.

While we have discussed various country-specific examples, to understand the environmental effects of SAPs more deeply, examining one case study in detail will be valuable. For this reason, we will now turn to the situation of Kenya, which implemented structural adjustment policies in the 1980s. This country provides an interesting and enlightening example of the nuance of SAP environmental effects precisely because they were fairly mixed (Richardson 1996, 3). In this way, Kenya’s case demonstrates the importance of acknowledging complexity in drawing conclusions about the effect of SAPs on the environment.

With this purpose in mind, it is important first to establish an overview regarding SAPs’ impact, role, and implementation within the country. Kenya’s economy came under crisis in the early 1970s when oil prices and imported goods rose drastically, and the country’s current account deficit rose to 11% of its GDP (Richardson 1996, 6). The IMF granted a loan on the condition that it would implement SAPs, including the devaluation of the Kenyan shilling, a ceiling on domestic credit, and an emphasis on exports. Gains from an initial boom in the economy dissipated, and it became necessary to request further loans, which in turn had further SAP conditionalities. Political instability and natural disasters led to an unsteady economic path following these policies’ implementation, causing the enactment of the third set of loans and SAP policies. A fourth agreement with the IMF again followed these developments. Succeeding these and several other loans/SAP agreements, the Kenyan economy has continued to struggle, occasionally presenting promising GDP growth followed by economic downturns. In short, the many economic crises since the 1970s have resulted in a country fairly reliant on foreign aid, which has frequently come with SAP implementation (Richardson 1996, 6 – 10).

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We will first turn to the effects of SAPs on Kenyan public expenditure and state capacity. Paradoxically, the Kenyan civil service expanded in quantity during the period of SAPs. However, government quality either remained stagnant or worsened, particularly in the environmental sectors (fishing, forestry, agriculture, and wildlife) (Richardson 1996, 19 – 20). Government funding to the environmental sectors declined steadily through the SAP period (Norton-Griffiths and Southey 1994, 131 ). The real salaries paid to civil servants fell drastically, leading to a rise in worker demoralization, corruption, and theft (Norton-Griffiths and Southey 1994, 131 ). Of the forestry sector, the World Bank noted in 1990 that it was “no longer adequately equipped to cope with the challenges of meeting the development requirements of an environmentally sound and efficiently producing subsector.” The fishing sector faces concerns about a lack of institutional regulation and enforcement as well. While a rise in fish prices means that commercial output increased, Kenya’s Lake Victoria is unregulated, leading to worries about the industry’s long-term sustainability.

Additionally, analyzing the role of the Kenyan agricultural sector is paramount. Nyariki and Thirtle (2010, 598) note the importance of agriculture in the “transformation of Third World economies.” Considering that agriculture accounts for 70% of the Kenyan labor force and 30% of its GDP (Richardson 1996, 61), the effects of SAPs on crop selection and success are crucial to examine. Agriculture was one of the main sectors targeted for reform with a twofold objective of 1) domestic food security and 2) intensified crop production to promote exports (Richardson 1996, 61 – 64).

This goal was to be accomplished not necessarily through crop substitution but rather through the intensification of current agricultural practices.

However, the changes in inputs necessary to allow for a crop intensification were too expensive compared to the value of output (importantly, the cost was largely due to the SAPs themselves). As Nyariki and Thirtle (2010, 603 – 604) found, SAPs caused technological regression, but higher input prices meant efficiency gains-- the net result was productivity growth. However, they also noted that this growth was a short-term condition only: over time, technical regression would dominate, and productivity would decline (Nyariki & Thirtle 2010, 604). Failure in current crop intensification thus compelled the switch to crops with a higher environmental detriment or expansion into previously unfarmed land (Richardson 1996, 68 – 81).

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However striking it would be to point to massive environmental change that was clearly due to instances of crop switching, the reality is that a) data about these scenarios are difficult to come by and b) the management of the crops seemed to play a much larger role than the choice of crops themselves. In other words, negative crop qualities (for example, erosive properties) can be overcome and made sustainable with proper management and conservation practices (Richardson 1996, 81 – 82).

It seems that the expansion of crops and resulting land conflicts seem to have been the most consequential for the Kenyan environment. Land conflicts generally arose when the frontier of agriculture/livestock cultivation extended into wildlife habitat areas, including arid and semi-arid lands (ASALs), grasslands, and forests. Rising prices of beef incentivized producers to use more land previously occupied by wildlife for cow herding (Richardson 1996, 71). Additionally, an expansion of wheat production exhausted all traditional wheat lands, compelling wheat farming to move into the Narok District. This shift displaced individuals previously living in the district into traditional pastureland, which caused the restriction of movement, and the (legal) killing of wild animals previously living there (GoK/UNEP 1992, 96 – 97). Another target of expansion by SAPs was tea production. This expansion precipitated the conversion of forests along with Mount Kenya, west of the Rift Valley, and around the Aberdares to tea cropland, decimating the genetic diversity of forest plants and animals of the areas (Richardson 1996, 73).

The effect of SAPs on the tourism sector shows some clearer results than those of crop selection. The sector proliferated through the 1980s due to both the “depreciation of the Kenyan shilling and the expansion of nature tourism worldwide” (Richardson 1996, 58). The impact of this growth shows the importance of ensuring institutional and infrastructural ability to cope with increased demand. Tourism generated short-run economic gains but had the converse effect on the industry’s long-term sustainability as a whole. A combination of increased demand and pressure to reduce public expenditure meant that the tourism/wildlife sector’s overall infrastructure of the diminished, resulting in a massive increase in wildlife poaching, corruption of officials, and broadly, damage to Kenyan wildlife and ecosystems (Richardson 1996, 45 – 46).

Finally, we move to the environmental-socioeconomic links of SAP effects. The majority of the Kenyan population relies on small-scale

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agriculture for their livelihood, and thus environmental detriment translates to physical and economic hardship. Poverty and food insecurity in the country has worsened the burden on the natural resource base—a clear example of the vicious cycle of environmental degradation and poverty (Diwakar & Shepherd 2018, 42 – 44). Emerton et al. (2001, 5) also point to this cycle, noting that the majority of the economic costs of environmental detriment “accrue to the poorest, who are unable to afford to take remedial actions, to engage in alternative livelihoods, or to provide themselves with alternative sources of income and employment.” A study by Kabubo-Mariara et al. (2010, 41) found that conservation structures and agro-ecological potential (soil quality, topography, etc.) could predict Kenyan household welfare. In addition, SAP’s implementation did not afford profits incentivizing environmental conservation (for example, from ecotourism) to the poor. Rather, the creation of “wildlife protected areas” (attractions for tourists) resulted in pushing indigenous people from their land (Wishitemi et al. 2015, 306). This establishes the link between poverty and the environment in Kenya, implying the necessity of considering the social and economic implications of SAPs alongside examining their environmental effects.

The evident importance of the environment to nations’ economic and social fabric demands a critical examination of policies’ effects on the natural resources and environmental welfare of the nations in which they occur. In doing so with the structural adjustment programs of the 1980s, it is clear that there were adverse environmental impacts, which in turn had further economic and social consequences. Importantly, however, these policies often had indirect, complex, and diffuse effects on the economy and environment.

There are indeed instances in which SAPs had benign or positive effects on the environment; however, the majority of case studies seem to show deleterious environmental results. These arise from SAPs’ emphasis on crop intensification and foreign exports, which can lead to more degrading crop choices and management practices; their insistence on the cutback of public expenditure, effectively incapacitating institutional environmental enforcement mechanisms; and their resulting in greater poverty, creating a vicious cycle of environmental overexploitation and further impoverishment from environmental consequences.

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Adjustment on Smallholders in Kenya.” Agrekon 39(4): 597-606. https:// doi.org/10.1080/03031853.2000.9523676

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Policy Interventions in the 1990s.” Journal of Environmental Management 44(1): 55-68. https://doi.org/10.1006/jema.1995.0030

Reinsberg, Bernhard, Alexander Kentikelenis, Thomas Stubbs, and Lawrence King.

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Structural Adjustment Programs Affect Bureaucratic Quality in Developing Countries. American Journal of Sociology 124 (4) : 1222-1257. https://doiorg.proxy01.its.virginia.edu/10.1086/701703

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State Sovereignty and Intercountry Adoption: A New Form of Immigration

By Katherine Timothy About the Author Katherine Timothy is a fourth-year from Bristow, Virginia studying Global Development and Public Policy. She wrote this paper for the class 'Migration Law from Theory to Advocacy' last semester while studying abroad at the Paris Institute of Political Studies (Sciences Po) in Paris, France. Katherine has been interning with the U.S. Department of State since May 2019 and has worked previously with the International Rescue Committee in Charlottesville. Upon graduating this spring, she hopes to begin her career working in the field of international policy.

Foreword I am delighted to see that Ms. Katherine Timothy’s paper made it way to this issue of the Wilson Journal. It emanated from the class “Migration Law: From Theory to Advocacy” that I teach to undergraduate students at Sciences Po Paris. This course aims to unveil the distinct rationales that govern the regulation of the movements of individuals through the consideration of an interdisciplinary material. With the mobilization of history, political theory, sociology and legal studies, students learn how to examine the way legal norms are produced and how they structure migratory experiences. We look, for instance, into how the categorization of migrants contributes the fabrication states’ boundaries, or what political dynamics are at stake behind the legal architecture of border controls.

In her paper, Ms. Timothy brilliantly combined several aspects of the class—citizenship, integration, sovereignty, international and domestic migration law making—to produce an extremely original analysis of an under-examined topic: the relationship between international adoption and migration law. Not only did she brightly explore the structure of

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international law in the matter, she highlighted its interaction with domestic law and the resulting state practices. But Ms. Timothy’s most original argument lies in the last part of her paper where she points out how state practices regarding citizenship rules for newly adopted citizens is indicative of a country’s apprehension of citizenship and immigration and how this impacts the lives and integration of the first concerned.

Overall, Ms. Timothy’s paper is a very well documented, smoothly analyzed and compelling research that holds the promise of excellent future investigations. Enjoy the read!

Bastien Charaudeau Santomauro Lecturer Sciences Po Law School Introduction The concept of migration is not new to us humans. Homo sapiens have been moving and migrating across the globe for more than 200,000 years (Bae et al. 2017, 358). Thus, migration as we know it today is an entirely new construct relative to our species’ migratory timeline. Just 372 years ago marked the beginning of state sovereignty, defined by the 1648 Peace of Westphalia treaties in modern translation as the idea that, “nothing should authorize intervention in matters essentially within the domestic jurisdiction of any state” (“To protect sovereignty” 2008). Westphalian sovereignty and the sanctions that followed created the lens through which we view migration and immigration today. Sovereignty enables the creation of borders and citizenship requirements, both of which are central to understanding current immigration policies worldwide. Well-read global citizens are aware of how individual sovereign states promote unique laws seeking to either enable or disable the flow of ‘foreigners’ into their country; international and state laws also promote different ideas as to who may fall into the ‘foreigner’ category.

Such immigration laws are an especially recent invention when considering the past 200,000 years of migration. Such policies only began to appear in states at the end of the 19th century, yet they continue to dictate how individual countries view immigration itself (Daniels and Graham 2001, 94).

Perhaps the most important factor in understanding how a country’s immigration laws function is determining who exactly is considered a

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‘migrant’ or ‘immigrant’ according to the state’s definition. Due to the everpresent Westphalian sovereignty, each state is entitled to defining groups of people in their own way. Despite the abundance of unique definitions, states generally agree that ‘migration,’ as defined by the International Organization for Migration, encompasses the general idea of “movement of a person or a group of persons, either across an international border, or within a state, encompassing any kind of movement of people, whatever its length, composition and causes” (“Who is a migrant?” 2020). The definition of ‘immigration’ is not so cohesively recognized, which affects how states differ in handling immigrants’ citizenship processes and in their approach to their borders, both socially and physically constructed (Line and Poon 2013).

This paper seeks to analyze and understand how different countries use the aforementioned concepts specifically when it comes to intercountry adoption. This process is also known as ‘immigration through adoption’ in most Western states. Intercountry adoption can be defined as “the process by which you adopt a child from a country other than your own through permanent legal means and then bring that child to your country of residence to live with you permanently” (“Intercountry Adoption” 2020). The concept of intercountry adoption as a legal act has only been recognized for the past 70 years, with international legislation put into action at the turn of the 21st century. Although this specific form of immigration is extremely new in regards to immigration as a whole, international adoption policies have already changed dramatically.

To conceptualize and understand this topic, this paper will explore answers to the following question: How do individual states utilize their sovereignty to define and address intercountry adoption as a form of immigration? In order to thoroughly address this question, we will first examine the few international legal frameworks put into place and how the states that ratified such laws interact with them individually. Secondly, we will see how states open and close their borders to international adoptions and the volatility of such amendments. Lastly, we will analyze the differences in how states deal with international adoptions and citizenship, as well as their methods of integration.

Part I: The Legal Frameworks of Intercountry Adoption In order to understand how individual states apply their sovereignty

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to intercountry adoption policies, it is critical to first analyze the legal frameworks that encompass this practice and their history. Adoption was not formally recognized in any capacity until 1851 when the Massachusetts state legislature passed the “world’s first law authorizing judges to permanently sever the legal bonds of biological kinship, and to replace those with legal bonds based on something other than blood” (“Adoption law” 2014). At the time, the majority of society refused to accept this new legal function since the concept of permanently and legally severing a child’s biological ties to its birth family was incomprehensible to conservative cultures (The Schuster Institute 2014). However, in the 150 years since, modern adoption law has grown and been implemented throughout the Western world (The Schuster Institute 2014). Adoption between countries was not considered until World War II when “baby-lifts” or orphan-rescue missions became a common wartime practice (The Schuster Institute 2014). The winning country often “rescued” these children to demonstrate its “goodwill” to the rest of the world and to save them from the clutches of communism, after which the orphans were placed up for adoption (Seabrook 2010). Since the end of the Vietnam War, international adoption shifted from something seen as a charitable endeavor to a private industry. In order to regulate this industry and increase safety measures, international legal frameworks have been enacted in recent years.

The first piece of international legislation that included intercountry adoption was the United Nations (UN) Declaration Relating to the Welfare of Children in 1986, a form of public international law. This specific declaration calls UN Member States to enact legislation, create policy, and promote effective supervision over children involved in intercountry adoptions (UN GA 1986, 265 – 266). Such requirements include Article 17 which affirms the principle of subsidiarity by stating, “if a child cannot be placed in a foster or an adoptive family or cannot in any suitable manner be cared for in the country of origin, intercountry adoption may be considered as an alternative means of providing the child with a family.” (UN GA 1986, 266). Furthermore, Article 24 requires Member States to consider “the child’s cultural and religious background and interests,” and Article 15 encourages states to not hurry the adoptive process (UN GA 1986, 265 – 266).

Three years later, in 1989, came the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, another piece of public international law. This convention

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was a turning point in recognizing children’s rights in international law and prioritizing their “best interests” (UN GA 1989). For our purposes, we will focus on the two articles that encompass intercountry adoption legalities out of the Convention’s fifty-four. Article 3.a. states that, “in all actions concerning children, whether undertaken by public or private social welfare institutions, courts of law, administrative authorities or legislative bodies, the best interests of the child shall be a primary consideration” (UN GA 1989).

This same principle will be the preeminent consideration for states when deciding whether to recognize and/or permit the system of adoption. The Convention also reiterates Article 17 of the Declaration Relating to the Welfare of Children in Article 21, which is the only Article that explicitly refers to adoption in the Convention. Article 21.d. further notes that appropriate measures should be taken to ensure that intercountry adoption placement does not result in improper financial gain for those involved (UN GA 1989).

The final piece of international law we will discuss, before analyzing the two primary components of states and intercountry adoption, is private international law: the Hague Convention on the Protection of Children and Co-operation in Respect of Intercountry Adoption of 1993. For the past 27 years, the Hague Adoption Convention remains the primary legal instrument addressing intercountry adoption because it provides such adoptions formal international and intergovernmental recognition, as well as ensures that adoptions under the convention are recognized and given effect in other party countries. In other words, this Convention implemented a functional system for intercountry adoptions, the first of its kind. The Convention contains several requirements to facilitate the intercountry adoption process, such as verifying the propriety of the adoption under the laws of both countries, checking if the child is eligible for adoption, and ensuring that domestic adoption is considered before intercountry (Milbrandt 2014). Most countries that ratified the Hague Adoption Convention made changes to their national adoption bureaucratization process after agreeing to its terms. However, it is important to note that South Korea, Nepal, and Russia signed the treaty without ratifying it, thereby preserving some of their ability to make sovereign decisions relating to international adoptions (“Status Table” 2019).

The majority of countries that neither signed nor ratified the Convention do not permit foreign adoptions of their children, nor adoptions of foreign

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children (Hague Conference 2019). Despite having chosen to not participate in the Convention, some countries still allow intercountry adoptions, while others have changed their minds. This volatility in permitting and prohibiting international adoptions resulted in the creation of adoption borders to orphans and parents trying to adopt across the globe.

Part II: International Adoption Borders and State Policy In 2005, more than 46,000 children were adopted internationally, with half of these children finding homes in the United States (Menon 2018). A decade later, the total number of intercountry adoptions decreased by 72 percent, largely due to the fact that states began to close their borders to intercountry adoptions all together (Menon 2018). These state-led policy changes and border closures are the result of the inability to meet international law standards, citations of international law and state politics, and the strive for cultural preservation.

The new, strict requirements for intercountry adoptions laid out by the 1993 Hague Adoption Convention prove difficult for some of the 103 participating countries to meet, thus causing a massive decline in international adoptions (Graff 2017). However, this does not necessarily suggest that countries struggling to meet the Hague Convention’s standards leave the Convention on their own. Individual states receiving orphans utilize their sovereignty to determine whether or not other countries were compliant with the Hague’s rules (Montgomery and Powell 2018). For instance, despite the fact that Vietnam ratified the Hague Adoption Convention in 2008, the United States chose to close their adoption borders to the country because the State Department believed the Vietnamese government fell short of the Convention’s requirements (Montgomery and Powell 2018). Furthermore, the Hague Adoption Convention’s rigorous regulations have made international adoptions much more expensive since becoming fully effective in 1995. By imposing fees on states, agencies, adoptive parents, and orphanages, the cost of adoption has increased up to 18 percent in some countries, further exacerbating the rapid decline of international adoptions (Montgomery and Powell 2018).

Reversely, states also have begun citing other international law as reasoning for the closure of their own adoption borders. In the decade between 2005 and 2015, several countries that previously produced high rates

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of intercountry adoptions suddenly shut their borders to the practice, citing examples of abuse as the cause (Montgomery and Powell 2018). Government officials of these countries have stated that this policy change was in “the best interest of the child” (Montgomery and Powell 2018). As discussed previously, the 1989 UN Convention on the Rights of the Child created the principle of prioritizing and recognizing the children’s best interests and ensuring that their needs are met (UN GA 1989). In 2018, Ethiopian lawmakers cited the case of a neglected Ethiopian 13-year-old girl who was adopted in 2008 and died in 2012 of hypothermia and malnutrition at the hands of her adoptive United States parents as one of the reasons for banning intercountry adoptions (Kazeem 2018).

When the Russian parliament voted to shut their borders to adoptions by Americans in 2012, they too cited the 1989 UN Convention on the Rights of the Child and named the new law after Dima Yakovlev, a 2-year-old who died in 2008 after being left in a hot car by his adoptive American father (Zelenova 2017). However, child abuse was not the sole motivator for the enactment of this law. The Dima Yakovlev Law was put into place two weeks after the US Magnitsky Act placed sanctions on certain Russian alleged human rights violators (Zelenova 2017). The timing suggests that Russia’s motivation for enacting this law was also in response to this Act. States can use their border sovereignty as leverage to retaliate against state politics without facing any impediment from international law. Additionally, it is important to note that these tragic events of adoptee abuse are rare. In the 20 years prior to the Dima Yakolev Law, only 19 of the 60,000 adoptees from Russia to the US died from abuse of neglect, resulting in an abuse rate of 0.03 percent (Compton 2016). In Russia, the rate of child abuse is approximately 25 times higher, which begs the question of whether “the best interest of the child” is actually protected through intercountry adoption (Bukharbayeya 2007). Individual state policy changes largely impact the global system when it comes to intercountry adoption, regardless of the motivation behind them. This fact holds true when examining how different states regard the citizenship of both the children adopted from their country and the children adopted to their country.

Part III: Intercountry Adoption and Citizenship The majority of countries that ratified the Hague Adoption

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Convention have policies to facilitate and ease the process of internationally adopted children becoming citizens. Thus, when examining the relationship between intercountry adoption and citizenship, it would be impractical to thoroughly analyze the specificities of how each country ensures that its internationally adopted population becomes citizens. Instead, by comparing how sovereign states address multi-citizenship in terms of international adoption, we can better understand each state’s different approach to defining citizenship.

Naturally, under international law, the way people can attain national citizenship varies state by state (Walsh 2016). Historically, states considered nationality to be a sovereign concept since it links a person’s loyalty to their motherland. Belonging to two countries raised concerns about tax evasion, conscription avoidance, and high treason (Walsh 2016). However, in modern times, multi-citizenship is more common since states create their own citizenship requirements. For instance, if two Australians had a child in the United States, that child would be both an Australian citizen and an American citizen under the technicalities of each state’s unique laws (Walsh 2016). However, international adoption is even more difficult to navigate when it comes to multi-citizenship’s complex legalities. Belarus’ citizenship laws clearly state that children born of at least one Belarusian parent are entitled to Belarusian citizenship; however, children adopted from Belarus are not offered the same rights. Once that child is adopted, Belarus no longer claims them (The Republic of Belarus 1991).

Of the top 30 countries adopted from in the two decades between 1994 and 2014, only eight offer any sort of option for dual citizenship: Bulgaria, Colombia, Jamaica, Mexico, Nigeria, Peru, Romania, and Russia (Walsh 2016). There is no significant correlation between these eight countries and participation in the Hague Adoption Convention as three of them have not fully ratified it, indicating that willingness to abide by rigorous adoption requirements is not central to the making of this decision. Russia currently prohibits any international adoptions and has not ratified the Hague Adoption Convention. However, it has the most accepting dual-citizenship for its adoptees. In the case of Russian policy pertaining specifically to the US, the embassy holds that “Anyone who emigrated from Russia to the USA, even if by adoption, in 1992 or later, is still a Russian citizen unless specific steps have been taken to renounce the individual’s citizenship. Children

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adopted from Russia remain Russian citizens until they are 18 years of age, at which point they can choose to renounce citizenship” (“Visiting Russia” 2020).

Such a statement shows that Russia’s mentality surrounding citizenship truly encompasses all people who are of Russian descent and hints towards their historic strong loyalty to the “motherland” (Sudakov 2012).

There has been debate in past years over how intercountry adoption dual citizenship should be addressed. Many countries choose to focus on how to integrate their newly adopted citizens, rather than attending to those adopted out internationally. However, psychology studies and adoption agencies note the importance of staying in touch with one’s home cultures, as well as adjusting to their new culture (Walsh 2016). Many adopted children learn their birth culture from an outsider’s perspective and face difficulty grasping their own identities (Walsh 2016). Holding dual citizenship with their birth countries may allow adoptees a way to cement their identities and a lifelong access to their origins (Faist and Gerdes, 9). Furthermore, cultural awareness and citizenship allows an adopted person a way of belonging to more than one culture. Dual citizenship can act “as a kind of official legitimization of their multicultural identity.” (Faist and Gerdes 2008, 10).

Moreover, adoptees “can be integrated more easily if the respective state accepts or even welcomes dual citizenship” (Faist and Gerdes 2008, 11). Some research suggests that “immigrants who do not fear losing their existing nationality are more likely to pursue naturalization in their adopted countries – and subsequently more likely to integrate than those who maintain longterm residence as aliens” (“Dutchmen grounded” 2012). This claim may differ from adoptee to adoptee based on their age at the time of adoption. The fact remains that multi-citizenship allows individuals to avoid the societal “either-or” bind which pressures adoptees to choose between their two cultures, even though they may encounter bureaucratic hurdles, such as additional fees or extensive paperwork, in facilitating another citizenship (Walsh 2016).

Looking forward, the benefits of granting adoptees dual citizenship outweigh the costs in our ever-evolving new age of globalization.

Conclusion Despite the fact that there are both private and public international laws in place regarding intercountry adoption, states have the sovereign power to adjust their own adoption policies as they see fit. Volatile state borders

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open and close as a result of inter-state politics and the endeavour to preserve the culture of their societies. International law both aids and complicates this process as it serves as grounds for states to use their sovereignty against others by citing international principles to aid in their border closings. Social and physical borders define who is allowed to become a citizen; thus, it is essential to examine adoption borders and citizenship requirements together. When it comes to dual citizenship and intercountry adoption, most states choose to forgo the opportunity to maintain their adoptees’ citizenships. However, some leave the citizenship option open, which can greatly aid their adoptees in avoiding identity crises. Issues of sovereignty are naturally heightened when sovereign states must interact over international processes like intercountry adoption. Questions of identity, corruption, and immigration policy are all present in this system. International laws help to provide a structure to this new form of immigration. However, tensions continue to escalate between countries for countless reasons, especially now with the world leadership of 2020. As is evident by intercountry adoption’s past, these global and interstate issues will continue to impact international adoption.

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Bibliography “Adoption law: A History of Fictions.” 2014. The Schuster Institute for Investigative

Journalism, accessed 30 April 2020, https://www.brandeis.edu/investigate/ adoption/history.html.

Bae, C., Douka, K. and Petraglia, M., “On origin of modern humans: Asian perspectives”, Science, 08 December 2017, p. 358, accessed 30 April 2020, URL: https://science. sciencemag.org/content/358/6368/eaai9067 Bukharbayeva, B., “Russia’s children increasingly at risk of abuse”, Los Angeles Times, 09 September 2007, accessed 30 April 2020, URL: https://www.latimes.com/ archives/la-xpm-2007-sep-09-adfg-ruskids9-story.html Compton, R., “Are Adopted Children at Risk for Abuse?”, Psychology Today, 23 March 2016, accessed 01 May 2020, URL: https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/ adopting-reason/201603/are-adopted-children-risk-abuse Daniels, R. and Graham, O., Debating American Immigration, 1882-present, 2001, p. 94, accessed 01 May 2020, URL: https://rowman.com/ISBN/9780847694105/ Debating-American-Immigration-1882-Present “Dutchmen grounded”, The Economist, 07 January 2012, accessed 01 May 2020, URL: https://www.economist.com/international/2012/01/07/dutchmen-grounded Faist, T. and Gerdes, J., “Dual Citizenship in the Age of Mobility”, Migration Policy Institute, April 2008, p. 9-11, accessed 02 May 2020, URL: https://www. migrationpolicy.org/research/dual-citizenship-age-mobility Graff, E., “They Steal Babies, Don’t They?”, Pacific Standard, 03 May 2017, accessed 01 May 2020, URL: https://psmag.com/news/they-steal-babies-dont-they-internationaladoption-schuster-institute-95027 “Intercountry Adoption”, U.S. Department of State – Bureau of Consular Affairs, 2020, accessed 01 May 2020, URL: https://travel.state.gov/content/travel/en/ Intercountry-Adoption.html Kazeem, Y., “Ethiopia will no longer allow foreigners to adopt its children”, Quartz Africa, 10 January 2018, accessed 02 May 2020, URL: https://qz.com/africa/1176618/ ethiopia-bans-foreign-adoptions/ Line, B. and Poon, L., “Immigration Policies Around the World”, National Geographic, 30 June 2013, accessed 30 April 2020, URL: https://www.nationalgeographic.com/ news/2013/6/130630-immigration-reform-world-refugees-asylum-canadajapan-australia-sweden-denmark-united-kingdom-undocumented-immigrants/ Menon, M., “Why Do Some Countries Not Allow International Adoption?”, Adoption. com, 15 August 2018, accessed 30 April 2020, URL: https://adoption.com/why-

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countries-not-allow-international-adoption Milbrandt, J., “Adopting the Stateless”, Brooklynn Journal of International Law, 2014, vol.

39, issue 2, accessed 03 May 2020, URL: https://brooklynworks.brooklaw.edu/ cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1030&context=bjil Montgomery, M. and Powell, I., “International adoptions have dropped 72 percent since 2005 – here’s why”, The Conversation, 28 February 2018, accessed 02 May 2020, URL: https://theconversation.com/international-adoptions-have-dropped-72percent-since-2005-heres-why-91809 The Republic of Belarus, “Law of the Republic of Belarus on Citizenship of the Republic of Belarus”, LegislationOnline, adopted 18 October 1991, accessed 03 May 2020, URL: https://www.legislationline.org/documents/id/6381 Seabrook, J., “The Last Babylift”, The New Yorker, 10 May 2010, accessed 02 May 2020, URL: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2010/05/10/the-last-babylift “Status Table”, Hague Conference on Private International Law, March 2019, accessed 30 April 2020, URL: https://www.hcch.net/en/instruments/conventions/statustable/?cid=69 “To protect sovereignty, or to protect lives?”, The Economist, 15 May 2008, accessed 01 May 2020, URL: https://www.economist.com/international/2008/05/15/to-protectsovereignty-or-to-protect-lives United Nations General Assembly, Resolution 44/25: Convention on the Rights of the Child, adopted 20 November 1989, accessed 01 May 2020, URL: https://www.ohchr. org/en/professionalinterest/pages/crc.aspx United Nations General Assembly, Resolution 41/85: The UN Declaration Relating to the Welfare of Children, adopted 03 December 1986, pp. 265-266, accessed 01 May 2020, URL: https://digitallibrary.un.org/record/126399/files/A_RES_41_85EN.pdf “Visiting Russia with adopted child”, Embassy of the Russian Federation in the USA, 2020, accessed 03 May 2020, URL: https://washington.mid.ru/en/consular-services/ citizens-usa/adoption/visiting_russia_with_adopted_child/ Walsh, K., “Adoption Advocate No. 94”, National Council for Adoption, 01 April 2016, accessed 03 May 2020, URL: https://www.adoptioncouncil.org/ publications/2016/04/adoption-advocate-no-94 “Who is a migrant?”, UN Migration Agency (IOM), 2020, accessed 30 April 2020, URL: https://www.iom.int/who-is-a-migrant Zelenova, M., “Invisible Children: Russia’s Dima Yakovlev Law”, NATO Association of Canada, 01 February 2017, accessed 02 May 2020, URL: http://natoassociation. ca/invisible-children-russias-dima-yakovlev-law/

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Continuities in the SinoNorth Korean Relationship From the Ming/Qing-Joseon Relationship to Present PRCDPRK Relations

By Gauri Prakash

About the Author Gauri Prakash is a second-year Charlottesville native hoping to major in Foreign Affairs and minor in Korean Language and Literature. She is deeply interested in the international relations of East Asia, the plight of North Korean refugees, and education reform across East Asian countries.

In the past, she interned for the Miller Center of Public Affairs and is now conducting research on North Korean environmental history for UVA Professor Joseph Seeley. She is also a member of the International Relations Organization and the Asian Leadership Council. In the future, Gauri hopes to work for the United States Foreign Service.

Foreword HIEA 3162, “Historical China and the World,” is a course on the long history of China’s dealing with its external environment and neighboring peoples, shedding light on the modern transformation of East Asian inter-state relations. The course considers typical conceptions, practices, and institutions of the ancient Sinocentric world that influenced numerous peoples and states in a vast region stretching from Inner Asian steppes to oceanic Asia. Especially, the course investigates the epochal encounter between this Sinocentric world and the globalizing West during the 19 th century. The encounter led to reshaping, reconceptualization, and renewal of China and other East Asian states according to the norms of modern-cumWestern international relations. “Changes and continuities” is necessarily one of the central themes of the class. To present the way in which the course

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helps the students recalibrate their thinking and understanding of East Asian international affairs, all students in the class are required to complete a research project on a topic of their own choices. Gauri Prakash took the class in the spring of 2020 and excelled in it. The essay below is based on her research project for the class. It is a crucial bilateral international relationship of our time, that between the People’s Republic of China and the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (or North Korea). In ancient times, Korea was one of the longest and closest “tributary states” to the dynastic center of China.

Since the mid-19 th century, both countries have gone through tremendous upheavals and profound transformations. Yet, Prakash informs us in her essay that, to understand the intricacies of the Beijing-Pyongyang connection today, it is useful to trace the roots of the connection back to the pre-modern tributary relationship between the two sides. Indeed, history is like a fabric, and the past and the present are interlaced in a certain way by some very long threads.

Xiaoyuan Liu Department of History University of Virginia Abstract This essay argues that the People’s Republic of China’s relationship with the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea resembles the relationship between Ming and Qing China and Joseon Korea. There are three semblances. The first is that dynastic China had repeatedly acted as a defender of Joseon, and the PRC seems to be continuing this trend of behavior in its protection of North Korea. Second, I argue that the Ming and Qing dynasties’ economic interactions with Korea are similar to the modern economic relationship between the PRC and the DPRK. Third, the PRC’s motivations to maintain friendly relations with the DPRK are very similar to the motivations of the Qing and Ming dynasty when it interacted with Joseon Korea. In examining the way these states seem to be perpetuating aspects of their past, I believe we can learn a great deal about their current complicated relationship.

China historically has had a close relationship with Korea.

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Speaking to the remarkably amicable nature of the Ming and Joseon, one historian said, “It is rare in history that two countries which share a border never fought each other for three hundred years” (Lee and Yi 1997). Even hundreds of years later, in new forms, the DPRK and the PRC have called themselves “as close as lips and teeth”. Bonded by their shared ideologies, previously Confucianism and then Leninist-Socialism, the Sino-Korean relationship has continued. Since the Ming dynasty, Joseon Korea had China as a “big brother”, placing China in a higher position within a Confucian framework (Kim 2005). Confucianism requires that older brothers must be caring and protective over their younger brothers, who must in turn act with obedience and respect. Although this situates the countries as close allies, the relationship is “a partnership not between equals, but between two unequal states--one strong and powerful and the other a client” (Dwivedi 2012, 7693). This ancient relationship has had profound implications on their current relationship. China’s role as North Korea’s protector, China and North Korea’s economic relationship, and China’s political motivations for maintaining its relationship with North Korea all appear to mirror aspects of the relationship between dynastic China and ancient Korea.

As early as the Qing dynasty, China repeatedly protected Joseon Korea. This relationship was evident in Korea’s response to the Tonghak Rebellion, named after the Tonghak faith of the rebelling peasants. This movement was massive, with around one fifth of Korea’s population participating (Chong 1969, 73-88). The Tonghak peasants amassed a sizable army and were hostile to the Korean government, demanding the abolition of the Confucian-style caste system, waiver of public and private debts, equal distribution of land, and an end to rice exports to Japan. In June of 1894, the Korean government, unable to quell the rebellion on its own, requested China’s aid (Arakawa 1894). In response, China immediately dispatched armed forces to Incheon. Within a few days, several warships and a large armed forces had established a garrison in Korea and were preparing to fight.

The willingness of China to intervene on behalf of the Korean government is indicative of China’s attitude toward Korea at the time. Due to their fraternal relationship, China had a duty to protect Korea and was responsible for its well-being. By devoting troops to protect the Korean government, the Qing dynasty adhered to that duty.

Shortly after helping to suppress the Tonghak rebellion, China once

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again demonstrated its willingness to intervene on the behalf of Korea during the 1st Sino-Japanese War. In conformity with the Treaty of Tientsin, Japan also sent troops to Korea. Once the Tonghak Rebellion had been put to rest, Japan expressed an interest in working with China to reform the Korean government ( Jotaro et al. 1894). However, China rejected this proposal and asked that Japan withdraw its troops and allow Korea to reform itself.

Japan refused, and continued to station troops in Korea, later attacking the royal palace and forcing some Chinese troops out of Asan. These escalating tensions would eventually develop into the 1st Sino-Korean War. In the events preceding the war and during the war itself, the Qing government demonstrated its willingness to protect Korea, this time not from internal upheaval but, ironically, from foreign interference. China was ostensibly acting out of a desire to protect Korea’s interests. As the superior in the Sino-Korean relationship, China was once again acting much like an older brother doing what he thinks is best for his sibling. The Qing dynasty’s dedication to this role of protector to Korea led to a massive loss for China, as it not only lost sole influence over Korea but also ceded Taiwan and the Liaodong Peninsula to Japan. China was also forced to make other concessions, like allowing Japan trading privileges in China’s territory. All of this resulted in China losing its status as a major world power and eventually caused the decay of the Qing dynasty. Although China could not have possibly known exactly what was at stake in this war, its clash with Japan shows that its government was willing to risk a considerable amount to protect Korea.

Although this relationship has evolved in many ways, the People’s Republic of China continues to protect the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. This relationship was first formalized in 1961 by the Sino-North Korean Mutual Aid and Cooperation Friendship Treaty. Before the treaty, Sino-Soviet relations were deteriorating and Kim Il-Sung had signed a Soviet-North Korean peace treaty. The treaty China drew up was heavily influenced by this treaty but had a few major changes that made it much more effective. The treaty was to be perpetual, while the Soviet-North Korean peace treaty only lasted 10 years. Most importantly, the treaty made China and the DPRK’s relationship a military alliance. It required that, “in the event of one of the Contracting Parties being subjected to the armed attack by any state or several states jointly and thus being involved in a state of war, the other Contracting Party shall immediately render military and other

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assistance by all means at its disposal” (Peking Review 1961). This meant that, from that point forward, China was obligated to intervene militarily on behalf of North Korea; that it had resumed its role as a protector. This treaty would serve to protect North Korea from other nations who otherwise might consider military action against North Korea. Since the treaty’s signing, the DPRK has repeatedly demonstrated military aggression towards South Korea and Japan, sinking those nations’ boats and sending test missiles over their territory. The DPRK has also made numerous threats directed towards the United States. Ordinarily, this pattern of behavior, combined with North Korea’s numerous violations of human rights and refusal to end its nuclear program would be grounds for some retaliation. Yet no attack occurred because the military alliance with China deterred it. Despite some doubt as to whether China would honor this obligation, China’s reaffirmations of the treaty in 1981 and again in 2001 seem to signal its dedication to the SinoNorth Korean relationship.

China also protects North Korea by shielding it from the impact of sanctions. The United Nations Security Council has sanctioned North Korea 21 times. Since the Arduous March, a time of widespread famine, began in 1994, North Korea has struggled with self-sufficiency, especially producing food; thus the sanctions placed on North Korea would be devastating if not for China. China has repeatedly been accused of aiding or allowing North Korea to evade the sanctions placed on it. The UN recently accused China of helping the DPRK sell around 3.7 million tons of coal by transferring the coal from North Korean ships to Chinese barges and then selling that coal in China (“U.N. Report” 2020). China has also helped North Korea flout sanctions by allowing North Korean front companies and shell corporations to use Chinese banks to engage with global financial systems with which they are officially barred from engaging. In addition, China has allowed Chinese businesses to supply North Korea with the resources necessary to create sophisticated weapons (Meyer 2017). All of these efforts clearly contradict the UN’s efforts to shut down North Korea’s nuclear program. Yet North Korea continues with the aid of the PRC. The modern economic relationship between China and North Korea also displays some continuity with ancient China and Korea’s relationship in that, in both past and present contexts, the relationship seems to be more beneficial to the Koreans. Consider the ancient tributary system. Under that

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system, Korean envoys would periodically be sent with a tribute to China in order to show deference. However, at least under the Ming dynasty, the envoys would almost always be sent back with gifts of much greater value.

The Chinese emperors gave back more lavish gifts to demonstrate their generosity and superiority. Art historian Friedrich Hirth (1907) claimed that this practice led to all “the best things of a country like China being found abroad”. While Korea gifted some valuable resources or objects, what it received far outweighed what it sacrificed. These exchanges not only endowed Korea with fine art and some wealth, but also with culture and knowledge.

China exported Confucianism and Buddhism to Korea, and Chinese literature had such an impact that the Korean Yangban elites were known for their knowledge of Chinese writings. Korea even adopted the Chinese writing system for a time (Cartwright 2016). The export of Chinese culture to Korea was so great that King Taejo of the Goryeo dynasty once declared, “we in the East have long admired Tang ways. In culture, ritual, and music, we are entirely following its model” (Portal 2000).

Often, the “exchange of gifts” between the two peoples was merely trade by another name. Through this system, Korea was able to receive great economic benefit by exporting goods to China. China imported so much gold from Korea that the Choson government set a limit on the amount of gold that could be exported to the Ming each year. Choson also was able to export great amounts of ginseng, which, due to its rarity and perceived medicinal properties, was in such demand in China that it was considered more valuable than gold (Lee and Yi 1997). This relationship was of great benefit to Choson Korea, seemingly more than it was to China.

While the tributary system is no longer in place, China’s current economic relationship with North Korea seems to be of greater benefit and importance to North Korea than to themselves. Despite preaching the importance of Juche, or self-reliance, North Korea heavily relies on Chinese subsidies to support its economy. Since it cancelled North Korea’s debt in 1953 and also granted the country $400 million, China has continued to provide North Korea with a great amount of financial aid. China also has provided free labor to help develop North Korea’s infrastructure. This constituted around 3.4% of China’s national budget at the time (Reilly 2014). It appears that China still provides a significant amount of aid to North Korea, although the exact amount is difficult to ascertain. According to a report by the Congressional

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Research Service, around 50% of China’s foreign aid is economic assistance to North Korea (Nanto and Manyin 2011). Aid is often given to North Korea during special commemorations, like the centennial of Kim Il Sung’s birth in 2012, when China pledged aid worth 95 million USD (Nakajima 2018).

The aid provided was in the form of money, energy assistance, food, and infrastructure projects (Reilly 2014). In terms of trade, China imports 91% of North Korea’s total exports, and exports 94% of North Korea’s total imports, making China the DPRK’s greatest trading partner by far. In contrast, North Korea is not even one of China’s top five trading partners. While China has political motivations for giving so much in aid and commerce to the DPRK, the relationship is much more vital to North Korea than it is to China. In this asymmetry of benefits, the modern Sino-North Korean economic relationship mirrors that of ancient China and Korea.

Yet another continuity in Chinese-North Korean relations is that both in the past and present, China’s motivation for maintaining the relationship has been to maximize its influence and maintain stability. Return to the Ming dynasty’s tribute system, it was a method of conducting foreign relations that enabled China to maintain stability in neighboring areas.

By setting itself up in a position of hierarchical power, China was not only given assurance that it would not be attacked but was also able to ensure that neighboring states did not go to war with each other. According to political scientist David C. Kang, because tributary states like Korea shared China’s Confucian worldview, they were able to accept that their relationships functioned within a hierarchy.

Being a part of China’s tributary system also often resulted in the spread of Chinese culture. Koreans were not subtle about their desire to emulate Chinese culture, often admitting they held up China as a model.

They were just as clear about their deference toward China, using the foreign policy of “sadae”, or serving the great. China’s tributary neighbors shared this admiration for Chinese practices, referring to the country as “wen xian zhi biang”, or the domain of manifest civility. These shared values and cultural similarities made them less likely to have conflicts with one another. In addition, the strict hierarchy of the system left little reason for war. Each state had its place in the hierarchy, and so long as that was respected, peace could easily be maintained. This contrasts with the nomadic neighbors of China, who were more resistant to Confucianism and Chinese culture, making it

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harder for China and the tributaries to form stable relations with them (Kang 2010).

The tributary system also allowed China to increase its sphere of influence far beyond its bordering nations. During the Ming Emperor Yongle’s reign, envoys were sent out to distant countries, greatly expanding the system. South Asian, Middle Eastern, and even East African states began to participate in the system, sending their own envoys to China (Nakajima 2018). By expanding its tributary system, China was able to influence and export its goods and culture to a variety of new places. This development would give China leverage and sway over a greater area, increasing its power significantly.

This desire for influence and stability is also evident in China’s relationship with North Korea today. According to the Congressional Research Service, the PRC’s major policy goals are maintaining stability on the Korean Peninsula and maximizing its influence (Nanto and Manyin 2011). Stability on the Korean Peninsula is of great importance to China because any breakdown, either within North Korea or between South and North Korea, could have extremely adverse effects on China. Should North Korea suffer another economic collapse, China’s economy would suffer and China’s resources would be strained. In addition, China would undoubtedly experience a sudden influx of unwelcome North Korean refugees, and the world would take notice if it fumbled such a humanitarian crisis. This is why, just as during the implementation of the tributary system, China has a desire to maintain stability in the neighboring state of North Korea.

China also has an interest in keeping war from breaking out on the Korean Peninsula. Again, such an event would have serious economic repercussions. Conflict between North and South Korea would most likely force a conflict between the PRC and the U.S., as the countries are closely aligned with either peninsular state. Going to war with a country like the U.S., with its military presence and nuclear capabilities, would likely result in a disastrous outcome for China.

It is the desire to prevent these unwelcome outcomes that motivates China to maintain its relationship with North Korea. Through giving aid and encouraging North Korea to participate in talks such as the Six-Party Talks with the U.S. and South Korea, China can secure the stability of the Korean Peninsula, thereby ensuring its own internal stability. Just as in the past,

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China, with respect to North Korea, is conducting foreign affairs with both of these goals in mind.

China’s involvement in North Korea gives them sway over not only the DPRK but also Asia and all parties interested in the denuclearization of North Korea. China’s continued assistance to North Korea has made the country somewhat reliant upon China, especially economically. As a result, China can encourage the DPRK to make choices that would benefit China, and may advise North Korea on stabilizing its economy or pressure the country to display less aggression towards South Korea and the United States.

In addition, because of China’s influence on the DPRK, countries like the U.S. must deal with and appease China to further their goals. In discussions with North Korea, China is ever-present. China is also able to prevent sanctions against North Korea from completely destroying the North Korean economy. Therefore, China’s involvement in North Korea gives it, according to Shi Jiangtao (2018) of the South China Morning Post, “a useful card in the long game against America” and other countries that are threatened by North Korea’s nuclear program.

While the Sino-North Korean relationship has evolved in many ways since its Confucian foundation, it’s held together by important continuities: China’s protection of North Korea, elements of those countries' economic relationship, and the motivation behind China’s Korean policy--the spread of its own influence and the maintenance of stability. Understanding this complex relationship is vital, for the connection affects not only China and Korea, but also the entire world. Studying China’s past motivations can provide useful insight into its current motivations, and its likely actions in the future. While history rarely repeats itself, it can exhibit patterns that are quite revealing.

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Japan Center for Asian Historical Records. https://www.jacar.archives. go.jp/aj/meta/imageen_C08040476000?IS_KIND=detail&IS_ STYLE=eng&IS_TAG_S1=InfoSDU&IS_KEY_S1=Arakawa%20 Inoue%20Qing%20Preparation%20for%20Campaign%201894&.

Cartwright, Mark. 2016. "Ancient Korean & Chinese Relations." Ancient History Encyclopedia.

Chong, Key Ray. 1969. “The Tonghak Rebellion: Harbinger of Korean Nationalism.” Journal of Korean Studies (1969-1971), vol. 1, no. 1: 73–88. JSTOR. www.jstor.org/stable/23849478.

Djun Kil Kim. 2005. “The History of Korea - Djun Kil Kim - Google Books.”

United Kingdom: ABC-CLIO. https://books.google.com/books/ about/The_History_of_Korea.html?id=ci_iGuAAqms.

Dwivedi, Sangit Sarita. 2012. “North Korea-China Relations: An Asymmetric Alliance.” North Korean Review, vol. 8, no. 2: 76–93. JSTOR. www. jstor.org/stable/43910314.

Hirth, F. 1907. Chinese Metallic Mirrors: With Notes on Some Ancient Specimens of the Musée Guimet, Paris. New York: G.E. Stechert.

Jansen, Marius, Samuel Chu, Shumpei Okamoto, and Bonnie Oh. 1979. “The Historiography of the Sino-Japanese War.” The International History Review 1, no. 2: 191–227. https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1 080/07075332.1979.9640182.

Jotaro, Komura, Wang Fengzao, Mutsu Munemitsu, Nishi, and Aoki. 1894.

“Negotiations Between Japan and Qing About the Protection of Korea if Togakuto Faction Makes a Big Wave Vol. 1.” Japan Center for Asian Historical Records. https://www.jacar.archives.go.jp/aj/meta/ MetSearch.cgi.

Kang, David Chan-oong. 2010. East Asia Before the West: Five Centuries of Trade and Tribute. New York: Columbia University Press.

Lee, Kenneth B. and Kong-bok Yi. 1997. Korea and East Asia: The Story of a Phoenix. Westport: Praeger Publishers.

Meyer, Josh. 2017. “Failure to Sanction China Helped North Korea, Former Officials Say.” POLITICO, April 2017. https://www.politico.com/ story/2017/04/north-korea-china-sanctions-237238.

Nakajima, Gakusho. 2017. “The Structure and Transformation of the Ming

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Singapore: Springer Singapore. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-98110-4053-5_7.

Nanto, Dick K., and Mark E. Manyin. 2011. “China–North Korea Relations.”

North Korean Review 7, no. 2 (September 1, 2011): 94–101. https:// doi.org/10.3172/NKR.7.2.94.

“North Korea Flouts Sanctions through China Shipping, U.N. Report Finds.” 2020. The Japan Times. https://www.japantimes.co.jp/ news/2020/04/18/asia-pacific/north-korea-flouts-sanctions-chinashipping-u-n-report-finds/#.Xp4cl1NKiqR. Portal, J. 2000. Korea: Art & Archaeology. London: Thames & Hudson.

Reilly, James. 2014. “The Curious Case of China’s Aid to North Korea.” Asian Survey, vol. 54, no. 6 (2014): 1158–1183. JSTOR. www.jstor.org/ stable/10.1525/as.2014.54.6.1158.

Shi, Jiangtao. 2018. “How China Is Using North Korea in Its Long Game against America.” South China Morning Post, June 16, 2018. https:// www.scmp.com/news/china/diplomacydefence/article/2151128/ how-china-using-north-korea-its-long-game-against.

Sutter, Robert G. 1997. “Korea: Improved South Korean-Chinese Relations: Motives and Implications.” Congressional Research Service Reports.

“Text of the Treaty of Friendship, Cooperation, and Mutual Assistance Between the People’s Republic of China and the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.” 1961. Peking Review, vol. 4, no. 28 ( July 1961): 5. https://www.marxists.org/subject/china/pekingreview/1961/PR1961-28a.htm.

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Does Hate Media Incite Genocide?

An Analysis of Genocidal Processes in the Third Reich, Rwanda, the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria, and Myanmar

By Ali Acker

About the Author Alixandra Acker is a fourth-year from New York majoring in Global Security and Justice with a minor in Public Policy and Leadership.

Her interests in national security, nuclear proliferation, and counterterrorism convergence with a passion for promoting human rights, as she spent last summer interning with the UN High Commissioner for Refugees in Sydney, Australia. She has worked with the Batten Global Policy Center tracking patterns of migration stemming from Venezuela, and most recently with the National Security Policy Center researching the US Space Force. Upon graduation, Alixandra will work as a federal management consultant in DC and hopes to join the Foreign Service in the future.

Foreword Ali Acker originally wrote her article, Does Hate Media Incite Genocide? An Analysis of Genocidal Processes in the Third Reich, Rwanda, the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria, and Myanmar, as her term paper in my GSSJ 3010 Global Issues of Security and Justice course. All GSSJ majors take this course in their first semester in the major, with the typical purpose of the paper being to lay out a review of the existing literature on a given topic so as to later make an original contribution to knowledge in an area that that research has not yet covered.

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Ali's article very much accomplishes that goal, reviewing the literature both for and against the hypothesis that hate media drives genocide in three cases that have already received much scholarly attention, and laying the groundwork for an eventual thesis on a case that has not yet received as much attention.

In addition to being a talented synthesizer of sophisticated scholarly arguments, Ali is an extraordinarily polished writer. I am therefore confident that anyone who shares her interests in genocide and/or hate media will find the present article deeply engaging.”.

Peter Furia Director of Global Studies- Security and Justice University of Virginia Abstract Episodes of systematic intergroup massacres have been prevalent for hundreds of human history. We have developed a working definition of what genocide is, however, there is no scholarly consensus on precisely how or why genocide occurs. While each instance of genocide is different, from its geolocation, victims, and methodology, many argue the one constant has been the ubiquitous presence of hate media in pre-genocidal societies. Using the United Nations’ guidelines, hate media is “any kind of communication in speech, writing or behavior that attacks or uses pejorative or discriminatory language with reference to a person or group on the basis of who they are, in other words, based on their religion, ethnicity, nationality, race, color, descent gender or other identity factors,” I conducted a literature analysis of the genocidal processes in the Third Reich, Rwanda, the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria, and Myanmar. This paper explores the roles of ideologies, indoctrination, and incitement in genocide and genocidal terror. Though these cases are different in their nature, size, and scope, they all involve a form of hate media preceding genocidal violence. Dehumanizing discourse matters in these historical cases, however, critics emphasize more research is needed to understand the extent to which hate media incites a genocide. Extensive hate media sets into motion a continuum of destruction by devaluing the victim group and psychologically convincing populations of the moral necessity of the incited crime, but existing ethnic tensions, extreme societal prejudice,

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religious convictions, and class friction all offer an explanation into how genocidal terror begins.

Introduction Episodes of systematic intergroup massacres have been prevalent for hundreds of years of human history. However, there was no consistent way to name or describe these events until Polish lawyer Raphael Lemkin first coined the word “genocide” in his 1944 book, Axis Rule in Occupied Europe.

The word’s nomenclature connects the Greek prefix genos, meaning race or tribe, to the Latin suffix cide, meaning killing. The 1948 Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide officially codified genocide as an independent crime. In such, genocide is defined as: “Acting with the intent to destroy, in whole or part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group, as such: killing members of the groups; causing serious bodily harm or mental harm to members of the group; deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or part; imposing measures intended to prevent births within the group; forcibly transferring children of the group to another group (“United Nations Office on Genocide Prevention…” n.d.).

In this definition, the dolus specialis, or the special intent, makes the crime of genocide unique. Victims of genocide are deliberately targeted because of their real or perceived membership in a particular group. We have developed this working definition of what genocide is, but there is no scholarly consensus on precisely how or why genocide occurs. Though each instance of genocide is different in its geolocation, victims, and methodology, many argue that the one constant has been the ubiquitous presence of hate media in pre-genocidal societies. To effectively conduct a thorough analysis of hate media in major genocidal episodes in modern history, it is necessary to define the meaning of hate media, since I am interpreting its inflammatory effects in four distinct genocides. Using the United Nations’ guidelines, hate media is “any kind of communication in speech, writing or behavior that attacks or uses pejorative or discriminatory language with reference to a person or group on the basis of who they are, in other words, based on their religion, ethnicity, nationality, race, color, descent gender or other identity factors” (“The UN Strategy and Plan…” 2019). The precise threshold at which hate speech is believed to incite veritable discrimination,

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hostility, or violence still remains controversial and widely disputed (“The UN Strategy and Plan…” 2019). In general, incitement means “encouraging or persuading another to commit an offense by way of communication, employing broadcast, publications, drawings, images, or speeches (“Incitement to Genocide...” n.d.).”

Literature Review There is a long-established perception that incitement leads to genocide. Elihu Richter and his team apply models and tools of epidemiology and public health to show the role of ideologies, indoctrination, and incitement in genocide and genocidal terror (Richter 2018). Building on previous research, Richter focuses on word pollution -- the motifs, language, and images of incitement spread through propaganda. His study notes the role of propaganda in creating climates of genocide as these media messages utilize paths of mass exposure to incite susceptible populations. Incitement does not pertain to a particular belief system; its widespread purpose is to rouse individuals to violent action. Incitement includes the “5 Ds” of dehumanization, demonization, delegitimization, disinformation, and the denial of past atrocities perpetrated against the targets (Richter 2018). In his research, Richter acknowledges that incitement can carry enormous weight, especially when initiated or endorsed by persons of authority. Exemplifying this theory, Julius Streicher was executed after the Nuremberg trials on charges of incitement. Streicher’s crimes related to “vicious anti-Semitic incitement” in his newspaper Der Stürmer (Richter 2018). Furthermore, the International Criminal Court prosecuted a number of media sources for incitement after the Rwandan genocide as well. Under international jurisprudence, criminal courts have prosecuted actors who spread hateful media, recognizing its ability to steer sensitive populations towards genocide.

However, Richter clarified that there remains a need for a more nuanced exploration of the media-violence nexus and how it perpetuates genocidal terror. He concluded that ideological indoctrination is a trigger to genocidal outcomes, but indoctrination may be upstream to incitement (Richter 2018).

The Holocaust, which culminated in the mass murder of over 6 million Jews, gypsies, Poles, and Slavs, has become the paradigm against which recent genocides are compared, (History.com Editors 2009). In Evil Transformation: Social-Psychological Processes Underlying Genocide and

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Mass Killing, Bilewicz and Vollhardt focus on the Holocaust to further explain how media manipulates the socio-political situation of the victims to incite violence. The authors leverage previous psychological research to address cognitive, moral, and motivational changes to explain how conflict evolves into genocide (Bilewicz and Vollhard 2013, 280-290). First, the victims must be classified and distinguished from the rest of society, an initial step taken by the Third Reich. Following the Nazi seizure of power in 1933, Hitler established a Reich Ministry of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda, headed by Joseph Goebbels. Under the Ministry’s oversight, the anti-Semitic Nazi message was publicized to a wide German audience through art, music, films, books, and the press (“Nazi Propaganda” n.d.). The party classified Jews as an “alien race” poisoning the purity of the German state. State messaging portrayed Jews as intrinsically different from their neighbors. Propagandists hired professional graphic artists to create eyecatching posters playing up common prejudices with crude “caricatures of Jewish stereotypes” (“Nazi Propaganda” n.d.). The authors cite the Behaviors from Intergroup Affect and Stereotypes map model that specifies that contents of “stereotypes, emotions and discriminatory tendencies towards outgroup members” coordinate in a functional and systematic way (Bilewicz and Vollhard 2013, 280-290). In the early stages of genocide, stereotypes contribute to an essentialist view of social groups and manifest themselves in hate propaganda. The in-group is perceived as a coherent entity linked by a common biological essence while the outgroup is perceived as inferior and suspicious (Bilewicz and Vollhard 2013, 280-290). This belief further singles out the victims of genocide and spatially segregates them from society. In prewar Germany, Jews were well integrated into society -- they spoke the language, worked along-side German citizens, and embraced the German nationality (“Jewish Communities of Prewar Germany” n.d.).

German propaganda was specifically created to highlight Jews as a fifth column and amplify fearful stereotypes. Bilewicz and Vollhardt posit that stereotypes appear in “almost all genocide” and are often disseminated through propaganda and other forms of hate speech, which helps explain the Nazi’s primary steps to initiate the destruction of Jewish groups (Bilewicz and Vollhard 2013, 280-290).

Likewise, both Diane Kohl and Randall Bytwerk note German propaganda was crafted to separate Jews and Germans into different races,

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further developing the premise that Jews were a dangerous outgroup seeking to destroy the fabric of German society. Nazi propaganda was based on traditional German values and incorporated then-contemporary psychological and biological theories (Kohl 2011, 7-26). After analyzing speeches by Adolf Hitler and Joseph Goebbels, Kohl notes Nazi propaganda aimed at “increasing in-group cohesion, creating fear towards others, and legitimized the treatment of non-human Jews” (Kohl 2011, 7-26). Nazi propaganda also incorporated economic themes in which Jews were blamed for high inflation rates and unemployment. Capitalizing on existent anti-Semitism, propaganda served to help German citizens feel less helpless in the post-WWI economic crisis. German citizens were attracted to this anti-Semitic explanation, as “people in unstable societal circumstances are attracted to ideologies that offer a restoration of control” (Bilewicz and Vollhard 2013, 280-290). As Jews were already classified as an outgroup, German citizens who perceived their situation as deteriorating after WWI likely embraced feelings of relative economic deprivation in comparison to “wealthy Jews” (Bilewicz and Vollhard 2013, 280-290). German propaganda instrumentalized perceptions of humiliation to psychologically motivate followers to support the destructive process of genocide (Bilewicz and Vollhard 2013, 280-290). The propaganda campaign first created an atmosphere tolerant of violence against Jews, then stoked existing fears to incite active hatred. Once the genocide began, Bytwerk notes the Nazis justified their extermination of Jews by claiming that they were defending themselves against Jewish plans to destroy Germany and its population. Bytwerk recognizes that this justification was more prevalent in public meetings and speeches. The mass media provided a complementary role, normalizing the theory that Jews were engaged in an international conspiracy to first destroy Germany and then take over the world (Bytwerk 2005, 37-62). Both authors touch on the importance of the “volksgemeinschaft,” the idea of a united German national purpose based on a racially homogenous society. Hate media emphasized that Jews, as a biologically inferior race threatening to destabilize their way of life, needed to be eradicated from German society (Bytwerk 2005, 37-62). In the wake of the financial crisis and humiliating loss in WWI, Germans were especially wary of enemy outgroups. The Third Reich’s propaganda offered a way to regain German pride and safety at the expense of Jewish lives. Overall, Kohl and Bytwerk’s work describes how Nazi propaganda led to over 400 anti-

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Jewish decrees and regulations that transformed Jews into true outcasts (“Anti-Jewish Legislation in Prewar Germany” n.d.). Nazi hate propaganda inspired anti-Semitic legislation and helped to pave the way for more radical persecution of Jews.

Almost 50 years after the horrors of the Holocaust, the small nation of Rwanda experienced 100 days of surreal brutality, wherein over 800,000 victims were hacked to death with machetes (Hatzfeld 2005, vii). Many of the victims were of the minority Tutsi ethnicity while the killers belonged to the majority Hutu group. Rwanda was under colonial rule from the early 1900s, which had lasting impacts on the ethnic identity of the region. Hutu and Tutsi groups primarily represented fluid socioeconomic groups ( Jones 2017, 476). However, these groups later became synonymous with ethnic classifications, even though the Hutus and Tutsis shared a common language and religion. After the assassination of Hutu President Habyarimana in April 1994, Hutu extremists took control of the government. In Kofi Annan’s The Media and the Rwanda Genocide, he blames hate media organizations for playing an “instrumental role in laying the groundwork for genocide” and actively participating in the extermination campaign (Annan 2007). From the moment the president’s plane was shot down, the Radio-Television Libre des Milles Collines (RTLM) station announced the Tutsis were to blame. Along with the extremist paper Kangura, the RTLM explicitly and relentlessly targeted the Tutsis for destruction as it called for Hutus to rise up and “cut down the tall trees,” a euphemism for the Tutsi population (Annan 2007).

Annan’s work is a compilation of several authors who conducted interviews with victims, studied newspaper records, radio transcripts, and other primary sources. Most of the work focuses on RTLM because Rwanda was “radio country,” in which the radio equated to the voice of God (Annan 2007). The RTLM station appealed to ordinary people; it was dynamic and engaging, playing the newest music and covering entertainment for local villages. Hutu perpetrators used the airwaves to instill the notion of a “democratic alibi” (Annan 2007). The Tutsi population posed a viable threat to the majority population, and it was in the best interest of all Hutus to join the murderous campaign. Annan concludes that the Rwandan state appropriated one of the most “innocuous aspects of everyday life” in the service of the genocide (Annan 2007). Moreover, David Yanagizawa-Drott also investigates the role of mass media in conflict and state-sponsored violence against citizens.

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In contrast to Annan’s literary analysis, Drott utilizes primary village-level data sets from the Rwandan genocide. His results show the broadcasts had a significant effect on participation in killings; the study revealed the violence of around 51,000 perpetrators can be attributed to the RTLM station (Yanagizawa-Drott 2014, 1947-1994). This article provides substantial evidence that mass hate media has an effect on participation in genocidal violence.

In a similar vein, a study by Meghan Lyon showed that the radio became a powerful tool used to incite and direct the Rwandan genocide. In her work, Lyon analyzes RTLM broadcasts from the International Monitor Institute’s organizational records. She finds the discourse of revelation in the broadcasts especially telling, as they frame the call for genocidal action as Hutu liberation from Tutsi slavery (Lyon 2017). RTLM considered the extermination campaign a necessary slave rebellion, not a genocide. She notes one broadcast that aired 6 days after Habyarimana’s assassination drew on historical documents testifying that in the past, “Tutsis killed Hutu kings and enslaved Hutu people” (Lyon 2017). In listening to several broadcasts, Lyon reports that the broadcasts framed genocide as the only perceived way to break out of a historical cycle of discrimination and oppression. Overall, Lyon’s research demonstrates how hate media in Rwanda monopolized historical discourse using specially crafted, incendiary messages to call ordinary Hutus to join the Tutsi massacre.

After the slaughter came to an end in July 1994, the international community called for justice. Within the next year, the United Nations Security Council established the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda, the first international court of law to prosecute high-ranking individuals for massive human rights violations in Africa (“Incitement to Genocide in International Law” n.d.). The ICTR was the first tribunal to hold members of the media responsible for broadcasts intended to inflame the public to commit acts of genocide (“United Nations International Residual…” n.d.).

In 1997, the ICTR indicted three Rwandans for “incitement to genocide,” including the publisher of the Kangura magazine and the founders of the RTLM station. In the months preceding the genocide, Kangura published articles dehumanizing Tutsis as inyenzi, or cockroaches, while RTLM directly called for their murder (“Incitement to Genocide in International Law” n.d.). The ICTR consolidated these cases into a single trial, referred to as

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“The Media Case” (Scharf 2009). Later in 2003, several Rwandan journalists were sentenced to life in prison for their roles in fueling the 1994 genocide (“Journalists Jailed for Inciting…” 2003). Their phrases like “go to work” and “the graves are not yet full” gave direct instructions to killers. The trial compared these words to bullets (“Journalists Jailed for Inciting…” 2003).

This tribunal solidified the precedent that media actors who use their power to attack an ethnic group will “have to face justice” (“Journalists Jailed for Inciting…” 2003). The trial drew comparisons to the 1946 Nuremberg trial of Streicher, who was executed for inciting hatred of Jews with films and cartoons. As the ICTR declared in their verdict, “those who control the media are accountable for its consequences,” as they have the potency to both “create and destroy human values” (“Incitement to Genocide in International Law” n.d.). Public incitement to commit genocide requires a calling on the audience to take action and must be “direct.” To prove incitement to genocide, it is critical to carefully parse metaphors, allusions, and other linguistic nuances in a cultural context. The ICTR had important ramifications in the legal sphere; the trial demonstrated international genocide law recognized the dangerous capabilities of hate media to incite genocidal violence.

Just as Nazi propaganda was an integral component of the Holocaust, and the Radio Télévision Libre des Mille Collines was a catalyst for genocide in Rwanda, the Islamic State of Syria and Iran (ISIS) successfully used propaganda and hate media to incite the mass slaughter and sexual enslavement of the Yazidis in 2014 (““ISIS Propaganda…”

2018). According to the UN Independent Commission of Inquiry, ISIS’s violence against the Yazidis is considered a case of genocide (Cetorelli 2019).

To study this, Mohamed Elewa Badar analyzed hate propaganda used in online publications of ISIS. In his study, he concludes propaganda is a primary method of human conditioning and has the power to distill an idea in the human mind to influence its future actions (Badar 2016, 362-411).

Badar compares propaganda to a tool of psychological mass manipulation inducing individuals to act violently, especially when the propaganda’s intent is laced with dolus specialis of the crime of genocide. In studying ISIS online publications and radio broadcasts, Badar’s analysis focuses on key terms and labels, including kafir (unbeliever) and the practice of takfir (excommunication) in their linguistic contexts. ISIS has controlled an extensive media infrastructure system that produces high-quality broadcasts to fit

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their narrative. On average, the group releases three videos and more than fifteen photographic reports per day. Often, their content utilizes religious programming to juxtapose salvation and hope with conversion, conquest, and combat (Badar 2016, 362-411). In addition, social media has allowed its poisonous and distorted message to flourish globally. Bakar found that online publications on Dābiq and broadcasts on the radio station Al-Bayan showcased hate speech in order to incite genocide through systematic and meticulous propaganda. These mediums facilitated the genocide of the Yazidis after ISIS invaded their territory in northern Iraq. Estimates hold between 2,500 and 5,000 Yazidis were killed by ISIS (Cetorelli 2019). Thousands of vulnerable Yazidis were captured, murdered, and sold into slavery.

Religious fundamentalist organizations pose a serious threat to international security. Organizations like Boko Haram, Al-Shahab, and Al Qaeda have similar backgrounds and share similar views of the world.

However, ISIS has been the most successful at conquering new territories and developing its terrorist network using military action and genocide.

ISIS summons its followers to Jihad, the armed expansion of the Muslim community, and to kill infidels who reject Islam. ISIS characterizes infidels as Christians, Jews, and Yazidis. ISIS leaders call their supporters to kill infidels abroad to “wipe them off the map of the future Caliphate” (Pastucha and Spychalska 2019). While genocide in the Third Reich and Rwanda was limited to state-traditional media, ISIS uses the internet and new communication technologies on a global scale. Following Gregory Stanton’s ten stages of genocide, ISIS used its propaganda to begin the initial stages of genocide and then to encourage further violence once killing commenced (Badar 2016, 362-411). ISIS especially targeted Yazidis by classifying them as an outgroup, depicting them as Satanists, and enacting discriminatory policies in their conquered territories. It is clear ISIS’s media dehumanized Yazidis, calling them “devil worshippers” to be driven “like sheep by the edge of the sword” (Pastucha and Spychalska 2019). The following stage is polarization, which ISIS has carried out by fighting moderate leaders. Next comes preparation and persecution, where future victims are marked and then exterminated. Scholars Pastucha and Spychalska confirmed this process in their language analysis of ISIS’s main propaganda channel, Dābiq. In their analysis, they examined word frequency and word concordance. They found the Islamic State orders its followers what to do and how to conduct

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their violence. Also, there was a vivid separation of “us” and “them” with words like “brotherhood” and “families” to describe the Caliphate (Pastucha and Spychalska 2019). ISIS utilized pejorative propaganda to encourage its followers to take up arms against all infidels. This messaging has translated into extreme violence and genocide as seen with the Yazidi community.

Furthermore, a study of ISIS propaganda revealed that the group relies heavily on culturally and religiously established Islamic concepts to incite its devotees to violence. Mohammed Badar and Polona Florijančič sought to uncover these propaganda techniques by analyzing key concepts and labels employed and placing them in their linguistic, historical, religious, and ideological contexts in order to investigate the various manifestations of intent (Badar and Florijančič 2019, 1-58). In this study, cognitive modes of criminal conduct emerged wherein the intentional, propagandistic conduct could be prosecuted as “the inchoate crime of direct and public incitement to commit genocide” (Badar and Florijančič 2019, 1-58). The authors translate ISIS publications from Arabic to decipher the meaning behind the words as they were intended to be heard by ISIS combatants. Overall, the study shows ISIS appeals to its audience with imagery, music, and sound effects to make their polarizing message effective. Their propaganda narrative fulfills the necessary actus reus and mens rea of public incitement to commit genocide as it holds the necessary physical standards and the mental element of intent (Schabas 2009, 172-240).

As technology has proliferated, methods to disseminate hateful media have evolved to spread content faster to a wider audience. In Myanmar, the Rohingya are a stateless Muslim minority who have been persecuted

by Burma’s Rakhine State military in a campaign of ethnic cleansing. Since 2017, Burmese security forces have headed mass killings, sexual violence, and widespread arson. Over 742,000 refugees have fled to Bangladesh since the violence began (“Rohingya Emergency” n.d.). Currently, there is an international lawsuit seeking to establish that Myanmar committed genocide against its Rohingya population. The United Nations detailed evidence that security forces shot hundreds of Rohingya in their homes, killed children, and gang-raped women during a military campaign in 2017. An estimated 6,000 civilians died, though veritable numbers remain unknown (Mandhana 2019).

The UN has criticized Facebook, arguing that the social media company had a “determining role in whipping up anger against the Rohingya minority”

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(Mandhana 2019). Over 18 million in Myanmar are regular Facebook users (Calburn 2018). The population lacks internet experience, making them especially vulnerable to propaganda and misinformation. This lack of internet literacy helped the weaponization of Facebook as a tool for ethnic cleansing.

A Reuter’s investigation found more than 1,000 Burmese posts, comments, and pornographic images attacking Rohingya in 2018 (Subedar 2018).

Several posts cataloged by the study describe Rohingyas as dogs, pigs, and terrorists (Subedar 2018).

Further research proves inflammatory Facebook posts were shared

by Myanmar military personnel posing as pop stars and national heroes (Subedar 2018). Former military officials, researchers, and civilian officials in the country reported military officials were behind a systematic campaign on Facebook that stretched back half a decade. Officials flooded their fake posts with “incendiary comments and posts timed for peak viewership” (Mozur 2018). This campaign generated sentiments of vulnerability and fear in the Buddhist sect, so they would take violent action to protect themselves against the Rohingya (Calburn 2018).

In her work Dangerous Speech, Anti-Muslim Violence, and Facebook in Myanmar, Christina Fink observes that Buddhist ultranationalists utilized Facebook to stoke fear, normalize hateful views, and facilitate acts of violence against Rohingya and other Muslim communities in Myanmar. Fink calls the anti-Muslim narrative “dangerous speech,” or language meant to persuade a group of people to fear, hate, and take violence against another group (Fink 2018, 43-52). Ultranationalists have framed Muslims as a personal threat to the Buddhist majority nation. They cite high Rohingya birthrates and increasing economic influence as evidence of their plans to take over the country. Fink finds the wide reach of Facebook, the speed of information dissemination, the impact of arresting images and incendiary text, and the participatory nature of social media platforms to have all contributed to an environment of heightened anxiety among Buddhists, which spurred offline action, including boycotts and killings (Fink 2018, 43-52). In concluding her analysis, Fink aruges that Facebook posts and hate speech have played a “key part in spreading fear and inciting anti-Muslim violence in Myanmar,” and urges both the social media company and the government to take steps to ensure the platform will no longer catalyze lethal violence (Fink 2018, 43-52).

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Though these four cases are different in their nature, size, and scope, they all involve a form of hate media preceding genocidal violence. In all of these instances of genocide, dehumanizing language was used to describe unwanted populations: Nazis referred to Jews as rat and vermin, Tutsi were cockroaches and snakes, Yazidis became devil worshippers, and Rohingya Muslims were called dogs and pigs (Luft 2019). By equating outgroup members with animals, vermin, insects, or sins, hate media teaches the majority group to regard them as less than human. This indoctrination creates the belief that society is better off without them.

Limitations While there seems to be a causal process that explains how hate media incites genocide, Aliza Luft’s review of contemporary research on propaganda and dehumanization shows that the link is more complex. Most studies on hate media and genocide focus on exogenous variation in media exposure and content. Still, a growing body of scholarly research has become more polarized on the mechanisms that link dehumanizing propaganda and incendiary hate media to civilian participation in genocide (Luft 2019).

Luft concludes that we still lack clear evidence that propaganda convinced ordinary citizens to become killers. She instead turns towards “micro-level research,” which focuses on variation in individuals’ motivations and behaviors to explain why genocide occurs (Luft 2019).

Luft’s study notes that there are important patterns emerging in identifying how genocide begins. For example, scholarship on the Holocaust and the Rwandan genocide identify in-group norms and peer pressure as more powerful influences on the individual’s decision to kill than exposure to hate media (Luft 2018). In Christopher Browning’s analysis of the Nazi Order Police, he finds that men killed more often because of peer pressure and a sense of obedience to authority rather than a commitment to anti-Semitism. These authors cite Stanley Milgram’s classic “obedience to authority” thesis to support this micro-research on genocide (Luft 2018).

Similarly, Scott Straus’s study of the Rwandan genocide finds individuals’ decision to participate was the result of individual mobilization situated in a broader context of violence. In an analysis of exposure, timing, and content, coupled with interviews from perpetrators, Straus refutes the conventional wisdom that RTLM broadcasts were a primary determinant of genocide

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(Straus 2007, 609-637). Browning and Straus both find hierarchical pressures and vertical coercion had large effects on motivating participation in genocide. Other work finds that inequality channels greed and grievance into genocidal participation (Luft 2018). For example, a debilitating depression precipitated the Holocaust; many Germans profited from anti-Semitic laws and Jewish ghettoization for they were free to seize Jewish property, money, and belongings (“Causes and Motivations” n.d.). In camps, officers desecrated bodies to steal gold teeth and hair to sell for profit to drive Germany’s industrial machine (Ryback 2017). Many Hutu involved in the Rwandan genocide reported that they wanted to “invigorate their lives with economic gain” (Haztfeld 2005, 64). Killers looted and pillaged Tutsi communities, lavishing in food, alcohol, and supplies (Hatzfeld 2005, 64). In a similar vein, empirical studies show how some individuals join and carry out the mission of terror groups like ISIS for economic benefits or to find social belonging, not to embrace their religious media message. In Myanmar, the Rakhine state has had a poverty rate of 78%, and Buddhists threatened by the Rohingya's economic participation are more inclined to violence (Albert and Maizland 2019). Luft and several other scholars find hate media and propaganda are not the only factors that can incite genocide.

Dehumanizing discourse matters in these historical cases, but critics emphasize more research is needed to understand the extent to which hate media incites a genocide. Extensive hate media sets into motion a continuum of destruction by devaluing the victim group and psychologically convincing populations of the moral necessity of the incited crime. However, other confounding factors warrant discussion. Existing ethnic tensions, extreme societal prejudice, religious convictions, and class friction all offer an explanation into how genocidal terror begins. Most genocides have not started simply from a handful of offensive political cartoons, radio broadcasts, and newspaper clippings; genocidal violence is often a process where hate media can transform the normative environment to create an enemy and justify their demise (Luft 2018).

Likewise, the literary analysis I conducted on the aforementioned genocides still necessitates consideration of alternate explanations. In the case of the Holocaust, Germany implemented the persecution of Jews in stages following Hitler’s appointment as Chancellor. Hitler transferred his anti-Semitic beliefs into his regime rule and was the driving force behind

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the Holocaust. German tolerance and acquiescence to anti-Semitic Nazi policies were facilitated by the broad support for the Nazi regime during years of economic improvement and the popularity of Hitler as a strong leader (Laurence 2012). He formed a connection with millions of German people and his charismatic attraction was unparalleled (Laurence 2012).

He spoke out against carefully defined enemies and knew the masses would follow his plans if he connected with their latent desire to blame others for their socio-economic downturn after the war (Laurence 2012). Rwanda had deeply ingrained ethnic divisions stemming from Belgian colonization in the early 20th century. Colonists encouraged the rich, lighter-skinned Tutsi minority to rule over the Hutu majority (History,.com Editors 2009). In 1990, exiles in the Rwandan Patriotic Front launched an invasion into the nation. The costs of this war made the “economy crumble,” leaving many Hutus economically vulnerable and contributing to a growing climate of fear “among ordinary Hutus” of the Tutsis ( Jones 2017, 477-477). In Syria, a chaotic political climate coupled with severe drought exacerbated poverty and social unrest, erupting into intergroup conflict (Al Jazeera Staff 2018).

Likewise, the regional civil war allowed ISIS to take control of major cities and recruit a large following of vulnerable people (Hanna 2016). In Myanmar, the government enacted discriminatory policies against Rohingya for decades, including restrictions on marriage, employment, education, and freedom of movement. In recent years, widespread poverty, poor infrastructure, and a lack of employment opportunities have increased ethnic and religious cleavages between Buddhists and Muslims (Albert and Maizland 2019).

Additionally, the cases I selected may themselves privilege social, economic, and political climates in which hate media had more of a key role in inciting genocide. There have been many genocides in history where contextual factors were exponentially more important than hate media, like the Herero genocide, the Armenian genocide, and the Cambodian genocide under Pol Pot. Overall, there may be a combination of motivations and pressures that incite a genocide, but it is necessary to consider the role of hate media. It is difficult to attribute monocausal explanations to genocide, but recognizing the power of hate speech to incite violence can help international organizations intervene before lives are lost.

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Bytwerk, Randall L. 2005. “The Argument for Genocide in Nazi Propaganda,.” Quarterly Journal of Speech, 91 (1): 37-62. DOI: 10.1080/00335630500157516 Badar, Mohamed Elewa. 2016. “The Road to Genocide: The Propaganda Machine of the Self-Declared Islamic State (IS).” International Criminal Law Review 16 (3): 362–411.

Bilewicz, Michal, and Johanna Ray Vollhardt. 2013. “Evil Transformation: Social-Psychological Processes Underlying Genocide and Mass Killing.” Social Psychology of Social Problems the Intergroup Context, edited by Agnieszka Golec De Zavaka and Aleksandra Cichocka, 280–290. Palgrave Macmillan.

Badar, Mohamed, and Florijančič, Polona 2019. “The Cognitive and Linguistic Implications of ISIS Propaganda: Proving the Crime of Direct and Public Incitement to Genocide.” Propaganda and International Criminal Law. London: Routledge.

“Causes and Motivations.” n.d. United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. www.ushmm.org/learn/introduction-to-the-holocaust/ethicalleaders/background/causes-and-motivations.

Cetorelli, Valeria, et al. 2019. “ISIS' Yazidi Genocide.” Foreign Affairs. www. foreignaffairs.com/articles/syria/2017-06-08/isis-yazidi-genocide.

Claburn, Thomas. 2018. “Facebook Quietly Admits Role in Myanmar Killing Fields – but Fret Not, It Will Do Better Next Time.” The Register. www.theregister.co.uk/2018/11/06/facebook_myanmar_report/.

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Hatzfeld, Jean. 2005. “Preface,” “Field Work.” Machete Season: the Killers in Rwanda Speak, vii, 64, Picador.

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Straus, Scott. 2007. “What Is the Relationship between Hate Radio and Violence? Rethinking Rwanda's ‘Radio Machete.’” Politics & Society 35: 609-637. 10.1177/0032329207308181 Subedar, Anisa. 2018. “The Country Where Facebook Posts Whipped up Hate.” BBC News, www.bbc.com/news/blogs-trending-45449938.

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Facebook’s Façade: Understanding the Disillusionment of Tunisian Youth

By Adam Cooper

About the Author Adam Cooper is a fourth-year student studying Political Philosophy, Policy, and Law at the University of Virginia. His academic interests focus primarily on democratic theory. Outside of the classroom, he is actively involved with the Jewish and arts communities on Grounds, serving on the Jewish Leadership Council, singing in the Harmonious Hoos co-ed a cappella group, and playing in the Charlottesville Symphony Orchestra. He has also sought out opportunities for travel over the past few years, spending a summer interning in New Delhi, India and studying abroad in Tunis, Tunisia this past spring. Currently, he is co-director of The Decency Project PAC, a digital movement dedicated to reaching young voters ahead of November’s US general election.

Forward Adam Cooper’s paper, “Facebook’s Façade: Understanding the Disillusionment of Tunisian Youth”, was written for Professor Mounir Khélifa’s course “Politics, Civil Society, and Migration in Tunisia (MDES 3000) as a part of the study-abroad program titled “Tunisia and Italy: Politics and Religious Integration in the Mediterranean”. The course is an interdisciplinary seminar which examines the “ways in which government, politics, and civil society action bear on human mobility in Tunisia and the region”. The seminar investigates diverse roles of civil society and the state in the process of democratization.

Adam’s paper was selected for publication for its strength and clarity in writing as well as his exploration of a critical and highly intriguing social phenomenon. His focus on Tunisian youth and social media highlights

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an increasingly apparent global phenomenon we face today. Through his engagement with social and political contexts, Adam allows us to comprehend the effects of social media, particularly Facebook, upon youth political participation and disillusionment.

Professor Mounir Khélifa teaches at Tunis University in Tunis, Tunisia. He was unable to provide a foreword at this time. At the University, he teaches poetry, poetics, and comparative literature and is an Academic Director of the “Tunisia and Italy: Politics and Religious Integration in the Mediterranean” study-abroad program.

Abstract Over the past nine years, Tunisian youth voter participation has been incredibly low. Once leaders during the country’s democratic revolution in January 2011, youth in Tunisia are now disillusioned with the Tunisian political sphere and have remained absent from formal politics, a trend that is both confusing and worrying. Tunisian youth have had a dominant presence on Facebook throughout this time, often utilizing the online space for political activity in lieu of voting in elections and holding membership in political parties. This article examines the relationship between Facebook usage and voter turnout among Tunisian youth, ultimately suggesting that Facebook has helped exacerbate youth disillusionment and low youth voter participation.

Introduction Tunisian youth (ages 18 – 30) were once at the forefront of political change in their country. In January 2011, this demographic led the country to democracy through coordinated protests and online activism—a revolution like no other. While in other Arab counties “the institutions created by autocratic regimes demonstrated resilience, adaptability, and ruthlessness,” the Tunisian revolution was ultimately successful in overthrowing the dictatorship of Zine el-Abidine Ben Ali. Such led to the establishment of a democratic government for the first time since the country’s independence from France in 1956 (Mneimneh 2014). However, in the decade following the revolution, youth participation in formal politics, especially elections, was at staggeringly low numbers. Their overall disillusionment with political life is particularly surprising given their prominent role in the democratic revolution just under

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a decade ago.

What has caused Tunisian youth to go from revolutionary leaders to apathetic voters? This article will examine possible explanations for this phenomenon and put forth a new theory that offers a holistic understanding of low youth voter turnout in Tunisia. Specifically, this article will focus on the effects of Facebook on Tunisian youth and explore the possible impact of social media on voting behavior.

Tunisian youth voter participation was incredibly low in the 2011 and 2014 presidential and parliamentary elections, both compared to other age groups in Tunisia and to youth voter participation in comparable democracies. A recent World Values Survey found that “Less than 13 percent of Tunisian youth (under 30) say they “always” vote in national elections.

This is compared to 80 percent of Argentine youth, 78 percent of Brazilian youth, 77 percent of Indian youth, 80 percent of Peruvian youth and 55 percent of Romanian youth” (Yerkes 2017). Additionally, “More than twothirds of young Tunisian boycott[ed] the 2014 elections” (Yerkes 2017).

Most recently, in 2019, only 28 percent of youth age 18 – 25 voted in the second round of presidential elections and just under 42 percent of youth voted in parliamentary elections (Chekir 2020, al-Qudurat 2020). Feelings of frustration towards politics as a whole and a general disappointment with political leaders specifically is widespread among Tunisian youth, who increasingly see the 2011 revolution as being “hijacked by older Tunisians and politicians from the Ben Ali era (Masri 2017, 55). They do not necessarily have negative attitudes about democracy itself but rather are disillusioned with how the political actors operate in Tunisia.

In contrast to their low voter participation rates, Tunisian youth are highly active on Facebook, which was a major catalyst of the 2011 democratic revolution. Indeed, youth were prominent participants in the revolution, and Marzouki et al. (2012) attribute this in large part to “the ease with which younger people cope with new communication platforms such as Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube.” Today, Tunisian youth consist of 68 percent of all Facebook users in the country, and they continue to utilize this online space for political expression (Chekir 2020). Their reliance on Facebook to express their opinions has prompted Ezzine (2018) to go so far as to argue that youth have focused too much of their time online, basing their political aspirations “not on solid ground but on social media.” Instead of actively working to

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realize the goals of the democratic revolution, Ezzine (2018) suggests that youth have partaken in “ideological discussion” in a “dream world of virtual reality.”

Regardless of the efficacy of online political discourse, there is a clear inverse correlation between Facebook usage and voter participation, suggesting the possibility that high Facebook usage may contribute to low voter participation rates among Tunisian youth.

Causes of Youth Disillusionment Understanding the overwhelming disillusionment of Tunisian youth is no simple task as many variables have created the necessary conditions to cause such low rates of voter participation. This section will analyze a number of possible explanations for this phenomenon over the past nine years and will be divided into three sub-sections: ideas-based reasons, interests-based reasons, and institutions-based reasons.

Ideas-Based Reasons This section will focus on arguments that are inherently more theoretical in nature, explaining why Tunisian youth are disillusioned with their political landscape and subsequently vote in low numbers in elections.

The revolution was hijacked In the aftermath of the 2011 revolution, Tunisian youth’s lack of political agency has contributed to a growing sentiment of disappointment. As Masri (2017, 55) writes, “The youth felt that the opposition parties hijacked the movement that they had started and appropriated the protests to advance their own agendas.” As stated by Jbeli Hella, a 21-year-old Tunisian who boycotted the 2014 elections, “When you don’t see rapid change, it is easy to be disillusioned.”

Others simply feel that “Essebsi [the President of Tunisia from December 2015July 2019] is too old to govern” (Petre 2014). Yerkes (2017) reports that “Almost 70 percent of youth said that old people have too much political influence (compared to just 49 percent of those over 50).” This frustration with older political figures and their parties is expressed in numerous ways, perhaps most forcibly in this quote from a young Tunisian: “No political party cares for the youth except when they take advantage of them to distribute flyers and stuff in return for just a pack of cigarettes and 10 dinars. They have never given them real responsibility for something” (“Expectations and Reality” 2015). As their ability

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to enact changed dwindled with the formation of a democratic society, the recalcitrance of youth changed into disaffection and abstention from formal political processes such as voting.

Generational divide This tension between younger and older Tunisians has only been exacerbated by the generational divide and paternalistic nature of Tunisian society. As Yerkes (2017) notes, “Many members of the older generation were thrown in jail or tortured under Ben Ali, giving them a sense of credibility.

They look at the youth and think, ‘what did they ever do for their country?’”

This attitude has justified a significant reversion to the norm in which political power is held by older members of society. Youth traditionally occupy a more subservient role in Tunisian society in which challenging patriarchal authority is not as accepted as in other democracies across the world (Yerkes 2017). Youth may have been those leading the revolution, but when the time came to govern, those experienced in politics took control. As power was redistributed following the revolution, youth were “conspicuously absent from the political scene during the transition (Tavana and Russell 2014).

According to Yerkes (2017), “Only 4 percent of the members of the NCA, the body elected in 2011 to draft Tunisia’s post-revolution constitution, were under 30 with an additional 18 percent between 30 and 40.” The combination of a generational divide and paternalistic societal norms has undoubtedly reduced the effective power of youth in the political sphere, further contributing to their discouragement from Tunisian politics.

Lack of political ability The revolutionary energy that brought so many Tunisian youth to the front of the democratic revolution did not successfully translate into the processes of formal politics. Particularly, the necessity of compromise makes it “extremely difficult to forge a common political agenda” for non-Islamist activists (Yerkes 2017). Although the youth were able to galvanize widespread support for a political revolution, any attempts to mobilize younger constituencies within a democratic society were far less effective. Accordingly, youth ceded political power to older Tunisians over a short period of time, losing agency in the political arena. With this loss of political power came their subsequent loss of enthusiasm for participation in formal politics,

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resulting in low youth turnout in elections.

Interests-Based Reasons This section will focus on arguments related to the economic prospects for Tunisian youth, linking financial frustrations with political disappointment.

Unemployment and economic strife for educated youth Although the Tunisian education system has experienced improvements since the 2011 democratic revolution, the disconnect between higher education and entry level job markets is still a significant problem. The unemployment rate among youth with a university degree is a staggering 28 percent, with a unemployment rate of 16.4 percent for men and 38.1 percent for women (Chekir 2020). This demographic — unemployed youth with a university degree — represents almost 42 percent of all unemployed people in Tunisia, creating a large population of disgruntled youth struggling to find jobs (Chekir 2020). Moreover, the jobs that Tunisian youth are likely to find do not always match their career expectations. It is not uncommon to find university graduates driving taxis or working in other jobs that do not require post-secondary education (Yerkes 2017). For young Tunisians wanting to start their own businesses, the barriers are numerous, including “low preparation to the culture of entrepreneurship”, and a lack of support from international investors given concerns over the political climate (Chekir 2020, Bremmer 2019). Furthermore, French universities attract many of Tunisia’s brightest students, contributing to a sort of “brain drain” that further weakens the overall capacity of recent graduates to find suitable employment (Khélifa IPREMS Seminar Lecture 2020). With bleak economic prospects and no governmental solution in sight, Tunisian youth are increasingly frustrated. 26-year-old Montasser Khedher expressed this anger as such: "Either they employ us or it's better that they kill us. At least then we'll be able to rest” (Kestler-D’Amours 2018).

This economic crisis has created fertile ground for political apathy.

The democratic revolution brought hopes of economic progress, but this dream has not been realized, and the continuing financial struggles of the country disproportionately affect Tunisian youth. A lack of economic freedom has bred anger towards the government for its inadequate assistance and an ensuing disregard of the formal political system.

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Institutions-Based Reasons This section will focus on arguments about the institutions in Tunisian society that have played a major role in helping create widespread youth disillusionment.

The political establishment For Tunisian youth, overwhelmingly negative attitudes towards those holding political power have helped create the necessary motivations not to vote in elections. Yerkes (2017) finds that “Almost a third of Tunisian youth rate politicians as unintelligent and two-thirds of Tunisian youth rate politicians as dishonest.” Whether criticizing politicians from the Ben Ali regime who have been able to keep their positions, or vilifying members of parliament for their inability to fix the economic struggles of Tunisia, there is no shortage of vitriol among Tunisian youth for elected officials.

In addition to criticizing individual politicians, youth also feel incredibly disconnected from the political parties in Tunisia. Yerkes (2017) writes, “Young people do not feel ‘heard’ within parties and many who originally joined parties in 2011 have since left public affairs altogether or joined CSOs [civil society organizations].” According to al-Qudurat (2020), “Most parties remain only elite forces that attempt to fight for the people but lack the capacity to actually communicate with the Tunisia street or to present concrete programs that would help everyday citizens.” A report by the British Council and American University in Cairo found that “political parties are out of touch with current realities” and “youth feel consistently marginalized in the political process” (The Revolutionary Promise 2013). These failures of the political establishment has led to a dramatic dismissal of political parties by Tunisian youth, many of whom feel that “all parties are the same”, and that no parties genuinely represent their interests (Petre 2014).

Lastly, Tunisian youth have witnessed seemingly unending changes within the government. Whether the assassination of Chokri Belaid and Mohamed Brahmi in 2013, or the splintering of Nidaa Tunis in 2016, Tunisian politics have been unable to provide the stability that many Tunisian youth hoped for in the years following the 2011 revolution (Abouaoun 2019). With a lack of agency in the political arena, politicians who seem more interested in their own personal ambitions than serving their constituents, and political parties that are detached from ordinary life, many Tunisian youth see their vote as a

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meaningless formality that has no true effect.

Attractiveness of civil society Tunisian youth’s disillusionment regarding the political situation in their country has undoubtedly had a significant impact on their participation in formal political processes, including voting and holding membership in political parties.

However, their disappointment with Tunisian politics has not caused them to totally remove themselves from the political sphere altogether. Indeed, many youths, in particular non-Islamist revolutionaries, remain politically engaged through civil society organizations and protest activity (Yerkes 2017, 2020).

Through this participation in informal politics, Tunisian youth have found a “more attractive and effective method” (Yerkes 2017) for voicing their concerns.

Yerkes (2017) writes, “Political parties are perceived as weaker and less effective than informal politics, civil society is an easier avenue to enter than politics, and civil society provides better incentives for young people than formal politics.” For young people who want to be politically engaged, civil society provides both an outlet and the freedom to engage in a variety of initiatives (Yerkes 2017, 2020).

Yet the question remains: Why has this engagement with the informal political sphere not translated to involvement with formal politics as whole, or at least to voting?

This question would undoubtedly be answered differently by many Tunisian youth. Whether they trust civil society to enact change more than elected officials or they see civil society as more representative of their interests, the connection between participation in civil society and subsequent participation in formal politics is not present (Yerkes 2017, 2020). Civil society activists often feel that the government does not take their activity seriously, viewing their action as a nuisance. In summary, non-Islamist Tunisian youth “have found a more welcoming home in Tunisian civil society than formal politics” (Yerkes 2017).

Facebook’s Political Influence The effects of social media, in particular Facebook, on political life around the world has received an incredible amount of attention from both citizens and scholars over the past decade. While some have argued that Facebook can create more political engagement and can be an effective tool to spread information, others have criticized the site for allowing harmful

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misinformation campaigns and breeding political polarization (Ohme 2018). Films such as Netflix’s The Great Hack (2019) and books like Dr. Siva Vaidhyanathan’s Antisocial Media: How Facebook Disconnects Us and Undermines Democracy (2018) have decried the influence of Facebook on democracies across the world and created a newfound awareness of Facebook’s vast influence in the political sphere. The rapid evolution of Facebook’s features has made understanding the net impact of Facebook even more difficult, and scholarship concerning the political effects of Facebook is being updated yearly as more researchers have begun to take interest in the burgeoning online world that Facebook has helped build.

One unsettling example is the role of Facebook in Trinidad and Tobago’s “Do So Campaign.” As highlighted in The Great Hack, the nowdefunct data company Cambridge Analytica organized a massive Facebook campaign to increase apathy among young people in Trinidad and Tobago ahead of the 2010 elections (Noujaim and Amer 2019). The company created the “Do So Campaign” which encouraged young people to “Do so, don’t vote.” This was “a sign of resistance against not the government, but against politics and voting” (Noujaim and Amer 2019). The campaign was ultimately effective in reducing the voter participation of Afro-Caribbean youth in Trinidad and Tobago, producing a “difference in 18 to 35-year-old turnout [of ] … like 40 percent” and swinging the election results by 6 percent in favor of the party which hired Cambridge Analytica (Noujaim and Amer 2019). This is undoubtedly an extreme example (cf. 2017 parliamentary elections in Iceland, 2016 general election in the United States), but it does show the potential power that Facebook can have in influencing elections.

Even without the influence of massive data companies utilizing Facebook advertising, Facebook’s political influence can still be substantial. In describing the role of Facebook in the resurgence of teacher strikes in the United States, Fry (2019) writes, “Facebook and other platforms curate a unique feed of posts to show each user, designed to maximally engage the user and cater to their interests. Right-leaning users ‘like’ and engage with conservative posts more than with liberal posts, so they are shown more of the same. They may even unfriend or unfollow their most outspoken liberal friends. The converse is also true. This creates personalized social media cocoons where each user only comes into contact with opinions that they already agree with.” This is even more concerning because “the algorithmic system [of Facebook] favors items that generate strong

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emotions” (Vaidhyanathan 2018).

Data from a 2014 study by Pew Research Center supports Fry (2019) and Vaidhyanathan’s (2018) concern about online partisan echo chambers. Pew showed that 23 percent of total Facebook users report seeing posts that “always” or “mostly” align with their preexisting political views. For “consistently liberal” users, this number is 32 percent, and for “consistently conservative” users, it is as high as 47 percent (Mitchell et al. 2014). This echo chamber effect has undoubtedly led to political polarization across the world, putting stress on crucial democratic norms. Users experience near constant justification for their political beliefs, a process that can help spur disdain for those outside their belief communities. Facebook users are engaged in a sort of “world building,” in which their online experience has the capacity to tangibly affect the physical reality of the world around them ( Jones 2020). When incendiary political rhetoric occupies the same space as photographs of puppies, more extreme views can be easily normalized, and the political opinions of one’s Facebook “friends” can be affected in palpable ways. Indeed, as Fry (2019) notes, “Facebook can be an effective vehicle for amplifying the voice of a disgruntled population.”

Facebook, Youth Disillusionment, and Voting Abstention Facebook is a unique forum for Tunisian youth and has immense potential to impact this demographic in significant ways. Given their statistical dominance on the social media site, with almost 5 million youth out of the total 7.4 million users in the country, youth have access to a powerful space to express their disillusionment with Tunisian politics (Chekir 2020). Facebook allows users to express political frustrations and build a sense of community through which one can, in essence, endorse their own beliefs ad infinitum. Do Tunisian youth use this online medium to share their frustration, amplify feelings of disillusionment, and ultimately influence their own and others’ decision to participate in formal politics such as voting?

Methodology and Expected Findings The methodology of this study was significantly affected by the COVID-19 pandemic. Instead of discussing how this research was conducted, this section will describe the original course of field work for this study and expected responses to interview questions. These expectations are grounded in the researcher’s personal experiences with Tunisian youth, academic research, and

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the literature previously discussed.

The primary research instrument for this study would have been interviews conducted with 500 college students from schools across Tunisia.

Interviews would have been semi-structured, hoping to uncover perceptions of Facebook beyond its obvious social function (Khélifa “Interviews” 2020). This interview style would have also allowed my interviews to function as casual conversations, rather than interrogatory sessions. Interviewees would have been informed of the purpose of the study and asked for consent to record the interview. As the author does not understand either Arabic or French, interviews would be advertised through university professors in Tunis and conducted through a translator as necessary.

The following section outlines the interview questions and expected findings which underpin the focus of this research: 1) Do you have a personal Facebook account? If so, how many hours per day, on average, do you go on the site? (If interviewee answers “no,” to this question, the interview would skip to Question 4, and Question 5 would be phrased as, “Do you believe that the time people spend on Facebook affects their decision to vote, and/or who they vote for?”)

Expected answers: Based on the interview demographic, interviewees who use Facebook might be expected to spend between 45 minutes and 3 hours daily on the site relative to the average daily use of 50 minutes per user (Stewart, 2016).

2) Why do you use Facebook?

Expected answers: Interviewees might discuss the news (quality and quantity) that they receive via Facebook and (with guidance from the interviewer) their understanding of the political function of Facebook.

3) What type of political activity do you see on Facebook?

Expected answers: Interviewees might discuss the prominence of President-Elect Kais Saied’s 2019 presidential campaign on Facebook and mention if they were aware of any protests and/or rallies that were currently being organized on Facebook.

4) Do you vote? (This question would be introduced with a reassuring statement such as, “I don’t mean to be rude…”. or “I hope you don’t mind me asking…”)

Expected answers: Interviewees’ responses would likely be slightly higher than the 13 percent of Tunisian youth who report always voting

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in national elections, considering that the majority of interviewees would be highly educated.

5) Do you believe your time spent on Facebook affects your decision of who to vote for, and/or if you vote or do not vote in an election?

If so, how? (To avoid confirmation biases, this question would be intentionally left open-ended and outside resources would be required to review interviewees’ responses, including professors at the University of Virginia.)

Expected answers: Interviewees (depending on their answer to the previous question) would have likely provided a wide variety of responses to this question. Key phrases including “all of my friends…,” “everyone knows…,” and “we all just…” to would indicate the degree to which interviewees were able to articulate their online perceptions of community. It is likely that I would have also expected most interviewees to state that Facebook does affect who they vote for, but be much more hesitant to answer the latter half of the question. Responses might have included, “I could see it having an impact, but…” and “Possibly, but…” While it is unlikely that any interviewee would make the statement, “My time spent on Facebook makes me want to abstain from voting,” they may respond with words or phrases that might have a similar meaning, but be phrased differently.

Discussion Tunisian civil society organizations are aware of the potential political impact that Facebook can have on their country’s nascent democratic process.

In an open letter to Facebook before the 2019 election, numerous organizations, including the prominent al-Bawsala, wrote to Facebook “asking to implement effective measures for transparency and accountability towards your users in the context of the upcoming Tunisian elections” (Open Letter to Facebook 2019).

Their concerns regarding transparency underscore the importance of Facebook in political affairs and its ability to significantly impact elections.

Based on the overview of scholarly sources regarding Tunisian youth voter participation and the political effects of Facebook, the rest of this article will be dedicated to making the theoretical case for why Facebook can be considered to be a determinant factor in Tunisian youth’s decision to abstain from voting. Further research must be done to determine the magnitude of this

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factor, but it is clear that this relationship has potentially important implications for future policy decisions.

This article is not making the case that Facebook creates the widespread youth disillusionment apparent in Tunisia. Rather, it argues that Facebook, as an online apparatus conducive to the expression of this disillusionment, has the capacity to highlight youth’s frustrations and disappointment, amplifying these feelings and ultimately affecting youth participation in formal politics such as voting. In short, Facebook exacerbates youth disillusionment.

First, Facebook allows for instantaneous comparisons between Tunisian youth and the youth of other countries. This online juxtaposition allows Tunisian youth to feel a sense of relative deprivation, particularly in relation to France. As such, feelings of envy are more easily spread via Facebook, contributing what Dr. Ingrid Hakala has described as a “post-colonial hangover.” When one can easily access information that reinforces feelings of jealousy, disillusionment can be intensified in profound ways (Yerkes2020).

Second, Facebook create a pernicious echo chamber that allows users to constantly reinforce their political beliefs and actions. When one’s newsfeed is specifically curated through Facebook’s algorithmic structure to reflect the feelings they express online, the subsequent intensification of one’s beliefs is an unsurprising effect (Vaidhyanathan 2018). Tunisian youth’s online presence is so powerful that some scholars have even criticized “the return of Tunisian youth to a virtual space where they follow their dreams of democracy in constructing the ‘Second Republic,’ a republic of public freedom and the rule of law” (Ezzine 2018). Ezzine goes on to writes, “These dreams are based not on solid ground but on social media, with the youth aiming their arrows of criticism at public policies that have not enabled a better life for all Tunisians” (Ezzine 2018).

Just as social media sites have helped contribute to unrealistic body images (Gaffney 2017), they have helped build an unrealistic image of democracy for Tunisian youth: a digital fantasy so strong that the real world has become far less palatable. In expressing their political discontent on Facebook, Tunisian youth have created an online community that has helped justify their neglect of real-world civic duties. Functioning as site of refuge for political activity, Facebook and its echo chamber have helped heighten and rationalize feelings of disillusionment, further removing Tunisian youth from formal politics. The copious quantity of information that Tunisian youth engage with online has bred a “narcotizing dysfunction” that has encouraged “[abstention] from decision and

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action” (Lee 2016, Lazarsfeld and Merton).

Third, as a result of the increased interactions between citizens and elected officals on Facebook, Tunisian youth expect to see the tangible steps their political leaders are taking to solve the country’s problems. “Every ministry and public office has its own Facebook page,” says Afef Hagi (2020), creating a new avenue of accountability for Facebook users to utilize. For many young people, Facebook is the central artery of their political engagement, and when they can witness the stagnation of the policymaking process online, it provides further justification for them to abstain from formal politics.

Fourth, Facebook’s functional algorithms allow extreme viewpoints to flourish. As a result of Facebook’s “ethically-compromised incentive structure which rewards the amplification of the loudest and most sensational voices,” the site supports maximalist political activity, not healthy and rational debate ( Jones 2018). This was clearly demonstrated in Tunisia’s 2011 democratic revolution.

Facebook was a mechanism for dissent, helping grow revolutionary energy that encouraged intense desires for swift change. Tunisian Facebook users did not see blogs and posts about slow-moving changes or reform within the system.

The crescendo of online anti-Ben Ali sentiment was constructed within this algorithmic system, helping revolutionaries spread their message quickly and effectively. Facebook itself did not create the widespread desire to overthrow the dictatorial regime, but it did help that desire become widely disseminated and supported.

The revolutionary energy on Facebook in 2011 has not been able to translate to democratic energy in Tunisia today. Older demographics who do not generally use Facebook have begun to participate and vote in the new political system (at least more than Tunisian youth) while those still actively plugged into Facebook continue to use it as a platform for defiance and rejection of the status quo. On Facebook, the uncompromising attitude and “weakness of political culture in Tunisia inherited from 50 years of authoritarian rule” is on full display (Khélifa, email correspondence, May 5, 2020). Facebook has remained a catalyst in Tunisia but one only suited to “radical contestation” (Khélifa, email correspondence, May 5, 2020).

By helping circulate feelings of relative deprivation, creating a dangerous echo chamber, increasing transparency of government activity, and buttressing the spread of extreme political positions, Facebook has become a powerful digital playground that heightens youth disillusionment in Tunisia. As Dr. Siva

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Vaidhyanathan (2018) notes, “When the entire information ecosystem becomes dominated by Facebook, the maladies that we have already identified in Facebook become amplified that much more. That’s a serious problem.” With “social media platforms [being the location] where many young people in Tunisia get their news and information,” and functioning as their “primary medium for access to political information,” these concerns are magnified even more (“‘Proud to be a Voice for Youth’” 2020; Aal et al. 2018). Ultimately, Facebook helps cultivate a “why bother” attitude towards voting while simultaneously encouraging unrealistic, revisionist political opinions: a dangerous blend of political apathy and overwhelming disenchantment.

Counterarguments Given the theoretical nature of this research, this section seeks to address three of the most plausible counterarguments to the claim that high levels of Facebook usage reduce voter turnout among Tunisian youth.

First, it is quite possible that the echo chamber effect is “overstated” (Dubois and Blank 2018). A study of social media users in the UK by the Taylor and Francis Group found “those who are interested in politics and those with diverse media diets tend to avoid echo chambers” (Dubois and Blank 2018). This study also criticizes other studies of the echo chamber effect: “In studies of echo chambers, the dependent variable is commonly conceptualized as whether or not people are exposed to contrasting views from their own. This is problematic because people have a hard time recalling when they have been exposed to different ideas and so survey research is potentially flawed” (Dubois and Blank 2018).

This is a strong counterargument against the echo chamber effect.

However, the case of Tunisia is not easily compared to that of the United Kingdom where the study took place. The latter is a fully consolidated democracy with deeply engrained democratic norms and powerful civic institutions and whose social media users might act much differently than those in Tunisia.

Additionally, the theory put forth by this research is predicated on the existence of strong feelings of disillusionment prior to their amplification on Facebook. As previously stated, Facebook does not create feelings of disillusionment, but rather is a mechanism for their exacerbation.

Second, a theory of rational ignorance might be a major factor driving the lack of voter participation among Tunisian youth. According to this theory,

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“Voters may not invest the time needed to become informed about political issues/candidates if they have reason to think that any action they might take would have little or no effect on political outcomes” (“The Theory of Rational Ignorance” n.d.). Undoubtedly, Tunisian youth feel removed from the political arena and have often criticized their lack of representation in Tunisian politics.

Yet, as Yerkes (2017) writes, the “World Values Survey (WVS) found that twothirds of Tunisians of all age groups stated that they believe elections play an important role in their family’s economic situation. Thus, Tunisians understand that elections can have a direct impact on their personal lives, yet young Tunisians, in particular, still choose to abstain from voting.” The results of this survey seem to debunk the explanatory value of the rational ignorance theory, and while this theory might still account for some Tunisian youth’s decision to abstain from voting, this would not necessarily contradict the general theory put forth in this article.

Third, and most strikingly, perhaps Facebook does the opposite of what this paper has argued: it helps increase youth voter participation. Both news articles related to this topic and well-researched scholarly pieces have argued this exact point. As stated in the first edition of the Arab Social Media Report by the Dubai School of Government, “Social networking tools have the potential to enhance citizen engagement in the region, promote social inclusion and create opportunities for employment, entrepreneurship and development” (“Facebook Usage: Factors and Analysis” 2011). On election day in the United States in 2018, CNBC reported, “Facebook is trying to surface relevant information for users through its 2018 Election tab, where it lists the candidates on the ballot in your district. Facebook-owned Instagram is also helping to get out the vote by adding an ‘I Voted’ sticker and a ‘We Voted!’ story at the top of the app” (Feiner 2018).

The recent presidential campaign of President-Elect Kais Saied might also support this narrative of Facebook as a tool for political mobilization.

Indeed, Saied’s campaign made extensive use of Facebook to mobilize voters, and he was able to capture an astonishingly high percentage of the youth voters (90 percent of voters age 18 – 25 and 83.8 percent of voters age 26 – 44) (Neffati 2019, “Presidentielle 2019 [2e Tour]” 2019). Tunisian youth activists supportive of Saied’s main opposition, the Ennahda party, are also particularly active on Facebook. They have helped discredit many posts expressing anti-Ennahda sentiment and have recently orchestrated an online campaign against the new

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president after his political disagreements with Ennahda party leader Rached Gannouchi. With all of this political activity on Facebook, how can it be possible that Facebook usage plays a role in decreasing youth voter participation?

Undoubtedly, Facebook has the capacity to increase overall voter participation in elections. However, when it comes to Tunisian youth, its potential to positively impact voting diminishes quickly. Facebook might help youth engage in political discourse, both online and offline, but this does not necessarily lead them to vote. Tunisian youth are politically active on Facebook, yet this political activity occurs in the same application where they can become increasingly disillusioned. In summary, while Tunisian youth might read political articles, debate opinions, or even organize protests and rallies on Facebook, this political energy is still insufficient to bring youth to the voting booth because of the overwhelming disillusionment amplified by their use of Facebook.

In the case of President-Elect Kais Saied, the evidence for Facebook as a tool to mobilize young voters is mixed. One possible explanation for his popularity among youth is the countless Facebook pages that supported his candidacy: a direct appeal to youth in a youth-dominated medium. However, the statistic that many news articles cited—90 percent of youth voters supporting Kais Saied—is misleading. Although 90 percent of the youth who voted supported Saied, only 28 percent of youth age 18 – 25 voted in the second round of the presidential elections (Chakir 2020). Thus, overall youth voter participation was still extremely low despite the fact that many young people were attracted to Saied because of his populist, anti-establishment character. Many youth voters saw him as a candidate who could bring a new, fresh perspective to Tunisian politics, yet, with the large majority of youth not voting in this election, his candidacy does not represent an example of Facebook effectively increasing youth voter participation.

With a lack of data due to the coronavirus pandemic, these counterarguments hold important weight, and thus this article has given them a considerable amount of attention. Further research is needed to explore how youth spend their time on Facebook (looking at their Newsfeed, exploring groups in which they are members, updating their status, reading shared news articles, etc.) and to explain the magnitude of the effect that this article has described.

Widespread interviews of Tunisian youth would help validate (or invalidate) the argument put forth in this article and should be conducted to fully understand the potential impact of Facebook on youth disillusionment and low voter

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participation.

Conclusion Tunisian youth have been both political leaders and outsiders over the past decade. In 2011, they spearheaded a democratic revolution, but their current participation in formal politics in discouragingly low, and their disillusionment has potentially significant effects on the process of democratic consolidation in the country. Tunisia’s nascent democracy is less than a decade old and still in a fragile condition. The participation of youth in formal politics should be a primary concern of Tunisian government officials as engaging this demographic in formal political processes is crucial to helping solve the myriad of issues that they face.

Tunisian youth feel ostracized from the inner workings of the political sphere and see their vote as useless. Without their participation in elections, political leaders are far less accountable and responsive to their demands. It is a vicious cycle of rejection that ultimately breeds youth disillusionment.

This widespread feeling is dangerous for the future of Tunisia for “there is no greater threat to democracy than indifference and passivity on the part of citizens” (Diamond 1999, 242). If youth can be motivated to participate in formal politics, leaders with the capacity to enact meaningful change will be held accountable to both acknowledge and act upon their concerns. “As the glow of that achievement [the 2011 revolution] dims and demands for prosperity and fairness grow more urgent,” engaging youth in the formal political process becomes all the more important (Bremmer 2019).

If youth continue to operate on the outskirts of the formal political arena, their critique of politicians might evolve into a broader critique of democracy, potentially undermining the democratic gains the country has achieved over the past nine years (Yerkes 2017, 2020). The participation of youth in formal political processes would undoubtedly help the consolidation of Tunisia’s democracy, allowing democratic norms to take root throughout the country. The “democratic deficit” that Tunisian youth are operating within threatens the stability of the entire political system and should be considered a pressing issue by actors at all levels of government and civil society (Ezzine 2018).

Governmental efforts, such as “Digital Tunisia 2020,” offer promising steps in the right direction (“Support Project for the Implementation of the

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‘Digital Tunisia 2020’ National Strategic Plan” 2017). One of the intended outcomes of the project is a “increased social, economic, and financial inclusion of the youth.” Focusing on creating job opportunities and engaging with youth on Facebook and other social media sites will undoubtedly help combat youth disillusionment. By working with youth in “their domain,” Tunisian officials can directly address the negative effects of Facebook and potentially use the online environment in constructive, positive ways.

The issue of youth disillusionment in Tunisia is important, and Facebook is currently serving to make the issue worse. Only a renewed focus on the plight of Tunisian youth and a concerted effort to utilize social media in a positive, civically-inspired manner can help fix this problem and ultimately help secure the future of Tunisia’s democracy.

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