domingo, 26 de setembro de 2021

Bibliomaníaco: uma vida através dos livros, 1950 - Paulo Roberto de Almeida

 Bibliomaníaco: uma vida através dos livros, 1950 

 

Paulo Roberto de Almeida

Diplomata, professor

(www.pralmeida.org; diplomatizzando.blogspot.com)

  

Nota prévia: 1949, neste link: Bibliomaníaco: uma vida através dos livros, 1949 - Paulo Roberto de Almeida


1950: 

Não faz muito sentido, estrito senso, falar de livros que foram publicados no primeiro ano de minha existência, quando eu os fui conhecer muitos anos depois, sendo que alguns, publicados em 1950, ainda estão carentes de leitura. Mas, como esta série é dedicada a seguir o relato cronológico dos livros publicados a cada ano, vale registrar esse movimento editorial, por um motivo simplório: segundo alguns, ideias governam o mundo, e como muitas dessas ideias estão condensadas em obras de autores que se tornaram clássicas, por assim dizer, elas merecem, portanto, ao menos um comentário de minha parte, na medida em que muitos desses livros, e suas ideias, interagiram com a minha formação intelectual e com meu próprio pensamento nos anos seguintes, por vezes muito tempo à frente do ano aqui relatado.

Não tenho lembrança, nem fotos, ou relatos familiares, do que possam ter sido meus primeiros três anos de vida, mas tenho vagas lembranças do cenário familiar e do ambiente doméstico no qual vivíamos meu irmão Luiz Flávio (um ano e meio mais velho do que eu), eu mesmo e nossos país, “Seu João”, um modesto operário, depois motorista, depois algumas outras coisas na existência de muito trabalho, e minha mãe, “Dona Laura”, que segundo recordo, se dedicava a lavar roupa “para fora”, para complementar a pouquíssima renda familiar. As imagens que guardo de nossa primeira residência, aliás a única que conheci antes de partir para a Europa muitos anos depois, em 1970, era a de uma casinha modesta, em construção ainda, num terreno que havia sido adquirido quase dois anos antes numa pequena travessa sem saída da então chamada Avenida Imperial – muito depois rebatizada de Avenida Horácio Lafer –, toda ela de terra, no bairro que respondia pelo nome de Chácara Itaim Bibi, quase às margens do rio Pinheiros, um afluente meridional do rio Tietê, o “rio dos bandeirantes”.

Que a “casa” ainda estivesse em construção disso tenho perfeita lembrança, ainda que apenas dois ou três anos depois, pois que havia tijolos aparentes, várias partes carecendo de reboco, um único quarto, o que poderia ser uma sala e a cozinha ao lado, tudo isso ao fundo de um terreno de 30 metros, dando as costas para uma fábrica de peças de baquelite. Na frente da cozinha, depois de um tanque coberto, havia um único banheiro, que suspeito não dispunha, num primeiro momento, de chuveiro elétrico, pois tenho lembranças de nossa mãe dando banho, a mim e ao meu irmão, numa grande bacia de metal colocada no centro da cozinha, despejando sobre nós canecas de água morna. Não tínhamos geladeira, mas apenas uma espécie de armário bem fechado, no qual se podia colocar uma espécie de paralelepípedo de gelo – que era entregue envolto em serragem no portão de casa, por uma carrocinha puxada a cavalo – sobre a qual se podia colocar a carne, a manteiga e alguns outros produtos necessitados de algum tipo de “refrigeração”. Uso da eletricidade estritamente regulamentado, obviamente. 

Nos anos seguintes, o grande terreno à frente dessa casinha foi sendo aos poucos completado: primeiro, um horta, que se estendia ao logo da cerva viva com a casa do lado direito – à esquerda era um terreno de esquina ainda inabitado, no qual jogávamos bola, os garotos com mais idade –; depois uma espécie de marcenaria a céu aberto (depois tapada com folha de zinco, mas sem qualquer parede), na qual meu pai tinha feito uma bancada com uma pequena morsa, para trabalhar suas peças utilitárias de madeira: foi ali que aprendi meu “primeiro ofício”, o de marceneiro, que quase se converte em profissão de verdade, na decisão sobre o que fazer depois de terminar o primeiro ciclo, chamado então de primário. Pouco depois, ao lado da marcenaria, foi colocado um tanque, em pleno sol, para que minha mãe pudesse lavar as roupas que lhe eram entregues pelos vizinhos sem máquina de lavar (e deviam ser muitos, pois todas as casas da pequena travessa eram muito modestas). Assim foram meus primeiros anos, de brincadeiras no grande terreno vazio, depois ocupado por um pequeno cão que me seguiu fielmente durante muitos anos, Lulu, ou então na própria rua, que, ao não ter saída, oferecia garantia de que não seríamos atropelados por algum carro afoito. O final da travessa era bloqueado por uma pinguela sobre um riacho, onde eram descarregados todos os esgotos da redondeza, que cruzávamos regularmente para evitar uma volta no quarteirão, nas idas à “Padaria Mondego”, no ângulo oposto, buscando a bengala, o pão francês e algumas outras coisas. A isto se resumiu meus primeiros anos de vida.

Quanto aos livros, vários que eu li depois foram publicados em 1950, vários retirados na Biblioteca Infantil Municipal Anne Frank, um quarteirão mais à frente, logo acima do Parque Infantil, que foi minha primeira experiência de socialização com crianças de minha idade. Um desses livros, que devo ter lido no final dos anos 1950, foi a aventura de Thor Heyerdahl no Pacífico, Kon-Tiki, em busca de provar sua tese de que os habitantes da ilha da Páscoa vieram da costa da América do Sul, na altura do Peru, numa jangada rudimentar que ele próprio construiu, de acordo com o que supunha fossem os meios técnicos disponíveis milhares de anos atrás: sem qualquer peça de ferro ou material que não fosse extraído da própria natureza. A história me fascinou e durante muito tempo procurei saber mais sobre o mistério das gigantescas estátuas da ilha e sobre a transmigrações de povos pré-históricos. 

Outro livro publicado em sua edição original em 1950 foi um dos volumes da História da Civilização, de Will Durant, mas numa edição brasileira, provavelmente publicada em meados da década. Não me recordo, agora, se li a versão unificada dessa obra, cujo original havia sido publicado em 1931, ou se foi algum dos volumes que ele publicou sobre as diferentes eras da história, da antiguidade à época contemporânea. Qualquer que seja o caso, Will Durant acentuou meu enorme gosto pela história, que já tinha sido despertado desde meus oito anos aproximadamente pela versão feita por Monteiro Lobato da História do Mundo para as Crianças, uma releitura de Dona Benta de uma obra publicada muitos anos antes nos Estados Unidos. 


 Ao falar dos livros que li, ainda que anos depois de 1950, não me eximo de falar de dois outros livros publicados no mesmo ano, que nunca “enfrentei”, mas sobre os quais li muitas resenhas e referências, todas elogiosas. O mais interessante, que ainda está na minha lista de “livros para ler”, é o de Octavio Paz, El Labirinto de la Soledad, que é uma visão antropológica-histórica-filosófica sobre a identidade nacional mexicana, ou mais exatamente sobre as insuficiências e frustrações do que se poderia chamar de não desenvolvimento mexicano, algo aliás comum a muitos outros países latino-americanos, mesmo sem possuir a herança étnica e social do grande país asteca. O outro, talvez ainda mais famoso, é o de Isaac Asimov, I Robot, o escritor russo que inventou o termo e definiu toda uma literatura de ficção dentro do gênero futurismo cibernético. Interessante é saber que Asimov concebeu seus romances antes mesmo do desenvolvimento dos computadores, justamente a partir dos anos 1950 (mas apenas como mainframes, não miniaturizados para serem integrados a robôs). Esse romance tem as famosas leis que todo robô deveria, teoricamente seguir: 1) nunca fazer mal a um ser humano; 2) sempre seguir as ordens de um ser humano, a não ser que uma ordem seja contrária à primeira regra; 3) um robô precisa proteger sua própria existência, desde que isso não conflite com a primeira e a segunda lei. 

O ano de 1950, no Brasil, foi o da fragorosa derrota do Brasil na final da Copa do Mundo, contra o Uruguai, país no qual vivi 40 anos depois, e onde ainda se falava, nos jornais e na TV, dos “heroes del 50”, vários ainda sobreviventes em 1991-1992, quando lá morei. Dessa primeira grande tragédia nacional eu não guardo nenhuma recordação obviamente, assim como tampouco do retorno de Getúlio Vargas ao poder, no ano seguinte. Mas tenho vagas lembranças do tremor que sucedeu ao seu suicídio, em 1954, pois foi o que mais abalou não apenas o meu pai, como outras pessoas que marcaram a minha infância. Do governo de JK, eu me lembro, especialmente, da fabulosa vitória na Copa do Mundo de 1958, e da efusão de alegria que se seguiu, com os gols do garoto Pelé. Também me lembro de ter acompanhado meu pai na cabine de votação quando das eleições de 1960, fervoroso apoiador que ele era do homem que “varreria” a corrupção: tínhamos um broche com a vassourinha, depois relegada ao esquecimento quando da tremenda decepção em agosto de 1961. Mas, esses são episódios que voltarão ao registro quando eu abordar os livros desses anos. Por enquanto fico nisto.

 

Paulo Roberto de Almeida

Brasília, 26 de setembro de 2021.

 

 

Bibliomaníaco: uma vida através dos livros, 1949 - Paulo Roberto de Almeida

 Bibliomaníaco: uma vida através dos livros, 1949

  

Paulo Roberto de Almeida

Diplomata, professor

(www.pralmeida.org; diplomatizzando.blogspot.com)

 

 


 1949: 

Eu nasci no final do ano de 1949, mais exatamente no dia da Bandeira, em 19 de novembro. Não daria, assim, para falar dos livros que foram publicados no decorrer do ano, pois que eles não me “alcançariam” sequer na maternidade. Ainda assim, fica difícil não falar de dois que apareceram nesse ano, na quase exata metade do século XX. Desde quando me conheço por gente, pelo menos depois que aprendi a ler, na tardia idade de 7 anos, comecei a prestar atenção nos livros, primeiro os infantis, depois os de adolescente, mais tarde os de adulto, já precocemente. Mas nada me impede de falar de livros que “acompanharam”, se ouso dizer, minha primeira infância, pois este é o sentido de registro “livresco” de minha vida, como pretendo fazer nestas notas, ano a ano.

O mais importante deles, 1984, de George Orwell, veio a público nesse ano, mas tinha sido terminado no ano anterior, 1948 (daí a inversão futurista dos dois dígitos finais), ano do nascimento de meu irmão Luiz Flávio, em agosto. O romance, vindo pouco depois do Animal Farm (A Revolução dos Bichos), foi logo identificado pela direita, especialmente pelos americanos engajados na chamada Guerra Fria contra a União Soviética, como sendo um manifesto anticomunista, mais exatamente uma condenação do totalitarismo brutal do regime stalinista na pátria do socialismo. Orwell não concebia que essa obra distópica reproduzisse os gulags – praticamente campos de escravidão, pura e simples – da União Soviética, pois o enredo se situa mais no plano de um totalitarismo tecnocrático, estilo Aldous Huxley, do que no ambiente sombrio dos campos de trabalho forçado, como ressaltado na produção de um dos primeiros dissidentes do universo stalinista, Arthur Koestler. Mas isso eu só vim a descobrir muito mais tarde, quando passei a ler a literatura socialista, e a anticomunista também, e um dos primeiros nessa vertente foi o de Alexander Soljenitsin: Um dia na vida de Ivan Denisovitch, no ínicio dos anos 1960, livro rapidamente traduzido com a ajuda da CIA e distribuído no resto do mundo, como tinha sido feito com o Animal Farm, do próprio Orwell nos anos 1950.

O outro, não exatamente um livro, apenas um ensaio, “Why Socialism?”, publicado no número inaugural da Monthly Review (maio 1949), uma revista de esquerda, era de ninguém menos do que Albert Einstein, no auge da sua glória. Também só vim a tomar conhecimento dessa obra, que achei um pouco ingênua, muito tempo depois, já na idade adulta, quando tinha realizado minha conversão completa, da crença inicial nas virtudes do socialismo, e aderido a uma visão liberal do mundo. Em todo caso, Einstein refletia as reações mais comuns às desigualdades inerentes ao capitalismo, suas motivações egoístas, falta de cooperação, concorrência acirrada e propensão a crises e ao desemprego. O grande físico nuclear era naturalmente inclinado a um sistema de planejamento que pudesse evitar esse lado menos brilhante dos sistemas capitalistas, mas também temia o lado burocrático e o cerceamento das liberdades, que sabia existir nos socialismos de tipo soviético. 

Outros livros que foram publicados no ano de meu nascimento, e que vim a ler muitos anos depois, foram o clássico de Victor Nunes Leal, Coronelismo, Enxada e Voto, sobre o chamado voto de cabresto do coronelismo do interior, e aquele que se converteu num dos meus preferidos, da primeira adolescência: C. W. Ceram: Deuses, túmulos e sábios: a história da arqueologia; essa obra me converteu em “arqueólogo amador”, pois foi por ele que eu comecei a decorar as dinastias do antigo Egito e a alimentar o desejo de aprofundar o conhecimento das escrituras dos povos do Oriente Médio. Em 1949, o historiador José Honório Rodrigues, publicava o seu Teoria da História do Brasil, que junto com os demais livros de historiografia brasileira, foi essencial no meu aperfeiçoamento na disciplina histórica, ao lado de minha formação em ciências sociais, ao longo da graduação e dos estudos especializados. 

Ao sair da maternidade poucos dias depois do nascimento, não imagino como devem ter sido as primeiras semanas e meses numa família muito pobre, praticamente sem livros ou outros materiais de leitura. As primeiras lembranças que tenho de minha primeira infância se referem ao quarto centenário da cidade de São Paulo, quando fui visitar o recém-inaugurado Parque Ibirapuera, levado pelas mãos do meu pai. Nessa altura, 1954, eu já devia estar frequentando o Parque Infantil, nas proximidades de minha casa, no modesto bairro do Itaim Bibi, ao sul da cidade, perto do rio Pinheiros. 

Relatei um pouco dessa fase inicial num pequeno texto que deve entrar ao início desta série que estou planejando para seguir, ano a ano, as publicações anuais, de livros que eu fui lendo gradualmente já na fase adulta. Chamo a atenção para estes dois primeiros, que apresentam alguma coincidência com partes de alguns parágrafos acima: 

3913. “De um século a outro: dos livros para o mundo (uma trajetória intelectual)”, Brasília, 14 maio 2021, 4 p. Introdução, ou prefácio, preliminar a livro que pretendo escrever gradualmente enfocando cada novo capítulo como se fosse um ano completo de aprendizado, experiências e leituras ao longo da vida; escrito em algum momento entre 2020 e 2021, divulgado no blog Diplomatizzando (link: https://diplomatizzando.blogspot.com/2021/05/uma-vida-atraves-dos-livros-1.html).

 

3914. “Uma Vida Através dos Livros: 1949”, Brasília, 15 maio 2021, 2 p. Primeiro capítulo do projeto de livro, focando, de maneira preliminar sobre o ano de meu nascimento. Divulgado no blog Diplomatizzando (link: https://diplomatizzando.blogspot.com/2021/05/uma-vida-atraves-dos-livros-1949-paulo.html).

 

Darei continuidade a esta série nos anos seguintes, sempre entremeando pequenos relatos de meu itinerário pessoal, com as edições anuais que marcaram minha trajetória intelectual, ainda que de modo bastante defasado no tempo.

 

Paulo Roberto de Almeida

Brasília, 3897: 25 setembro 2021, 3 p.


sábado, 25 de setembro de 2021

Tit for Tat at the Human Rights Council: China Policy - Jamil Chade (The Geneva Observer)

Tit for Tat at the Human Rights Council


By Jamil Chade
The Geneva Observer Website, 24/09/2021 
http://www.thegenevaobserver.com

China is increasing its pressure on the Human Rights Council while trying to fend off the growing criticism it faces from the Western group about its human rights record in Xinjiang and elsewhere. Beijing’s main target is the U.S., following Washington’s increasingly assertive stance towards China after it entered in a new security alliance with Australia and the UK (AUKUS).

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The Chinese offensive is mostly conducted by pushing resolutions before the Council, the latest of which denounces colonialism. In a draft proposal seen by The G|O, the Chinese want the Council to take action on “the negative impact of legacies of colonialism on the enjoyment of human rights.”

The sweeping move is interpreted by Western delegations as an effort by China to convince African nations that Beijing is on their side on the issue. It also takes an indirect swipe at U.S. behaviour in Afganistan. (China just called for a lifting of sanctions on Afghanisan, to allow the Taliban access to billions of dollars in frozen assets which the West meant to use as leverage on the new regime.)

However, the initiative was also seen as part of a response to a growing understanding amongst Western allies that China’s human rights record—including the situation with Muslim minorities—needs to be dealt with by the Council.

U.S. human rights record on trial

China, on its side, has stepped up its response, with statements questioning the U.S. and Europe. During the special session on Afghanistan, in August, Chinese Ambassador Chen Xu supported the idea that “the US, UK, Australia, and other countries must be held accountable for the violation of human rights committed by their military in Afghanistan, and the evolution of this current session should cover this issue. […] Under the banner of democracy and human rights, the U.S. and other countries carry out military interventions in other sovereign states and impose their own model on countries with vastly different histories and culture,” Chen said.

On September 14th, at the Human Rights Council, China once again made the US the center of its opening intervention: “We are deeply concerned about chronic human rights issues in the United States,” it claimed, citing “disregarding the right to life, systemic racism, racial discrimination, genocide against native Indians, human trafficking and forced labor.”

Three days later, again at the Council in Geneva, Beijing made it clear it had placed the U.S. as a target of its criticism—first, by delivering a statement accusing the U.S. of having “practiced history abhorrent slavery and slave trade (sic),” and saying it “remains plagued with human trafficking and forced labor to this date.” It also claims that “Under the dominance of White Supremacy, discrimination against migrants, women, children and racial minorities prevails in the U.S.”


China blasts US military interventions


On the 21st of September, in an interview with state agencies, the spokesperson of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of China, Zhao Lijian, claimed the U.S. has committed “grave human rights crimes overseas.”

“During its over 240 years of history, there were only 16 years when the U.S. was not at war. From the end of WWII to 2001, the U.S. has initiated 201 of the 248 armed conflicts in 153 places, accounting for over 80%,” he claims. “It is preposterous that the U.S. claims to be ‘protecting human rights’ at every turn. Is it protecting human rights when staging wars of invasion?”

The next day, in Geneva, the Chinese mission took the floor to “urge the countries concerned to immediately stop illegal military intervention,” and for the UN and individual countries to “carry out comprehensive and impartial investigation into cases of unlawful killing and torture of civilians and other gross human rights violations committed by their military personnel, and hold perpetrators accountable.”

Changing the focus of the debate

Another way to counterpressure the West is to table resolutions that change the focus of the debate, and put the focus on Western powers—hence its recent proposal.

In the draft document, Beijing reaffirms that, “the existence of colonialism in any form or manifestation is incompatible with the Charter of the United Nations, the Declaration on the Granting of Independence to Colonial Countries and Peoples, and the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.” It also “regrets” that measures to eliminate colonialism by 2010—as called for in the General Assembly resolution 55/146 of 8 December 2000—have not been successful.

In fact, the UN has established that the period 2021-2030 is the Fourth International Decade for the Eradication of Colonialism. However, Western sources tell The G|O that the move by China goes beyond that single issue. China, they say, wishes that “legacies of colonialism, in all their manifestations, inter alia, economic exploitation, inequality within and among states, systemic racism, violations of indigenous peoples’ rights, contemporary forms of slavery, damage to cultural heritage” be recognized as having a “negative impact on the effective enjoyment of all human rights.”

The proposed resolution also invites United Nations human rights mechanisms and procedures “to pay attention to the negative impact of legacies of colonialism on the enjoyment of human rights,” and calls on the “United Nations bodies, agencies, and other relevant stakeholders to take concrete steps to address [those negative impacts].”

China also requests the UN convene a panel discussion on the question, with the aim to “identify challenges in addressing the negative impact of legacies of colonialism on human rights, and discuss ways forward.”


According to diplomatic sources, Beijing also wants the issue kept on the agenda of the Council in order to maintain political constraint on those governments that may be challenging China on human rights issues. Beijing is using procedure as a mechanism to press its case: it has requested that Office of High Commissioner prepare and submit a summary report on the panel discussion to the Council at its 54th session and to provide “all necessary resources for the services and facilities.”

The resolution will be voted on in the second week of October.

“I Have Eliminated 'the West’ from My Vocabulary” - Christoph Heusgen, Merkel's Foreign Policy Advisor (Der Spiegel)


 
French President Emmanuel Macron, German Chancellor Merkel and foreign policy adviser Christoph Heusgen in 2017 during a flight from Triest to Paris.

Foto: Energistyrelsen / Bundesregierung / Guido Bergmann / action press

Interview with Merkel’s Former Foreign Policy Adviser “I Have Eliminated 'the West’ from My Vocabulary”

Christoph Heusgen served for 12 years as Angela Merkel’s top foreign policy adviser. In an interview, he speaks about the chancellor’s successes, mistakes, the amateurish nature of Donald Trump’s government and the right approach to an ascendant China.
Interview Conducted by Christiane Hoffmann und Christoph Schult


Neve Gordon and Nicola Perugini. Human Shields: A History of People in the Line of Fire; book review by Jennifer Wells

Um aspecto do direito humanitário internacional e do direito da guerra. 

H-Diplo Review Essay 371- "Human Shields"

by George Fujii

H-Diplo Review Essay 371

24 September 2021

Neve Gordon and Nicola Perugini.  Human Shields: A History of People in the Line of Fire.  

Oakland: University of California Press, 2020.  ISBN:  9780520301849 (hardcover, $29.95).

https://hdiplo.org/to/E371


Editor: Diane Labrosse | Commissioning Editor: Andrew Szarejko | Production 

Editor: George Fujii

Review by Jennifer Wells, George Washington University

In March 2011, as the Arab Spring rippled across North Africa and vicious conflict erupted in Libya between rebel forces and the country’s longtime leader, Colonel Muammar Gaddafi, the United Nations Security Council implemented a no-fly zone over the country, marking a dramatic escalation in the international community’s involvement.  Just days earlier, Gaddafi had promised an assault on any foreign troops should a no-fly zone be enacted.  Caught up in the midst of this wrangling were four New York Timesjournalists who had been captured by Gaddafi’s forces while covering the conflict and, at the time that the UN resolution was passed, found themselves in a well-appointed government jail in Tripoli.  The group later wrote that “after the no-fly zone was imposed and we heard volleys of antiaircraft fire, we thought that a desperate government could make us human shields.”[1]

I would have forgotten about this episode and the journalists’ (well-founded) fears had it not been for Neve Gordon and Nicola Perugini’s outstanding and thought-provoking book, Human Shields: A History of People in the Line of Fire.  Theirs is a work laden with insights and offerings, the most salient of which force the reader to consider the innumerable ways in which a person can become a human shield, and, disturbingly, to confront the realization that not all shields – and thus not all humans – are created equal.  In untangling the complexity of shielding, the authors have achieved that most elusive of feats, producing a book that is at once pathbreaking for the specialist and compulsively readable for the public. 

The introduction frames the idea of the human shield fluidly and comprehensively.  From the outset, the authors make clear that there are two types of human shields: involuntary (those coerced to serve as a buffer) and voluntary (those who put themselves between aggressors and an intended target).  But, it soon becomes evident that political, social, cultural, economic, and geographic stakes attach different values to the “human” in human shields.  As the authors note, “it is the value ascribed to the lives of some people that explains why their vulnerability can become a weapon of deterrence, while the lives of others are perceived to be expendable” (5).  The death of Rachel Corrie, an American college student who placed herself between an Israeli bulldozer and the home of a Palestinian pharmacist in Gaza, shocked and appalled much of the world because she was a young, affluent, white Western woman volunteering with a humanitarian organization (1, 114-115).  Similar headlines and outrage would likely not have appeared if the victim had been a Palestinian.  The inherent disparity that characterizes human lives and determines who is an “effective” shield is accounted for in part by the laws of war, which reinforce how race, religion, gender, and class, amongst other conditions, have shaped contemporary and historical understandings of “the human” and, consequently, the ethics of violence (6).  This dynamic, between violence and power relationships, most animates the authors and becomes the book’s lodestar.  “Human shields are the book’s main protagonists,” Gordon and Perugini write, “and the production of humane violence is the plot” (12). 

The book proceeds chronologically as the authors make their case.  The first of its twenty-two snappy chapters addresses the American Civil War and the creation of the 1863 Lieber Code while the last offers a meditation on civil disobedience in contemporary protest movements, including Standing Rock and Black Lives Matter.  Its temporal breadth is matched only by its geographic and thematic scope.  The book moves from continent to continent, and conflict to conflict, detailing how human shielding is becoming more sophisticated and widespread while the laws of war and international humanitarian law (IHL) struggle to adapt to man’s seemingly endless ability to out-brutalize himself.  Human Shields can roughly be divided into three segments.  Chapters 1-9 are geographically and temporally restricted, addressing discrete conflicts from the mid-nineteenth century through the Vietnam War.  Chapters 10-17 revolve around different themes – environment; resistance; humanitarian crimes; manuals; scale; hospitals; proximity; info-war – that are sometimes bounded to a specific time or place but whose lessons can be applied to manifold conflicts, past, present, and future.  The final five chapters, which are also largely thematic, move into decidedly modern realms and tackle thorny topics such as propaganda, social media, and post-human shielding.  Sources consulted include scholarly literature in political science, international relations, law, and history; reports compiled by non-governmental organizations (NGOs), the United Nations, and various governments; and countless investigative news articles, interviews, and legal records.  Photographs, infographics, paintings, drawings, Tweets, and even stills from To Kill a Mockingbird and videogames regularly appear, providing compelling visual imagery to accompany the text.  

The shielding narrative is twinned with the evolution of the laws of war and IHL from early modernity to the present.  Despite the fact that Gordon and Perugini routinely argue that human shielding has “blurred” the laws of war, the book does not include a substantive discussion on the subject.  On the one hand, avoiding a digression into the finer points and competing visions of the laws of war and IHL expedites the tantalizing read and propels the narrative forward; on the other, beginning in the seventeenth century, legal theorists Hugo Grotius and Emer de Vattel (both of whom are mentioned in chapter 2) addressed the complexities of man “presenting his Body as a Shield”[2] and the ethics of subjecting noncombatants to “terror to a certain degree” when circumstances demanded it.[3]Analyzing the work of Grotius, de Vattel, and other thinkers on their own terms rather than relying so heavily on secondary literature would only have enhanced the compelling arguments advanced throughout the book. It may also have elucidated other fascinating points that are raised but only cursorily addressed.  For instance, a key argument in both chapter 3 (on the Boer War) and chapter 6 (on the Italo-Ethiopian War) is that colonialism and the enemy’s race determined “which methods of warfare were perceived to be legitimate and humane” (37).  Because the Boers were white, humanitarians balked at “their use as human shields” while the fledgling international community, which regarded Ethiopians as “‘white negroes,’ where whiteness denoted their sovereignty and acceptance into the League of Nations, while negro gestured to the population’s ‘uncivilized’ nature,” brokered less resistance to the aerial bombings of medical units (41, 61).  These issues were hardly novel; jurists had struggled since the Middle Ages to differentiate between ‘civilized’ and ‘uncivilized,’ Christian and non-Christian, white and non-white, particularly in determining rights afforded to noncombatants.[4] By the early twentieth century, a robust framework that rested on edifices constructed by Grotius, de Vattel, and Samuel von Pufendorf, amongst others, did consider race and religion in the application of both humanitarian law and the laws of war. Examining the nuances within this legal scaffolding would sharpen Gordon and Perugini’s significant contributions on how the laws of war have evolved to address shielding, complementing work by Anne Orford, Marco Sassòli, and Michael Schmitt.[5]

Perhaps befitting of its title, Human Shields is at its best – which is often – in humanizing conflict.  By focusing on countless individual stories and seemingly minute details, Gordon and Perugini draw the reader into a deeply personal world, driving home the importance of the ethics of violence and the cost of war.  In the early twentieth century, progressive Western feminists, such as Millicent Fawcett and Emily Hobhouse, condemned man’s inhumanity to man, critiquing concentration camps established for Boer and African civilians, and demanding that Boer prisoners of war travel first class when serving as human shields on British trains (39-41).  Agnes Maude Roydon drew on Mahatma Gandhi’s theory of satyagraha in the 1930s in an effort to send activists voluntarily into the Second Sino-Japanese War and “create a ‘living wall’ against war itself” (56).  Roydon’s tactics radically altered how people thought about shielding.  Previously, it was a coercive tactic; from that point on it emerged as a voluntary choice that exposed flaws within the law of armed conflict. 

The tension between voluntary and involuntary shields unearthed by Roydon’s actions dominates the remainder of the book.  Following the Second World War, a wave of codifications, including the UN Charter, Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of Genocide, and 1949 Geneva Conventions, all struggled to address civilian protections during war (78).  Ultimately, the drafters of the Fourth Geneva Convention settled on protections for “passive civilians,” and agreed that warring parties could not transfer civilians into theaters of conflict to use as shields (81-83).  On voluntary shields, however, there was silence.  Civilians already stranded in war zones were similarly excluded from shielding safeguards, the argument being that military necessity might take precedence over the sanctity of individual human life (84-85).  These decisions, crafted by Western policymakers in the late 1940s, have had dire repercussions for human shielding in a host of countries from the Global South in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, revealing yet again the friction between an Atlantic-centric international order and the application of its laws in the wider world.  Legal hair-splitting in military manuals, CIA reports, NATO investigations, and UN tribunals only further cloud an already hazy picture as to permissible shielding (111, 122-124, 129-132, 142-143). 

Gordon and Perugini effectively draw out the complications that arise because of the lack of legal settlement in a series of provocative chapters in the middle of the book.  Framing the dropping of Agent Orange as a means to obliterate the vegetative shield afforded to the Viet Cong by the dense Southeast Asian jungle provides an excellent segue to environmental shielding more generally (93-95).  Here, the authors describe activists who, influenced by Roydon’s “living wall” and Gandhi’s satyagraha, hugged trees in India to prevent deforestation, lashed themselves to boats in Mururoa to protest nuclear testing, and sailed rubber Zodiacs between harpooners and whales (100-103).  The law of the sea and sovereignty are fleetingly discussed but neither one is evaluated in great detail, which would have both strengthened the overall argument and clarified the distinctions between the law of the sea and the law of armed conflict that render voluntary shielding “easier” (and legal) in international waters (106).  Back on land, activists from around the globe flocked to London in 2002 to ride buses commandeered by a US army veteran, Kenneth O’Keefe, to Baghdad to protest the impending American-led invasion of Iraq (110).  Policymakers were flummoxed by these actions, leading General Richard B. Myers, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff under George W. Bush, to proclaim “that all forms of shielding of military targets are illegal, even when civilians ‘volunteer for this purpose’” (111).  Collectively, these chapters illustrate human ingenuity in voluntary shielding and human uncertainty in how to effectively police it.  Further elucidation on these subjects would make for compelling scholarship. 

Even if, as Human Shields reveals, there is no satisfactory legal resolution, one thing becomes exceedingly clear: civilians, particularly nonwhite civilians, almost always bear the brunt of shielding and the law’s lackluster response to it.  This realization is born out chapter after chapter.  The Tamil Tigers and the Islamic State in Iraq and Syria (ISIS) both effectively converted humanitarian zones and urban landscapes into battlegrounds, the former by constructing bunkers and fortifications in Sri Lanka, the latter through a maze of tunnels connecting apartment blocks and houses in Mosul and Raqqa.  The net effect was the same: “civilians became shields due to the space they occupied and its proximity to the fighting” (144).  Despite admonitions from Pope Francis and Amnesty International, which condemned ISIS for “ruthlessly and unlawfully exploiting civilian immunity from attack in an attempt to shield its own forces,” (160) there was no swift action from the international community in either the Levant or, years earlier, Sri Lanka.  Once fighting commenced, moreover, the proximity of noncombatants to the belligerents rendered them “potential weapons, thereby stripping them of some of the protections international humanitarian law bestows on civilians” (160).  Similar scenarios have played out, repeatedly, in Gaza, where, in July 2014, social media accelerated the spread of propaganda produced by the Israel Defense Forces.  Colorful infographics justified the bombing of Palestinian houses and shelters by invoking the “dual-use” doctrine to argue that “Some bomb shelters shelter people.  Some shelter bombs” (173-174).  (At the time of this writing in May 2021, Israeli authorities have once again besieged Gaza and destroyed a tower containing the Associated Press and Al-Jazeera offices, claiming that the building also housed Hamas militants). 

Some of the most arresting images to emerge from recent conflicts show lifeless children in the arms of their parents following blasts on a Gaza beach or aerial bombardments of refugee camps conducted under the pretext that militants occupied these places.  When the world sees these pictures, it reaffirms Gordon and Perugini’s point “that the concept of shielding has congealed to denote ‘mostly women and children’ – and mostly among populations that are nonwhite” (185).  Shielding, the authors astutely note, has little to do with these women and children, but rather is “more about the effort to depict men of dark skin color as inhumane,” the effects of which have bled into vicious debates over migration in Europe and the United States in recent years (187, 189).  These chilling observations bring Human Shields full circle, as Gordon and Perugini argue that shielding in the twenty-first century appears “almost exclusively in conflict zones taking place in decolonized parts of the world” and draw connections back to the earliest chapters (168).  Once again, accidents of birth – from gender to race to creed to country – prove determinative in sealing an individual shield’s fate.  And once again, the international legal order struggles to effectively respond. 

The critiques that can be made about Human Shields are extraordinarily few and exceedingly minor.  The sheer amount of material is the book’s greatest strength but it is also overwhelming to digest in one reading.  Gordon and Perugini also rightly point out that shielding has become more common as conflict moves into urban theaters, thereby rendering combatants and civilians virtually indistinguishable, but they do not necessarily offer any prescription to remedy or rectify this ever-expanding problem.  It would be worthwhile to hear how international law might develop to address human shielding in the twenty-first century.  How, too, do the authors envisage the human shield evolving?  Gordon and Perugini presciently acknowledge in their closing line “that Gaza becomes a terrifying prophecy, exposing how the denial of civilian protections in war zones is informing attacks on citizens participating in protests” but one wonders what cyber dimensions to shielding would look like beyond videogames and drone technology (217)?  Could there be a situation in which a shield is purposefully infected with an easily transmissible virus to induce a pandemic?  How does such an action complicate the “ethics of violence” and attendant international responses?  These questions, scenarios, and debates are the stuff of future books, articles, policy proposals, and, hopefully, changes in international humanitarian law to address a proliferating phenomenon. 

Here, I return to my recollection of the kidnapped New York Times journalists who feared becoming human shields in Libya a decade ago.  Excellent scholarship does not just make needed interventions for its intended audience.  Rather, it forces the reader to think beyond the immediacy of the page, to draw connections to current events, to reevaluate the past with newfound clarity, and to humanize inherently complicated situations.  Human Shields achieves these objectives on every level.  In the process, the book makes perhaps its greatest contribution, one that has little to do with the laws of war or the ethics of violence: it exposes, at times hauntingly, the frailty of the human condition and the precarity of life.

 

Jennifer Wells is Assistant Professor of History and International Affairs at George Washington University.  She has published widely on international law and history in Past & PresentGenocide Studies and Prevention, various law reviews, and for the Auschwitz-Birkenau Memorial & Museum.  Wells’s current research projects focus on war crimes, humanitarian law, refugees, and how non-state actors, rogue states, and ungoverned territories are financed through illicit international networks.  Her first book, Prelude to Empire: State Building in the Early Modern British World forced a fundamental reassessment of European empire by evaluating the shared links between early modern state formation and colonial expansion.


Notes

[1] Anthony Shadid, Lynsey Addario, Stephen Farrell, and Tyler Hicks, “4 Times Journalists Held Captive in Libya Faced Days of Brutality,” New York Times, 22 March 2011, https://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/23/world/africa/23times.html

[2] Hugo Grotius, On the Law of War and Peace (1625): Book I, Chapter II, Section 1.

[3] Emer de Vattel, The Law of Nations, Or, Principles of the Law of Nature, Applied to the Conduct and Affairs of Nations and Sovereigns, with Three Early Essays on the Origin and Nature of Natural Law and on Luxury (1757): Book III, Chapter XV, Section 228.

[4] See, for example, Theodor Meron, War Crimes Law Comes of Age: Essays (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998).

[5] See, for example, Anne Orford, Reading Humanitarian Intervention: Human Rights and the Use of Force in International Law(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003); Marco Sassòli, “Taking Armed Groups Seriously: Ways to Improve their Compliance with International Humanitarian Law,” Journal of International Humanitarian Legal Studies 1:1 (January 2010): 5-51, DOI: https://doi.org/10.1163/187815210X12766020139767; Michael Schmitt, “Human Shields in International Humanitarian Law,” Columbia Journal of Transnational Law 47:2 (January 2009): 292-338, DOI: https://doi.org/10.1163/9789004219120; Michael Schmitt, “Targeting and International Humanitarian Law in Afghanistan,” International Law Studies 85:1 (2009): 307-339. 

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