Three Thoughts on the Paris Attacks and Their Aftermath

17 Nov

On Mourning

I think it’s fair to say the Paris Attacks have initiated an unprecedented wave of public displays of grief on my Facebook and Twitter networks. While many have gone out of their way to express their solidarity with those killed in Paris, others have made sure to express their sympathy for victims of the Sinai plane crash and the Beirut bombing. Yet others have lashed out at those mourning these attacks for caring disproportionately about Western victims (with some posting the BBC article about the April Garissa attack that left 147 dead), and otherwise ignoring violence perpetrated in the non-Western world, sometimes by Western forces.

There is merit in each of these arguments, but they all neglect a basic principle of following mass violence: people are killed by political violence all over the world all the time, and it is impossible to mourn for each and every victim. Attempting to do so would be extremely emotionally destructive. Mourning, therefore, is a personal act, and we should be wary of mourning when it becomes competitive. For many people I know, the Paris Attacks feel closer to home. And that’s not a surprise. Few people I know are more likely to find themselves in northern Kenya or Beirut than Paris.

This is not to say that we shouldn’t think about what violence prompts Western attention and what slips under the radar. We can both mourn Paris and think critically about how political violence overwhelmingly affects non-Western victims. Because we have a finite ability to mourn, I think there’s more value in attempting to learn about what’s happening in Beirut or northern Kenya than publicly acknowledging an incident of violence happened there.

On Terrorism

It can be difficult in the aftermath of a major terrorist attack to put things in perspective. Terrorism inspires fear that opens up opportunities for extremists of all stripes and shifts the conversation to a zero-sum conception of security. It is important to recognize this phenomenon and push back. A few facts can help. The world, in the long-term, is becoming a safer place . Terrorism, including ISIS, does not pose an existential threat to any Western country. Very, very few Americans have died of terrorism since 9/11. And these trends are very likely to continue.

The biggest danger to human life comes not from terrorists attacking Western targets, but from Western leaders reacting to terrorism. Terrorists themselves have a very limited ability to conduct attacks and recruit followers. For that they must rely on Western leaders, who can be counted on to react forcefully, killing thousands of civilians in the process, and creating an atmosphere in which terrorists can claim to defend a broader community. Transnational terrorist groups cannot achieve the goals of their disciples in the long-term, but can survive, perhaps indefinitely, on the policies of leaders that are “tough on terrorism”. And yet, the proposed policies of most Republican presidential candidates would heap legitimacy on ISIS’ stated mission.

Finally, there can be a bit of dissonance between normatively condemning terrorism and seeking to understand the forces that make it possible. However, it is important to recognize that immoral acts are not beyond the realm of comprehension.  We can mourn and condemn the attacks while simultaneously recognizing the ways in which the social and economic exclusion of Muslims in Europe contributes to terrorism.

On Refugees

In the last few days, I have been ashamed to be an American and a Michigander. There are few things worse than turning away those in desperate need.

However, moral claims alone won’t convince those who truly believe admitting Syrian refugees endangers Americans. There are two good, purely strategic arguments, that I think can be effective here. First, Syrian refugees are trying to escape the very violence that ISIS (and Assad) perpetrates. ISIS implores all Muslims to come to the Caliphate and participate in its violent expansion, but in their flight, refugees have rejected this call. Second, maltreating refugees aids ISIS, which relies on a narrative that ISIS defends Muslims against a violently Islamophobic West. The more that refugees are shunned and rejected, the more young Muslims will find ISIS’ message attractive. Even in terms of pure American security, admitting refugees is the more prudent option.

I think these two arguments are good for engaging with those that hold anti-refugee views in the here and now. Nonetheless, I think there is a danger in relying solely on a zero-sum security narrative that in fact distorts the causes of violence. Many people on Facebook have been sharing a photo that indicates not one refugee has been brought up on domestic terrorism charges. But what if that ceases to be true? What if the FBI, as it so often does, entraps an impressionable teenager? I think progressives need to also articulate a moral pro-refugee argument that presents accepting refugees as simply the right thing to do, the American thing to do. The scale of the world refugee crisis is so large that arguments that can hope to drastically change the socially acceptable range of beliefs are desperately needed. Without them, Western countries will continue to debate whether to accept no refugees or a few thousand every year, while tiny Lebanon hosts 1.1 million.

Yale and Mizzou: Notes on Swarthmore’s Experience with Change

14 Nov

In the last few weeks, reacting to long histories of inequality and recent incidents of egregious racism, students at Yale and Mizzou rose up. The protests at both schools called for increased administrative interference in student language and culture, with the aim of using the power of the administrations to hamper prejudiced speech and action. This recent trend, where marginalized students actively seek increased intrusion from college authorities is notable and I think merits a bit of reflection. By contrast, there’s perhaps a tendency in left-wing circles to see student activism, whenever it occurs, as the natural consequence of oppression, but that view strips agency from the activists themselves, who have to make decisions about the tactics they will use. Especially on today’s left, which lacks a unifying ideology, these choices are frequently contested. In a different time or place, the contexts at Yale and Mizzou may have led to activism that sought to largely ignore the administration.

The activists at Yale and Mizzou are dealing with a stressful and rapidly-changing situation. My goal is not to offer specific solutions or critique specific tactics. I want to echo Daniel Drezner’s recent piece about what’s happening at Yale: outside observers are likely to lack the local knowledge necessary to comprehend what’s happened. There are few places as insular as residential college campuses, and the “bubble” effect creates politics that have a highly specific and personal character. Coming to definitive conclusions with only a cursory understanding of those politics is analytically dubious. Therefore, my goal is to offer some reflections on what happened at Swarthmore since the Spring of 2013 (otherwise known as the Spring of Our Discontent), about which I published an essay this past April. Swarthmore’s experience provides the advantage of a longer view of how student demands were translated into policy, and how those policies shaped out.

At Swarthmore, unlike Yale and Mizzou, allegations the college was mishandling sexual assault cases was the precipitator. Activists called on the college to reform its internal justice mechanisms to more fairly and sensitively deal with sexual assault allegations. While the way forward for addressing sexual assault clearly necessitated administrative involvement, other campaigns adopted a similar theory of change. After repeated urinations on the door of the Intercultural Center, students pushed the administration to install a camera facing the door and increase Public Safety patrols of the area. A campus-wide referendum on the existence of the fraternities sought to gauge student opinion and appeal to the administration to act on that opinion. Finally, Mountain Justice sought to force the Board of Managers to divest the schools’ endowment from fossil fuels. In each case, there were avenues available that did not involve increased administrative oversight. However, the activist left at Swarthmore largely chose to pursue social change through the policies of the college administration.

More than two years after the Spring of Our Discontent, Swarthmore looks very different. When I was an underclassman, social life was mostly governed by social norms, and students were left to regulate themselves in the belief that this would improve the student experience and aid personal growth. Alcohol, generally a central point of administrative intrusion on college campuses, was easy to obtain for free no matter your age. Administrators were really only there to manage the college and step in when students absolutely couldn’t mitigate conflicts on their own. Over time, the college has moved away from this hands off approach. During the Spring of Our Discontent, conflicts on campus were gracing the pages of the New York Times, and while the causality is perhaps unclear, there was a noticeable drop off in the number of applications in subsequent years. Additionally, increased attention from the Department of Education meant the college perceived an increased risk of lawsuits, and to avoid making itself an easy target, Swarthmore’s administrators sought to move its practices in line with other schools.

Sometimes, this move to limit liability had positive effects. Swarthmore was forced to take sexual assault proceedings seriously, and after a major turnover in staff, has implemented much more effective, sensitive, and consistent policies. But many of these changes have been less than positive. Generally, the school was become more inclined to cut students out of decision-making processes and punish students formally for transgressions, rather than addressing them through dialogue. Perhaps the most poignant example is alcohol policy. Prior to the Spring of Our Discontent, college alcohol policy allowed students to indirectly use college money to buy alcohol, which was then served for free at all-campus parties. Consequently, students largely consumed alcohol in large groups, and those who were too inebriated were aided by designated sober students at each party. That’s all changed as concerns about liability have taken precedence over student well-being. The college now prevents any college money from going to alcohol purchases, which runs the risk of pushing drinking into unsupervised dorm rooms, where binge drinking is more likely. The most harmful effect, however, was that the only institutions capable of holding regular parties were the fraternities, and now most large parties happen there. One of the principal complaints of sexual assault activists was the prevalence of sexual assault at the fraternities. That the movement to address sexual assault led to a relative increase in the social importance of fraternities is particularly unfortunate.

What can we learn from what happened at Swarthmore? For me, the central lesson is that the combination of media attention and calls for administrative intervention will have long-term consequences, many of which seem entirely unrelated to the initial incident. Like at Swarthmore, I wouldn’t be surprised if the calls to address racism end up affecting housing policy, decision-making processes, and disciplinary proceedings at Yale and Mizzou.

From Swarthmore’s experience, it seems clear to me that the more students ask for the administration to intervene, the more they invite over-reach and weaken students’ ability to force change in the future. In short, the intrusion stays, but the power students have to direct this intrusion doesn’t. I worry that attempts by marginalized communities to increase oversight by a hierarchical authority will prove counterproductive in the long-term, because non-marginalized communities have more access to power, and will eventually be able to influence the oversight for their own ends. Especially when the target of regulation is language and culture, the cost of losing power over that regulation is facing conservative attempts to limit marginalized populations’ political expression. Now, there’s no right answer. Administrative intrusion is often needed to achieve certain social goals, but it’s worth recognizing the dangers of relying solely on administrative action.

What’s Going on in Chad?

20 Aug
Rond point de l'Armée in N'Djamena, Chad. By Ismouz.

Rond point de l’Armée in N’Djamena, Chad. By Ismouz.

Chad’s been in the news recently primarily because of Boko Haram and the subsequent ban on the Islamic face veil. In June and July, several attacks in N’Djamena and on Lake Chad islands killed around 55 people. Despite N’Djamena’s physical proximity to Boko Haram areas in Nigeria and Cameroon, these were the first major attacks in Chad by Boko Haram following Chad’s entry into the international coalition fighting the group. These attacks have happened against a political backdrop of extreme poverty, government repression, and a history of armed conflict. Among the many problems that Chad currently faces, probably none of them alone are existential threats to Deby’s regime or the harbinger of impending mass violence, but Chad faces a uniquely toxic cocktail of political, economic, and social problems.

Social Fragmentation

Chad is 45% Christian, but since independence, Christians have been largely shut out of political power. It’s not that they’re second-class citizens, as most people besides a small elite have been shut out of political power, but even Christian elites have few political prospects.

There is also discord within the Muslim community. Historically, Chadian Islam has been dominated by Sufi sects, but recently there’s been an increase in more conservative forms of Sunni Islam, partially due to increased funding from the Gulf. The government, and its allied religious leaders, has cracked down on these forms of Islam, claiming they promote violence and are anathema to Chadian tradition (some of these religious leaders are using Boko Haram attacks to settle scores with rival Salafists, who in Chad have almost always advocated peace). While Chadian imams have traditionally preached against violence, there is a danger “moderate” Muslim authorities could become complicit in a large-scale government crackdown. Additionally, these imams might come to be seen as government puppets, lose credibility, and thereby create a power vacuum that could be filled by more radical individuals.

There is a major gap, both in terms of wealth and government attention, between rural and urban areas, leading to significant discontent and frequent clashes between farmers and pastoralists. The Toubou in Chad’s far north are particularly neglected, but they are generally disorganized and it seems unlikely they’d launch a large-scale rebellion (however some analysts worry that after the defeat of jihadist forces in northern Mali, they’ll link up with the Toubou) due to a lack of capacity and the strength of Chad’s armed forces. In these areas, traditional authorities have generally kept the peace, but when they have been weakened, either by the government or other external factors, violence and crime have generally increased.

Civil society only became a force in Chad after the ascension of Idriss Deby to power in 1990. However, it’s never become a major player for a few reasons. The government associates it with the opposition and Christians, so any activity is generally seen as a direct challenge by the government, and sometimes even a Trojan Horse by Christians to gain political power. There are few forums for political activity not organized by international NGO’s. Independent media does exist, but it only reaches a small number of people, whereas government-controlled media has a mass audience. Print media is dominated by Southern Chadians, further earning the ire of the government.

International Relations

Recently, after many years of essentially being an international pariah (partially because of his close links with Gaddafi, who was also in the process of being rehabilitated at the end of his rule), Chad has reinvented itself as a key counterterrorism partner for Western countries. This shift in policy began in 2008-2009. In the last three years, Chadian troops have served in Mali (under AFISMA), CAR, and Nigeria. In Mali, Chadian forces distinguished themselves in desert warfare, and lost around 30 soldiers. Following these losses and what Deby felt was insufficient support (diplomatic and material) from the international community, Deby chose to withdraw Chad’s forces in Mali. Chad’s intervention in CAR, however, was a disaster. Chad was accused of backing Seleka, then pulled back support from Bozize late on, and Chadian troops massacred Central African civilians. However, Chad has redeemed itself in Nigeria. It has successfully cleared large areas of Boko Haram, and has been recognized as the most effective fighting force in the conflict.

The US and France are Chad’s major allies when it comes to counterterrorism. Chad is a member of the US’ Trans-Saharan Counterterrorism Partnership and the US has been slowly expanding its presence in Chad. The US already runs many air operations in Central Africa out of N’Djamena (like assisting in the search for the Chibok girls), but is quietly moving toward establishing a more permanent base. Though Chad had previously been cited for using child soldiers (in 2010, 2011, and 2013), it controversially received a waiver in 2013 and since hasn’t appeared on the State Department’s list of countries using child soldiers. The US has trained Chadian soldiers and intermittently donates equipment to the armed forces. France bases its 3,000-strong regional counterterrorism force in N’Djamena, with 1,200 soldiers permanently stationed in Chad. France has two bases in the country. Though France has previously come to Deby’s rescue, Hollande is trying to move away from propping up strongmen and toward fighting terrorism, securing borders, and supporting small teams that can prevent hostage-taking or free hostages.

Chad’s relationship with Sudan is also crucially important. Chad and Sudan were de facto enemies, and supported rebels (the JEM and various Chadian rebellions, respectively). In 2006 and 2008, rebellions sponsored by Sudan almost overthrew Deby (requiring French support in 2008). However, in 2010, the two governments came to an agreement, and ceased supporting cross-border rebel groups. The alliance was solidified by the marriage of Deby to the daughter of Musa Hilal, a key player in the Sudanese government in Darfur (who has since defected from the NCP, so that’s a relationship to watch). Without Sudanese support, it’s highly unlikely an insurgency would have the capacity to seriously challenge Deby, and since 2010, there’s been no renewed insurgencies or problems with Sudan.

Chad has also had a somewhat ambiguous relationship with Nigeria recently. While Buhari has cautiously welcomed Chadian help in fighting Boko Haram, he has been careful not to give them too much credit or leeway. Both countries have reported there is little to no coordination between their forces in the fight against Boko Haram.

Government Structure

Since independence, governance in Chad has been kleptocratic and reserved for a small elite. Deby’s regime is also quite repressive. Opposition MP’s only have a few seats in parliament and the judiciary is loyal to Deby. Opposition politicians and government critics are routinely arrested. A democratic opposition does not really exist; opposition leaders may make perfunctory statements about democracy, but they would likely implement a similar system of governance, only they’d be the beneficiaries..

To prevent alternate power bases from developing, Deby frequently reshuffles his cabinet and military leadership. The Deby regime is heavily dependent on Deby’s Bila-Bideyet clan, which is a sub-group of the larger Zaghawa, who have filled many key positions in the security forces and government. Furthermore, some of his family members hold top positions. Beyond ethnic ties, the government is heavily reliant on patronage to buy fealty.

That patronage is largely funded through oil revenues, which only began flowing in the early 2000’s. Oil has had a major effect on the Chadian political scene. It has allowed Chad to dramatically strengthen its military, which prior to 2008 was poorly equipped and trained. The strength of the army has allowed Deby to disregard calls for reform, repress domestic opposition, and gain international prestige (and more money) through its participation in international counterterrorism efforts. A big reason all of this was possible was the stronger position in which Deby found himself. He faced serious armed challenges in 2004, 2006, 2007, 2008, and 2009, but since then, excluding a 2013 coup attempt that may have been invented by the regime, the government has appeared much more in control.

Oil revenues have been used for development, but these projects have mostly happened in urban areas to the benefit of the elite. The lack of benefits provided by oil revenues to the urban poor, rural populations, and oil-producing region has prompted protests, but these have been repressed. However, the number and intensity of protests may increase in the run-up to the April 2016 presidential election if no tangible economic benefits are provided to most of the population.

Recent Boko Haram Attacks and Government Response

Four suicide attacks in June and July in N’Djamena killed about 55 people. The perpetrators were widely suspected to be Boko Haram after the group threatened Chad in its released videos. In response, the Chadian government launched airstrikes against Boko Haram targets in Nigeria, attacked Boko Haram militants on Lake Chad islands, banned the full face veil (the niqab/burqa because one of the bombers was wearing the garment), and arrested suspected Boko Haram members (and unidentified “foreigners”). Religious leaders publicly supported the decision, but they probably didn’t have much of a choice. In the short-term it’s unlikely this leads for widespread support for Boko Haram, but Chad does risk alienating more conservative Muslims with its heavy-handed and probably ineffective tactics. Additionally, it’s unclear to what degree the regime will use the Boko Haram threat to crackdown on non-jihadist opponents.

Key Things to Watch

  • Inter-Zaghawa tensions: Probably the biggest threat to the Deby regime is a coup by Zaghawa allies, and any public break between Zaghawa elites and Deby could be a sign of an impending coup. Many Zaghawa are unhappy with Deby for his abandonment of the JEM in Sudan, who were mostly Zaghawa. Additionally, many elites, including some in his own family, seek to improve their position, and it’s unclear if patronage will mollify them. While Chad’s newly-strong army means an insurgency is unlikely to topple the government, a coup could happen either with the collusion of the armed forces or be timed to take place while they’re largely deployed in northern Nigeria. The last coup took place just before troops were about to come home from Mali. A coup probably wouldn’t descend into mass violence, but given the number of well-armed troops and foreign interests at stake, it’s possible.
  • Protests: Protests haven’t lead to major unrest under Deby’s rule, but it’s conceivable. Trade unions have organized medium-sized demonstrations in the past, and recently, partially because of Boko Haram, the prices of basic goods have spiked. This has caused smaller, more sporadic protests, but they could become larger as the election approaches. If protests do break out, it’s worth identifying the leaders and how the government responds.
  • Relationship with Sudan breaks down: There haven’t been any outward signs of the deterioration of the Sudanese-Chadian détente, but such a deterioration would have negative consequences on both sides of the border. It’s likely Sudan would sponsor another insurgency, but given the Sudanese regime’s relative weakness and the ease with which Chad put down the 2009 attempt, it might be a flash in the pan. However, there are still 350,000 Darfuri refugees in eastern Chad, and they would likely be in the middle of any conflict. Any accusations of support for proxy groups could be a sign the alliance is collapsing.
  • Boko Haram: At the moment, Boko Haram poses only a sporadic threat in Chad. However, if the group were able to launch more regular attacks and/or control territory due to popular support or unforeseen government weakness, the Deby regime would likely respond with massive violence, and that is something to watch for. At the moment, however, the government’s own repressive actions present a similar degree of danger as Boko Haram.

A Timeline of Events in Burundi

13 May

Here’s a timeline I put together of events in Burundi since the beginning of this calender year. I’ll do my best to keep it updated in the coming days.

Whither the Utopian Consensus?: A love letter to the Swarthmore community

30 Apr

The night before my graduation this past June, I sat with a dozen fellow seniors on Papazian roof. I had a mild case of strep throat, but with the end of my time at Swarthmore looming, I felt the need to stay and conjure up a few more memories, a bit more sentiment. I think we all wanted that, but found there was no way to summarize our thoughts about the last four years satisfactorily. The dawning realization that it was all coming to an end, that there were no more memories to be made, left me, and I imagine everyone else, somewhat empty.

I only felt this way because I had thoroughly enjoyed my time at Swarthmore. It exposed me to a totally new world from the one I knew in suburban Michigan. I had become a considerably different, and I believe better, person because of Swarthmore. I was not alone in that experience. Everyone on the roof that night expressed positive feelings about their college years, even if many were also ready to move onto the next chapter of their lives. Perhaps it’s natural that at the end of a shared experience, individuals think positively about what they’ve been through together. But I suspect what we were feeling that night was genuine. We had had amazing experiences at Swarthmore, and we would miss our friends, our classes, and everything else that those who have gone to Swarthmore intuitively understand.

What stands out from that night, though, was that our feelings about Swarthmore’s future were just as unified as our feelings about our own pasts. We all agreed that Swarthmore, as an institution, was in decline. Those after us would not enjoy Swarthmore the way we did.

This essay was born out of frustration. The last year and a half of my college career had seen seemingly every possible issue erupt in oft vicious, campus-wide debate. Beginning in the so-called “spring of our discontent” in 2013, Swarthmore was getting in the New York Times almost every week, and rarely for favorable reasons. It seemed at times that no one on campus trusted any student they disagreed with, let alone the administration. Cleavages I had never known existed now seemed permanent. The turmoil had torn numerous friendships, including some of mine, irreparably apart. But the question I couldn’t answer, and I hadn’t seen anyone else answer, was why all these issues appeared at once. How could the descent to chaos be so rapid, and the community so broken? In other words, what happened at Swarthmore?

Allow me to return to the night before graduation and the seniors assembled there with me. Why did we all believe in such a pessimistic prognosis for our beloved Swarthmore? One explanation is that Swarthmore doesn’t only lead to personal or intellectual growth, but to a progressive accumulation of knowledge about the college’s nuances that expose its rough edges.

The first step for incoming Swarthmore students is learning the formal processes that allow them to take advantage of the college’s services and amenities. Students must learn, for example, how to register for classes, find campus jobs, and receive medical care. However, it’s the informal processes that come to define Swarthmore for its student body. By informal processes, I mean the information that is mostly inaccessible to outsiders. Learning each dorm’s social character, which professors you should go to for help, the personalities of administrators, and other similar tidbits are some of the pieces of knowledge most important at Swarthmore. Having them, and sharing them with others, is what makes people part of the community.

However, it is this accumulation of social knowledge that can embitter upperclassmen. When students arrive at Swarthmore, they likely have a very rosy picture of the college. The excitement of getting into an elite college, the prospect of the seemingly limitless opportunities provided by the college experience itself, and Swarthmore’s beautiful campus rarely fail to make an impact. However, Swarthmore cannot possibly maintain such a high standard for four years. As students become more involved in clubs, sports, and academic departments, they begin to encounter problems. The more expectations rise, the more difficulties students encounter over time, and the more it seems that the college is deeply rotten. Surely not all Swarthmore students throughout history have come to be so pessimistic about the college on the eve of graduation, but I’d wager, especially in my class, it’s not an uncommon experience.

However, to dismiss the feelings of those of us gathered on Papazian as no more than a psycho-social phenomena contingent on time spent at Swarthmore would be to ignore the rather extraordinary developments of our final year and a half. While my short time at Swarthmore doesn’t provide much of a standard for comparison, I think it’s fair to describe the atmosphere at Swarthmore in my last year and a half as inordinately turbulent. The politics of internal debates were quite often revolutionary. Not only did individuals disagree, but some came to doubt that Swarthmore, as an idea, was worth salvaging. Without either an overthrow of the system, or alternatively, the absolute silencing of the opposition, progress was not possible.

Most individuals at Swarthmore didn’t fall into either camp, but what’s remarkable is that these opinions, usually confined to the radical fringes, came to permeate moderate discourse. It is certainly possible to assign blame to significant portions of campus for this disconcerting occurrence, but many have already done so, and I believe the approach to be somewhat misguided (I will say that in the chaos, genuine efforts to work across divides and implement positive changes have gone unrecognized). Analyses that see individual dispositions as the root causes of conflict fail to accept that a series of events that shook our faith in one another was the result of forces bigger than Swarthmore. Without stripping all agency from Swarthmore’s individuals, it is still possible to understand what has happened at Swarthmore as the perhaps inevitable manifestations of changes that originated deep within Swarthmore’s own history and the history of American higher education.

Swarthmore’s internal cleavages are messy, and to outsiders fairly opaque. There are many sources of tension, which spring from competing narratives of identity and ideology. The divides are by no means clear-cut. As any good Swarthmore student will tell you, everyone holds multiple identities, many of which are situation-dependent, and consequently the lines between groups shift and conflict individual Swatties.

The flashpoints that these groups have clashed around include debates around how the college should manage sexual assault; the existence and form of the fraternities and sorority; the place race, gender, sexuality, and class have on campus; the role of students in social and academic life; and whether the college should divest from fossil fuel companies. So while most college debates are about the format and functioning of the college’s institutions, broader narratives play their role in shaping the limits of on-campus debate.

The student body is itself conflicted, and has a few different currents. The far left tends to advocate for further protections for minorities and a college administration that intervenes decisively on the side of social justice causes. Then there’s “the center” at Swarthmore, which is, as one campus magazine put it, “left of liberal.” This group would be the radical fringe most other places in America, but on campus it’s a bit more status quo. And then there’s the conservative liberals and moderate conservatives who represent the smallest group. They’re generally big fans of the status quo and not of identity politics. While on the whole the percentage of these groups probably held steady throughout my time at Swarthmore, pretty much everyone I’ve seen when I’ve gone back has told me that the current freshmen are more conservative than most. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was more than a coincidence, but it’s too early to tell if the college is seeking more conventional students.

There are some rough generalizations that can be made about the makeup of each camp. For example, the conservative camp is likely to be wealthier and whiter than the far left. There’s probably also a correlation between being farther to the right and being an athlete or a member of Greek life. On the other end of the spectrum, there are more students of color and LGBTQ folks. Swarthmore’s such a small place that many people move across these divides with ease, but it would also be a mistake to ignore that identities often divide us as much as they unite us.

A major tension that’s risen to the fore since the spring of our discontent is between students and administrators. Overall, the student body considers itself more progressive than the administration, but the administration sees itself as the vanguard of Quaker values. Students hold a wide range of opinions of the administration, from wishing they would more proactively crack down on discriminatory behavior to wishing they’d not cede so much ground to the far left. Regardless of where students fall politically, they can probably agree that they have a lot less faith in the administration than they did two years ago. Having not been privy to internal conversations, I don’t want to speculate too much on how the administration feels about students, but in my experience the student body widely views them as increasingly less trusting of students.

The faculty is pretty liberal at Swarthmore, and recently many professors have signed up in support of Mountain Justice’s divestment campaign. However, I’ve gotten the sense that while the faculty often believes in moving the college in a more progressive direction, they often find student activism to be short-sighted.

When I arrived at Swarthmore as a freshman, I was surprised to learn that, for the most part, there were no rules. As long as you didn’t set off the fire alarm or smoke indoors (the two are somewhat related), the school would leave you alone. Buildings were almost never locked and alcohol flowed freely. Social life was governed by norms, not written rules, and students were left to self-regulate.

Even instances of egregious behavior went unpunished. Freshman year, I heard a story relayed by a jovial public safety officer. An intoxicated student had disrobed himself and begun running around campus. When public safety approached, he made a beeline for a flagpole, wrapping his arms and legs around its base. A standoff ensued, because, as the public safety officer deadpanned, “I wasn’t going to touch him.”

Administrators left students to their own devices, relying on student institutions to govern social life. When it occurred, administrative intervention was only designed to reinstate the harmony the student body could not achieve through self-regulation. The reticence to draw students into conflict with administrators had many positive effects. At times, however, this approach proved problematic, as Professor of History Tim Burke noted in an article for Philly Magazine, “From the very smallest scale to the largest scale, the college does have a long history of finding a way through that won’t leave half the people in any room feeling like they lost… It means, for one, we tend to defer difficult decisions.”

The emphasis placed on the power of dialogue and social norms meant that students felt an increased sense of obligation toward themselves and each other. Professors and administrators could largely trust students to do the right thing. Conflict was remedied not through separation, but through engendering mutual understanding and collective deliberation. It was freedom with responsibility, but largely without punishment when that responsibility was not taken seriously.  For my first two years, and many before that, Swarthmore operated on a utopian consensus.

Dialogue is a useful tool for both forcing individuals to reflect on their own beliefs and presenting a gauge of public opinion, but its utility wanes when multiple beliefs cannot be reconciled. As a form of dispute resolution, it can simultaneously smooth disagreements and submerge differences. When these differences remain opposed and unaddressed, they tend to fester. It is at these moments that decisions need to be made, and rulings need to be handed down. Swarthmore has always done an excellent job of stretching the positive qualities of dialogue to their absolute limits, but never quite figured out how to adjudicate when dialogue failed.

The sexual assault crisis was precisely one of those moments where dialogue could not succeed. And even though it was blindingly obvious to any neutral observer, Swarthmore was unable to shift its policies quickly enough to meet student demand. There’s plenty of blame to go around. It could have been handled much better than it was. Dialogue and collections could have been used by administrators to candidly admit missteps instead of covering them up with meaningless platitudes.

(An important aside: sexual assault wasn’t the only problem that was not fully remedied. As much as it might pain us to admit it, racism, sexism, homophobia, and transphobia existed and continue to exist on Swarthmore’s campus. While I, and I think many other straight, white males on campus, probably weren’t aware of the extent of these issues prior to the spring of our discontent [and thus contributed to the problem on some level], it should also be said that Swarthmore has a history of struggling with these issues, and often unsuccessfully. From the Black students’ sit-in in 1969 to the repeated urination on the Intercultural Center door in 2013, identities and how the college has dealt with them have long been at the heart of Swarthmore’s contentious politics.)

Nonetheless, pinning the failings on a few bad apples in the administration distracts from the bureaucratic inertia that administrators were dealing with in the spring of 2013. Swarthmore had never in living memory seriously intervened in the lives of its students, and sexual assault complaints, their urgency amplified by national media attention, demanded decisive action.

What this action might look like posed a whole new set of problems. To what degree should administrators seek to intrude in student social life? What form should intervention take? Legally, what actions were expected? Should the response to sexual assault be purely reactive? If not, what did prevention look like? And most importantly, how could any action taken still fit within the framework of Swarthmore’s proud Quaker tradition?

When explaining the developments of the last two years, Swarthmore’s own history is only part of the story. Swarthmore’s trajectory has also been directed by trends in American higher education. We like to think of Swarthmore as existing in a “bubble,” and while it’s true that the college has retained some unique belief systems and patterns of behavior, we also shouldn’t ignore the weight of outside influences. The college has increasingly had to peg its modus operandi to that of its peer institutions as liberal arts colleges become more selective and compete over the same students. Many of Swarthmore’s administrators also gained experience at other liberal arts schools (under Rebecca Chopp there was an influx of ex-Colgate administrators), leading to a general homogenization and standardization of the liberal arts experience. Therefore, Swarthmore successes and failures need to not only be placed in the context of its internal history, but also in the ebbs and flows of the American liberal arts.

The liberal arts today are facing a dual challenge. As tuition costs climb rapidly upward, students and parents have come to expect more from institutions of higher education. Colleges are also facing increasing scrutiny and regulation from the federal government. Colleges across the country have responded by creating bloated administrations to better manage these new demands.

Even if this is the right move in the long term, it has failed in the short term on the most obvious juncture of the bi-directional pressure: sexual assault. From above, the Department of Education has played an active role in the last two years in investigating colleges on their judicial processes, and even the White House has stepped in with the “It’s On Us” awareness campaign. From below, the “Know Your IX” campaign and other activist movements, have sought to hold colleges responsible for their bungling of sexual assault cases and work toward improved practices.

The fact that sexual assault on college campuses has been termed a “national crisis” demonstrates not only the scale of the problem, but also the entrenchment of the bureaucratic processes that have proved so problematic. Grinnell’s inability to handle sexual assault cases on its campus bears some similarity to Swarthmore’s experience. Like Swarthmore, Grinnell is a small liberal arts school renowned for its academics and left-wing politics, and also like Swarthmore, Grinnell has a history of resolving problems through dialogue. However, much of today’s far left sees dialogue as perfunctory political theater that transforms radical demands into meaningless talk. Accordingly, some students at Swarthmore have suggested that it is this dynamic that is responsible for the resistance to change sexual assault policies.

However, as the Huffington Post article on Grinnell unearths, there’s something else going on. For administrators, the increased scrutiny on the legality of their actions and the potential for lawsuits necessitate treading very carefully. The situation is particularly tricky because enforcing federal laws on sexual assault at colleges creates a legal grey area where colleges have an unclear degree of autonomy on how to handle sexual assault cases. The natural response to this uncertainty, and the high stakes involved, is to hide behind lawyers and release as little information to the public as possible. And while following what is believed to be the letter of the law will likely lead to improved mechanisms for handling sexual assault, the secrecy that this entails cannot satisfy the demands for transparency made by student activists.

Without supervision, colleges across the United States utterly failed to act in an acceptable manner on sexual assault cases. However, increased federal intervention is no panacea. A legal culture increases accountability but can create its own set of perverse incentives. Now, any major changes in handling sexual assault after colleges have fallen in line with Department of Education deadlines will signal past mistakes and open avenues for lawsuits. Increased enforcement may be better overall, but it will also back colleges into corners, and we’d better hope they’re the right corners.

The increasing regulation of administrations’ behavior is also leading to a rift between administrators, faculty, and students. Again, sexual assault is a flashpoint. Many students have accused Swarthmore fraternity members of committing disproportionately high numbers of sexual assaults (according to the Guardian, fraternity members are responsible for 300 percent more rapes than average nationwide), which led to a referendum on the existence of the fraternities in the fall of 2013. However, because of privacy restrictions, there’s no way to corroborate the allegations. Swarthmore administrators likely know whether this is true or not, but releasing personal information on individual cases is illegal.

Information on sexual assault statistics, for example, is a form of privileged knowledge, the dynamic at the heart of a lot of the mistrust between students and administrators. By privileged knowledge, I mean knowledge that multiple groups seek, but only some can access. So when changes to campus rules are made, whether to sexual assault, housing, or alcohol policies, students will always want answers about the rationale, and administrators often have no ability to give students what they want.

Privileged knowledge is partially a result of legal restrictions, but we ignore the cultural aspect at our own peril. Every community, sub-community, and sub-sub-community has beliefs, patterns of behavior, and codes for interaction that will be largely hidden from outsiders. Making generalizations and assumptions about communities of which we are not members is often necessary but rarely prudent.

College communities, particularly liberal arts schools, are frequent victims of this knowledge gap. On one end, there are conservatives that see liberal arts schools as signaling the downfall of American moral civilization. But then there are also people like Jonathan Chait, who argued that “PC culture,” or the aggressive hounding of all those that don’t fit into a narrow conception of left-wing identity politics, is so pervasive on college campuses that it squeezes out all other brands of liberalism. Now, Swarthmore may not be the perfect microcosm of all liberal arts colleges, but I can safely say from my experience that Chait isn’t wrong that this is something that exists. But he’s also entirely wrong to think that this is the hegemonic brand of left-wing thought and action. Simply, Swarthmore, like every college, has a wide spectrum of political thought among students, and ideologies are constantly struggling with each other and being reformed.

If we go further down the privileged knowledge rabbit hole, we get back to Swarthmore and the tension between students and administrators. The crux of the issue is this: both sub-communities have modes of thinking, doing, and interacting that are imperceptible to the other side. And because students and administrators have to work together, there is always the desire to more fully understand the Other than is legally or culturally possible.

In the fall of 2013, I went to a town hall-style meeting with Dean of Diversity, Inclusion and Community Development Lili Rodriguez, Assistant Director of Student Activities, Leadership, and Greek Life Mike Elias, and Director of Public Safety Mike Hill on changes to alcohol and party policies. It didn’t go well. Most of the students there were worried that any crackdown on underage drinking would encourage binge drinking and broadly lead to an adversarial relationship between students, administrators, and Public Safety (for those who don’t know or don’t remember, when I started college, Public Safety was mostly there to protect Swarthmore students from the police).

Rodriguez, Elias, and Hill were, to varying degrees, dismissive of Swarthmore’s previous party policy as irresponsible and legally questionable. However, when pressed on the benefits to student safety that these changes would bring, the answers were extremely underwhelming. Like most of the other students there, I was pretty pissed off. Near the end, I asked incredulously what had changed, and why the school couldn’t break the law.

It took me a little while to realize the impossible position Rodriguez, Elias, and Hill were in, which was then compounded by my question. There is no way any administrator could publicly comment on their own past legal conduct. Transparency may be an ideal to aspire to, but in some situations there are outcomes that multiple parties support that can only be achieved through the mutual withholding of information. However, these outcomes, like Swarthmore’s previous alcohol policy, are highly unstable. Think about it from a game-theory perspective: when there is not enough information to evaluate whether the other side is holding up their side of the bargain, mistrust will likely result. In turn, this makes protests more likely, and the status quo is likely to fall apart.

This is precisely what has happened at Swarthmore.

Sexual assault was a collective failure, both moral and institutional, but the ramifications of such a deep rupture go far beyond reformatting the College Judiciary Committee; it was the step off the trail that triggered the avalanche. Like an avalanche that sweeps away everything in its path with tremendous force, the institutional inertia that the sexual assault crisis set in motion has left few of the college’s social policies untouched. Many were only tangentially related to sexual assault, but the imperative to avoid another monumental scandal means necessitates a total overhaul.

Swarthmore’s avalanche, however, is happening at a snail’s pace. It is a slow revolution. Institutions and policies are experiencing fundamental change, but at such a speed that there’s apparent continuity between the events of two years ago and today.

The record of reform is mixed. On one hand, there is no doubt the college is doing a better job of handling sexual assault cases than it was two years ago. Following the initial period of denial, Swarthmore has had to get serious about radically altering its processes for dealing with campus conflicts.

On the other, some changes seem destined to harm student life. There’s a move toward freshman-only housing (just a pilot program for now), which would partially break the bond between older and younger students that I benefitted from so much.

However, it is Swarthmore’s alcohol and party policies that represent the most harmful changes. Banning funnels, for example, was an absurd step, and obviously unnecessary for anyone who’s ever been to a Swarthmore party (or talked to someone who has, for that matter). Nonetheless, Swarthmore life will continue as usual whether or not funnels and drinking games are permitted. The decision to cease Student Activities Committee funding for parties, however, was more insidious. Now, we all know that students mostly used “DJ money” to buy alcohol, but its termination had a predictable side effect: the only students able to buy enough alcohol for dozens of people, and thus host parties, were the fraternities. It is a cruel irony that the college, worried about increased liability brought on by sexual assault, has made the fraternities more prominent in campus social life than they ever were. One of the primary grievances of campus activists was that fraternity members disproportionately sexually assaulted others and that the fraternity houses incubated an atmosphere conducive to sexual assault.

Lamentably, few of us saw all this coming. Prior to the spring of our discontent, I, and I think many others, tended to think of most aspects of the college as segmented: housing policy was separate from party policy, which was separate from student group policy, and so forth. However, when there’s a crisis as big as sexual assault, which brings national attention, administrators can no longer afford to allow the fragmentation to continue. These sorts of crises demand wholesale coordination and change.

There are a few lessons from the events of the last two years. First, the slow revolution says a lot about the institutional ripple effects of activism and the resulting change. In chaotic environments, change can be like whack-a-mole: squashing one problem can cause others to pop up. Institutions, especially those that serve multiple constituencies, often translate a set of demands into policies that satisfy the imperative for change without solving the original impetus for seeking change. Second, even those with the best of intentions often get it wrong. Navigating the campus political landscape is really, really complicated, and rarely are proposed policies broadly uncontroversial. Finally, when demanding change, there is a need to see not simply through the lenses of social justice or liability-limitation, but in paradigms that acknowledge the myriad of beliefs, pressures, and influences that everyone in the community faces. This empathy has been too frequently absent from recent campus conversations. Restoring it would go a long way to healing the deep fissures that have opened up.

In the environment that the events of the last two years have created, Quaker values (or what are called “Quaker values” on campus) are being squeezed from both sides. For many students, they’ve come to represent a PR exercise carried out to placate student demands in the face of inevitable changes. For administrators, the slow, deliberate process of dialogue and consensus is unlikely to produce the changes they feel are needed. The utopian consensus, and the Quaker values on which it was built, requires trust, and that trust has disappeared. Even after all the students that remember the spring of our discontent are gone (it’s only a year away), the belief that the student body and the administration are adversaries will be passed down. The next generation of students will still be picking up the pieces of the last generation’s battles. But without a knowledge of the way things were, and therefore how they could potentially be again, I fear the trust may never return.

This is not to say that the conflictual relationship between students and the administration is only the result of a big series of misunderstandings. There are real issues that people stand on different sides of. For example, in February 2014, the college brought Robert George and Cornel West to campus to attempt to heal divides. It was a total failure, even if one disregards George’s repugnant views. Both speakers spoke about intellectual disagreement, but in doing so entirely missed the point. Though there is always a place for the encouragement of civil dialogue, Swarthmore was not suffering primarily from an inability to debate in the classroom, but difficulty in accommodating competing demands on the college’s social policies. The prioritization of academic issues over social cleavages represented a major divide between the majority of students and the rest of campus.

The major knock-on effect of this fundamental disconnect is a move toward major decisions that are made without the official input of the student body. In return, students hold an overwhelmingly negative view of the administration, and many tend to see every change as the result of malicious intent. This dynamic generates not only ill-will but bad policies. The calendar change, which has since been rolled back, was one such debacle. The timing was dubious and the logic never fully fleshed out. In the end, seniors get to keep their senior week, but it was another moment that generated even more distrust between students, administrators, and this time, the faculty.

Where is Swarthmore headed? Looking at all the evidence available to me, I can’t help but conclude that the college is moving toward a less nurturing, more conventional future. With the large exception of the college’s performance handling sexual assault cases, the student experience is not as good now as it was when I was a freshman. There are few signs that suggest that the decline will reverse (the new president, Valerie Smith, is a notable exception). The administration is weighed down by the new politics of liability, and as the administration’s numbers balloon, the faculty is further removed from students’ non-academic lives. Student protest was unintentionally one of the reasons for the events that led to the decline in the first place. It’s hard to imagine another large-scale protest movement on any controversial issue that doesn’t lead to the administration retreating into its shell and repeating the current cycle.

Even if I am mildly pessimistic, I think we should also be honest with ourselves: Swarthmore’s student experience is, and will remain, better than that of most other schools. This isn’t “Swarthmore exceptionalism.” It’s the recognition that the combination of liberal values, an enormous endowment, elite academics, and a low professor-to-student ratio lead to a comparatively good environment.

The task ahead of the Swarthmore community, therefore, is to influence the trajectory of the college in this new context. For administrators, this means finding room to maneuver within the bounds of liability and mentally disentangling student welfare from what is legally prudent. Making more of an attempt to consult with students (not necessarily in terms of how decisions are made, but so that administrators have a better sense of student opinion) will aid this process. For students, this means thinking strategically about what gains are possible and approaching the administration with a degree of trust and humility. I do not mean to say that activism should never be confrontational (would there have been change on sexual assault otherwise?) or that students must implicitly trust administrators, but that students should have an idea of what tactics they choose that extends beyond moral imperatives. Students can create positive changes through organized protest and dialogue in the future, but should weigh the costs and benefits of attracting national media attention, especially a year or two later, when that media attention is gone but the college is still reeling.

Together, students and administrators should seek to bring back a slower, deliberative decision-making process. Striving for (even if not reaching) consensus can be painful and disjointed, but it is better at accommodating myriad views. Very rarely do policies crafted by a small group of people without broad consultation, whether they be administrators or student activists, produce the best outcome for the community. And even when the policy works as intended, the feelings of exclusion produced may amplify future differences. As I wrote earlier, there are certainly circumstances that require decisive action. Just like full direct democracy is an untenable national political system, attempting to find consensus on room assignments instead of  holding the housing lottery would be a colossal waste of time. Nonetheless, the college has moved too far away from a consensus-oriented approach. Including all sectors of campus in major decisions is unwieldy and frequently frustrating, but the alternatives are even less appealing.

I have never been prouder to be a member of a community than I have been at Swarthmore. It pains me to see how this community has shattered in the past two years. I hope that I am wrong about Swarthmore’s downward descent, and the antagonism of the last two years are the growing pains caused by breaking down the old and building up the new. But if I am right, and Swarthmore is in decline, then I at least hope that the community can find the strength to put itself back together again.

Cultural Knowledge and a Little Luck: Surviving Boko Haram

9 Apr

A couple of weeks back, Al Jazeera published the testimony of Apagu, a Christian, 16-year-old Nigerian girl who was kidnapped by Boko Haram and subsequently escaped to Cameroon. I really encourage everyone to read it, if only to understand what she, and many other women, have gone through. Beyond the emotional weight of the interview, Apagu’s story provides a fascinating insight into the physical, cultural, and social terrain that people in warzones have to navigate to survive.

The first obstacle Apagu had to overcome was the physical environment around her. Both before and after her spell in captivity, she had to walk long distances, find food and water, and remain hidden from Boko Haram fighters. The physical inability to flee, either because of environmental factors or physical weaknesses, creates a whole new set of possible choices. For Apagu, had she been unable to escape her captors, her choice would have been between accepting marriage to a Boko Haram fighter and death.

The physical environment of a warzone dictates the possibilities available to civilians, but cultural and social relations are largely what determine who survives. Reading Apagu’s testimony for the first time, I was struck by the number of times she almost died. These near-death experiences weren’t from falling into a swollen river or being bitten by a snake. Rather it was that saying the wrong thing to the wrong person or wearing the wrong set of clothing in the wrong place would have meant almost certain death. Apagu had to perform some delicate cultural dances, and individuals without a deep knowledge of the social cartography would have had little chance.

Her survival, more than anything else, was dependent on the help of the people around her. Without the aid of friends and strangers, she never would have escaped the Boko Haram compund in the first place. Previous literature has emphasized that environments of mass violence feature three types of people: perpetrators, bystanders, and victims. Stopping mass violence can be achieved through activating bystanders to protect victims from perpetrators.

Apagu’s story shows that there’s more to the narrative; individuals float between the three categories and the victims have significant agency. On the one end, some of Boko Haram’s member were more cruel than others, and in some moments, they were as much bystanders as perpetrators. On the other, Apagu could not have survived without the help of others, who by becoming active bystanders risked victimhood. But there were also some, like those in the village Palam (who helped them find the way to Cameroon), who would have killed Apagu if they thought she was a Boko Haram member. These constantly-shifting roles doesn’t fit traditional conceptions of unarmed actors in warzones, but it is line with work like Kalyvas‘ and Kaplan‘s that sees civilians as crucial in both the persecution of others and their own protection. Protection and persecution operate through small-scale social networks, in which the two behaviors are mutual. Most people can choose to inform on each other, or to steer each other away from harm. No group has absolute power, and no group is powerless. Even when individuals choose to become perpetrators, civilians, like Apagu, still sometimes find the strength to run, hide, and survive.

Civilians who do live through mass violence, as I’ve written before, tend to do so without the help of anyone beyond their local communities. International politics might influence the environment, and aid might cushion the fall, but when it comes down to the experience of proximate physical violence, civilians are relying on their friends, family, and neighbors. And even when these social networks are strong, and civilians successfully navigate the physical and social landscapes, survival is rarely possible without luck. Communities play a role in shaping mass violence, but they often can do little more than respond and adapt. Subsequently, not everyone, even those who are well prepared, will survive. Apagu came closest to death when she was spotted after her escape by a Boko Haram fighter, but mercifully he didn’t have a gun, and she was able to escape. That civilians need such luck, and that so many do not have it, is tragic.

Room for Debate: The Link Between Social Fragmentation and Violence

2 Feb

Does social fragmentation lead to violence? If it does, how important a factor is it? Is violence itself the primary cause of social fragmentation? Will reversing social fragmentation lead to less violence and atrocities? I’ll present the arguments for and against social fragmentation as a cause of violence, but ultimately leave it up to the reader to decide which theory is more convincing. Personally, I’m not entirely sure what I think.

For some conceptual clarity, here’s the definition of social fragmentation I have in mind: A lack of bridging capital or the opposite of social cohesion, and strongly related to a collective lack of social capital. Sometimes the result of social exclusion. It may also include a lack of bonding capital.

The case for social fragmentation as a cause of violence

The argument that social fragmentation leads to violence is a fairly straight-forward one. Colletta and Cullen argue non-fragmented societies have high degrees of social capital, which is important for positive outcomes, “…there is little disagreement about the role of social capital in facilitating collective action, economic growth, and development by complementing other forms of capital.” The resulting social cohesion provides societies with greater resilience to shocks, “Social cohesion is the key intervening variable between social capital and violent conflict. The greater the degree to which vertical linking and horizontal bridging social capital integrate, the more likely it is that the society will be cohesive and will thus possess the inclusive mechanisms necessary for mediating or managing conflict before it turns violent.”

On the other hand, social fragmentation results when institutions are unable to provide equally for all citizens or when leaders purposefully exclude populations. The resulting societies have fewer structures able to mitigate conflict and weaker norms that convince individuals not to use violence to settle disputes. Subsequently, groups tend toward inward to identity groups they feel they can trust for protection, sacrificing bridging capital for bonding capital. This exclusionary social capital can subsequently used negatively, stoking instead of hampering the chances of violence. Naraya et al. argue the effects of social fragmentation can be seen across society, from incidences of domestic violence to large-scale violent conflict.

Colletta and Cullen add to Naraya et al.’s theories by presenting a more specific framework for the link between social fragmentation and violence. Their basic thesis is, “Weak social cohesion increases the risk of social disorganization, fragmentation, and exclusion and the risk for violent conflict.” While social fragmentation can be managed, and therefore the conflict produced does not necessarily lead to violence, certain structural conditions make this more difficult:

Conflict does often engender large-scale violence if various structural conditions are present, such as authoritarian rule and a lack of political rights (as in Rwanda and Guatemala), state weakness and lack of institutional capacity to manage conflict (as in Somalia) and socio-economic imbalances combined with inequity of opportunity and a weak civil society (as seen in Cambodia)… Thus violent conflict is triggered by the presence of strong exclusionary bonds and disempowerment combined with a lack of horizontal bridging and vertical linking social capital.

So while social fragmentation alone does not cause violence or atrocities, it creates an environment conducive to atrocities, without which they would be highly unlikely to happen. For Colletta and Cullen, the most common route to violence is when social fragmentation causes groups to protect their own at the expense of others, and therefore they argue that working to improve bridging capital is the best strategy.

While Colletta and Cullen see the effect of social fragmentation and the potential for violence as occurring across society, Lindemann offers a clear vision for how social fragmentation directly influences violence. He argues that it is not social fragmentation that is the problem, but the lack of institutions able to handle the fragmentation at the elite level, a dynamic which previous studies of the causes of civil war had not examined in full.

Inclusive elite bargains redistribute rents and jobs, and ultimately unlink social fragmentation from violence because without elites participating in the shaping of exclusionary social relationship, they don’t lead to violence. When societies are socially fragmented, and ruling elites build political institutions that exclude the elites of already marginalized groups, these elites are prevented from providing benefits to their political or social group. This endangers their status as elites, and therefore they rebel if the following conditions are met, “First, the exclusion of certain ethnoregional elites needs to be maintained over time. Second, the exclusion of certain leaders has to be consistent across categories, that is, the affected groups and their elite representatives must be systematically denied access to most (or even all) state structures (jobs) and state resources (rents). Third, it is obvious that the importance of the alienated elites matters.”

These rebellions may lead to mass atrocities either because the opposition elites are threatened by being totally excluded from formal political power and commit a mass atrocity themselves, or these rebellions can threaten ruling elites, provoking a state-led mass atrocity. In sum, social fragmentation matters if elites carry it out against other elites along lines of differentiation already present in society, because it is these parties, the ruling and opposition elites, that have the power to mobilize violence. It should be noted that Lindemann is writing on civil war risk, rather than atrocities, and most civil wars do not lead to mass atrocities.


The case against social fragmentation as a cause of violence

The case against social fragmentation as a cause of violence does not deny that social fragmentation occurs or even that it has deep effects on society, but rather than social fragmentation itself is caused by larger, powerful forces, and isolating social fragmentation as the independent variable misses the true causality. In this view, violence is itself the main cause of social fragmentation and/or smaller social cleavages are multiplied by violence to make it appear as if social fragmentation is what’s ripping society apart.

Benjamin Valentino lays out the basic components of this analysis in his book Final Solutions, which looks specifically at mass atrocities. Broadly he notes that many fairly homogenous societies have experienced mass killing, while many societies with deep social cleavages have not. Furthermore:

Proponents of the plural society theory, however, offer surprisingly little evidence that social cleavages are more intense in societies that have experienced genocide or mass killing than in those that have not. To date, quantitative research on ethnic conflict and genocide has found little correlation between indicators of ethnic, social, economic, and cultural differences and the likelihood of large-scale violence between groups. Nor do ethnic wars appear to be more likely to result in mass killing that political or ideological conflicts.

Mass atrocities and large-scale violence are such rare events that looking for deep social cleavages produces too many false positives, and the social fragmentation theory doesn’t offer an obvious mechanism for certain how attitudes, relationships, and norms lead to organizations with high capacities for violence.

Another reason to doubt the social fragmentation theory is the role elites and the “greed” side of the “greed vs. grievance” formulation play in sparking violence. If what causes violence and atrocities is largely elites feeling threatened or sensing an opportunity to increase their power, then social fragmentation is secondary because opportunity, not identity or grievance, is the driving force.

Thirdly, many studies of violence and identity see the former as primarily driving the latter, and not the other way around. In his study of the Mozambican civil war, Lubkemann argues trying to find causality in pre-war fissures is misguided because the war itself shaped identities to a degree that there was often little resemblance between people’s pre-war and during-war identities. Experiences of violence, both in myth and in reality, determine how people view others, and subsequently the “othering” that occurs produces social fragmentation.

Finally, looking at social fragmentation may overstate the role that ideology and social relations (writ large) play in atrocities. Lubkemann’s argues that while “new wars” (defined as civil wars between often weak forces after the end of the Cold War) are indeed about politics, they’re not the macro-politics they’re often made out to be. Instead, the political goals of actors are highly localized and diverse.

His work is in line with Kalyvas’, who sees civil wars as driven by civilian decisions to give denunciations to the warring parties. Civilians tend to ideologically support whoever controls the region where they live, but use armed actors to settle personal scores (admittedly often shaped by micro-level social fragmentation) through false denunciations. War is ideological, in that civilians direct violence for political purposes, but their goals are limited and it is violence that allows social fissures to be exploited, rather than the social fissures that bring the violence in the first place.

In sum, social fragmentation can be observed in violence, but it is not the primary cause nor can attempts to decrease social fragmentation prevent the violence from beginning in the first place.


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