Since World War II, Britain’s influence in the world has relied on its “special relationship” with the United States, its position as head of the Commonwealth (the British Empire’s successor), and its position in Europe. The Americans are still there, but Europe isn’t, and now the head of the Commonwealth isn’t, either.
LONDON – Amid the many, and deserved, tributes to Queen Elizabeth II, one aspect of her 70-year reign remained in the background: her role as monarch of 15 realms, including Australia, New Zealand, and Canada. She was also the head of the Commonwealth, a grouping of 56 countries, mainly republics.
This community of independent states, nearly all of them former territories of the British Empire, has been crucial in conserving a “British connection” around the world in the post-imperial age. Whether this link is simply a historical reminiscence, whether it stands for something substantial in world affairs, and whether and for how long it can survive the Queen’s passing, have become matters of great interest, especially in light of Britain’s withdrawal from the European Union.
In the nineteenth-century era of Pax Britannica, Britain exercised global power on its own. The sun never set on the British Empire: the British navy ruled the waves, British finance dominated world markets, and Britain maintained the European balance of power. This era of “splendid isolation” – never as splendid or isolated as history textbooks used to suggest – ended with World War I, which gravely wounded Britain’s status as a world power and correspondingly strengthened other claimants to that role.
As the results of WWI were confirmed by World War II, British foreign policy came to center on the doctrine of the “three circles.” Britain’s influence in the world would rely on its “special relationship” with the United States, its position as head of the Commonwealth (the empire’s successor), and its position in Europe. By its membership of these overlapping and mutually reinforcing circles, Britain might hope to maximize its hard and soft power and mitigate the effects of its military and economic “dwarfing.”
Different British governments attached different weights to the three roles in which Britain was cast. The most continuously important was the relationship with the US, which dates from WWII, when the Americans underwrote Britain’s military and economic survival. The lesson was never forgotten. Britain would be the faithful partner of the US in all its global enterprises; in return, Britain could draw on an American surplus of goodwill possessed by no other foreign country. For all the pragmatic sense it made, one cannot conceive of such a connection forged or enduring without a common language and a shared imperial history.
Imperial history was also central to the second circle. The British Empire of 1914 became the British Commonwealth in 1931, and finally just The Commonwealth, with the Queen as its titular head. Its influence lay in its global reach. Following the contours of the British Empire, it was the only world organization (apart from the United Nations and its agencies) which spanned every continent.
The Commonwealth conserved the British connection in two main ways. First, it functioned as an economic bloc through the imperial preference system of 1932 and the sterling area that was formalized in 1939, both of which survived into the 1970s. Second, and possibly more durably, its explicitly multiracial character, so ardently supported by the Queen, served to soften both global tensions arising from ethnic nationalism, and ethnic chauvinism in the “mother country.” Multicultural Britain is a logical expression of the old multicultural empire.
The European link was the weakest and was the first to snap. This was because Britain’s historic role in Europe was negative: to prevent things from happening there which might endanger its military security and economic livelihood. To this end, it opposed all attempts to create a continental power capable of bridging the Channel. Europe was just 20 miles away, and British policy needed to be ever watchful that nasty things did not happen “over there.”
John Maynard Keynes expressed this permanent sense of British estrangement from the Continent. “England still stands outside Europe,” he wrote in 1919. “Europe’s voiceless tremors do not reach her: Europe is apart and England is not of her flesh and body.” The Labour leader, Hugh Gaitskell, famously evoked this sense of separation when he played the Commonwealth card in 1962, urging his party not to abandon “a thousand years of history” by joining the European Economic Community.
Britain’s policy towards Europe has always been to prevent the emergence of a Third Force independent of US-led NATO. Charles de Gaulle saw this clearly, vetoing Britain’s first application to join the EEC in 1963 in order to prevent an American “Trojan Horse” in Europe.
Although Prime Minister Tony Blair wanted Britain to be at “the heart” of Europe, Britain pursued the same game inside the EU from 1974 until 2021. The only really European-minded prime minister in this period was Edward Heath. Otherwise, British governments have sought to maximize the benefits to Britain of trade and tourism, while minimizing the dangers of political contamination. Today, it is not surprising that Britain joins the US to project NATO power in Eastern Europe over the stricken torso of the EU itself.
So, Britain is left with just two circles. In the wake of Brexit, the Queen’s legacy is clear. Through her official position and personal qualities, she preserved the Commonwealth as a possible vehicle for projecting what remains of Britain’s hard power, such as military alliances in the South Pacific. And whatever one may think of Britain’s hard power, its soft power – reflecting its trading relationships, its cultural prestige in Asia and Africa, and its multicultural ideal – is a global public good in an age of growing ethnic, religious, and geopolitical conflict.
I doubt whether the two remaining circles can compensate for Britain’s absence from the third. The question that remains to be answered is how much the Commonwealth’s durability depended on the sheer longevity of the late monarch, and how much of it can be preserved by her successor.
The widening gaps in policy formation nowadays reflect the division of labor and increasing specialization that has taken us from the sixteenth-century ideal of the Renaissance man. And today’s biggest policymaking gap has grown so large that it threatens global catastrophe.
LONDON – Just as the insistent demand for more “transparency” is a sure sign of increasing opacity, the current clamor for “joined-up thinking” indicates that the need for it far outstrips the supply. With its recent report on energy security, the UK House of Lords Economic Affairs Committee has added its voice to the chorus.
The report’s language is restrained, but its message is clear: Without a “joined-up” energy policy, the United Kingdom’s transition to net zero by 2050 will be “disorderly” (read: “will not happen”). For example, the policy aimed at improving home insulation is at odds with local authorities’ listed-building regulations.
In April, the government called on the Bank of England and financial regulators to “have regard to” energy security. What does this mean? Which institution is responsible for which bits of energy security? How does energy security relate to the net-zero goal? Never mind gaps in the data: The real problem is yawning chasms in thinking.
In a masterly understatement, the committee’s report says that “The Russian invasion of Ukraine has created global energy supply issues.” In fact, economic sanctions against the invader have contributed significantly to a massive energy and food crisis that threatens the sanctioning countries with stagflation and many people in developing economies with starvation.1
China provides key minerals for renewable-energy technologies, including wind turbines and solar cells, and supplies 66% of finished lithium-ion batteries. The report concludes that the UK must “not become reliant on strategic competitors, notably China, for critical minerals and components.” Moreover, the government “will need to ensure that its foreign and trade policies […] and its policy on net zero are aligned.” Quite a bit more joining up to do, then.
The widening gaps in policy formation reflect the increasing division of labor resulting from the relentless march of complexity. Today’s policymakers and their advisers know more and more about less and less, recalling Adam Smith’s description in The Wealth of Nations of a pin factory worker:
“The man whose whole life is spent in performing a few simple operations, of which the effects too are, perhaps, always the same, or very nearly the same, has no occasion to exert his understanding, or to exercise his invention in finding out expedients for removing difficulties which never occur. He naturally loses, therefore, the habit of such exertion, and generally becomes as stupid and ignorant as it is possible for a human creature to become.”
No one in Smith’s factory would need to know how to make a pin, or even what the purpose of producing one was. They would know only how to make a part of a pin. Likewise, the world is becoming full of “experts” who know only little bits of their subject.
The ideal of the “Renaissance man,” who could do a lot of joined-up thinking, did not survive the growing division of labor. By the eighteenth century, knowledge was being split up into “disciplines.” Now, subdisciplines sprout uncontrollably, and communication of their findings to the public is left to journalists who know almost nothing about everything.
Today’s biggest gap, one so large that it threatens catastrophe, is between geopolitics and economics. Foreign ministries and Treasuries no longer talk to each other. They inhabit different worlds, use different conceptual languages, and think about different problems.
The geopolitical world is divided up into “strategic partners” and “strategic rivals.” Borders are alive and well. States have conflicting national interests and pursue national-security policies. Economics, in contrast, is the science of a single market: Its ideal is economic integration across frontiers and a global price mechanism that automatically harmonizes conflicting preferences. Economics also tells us that commerce softens the asperities of politics, creating over time a single community of learning and culture.
The eighteenth-century English historian Edward Gibbon described history as “little more than the register of the crimes, follies, and misfortunes of mankind.” But the end of the Cold War led to hopes that the world was at last growing up; in 1989, the American academic Francis Fukuyama proclaimed the “end of history.”
Today, however, geopolitics is back in the saddle. The West regards Russia as a pariah because of its invasion of Ukraine; China, if not yet quite meriting that status, is a strategic rival with which trade in many areas should be shunned. At the same time, Western governments also insist on the need for global cooperation to tackle potentially lethal climate change and other existential dangers like nuclear proliferation and pandemics.
In 2012, for example, the University of Cambridge established the Centre for the Study of Existential Risk to help mitigate threats that could lead to humanity’s extinction. Sixty-five years earlier, atomic scientists from the Manhattan Project founded a bulletin to warn humanity of the possible negative consequences arising from accelerating technological advances. They started a Doomsday Clock, the time of which is announced each January. In 1947, the clock was set at seven minutes to midnight. Since January 2020, it has stood at 100 seconds to midnight, marking the closest humanity has come to Armageddon in 75 years.
The danger of nuclear proliferation, which prompted the clock’s creation, is still very much with us. As the bulletin points out, “Development of hypersonic glide vehicles, ballistic missile defenses, and weapons-delivery systems that can flexibly use conventional or nuclear warheads may raise the probability of miscalculation in times of tension.” Do those who urge the expulsion of Russian forces from Ukraine, by economic or military means, consider this risk? Or is this another “gap” in their knowledge of the world?
It is a tragedy that the economic basis of today’s world order, such as it is, is now being put at risk. That risk is the result of actions for which all the great powers share responsibility. The ironically named United Nations, which exists to achieve planetary security, is completely marginalized. Its virtual absence from the big scenes of international conflict is the biggest gap of all, and one which jeopardizes our common future.
Although words like “unprincipled,” “amoral,” and “serial liar” seem to describe the outgoing British prime minister accurately, they accurately describe more successful political leaders as well. To explain Johnson’s fall, we need to consider two factors specific to our times.
LONDON – Nearly all political careers end in failure, but Boris Johnson is the first British prime minister to be toppled for scandalous behavior. That should worry us.
The three most notable downfalls of twentieth-century British leaders were caused by political factors. Neville Chamberlain was undone by his failed appeasement policy. The Suez fiasco forced Anthony Eden to resign in 1957. And Margaret Thatcher fell in 1990 because popular resistance to the poll tax persuaded Tory MPs that they could not win again with her as leader.
True, Harold Macmillan was undone in 1963 by the Profumo sex scandal, but this involved a secretary of state for war and possible breaches of national security. Election defeats following economic failure brought down Edward Heath and James Callaghan in the 1970s. Tony Blair was forced to resign by the Iraq debacle and Gordon Brown’s impatience to succeed him. David Cameron was skewered by Brexit, and Theresa May by her failure to deliver Brexit.
No such events explain Johnson’s fall.
David Lloyd George, a much greater leader than Johnson, is his only serious rival in sleaze. But though the sale of seats in the House of Lords, slipshod administrative methods, and dishonesty had weakened Lloyd George, the immediate cause of his fall (exactly a century ago) was his mishandling of the Chanak crisis, which brought Britain and Turkey to the brink of war.
The more familiar comparison is with US President Richard Nixon. Every Johnson misdemeanor is routinely labeled “gate” after the Watergate break-in that ended Nixon.
John Maynard Keynes called Lloyd George a “crook”; Nixon famously denied that he was one. Neither they nor Johnson were crooks in the technical sense (of being convicted of crimes), but Nixon would have been impeached in 1974 had he not resigned, and Johnson was fined £50 for breaking lockdown rules. Moreover, all three showed contempt for the laws they were elected to uphold, and for the norms of conduct expected from public officials.
We struggle to describe their character flaws: “unprincipled,” “amoral,” and “serial liar” seem to capture Johnson. But they describe more successful political leaders as well. To explain his fall, we need to consider two factors specific to our times.
The first is that we no longer distinguish personal qualities from political qualities. Nowadays, the personal really ispolitical: personal failings are ipso facto political failings. Gone is the distinction between the private and the public, between subjective feeling and objective reality, and between moral and religious matters and those that government must address.
Politics has crossed into the realm previously occupied by psychiatry. This was bound to happen once affluence undermined the old class basis of politics. Questions of personal identity arising from race, gender, sexual preference, and so on now dominate the spaces vacated by the politics of distribution. Redressing discrimination, not addressing inequality, became the task of politics.
Johnson is both a creature and a victim of identity politics. His rhetoric was about “leveling up” and “our National Health Service.” But, in practice, he made his personality the content of his politics. No previous British leaders would have squandered their moral capital on trivial misdemeanors and attempted cover-ups, because they knew that it had to be kept in reserve for momentous events. But momentous events are now about oneself, so when a personality is seen as flawed, there is no other story to tell.
Johnson’s personality-as-politics was also the creation of the media. In the past, newspapers, by and large, reported the news; now, focusing on personalities, they create it. This change has given rise to a corrupt relationship: personalities use the media to promote themselves, and the media expose their frailties to sell copy.
There has always been a large market for sexual and financial gossip. But even in the old “yellow press,” there was a recognized sphere of public events that took priority. Now the gossip stories are the public events.
This development has radically transformed public perceptions about the qualities a political leader should have. Previous generations of political leaders were by no means all prudes. They lied, drank, fornicated, and took bribes. But everyone concerned with politics recognized that it was important to protect the public sphere. Leaders’ moral failings were largely shielded from scrutiny, unless they became egregious. And even when the public became aware of them, they were forgiven, provided the leaders delivered the goods politically.
Most of the offenses that led to Johnson’s resignation would never have been reported in the past. But today the doctrine of personal accountability justifies stripping political leaders naked. Every peccadillo, every lapse from correct expression, becomes a credibility-destroying “disgrace” or “shame.” People’s ability to operate in the public sphere depends on privacy. Once that is gone, their ability to act effectively when they need to vanishes.
The other new factor is that politics is no longer viewed as a vocation so much as a stepping stone to money. Media obsession with what a political career is worth, rather than whether politicians are worthy of their jobs, is bound to affect what politically ambitious people expect to achieve and the public’s view of what to expect from them. Blair is reported to have amassed millions in speaking engagements and consultancies since leaving office. In keeping with the times, The Times has estimated how much money Johnson could earn from speaking fees and book deals, and how much more he is worth than May.
In his resignation speech, Johnson sought to defend the “best job in the world” in traditional terms, while criticizing the “eccentricity” of being removed in mid-delivery of his promises. But this defense of his premiership sounded insincere, because his career was not a testimony to his words. The cause of his fall was not just his perceived lack of morality, but also his perceived lack of a political compass. For Johnson, the personal simply exposed the hollowness of the political.
The Stalinist retreat from science and logic persisted following the Soviet Union’s collapse and is now the main tendency of Russian President Vladimir Putin’s rule. With his faith-based mythology, warping of history, and denial of facts, Putin’s withdrawal from contemporary Europe could not be starker.
LONDON – The Russian writer Pyotr Chaadayev said of his country that “we have never advanced along with other people; we are not related to any of the great human families; we belong neither to the West nor to the East, and we possess the traditions of neither. Placed, as it were, outside of the times,” he wrote, “we have not been affected by the universal education of mankind.”
That was in 1829. The “riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma,” as Winston Churchill described Russia more than a century later, is no closer to being solved today. The philosopher John Gray recently wrote that Russian President Vladimir Putin “is the face of a world the contemporary Western mind does not comprehend. In this world, war remains a permanent part of human experience; lethal struggles over territory and resources can erupt at any time; human beings kill and die for the sake of mystical visions.” That is why Western commentators and liberal Russians are baffled by Putin’s so-called “special military operation” in Ukraine.
Personality-based explanations for Putin’s actions are the easiest to advance – and the most facile. Putin is neither acting like an expert chess player, calculating every move, nor like a ruler unhinged by power or steroids.
Rather, Putin has a distorted, or at least one-sided, view of Russian history, and of what constitutes Russia’s special virtue. But this does not explain the widespread popular and intellectual support in Russia for his justificatory narrative regarding Ukraine. We are all to some extent captives of our national myths. It is just that Russian mythology is out of step with “the universal education of mankind.”
We expect Russia to behave more or less like a modern, or even postmodern, European nation-state, but forget that it missed out on three crucial ingredients of European modernization. First, as Yuri Senokosov has written, Russia never went through the Reformation or had its age of Enlightenment. This, Senokosov argues, is because “serfdom was abolished only in 1861 and the system of Russian autocracy collapsed only in 1917 […] It was then swiftly restored.” As a result, Russia never experienced the period of bourgeois civilization which, in Europe, established the outlines of the constitutional state.
Second, Russia was always an empire, never a nation-state. Autocracy is its natural form of rule. To its current czar, the disintegration of the Soviet Union in 1991 was a violation of Russian history.
The third missing ingredient, related to the absence of the first two, was liberal capitalism, of which Russia had only brief and limited experience. Marx insisted that the capitalist phase of economic development had to precede socialism, because any attempt to build an industrial economy on the archaic soil of peasant primitivism was bound to lead to despotism.
Yet, this is exactly what Lenin’s revolutionary formula of “Soviet power plus the electrification of the whole country” amounted to. Lenin, a brilliant opportunist, was following in the tradition of the great reforming czars who tried to westernize Russian society from the top. Peter the Great demanded that Russian men shave their beards and instructed his boyars: “Don’t gorge like a pig; don’t clean your teeth with a knife; don’t hold bread to your chest while cutting it.”
In the nineteenth century, Russia’s relationship with Europe took on a new dimension with the idea of the New Man – a Western type inextricably linked to Enlightenment philosophy and enthusiastic about science, positivism, and rationality. He appears as Stoltz in Ivan Goncharov’s 1859 novel Oblomov. In Ivan Turgenev’s Fathers and Sons (1862), he is the nihilist “son” Bazarov, who champions science and rails against his family’s irrational traditions. Nikolai Chernyshevsky’s novel What Is to Be Done? (1863), which strongly influenced Lenin, imagines a society of glass and steel built on scientific reason.
Because of their shallow roots in Russian culture, these futuristic projections incited a literary peasants’ revolt. Fyodor Dostoevsky’s Notes from the Underground, published in 1864, not only became one of the canonical texts of Christian Slavophilia, but also raised profound questions about modernity itself.
The Bolsheviks made the greatest collective attempt to bring the New Man out of literature and into the world. They, like Peter the Great, understood that transforming a society required transforming the people in it. They launched a concerted effort, with the participation of the foremost avant-garde artists of the time, to modernize people’s mindsets and nurture their revolutionary consciousness. Russians would become the scientifically and collectively minded New Men who would help build the Communist Utopia.
This was perhaps the biggest failure of all. With Stalin deeming socialism achieved in 1936, and state-mandated socialist realist literature and art exalting mysticism over science, Soviet dreams of a New Man remained just that. The retreat from science and logic survived the Soviet Union’s collapse and now is the animating tendency of Putin’s rule. His own faith-based mythology, unusual symbiotic relationship with the Orthodox Patriarch Kirill of Moscow, warping of history, and denial of facts, underscore the extent of Russia’s withdrawal from contemporary Europe.
In his 2003 book The Breaking of Nations, the former European Union diplomat Robert Cooper thought Russia’s future was still open. The signing of the Conventional Armed Forces in Europe Treaty and later Russian moves to join NATO indicated that “postmodern elements” were “trying to get out.” Whether the rapprochement was foiled by Western arrogance or Russian incompatibility will long be debated. By 2004, Putin had shed most of his liberalizing tendencies and began embracing traditionalism. In Cooper’s classification, Russia is a modern pre-modern state.
Following the Soviet Union’s 1968 invasion of Czechoslovakia, the Czech writer Milan Kundera refused to adapt Dostoevsky’s The Idiot for the stage. “Dostoevsky’s universe of overblown gestures, murky depths, and aggressive sentimentality repelled me,” Kundera said. It is in these murky depths, behind the rational façade, that we can glimpse Putin’s war.
After the first world war, workers wanted a peace dividend for their sacrifices. Within three years they got it. Almost every industrialised nation – with the exception of Japan – accepted the newly established International Labour Organization’s call to limit working hours to eight a day and 48 a week. While most developed countries enacted legislation to achieve these aims, Britain, along with the United States and Italy, did so through collective agreements.
Today, the triple crises of Covid, Russia’s war in Ukraine and Brexit will create job-altering shocks. Employers are already implementing remote working. Some workers, perhaps those with comfortable homes, prefer online messaging to water cooler chats and web conference calls to in-person ones. Others, meanwhile, are opting out of work altogether. From Monday, thousands of workers in 70 UK companies will be paid the same wages for a four-day working week as a five-day one. Like an eight-hour day in 1919, workers are demanding changes once regarded as fringe, eccentric ideas.
There are good arguments for a four-day week. Studies suggest improvements in workers’ happiness and improvements in productivity. The UK has for too long fostered a working culture that encourages long hours and employee exhaustion. About 10 million people – almost one in three people in work – would work fewer hours if they could. Remarkably, 3 million of them would take fewer hours even with a loss in pay.
Having to work less hard for a desired income is obviously welcome. But such a desirable outcome is complicated by factors such as the pressure to consume, security of employment and inequalities of power and income. Given the prevalence of in-work poverty, and with inflation hitting those on lowest incomes the hardest, many British workers cannot afford to cut their hours.
In 2019, the economist Lord Skidelsky considered the problem in detail for the Labour party. His report compared how European countries had managed to make employment more compatible with wellbeing. He noted, with approval, how collective bargaining in Germany had seen workers receive real wage increases and reductions in working hours in return for improved productivity. He rejected a French-style legislated national limit, noting that it broke down within a few years.
The peer’s insight was that the economic security and rights of UK workers had to be improved so that they were in “a position to decrease their working hours voluntarily should they wish to”. In the modern age, it is clear that the market cannot provide continuous full employment. That is why Lord Skidelsky advocated for a new role for the government as an “employer of last resort”, by guaranteeing jobs paying the living wage to the unemployed who cannot find work in the private sector.
By providing an alternative to the market, argued the peer, the state would gain a powerful lever to push down the average number of hours worked. Lord Skidelsky thought that a 35-hour working week in the public sector over 10 years was achievable with the right policies. Britain’s experience a century ago is worth recalling. The loss in output from cutting working time was largely offset by increased hourly productivity. The shorter day led to the growth of leisure and consumer industries. Currently, the financial logic that governs the rules of employment is inimical to reducing workloads. What is needed are countervailing institutions to push society in the technologically possible direction desired by most people.
To be a realist in international relations is to accept that some states are more sovereign than others. “Strict realism” now requires that Sweden and Finland pause before rushing into NATO’s arms, and that the Alliance take a step back before accepting them.
LONDON – Finland and Sweden have announced that they will apply for NATO membership. But joining the Alliance is more likely to weaken than enhance their security and that of Europe.
Strategic neutrality has preserved Sweden’s independence and freedom from war for 200 years, and Finland’s independence since 1948. Has anything happened to justify ending it?
Swedish and Finnish officials point to two episodes. In December 2021, the Kremlin went from desiring Swedish and Finnish neutrality to, in essence, demanding it, sending a clear and threatening message that an independent foreign policy is a privilege, not a right, for Russia’s neighbors. More important, Russia’s invasion of Ukraine has fundamentally worsened the two countries’ security environment by increasing the risk that Russia will attack or seek to intimidate them. Since they cannot hope to defeat Russia in battle, singly or jointly, they must join an organization that can.
In expert-speak, NATO membership will “raise the threshold of deterrence.” Faced with the certainty of retaliation (including nuclear, if necessary), Russia will desist from attacking, or seriously bullying, Sweden and Finland. This argument strongly implies that, had Ukraine been a NATO member, Russia would not have invaded it, since, as the Swedish foreign and defense ministries point out, “Russia (or the Soviet Union) has never attacked a NATO ally.” But Sweden and Finland’s efforts to strengthen deterrence might be self-defeating, because NATO enlargement could raise the threshold of Russia’s willingness to invade them, at least before they become Alliance members.
Judging the wisdom of further NATO enlargement requires taking a view on two matters. First, is Russia’s invasion of Ukraine (however unjustified in law and brutal in execution) evidence of a general expansionary intent, or is it sui generis? Second, what responsibilities for maintaining peace fall on small countries that abut big countries?
History offers some guidance on both questions. After 1945, Stalin could have absorbed Finland into the Soviet Union, or ruled it through a puppet. Finland had been crushed in a war in which it fought on the side of the Germans – something Finns don’t like to be reminded of, though their alliance with Hitler came about only following Stalin’s 1939 invasion.
Still, Stalin was never interested in restoring Czarist rule over Finland. His concern was strategic. As Stalin said in 1940 following the Soviet Union’s “Winter War” with Finland, “we can’t move Leningrad, [so] we must move the borders.” What he demanded, and eventually got, was some 10% of Finnish territory, including a big slice of Karelia near Leningrad (now St. Petersburg), plus some strategic islands.
After this land grab, Stalin guaranteed Finnish independence in the 1948 Agreement of Friendship, Cooperation, and Mutual Assistance, on condition that Finland promised to “fight to repel” any attack on the Soviet Union “through Finnish territory,” with help from the Kremlin if Finland agreed. Unlike the Soviet Union’s Eastern European satellite states, Finland was not required to join the Warsaw Pact when it was established in 1955.
There is a superficial parallel between Ukraine’s current tragedy and Finland circa 1939-48. Stalin made Finnish neutrality a condition of its independence, while Russian President Vladimir Putin claims that his main demand is that Ukraine renounce the goal of NATO membership.
But the differences between the two cases are greater. Although part of the Czarist empire, Finland was never part of “historic” Russia as Ukraine was, and contained no large Russian minorities. Putin regards Ukraine as an “inalienable” part of Russia, and blames Lenin’s establishment of a Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic for creating Ukrainian nationalism. So, while strategic considerations may have been uppermost in Stalin’s mind, it is reasonable to suppose – as Ukrainians and Ukraine’s Western supporters do – that Putin is using the threat of NATO expansion as an excuse to undo what he sees as Lenin’s historic mistake.
If Russia’s fear of NATO is genuine, Sweden and Finland’s membership applications will expose them to the risk of retaliation before they join, and it is at least debatable as to whether a NATO Article 5 guarantee will offer greater real security than neutrality does. If the Russia-Ukraine war is specific to Russian history, with NATO expansion only an excuse, it cannot be seen as a prelude to unlimited territorial expansion, though Putin’s remarks belittling Kazakhstan’s statehood are worryingly similar to his denials of Ukraine’s right to exist. Either way, the case for Swedish and Finnish NATO membership is not open and shut.
This brings us to the second matter, small countries’ responsibilities for peace. The former European Union diplomat Robert Cooper argues in his book The Ambassadorsthat “strict realism [is] required by small states with big neighbors.” And it is realism that seems to be lacking in the Swedish and Finnish governments’ current policy thinking. Consider the Swedish foreign and defense ministries’ assertion that “The Russian leadership operates based on … a view of history that differ[s] from th[at] of the West,” including “the aim of creating spheres of influence.”1
Attributing that Russian conception simply to totalitarian thinking amounts to a denial of any special obligation of a state to its people arising from its location in the international system – the reverse of Cooper’s “strict realism.” The doctrine of spheres of influence may be alien to today’s international norms, but not to international practice. No powerful state wants a potential enemy on its doorstep. This was (and remains) the basis of the US Monroe Doctrine vis-à-vis the Western Hemisphere. It is supposedly the basis of Russia’s strategic doctrine, though in practice Russia has preferred to have vassal states on its borders.
To be a realist in international relations is to accept that some states are more sovereign than others. The Finns acknowledged this after World War II. “Strict realism” now requires that Sweden and Finland pause before rushing into NATO’s arms, and that the Alliance take a step back before accepting them. Ukraine, whose brave resistance has set the limits on Russia’s territorial expansion, also must now be willing to negotiate some form of peaceful coexistence with its more powerful neighbor.
Clinging to the assumption that only dictatorships start military conflicts, proponents of democratization believed that the global success of their project would usher in a world without war. But this theory lacks a sound foundation and has produced one disaster after another when put into practice.
LONDON – Through persuasion, exhortation, legal processes, economic pressure, and sometimes military force, American foreign policy asserts the United States’ view about how the world should be run. Only two countries in recent history have had such world-transforming ambitions: Britain and the US. In the last 150 years, these are the only two countries whose power – hard and soft, formal and informal – has extended to all parts of the world, allowing them plausibly to aspire to the mantle of Rome.
When the US inherited Britain’s global position after 1945, it also inherited Britain’s sense of responsibility for the future of the international order. Embracing that role, America has been an evangelist of democracy, and a central US foreign-policy objective since the fall of communism has been to promote its spread – sometimes by regime change, when that is deemed necessary.
In fact, this playbook dates back to US President Woodrow Wilson’s time. As historian Nicholas Mulder writes in The Economic Weapon: The Rise of Sanctions as a Tool of Modern War, “Wilson was the first statesman to cast the economic weapon as an instrument of democratization. He thereby added an internal political rationale for economic sanctions – spreading democracy – to the external political goal that…European advocates of sanctions have aimed at: inter-state peace.” The implication is that, where the opportunity offers, military and non-military measures should be used to topple “malign” regimes.
According to democratic peace theory, democracies do not start wars; only dictatorships do. A wholly democratic world thus would be a world without war. This was the hope that emerged in the 1990s. With the end of communism, the expectation, famously expressed by Francis Fukuyama’s 1989 article, “The End of History?,” was that the most important parts of the world would become democratic.2
US supremacy was supposed to ensure that democracy became the universal political norm. But Russia and China, the leading communist states of the Cold War era, have not embraced it; nor have many other centers of world affairs, especially in the Middle East. Hence, Fukuyama has recently acknowledged that if Russia and China were driven together, “then you would really be living in a world that was being dominated by these non-democratic powers…[which] really is the end of the end of history.”
The argument that democracy is inherently “peaceful,” and dictatorship or autocracy “warlike,” is intuitively attractive. It does not deny that states pursue their own interests; but it assumes that the interests of democratic states will reflect common values like human rights, and that those interests will be pursued in a less bellicose manner (since democratic processes require negotiation of differences). Democratic governments are accountable to their people, and the people have an interest in peace, not war.
By contrast, according to this view, rulers and elites in dictatorships are illegitimate and therefore insecure, which leads them to seek popular support by whipping up animosity toward foreigners. If democracy replaced dictatorship everywhere, world peace would follow automatically.
This belief rests on two propositions that have been extremely influential in international relations theory, even though they are poorly grounded theoretically and empirically. The first is the notion that a state’s external behavior is determined by its domestic constitution – a view that ignores the influence the international system can have on a country’s domestic politics. As the American political scientist Kenneth N. Waltz argued in his 1979 book, The Theory of International Politics, “international anarchy” conditions the behavior of states more than the behavior of states creates international anarchy.
Waltz’s “world-systems theory” perspective is particularly useful in an age of globalization. One must look to the structure of the international system to “predict” how individual states will behave, regardless of their domestic constitutions. “If each state, being stable, strove only for security, and had no designs on its neighbors, all states would nevertheless remain insecure,” he observed, “for the means of security for one state are, in their very existence, the means by which other states are threatened.”
Waltz offered a bracing antidote to the facile assumption that democratic habits are easily transferable from one location to another. Rather than trying to spread democracy, he suggested that it would be better to try to reduce global insecurity.
Though there is undeniably some correlation between democratic institutions and peaceful habits, the direction of causation is disputable. Was it democracy that made Europe peaceful after 1945? Or did the US nuclear umbrella, the fixing of borders by the victors, and Marshall Plan-fueled economic growth finally make it possible for non-communist Europe to accept democracy as its political norm? The political scientist Mark E. Pietrzyk contends that, “Only states which are relatively secure – politically, militarily, economically – can afford to have free, pluralistic societies; in the absence of this security, states are much more likely to adopt, maintain, or revert to centralized, coercive authority structures.”
The second proposition is that democracy is the natural form of the state, which people everywhere will spontaneously adopt if allowed to. This dubious assumption makes regime change seem easy, because the sanctioning powers can rely on the welcoming support of those whose freedom has been repressed and whose rights have been trampled underfoot.
By drawing superficial comparisons with postwar Germany and Japan, the apostles of democratization grossly underestimate the difficulties of installing democracies in societies that lack Western constitutional traditions. The results of their handiwork can be seen in Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, Syria, and many African countries.
Democratic peace theory is, above all, lazy. It provides an easy explanation for “warlike” behavior without considering the location and history of the states involved. This shallowness lends itself to overconfidence that a quick dose of economic sanctions or bombing is all that is needed to cure a dictatorship of its unfortunate affliction.
In short, the idea that democracy is “portable” leads to a gross underestimation of the military, economic, and humanitarian costs of trying to spread democracy to troubled parts of the world. The West has paid a terrible price for such thinking – and it may be about to pay again.
My Lords, I find myself in profound disagreement with the Government’s war strategy in Ukraine and, in fact, with almost everything that has been said about Ukraine in this debate. I will try to explain why.
British policy aims for a Russian military defeat, which it will help to bring about by economic sanctions and supplying Ukraine with the necessary means of war. Liz Truss said on 27 April:
“We will keep going further and faster to push Russia out of the whole of Ukraine”.
Simon Jenkins has commented:
“She is clearly revelling in her imagined proxy war on the Russian bear and no one in Whitehall appears able to restrain her.”
I wish her proxy war was only imagined but it is actually happening.
It is an open secret that both France and Germany regard our hawkishness as driving up the price of peace and thus making a ceasefire more elusive. So what is the price of peace? For those whose history lessons begin and end with the Munich agreement of 1938, it is obvious; the price of peace is shameful surrender to the limitless ambitions of an evil and possibly mad dictator. I take a different view. I believe that Putin’s war aims, unlike Hitler’s, are limited and therefore that the fashionable domino theory—that if you give way here, then one after another will fall—is wrong.
I want the war to end before the war aims of our Government are achieved, for two reasons. The first is because the prolongation of the war threatens economic catastrophe. One aspect of that, mass starvation, was mentioned by the noble Lord, Lord King, earlier in the debate.
Secondly, there is the consequence of a military disaster. If it happened that Russian conventional forces were actually pushed to defeat, as the Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary want, Russia might well counter with tactical nuclear weapons. These have never been deployed; they abolish the distinction between conventional and nuclear war and thus remove a crucial barrier to uncontrolled escalation. To avoid these huge risks, the military position on the ground has to be such—I know this is an uncomfortable thing to say—that both sides can claim some military success. That means that our Government should take a very hard and accurate look at the scale and type of military help we give to Ukraine.
The peace terms discussed in Ankara in late March called for Ukraine’s neutrality, backed by security guarantees and a timeline to address issues such as the status of Donbass and Crimea. The Ukrainians withdrew from them after reports of the massacre at Bucha surfaced on 1 April. This was a horrible war crime, but it does not follow that because a country’s war methods are brutal its ambitions are genocidal or limitless.
Our Government should be urging a resumption of the Ankara process. I believe that a negotiated peace would be possible along lines which safeguard the independence of Ukraine and satisfy some Russian demands. There are three elements. The first is Ukraine’s neutrality for 20 years in return for international, including Russian, guarantees of Ukraine’s territorial borders before the Russian invasion of 24 February. That is, Russia would need to withdraw its troops from the territories that it has conquered after 24 February. Second is UN-supervised elections to determine the future of Donetsk and Luhansk. Third is acceptance of the transfer of Crimea to Russia in return for compensation. No conceivable independent Russian Government will voluntarily give up Ukraine, but Russia must be made to pay for this.
To prepare the ground for this, our Government need to drop talk of bringing the Putin regime to trial as war criminals, and should promise to de-escalate economic sanctions by stages as the peace accord is implemented. As Liddell Hart wisely said:
“Inflict the least possible permanent injury, for the enemy of to-day is … the ally of the future.”
The Centre for Global Studies is a London-based think-tank that aims to improve public understanding of economics and global policy. The Centre is a registered charity and a company limited by guarantee. It is independent of any political party or group and is financed by voluntary donations and the sale of publications.
Printers: CPI Antony Rowe Ltd. Registered Office: 110 Beddington Lane, Croydon, Surrey, CR0 4TD. Registered in England and Wales (number 2823354)
Robert Skidelsky is chairman of the Centre for Global Studies. He is a member of the House of Lords. He was Professor of International Studies at the University of Warwick from 1978-1990 and Professor of Political Economy at the University of Warwick from 1990-2007. He is best known for his three volume biography of the economist John Maynard Keynes. He was Non-Executive Director of Janus Capital from 2001-2011 and Non-Executive Director of Russneft from 2016-2021.
I would like to thank Avis Bohlen, Christopher Granville, and Alan Moses for incisive comments on an earlier draft of this essay. I am grateful to Jess Tomlinson for research assistance and to Erik Schurkus for help in arranging printing, presentation, and distribution. The opinions expressed are those of the author, not of the Centre.
Economic Sanctions: A Weapon out of Control?
‘A weapon out of control’ is how two legal scholars have accurately described the growing use of economic sanctions as a tool of foreign policy. Originally designed to curb aggressive state behaviour, economic sanctions are now routinely used by the United States and its allies to punish any state, entity, regime, or individual which offends them, wherever located. They have become a knee-jerk reaction by Western nations to anything going on in the world of which they disapprove, actions which satisfy our desire to ‘do something’ and make clear our moral outrage in the face of abuses of one kind or another. Far from making the interstate system less warlike, they make it more warlike, by hardening divisions, and avoiding the need to negotiate differences. This is particularly so if the sanctions are directed at one of the leading nations in the world system. It is the lack of focus of the current sanctions system, its tendency to expand, its blindness to further consequence, its denial of natural justice to individuals, and its intellectual and moral laziness that has prompted me to write this essay.
There is no doubt in my mind that a tough response was called for to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, and the West certainly has a legitimate interest in its outcome. But it must also be recognized that the economic sanctions imposed on Russia since 2014 are the consequences of a massive failure of policy–a failure to achieve, or even attempt, a negotiated settlement of the differences between Ukraine, Russia, and NATO.
The question is often asked: what was the alternative? Perhaps economic sanctions had become the West’s only safe response to what Russia was doing in Ukraine. But as T.S. Eliot reminds us, the present is a mixture of what was past and what might have been. ‘Footfalls echo in the memory, Down the passage which we did not take’. The path not taken was alert, continuous, and strenuous negotiations to overcome the potentially malign effects of the dissolution of the Soviet Union. Specifically, the American push to enlarge the borders of NATO eastward–condemned as folly by both George Kennan and Henry Kissinger–helped create Putin ‘the monster’. There is no plausible end game. Even if sanctions unseat President Putin, they will not solve the problems which produced the explosion: the unsettled borders between Russia and Ukraine, Ukrainian treatment of Russians within its borders, the role of NATO in a collective security system. The alternatives are victory in war or negotiation.
II. Current Sanctions on Russia
The sanctions imposed on Russia both before and following its invasion of Ukraine on 24 February 2022 are the most extensive ‘punishment’ ever meted out to a Great Power short of war. Since the annexation of Crimea in February 2014, the West, led by the world’s dollar hegemon, the US, has imposed an increasingly strict programme of economic sanctions on Russia, its oligarchs, and entities connected to it. US sanctions began on 3rd March 2014, when America suspended trade and investment talks with Russia as well as all military co-operation. On 17th March 2014, the US and EU began sanctioning individuals and their families connected with Crimea. Under the (mild) 2014 Russia sanctions regime, 183 individuals and 53 entities were subject to UK financial sanctions.
None of this deterred Putin from further ‘destabilising’ Ukraine. Prior to Russia’s invasion on the 24th February 2022, the UK announced a first tranche of sanctions designed to forestall the anticipated Russian action. The Foreign Secretary told the House of Commons on 31 January:
We will be able to target any company that is linked to the Russian state, engages in business of economic significance to the Russian state, or operates in a sector of strategic significance to the Russian state. Not only will we be able to target these entities, we will also be able to go after those who own or control them. This will be the toughest sanctions regime against Russia we have ever had, and it is the most radical departure in approach since leaving the European Union. Those in and around the Kremlin will have nowhere to hide.
When this, and similar warnings from President Biden, failed to deter the Russian invasion, Western sanctions were ratcheted up in stages. At their heart was the identification and targeting of areas of ‘strategic significance’ including the ‘chemical, defence, energy, extractives, electronics, ICT and financial services sectors’. The US has banned the import of Russian gas, exports of technology to Russia, and investment by American firms in Russia. The USA and Britain have taken the lead in denying Russian banks access to the SWIFT system of international payments, and denying Russia’s central bank access to its foreign exchange reserves. Steps are under way to cripple Russia’s membership of the World Trade Organization by denying it Most Favoured Nation treatment. Britain has increased tariffs on Russian imports by 35%, banned Russian aircraft from British airspace and stopped Russian-owned or flagged vessels from entering British ports. The media clamour for more action against a ‘hit list’ of Russian oligarchs. So far there is no UK or European ban on Russian oil and gas exports, on which Germany depends, though payment facilities are restricted. ‘If it would stop the war, then we would do it immediately’, said the German Foreign Minister Annalena Baerbock. There are, as of 7 April, 978 individuals and 98 entities sanctioned under the UK’s Russia sanctions regime.
The question naturally arises: what is this economic artillery designed to achieve? They have not caused Putin to stop the war, nor have they forced him from power. Any change of Russian tactics in Ukraine has been caused by successful Ukrainian military opposition. The most coherent exposition of the case for sanctions comes from the White House. According to White House press secretary Ms. Psaki, the sanctions are designed to ‘degrade all key instruments of Russian power’, impose ‘acute and immediate economic harm on Russia’, and push Russia ‘further down the road of economic, financial, and technological isolation’. An unnamed State Department official was quoted as saying ‘At this rate [Russia] will go back to Soviet style living standards…’ In other words, the purpose of the economic sanctions is to reform Russia by punishing it. However, the punitive theory of reform assumes that the criminal is unarmed – a point which seems to have escaped the champions of punitive sanctions.
III. The Classic Sanctions Regime
States have always used economic blockade as a tool of war. The nineteenth century, when international economics was largely separated from international politics, was a brief exception to this rule: Russia even raised a loan on the London market during the Crimean War. During the first world war economic and financial blockades were imposed on Germany by Britain and (after 1917) the USA as ancillary measures, enforced by Britain’s naval supremacy.
The fact that economic sanctions started as tools of war have rendered their subsequent purposes and consequences opaque. What later came to be understood as methods of war prevention started life in conjunction with military and other measures. So the question of whether economic sanctions are to be thought of as tools of war or tools of war avoidance has never been properly faced.What is clear is that economic blockades and embargoes require a view of the sanctioned entity as an ‘enemy’, which is indistinguishable from a war mentality. With this goes an inability to see any virtue in the other’s behaviour or truth in its story. The rhetoric used against Russia, especially by the United States and Britain, is identical to that used by belligerents in ‘killing’ wars.
Economic sanctions only emerged as a tool of preventive diplomacy after the first world war, their purpose being to prevent, contain, or eliminate wars and peace-threatening behaviour by making it too costly for states to indulge in such behaviour. Their ambitious aim was to remove war itself from the repertoire of international relations by establishing a collective security system to render war impossible or unthinkable.
What was classic sanctionable behaviour?
Article 10 of the 1920 League of Nations Covenant pledged the members of the League ‘to respect and preserve against external aggression the territorial integrity and existing political independence of all members of the League’. Article 11 states that ‘any war or threat of war is hereby declared a matter of concern to the whole League, and the League shall take any action that may be deemed wise and effectual to safeguard the peace nations’. Article 16 states
Should any Member of the League resort to war in disregard of its covenants….it shall ipso facto be deemed to have committed an act of war against all other Members of the League, which hereby undertake immediately to subject it to the severance of all trade or financial relations, the prohibition of all intercourse between their nationals and the nations of the covenant-breaking state, and the prevention of all financial, commercial, or personal intercourse between the nationals of the covenant-breaking state and the national of any other State, whether Member of the League or not. […] The Members of the League agree, further, that they will mutually support one another in the financial and economic measures which are taken under this Article.
Members were expected, that is, not just to cooperate with each other in applying sanctions but to share the costs of applying them. ‘The provision of supplies to allies was indissolubly linked to the interdiction of supplies to the enemy’.
The context of the League’s foundation is important. It was a product of one circumstance and of one belief. The circumstance was the dissolution of the German, Austrian-Hungarian, Russian, and Ottoman Empires in the First World War. The belief was in the Wilsonian principle of ‘national self-determination’ as the foundation of an inherently peaceful international order. The founders of the League saw economic sanctions against an aggressor as a way of giving some assurance to the newly independent states of Europe against any revanchist ambitions of their former imperial masters.
Three further points are worth making. First, the sole ground for sanctions was the ‘external aggression, or threat of aggression’ of any state against a member state: the internal policy of states was not on the agenda. Second, the United States did not join the League, so did not accept the obligations of the Covenant. This meant it preserved for itself the right to enforce the Monroe Doctrine in the Americas. Third, the colonies of the imperial powers like Britain, France, and the Netherlands, not being members of the League, did not come under League protection, though the ‘white Dominions’ and India, being founder members of the League, did. Thus the League started with only 42 members (this had grown to 58 by 1935), that is, states recognized as being ‘independent’.
The system of collective security started with one objective–to prevent or halt war–and a package of tools of which economic sanctions were just one. The question of whether sanctions themselves could stop wars, was fudged. The League’s most notable effort of collective security was to impose economic sanctions on Italy in 1935, when Mussolini’s forces invaded Abyssinia, the one independent state in Africa. They failed, because the USA and others refused to impose an oil embargo against Italy.
The UN Charter aimed to improve on the laissez-faire evolution of the League’s sanctions system. There were three main differences from the sanctions regime of the League. First, the UN (now 193 members) had many more members than the League,reflecting widespread de-colonisation, particularly in Africa. Second, the United States, the world’s leading economic and military power, was a founding-member. Third, determination of breaches of the peace and appropriate responses to them were centralised in the Security Council, though subject to a veto by any of the five permanent members–the United States, Soviet Union, Britain, France, and China. These were the ‘Great Power’ victors of the Second World War, and it was to the continuation of their wartime alliance that the founders of the UN looked to secure Kant’s ‘perpetual peace’.
Chapter 7 of the 1946 UN Charter was headed ‘Action with Respect to Threats to the Peace, Breaches of the Peace, and Acts of Aggression’. It was for the Security Council alone to ‘determine the existence’ of any such threat, breach, or act of aggression’ (Article 39), to recommend measures to prevent an ‘aggravation of the situation (Article 40), and decide on measures, not involving the use of armed force, including ‘complete or partial interruption’ of economic relations, diplomatic relations, and communications (Articles 41-2). Article 43 gave the Security Council power to authorise military measures. The sanctions thus imposed were mandatory–binding on all UN members. According to the initial design, there would have been a UN Army, under the direct operational command of the Council, to execute any military sanctions determined by the Council under Article 43.
The existence of empires and spheres of influence was initially accepted as a fact of life: the veto in the Security Council was designed mainly to put such locations beyond the scrutiny of the UN. The veto power thus blurred the line between foreign and domestic affairs. What it enshrined was the view that it was up to the Great Powers to keep the peace of the world. Since being a Great Power meant having colonies or spheres of influence, domestic affairs necessarily included such spheres. The principle that what states did within their own ‘spheres’ was their own concern only slowly yielded to recognition that the domestic behaviour of states might constitute a ‘threat to peace’. For example, oppression of minority groups within a state or national groups within a ‘sphere’ might trigger ‘third-party’ effects such as a refugee crisis which could be construed as a threat to peace.
Neither the League nor the UN Charter used the word ‘sanctions’; the preferred word was ‘measures’. This was to avoid the implication of ‘punishing’ the offending state, and to keep open the path of preventive diplomacy. Once punishment is threatened or imposed, the incentive for a powerful state to negotiate is weakened.
UN mandatory sanctions have occasionally been successful in changing state behaviour, generally in conjunction with other measures. Examples are the sanctions imposed between 1945 and 1990 on Southern Rhodesia in 1966 and South Africa in 1977. Sanctions are generally thought to have been a major factor in bringing Iran to the JCPOA (Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action) for control of its nuclear programme. One crucial condition of success was that all the Great Powers signed up to them.
The Cold War crippled the use of Chapter 7, as the Great Powers routinely resorted to vetoes against the application of sanctions and war measures against themselves. The UN’s standing army was never created. The Soviet Union was not sanctioned for its invasions of its satellites Hungary in 1956 and Czechoslovakia in 1968, though both were members of the United Nations. Britain and France used their veto to block the threat of UN sanctions when they invaded Egypt, a UN member, in 1956, to reclaim ownership of the Suez Canal. The United States has exercised frequent vetoes to prevent UN sanctions against Israel. Russia has used its veto 143 times, the USA 83 times, the UK 32 times, France 18 times and China 16 times, mostly in the Cold War period. The UN was marginalised.
Scholars have talked of the emergence of a ‘hybrid’ model of ‘permissive enforcement’ of the collective purpose by individual countries in face of Great Power vetoes. In ordinary language western states have imposed sanctions unilaterally, ostensibly on behalf of the ‘international community’. However, western sanctions philosophy has not been uniform. The EU has been the most reluctant sanctioner, because EU sanctions are imposed by the Council and require the agreement of all its members. The United States and UK (UK since Brexit) have been the most enthusiastic, because they have the sovereign power to act on their own.
The US has always used economic sanctions to enforce its own foreign policy aims, especially in the Americas, the main example being the 1962 economic blockade of Cuba, which continues to this day. This was imposed under the Trading with the Enemy Act of 1917. The use of these powers suggests that US sanctioning policy has by no means been in harmony with the purposes of League and UN sanctions. Whereas UN sanctions derive from a collective decision by the Security Council on behalf of all its members, unilateral sanctions depend solely on the sanctioning state’s ‘views and interpretation of the foreign situation to which it reacts and which it seeks to influence’.
The collapse of Communism and disintegration of the Soviet Union in 1991 promised to restore the use of mandatory UN sanctions to repress conflict in the warlike parts of the world. Today there are 14 ongoing UN sanctions ‘regimes’ against Somalia, ISIL ,Al-Qaida, Iraq, Democratic Republic of Congo, Sudan,North Korea, Libya, Taliban, Guinea Bissau, Central African Republic, Yemen, South Sudan and Mali, all of which can plausibly be held to ‘threaten the peace’ either by developing nuclear weapons (North Korea), terrorist activities, or through endemic civil war spilling over into humanitarian and refugee crises. There was no Great Power disagreement that these particular entities should be sanctioned.
The ‘new’ post-Cold War ‘norms of decolonization, non-discrimination and human rights’ were seen as the successors of the shattered Great Power consensus of 1945. But these new norms proved far from universal. The ‘United Nations’ were still disunited about what constituted a threat to peace, and with Russia and China using or threatening their vetoes in the Security Council to protect themselves and their allies, the UN was once more marginalised as a sanctioning authority.
Today the chief sanctioners are the USA, the UK and the EU. They impose sanctions in support of their ‘norms’ without recourse to the UN, claiming that they are enforcing international law on behalf of the paralysed Security Council. Examples are the NATO bombing of Serbia in 1999, and the American-led invasion of Iraq in 2003, both of which followed the failure of economic sanctions to effect regime change or change regime behaviour. It is striking that in the Ukraine crises of 2014 and 2022, the UN has been almost wholly inactive, because of the Russian veto. One important consequence is that the current sanctions against Belarus and Russia are not mandatory on UN members, and countries like China, India, and Turkey have disregarded them, while Brazil has criticised their ‘indiscriminate’ nature.
IV. Sanctions Creep
The four important developments in sanctions practice since the Cold War have been the growing use of sanctions in the name of democracy and human rights, the sanctioning of sub-states, the sanctioning of individuals, and ‘extraterritorial’ or ‘indirect’ sanctions.
The first development moves from the idea that the purpose of sanctions is to prevent or halt wars between states to the idea of stopping or preventing abuses of human rights, whether or not they carry a threat of war. A good starting point is the Universal Declaration of Human Rights adopted by the General Assembly of the UN in 1948, a non-binding instrument. Abuse of human rights can be interpreted, on a liberal reading, as ‘acts of war’ against individuals or minorities.
A more substantial statement was the Helsinki Final Act of 1975, which committed its signatories to respect a subset of human rights (freedom to travel, freedom of information, and freedom of the press) which undermined the mechanisms on which the communist governments relied to control their societies, and set up a monitoring system to identify human rights’ violations and hold the violators accountable. The USSR swallowed the human rights clause (Article VII) in return for what it thought was the much greater prize of recognition by the United States of the ‘inviolability’ of its own borders, including the Baltic states which were annexed in 1940.
It was obvious to many at the time that the principle of humanitarian intervention was incompatible with the doctrine of national sovereignty which the UN had been formed to uphold. Western accusations that domestic policies in the Soviet Union were in breach of the USSR’s human rights’ commitments under the Helsinki Final Act were met by the reply that these were purely internal matters.
However, the Helsinki Accord did not make violation of human rights sanctionable under international law. For one thing, the Helsinki commitments were non-binding. Secondly, the signatories were limited to 35 European countries, including the United States and Canada; Asian countries, notably India and China, were not invited to sign the Final Act: rather it was portrayed by the American president as ‘part of the great heritage of European civilization, which we hold in trust for all mankind’. In short, the commitment to democracy and human rights was principally a western commitment, which it was hoped would become, in time, genuine universal norms.
Traditionally, it had been supposed that the primary condition of inter-state peace was security of states against external attack. The Rwandan genocide of 1994 showed that minority groups might be genocidally assaulted within states. Kofi Annan, secretary general of the UN, spearheaded the attempt to enlarge the mandate of the UN to the ‘protection of the innocent’. This might provide the juridical basis of a new international law in which national sovereignty was qualified by a ‘behavioural test’.
From the Annan initiative grew the practice of holding sub-state groups accountable for acts of war. This was partly a response to the growing privatisation of violence, with ‘state failure’ increasingly common in the post-colonial era. Mary Kaldor has highlighted the emergence of ‘new wars’ which blur the lines between violence between states, terrorist violence, organized crime, and human rights’ violations.
The traditional view that sanctions were properly directed exclusively at states suffered another damaging blow following the coordinated attacks by the militant Islamist network al-Qaida against the USA on 11 September 2001. It was not just ‘rogue’ state sponsors of terrorism which needed to be sanctioned but political-criminal groups operating in ‘failed’ states. Following 9/11, a combination of presidential decrees and provisions of the Patriot Act gave the US Administration sweeping powers to impose economic sanctions on state sponsors and sub-state perpetrators of terrorism, together with their financial backers.
These powers were justifiably taken in self-defence: they were initially directed at al-Qaida, which claimed responsibility for the 9/11 attack. However, the American Administration has not hesitated to use economic sanctions in response to what it deems to be terrorist activity of any kind, and has also resorted to wars of ‘self-defence’ in several global locations, notably Afghanistan. For the United States, economic sanctions have never been seen primarily as acts of war avoidance, but rather as steps on an escalating ladder of tightening pressure culminating in war.
Sanctioning of sub-state entities went hand in hand with the third development, the use of ‘smart sanctions’, which aimed to punish the officials of targeted states, eg. by preventing their travel or blocking their foreign bank accounts. Advocates of such ‘smart’ sanctions have argued that they deter officials from serving malign governments while avoiding ‘punishing’ whole populations for the sins of their rulers. Current sanctions against Russia target not only President Putin and his family, but all the high officials of his court, and the 350 Russian Duma deputies who voted for recognizing the independence of Donetsk and Luhansk.
The best-known ‘smart’ sanctions are the Magnitsky sanctions, named after the Russian lawyer Sergei Magnitsky, who fronted a whistleblowing campaign that exposed a $230 million tax fraud perpetrated by Russian tax enforcement officials. Magnitsky was arrested and charged with tax evasion and died in Moscow’s Matrosskaya Tishina prison in 2009, after allegedly being beaten by the police.
The US passed the Magnitsky Act in 2012 with the intention of punishing the Russian officials responsible for Magnitsky’s death. The broader 2016 Global Magnitsky Human Rights Accountability Act ‘authorizes the president to impose economic sanctions and deny entry into the United States to any foreign person identified as engaging in human-rights abuse or corruption’. Other Western powers – including the United Kingdom (2017-18), Canada (2017), and the EU (2020) – have since passed Magnitsky legislation.
Following the West’s sanctioning of Russian officials for alleged human rights abuses in Chechnya, the US, Canada, the EU, and the UK imposed asset freezes and travel bans on mainland Chinese officials involved in the mistreatment of Uyghurs in Xinjiang. Russia and China have joined together in condemning the West for starting a new ‘cold war’, and both countries have imposed counter-sanctions.
The final, and most egregious development has been the growing use of indirect or extra-territorial sanctions. They operate in two ways. First, they sanction individuals and firms for their ‘association’ with sanctioned states or sub-state groups. Second, they prosecute banks which do business with such individuals, the US having asserted ‘that it is illegal for anyone, anywhere, to deal with countries or entities it has placed under sanctions’. As a result ‘almost no bank will now go anywhere near someone who might be on the list.’ The numbers of these ‘specially designated’ nationals and ‘blocked persons’, often listed by a Congress even more addicted to moral posturing and showy punitive action than the US Administration, now run into tens of thousands. Almost anyone who has had any dealings in the past with a sanctioned entity is liable to have their bank accounts frozen.
What makes this type of smart sanction possible is the globalisation of finance together with enhanced technology of surveillance. Moreover, because of the opaque and complex structure of ownership of assets and bank deposits, the principle of ‘association’ is a catch-all which can be used to block the accounts of almost anyone engaged in international commerce.
Cross-border payments between individuals and businesses have come to depend on a critical piece of infrastructure: SWIFT [Society for World-Wide Interbank Financial Telecommunication], which is linked to 11,000 global banks. Most of the world’s trade is invoiced in dollars, and most of it is paid for through SWIFT. Although SWIFT is officially non-political, it normally accedes to the wishes of the US. For example, the US forced SWIFT to block financial transactions with Iran in 2012, resulting in the loss of half of Iran’s oil export revenues and 30% of its foreign trade. With the help of the UK, the US has blocked Russian banks’ access to SWIFT following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, disrupting payments for Russia’s energy and agricultural products. As a recent report put it, denial of access to SWIFT is to ‘sever contact [of the sanctioned entity] with the international financial system’.
SWIFT provides the US Treasury with financial information, which allows the US Government to prosecute banks for ‘money laundering’. ‘Large international banks including Lloyds TSB, Credit Suisse, Standard Chartered, HSBC, RBS, BNP Paribas, Commerzbank and ING have all paid fines for violating American sanctions, as have Bank of Brazil, Bank of Tokyo Mitsubishi and Bank of China. The fines sometimes run into hundreds of millions of dollars.’ One in five employees of the Dutch bank ABN AMRO is now employed in monitoring ‘financial crime’ following a €480m fine in 2021.
As a result, banks and other financial institutions are extremely risk averse and use all kinds of excuses to close or freeze bank accounts and assets of entities and individuals that may potentially be implicated or sanctioned in the future. Thus, the collateral damage is high, with lives and business of many innocent parties affected. For banks, the potential downside from freezing innocent accounts is a lot lower than potential punishment for not freezing sanctioned assets (which are often hard to identify).
A good example of extraterritorial or indirect sanctioning is furnished by Belarus. Belarus was first sanctioned in 2020 for human rights violations, when 88 Belarussian officials and 7 Belarussian companies were ‘designated’ for ‘violence, repression, and election fraud’ in connection with Presidential elections of 9 August 2020 which returned Lukashenko to power with an 80% majority.
An international incident in 2021 led to the widening of the sanctions net. On 23 May 2021, Ryanair passenger flight FR 4978 on a non-stop flight from Athens to Vilnius was diverted to Minsk Airport after a bomb scare. Two passengers, opposition journalist Roman Protasevich and his partner Sofia Sapaga, were detained, before the flight was allowed to continue to Vilnius. No bomb had been found. The US accused Belarus of ‘air piracy’, the general (though unproved) assumption being that it was officials of the Belarus government itself who had engineered the scare, seeing their chance to arrest two opposition figures.
Following the aeroplane diversion, the UK froze the assets of, and imposed travel bans on, an additional 20 individuals who were deemed to have ‘undermined democracy and the rule of law’ in Belarus. Included in this list were non-Belarussian individuals said to be ‘associated with’ the Lukashenko regime.
To sum up: the current sanctions regime has been extended beyond the original objective of sanctioning states for breaching or threatening to breach the peace to (a) sanctioning terrorist groups and their supporters operating in or out of ‘rogue’ or ‘failed’ states, (b) sanctioning officials of states for breaches of human rights, (c) sanctioning third parties associated with such states or sub-state entities. At present the vast majority of sanctions in force are imposed not by the United Nations, but by the US and its allies. Such sanctions have been made feasible by digital technology and the financialisation of the global economic system.
While supposedly based on universally accepted values such as keeping the peace, much sanctioning reflects the values of only one segment of the international community. Specifically, while there is universal agreement that states attacking others or being torn apart by civil wars are a threat to world peace, there is no universal agreement about which stable states are good or bad.
V. The Democratic Peace Theory
The current sanctions regime asserts the view of the West about how the world should be run, and seeks to impose that view by punishing all those who disagree with it. An implicit aim of economic sanctions since the fall of communism has been regime change. This goes all the way back to Woodrow Wilson. As Mulder writes: ‘Wilson was the first statesman to cast the economic weapon as an instrument of democratization. He thereby added an internal political rationale for economic sanctions – spreading democracy – to the external political goal that […] European advocates of sanctions have aimed at: inter-state peace’. Thus when UK Prime Minister Tony Blair argued in a 1999 speech in Chicago that “the spread of our values makes us safer,” he was not introducing a new principle of policy to his American audience. Where the opportunity offers, military and non-military measures should be used to topple ‘malign’ regimes. The underlying belief of democratic peace theory is that democracies do not start wars; only dictatorships do. Therefore a wholly democratic world will be a world without war. Removing Iraqi President Saddam Hussein from power was thus the undeclared purpose of maintaining economic sanctions on Iraq after the 1991 Gulf War. According to Americans, dictators are by definition malign: “For God’s sake, this man cannot remain in power!” was the politest thing President Biden has said about Putin.
A key expectation of the 1990s was that, with the end of communism, the most important parts of the world would become democratic. This was the premise of Francis Fukuyama’s article ‘The End of History?’. Its implicit assumption was that US supremacy would ensure that democracy became the universal political norm. This has been shown to be false. Russia and China, the two most important communist states of the Cold War era, have not embraced democracy; other centres of world affairs, especially in the Middle East, are not democracies in any form western countries would recognise: Farid Zakaria has spoken of the rise of ‘illiberal’ democracies like Iran, captured by nationalism or religious fanaticism. Fukuyama has recently acknowledged that if Russia and China were driven together, that really would be the ‘end of the end of history’.
The argument that democracy is the ‘peaceful’ form of the state, and dictatorship or autocracy its ‘warlike’ form, and that therefore a wholly democratic world would be a peaceful one, is intuitively attractive. It does not deny that states pursue their own interests, but claims that the interests of democratic states are likely to be defined in terms of acceptable common values like human rights, and are far less likely to be pursued in a bellicose manner, since democratic habits require the negotiation of differences. Ultimately, the argument boils down to the claim that in democracies governments are accountable to their people, and that the people’s interest is in peace, not war. By contrast, in dictatorships or autocracies, rulers and elites are illegitimate, and to that extent insecure, and consequently seek legitimacy by whipping up popular feeling against foreigners. Thus the solution to the problem of war is to establish democracies all over the world, and peace will follow without the need for extensive international organisations to ‘keep the peace’. However, Rousseau, from whom this idea ultimately stems, thought it ‘not impossible, that a Republic, though in itself well-governed, should enter upon an unjust war’.
Underlying the belief that the world would be peaceful if only all, or at least the important, countries were democratic are two propositions that, while extremely influential in international relations theory, are poorly grounded both theoretically and empirically. The first is that the external behaviour of states is determined by their domestic constitutions. This ignores the influence of a country’s location in the international system on its domestic political organisation; a point to which Kenneth Waltz, in particular, has drawn attention. His contention is that the ‘international anarchy’ conditions the behaviour of states more than the behaviour of states creates the international anarchy. This ‘world system theory’ approach to international relations is particularly useful in the period of globalisation, which can be defined in terms of the growing impact of the whole on the parts.
Waltz’s argument, in a nutshell, is that you need to look to the whole system of inter-state relations to ‘predict’ how individual states will behave, regardless of their domestic constitutions. The structure of the international system affects the characteristics of states which comprise it –their aspirations, their choice of means, their forms of government. ‘If each state, being stable, strove only for security, and had no designs on its neighbours, all states would nevertheless remain insecure; for the means of security for one state are, in their very existence, the means by which other states are threatened’. It is the ‘enduring anarchic character of international politics [which] accounts for the striking [frequency of war in] international life through the millenia’, despite the huge variety of domestic political regimes. Waltz offers a bracing antidote to the easy assumption that democratic habits are easily transferable from one state location to another.
That there is some correlation between democratic institutions and peaceful habits is undeniable. But the causation is disputable. Was it democracy which has made Europe peaceful since 1945? Or did the US nuclear guarantee, the fixing of borders by the war victors, and Marshall-Aid fuelled economic growth after 1945 make it finally possible for non-communist Europe to accept democracy as its political norm? One analyst suggests that ‘Only states which are relatively secure–politically, militarily, economically–can afford to have free, pluralistic societies; in the absence of this security, states are much more likely to adopt, maintain, or even revert to centralized, coercive authority structures’.
The second proposition is that democracy is the natural form of the state, the form a people will spontaneously adopt if allowed to. This serves to make regime change seem easy, because the sanctioning powers can rely on a welcoming support from those whose freedom has been repressed and whose rights have been trampled underfoot. Because of the misconception that western democracy is the ‘natural’ form of government, and through drawing superficial comparisons with the success of enforced democratisation in post-war Germany and Japan, the apostles of democratisation grossly underestimate the difficulties of installing democracies in societies which lack western constitutional traditions. The results of their handiwork can be seen in Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, Syria and many states in Africa.
Democratic peace theory is above all lazy theory. It provides an easy explanation–dictatorship–for ‘warlike’ behaviour, without considering the location and history of states. Its very shallowness feeds the confidence that some mix of economic sanctions and ‘special operations’ is all that is required to turn dictatorships into democracies.. The idea that democracy is ‘portable’ leads to a gross underestimation of the military, economic, and humanitarian costs of trying to establish democracies in troubled areas of the world.
VI. The Question of Efficacy
Economic sanctions are a means to an end. What is the end? If the end is punishment, they have had considerable success in inflicting harm on the populations of the sanctioned states.If their purpose is to change state behaviour, their success has been minimal. A recent article in Foreign Affairs noted that:
The United States has imposed decades-long sanctions on Belarus, Cuba, Russia, Syria, and Zimbabwe with little to show in the way of tangible results. The Trump administration ratcheted up U.S. economic pressure against Iran, North Korea, and Venezuela as part of its “maximum pressure” campaigns to block even minor evasions of economic restrictions. The efforts also relied on what are known as “secondary sanctions,” whereby third-party countries and companies are threatened with economic coercion if they do not agree to participate in sanctioning the initial target. In every case, the target suffered severe economic costs yet made no concessions.
One obvious reason for this lack of success is that sanctions have not turned the people of sanctioned states against their rulers. Rather they blame the sanctioners for their hardships, not their governments. This is true in Russia today.
More ominously, the gap between the promise of economic sanctions and their results carries a clear risk that they will escalate into war. President Zelensky has appealed repeatedly for weapons from NATO countries. The UK has sent Ukraine anti-tank and anti-aircraft missiles. Calling for even more military assistance, The Times declared that ‘the best way of defeating [the bully Vladimir Putin] is to confront him with force’. Boris Johnson now promises Ukraine tanks. It is almost inconceivable that the authors of this editorial did not realise that they were calling for a NATO war against Russia.
It is not surprising to find thoughtful analysts questioning sanctions creep. For example, the US Treasury’s recent Sanctions Review challenges their efficacy as a national security tool. Technological innovation: e.g. ‘digital currencies, alternative payment platforms, and new ways of hiding cross-border transactions’ give ‘malign actors’ the opportunity to ‘bypass’ the current dollar-based financial framework in holding or transferring funds’. This has started to happen as China and others have started to set up payment alternatives to the SWIFT system. A new framework, argued the Treasury, was needed that asks whether a sanctions action ’supports a clear policy objective’, whether it ‘has been assessed to be the right tool for the circumstances’, whether their ‘costs fall on intended targets’, whether they are part of a ‘multilateral coordination and engagement strategy’, and whether they will be ‘easily understood, enforceable, and, where possible reversible’.
In its 2007 report on sanctions, the Economic Affairs Committee of the House of Lords concluded that ‘economic sanctions used in isolation from other policy instruments are extremely unlikely to force a target to make major policy changes, especially where relations between the states involved are hostile more generally’. It is the very inefficacy of economic sanctions on their own which carries the risk of their escalation into open war. The conclusion of the EAC Report is worth quoting:
Even when economic sanctions are combined effectively with other foreign policy instruments, on most occasions they play a subordinate role to those other instruments. Economic sanctions can be counter-productive in a variety of ways, including when more vigorous coercion in the form of force is needed but is forestalled by those making inflated claims for the value of sanctions as an alternative. Sanctions may also be counter-productive when what is required is a much greater emphasis on economic, diplomatic and security incentives. When the Government’s goal is to symbolise disapproval, measures other than economic sanctions should be used wherever possible. Furthermore, when the use of economic sanctions for this purpose is proposed, serious consideration should be given to the possibility that their overall effect will be counter-productive, even in symbolic terms.
To summarise: current sanctions policy is a mess. First, the fact that sanctions, once imposed are rarely reversed, only intensified, undermines their purported value as ‘leverage’ for changed behaviour by the target. Second, the behavioural changes required are rarely specified with adequate precision to create an incentive. For example, the sanctions imposed on Russia by the Trump administration in April 2018 cited as a reason Russia’s generally ‘malign behaviour’. Russian and (Chinese) officials naturally concluded that their real ‘crime’ was simply to exist as powers capable of promoting agendas that the US disliked. Third, the lack of ‘clear policy objectives’ makes it impossible to assess the success or failure of any sanctions policy. At what point is the economy of the sanctioned entity sufficiently ‘degraded’ for sanctions to be called off? The answer seems to be when regime change occurs and democracy is installed. But such benign outcomes have resulted in the past only from occupying utterly defeated powers like Germany and Japan and then supporting them. Fourth, continuing sanctions indefinitely without a clearly defined object wrecks the chance of a compromise settlement even if the military belligerents are inclined to call off the war. Fifth, by cutting off parts of the world from international commerce, economic sanctions promote the formation of antagonistic economic and cultural blocs, and contradict the liberal policy goal of a single world polity and a single trading and payments system. Finally, aiming to inflict non-lethal pain on a lethally-armed adversary risks a lethal response.
VII. The Question of Justice
While economic embargoes on states inevitably impose collateral damage on individuals and businesses in those states, it is a different matter when the prime targets of economic measures are individuals and companies whose only offence is to be ‘deemed’, often on the basis of newspaper reports, to have been doing business with sanctioned entities. Such sanctions seem to be targeted and specific with wording like ‘Nine names were added to the sanctions list’. In reality, there are hundreds or thousands of people affected by ‘association’, whose accounts or assets get blocked. There are cases of totally random people being affected who have the misfortune to have similar sounding names to those of sanctioned persons. Many such designations are automatic effects of electronic algorithms, as few organisations have sufficient personnel to undertake due diligence before blocking accounts.
No international legal authority exists for imposing such punishments, they are arbitrary acts of state. Challenges against freezing orders in UK domestic courts are possible, but it is far from clear that a decision of the courts in favour of the sanctioned person (i.e. to release funds or pay costs) can be enforced while he or she remains sanctioned by the government. The question, therefore, is whether the practice of punishing individuals purely on the grounds of their business or cultural association with undemocratic systems does not amount to a denial of natural justice.
This survey of the history, philosophy, and practice of sanctions leads me to the conclusion that one should never be trigger-happy with economic sanctions. They have uncontrollable consequences. They should come into play only after diplomacy has been exhausted, never as an alternative to it. This has not been the case in the present conflict. Early in 2015 a conflict resolution process (the Minsk agreement settling the Donbas conflict) was agreed by Russia and Ukraine, and endorsed by the Security Council. Ukraine failed to implement it, but not only were the 2014 sanctions against Russia not removed, but no further diplomacy was attempted before the Russian invasion.
Some ancillary conclusions follow.
1. Economic sanctions regimes should be strictly time-limited. This is possible only if they support clear policy objectives, whose success or failure can be properly assessed.
2. These policy objectives should be no broader than diplomacy might hope to achieve. Punitive objectives exclude negotiation and can only be imposed by force.
3. Economic sanctions should always have in mind the importance of preserving economic and cultural links between different parts of the world and the danger of splitting the world into autarkic blocs.
4. Economic sanctions should be recognised as possible precursors to war between the sanctioner and the sanctioned. This is because they are the measure nearest to actual war. In particular, they excite war fever, leading to a distorted impression of the ‘enemy’. Western media reporting of the Russia-Ukraine war reads like press briefings from the Ukrainian government. It is a short step from killing an adversary in the mind to killing them on the ground.
5. Heavy economic sanctions against heavily-armed states should be eschewed, because ultimately a state in a position to will go to war with the sanctioner rather than have its means of life cut off. When the US imposed an embargo on oil and gas exports to Japan in August 1941, following Japan’s seizure of oilfields in Indochina, the Japanese responded with their suicidal attack on Pearl Harbor. And after OPEC subjected the US to an oil embargo in 1973 in retaliation for American military assistance to Israel during the Yom Kippur War, President Richard Nixon’s administration threatened to invade and occupy OPEC member states’ oil fields. The embargo ended.
6. Unilateral (ie non-UN-mandated) economic sanctions are acts of state policy. They do not implement ‘international law’ , breaches of which can only be determined by the Security Council of the United Nations. Nor do they implement the ‘will of the international’ community, but only part of it.
7. Moral repugnance alone should never be the basis of state policy in an international system bristling with lethal weapons.
8. Economic sanctions should exclude the ‘guilt by association’ fallacy–that of assuming that those who do business with sanctioned entities share their aims. Only those ‘controlled by’ the sanctioned entity should themselves be sanctioned. Extraterritorial sanctions against individuals and entities on grounds of ‘reasonable suspicion’ of their ‘association’ with sanctioned states or sub-states are particularly egregious, because they can destroy thousands of businesses and livelihoods on the whim of governments. Nor is there any real redress. Provided the sanctioning state can claim justification and proportionality in the sanction taken and the target has the opportunity to challenge, the European Court of Human Rights would not uphold a challenge under the Convention nor would national courts. So there is in practice no redress and no compensation for loss.
These propositions stem from my belief that there is no universally agreed set of values to justify the expansion of the sanctions system to its present extent; and that there is too much planetary business to attend to ostracise states of whose governments we disapprove.
APPENDIX: CASE STUDY OF INDIRECT SANCTIONS IN AN EU COUNTRY
In December 2021, well before the outbreak of the Ukraine war, Suzanna receives a dividend from her company and signs a contract to buy a house. She pays a substantial deposit. The completion is agreed for March 2022.
Suzanna is a British subject of Central Asian origin. She is not Russian and has never lived or worked in Russia. She has three children with Alex, who is of Russian origin but is a British citizen.
On a Friday in mid-March Suzanna goes to a grocery store and discovers that her bank cards are not working. She goes to the nearest bank branch to report the fault only to be asked “are you sure that there are no criminal cases against you?” and overhears references to “Russian money”. She is told to go to a nearby court and is provided with an address. She calls Alex who checks his cards and none are working. Alex’s father, who is travelling abroad, soon calls to say that he is having troubles as none of his cards are operational. Alex’s company accounts also get frozen the same day.
Suzanna and Alex borrow some cash from friends to survive the weekend. On Monday Suzanna hires a well-known (and expensive) law firm, which does a search and finds no publicly visible court orders. It urgently files an application with the court to check if there are any open cases. The law firm also writes to the banks, to the central bank and to various authorities. The court replies a few days later to say that there are no proceedings. Nobody else replies. The banks stop communicating.
For almost two weeks Suzanna is totally in the dark. Nobody is communicating with her or her lawyers. Then, by a stroke of luck, her lawyers find a court that may have issued the freezing order and find a reference number. The lawyers confirm that a case exists and concerns “illegal funds” on the accounts. There is no other information as the order is under “judicial secrecy” while an investigation is going on. Suzanna writes to the court via her lawyers to say that she, Alex and her father-in-law are all ready to cooperate and provide any required information but that her family does not have access to funds to cover basic living expenses and that she is at risk of losing a substantial deposit she paid for the house if she does not complete in time. She is yet to receive any answer. In the meantime, direct debits keep bouncing off and medical insurance gets cancelled, fines for non-payment start coming in, the landlord starts chasing for the rent, and the school starts sending reminders that invoices for the children need to be urgently paid…
Thus, the life of a British citizen who is not sanctioned and is not “Russian” gets turned upside down, her basic right to an adequate standard of living (using her own funds) is violated and she risks losing a large chunk of her capital. Instead of moving into a new house, she faces a possibility of being evicted from her rented accommodation and may never be able to afford to buy a house again.
Abi-Saab, G., 2002. The Concept of Sanction in International Law. In: Gowlland-Debbas, V. ed. United Nations sanctions and international law. The Hague: Kluwer Law International, pp.29-41.
Beaucillon, C., 2002. An introduction to unilateral and extraterritorial sanctions: definitions, state of practice and contemporary challenges. In: Beaucillon, C. ed. Research Handbook on Unilateral and Extraterritorial Sanctions. Cheltenham, UK: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp.1-17.