Ce n?est pas une guerre/This is not a war... The International Language and Practice of Political Violence Franke Wilmer Montana State University One of the best-known statements on the fiction of representation is Magritte?s drawing of a pipe entitled ?Ceci n?est pas un pipe,? a title Foucault appropriated for one of his essays (1983). Like Magritte?s art, Foucault?s thinking interrogated and disturbed the relationship between images and words. I would like to do the same with the image and language of war. Traveling in former Yugoslavia ? the first time just months before the end of the 1990-95 war and then several times in the years to follow ? to find out how the people there experienced and understood the violence that destroyed the Yugoslav state, I found myself thinking of ?war? more like Magritte?s pipe than as I had been trained to think about it within IR academic and policy discourses. Of course we need language as a tool of representation in order to think and talk about the social world, but at the same time, semiotic reality ought to bear a meaningful relationship to empirical reality, the world of experience. But people do not just ?experience? the social world, they interpret it, and interpretation has as much to do with reality as observation, maybe more. Foucault, I would argue, was an empiricist. His work was aimed at obtaining a richer, more useful, and complete understanding of the social world as it is experienced and interpreted. The constructivist-positivist or ?third? debate raises the question: does language reflect or impose order on the social world? Is the order of social things implicit, or is it created by those who study and interpret them? Constructivism emphasizes the interpretive quality of the social world. It contests the positivists? assertion of implicit order, but does not, I think, rule out the ability of social structures to circumscribe agents? behaviors and choices. How they do so is perhaps at the heart of the agent-structure debate. As linguists, and more recently, IR constructivists following Onuf?s lead show, language is a rule-governed activity (1989). It follows, then that if the rules that construct a particular discourse do not bear a meaningful relationship to the phenomenon to which they refer, then the value of efforts aimed at understanding that phenomenon is severely diminished. Political theorizing, among other things, generates rule-governed language that ought to be useful in understanding, and perhaps even solving, political problems. Although the production of linguistic order does not necessarily result in hermeneutic or normative structures that constrain agents? choices, it can give them an incentive to rationalize choices within a framework of linguistically structured meanings. Those meanings, in turn, can become the center of both normative and practical debates over policies ? which policy course to follow, why, and with what probable consequences. In both the discourse of violence in Bosnia and policy responses to it, agents constructed their positions within the discourse of war, national identity or ethnicity, and the state. Increasingly evident today is a disconnect between academic, policy, and ordinary discussions about war, on the one hand, and how and why people experience and enact political violence on the other. War appears as a metaphor for policies aimed at solving social problems by ?defeating? them, such as the ?War on Poverty? or the ?War on Drugs.? More recently, a literal war has been waged on a non-state conceptual actor ? ?terrorism.? Wars on Poverty and Drugs may be understood as metaphors for ?using government resources to ?defeat? a problem through public policy,? or even to make the problem ?go away? entirely. But definitive outcomes in ?real? wars, that is, political violence involving the use of governmental military resources and policy in the form of direct and intentional violence to defeat a politically organized human enemy in the form of a state or a collective actor aspiring to control a particular state, seem more elusive than ever. From an undeclared war with an unclear outcome in Vietnam to the failure to intervene in the tragic events in Bosnia for fear of repeating the ?mistakes? of Vietnam, the disconnect between discourse and experience underlies most contemporary policy debates about war. The number of wars that do resemble the image of two or more monolithic and equally sovereign units deploying organized military force in order to achieve a decisive outcome ? a victory for one and a defeat for the other ? is, as a proportion of the large-scale political violence in the world today, small. The Iran-Iraq war, maybe the Falklands War, and depending on how one views the objective and outcome, maybe the Gulf War, satisfy this image, except that in spite of the fact of the U.S. leading role, the Gulf War was in reality an alliance supported by one-hundred-fifty-some states versus one state with a handful of states remaining neutral. But Korea remains divided. Parties to the conflicts in the Middle East and Northern Ireland alternate between ?low intensity conflict? (Holsti 1996:15), hot war, unconventional violence, and peace ?processes.? The Gulf intervention pushed Iraqi forces out of Kuwait but left the belligerent ruler of Iraq in power, and more often than not since the intervention, in obstinate violation of postwar terms requiring international inspection and monitoring of his government?s weapons development programs. Bosnia also remains divided, as well as essentially, occupied by international peacekeeping forces and administrators. And while the NATO intervention in Kosovo probably accelerated the overthrow of Slobodan Milo?evi?, it is by no means clear that it has produced a stable peace either between Serbs and Albanians in Kosovo, or between the leadership in Belgrade and Pristina, and the separatist sentiment among Albanians in both Kosovo and Macedonia may even have been emboldened by the NATO intervention. This is of more than academic interest, since even President Bush implied such a dissonance when he announced, in the aftermath of the attack on the World Trade Center Towers and Pentagon on September 11, 2001, that the American response, while including the use of military force, would not be a war in the way we were used to thinking about wars. Indeed the same could be said of most wars in the second half of the twentieth century (and some earlier, I would argue) if what he meant by the old image of ?war? was the use of military force by one state to defeat, by weakening, the military forces of another. Strangely, however, the use of armed force by the U.S. and a small number of allies in Afghanistan following President Bush?s announcement did, in fact, look more like a war than most state uses of military force . In the open-ended and metaphoric war on terrorism, however, the overthrow of the Taliban-dominated Afghan government may ultimately look more like a battle as the U.S. government attempts a repeat performance in Iraq. This ?meta-war?of the U. S. against whomever its leaders consider a security threat nevertheless contrasts sharply with the ?wars? in Yugoslavia and Rwanda, in which genocidal violence against civilians, enacted in part by leaders of states and those in uniform acting as agents of states or would-be states, was a premeditated and deliberate ?tactic? used to terrorize people into submitting to a reconfigured and overtly exclusive political order in which minorities would be worse off than before millions (in Rwanda and Yugoslavia combined) died to make it so. The ?international community? proved unable to make good on the post-Holocaust promise of ?never again.? The question remains, therefore, that if the language, meanings, and images we use to make sense out of political violence really is in disarray, then how can we, in fact, make sense out of and formulate effective policy responses to it? The dissonance between image and reality in IR is not the only problem with contemporary discourses about world politics. The language of international political analysis is rife with what Foucault calls ?cultural totalities? such as ?world views, ideal types, the particular spirit of an age? that serve to ?impose on history, despite itself, the forms of structural analysis? (1976:15). Most IR discourse unreflectively employs totalities, such as ?Great Powers,? ?clashes of civilization,? or world views such as ?realism,? ?idealism,? and ?balances of power.? IR thinkers and policy makers also rely on the construction and maintenance of a network of categories, terminology, and most importantly, meanings ? Foucault simply calls them ?notions?(1976:21) ? used to create and maintain not only discursive continuity among international relations storytellers, but a certain structure of power in relationships among storytellers. Indeed, we could not analyze, study, teach, read, or write international relations without the political fictions of actors, interests, states, and war, but we often do so as if these fictions existed within an objective reality independent of the thinkers, assuming a shared meaning between reader and writer. But if the purpose of disciplinary discourse is to speak meaningfully about the global political space in which agents create structures and structures mediate agents? actions, then the fiction must represent meanings (such as ?the sovereign state?) that closely approximate the way the world is experienced by real people. Dissonance between the distribution of symbolic and rhetorical power on the one hand, and power understood as the ability to exert influence over events on the other, may not only be unhelpful in the making of foreign policies, but potentially dangerous when it produces unanticipated outcomes and responses or ?failed policies? in a highly interdependent and militarized world. States, for example, are said to have a ?monopoly over the use of force.? But clearly non-state actors use force to achieve political goals, from those who declared U.S. independence from Britain in the 18th century, to the tragic twentieth century violence of ?ethnic groups? in former Yugoslavia, ?Hutu Power? in Rwanda, or Al Qaeda in New York City. And is the distinction between state and non-state actors really so clear? Did ?Germany? carry out the Holocaust or the Nazi party and its collaborators in other countries? What about the relationship between Al Qaeda and the Taliban-controlled Afghan government or Hutu Power and Colonel Bagasora who took over following the death of Habyarimana? Whether an actor is a ?state? ? or more accurately, controls a state, such as Saddam Hussein ? or a non-state actor, it is still by no means clear that state uses of force ever were, are, or will be effective in preventing or intervening in political violence, or settling and redressing grievances and injuries that follow from it. Apprehending a murderer, after all, does not eradicate murder, particularly if the act is politically motivated and the political conditions implicated by it are not addressed, whether the perpetrator goes by the name of Milo?evi?, Hutu Power, Osama bin Laden, or Al Qaeda. Alternatively, addressing the causes of political violence is much more complicated than simply ?righting? the wrongs implicated as grievances in victimization narratives. We must, for example, recognize the role of victimization narratives (often a component of ethnic identity, particularly when ethnic identity is mobilized as the basis for the political purpose of ?liberation?) in arousing political support for violence by exploiting emotional vulnerabilities, but not all victimization narratives, even when they are based on lived experiences and real injuries, are equally compelling, and they are often at play in the rationalization of violence on both or all sides of a particular conflict. Albanians in Kosovo held grievances arising from their victimization at the hands of a Serb-dominated government in Belgrade, but at the same time some members of the Serb-dominated government in Belgrade justified their actions against Albanians on the grounds of Serb victimization at the hands of Albanians in Kosovo. Similarly, Nazi ideology was in large part the result of Hitler?s ability to mobilize emotional support en masse on the basis of grievances stemming from the harsh terms of reparations from the first world war, a war that ended just fifteen years before Hitler exploited what was certainly at least latent and marginal European anti-Semitism as a scapegoat for the severe conditions suffered by the German people as a result of those reparations. If war was neither experienced nor understood by people who enacted and survived it in former Yugoslavia in the same way it was portrayed in academic and policy discourses about war, then I found myself asking: Was Yugoslavia just an exceptional case, or is our understanding of war in general artificially disciplined by the creation and maintenance of discursive continuities in the practice of IR? In other words, is the way intellectuals, policy makers, the media, and so on, understand war grossly at odds with the lived reality of war? If so, how does this impair the efforts of policy makers and scholars to better understand and devise strategies for reducing the incidence and destructiveness of political violence? Is the discontinuity between signifier and reality so great that the signifier fails to help us understand the world we live in and create? Academic Discourse and Narratives of War Discourses of war, conflict, and national security have been the subject of works by a number of critical IR and feminist thinkers in the past decade or so (Campbell 1998; Gray1997; Katzenstein 1996 ; Jabri 1996; Campbell and Dillon 1993; Elshtain and Tobias 1990; Enloe 1990; Hess and Feree 1987; Elshtain 1987, to name a few). Since IR itself is often said to be the offspring of the study of war, such critiques raise crucial issues about whether the academic practice of IR is producing meaningful insights or ?knowledge? about its subject, or simply attempting to impose an intellectual order on an extraordinarily complex and dynamic social reality through the production and repetition of its own self-referential narratives about corporate violence. Are IR narratives of war, in other words, little more than the production and maintenance of power structures (states, but also the hierarchical relations among them and the imaginary totalities of IR theoretical narratives ) through linguistic practices that invent networks of categories, totalities, terminologies and meanings? That theory and practice are closely linked in the fields of international relations and foreign policy is evident by the number of individuals whose careers are marked by passages from the halls of academe to the halls of the Department of State, White House, National Security Council, and back. Ralph Bunche, Henry Kissinger, Zbignew Brzinski, George Schultz, Jean Kirkpatrick, Madeline Albright, and Condaleeza Rice, to name some of the more prominent ?academic diplomats.? Yet with a few exceptions and in spite of a balance sheet in which there have been at least as many policy failures as successes in the use of military force over the past half-century, little evidence of contemporary IR debates and critiques appears in the public pronouncements of these policy makers. Disciplinary knowledge ? what we know about IR ? is much as Foucault describes the construction of the broader ?episteme? of a historical period. It ?is not a general stage of development reason,? he says, but ?a complex relationship of successive displacements? (1991: 55). A thorough excavation of contemporary episteme in IR discourses about war is beyond the scope of this chapter. A fair amount of digging has been done by many of the critical writers noted above, and a truly Foucauldian analysis ? a microhistory or geneology of the war/IR power/knowledge system ? would produce a book-length project in itself. The present chapter is limited to a consideration of some of the texts often cited within academic discourses about war, followed by an examination of policy discourses regarding the Bosnian war. In the last section, the images produced and reproduced within these first two discursive domains are contrasted with the self-narratives of agents ? ordinary and extraordinary people who participated in and experienced the violence in that region between 1990 and 1995. Discourses about war and IR theory routinely begin with Thucydides? account of the Peloponnesian Wars of ancient Greece. His epochal account is a narrative of grand war speeches about the rights and grievances of the various polities eventually drawn into the conflict, Hellenic law, honor and betrayal, treaties, and military strategies, that took place over 25 years in relations among Greek city-states at the end of the fifth century B.C.E. (Jowett 1881). But it is in the Melian dialogue, when the democratic Athenians explain their reasons for attacking the tiny island of Melos, that the roots of modern IR realism can be found ? the inevitability of violence and oppression as a function of human nature, interest defined as power, the incommensurablility of morality and international politics, and the autonomy of politics from other concerns of life and society ? to paraphrase Morgenthau (1985:4-17). Often credited with theoretically articulating post-World War II realism, Morgenthau himself opens his treatise on realism by associating interests with politics ?unaffected by time and circumstance,? citing Thucydides as his source (10). ?[T]hose who are powerful need have no regard for justice, human rights, or the gods,? explains Thucydides in Benjamin Jowett?s translation (1881:166). The Athenians may be democratic inside, but in war and IR, they must suffer (or deliver) the cruel injustices of realism in an anarchic outside world. Grounding IR theory in the historical narratives of ancient Greece reinforces the notion that there is nothing new to be known about war, and essentializes it as more or less a natural and inevitable phenomenon. In War and Change in World Politics (1981), Robert Gilpin opens by noting that serious disturbances in the empirical world may necessitate ?new thinking? in IR theory. He concludes, however, that in spite of unexpected, sweeping and apparent shifts in the distribution of power, the realist framework that he traces to Thucydides remains our best hope making sense of and responding to such changes. Thucydides? polities are self-evidently cohesive and composed of citizens tightly woven into the social fabric by common cultural and linguistic practices ? Athenians know who is Athenian and who is not, as do the Corcyreans, Corinthians, Spartans, Mitylenians, Atticans, Lacedaemonians, and Delphians, and so on. In their corporate agency they freely form, disband, and abrogate, leagues, alliances, balances of power, and treaties. Apparently, rules prescribing the assimilation of outsiders into their polities preserves an ethno-cultural majority and allows them to maintain these organic forms of civic solidarity. Almost two thousand years later Machiavelli chiseled the dictum of power politics into the canon of both political theory and ?statecraft.? Machiavelli?s city-states, like those of ancient Greece, occupy a fixed political space governed by fixed authority. Machiavelli elaborates variations on the structure of authority and citizen-ruler relationships in the body politic as either bound by republican consent or the bonds of blood into which, in either case, citizens are born. Whether the princely ruler be chosen or hereditary, it remains that ?The principal study and care and the especial profession of a prince should be warfare and its attendant rules and discipline? (Bergin 1947:41). A century later Bodin resolved the contention between the authority of the church and that of the polity by endowing the latter with the power to trump all other claims of authority by virtue of its ?sovereignty,? and thus it was that Thucydides? organic polities, governed by Machiavelli?s princely warriors and endowed with Bodin?s sovereignty appear as the ?civilized nations? in Hugo Grotius? narrative on the international law of war and peace. In The Rights of War and Peace, Grotius appeals to Cicero for a definition of war as ?a contention by force? (1625:18) But war, says Grotius, is also ?a state of affairs? and then proceeds to liken a war between states to a duel between men (Grotius 1625:18). In Grotius?s view, if murder can be civilized by subjecting it to the norms of dueling, then war can also be tamed by international law. We now associate this ?Grotian? view of world politics with the possibility of order through law. It is often juxtaposed with the ?Clausewitzian? dictum that war is a continuation of diplomacy by other means ? a Grotian ?community of nations? contrasts with a Clausewitzian world of states in an anarchic social environment. But these two views are not in as much tension as they might seem, for they share the view that states are the agents of war, and that war is central, if not inevitable, in the conduct of international relations. Their disagreement seems to be whether, or perhaps how and why, the practice of war by states might be ?disciplined.? In New Thinking in International Relations Theory (1997), a chapter by Joseph Grieco tells us that those engaged in?new? theorizing in IR must first do battle with realism by defining ?theoretical perspectives and research programs in large measure through their opposition to one or more elements of realist theory,? not because it is the narrative voice constituted and reconstituted as the foundation of IR knowledge that marginalized (anything other than ?realism? must be ?unrealistic?) or silences others, but ?Precisely because it engages these fundamental international problems? (163). Realism, Grieco claims, is still useful in the study of IR, both because IR scholars continue to use it, and ...because realist theory addresses the key questions in international relations: What are the causes of conflict and war among nations, and what are the conditions for cooperation and peace among them? (163) The canon of realist theorizing about war is still readily recited by positivist IR scholars and their students whose main disagreements center on whether there is an orderly alternative to anarchic violence. War, positivists agree, is organized and armed group violence, and it involves a state or states in some manner. This conceptualization is not only implicit in Waltz?s title, Man, the State and War, but he begins his argument with ?International Conflict and Human Behavior? and then moves in the following chapter to a statement problem (of war) ?the Reduction of Interstate Violence? (1959:16, 42). In the half century since Morgenthau and Waltz formulated the contemporary version of IR canon, the conception of war has changed little, even while by almost any observation, the practice of political violence has changed significantly. Indeed, after a lengthy review of critical challenges to this canon, war researcher John Vasquez cleverly notes that we are ?content to work with modified everyday ordinary definitions since ?we all know what war is,?? but this ?is a sure sign that we may not know anything at all? (1993:15). Then he proceeds to explain away his own reservations, outlining his rationale for using a more or less unrevised version of Hedley Bulls?s definition of war (1977) as organized violence carried on by political units against each other? (23). ?The only immediate reservation I have about this definition,? says Vasquez, ...is the use of the term violence, which remains undefined. Even a narrow definition of violence as direct bodily harm through physical action...seems too broad for what Hedley Bull has in mind...war must involve organized violence that aims to kill members of another group, not simply to do them harm, otherwise war become [sic!] too much like force. This reservation, however, is not so complicated that I am prompted to add to the semantics of war by giving my personal peculiar definition (23). Finally, attempting a more critical perspective in The State, War, and the State of War (1996), Holsti not only critiques the ethnocentricity of the discipline, but highlights the inadequacies of mainstream theorizing about war in light of the increasingly important role state policy makers and IR scholars assign to non-state agents of violence: Largely hidden in all this thinking about the causes and solutions to interstate war is the experience of Europeans in their numerous imperial wars and campaigns, to say nothing of the practice of non-European societies (cf Keegan 1993)... The Clausewitzian conception of war as organized combat between military forces of two or more states fits our mental maps naturally because it reflects the predominant forms of great-power warfare within modern (post 1648) European civilization at least until World War II (14). Holsti notes the convergence between Clausewitzian and Groatian views of war and world order, ?enshrined in the Charter of the United Nations, in collective defense organizations like NATO, and in the definitions of war and aggression in international law (14). In Holsti?s view, the problem of dissonance between theory and reality is that...the Clausewitzian image of war, as well as its theoretical accoutrements, has become increasingly divorced from the characteristics and sources of most armed conflicts since 1945...Are we to understand the Somalias, Rwandas, Myanmars, and Azerbaijans of the world in classical European terms? Do we find balances of power, alliances, and wars to promote state interests in Africa, South America, South Asia andother regions of the world, as we saw them in eighteenth century Europe?...Are the rationalist calculations of balance of power or deterrence theory applicable to ethnic, religious, and/or language communities bent on destroying one another? (14). Holsti?s critique, however, can be satisfied by making a simple amendment to the realist image of monolithic states using military force to contest or defend the structure of power relations in the name of ?national interests? by substituting for state actors a new variety of monolithic non-state actor ? the ethnic group. Rather than a Foucaultian epistemic displacement, it seems that in IR we have only minor replacements (city-states with nation-states, nation-states with ethnic groups or perhaps now, terrorists). One wonders what sort of world physicists would be studying if they were still viewing it through the lens of their ancient Greek predecessors. Policy Discourses: The Struggle Over What to Do in Bosnia ?I must say that I have watched with some amazement,? said U. N. Ambassador-nominee Albright in January 1993 of the unfolding humanitarian tragedy in Bosnia, ?the fact that the Europeans have not taken action on this...The coalition is very important to us, but we have to lead it? (Congressional Quarterly, January 3, 1993: 183). Three months later, however, the State Department signaled that the administration would choose a conservative path of political expedience over a risky one of humanitarian intervention when top officials told Elie Wiesel that ??the survival of the fragile liberal coalition represented by this Presidency? was a higher stake than any moral obligation to intervene? in what others in the administration were characterizing as a genocide (Campbell 1998:51). A humanitarian tragedy, yes, but not one involving ?vital? U.S. interests (New York Times, 4 June 1993). There are diverse in-depth analyses of the way the violence in former Yugoslavia played out as a policy problem in Europe and the U.S. Campbell 1998, Shoup and Burg 1999, Woodward 1995, Silber and Little 1997, Sharratt, and Kaschak 1999, Vulliamy 1994, Glenny 1996, and Malcolm 1994,1999) Between the onset of violence in 1990 and the 1998 Kosovo intervention at least two hundred books were published on the subject. Here I wish only to argue that at least part of the failure to respond (earlier, with an intervention) can be traced to the inability of analysts to think usefully about the relationship between the problem of political violence and how agents of political violence are constituted. This was evident during the (first) Bush administration when it opposed a plan to partition Bosnia that was said to be agreeable to at least some of the leadership claiming to represent all three ethnic groups. ?Our view was that we might be able to head off a Serbian power grab by internationalizing the problem,? said Warren Zimmerman, who was the U.S. Ambassador to Yugoslavia in 1992 (Binder 1993:8). But by the time the administration switched course to support for divisions along ethnic lines, ethnic cleansing, the momentum of violence, the grievances it provoked or exacerbated, and the perception that violence might lead to more advantageous outcomes for the more well-armed Serbs and Croats at the expense of Muslims, had vastly complicated the prospect for ethnic partition (Holbrooke 1998:51-52). Meanwhile, the Europeans, perhaps more self-consciously wary of validating nationalist claims to statehood, reverted to the original American position that Bosnia was a multiethnic civic society and so should become a multiethnic civic state, but of course (Holbrooke 1998: 51). Peace proposals crafted with both the American and European views in mind struggled to find a balance between self-determination by plebiscite, ethnically-based self-determination, power politics and the humanitarian concerns that led politicians and journalists to draw parallels with the Holocaust (Gelb 1992). This produced a series of map solutions, beginning with a three-fold split into ?constitutive? (but noncontiguous) units based on ethnic majorities in March 1992, and culminating in a series of ethnically marbled permutations including a ten-canton proposal known as the ?Vance-Owen Map? first outlined in January 1993. By 1994 a ?Contact Group? of American, British, Russian, French, and British delegations proposed a sightly less marbled map solution that attempted to preserve the United Nations ?safe areas,? however unprotected they were in reality, and left a small unconnected corridor around Br?ko between two swaths of northwest and eastern Bosnia that Bosnian Serbs claimed as the ?Republika Srpska? (Shoup and Burg 1999). American foreign policy debates about Bosnia increasingly relied on the language of fated ethnic rivalries and primitive brutalities. Some members of Congress as well as the Clinton administration argued for intervention on purely humanitarian grounds, but often in terms that reinforced the imagery of ?ancient hatreds.? ?This is a civil war in a country where the ethnic conflicts go back hundreds of years,? said Representative Jim Ross Lightfoot (Congressional Quarterly 1993c: 768). Democratic Congressman Charles Wilson told Secretary of State Warren Christopher that he ?saw ?no way to end the killing, no way to end the ethnic horrors in Bosnia without a NATO force of 50,000 that would include up to 15,000 troops. ?We?re going to have to face that? he said, ?or we?re going to have to be willing to endure...the worst human rights abuses that have occurred in the world since 1942" (Congressional Quarterly 1993c:768). Meanwhile, in American foreign policy debates, the language of Vietnam began to emerge as the framework for evaluating political costs and likely outcomes of military intervention. The ?Q? word ? quagmire ? appeared for the first time in two decades. Declaring that ?Bosnia will be the key test of American foreign policy in Europe,? Richard Holbrooke advised that We must therefore succeed in whatever we attempt. The Administration cannot afford to begin with either an international disaster or a quagmire (Holbrooke 1998:50). As congressional debates invoked the ghosts of Vietnam, fissures in the foreign policy community led to a second round (the first occurred during the Bush administration) of State Department specialists quitting in protest (Congressional Record , 1993: 8867 and Bozeman Chronicle 1993). ?I?m not ready to risk another Vietnam situation,? said John McCain. (Congressional Quarterly1993e:1094). ?Most lawmakers say military intervention in the former Yugoslavia would draw the United States into a Vietnam-style quagmire,? reported Congressional Quarterly in April 1993 (1993d: 961). Noting the increasingly polarized debates, a month later the Quarterly reported that in response to calls for ?urgent military action as a moral imperative to curb the brutal Serbian practice of ?ethnic cleansing? that they compare to the Holocaust...Many lawmakers went public in opposition to possible airstrikes against Serbian artillery positions, warning that the United States could be stepping into a Balkan quagmire? (Congressional Quarterly 1993e:1093). By 1995 the Clinton administration was embroiled in its own battle, while Congress attempted to formulate a Bosnian policy of its own (Congressional Quarterly 1995a: 1587). Henry Hyde reportedly offered legislation repealing the ?Vietnam Era? War Powers Resolution. ?Our psyche is to ?go in and kick butt,?? said Alan Simpson, ?and after Vietnam we never were able to right ourselves. They should not take us down that road again? (Congressional Quarterly 1995b: 1653). Secretary of Defense Les Aspin?s ?penchant for the limited use of force was questioned by some conservative Republicans who shared the Pentagon?s concerns that limited interventions may turn into Vietnam-style quagmires. Congress, meanwhile, was said to be ?lacking a foreign policy compass? and going ?off in every direction? as ?old alliances had disappeared with the Soviet threat, and the new array of opinion defied easy categorization? (Congressional Quarterly 1993e:1093). House Foreign Affairs Committee member Henry Hyde finally said that ?People now are trying to figure out whether this is Germany 1842, or Vietnam 1975? (Congressional Quarterly 1993e:1093). As if to apologize for his President?s apparent preoccupation with finding a foreign policy supported by public opinion, Robert Toricelli said of Clinton, ?If anybody should understand the importance of maintaining the public support for a policy, it should be the first president of the Vietnam generation? (Congressional Quarterly 1993e:1093). A year later the crisis wore on with no clear foreign policy leadership from the White House and continuing debates framed in terms of various Vietnam experiences among members of Congress. The 1964 Gulf of Tonkin resolution which signaled Senate approval for expansion of the Vietnam war framed the debate over direct military intervention (Congressional Quarterly 1994: 1079). The same debates wore on ? whether air strikes necessitated ground troop support, whether limited war was possible, the ?unrealistically optimistic? Vietnam-era press briefings of Robert MacNamara. Senator Bob Kerry?s support for air strikes, in contrast to his Vietnam veteran colleagues, was explained by his role as a leader of anti-war protests among ex-servicemen. Five years after the onset of violence in Serb-majority areas of Croatia signaled Yugoslavia?s descent into the pathology of collective violence, Bosnia was still considered a foreign policy crisis, quagmire was now synonymous with intervention and, too late for tens of thousands of under-armed and unarmed Bosnian Muslims, Congress finally acted ? it lifted the arms embargo that left Croats and Serbs armed and Bosnian Muslims left in relatively defenseless enclaves. Our inability to use the language of war, political violence, and use of military force to debate, sort through, or interpret the events in Bosnia over four years either in terms of interests or ethics, and to formulate a policy to end an ongoing humanitarian crisis reflects the failure of episteme in IR. The language of IR discourse has done little more than reproduce narratives that naturalize communal rivalries and rationalize collective violence as inevitable, even if the names of the communal actors have changed within a series of successive metanarratives from city-states, to empires, to (?modern,? or ?Westphalia?) states, to ?nation?-states, and now ethnic groups. Unable to think outside of an image of war that has changed little for 2500 years, U.S. policy makers instead try to fit their ?Thucydidean? view of war into the most recent ?lessons learned? previous U.S. military involvement: the Kosovo intervention was a policy correction for the failure to intervene in Bosnia, the failure to intervene in Bosnia was a correction for the failure of intervention in Vietnam, and abstaining from involvement in the ?European Wars? in 1939 and 1940 was the lesson learned from becoming involved in World War I. This criticism is not limited to IR as practiced and studied in the U.S., because there was no clear image of the problem or policies to address it forthcoming on neither side of the Atlantic. This was not the first or last humanitarian crisis to suffer such a fate. Michael Barnett argues that in fact many top-ranking U.N. officials actually believed that refraining from an intervention in Rwanda was the ethical thing to do (Barnett 2002). A much lengthier study could, and should I think, be done, of the way we have historicized the Holocaust as distinct from the military and strategic narrative of World War II. Why didn?t Hitler?s ideology of ethnic cleansing appear patently immoral to his European and American counterparts? Why, when he called for a Germany for Germans only, did no one oppose him? And why did opposition only arise in connection with his violations of international territorial norms in light of various German territorial ?invasions?? On the ground: how ?former? Yugoslavs understood the violence. A Foucaultian perspective asks, how is the discursive field of IR/violence constituted, who are the disoursing subjects, what are the differentiated subject-positions, and how are they positioned within the discursive field? (Foucault 1991) Which voices and positions are silenced by the way power structures the relationships among subjects? To answer these questions, we must also take into account the narratives of ordinary people as well as academic and political elites inside and outside former Yugoslavia. The political leaders who rose to power by destroying the Yugoslav state appropriated the language of ?Great Power? conflicts (claiming the Yugoslav state was created by those conflicts and not by the people of the Balkans), clashes of civilization (mainly between the European Hapsburgs and the Islamic Ottoman empires), and ethnic rivalries (mainly between Croats and Serbs, denying that the Bosnian Muslims constituted a distinct ethnic identity), as well as the rhetoric of realism and ?rational? strategic calculation. Some of these themes were echoed in the discourse of ordinary people. But did they use this language because it is ?true? or because appropriating the language of IR discourse served the interest of policy makers, diplomats, and especially the political leadership in those republics (Croatia and Serbia) who stood to gain the most from the break-up of the state? The same language was noticeably absent in the discourse of the Bosnian Muslim leadership who stood to lose the most by the destruction of the Yugoslav state. There were many alternative accounts in the discourse among the ordinary people as well as among many well-educated and intellectual people. A very common explanation, for instance, was that the leaders in the Serb and Croat-dominated republics engineered the violence by deliberately arousing tensions along ethnic lines by manipulating the media, propagating hate speech, and undertaking official acts intended to foster insecurity among ethnic minorities. People holding this view also often commented that these political leaders exploited the language of ethnic rivalry precisely because they expected it to play well among the western allies and lend support to their aspirations for new states defined along ethnic lines. They also knew, according to this view, that such thinking would leave the status of Bosnia in such disorder so as to enhance their potential to annex a divided Bosnia to their respective new ethnic-majority states. I was an outsider listening to insiders? stories and I listened to whomever would speak with me, and when possible, in the format of interviews structured by the same questions about identity, history, how and why the violence started, the role of the international community, and the prospect for peace and the development of civil society in the future (Wilmer 2002). In addition to the more than sixty full-length formal interviews, I talked to as many people informally, including displaced persons at several collective or refugee centers. Overall, outspoken opponents of the war were over-represented among respondents, though I talked with a variety of intellectuals who held a broad range of views on nationalist thinking. Also over-represented were educated social and public service professionals like teachers, psychologists, and social workers whose critical thinking about the events surrounding the violence was certainly not characteristic of ?ordinary? people. But everyone I interviewed thought a lot about how ordinary people ? their neighbors and former fellow citizens ? experienced and felt about war-related events. I talked with former army officers, and members of parliament, including Mihailo Markovi?, who was not only involved in the early events that set the stage for virulent Serbian nationalism by playing a central role in drafting the SANU (Serbian Academy of Sciences) Memorandum, but who at the time of the 1995 interview, an active and high-ranking member of Milo?evi??s ruling Serbian Socialist Party, and the party ideologue. Not surprisingly, his view was that on behalf of the Yugoslav state ? the capital of which happened to be in Belgrade, Serbia ? the military action of the JNA (Yugoslav National Army) in Slovenia, Croatia, and Bosnia was necessary to prevent their secession from the legitimate Yugoslav state. Milo?evi?? and his supporters drew a parallel with the U.S. civil war and the secession of the Confederate states. At the same time, they asserted, they were acting to protect the human rights of the Serbs living outside of Serbia, particularly in Croatia, whose status in Croatia had been reduced from ?constituent nation? to ?minority? by the act of secession. ?In 1990-91,? Markovi? said, Serbia came into conflict with all the Great Powers and the United Nations because it insisted on the rights of Serbs in Croatia and Bosnia. The international community ruled that Croatia and Bosnia had the right to secede as an independent nation-state, which turned Serbs into powerless minorities there, and they had good reason to fear for what would happen to them (Markovi? 1995). Mixing the discourse of international legal right to preserve the territorial integrity of the Yugoslav state with a claim to protect the human rights of a vulnerable Serbian ethnic minority in Croatia, he then rested the legitimacy of the Yugoslav state on its ethno-national foundation as a majority ?Serbian? ethnic state. ?The Serbs are just doing what the western states did,? Markovi? said. When the French created France, they declared that everyone would speak French and live as citizens in the French state... Well, that is what we Serbs are doing. We are declaring that the proper boundaries of Serbia are those places where Serbs live in contiguous territory...everyone within those boundaries should speak Serbian and is invited to become a citizen of the Serb state. It is a civic state (1995). He then turned the same argument on its head when I asked him about the status of the Albanians in Kosovo, as he did on the subject of the Croatian majority in Croatia, but there noted that ?the republican boundaries under Tito were not international boundaries.? National identity provided a basis for the claim to self-determination so long as it attached to Serb national identity within the territorial space of the internationally recognized Yugoslav state. That some Serbs (notably, those in power in Belgrade in 1990) regarded Yugoslavia as a ?Serb state? was troubling to some Croats (notably, those in power in Zagreb in 1990) who regarded this view as implicitly anti-Croat (it is always better to be in the majority that decides the fate of a minority than to be the minority). That Serbs would regard Yugoslavia as a Serbian state, and view ?Yugoslav? and ?Serb? as interchangeable was precisely the problem. This issue was raised by a Serb historian, a moderate who held nationalist sympathies, but who understood the perspective of Croats within the former Yugoslavia: All nations hoped for...a state in which they could be the national majority, except Serbs because they thought they had solved their national question in Yugoslavia. For Serbs, Yugoslavia was their national state...the state in which all Serbs were united. But for other nationalities, especially Croats, it was not a national state (S. S., Belgrade 1995) He then explained how the historical experience of the Yugoslav civil war that coincided with World War II and Hitler?s efforts to establish puppet regimes in all of the republics that later united to form Yugoslavia had played into the dissolution in 1990-91. Every family knows someone who was killed during the second world war...when this country began to fall apart, the leaders preyed on the political anxieties of the Serbs in Croatia and Bosnia, particularly because the Croatians revived slogans and symbols based on the Usta?e [Croatian collaborationist regime] symbols from World War II (S. S. Belgrade, 1995). ?A large number of Croats who left during communism,? said another respondent, were involved in an underground movement to support an independent Croatia and when things began to fall apart in 1991 they came back to Croatia and this was their chance to achieve the idea of an independent and ethnically clean Croatia (D.C., Kor?ula, 1998). Nationalist emotions were mobilized by politicizing ethnic narratives and thus creating a climate of intolerance for ambiguities, ethnic and otherwise. Writer Slavenka Drakuli? describes the effect of rising nationalism on Croat identity: ...being Croat has become my destiny. How can I explain...that in this war I am defined by my nationality...Along with millions of other Croats, I was pinned to the wall of ...So right now, in the new state of Croatia, no one is allowed not to be a Croat (1993:51-52). Ethnic identities were not so clearly, or self-evidently demarcated inside former Yugoslavia as they seemed to be in the U.S Congress. Over forty percent of former Yugoslavs did not live in the republic in which their ethnic group constituted a majority. Another three million Yugoslavs were in mixed marriages. Others simply rejected or resisted the rise of nationalisms as political movements. Another respondent pointed out that ?Over fifty percent of the population in Bosnia is not represented by the nationalist parties, they voted against them, or they abstained from the elections altogether? (V.D., 1995, Belgrade). ?In this war,? said one woman, ?we did not learn about our identity, but [about]...how inhuman we can be? (N.K., Zagreb,1997). Though there wasn?t anything ?natural? about ethnic prejudices and violence, it was true that trauma had touched most everyone in the post-World War II generation. Well-known historical narratives were exploited to create an atmosphere of mass victimization and to mobilize fear, prejudices, and stereotypes. ?All the nations have recruited historical myths,? said one historian. You have hundreds of new books attempting to prove who is the oldest nation, where are their roots..and producing all sorts of preposterous theories. There is a mythological legitimation of so-called ?national dreams.? But then you have real problems from the past which were not openly addressed, much less reconciled, and real memories and tensions, but these are being exploited by the whole political industry of producing false history (R. N., Belgrade, 1995). ?Hate speech? was a term frequently used by respondents critical of or opposed to the war. MiloŃ Vasi? is the founding editor of the independent news journal Vreme, published in Belgrade. In a 1993 interview published in the New Yorker, he explained the war in the following way: All it took was a few years of fierce, reckless, chauvinist, intolerant, expansionist, war-mongering propaganda to create enough hate to start the fighting among people who had lived together peacefully for forty-five years. I acknowledge that noses were broken in barrooms over the years. But nobody was killed. You must imagine a United States with every little TV station everywhere taking exactly the same line ? a line dictated by David Duke. You too would have a war in five years (New Yorker 1993:4). Eventually, terror and panic ensued as violence was orchestrated at the centers of political power and enacted by criminals, mercenaries, and ?irregular? paramilitary units. But once set in motion, violence creates its own logic. You do not kill Serbs because you hate Serbs, as one young woman who had been captured and gang raped for six months, then released and who then became a ?soldier? explained, ?you kill Serbs because you were raped and your parents were murdered and you cannot feel anything but anger any more? (N.K., Zagreb, 1997). The atmosphere of corruption and intimate, uncivil violence becomes pervasive. Said one respondent ?it has become such a criminalized society,? (M. O., Belgrade, 1995) and another ?it seems like ?workers of the world unite? has been replaced by ?mafias of the world unite.?? (R. N., Belgrade, 1995). The political mythologizing was not purely local, but interfaced with discourses of Otherness and Enemies within the ?international community,? meaning Euro-American allies. One respondent insightfully explained that anti-Muslim prejudices in Yugoslavia were ?reinforced by this whole Islamic dimension appearing as a sinister force in the world,? and the new enemy after Communism is Islamic fundamentalism. That myth is exploited by Croats and Serbs to disadvantage the Muslims and discourage support for them from the west (R. N., Belgrade, 1995). These were the comments of an educated and reflective (Serb) woman from Belgrade who would not stop thinking of herself as Yugoslav. ?I still feel like a Yugoslav,? she said, ?but one whose country has sort of disappeared? (R. N., Belgrade, 1995). Propagandizing, hate speech, fears and family memories of trauma, politicians offering up psychic relief through the language of toxic and exclusionary nationalism ? these speech acts were carried out within discourses of imagined communities with unimaginable consequences. Political leaders deployed discourse naturalizing ethnic identity, war, and the nation-state, and the violent struggle among ethnic groups for control of the state. But if some intellectuals resisted or reflected on these events, others invented them, and everyone seemed to know that. ?My personal feeling is that the war didn?t have any connection with ethnic identity or ethnic hostility, said a man in Sarajevo. ?This was a war between Serbia and Croatia fought in Bosnia? (S. R., Srajevo, 1997). A voice from Zagreb echoed this view: ?The truth is that the political leaders from Serbia and Croatia are the direct creators of this war? (M. P., Zagreb, 1997). And in Belgrade, ?The media spread fanaticism between the people of different nationalities. But the people know the truth. The Yugoslav nations did not divorce themselves, but political elites divorced them? (I. ?., Belgrade, 1995). Ordinary people, educated people, the victims of political opportunism, the people of former Yugoslavia knew very well what had happened and why: [P]olitical elites misused the people?s emotions. After the Soviet Union collapsed, in Slovenia and Croatia it was a question of how quickly this space could be westernized and become a part of Europe. In Croatia this was tied to ?liberation? from Serbian dominance which fueled the mythology of a ?thousand-year-old dream? for an independent Croatian state. In Serbia they told the people to hold on to a historical fight against western hegemony, western rule over the Balkans. This was a misuse of history, a misuse of the memories and the hopes of the peoples (M.P., Zagreb, 1997). ?The political leaders from Serbia and Croatia are the direct creators of the war,? said a psychologist from Sarajevo. ?Everything was carefully planned." The psychological strategy was also planned. It was mainly aimed at the ordinary people, they were the targets of propaganda? (S. R., Sarajevo, 1997). A well-known and passionately antiwar philosopher-activist from Belgrade went further: It is an absolute mystification that there are historical roots to this conflict! This war was completely planned by political elites...People did not start the war. Criminals came and made massacres, paramilitaries were formed, and people either left or defended themselves, but they all know that a civil war based on ethnic hatred and historical grievances is complete nonsense (M. Z., Belgrade, 1995). Conclusion Ljiljana moved to Montana from Utah, where she arrived from Croatia in 1988. Milo?evi?, his nationalist counterparts elsewhere, and the winds of war were on the rise. She is a sculptress, and she also has owns a housecleaning business. Working at home one day while Ljiljana was there, my computer crashed, so I took a break. I have talked with her about my work in former Yugoslavia and, like many ex-patriots, she maintains close ties to her homeland. It was a complicated conflict, she says, but there is a truth that can be known, contained within, more or less, a Croatian version of history. ?What are you writing about?? Ljiljana asked me that day. Wondering how to make sense of an academic critique of IR discourse about war, about ethnic conflict, I said, ?I am criticizing the way we academics think about ethnic conflict and the idea that states are simply created by ethnic groups who wish to control their own political destiny. There are many more ethnic groups than states, I said, ?and besides we are all mixed up together, so if we are going in that direction, we are in for a lot more ethnic conflict and violence.? ?Well, yes,? she said, ?but it is also really about culture, an ethnic people develop a certain way of understanding things. You know, like those people living in Northern Ireland. Even though they have been living there for hundreds of years, they are different culturally, and they will never make peace no matter how much everybody else wants them to. And that?s just the way it is.? Ljiljana?s view is neither uneducated nor uncommon. She has learned from her education, from political leaders, and from the media that ethnic differences are both natural and irreconcilable. For Ljiljana, this is certain. In the most recent war in ex-Yugoslavia, her ?people? prevailed and obtained international recognition of their majority ethnic state, the ?state of the Croatian nation,? as the new constitution says. Their only problem is to persuade non-Croats to accept their ?minority? status. Identities enmeshed in victimization narratives, victimization narratives passed from one generation to the next, real and recent history experiences of trauma and injury, the manipulation of emotional vulnerabilities under conditions of economic and political crisis, the provocation of personalities more inclined toward intolerant and stereotypical views of otherness, myths of ethnicity and dreams of statehood, the mobilization of criminal and even psychopathic elements, mercenaries, irregulars, paramilitaries, outsiders committing phantom acts of violence to simulate ?ethnic conflict,? political leaders planning psychological strategies ? these are the stories I heard from the people who experienced the violence academics have begun to call the Yugoslav wars of secession. The dissonance between expert discourses and the stories of people who experience and live through war raises two kinds of questions. One is why these stories are not narratable within ?expert? discourses, and whether they should be, whether the dissonance has any consequence of concern to IR academe. The second is whether there are policy consequences due to the failure of ?expert? discourses to narrate the lived experiences of the ordinary people who enact and suffer the effects of political violence? A conversation between Foucault on the one hand, and Morgenthau and Waltz on the other might provide us with an answer to the first question. ?Politics,? says Morgenthau, ?like society in general, is governed by objective laws that have their roots in human nature? (1985:4). What we need, Morgenthau argues, is a ?Science of International Politics,? the title of his second chapter in Politics Among Nations (1985). In international relations, Morgenthau says, The observer is surrounded by the contemporary scene with its every shifting emphasis and changing perspectives. He cannot find solid ground on which to stand, or objective standards of evaluation, without getting down to fundamentals that are revealed only by the correlation of recent events with the more distant past and the perennial qualities of human nature underlying both (19). What Waltz offers in Man, the State, and War (1959) and Theory of International Politics (1979) is the solid ground Morgenthau seeks. These metaphysical realists view the world of IR as an objective reality, a reality ?independent from our language and theories about it,? says Hans Mouritzen in his evaluation of Waltz (1997:70). But discoursing subjects, Foucault might say, produce the objects they aim to ?study? and seek to ?know.? To say that the problem is ?war? presumes a shared understanding of the meaning of that word and a certain power structure in the relations among discoursing subjects (as well as silenced subjects). To speak as if it is the same problem across time and space, that Thucydides? wars, the Thirty Years and Hundred Years Wars, anti-colonial wars, 20th century world wars, and the war in ex-Yugoslavia are represented by a word that turns them into the same problem ignores the differences in the historical, cultural, and social contexts in which these experiences occurred. Is that even good scientific thinking? To say that the agents (actors, in IR parlance) of war are ?states? and then make broad claims about the historical persistence of the problem ignores, for example, the fact there are today three times as many states as there were just fifty years ago, twice as many as forty years ago, and all of the complex social relations and political acts involved in the production of those states. Then claiming that it is these states that engage in war is to further impose on the reality of political violence a kind of discipline, a linguistic order, in the form of a very limited conception of who is doing the political violence and why. Excluded are the non-state agents and the ordinary people who enact and are the victims of political violence. ?Discourse,? says Foucault, ?is a space of differentiated subject-positions and subject-functions? (1991:56) The production of scientific and academic discourses involves the silencing of some and privileging of other subjects. Political leaders are positioned to manipulate institutional resources in an attempt to mobilize ordinary people to enact violence, but this does not tell us why they do so. Let me offer an example. The academic discourse that produces states is grounded implicitly, among other things, in a meta-narrative of increasing social complexity and the emergence of state structures out of social orders based on kinship, ethnicity, and/or nationality. According to this narrative the state is a more evolved, advanced form of political order; it and the people living in them are more rational (than their ancestors and than people living in non-state societies, often called ?pre-state?). People living in communities or maintaining attachments defined in ethnic terms are, accordingly, less advanced, more primitive, and ?tribal,? hence, more likely to be motivated by more emotional than rational forces. This view is reflected in the language of ?ancient hatreds,? or ?tribalism? that, conceived as a force of social fragmentation and leading to the descent from rationalism into the chaos and destruction of emotion also became synonymous with ?Balkanization.? But what if the source of the problem does not originate within the primitiveness of ?ethnic? people, but rather from the discourse of the state which links the legitimacy of the state as the expression of ?national? self-determination? What if, in other words, people play the ethnic card precisely because international ?expert? discourse about the state leads them to believe it will pay off for them to do so? The stories of people who experience war are not narratable within expert discourses because they would disrupt the order and continuity of the ?scientific? or ?disciplinary? discourse, and this has consequences for the relevance of IR expert discourses, both for theory and for praxis. As for the policy consequences, it seems at least that a much more extensive study should be done of specific cases of policy failures and the discourses that produced them, such as the one David Campbell has done on the violence in Bosnia (1998). But depending on what we mean by failure, the category of failures may include many more cases: the failure to act decisively to stop Hitler sooner, the failure to achieve stated or implicit goals in Vietnam at an enormous cost both to Americans and to the Vietnamese people, the failure to maintain the independence of a unified Korea that not only divided the Korean people, but left those in the North living under a brutal and bankrupt dictatorship, and those in the South under a more prosperous, but for many South Koreans and for many years only a slightly less oppressive government. And while we may understand why Milo?evi? and Tudjman were motivated to?play the ethnic card,? we do not necessarily understand why people followed them down that path into the enactment of an ethnic ?war.? Violence in the future is linked to violence of the past when victimization narratives based on lived experiences of injury are passed intergenerationally in the form of narratives of identity and history. Violence alone, even interventionist violence, therefore always has the potential to fuel future violence unless those narratives are transformed and reconciled. Reconciliation, in other words, is not only a desirable thing to do, it is necessary to the achievement of sustainable peace. There may be peace without social justice, but it will be short-lived. Political violence today does not require the mobilization of every individual ?in? a state or ethnic group, nor even a majority. Given the destructiveness of weapons, the accessibility of technology that can be used destructively and the unconventional ways technology can be used destructively, the willingness to attack civilians, and the level of social and economic interdependence in the world today, it does not even require more than a handful of co-conspirators in Oklahoma City, Tokyo, or New York City. One could argue, for example, that a large plurality or even an majority of people living in former Yugoslavia at the time the violence began in 1990 and 1991 actually opposed the violence there. Those who could do so exited while, others simply tried to survive the violence, and many more protested or worked with anti-war NGOs, though the number who protested openly declined as the violence persisted. Why do people act on the machinations of leaders intent on provoking political violence? This is the sort of question asked, for instance, by Goldhagen in Hitler?s Willing Executioners (1997) and the answers, because they address a neglected dimension of the ?why war? question, have relevance for policies aimed at effectively preventing, intervening in, or simply reducing the occurrence and scope of political violence as well as for the prospect of development sustainable peace in the aftermath of such conflicts. Endnotes