Education

I haven't read Sarah Palin's new autobiography, and frankly, I don't plan to. But I did Michiko Kakutani's review in yesterday's New York Times, and I was struck by this passage:

In Going Rogue Ms. Palin talks perfunctorily about fiscal responsibility and a muscular foreign policy, and more passionately about the importance of energy independence, but she is quite up front about the fact that much of her appeal lies in her just-folks "hockey mom" ordinariness. She pretends no particular familiarity with the Middle East, the Iraq war or Islamic politics -- "I knew the history of the conflict," she writes, "to the extent that most Americans did." And she argues that "there's no better training ground for politics than motherhood."

Yet Mr. McCain's astonishing decision to pick someone with so little experience (less than two years as the governor of Alaska, and before that, two terms as mayor of Wasilla, an Alaskan town with fewer than 7,000 residents) as his running mate underscores just how alarmingly expertise is discounted -- or equated with elitism -- in our increasingly democratized era, and just how thoroughly colorful personal narratives overshadow policy arguments and actual knowledge.

I think Kakutani is right, but I wonder why so many people -- including Senator McCain, Ms. Palin herself, and the other folks who supported her -- seem to think you don't need to know anything to be good at running foreign policy. I doubt if Ms. Palin would let someone perform surgery on one of her children (or even repair her car) simply because they had parenting experience or an entertaining life story. No, she'd want to make sure that the person in question actually knew what they were doing. Virtually all of us normally insist on genuine expertise when we hire anyone to do an important job -- whether it's carpentry or a cardiac bypass -- yet millions of people in this country seem to think that the most momentous decisions about our collective future can be entrusted to people who are sublimely comfortable in their own ignorance.

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One of the pleasant frustrations of modern life is that there are far more good books out there than any of us have time to read. Browsing the Brookline Booksmith -- the wonderful local bookstore in my hometown -- is simultaneously delightful and depressing: I get intrigued and excited by all sorts of titles, but then I have trouble deciding which to buy and which to read first.

I'm know I'm not the only person with that problem -- which is why book reviews exist -- so I thought I'd help out by suggesting a few books I've recently read that got my own synapses humming.

The first is John Mueller's Atomic Obsession: Nuclear Alarmism from Hiroshima to Al Qaeda, which relentlessly punctures the various ways that analysts of all persuasions have overstated the dangers and the importance of nuclear weapons. (For a preview of Mueller's argument, see the FP excerpt here). It is an equal-opportunity critique, as Mueller goes after hawks, doves, realists, and other Cassandras with equal relish and a playful but pungent wit. He emphasizes that nuclear weapons are in fact highly destructive and need to be handled with great care, but convincingly shows that policymakers and pundits have 1) routinely exaggerated their destructive power (i.e., by suggesting they can "destroy the world"), 2) inflated their importance in deterring war, imparting influence, or enhancing status, and 3) overstated the risk of nuclear accidents, nuclear terrorism, or other very low-probability events. And instead of encouraging a useful prudence, Mueller argues that our "atomic obsession" has led us to adopt various policies that wasted a lot of money and may have actually made the situation more dangerous rather than less. Not everyone will be convinced by Mueller's arguments, but the book will certainly make you think. Added bonus: It's immensely fun to read.

My second recommendation is Campbell Craig and Fredrik Logevall's America's Cold War: The Politics of Insecurity. This is a creative, carefully researched, and incisive analysis of U.S. strategy during the long struggle against the Soviet Union. There are plenty of good books on this topic already, but Craig and Logevall's is one of the best, and their interpretation has important implications for contemporary strategic debates. In brief, they argue that America's initial response to the Soviet threat in Europe was both necessary and successful, but overselling by early Cold Warriors also put in place a worldview and a set of domestic institutions that consistently exaggerated U.S. insecurity and led to costly and counterproductive excesses over the next 40 years. The Soviet Union is now gone, but that worldview and those institutions remain in place today. Which is why the United States spends more on defense than the rest of the world combined, why we find ourselves bogged down in places like Iraq or Afghanistan, and why we panic over countries like Iran (whose defense spending in 2007 was a whopping $7.5 billion, or about 1 percent of America's).

My third suggestion is Margaret MacMillan's Dangerous Games: The Uses and Abuses of History, which I read on my recent trip to Norway. Based on a series of invited lectures, it is a set of pointed reflections on history, historians, and the ways in which the past is employed (and distorted) for both noble and ignoble purposes. If not quite the intellectual tour de force of a book like David Hackett Fischer's Historians' Fallacies, her reflections nonetheless provide a smart and eminently sensible set of warnings for citizens and leaders alike. History is essential to our identities, but it can also a dangerous weapon in the hands of anyone with a political agenda.

And speaking of history, my last recommendation is Eugene Rogan's The Arabs, which I acquired last week. I haven't finished it, but so far it's an entertaining, gracefully written, and eye-opening look at a diverse people whose history, culture and character are often badly misunderstood (if not actively distorted) here in the United States. Read it. You'll learn a lot.

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Should the National Science Foundation stop funding research in political science? Senator Tom Coburn (R-OK) thinks so, and the American Political Science Association is predictably upset. I can't say that I think Coburn is right, but I'm finding it hard to get too exercised about it. I say this in part because I think a lot of NSF-funded research has contributed to the "cult of irrelevance" that infects a lot of political science, and because the definition of "science" that has guided the grant-making process is excessively narrow. But I also worry that trying to use federal dollars to encourage more policy-relevant research would end up politicizing academic life in some unfortunate ways.

With respect to the first issue, NSF support has undoubtedly facilitated a lot of useful data collection, especially in the field of American politics, and that the availability of this data has contributed to our knowledge of voting behavior, electoral processes, and other aspects of democratic politics. (See Paul Krugman's blog post for more on this). What's less clear is whether that additional "scientific" knowledge is actually helping real democracies perform better, or helping policymakers devise solutions to real policy problems. And in the field of international relations, I suspect that most of the NSF-funded research has been by-academics-and-for-academics, and hasn't had a discernible impact on important real-world problems.

But I haven't done a comprehensive survey of NSF funding in this field, and it's entirely possible that I missed something important. (The work of Elinor Ostrom, who just received the Nobel Prize, might be a case in point). Here's a suggestion: why doesn't the NSF put a link up on its website, listing all the grants that it has made to political science since 1995 and then listing all the research products that these projects produced, along with hyperlinks to the books or articles? That way, we could easily examine the results and debate if they were useful or not. Or if NSF doesn't want to do that, the APSA could provide this information itself. If the field has a lot of accomplishments to be proud of, surely it won't take long to compile a compelling list. And by the way, it would be interesting to compare the results of NSF-funded projects with research that was either unfunded (i.e., done without outside grants), or funded from other sources. 

But please don't just give me a citation count, because all shows is that some academic has managed to get cited by his or her fellow scholars. In other words, incest. Demonstrating real-world value will require some serious process-tracing outside the ivory tower, to show how new knowledge and ideas are actually shaping policy in positive ways.

My other concern has to do with the relationship between government funding and policy-relevance. Much as I would like more academic research to address real-world problems, I worry that it would inevitably become more politicized once the government gets involved. It is hard to imagine how a serious study of counterinsurgency, the global financial crisis, human rights, or counterterrorism policy would not have important implications for current policy debates, and some of that research would be explicitly critical of key government policies. Senator Coburn is eager to cut off political science because he thinks it is wasteful, but other politicians are bound to try to fund projects that conform to their own political prejudices. Or they will go after government-funded research that they think is "unpatriotic," just as politicians once attacked a major RAND study on the dynamics of surrender by suggesting it was encouraging "defeatism." Academics are human, and some of them are bound to start tailoring their topics and their conclusions to fit the perceived preferences of funders. That's ok in the think tank world, but universities really ought to aim for a higher standard. The other danger is that academics will be encouraged to make their research as bland as possible, so that it doesn’t offend anyone. We hardly need more of that.

As I've written elsewhere, political science ought to place more value on its ability to contribute to solving real-world policy problems, but that will require a shift in the norms and standards that the field sets for itself.   Ironically, that rethinking might happen faster if the NSF gravy train were smaller, or if academics started to worry that ideas like Coburn's might catch on.

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This week the Los Angeles Times published an op-ed by Rivka Carmi, the president of Ben Gurion University. It was a response to Neve Gordon’s earlier op-ed announcing his support for the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions movement against Israel's occupation. Gordon is a tenured faculty member at BGU and chairman of the international relations department. He is also a decorated IDF veteran, an accomplished scholar, and a long-time peace advocate. (See here for my earlier discussion of Gordon's op-ed, including my own disagreements with it).   

Carmi's initial response to Gordon's article showed that she has little understanding of the core concept of academic freedom, insofar as she and her official spokesperson both made it clear that they think Gordon should consider leaving the university (if not the country) on account of his views. Her op-ed makes it clear her early reactions were not just a hasty misjudgment but rather a reflection of her core values. As such, they reveal why she is unfit for academic leadership at any institution that prizes free inquiry and open discussion.

Here's the key passage from Carmi's op-ed:

Academic freedom exists to ensure that there is an unfettered and free discussion of ideas relating to research and teaching and to provide a forum for the debate of complicated ideas that may challenge accepted norms. Gordon, however, used his pulpit as a university faculty member to advocate a personal opinion, which is really demagoguery cloaked in academic theory.

In other words, if your research and expertise leads you to express a "personal opinion" on important and controversial issues, and if that opinion isn't acceptable to your University's president, look out. By her standard, an American academic who concluded and openly stated that either the invasion of Iraq or the Bush/Cheney torture regime justified an international boycott of the United States would be unfit for a faculty position and could be sanctioned by his or her university merely for stating that view. Similarly, a scholar whose research led him or her to conclude that assassinating foreign leaders is morally or strategically preferable to invading an enemy country could also be sanctioned, because that recommendation was a "personal opinion." (Just to be clear, I'm not endorsing either of those views, although I know a few scholars who might).

Needless to say, everything that scholars write is their "personal opinion," based on the knowledge they have accumulated in the course of their research. And the concept of academic freedom is intended to insulate scholars from precisely the sort of pressure that Carmi is trying to bring to bear on Gordon. Anyone's research and commentary can be denounced as "personal opinion" if some administrator doesn't like it, or if it is inconvenient for those in charge, which is precisely why the principle is so important. The reason we have open scholarly debate and discussion is so that we can weigh these "personal opinions" (and the evidence behind them) and come to greater collective understanding of important issues.  

Carmi then reveals her real concern: 

This is particularly pernicious for our university, a proudly Zionist institution that embodies the dream of Israel's first prime minister, David Ben-Gurion, to bring development and prosperity to all the residents of the Negev region. This work -- which includes community outreach and scientific innovation in Israel and around the world carried out by nearly 25,000 students, faculty and staff -- is being threatened by the egregious remarks of one person, under the guise of academic freedom.

I can't tell if Carmi believes that all BGU faculty members must be committed Zionists (which would presumably rule out Israeli Arabs, anyone advocates of a bi-national state, or even some ultra-Orthodox Jews) but it's clear from the full text that her real concern is fund-raising. Specifically, she's worried that donors will punish BGU because of the views of one faculty member, and that's why she has to go after him in public. But a principle like "academic freedom" isn't worth much if you sell it out because it might cost you a few checks from wealthy donors. To have the president of a university leading a public flogging like this can only have a chilling effect on the overall atmosphere. If I were an untenured member of the faculty at BGU, or even a tenured member, and I was thinking about writing something that might be controversial, I would now have to ask myself: "what will President Carmi think and what might she do to damage my career?" Is that a situation likely to encourage free thought and discussion?  

She goes on to charge that:

Gordon has forfeited his ability to work effectively within the academic setting, with his colleagues in Israel and around the world. After his very public, personal soul-searching in his Op-Ed article, leading to his extreme description of Israel as an "apartheid" state, how can he, in good faith, create the collaborative atmosphere necessary for true academic research and teaching?

Carmi presents no evidence that Gordon "cannot work effectively" with his colleagues, and her claim is contradicted by the fact that nearly 200 Israeli academics and students (including colleagues at BGU) have already signed a petition defending him (without necessarily endorsing his views, of course).  Universities are usually filled with people who disagree with each other -- sometimes vehemently -- and every faculty I've ever been on also has a few loners who don't collaborate well with others and can be difficult to manage.  But presidents, deans, and other responsible administrators are supposed to hold those diverse communities of thought together, not try to drive out anyone with whom they disagree. Yet President Carmi has said that demands that Gordon resign his post as department chair are "legitimate," and that she hopes he will "reach the right conclusions."

Several other aspects of this incident merit comment. First, although Carmi obviously disagrees with what Gordon wrote -- which she's entirely free to do -- her op-ed devotes almost no space to actually refuting either his claim that Israel has become an apartheid state or his claim that an international boycott is the only way to save Israel from itself. These are controversial assertions, to be sure, and a number of thoughtful people -- including prominent leftists like Uri Avnery -- have offered sharply-worded critiques of his position.  But instead of explaining why she thinks he's wrong -- as a true scholar would -- her focus is on the damage he allegedly has done to BGU and his unfitness for continued service there. She admits she can't fire him, but leaves little doubt that she would if she could. Now that's an attitude that is likely to encourage free thought!

Second, like Phil Weiss, I suspect the LA Times printed her piece because they took a lot of heat for running Gordon's original op-ed. But instead of giving the space to someone who would challenge the substance of Gordon's claims and recommendations, they gave the space to his boss, so that she could explain why his remarks were bad for the university she runs. This is unfortunate, but not unusual when dealing with the always-sensitive subject of Israel in the United States.

Third, this issue is important because universities are among the last bastions of free thought and debate in many democratic societies. The think tank world in most countries -- and this includes the United States -- is heavily donor-driven, and many of them exist solely to disseminate a particular world-view. "Academic freedom" has little meaning in most think tanks. Consider, for example, what would happen to you if you worked at the Washington Institute for Near East Policy -- an important part of the Israel lobby -- and you publicly stated that you thought Neve Gordon was right. You would probably be fired or forced to recant, because WINEP (and many other think tanks) isn't in the business of encouraging truly open inquiry. I don't expect to see anyone at AEI defending socialism either, and if they did, I wouldn't expect them to stay there for long.

But universities are supposed to be different. They are also sensitive to what donors think, of course, which is why the principle of academic freedom has to be defended vigorously. Contrary to what many people think, donors don't get to pick the faculty and don't get to determine what they say (although some of them might like to!). But academic administrators do pay attention when donors are unhappy, which is why universities need strong and principled leaders who know where to draw the line and can stand up to outside pressure. If they don't, the faculty quickly learns what might get them into trouble -- even if only marginally -- and many will begin to trim their sails. The result is either scholarship that avoids controversial subjects or that confines its commentary within “acceptable” boundaries. And when that happens, foolish but well-entrenched policies are less likely to be examined, and the society as a whole is more likely to suffer.

If President Carmi understood her job correctly, she would make it clear that she disagrees vehemently with Professor Gordon's views, while making it equally clear that she defends his right to hold and express them, and that she is proud that Ben Gurion University is an institution in which especially unpopular views can be expressed and debated. Sadly, that is not going to happen.

Finally, the Middle East Studies Association has sent a letter to President Carmi on Gordon's behalf, see here. If you're interested in the American Political Science Association's general statement on academic freedom, see here.

One more thing: In a bizarre parallel, the New York Times reported earlier this week that government authorities in Iran are contemplating a purge of social science faculties at Iranian universities, which are believed to have been incubators of discontent as manifest following the recent elections. In particular, some faculty members are accused of fostering "un-Islamic" ideas. I'm not suggesting that the two situations are identical, but it reminds us that once people start enforcing orthodoxy in academic settings, it can be hard to know where to stop.

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I'm clearing off my desk today and working on the opening lecture for my graduate IR theory course, so I'm not going to try to write a detailed commentary. Instead, let me take this opportunity to pass on a few pieces that caught my eye, on a wide array of subjects.

1. From the S Rajaratnam School in Singapore comes an optimistic assessment on the status of the Pakistani Taliban. According to Khuram Iqbal, the Pakistani Taliban have failed to gain popular support, and show no signs of becoming an effective mass movement (akin to Hezbollah in Lebanon). Instead, they are increasingly seen as a narrower terrorist group, reinforced their unpopularity. While they remain a problem to be dealt with, fears that the Pakistani state was on the verge of collapse or that the entire country might be "Talibanized" seem to have been greatly overblown. (Juan Cole: take a bow).

2. There is a fascinating article by Richard Oliver Collin in the latest issue of International Studies Perspectives, entitled "Words of War: Iraq's Tower of Babel." It is a careful analysis of the extraordinary degree of linguistic diversity and fragmentation in Iraq, and it underscores how ill-prepared the United States was to try to occupy and govern the place. Money quote from Collin's conclusion:

It cannot be argued that enhanced language proficiency in Arabic and Kurdish would assure military victory for the United States in its conflict with the various Iraqi insurgent groups.  Language capability is a necessary but not sufficient condition for triumph in war and diplomacy. The evidence does strongly suggest, however, that American inability to create a basic communications capability has contributed importantly to the failure of the United States thus far to resolve its Middle Eastern problems at some minimally acceptable level ... Can this historical trend be changed? There is no reason to believe that the present spate of Middle Eastern difficulties is going to be the last chapter in America's involvement in the Middle East ....

The United States historically has attempted to pursue a policy of intense involvement in Middle Eastern affairs, sometimes diplomatic and sometimes military, but without a concomitant commitment to understanding the region's culture, religion, and particularly its languages. Since American foreign policy in the Middle East policy has never been more than sporadically successful, an argument can be made that Washington needs to match its military investment with a serious commitment to language and area studies. Language lessons are cheaper than tanks, and if America's linguists were good enough, the United States might not need quite so many tanks."

Note: he says linguistic competence is "necessary but not sufficient," so please don't assume that training some more linguists would suddenly give us a magical capability to reorder other countries at low cost.

3. If you're just now trying to catch up on the situation in Afghanistan (and why haven't you been reading the AfPak Channel here at FP?), a good short introduction is Thomas Billetteri, "Afghanistan Dilemma," CQ Researcher, available here. (Full disclosure: I'm quoted a couple of times, but so are lots of other people with varying views.) Billetteri takes no position on the policy choices facing us, but the piece is an excellent introduction to the issues.

4. I've also just finished a fascinating paper by two economists from the Universidad de los Andes, analyzing the effect of Plan Colombia on the production and distribution of drugs (e.g., cocaine). The analysis is fairly technical and some of the math is beyond me, but it's clearly a serious attempt to determine the impact of different policies and how the different actors involved (the U.S. and Colombian governments, the drug growers, the drug smugglers, etc.) interact in a strategic fashion. Among other things, the authors (Daniel Mejia and Pascual Restrepo) show that although Plan Colombia's drug eradication efforts have reduced the amount of acreage under cultivation by nearly 50 percent, actual cocaine production has decreased by only 11 percent and the prices of coca leaf, coca paste, and actual cocaine have remained fairly stable. Why? Because growers responded to eradication efforts by adopting more productive cultivation techniques, thereby producing nearly the same amount of cocaine from smaller amounts of land. 

They also demonstrate that the Colombian and U.S. governments have conflicting interests in pursuing the "war on drugs." Specifically, the Colombian government benefits far more from every dollar spent on eradication efforts (i.e., against drug production) because that takes money away from the growers (and thus the insurgency). By contrast, the United States gets a larger "bang from the buck" from drug interdiction (i.e., against drug trafficking) because the main U.S. interest is in trying to keep cocaine out of the United States. Here's a summary of their main findings:

We find, among many other things, that a three-fold increase in the U.S. budget allocated to Plan Colombia would decrease the amount of cocaine reaching consumer countries by about 19.5% (about 60,000 kg). We also estimate that the elasticity of the cocaine reaching consumer countries with respect to changes in the amount of resources invested in the war against illegal drug production is about 0.007%, whereas the elasticity with respect to changes in the amount of resources invested in the war against illegal drug trafficking is about 0.296%. In other words, if the main objective is to reduce the amount of drugs reaching consumer countries, targeting illegal drug trafficking is much more cost effective than targeting illegal drug production activities.  However, if the objective is to reduce the cost of conflict in Colombia, targeting drug production activities is more cost effective .... Furthermore, we find that the optimal allocation of resources from the point of view of the U.S., whose objective is to minimize the amount of cocaine reaching its borders, implies that all the U.S. assistance to Plan Colombia should be for the war against drug trafficking.  From the point of view of Colombia, whose objective is to minimize the total cost of internal conflict, the optimal allocation would imply that all the U.S. assistance for Plan Colombia should go to finance the war against drug production."

I'm sure one can raise questions about their analysis, but this is the sort of work that really ought to be informing the debate over whether Plan Colombia is working and how U.S. assistance should be allocated. 

Happy reading!

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When I offered my "IR Theory for Lovers" guide back on Valentine's Day, I said I might follow up with some IR-inspired reflections on parenthood for Father's Day. I try to keep my promises, so here goes the "IR Theory Guide to Parenting." 

First off, modern realist theory focuses on the structure of the system and especially number of major powers in it. Right off the bat, this perspective can tell you a lot about the dynamics parents face as the size of their family increases. When parents have one child, the balance of power is in their favor. They can double-team the lucky kid, and give each other a break by taking turns. Life is good.  

But if you have a second child the dynamics shift. If one parent is alone at home and both kids are awake, the balance of power isn't in the parent's favor anymore. Instead of double-teaming them, they get to double-team you. And once the kids are mobile, you learn about another key IR concept: the window of opportunity. You're feeding or changing Kid #1, and Kid #2 makes a bolt out the front door, just like North Korea tested a nuclear weapon while we were busy with Iraq. Or you're in the middle of a crowded department store and they each decide to head down different aisles. The potential complications of a multipolar order were never clearer the first time this happened to me.  

Moreover, once your children learn to overcome sibling rivalry and form alliances (e.g., by backing each other's alibis), your problems get even more complicated.  Plus, children quickly master "divide-and-conquer" diplomacy -- "But Mom said I could stay up until midnight!" -- and soon learn that if they don't get the right answer from one parent, just ask the other. Of course, if you decide to have three, four, five (or more), you'll face even more complicated diplomatic dynamics and dilemmas of collective action, not to mention complete exhaustion. Yes, there are probably some economies of scale and maybe you'll learn from experience, but expanding NATO and the EU didn't make them easier to govern. If you decide to raise your own platoon, good luck to you.

Moreover, realists from Thucydides have stressed the destabilizing effects of shifts in the balance of power. This dynamic is built into family life: kids grow up, get older and smarter and bigger and more independent. Their parents get older, slower, more tired, and eventually dependent on the children. If you're lucky, your kids will help out when you're past your prime. Hmmm…is that what the United States has been doing for Great Britain?  

Second, as Tom Schelling described in Arms and Influence, the closely related subjects of deterrence and compellence are central to the parenting experience (just as the use of "salami tactics" is central to being a kid).  Most of us love our children deeply, which puts real limits on the amount of punishment we are willing to inflict. Total war just isn't an option, and the ability to use force is limited, so we're stuck with coercive diplomacy. And kids quickly figure out which threats are credible and which are not, and they are geniuses at probing the limits of our resolve.  

Moreover, no parent can monitor everything a child does (and you'd end up with a pretty neurotic kid if you tried), and you eventually reach a point where physical restraint (in IR terms, "pure defense") isn't practical. So we all rely on deterrence -- "if you hit your sister/brother, I'll take away your X-Box for a week." But we all know the various subterfuges that states (and siblings) employ to negate a deterrent threat. Remember classics like: "It's not my fault….he started it!" Or "I didn't hit him, I just poked him." (Sounds like the Middle East, doesn't it?) And when parents get desperate, they turn to foreign aid (aka bribes): "If you finish your homework, I'll take you out for ice cream." Schelling was probably right: you can learn just about everything you need to know about this subject by raising a child.  

Third, the whole field of asymmetric conflict can prepare you for another aspect of child-rearing: your superior education, physical strength, and total command of financial resources will not translate into anything remotely resembling "control." A two-year old who is barely talking can destroy a dinner party or a family outing just by being stubborn, and a smart, loving, strong and wealthy parent can be damn near helpless in the face of a sufficiently willful son or daughter. Read Andrew Mack, Ivan Toft, or James Scott on "asymmetric conflict" and the "weapons of the weak" before you have kids, and at least you'll be forewarned.

Network theory is still underdeveloped in the field of international relations, but it tells you a lot about your social life once you have children. You used to pick your friends based on common interests, professional associations, or simple serendipity; now you'll find that your children are in effect choosing some of your friends for you, depending on who they like in school or who's on their soccer team. This is actually one of the unexpected benefits of parenthood; just don't be surprised if your social circle looks a lot different by the time your child reaches ten.

Fifth, the IR literature on norms and socialization is obviously relevant, because there's a lot of socialization and norm development involved in trying to raise a reasonably well-adjusted child. Regime theory tells us that states create norms in part to reduce the transaction costs involved in cooperation, and that's exactly why parents set bedtimes and (try to) impose other general rules. My kids might like to negotiate every single aspect of their lives, but who has time? And as with most norms, failures in the short-term are less important than success in the long run. The fact that some states violate some norms doesn't mean that norms have no impact at all, and the fact that kids sometimes break the rules doesn't mean that they aren't internalizing a lot of the core principles over time. At least that's the hope that I cling to.

And then there's adolescence. Once again, we are back in the Jervisian world of misperception, reinforced by linguistic barriers, cultural gaps, hormonal eruptions, and the like. My teenaged kids are both pretty terrific, but there are those days when I think I am suddenly dealing with a creature who is as predictable as Kim Jong Il, as honest as Pinocchio, and as amenable to compromise as Torquemada. And the scary part is that on those days, they probably see me as the reincarnation of Joseph Stalin, with a bit of Mussolini thrown in. Bottom line: after you've raised a teenager, you'll never have quite the same confidence in the rational actor assumption.

There's a whole constructivist dimension to parenting too. For me, marriage merely institutionalized a relationship that was already well-established and formalizing it didn't feel like a momentous change. But parenthood felt like an instantaneous and overwhelming transformation of identity: there in the delivery room, I went from the comfortable role of "husband" to a new and frightening identity -- "Dad." And as the constructivists like to remind us, identities shape behavior in all sorts of unpredictable ways.

But to be honest, IR theory comes up short in one big dimension. I don't know of any body of IR theory that adequately explains why parents love their children, even when they are driving us bananas. But it's a good thing that we do, and for most of us, the joys outweigh the vexations. Happy Father's Day!

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I want to pay brief tribute to my colleague Ernest May, who passed away earlier this week after a brief illness. Others knew Ernie much better than I did, but he was a splendid colleague during my ten years here at Harvard: always insightful, original, utterly dependable, and a dedicated supplier of collective goods. It was a pleasure to be in his company, and to hear how contemporary events looked to his historian’s eye.

Although I didn’t meet Ernie until the early 1980s, his work shaped my own intellectual development from the very beginning. I read his book "Lessons" of the Past: The Use and Abuse of History in American Foreign Policy in one of the first IR courses I ever took, and its central message -- about the ways that historical interpretations shape (and more often, distort) policymaking -- has resonated with me ever since.   

Together with Richard Neustadt, Ernie refined and expanded these arguments in the prize-winning Thinking In Time: The Uses of History for Decisionmakers.  This book emerged from a classic course that Neustadt and May taught together for many years, and it is a “must-read” for anyone contemplating a career in public service. Among his many other books of international history, my favorite is Strange Victory: Hitler's Conquest of France, a gripping account of the intelligence errors and other strategic blunders that allowed the blitzkrieg to succeed in 1940.  

May was much more than a distinguished and exceptionally productive scholar. He was dean of Harvard College throughout the turbulent 1960s and subsequently served as director of the Kennedy School’s Institute of Politics. Nor was he merely an ivory tower academic; he served as a consultant to the U.S. government in various capacities and as an advisor to the 9/11 Commission. And I can testify to his dedication and skill on a tennis court: I don’t remember who won the one time we played, but I do know it was close and hard-fought (and I was twenty-five years younger!).

May wore his many accomplishments lightly, and never succumbed to the egomania that is an occupational hazard of academic life. I first learnt of his illness when it forced him to miss a dissertation defense; typically, he made sure to send the committee a detailed memo outlining his views on the thesis in question and offering suggestions for improving it. Perhaps the word that sums him up best is "gentleman." We could use more people like him in this business, and he’ll be hard -- nay, impossible -- to replace.

"Empathy" has been in the news lately, mostly in the context of President Obama's Supreme Court nominee. It's a quality that's often in short supply in the conduct of foreign policy, where leaders (and sometimes whole nations) often have a fixed view of certain events and find it hard to believe that anyone might legitimately see things differently. As Condi Rice commented when some European governments didn't support the U.S. invasion of Iraq in 2003, "I'll just put it very bluntly. We simply didn’t understand it."

One reason for this absence of empathy is the human tendency to filter current situations through the prism of the past. One of the more enduring findings in political psychology is that people place more weight on their own experiences than on the experiences of others, even when their own experiences are in fact atypical. According to Robert Jervis's classic Perception and Misperception in International Politics: "if people do not learn enough from what happens to others, they learn too much from what happens to themselves." The salience of first-hand experience in shaping subsequent beliefs is increased if the event happens early in one’s life or career, and if it has important consequences for the individual (or the nation). In other words, we overlearn from big and important events, especially when they happen to us early.

This tendency might explain why different generations tend to have very different views on how the world works. For Americans born and raised during the Cold War (i.e., like me) images of conflict are also accompanied by a certain sense of stability and order. The Cold War begins in the late 1940s, the United States forms a set of alliances to wage it, and then bipolar stability kicks in. There are crises and confrontations and even some peripheral wars in Korea, Indochina, the Middle East, and Afghanistan, but the central strategic balance doesn't change very much and the Soviet Union eventually expires rather quietly. The period 1950-1990 is a monument to the virtues of deterrence, containment, and multilateralism, and a timely warning about the dangers of getting involved in costly quagmires. It is perhaps no accident that people like me tend to see the world as a competitive but ultimately fairly stable and predictable place.

But what if you were born in the early 20th century, and came of age in the turbulent decades after World War I? You would have seen a world where a nation’s fortunes could shift in a matter of weeks or months, and sometimes with swift and terrible effect. You might have seen the Roaring Twenties, followed by the Crash of 1929 and the ensuing Great Depression. You would have seen a prostrate and disarmed Germany rearm itself in less than a decade, defeat France in a few weeks in 1940, and then conquer almost all of Europe and drive deep inside Russia, only to witness this seemingly unstoppable juggernaut be occupied and divided in half a mere three years later. You would also have seen Imperial Japan sweep across the Pacific, only to be occupied and disarmed by 1945. And having watched the Iron Curtain descend and seen Mao's triumph in China, you'd have a healthy respect for how quickly fortunes could shift and you’d be less inclined to take a complacent view of anything. Had I lived through the 1920s, 1930s, and 1940s, I might have been much more hawkish than I turned out to be.

The problem with this sort of generational interpretation is that it can’t account for differences between people who lived through the same events, although it might lead us to ask whether their own personal experiences with key events were different. But even there I suspect there's more to it than just personal experience.

But the real lesson is that the same "events" look very different to different people and to different countries. The U.S-backed contra war in Nicaragua killed some 35,000 Nicaraguans (about 1 percent of the population) but hardly any Americans; is it any wonder Nicaraguans remember it differently than Americans do? Similarly, 9/11 means one thing to U.S. citizens, but something different to Europeans, Central Asians, or people in different parts of the Middle East. The current war in Afghanistan and Pakistan is experienced differently by an Al Qaeda leader facing a Predator attack, by the CIA "pilot" operating the drone from a remote location, by a Pakistani or Afghan civilian who is attacked by mistake, by refugees now fleeing the fighting in the Swat Valley, and by the politicians in the United States, Afghanistan, or Pakistan who have to deal with the consequences.  And not only do different individuals and different societies experience the same events in radically different ways, they then conduct their own discourse about these events (occasionally fertilized by ideas and commentary from outside) and eventually generate unique narratives about them.  

Understanding how things look to others doesn't necessarily eliminate conflict -- especially when basic interests are fundamentally at odds -- but it makes us much less likely to misinterpret another's position and makes spirals of exaggerated or mistaken hostility less likely.  

To take an obvious example, many Americans think of Iran as an aggressive, unpredictable country led by a set of aggressive, fanatically religious clerics. That tendency probably increases if you watch a lot of FOX News or listen to talk radio. From this perspective, Iran's nuclear program and its support for extremist groups like Hamas or Hezbollah is evidence of aggressive ambitions, perhaps of the very worst sort. 

But ask yourself how this situation might look to an ordinary Iranian, or even to a member of its ruling elite. To many Iranians, their interest in nuclear technology (and possibly nuclear weapons) is entirely rational and essentially defensive: they have two nuclear neighbors (India and Pakistan), a third nuclear weapons state nearby (Israel), and the world’s most powerful country (the United States) has troops on either side of Iran and has been seeking to overthrow the Iranian government for a number of years now. Plus, various American politicians keep saying that "all options ought to be on the table," and Obama's special envoy to Iran, Dennis Ross, participated in a study group last year that advocated a hardline approach.  It doesn't take a lot of imagination or empathy to figure out why Iran might want a nuclear deterrent: wouldn’t we want the same thing if we were in their position? Similarly, supporting radicals elsewhere in the Middle East keeps the U.S. off-balance and complicates efforts to unite various Arab states against Iran itself. A bit of empathy won't resolve these issues, of course, but it might help us reject the fervent threat-mongering that drove us to launch a foolish war in Iraq and has led others to favor a similar approach to Iran.

So can we train ourselves to “see things as others do?” Here the internet and the blogosphere are potentially transformative tools: you don't have to rely on the New York Times or the Washington Post or your own local newspaper (even if your "local paper" is Le Monde, Die Zeit, or the Daily Star). I can sit here in my office and read the English edition of Ha’aretz, the Pakistani newspaper Dawn, and the online edition of the Yomiuri Shimbun. Or I can read the Guardian, Asia Times, or the Jerusalem Post, and then go to the online Reuters.com and BBC News websites too.  (And don’t forget http://foreignpolicy.com, of course).  Americans would be well served to spend part of each week perusing WatchingAmerica.com, a website that collects and translates media reports from around the world and a variety of political perspectives. When you travel, don’t just watch CNN -- check out the BBC or Al Jazeera, too. Spend some time reading knowledgeable non-Americans like Ahmed Rashid, C. Raja Mohan, Kishore Mahbbubani, or Therese Delpeche. Don't rely just on reports from inside-the-Beltway think tanks in the United States; take a look at the websites of the International Institute of Strategic Studies, the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, the International Crisis Group, or the growing number of think tanks in the developing world.

To repeat: developing a greater capacity for empathy won't eliminate conflicts of interest between states, and won't always make it possible to resolve the differences that will inevitably arise. But an inability to understand an adversary's perspective (or an ally's, for that matter) is a crippling liability, and there's less excuse for it in our increasingly interconnected age.

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