The Return of Eugenics
Eugenics--the movement to improve and even perfect the human species by technological means--arose in the late 19th century and flourished…
Richard J. Neuhaus 1988-04-01Eugenics—that is, the movement to improve and even perfect the human species by technological means—arose in the late 19th century and flourished in this country and in Europe until the 1930’s. Then it was challenged by scientific counterevidence, and by growing uneasiness about its racialist implications. Later, or so the story was told, eugenics was definitively discredited by the Third Reich which enlisted its doctrines and practices in support of unspeakable crimes against humanity. But now, in the journals and in the textbooks, the story is being told differently. The problem, it is said, was not so much with eugenics itself but with the Nazis: they abused eugenics, they went too far, they were extremists.
Thus in the longer view of history, the horror of the Third Reich may have effected but a momentary pause in the theory and practice of eugenics. For today, four decades later, eugenics is back, and it gives every appearance of returning with a vengeance in the form of developments ranging from the adventuresome to the bizarre to the ghoulish: the manufacture of synthetic children, the fabrication of families, artificial sex, and new ways of using and terminating undesired human life.
To be sure, the literature on all sides of the current disputes about these developments remains riddled with references to the Nazi experience. But the mention of troubling similarities to the Third Reich is, as it should be, accompanied and qualified by other observations. No responsible parties suggest that America is, or is likely to become, Nazi Germany. That is patently absurd. What happens here is and will be distinctively American. And, because this is America, there are political, legal, and moral resources to resist scenarios of the worse inevitably coming to the worst.
In addition, the great majority of today’s eugenists take pains to distance themselves from any hint of racialism, although some very respectable proponents of “population control” are not averse to writing about “inferior” population groups. Further, it must be acknowledged that there have in fact been very impressive technological advances, some of which are indeed breakthroughs to uncharted regions of control over the human condition—and some of which hold high promise for reducing misery and enhancing life. There is no room in this discussion for Luddite reactionaries who claim to discern in every technological change the visage of the “brave new world.” Finally, those who take a favorable view of the developments in dispute would seem to be motivated by the best of intentions. With few exceptions, their language is the winsome one of progress, of reason, and, above all, of compassion.
All that said, we are nonetheless witnessing the return of eugenics. And with it have come questions, inescapably moral questions, for which we appear to have no good answers. Indeed, it is doubtful that we still have a sufficiently shared moral vocabulary even for debating what good answers might be. Yet whether we like it or not, these questions are already being answered from one end of the life cycle to the other in terms that, were one not wary of alarmism, might be described as alarming.
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To begin, literally, at the beginning, consider first the putting together of human gametes (sperm or egg) in order to facilitate new ways of having babies, and to produce babies of higher quality.
It is hard not to sympathize with couples who want children but cannot have them because of infertility. What are they to do? Of course there is adoption, but the “right kind” of child is hard to find, and getting one can be very expensive. (One and a half million abortions per year has put a considerable dent in the supply side of the American adoption market, plus adoption is one area where discrimination on the basis of race or handicap is still eminently respectable.) In addition, many people want a child that is, at least in part, produced from their own biological raw materials. Techniques for meeting this market demand are several.
Artificial insemination by husband (AIH) has been with us for some time and is relatively straightforward. Artificial insemination by donor (AID) is technically identical but introduces a third party to the relationship, or, more accurately, biologically excludes the husband. These techniques are really quite simple and lend themselves to do-it-yourself procedures—with a little help from your friends.
A recently publicized example was the case of an Episcopalian priest who wanted a baby but definitely not a husband. She invited three friends over (two of them priests) to masturbate for her, and she then impregnated herself with the mixture of their sperm. The purpose of having several sperm sources, she explained on national television, was to avoid knowing who the father was, and thus to make sure that the child would have an intimate bond to no one but herself. The child is now three years old and the mother has declared that she intends to have another baby by the same procedure. The Washington Post described her as the first artificially inseminated priest in history, which is probably true. Her bishop, Paul Moore of New York, appeared with her on television and gave his unqualified blessing to this undertaking, citing the need for the church to come to terms with the modern world.
In vitro fertilization (IVF) is yet another procedure. It involves the woman being given hormones to stimulate egg production. The eggs are then “harvested” and mixed with sperm from the husband or someone else, and some eggs that become fertilized are placed in the woman’s uterus. But ethical questions have been raised about the use and disposal of the many “superfluous” embryos that are not transferred to the uterus. Some practitioners of this technique—confronted with the argument that anything with the potential of becoming human life is human life—resolve the problem to their moral satisfaction by declaring that very little embryos are “pre-embryos.” On the other hand, there is intense interest—on the part of drug companies and genetic researchers—in letting such embryos develop in the laboratory so that they can be used for scientific experiments.
An additional problem is “superfluous” fetuses. Because the technique is time-consuming and expensive, and because success is by no means assured, “extra” embryos are placed in the uterus in the hope that at least one will “take.” With disturbing frequency, this results in two or three or more very healthy fetuses. When the procedure produces more fetuses than the mother wants or, in some cases, than she can safely carry to term, the practice is to use an ultrasound probe to guide a needle which punctures the hearts of the fetuses to be eliminated. Doctors who do this allow that there may be a moral problem in terminating fetuses that they helped bring into being. But then, it is observed, the morality of the thing is really not that different from the elimination or experimental use of unwanted embryos.
Yet another option for the infertile couple is to elect embryo transfer. Here the husband, or someone else, contributes the sperm with which a “donor” woman is inseminated. The resulting embryo is then “washed” from her uterus and placed in the infertile wife. This procedure is still somewhat experimental and poses high risks to both the donor woman and the embryo, but we are assured that progress is being made in ironing out the difficulties.
An additional option, surrogate motherhood, was the center of a media storm in 1986 in connection with the Baby M case in New Jersey. The terminology is misleading, since the woman is not a surrogate or substitute but is in fact the mother. The procedure might better be called “term” or “contract” motherhood, for she contracts to act as mother only until the child is brought to term. More than a dozen states are now considering measures to legitimate contracts for such rent-a-womb arrangements, but the debate over the practice has deeply divided feminists, and the Left generally. The anxiety is over the using of women, typically women who are vulnerable and in need of the money. There is also objection to what is, after all, a particularly gross capitalist act, even if between consenting adults.
Writing in the Nation, Katha Pollitt further complains that the man in these cases wants “a perfect baby with his genes and a medically vetted mother who would get out of his life forever immediately after giving birth.” (Some contracts also stipulate that the mother will abort the child if there is evidence that it is not up to standard.) Miss Pollitt observes that no other class of father—natural, step, or adoptive—can lay down such conditions. While making some predictably contemptuous remarks about the Vatican’s position on reproduction, she does side with Rome about one thing. “You don’t have a right to a child, any more than you have a right to a spouse. You only have the right to try to have one. Goods can be distributed according to ability to pay or need. People can’t. It’s really that simple.”
But Katha Pollitt and others of like mind do not appreciate the reach of the eugenic vision, which is to eliminate the limits and risks in what was once deemed to be natural. In any event, contract motherhood is but a very small part of the transformations now under way. In ten years the procurers in that business have been able to sign up only five hundred women. It is an enterprise that fades in comparison with the real growth areas in the synthetic-child business.
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In the past, a distinction was drawn between positive and negative eugenics (though in usage the terms were sometimes reversed). Positive eugenics was thought to be relatively innocent, simply a matter of breeding good human stock in order to improve the race by increasing the number of the physically and mentally fit. Negative eugenics, on the other hand, made a lot of people nervous, since it meant preventing the birth of the unfit or eliminating them after they were born. In America in the 1920’s more than half the states had mandatory sterilization laws applicable to people who fell into various categories of unfitness. (The laws were enforced mainly in California.) And of course, as the textbooks say, Nazi Germany took both positive and negative eugenics altogether too far.
The distinction between positive and negative eugenics is no longer always helpful. For instance, intervention to eliminate a defective gene rather than to eliminate a defective fetus may be viewed as either positive or negative. Still, some of the more striking changes today are in the area of the positive improvement of the human stock. Indeed, what is now being done and proposed makes earlier efforts at improving the race (for example, the socially and morally clumsy Lebensborn program for breeding the SS elite with superior Reich female stock) seem pitiably primitive.
At present, research focuses on detecting and remedying genetic ills or ailments by removing or adding genes. But discontents with the human condition as it is now constituted are almost infinitely expansive, and since it is almost impossible to argue against the proposition that the quality of human beings we have been turning out to date leaves much to be desired, the pressure to move the limits of intervention may be near irresistible. Is asthma a genetic disease? If asthma, why not baldness, or shortness, or having the “wrong” color eyes? And surely we still focus on diseases only because we have this ancient idea that medical interventions should be therapeutic. Instead of restricting ourselves to curing diseases, however broadly defined, why not be more positive and aim at the desiderata of human life? The combination of reproduction technology and engineering, or either one by itself, may be able to assure the production of socially desired personality types. In that event, presumably, “society” will decide which types are desired.
The enzymes that slice DNA produce nucleotide bases that scientists call “sticky ends” because they merge so easily with the genetic structure of another organism. Many are troubled precisely by the sticky ends to which this technology is being put. But there are some who are not troubled.
Lloyd McAulay, a New York patent lawyer, has written, “I understand the fear that we may be letting the genie out of the bottle as we expand our ability to alter biological evolution. I do not share that fear.” He allows that there should be some control over developments “until we learn a bit more about where we are going.” But, all in all, there is no cause for anxiety since what is happening is not really so new. “Switching genes around strikes me as little more than expedited breeding,” he writes. “As an ethical issue, whether or not we wish to do that with human beings may not be much different from whether or not we wish to breed human beings.” “Expedited breeding”—it is a reassuring phrase.
Another comforting voice over the years has been the editorial page of the New York Times, although, to be sure, the comfort is attended by stylistic rumblings of deeply pondered concern. Whether the subject is genetic engineering or experimenting with human embryos, the Times typically informs us that it is too late to raise the kinds of questions we wanted to ask. For example: “Critics are concerned that making life forms patentable will give animal and eventually human life too much in common with commodities, leading to disrespect for both. But society has already passed that point.” On the Times editorial page, the big decisions are made by society, and society is forever busily bustling along. The editors simply report their sightings of it as it passes one point after another.
The Times acknowledges that genetic engineering is “at first sight disquieting,” but the editorialist has taken a second look and concludes that “It’s hard to object to improving a species’ inherent characteristics.” As to problems we may have with engineering that does change the “inherent characteristics” of a species, we are told that “Such conundrums still lie in the realm of science fiction.” They may be as much as ten or twenty years off and, as John Maynard Keynes suggested, in the long run we are all dead.
One cannot help being struck by the blithe assumption that we can still agree on “the inherent characteristics of a species”—of the human species, for instance. For we have, after all, been through a systematic assault upon the idea that there is anything “inherent” or “natural” in the makeup or behavior of human beings. With respect to sexual identity and behavior, gender relations, familial bondings, and a host of other questions, the human condition is declared to be boundlessly various and malleable. In all these areas, the protester’s appeals to what is natural are dismissed with enlightened contempt. But now, as we intervene to restructure human beings genetically, technicians and their apologists assume the tone of Thomistic philosophers explaining the self-evident truths of natural law, assuring us that they recognize and will respect what is natural, inherent, and essential to being human.
This is, at best, an instance of what Allan Bloom calls debonaire nihilism. More likely, it is a desperate effort to conceal from others, and from themselves, the consequences of what they do; of what they cannot bring themselves not to do—because it is possible, because it is progress, because the adventure of doing the thing that could never before be done is near to irresistible.
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One such thing is the use of fetal tissue. Fetal brain, pancreas, and live tissue is, it is said, admirably suited for the treatment of Parkinson’s disease, Alzheimer’s disease, Huntington’s chorea, spinal-cord injuries, and leukemia. Fetal tissue is also excellent for implant treatments because it grows faster, is more adaptable, and causes less immunological rejection than adult tissue. Whatever one thinks of abortion, it is argued, it is a shame to let the material go to waste. There are literally millions of people who might benefit from these human parts. Dr. Abraham Lieberman of New York University Medical Center says of these developments, “This is to medicine what superconductivity is to physics.”
Admittedly, there are concerns about collusion between abortionists and physicians, about how to decide whether the fetus is actually dead, about commercial trafficking in fetal parts, and about women becoming pregnant in order to produce fetal parts to order. Those are only some of the concerns that have been raised. But the decision to move ahead on this front is, we are told, another point that society has passed. As the director of the American Parkinson Association observes, “The majority of people with the disease couldn’t care less about the ethical questions—they just want something that works.”
Both pro- and anti-abortion groups have expressed uneasiness about the use of fetal parts. Pro-choice groups worry that, as with contract motherhood, it could invite the exploitation of women’s bodies to produce custom parts, as it were. Pro-life groups worry that it could make abortion seem more attractive to some women because the parts would be used to help other people. “The worst possible ethical evil of all this,” says Arthur Caplan of the Center for Biomedical Ethics at the University of Minnesota, “would be to create lives simply to end them and take the parts.”
Unencumbered by the delicately nuanced inhibitions of some ethicists, however, the general media are generally enthusiastic. Newsweek, for instance, allows that some controls are necessary “to keep fetal research from becoming barbarous.” But that does not blunt Newsweek’s keenness on the new technology which “has created a surge of interest in fetal-tissue implantation, and research both here and abroad is beginning to offer an exciting glimpse at treatments that could lie ahead.”
Recently a California woman asked a medical ethicist whether she could be artificially inseminated with sperm from her father, who has Alzheimer’s disease. She intended to abort the fetus so that the brain tissue could be transplanted into her father’s brain. The usual response to such questions is that this entire field is still in its infancy, so to speak, and clearer guidelines are yet to be developed. But the California woman’s act of love for her father would no doubt meet with overwhelming support on the Phil Donahue show and similar popular seminars in contemporary ethics.
To more thoughtful students of these matters, the use of dead fetuses leads to some surprising confusions. Britain’s Warnock Committee, for example, recommends that there be a 14-day-cutoff rule for experimentation on embryos that are fertilized in the laboratory. Charles Krauthammer, writing in the New Republic, basically agrees, while acknowledging that the 14-day rule may prepare society for 14 weeks or 40 weeks. “Does any such rule not place us on a slippery slope?” he asks. “The answer is that society already lives there. In fact, it has slid far beyond the 14-day period. In most English-speaking jurisdictions, one can do with an aborted fetus that is many weeks old pretty much what one wants: discard, research, implant. The 14-day rule moves us further up the slope from where we are today.” Krauthammer is surely right about the slippery slope.1
The oddity of the Warnock recommendation, however, is that its concern for the dignity of human life results in greater respect being shown for those who are fertilized in vitro (in the laboratory dish) than for those fertilized in vivo (in the body). Krauthammer suggests, delicately, that we cannot think clearly about the new questions related to the production and exploitation of human life without rethinking the old question of abortion. Because they view the abortion debate as wearied and wearying, as polarized and stalemated, many will resist that suggestion.
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In any event, it can be argued that the eugenics project—in both what is proposed and what is already being done—has moved beyond disputes about life before birth, or about life that was never intended to be born. Once again society has passed that point. The new and more “interesting” questions have to do with the termination and medical exploitation of human beings already born. In September 1987, the Newsweek story was titled “Should Medicine Use the Unborn?” Having answered that question affirmatively, in December, three months later, the question agitating the media was “Should Medicine Use the Born?” The opening wedge to this new phase was the debate over what might be done with anencephalic newborns (babies born with most of their brains missing).
As with almost all the questions considered here, New Jersey is vying, successfully, for the honor of being in the legal vanguard. Assembly Bill 3367 would permit parents to donate the organs of an anencephalic child. At present, they have to wait for the child to die first. The new law removes that technicality by declaring the baby dead before it dies. In California, however—confident that the law would quickly catch up with practice, and ethics with the law—they did not wait for a change in law.
Loma Linda University Medical Center is connected with the Seventh Day Adventists, a highly moral, even moralistic, religious group that insists on abstinence from alcohol, tobacco, and—although not universally—tea and coffee. Everything done at the medical center is subjected to the strictest ethical scrutiny. The center, like hospitals most everywhere these days, has a highly qualified ethics committee. Indeed it has been observed, correctly, that in the last two decades medical technology has been the salvation of ethics as a profession. Thousands of medical ethicists and bioethicists, as they are called, professionally guide the unthinkable on its passage through the debatable on its way to becoming the justifiable until it is finally established as the unexceptionable. Those who pause too long to ponder troubling questions along the way are likely to be told that “the profession has already passed that point.” In truth, the profession is usually huffing and puffing to catch up with what is already being done without its moral blessing.
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The star of Loma Linda is a surgeon named Leonard Bailey. On October 16, 1987, Dr. Bailey led a team that transplanted a heart from an anencephalic infant into another baby delivered by Caesarean section three hours earlier. A statement from Loma Linda notes that the procedure was “innovative medically” and also “interesting ethically” because it “prompted further discussions regarding the moral wisdom of using brain dead or non-brain dead anencephalic human neonates as organ donors.” (Neonate is the term for children less than a month old.) The girl baby who “donated” her organs was, interestingly enough, named Gabrielle, the feminine of Gabriel, the archangel who reveals the things to come.
There are about 3,500 anencephalic children born each year in this country, and most of them die within a month. The problem is that their organs deteriorate and are not much good for transplanting if you wait until they die. Loma Linda recommends to parents that the children be allowed to live for no more than a week before taking the parts. The parents, we are told, find this procedure “deeply meaningful,” since their disappointment in having a handicapped baby is “redeemed” by putting the baby to good use in “helping others.” The language of redemptive suffering is very prominent in the discussion of these matters. The sorrow of being afflicted with handicapped children or older people with severe disabilities, we are informed, is significantly assuaged by “donating” them for altruistic purposes.
Dr. Jacquelyn Bamman, a neonatologist, is among those who are troubled about what is now being done and proposed, well knowing that today’s somewhat speculative proposal may be next week’s fait accompli. Dr. Bamman worries about the clear departure from traditional medical ethics by doing surgery that is not intended to benefit the child, and indeed is directly aimed at causing the death of the child by removing the heart. She notes “the lack of any rational way to prevent the extension of this same approach to involve other children with serious defects.” If the prospect of a limited lifespan justifies the killing of children in order to use their organs, the issue goes far beyond the anencephalic to include children with Tay-Sachs, Werdnig-Hoffman, and other diseases. It might be argued that in these cases, unlike the anencephalic, there would be “benefit” to the children since it would relieve them of pain (it being assumed, although no one can know for sure, that the anencephalic feel no pain). If all whose brains are severely abnormal are potential “donors,” Dr. Bamman observes, the field is opened to infants with hydranencephaly, grade IV intracranial hemorrhage, Trisomy 13 and 18, and a host of other handicaps.
Responding to Dr. Bamman on behalf of the Loma Linda ethics committee, Dr. O. Ward Swarner acknowledges that she has indeed raised some interesting questions. He assures her that at the present time “there are no intentions or justifications for putting some in jeopardy to harvest organs for others.” At the same time, the ethics committee is in constant “consultation with other concerned staff members, nurses, social workers, ministers, and ethicists” and will “follow with interest” the work of other experts in this rapidly developing field. Dr. Swarner firmly states that “the ethics committee has not approved any harvesting of organs or procurement of transplants in any other than brain-dead patients.”
But, of course, tomorrow is another day. Speaking of a mother who agreed to have her baby’s organs harvested for others, Dr. Joyce Peabody, chief of neonatology at Loma Linda, said, “She has made a major contribution by getting us brave enough to face this issue head on.” We can be confident that the brave surgeons and ethicists of Loma Linda will not flinch in the face of the next “technological breakthrough.” Nor is it likely that other institutions will long allow the stars of a few institutions such as Loma Linda to dominate the firmament of the bright new world now in sight.
To be sure, there are those who warn against the seductive appearance of the brave and the bright. The late Paul Ramsey is sometimes called the father of contemporary medical ethics, and he had reason to rue much of what he helped to wreak. Testifying before a government committee on medical ethics three years ago, Ramsey said, “I respectfully express the hope that the committee will be initially prepared to say ‘Never’ to a number of things that are now being done or proposed and that are now proximately possible to be done, and not merely to things that may be only remotely possible. Remote possibilities are soon proximate, and soon done.”
But what about just saying no? It is possible to say it, but much more difficult to make it stick. Even a good reason for saying no makes little impression in a culture that has lost any shared understanding of the good. Pitted against every no is the logic of progress, the ambition of pioneers, and, not to put too fine a point on it, the lust for fame and fortune. Even those who have the nerve to say no almost never say never. Then too, and also hard to resist, is the impulse of compassion—to relieve the suffering of “meaningless” human lives, to contribute to the health and happiness of others.
Actually, organ transplants involving infants are still highly experimental. As of this writing, there have been only nine heart transplants involving newborns, four kidney transplants, and no liver transplants. But technology proceeds apace, and those who say no—never mind never—are politely but firmly informed that medical practice has already passed that point. And, of course, we are not talking only about infants, although for some reason “breakthroughs” in what we give ourselves permission to do to people usually begin with little people, and with the old or very sick.
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There is, at all stages of life, an obvious connection between the harvesting of healthy organs and the decision about when someone is dead, or should die. The question of euthanasia is thus an integral part of the progress of the eugenics project.
Of course the dispute over the merits and demerits of euthanasia has been with us for a very long time, going back to the Greeks and Romans, long before people attributed their decisions to the force of technological breakthroughs. But today the discussion is taking interesting turns.
The Dutch, it is generally acknowledged, are a very progressive people. That country’s program of voluntary euthanasia, which is said to account for up to 8,000 deaths per year, has recently received a great deal of attention in the American media. In the last year several television programs have dramatically contrasted American practice with the more advanced and humane approach of the Dutch. A report in the Wall Street Journal declares, “The Netherlands is pioneering in an area that in the coming decade is likely to be a focus of medical, legal, ethical—and intensely emotional—debate in many industrialized countries.” A spokesman for the Royal Dutch Medical Association explains, “What we are seeing now is the result of processes and technology that keep people alive too long, people who are suffering, people you cannot help in any real way.” Daniel Callahan of the Hastings Center has made an intriguing contribution to our language by describing such people as the “biologically tenacious.”
Not everyone, it should be noted, is enamored of the Dutch program. For instance, Dr. Richard Fenigsen of the Willem-Alexander Hospital in the Netherlands cites a number of studies indicating that one problem with the voluntary-euthanasia program is that it is frequently not voluntary. At some of the major hospitals, general practitioners seeking to admit elderly patients are advised to administer lethal injections instead. Involuntary active euthanasia (direct intervention to terminate a patient’s life without the patient’s permission) has not yet been incorporated into law, but there is great judicial leniency. For example, a doctor suspected of killing twenty residents of a senior-citizens’ home pleaded guilty to killing five, was convicted of killing three, and was given a fine.
As might be expected, these developments both reflect and effect changes in popular attitudes. In a recent Dutch opinion poll, 43 percent of the respondents favored involuntary euthanasia for “unconscious persons with little chance of recovery.” On another question, 33 percent had “much understanding” and 44 percent had “some understanding” for those who, out of mercy, kill their parents without their consent. Seventeen percent thought it “probable” that they would ask for involuntary active euthanasia for a demented relative.
The synod of the Reformed Church in Holland, desiring to offer moral guidance on coming to terms with the modern world, is perceived to be quite favorable in its attitude toward involuntary active euthanasia. Dutch of less advanced opinion, on the other hand, claim to have noticed a striking upsurge in the suspicion expressed by the elderly and sick toward doctors, hospitals, and their own families. (A Gallup poll reports that four times as many Americans would donate a relative’s organs as would donate their own. “Trust is at issue here,” commented Arthur Harrell of the American Council on Transplantation. “Some people are concerned that doctors will prematurely declare them brain-dead. Obviously, we try to allay that fear.” Obviously.)
On the Dutch situation, a historical footnote is of interest. The general humanity, indeed heroism, of the Dutch during World War II was made famous by the story of Anne Frank. Less well known is the story of the Dutch medical profession. When in 1941 Artur Seyss-Inquart, the Reich Commissar for the Netherlands, ordered physicians to cooperate by, for instance, concentrating their efforts on rehabilitating people who could be made fit for labor, the doctors of Holland unanimously refused. Seyss-Inquart then threatened to take away their medical licenses unless they cooperated at least to the extent of giving information about their patients to the Occupation authorities. Unanimously, the doctors of Holland responded by handing in their licenses, taking down their shingles, and seeing their patients secretly. They declared that they would not compromise their medical oath, which pledged them to work, solely and always, for the welfare of their patients. Seyss-Inquart persuaded and cajoled, and then he made an example of a hundred doctors whom he arrested and sent to the concentration camps. But all to no avail. The medical profession of Holland remained adamant. The doctors quietly took care of the widows and orphans of their condemned colleagues, but they would not give in. And so we are told that during the entire Occupation not one of the heroic doctors of Holland cooperated in the Nazi programs of slave labor, euthanasia, eugenic experimentation, and nontherapeutic sterilization.
But all that was a long time ago, and the Dutch doctors of today have so far forgotten it that the Committee on Medical Ethics of the European Community, in unanimously rejecting the proposals of the Dutch medical society on euthanasia, has expressed “hope that this strong reaction will induce [our] Dutch colleagues to reconsider their move and return to the happy communion of utmost respect for human life.”
If the Dutch are being urged to return from the abyss, in this country the forward stampede gains momentum, it seems, almost day by day. This spring voters in California may have the opportunity to vote in a referendum being pushed by Americans Against Human Suffering, the political arm of the Hemlock Society, which has been around for some years and claims 26,000 members in 26 chapters nationwide. The Hemlock Society’s motto is “Good Life, Good Death,” and the referendum is promoted under the banner of the “right to die.” “We need a public debate on acts of euthanasia, and California has the best track record in the nation for taking unprecedented action,” says Derek Humphrey, founder of the Hemlock Society. (Mr. Humphrey has written a much acclaimed book on how he provided lethal drugs for his first wife to commit suicide when she had bone cancer.) It is confidently predicted that, even if this referendum fails in California, it will “raise the consciousness” of the nation and open the way to other initiatives.
The referendum, which would legalize active euthanasia and “assisted suicide,” is strongly opposed by the California Medical Association. “The public should realize that what we are talking about here is killing people,” says Catherine Hanson, the association’s legal counsel. “It is absolutely contrary to the entire medical ethic.” Proponents of the referendum counter that, in the light of recent developments, such a statement of absolutes is obsolete. They may well be right.
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Certainly there has been in the last several years a rash of books, articles, and television programs promoting the “right to die” and, although it is usually not put this way, the permission, even the obligation, to kill. In such advocacy, the linkage is commonly made among abortion, fetal experimentation and exploitation, infanticide, and suicide. The basic argument advanced is the need for rational and scientific control over the untidiness of the human condition.
Among the prominent writers in this campaign are Jeffrey Lyon, Earl Shelp, Peter Singer, Helga Kuhse, and Robert Weir. Singer, for example, has famously argued that your average pig has more consciousness and therefore more right to protection than fetuses or human beings suffering from severe disabilities. (Other animal-rights advocates have exhibited some ambivalence toward this line of argument, knowing that it is human beings, not pigs, that they need to persuade of the Tightness of their cause.) In the eugenics literature dealing with issues such as infanticide and suicide, champions of progress typically inveigh against the baneful influence of Christianity in perpetuating irrational “taboos.” This would seem to neglect both the proscriptions against homicide in the Jewish tradition and the wondrous flexibility demonstrated by many Christians in accommodating what are thought to be the imperatives of the modern world.
The current eugenics literature is admirably candid about the radicality of what is being proposed. Shelp, for instance, declares that “it is proper to treat unequals unequally,” and warns against “a tyranny of the dependent in which the production of able persons is consumed by the almost limitless needs of dependent beings.” Lyon recognizes that many severely handicapped people succeed in living happy, productive, and even inspirational lives. But such people are aberrations (“dynamic, overachieving supercripples”) and should not be permitted to distract our attention from the need for a rational public policy that must, perforce, deal with the generality.
In his very useful study, The Nazi Doctors, Robert Jay Lifton details the progress of the “medicalization of killing” under the Third Reich. The concept of lebensunwertes Leben (“life not worthy of life”) was used to cut a wide swath, including the unfit newborn, the mentally ill, the gravely handicapped, the useless aged, and, of course, several races that fell into the category of the “subhuman.” It must be acknowledged that, except for tracts issued from the fever swamps surrounding the eugenics project, few people today include a racial factor in calculations of who does and who does not have sufficient “quality of life” to continue living. Here the inhibition against racial discrimination seems to be one “taboo” still firmly in place.
It must be further acknowledged that in the literature there is considerably more moral agonizing about ending the lives of people who have previously been recognized as rational and productive citizens. But in the cases of unfit newborns and human life that is “incapable of full social participation,” the decision to terminate is relatively uncomplicated. A rational quality-of-life measurement makes it clear that their lives are not a good for them. Thus the Nobel Prizewinners Francis Crick and James Watson, co-discoverers of the structure of DNA, think that newborn infants should be subjected to rigorous examination and should be permitted to live only if they are found fit. Many who find the proposal repugnant are sure that there is a convincing argument against it, but it does not come readily to mind.
Critics contend, however, that the question of whether life is a good for the person gets things backward. The argument of the critics is that life is a good of the person, and that depriving the innocent of such life is tantamount to homicide. In current debates that argument is widely dismissed as “vitalism,” which presumably depends upon a metaphysical belief regarding the status of life rather than a rational judgment regarding the quality of the life actually being lived. Admittedly and inevitably, in all cases somebody is making a decision. Such decisions become especially tricky in the instances of involuntary euthanasia or “assisted suicide.”
Despite the avid promotion of death with dignity, living wills, and related ideas, the vast majority of people do not, for whatever reason, clearly indicate in advance the circumstances in which they wish to be killed. This results in numerous instances, especially with respect to the biologically tenacious aged, of “subhuman life” being a heavy burden upon family and the medical staff. At this point the assistance offered in assisted suicide must be generously defined, including the decision to make a decision for people who cannot decide. Ethics committees around the country have helpfully developed quality-of-life indexes by which it is possible to make a “best-interest” judgment, also called a “reasonable-person” judgment. That is to say, others decide to terminate a patient’s life on the basis of what it is assumed the patient would decide were he a reasonable person acting in his own best interest.
This form of “substituted judgment” has led to concepts such as surrogate suicide or substitute suicide, although of course it is always the other person who dies. Perhaps not surprisingly, when the questions are posed in these ways it is usually decided on behalf of the other party that he or she would decide to stop being a burden to the people who are actually making the decision.
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In current practice and discussion, there is not yet a consensus in favor of active euthanasia by administering a lethal dosage or otherwise actually killing the person. A consensus is rapidly forming, however, on withholding food and hydration in order to “facilitate the dying process.” This consensus requires the erasure of two distinctions of long standing in medical ethics and practice. The first distinction is between “ordinary” and “extraordinary” means of treatment. It is now widely, although by no means unanimously, agreed that, in the case of certain classes of patients, all treatment is extraordinary, and therefore not required and perhaps not ethically permitted.
The second distinction is between medical treatment and providing food and water. It used to be thought that providing food and water, also intravenously, is a matter of ordinary obligation. The argument is now on the ascendancy, however, that providing food and water constitutes medical treatment. And, again, in specified cases any medical treatment falls into the category of “extraordinary means” which are neither required nor to be countenanced. With the withdrawing of food and water the decision has been made to intervene actively with the clear and sole intent of hastening death. That is to say, the decision has been made for euthanasia or mercy killing. The only question now is how death is to be effected. Starvation is a very clumsy means. The person may live for days, there is often frightful physical disfigurement, and there is the unknown factor of prolonged pain. The attractiveness of starvation to the morally queasy is that it is the “least direct” means of hastening death.
But once we have grown more comfortable with the euthanasia decision that has been made, it seems almost certain that medical practice will adopt means that are more efficient and less aesthetically disturbing. Starvation must thus be seen as a provisional technique to be employed only until medical practice and public opinion are prepared for more rational measures.
It should not be thought that these developments have to do only with the comatose, the “biologically tenacious” drug-sated aged, or others in imminent danger of dying. Those are of course the cases highlighted by euthanasia enthusiasts, for such cases lend themselves to emotionally powerful statements about needlessly prolonging “meaningless” human life, and about the burden that such life is to others. Traditional medical ethics has long allowed the removal of means of sustenance from those near death if the means are counterproductive or ineffectual. In other words, if the feeding instrument is causing other severe disabilities, or the body is not able to assimilate the food, or the person is within hours of dying no matter what is done, intravenous feeding should be discontinued. But what is now being proposed and what is now being done goes much further, including direct intervention to terminate broad categories of people suffering from quality-of-life deficiencies.
The new approach received intense national attention a few years ago in the Baby Doe case in Indiana. There a court allowed parents to starve to death their handicapped baby, even though dozens of couples volunteered to adopt the child. Since then there have been well-publicized cases of adults injured in accidents or suffering from crippling diseases who have been starved to death, although they gave no indication that they wished to die and, at least according to some observers, indicated a will to live. Many questions, of course, have been raised about such cases, most of which are addressed by a recent report from the Hastings Center, “Guidelines on the Termination of Life-Sustaining Treatment and the Care of the Dying.”
The panel that issued this report in September 1987 proposes very broad categories of people for whom medical treatment, including the supply of food and water, might be terminated. One category, for instance, is “the patient who has an illness or disabling condition that is severe and irreversible.” That would seem to offer distinct possibilities for reducing the population of nursing homes, mental institutions, and a good many hospital wards, thus dramatically relieving pressure on scarce medical resources. The panel focuses on people in such categories who “lack decision-making capacity” with respect to whether they wish to live. In these cases a substituted judgment is required and the “reasonable-person” standard should be applied. The standard is put this way: “Would a reasonable person in the patient’s circumstances probably prefer the termination of treatment because the patient’s life is largely devoid of opportunities to achieve satisfaction, or full of pain or suffering with no corresponding benefits?” The panel wants it understood that it is being cautious and is sensitive to possible “abuses” of the approach it recommends. Substituted judgments should be carefully reviewed by several parties, including doctors and ethics committees. After listing the several categories of people who are candidates for termination, the report states, “The above list in no way suggests that treatment should be forgone just because a person falls into one of these categories; nor does it mean that treatment may not be terminated for other patients.” The latter statement, one notes, sharply qualifies and may in some instances nullify the former, despite the former’s being italicized. (Treatment, keep in mind, includes supplying food and water.)
Much depends on what is meant by the person’s “capacity” to make a decision about whether he wishes to die. “These guidelines define decision-making capacity as: (a) the ability to comprehend information relevant to the decision; (b) the ability to deliberate about the choices in accordance with personal values and goals; and (c) the ability to communicate (verbally or nonverbally) with caregivers.”
Any experienced medical “caregiver” will recognize that this constitutes a pretty tall order for many patients. For example, deliberating about choices in accordance with personal values and goals is difficult for many people under the best of circumstances. Yet the panel urges “respect for the patient as a self-determining individual” and cautions against “wresting control from the patient with decision-making capacity.” Capacity, we are told, should not be confused with competence, which is a legal term. “A person can be legally competent and nonetheless lack the capacity to make a particular treatment decision.” Capacity turns out to be a marvelously plastic measure. “Capacity is not an all-or-nothing matter; there is a spectrum of abilities, and capacity can fluctuate over time and in different circumstances.” For instance, “Extreme instability of preference may itself be a form of decision-making incapacity.” The patient who yesterday wanted to die and today just as intensely wants to live clearly does not have the capacity to understand what is in his best interest.
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The Hastings Center guidelines, which emerged from a project involving twenty experts over two-and-a-half years, have been widely hailed. The New York Times reported that “experts say no such comprehensive guidelines have been developed before,” and the study “breaks important ground.” A closer look at the panel, however, indicates that the document, contra its publicity, may not reflect such an impressive consensus among experts.
Five of the twenty members of the project, including director Daniel Callahan, are from the staff of the Hastings Center. Of the remainder, there is a strong representation of people interested in medical malpractice law and of others involved in the administration of nursing homes. Without impugning motives, it might be suggested that such people have a vested interest in more relaxed rules for the treatment of people who lack “decision-making capacity.”
In addition, two members of the panel who are ethicists issued substantive written dissents. Leslie Steven Rotenberg of Los Angeles, who has also publicly challenged the Loma Linda proceedings discussed earlier, is quite forthright: “I fear these guidelines, if widely endorsed, may be used to give a moral ‘imprimatur’ to undertreating or failing to treat persons with disabilities, unconscious persons for whom accurate prognoses are not yet obtainable, elderly patients with severe dementia, and others whose treatment is not believed (to use the language of the report) ‘costworthy.’”
Despite all this, the Hastings Center report is celebrated as a landmark document by proponents of the eugenics project, and is now being invoked in public debates, court cases, and state legislatures around the country.
The director of the Hastings Center, Daniel Callahan, is frequently described as the most widely respected authority on medical ethics in America. Be that as it may, he has certainly been at the center of these discussions for almost twenty years and has recently stirred a lively discussion with his book Setting Limits: Medical Goals in an Aging Society.2 Callahan urges us yet once more to brace ourselves for the thinking of the unthinkable. The basic proposal is that there should be an age limit, perhaps eighty-five, beyond which there will be no government funding for life-extending medical care. Because Callahan is a decent and intelligent man, the proposal is almost painfully nuanced and surrounded by myriad qualifications. Indeed, his is a deeply conflicted and often confused argument. Thus, he offers extensive data indicating that America simply cannot afford quality medical care for a rapidly aging population but, at the same time, he insists that his proposal should not be adopted for purely fiscal reasons. Again, he repeatedly says that his proposal would be “dangerous” and “morally mischievous” without major changes in cultural attitudes toward aging and death, and such changes, he says, may take generations. Yet he persists in making his proposal now.
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Some of the changes advocated by Callahan are surely to be welcomed. Drawing on the work of Leon Kass of the University of Chicago, he urges our accepting the idea that there is such a thing as “a natural life span.” In this respect Callahan sets himself against the eugenics project with its delusory dream of immortality through technological control. Yet he simultaneously subscribes to a quality-of-life index by which “natural” limits, such as severe disability, are not accepted but taken to be signs of a life not worth living. Callahan is well aware of the Nazi doctrine of lebensunwertes Leben and notes that, in the light of the Nazi experience, “there has been a justifiable reluctance to exclude borderline cases from the human community.” That reluctance can be overcome, however, if we keep it firmly in mind that the Nazis “spoke all too readily of ‘a life not worth living,’” and if we ourselves are very careful when we speak the same way.
Callahan clearly wants to distance himself from the proponents of euthanasia, assisted suicide, and other such measures. But he also argues that “artificial” feeding is a medical treatment and should be discontinued in the case of patients suffering from severe quality-of-life deficiency. Lacking any ethical framework other than liberal individualism, Callahan stresses respect for the patient’s decision, or, as it turns out, those who decide for the patient when the patient is “incapable.” What it comes down to is quite bluntly stated: “At stake is how far and in what ways we are emotionally prepared to go to terminate life for the elderly.”
The sentence is typical of the logic of the eugenics project and interesting in several respects. For instance, it is said that we are terminating life “for” other people, rather than terminating the life “of” other people, it being assumed by the “reasonable-person standard” that we are doing them a favor. As important, we are told that what is at stake is what we are “emotionally prepared” to do. For many people, that is a slight barrier indeed. In this way of thinking, the accent is on freedom, voluntarism, and choice. Nobody is allowed to “impose his values” on others. You are free to decide not to terminate your elderly parent or handicapped child, but you must also agree not to interfere with my decision to “terminate life for” the incapacitated who fall within my decision-making authority. (It is worth noting that the Hastings Center guidelines do include “religious exemptions” for people who have religiously grounded inhibitions about the policies proposed.)
Daniel Callahan is a spirited opponent of the slippery-slope metaphor, insisting that one thing does not necessarily, or even probably, lead to another. But his own emotional preparedness with respect to the treatment of the dependent and incapable has undergone a remarkable development. In the October 1983 issue of the Hastings Center Report he wrote forcefully against withdrawing food and water. “Given the increasingly large pool of superannuated, chronically ill, physically marginal elderly, it could well become the nontreatment of choice.” He added, “Because we have now become sufficiently habituated to the idea of turning off a respirator, we are psychologically prepared to go one step further.” In 1983 Callahan was convinced that “the feeding of the hungry, whether because they are poor or because they are physically unable to feed themselves, is the most fundamental of all human relationships. It is the perfect symbol of the fact that human life is inescapably social and communal. We cannot live at all unless others are prepared to give us food and water when we need them. . . . It is a most dangerous business to tamper with, or adulterate, so enduring and central a moral emotion.” Four years later Callahan invites us, not to tamper with or adulterate, but to discard that moral emotion. It is, after all, but an emotion. One may perhaps be forgiven for thinking that Callahan dramatically illustrates the slippery slope that he so vigorously denies.
To be sure, there is nothing wrong with changing one’s mind, and people like Daniel Callahan may simply say that they have thought things through more carefully. As he himself suggests, however, this is not a matter of thinking one’s way through but of feeling one’s way through. We need no longer think about the unthinkable when, in time, it has become emotionally tolerable, even banal. A useful term in this connection is primicide, the first murder. When it is first suggested that we do a murderous deed, we may respond, “But that would be murder!” After we have done it once, or maybe twice, that response loses something of its force of conviction. As a barrier to evil, novelty is a one-time thing; it cannot be reinstated. In the 1930’s a hit man for Murder Inc. was on trial. The prosecutor asked him how he felt when committing a murder. He in turn asked the prosecutor how he felt when he tried his first case in court, to which the prosecutor allowed that he was nervous, but he got used to it. “It’s the same with murder,” observed the hit man, “you get used to it.”
Champions of the eugenics project are deeply and understandably offended when it is said that they are advocating murder. For some reason they do not take offense when the statement is amended to say that they are advocating what used to be called murder.
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The attempt to deny risk and suffering, the use and elimination of the unfit—these were all elements of the old eugenics. But what earlier eugenists could only dream about can now be done; and, if it can be done, it likely will be done. In the technological possibility of creating “a new man in a new society,” we have a vision that makes the similar ambition of political totalitarians seem modest by comparison.
Of course there are serious people worrying about that ominous prospect. But it seems that soaring hubris, joined to technical capacity, has broken the bonds of moral restraint. That the bonds are broken is evident enough in the very efforts designed to impose limits.
Thus not long ago textbooks in ethics used to set forth the moral principle that each person counts for one, and none counts for more or less than one. A standard illustration of the principle was the hypothetical case of a hospital with five patients, four of them persons of world-class accomplishment (a statesman, musician, mathematician, and philosopher), the fifth a mental deficient without means or kin. The fifth does, however, have the healthy organs which, if transplanted, could save the lives of the other four. The point was that it could never be right to kill the one in order to save the four, for people are always to be treated as ends and never as means. It was a venerable principle in the history of Western thought. Today the principle is becoming the hypothesis, and the illustration no longer illustrates anything but a “morally agonizing dilemma” to be gravely faced in consultation with surgeons, social workers, ministers, and ethicists.
Or consider, once again, Britain’s Warnock Committee. Its chairman, Dame Mary Warnock, flatly states, “There is no such thing as a moral expert.” This may suggest that, as a teacher of moral philosophy at Cambridge, Dame Mary is taking her salary under false pretenses, but that is a question for her and her conscience. More immediate to our concern is the assumption that on issues of life and of death, of birth and of the family, “everyone has a right to judge for himself.” This is the perfect formula of what Alasdair MacIntyre calls the ethics of “modern emotivism.” Step by step, the committee states that, since A is allowed, there is no rational reason for disallowing B. It is, as Daniel Callahan might say, a question of emotional preparedness. Of course the committee knows that some matters of life and death must be regulated by law, but law is a weak reed in the absence of moral reasoning. As Dame Mary writes, “We were bound to have recourse to moral sentiment, to try, that is, to sort out what our feelings were, and to justify them.” Most of us, it might be noted, are very good at justifying our feelings.
Studies such as that of the Warnock Committee are not done in a social vacuum. The people involved recognize that they are morally accountable to society and, we are told, “Society feels, albeit obscurely, that its members, especially the most helpless, such as children and the very old, must be protected against possible exploitation by enthusiastic scientists: and embryos are brought into the category of those deserving protection, just as animals are. This is a matter of public, and widely shared, sentiment” (emphasis in original). But the obscure feelings of society are marvelously malleable. So the committee states, “The question must ultimately be . . . in what sort of society can we live with our conscience clear?” That, take note, is the ultimate question.
Dame Mary wants it known that she is not unaware of the dangers in this line of thinking. There is, she says, “an increasing sense of urgency” that social controls “should be brought up to date, so that society may be protected from its real and very proper fear of a rudderless voyage into unknown and threatening seas.”
And so, according to the Warnock Committee, we have embarked upon this parlous voyage guided by public opinion, technological innovation, and obscure moral feelings, headed toward a society in which we can live with our conscience clear. (It is worth noting that eight of the sixteen members of the committee issued dissents of varying substance. Even so, the Warnock report is hailed as a landmark by the champions of the return of eugenics.)
Of a very different order is last year’s document from the Vatican, “An Instruction on Respect for Human Life in Its Origin and on the Dignity of Procreation.” Insisting on the unity of the relational and procreative in human sexuality, the document condemns the new eugenics in no uncertain terms. Procedures such as those countenanced by the Warnock Committee, says the Vatican, are not acceptable. “These interventions are not to be rejected on the grounds that they are artificial” but because they violate the dignity of the human person.
Charles Krauthammer, among others, has treated the Vatican Instruction with respect, acknowledging that it is “intellectually more satisfying” than committee products such as Warnock. But he thinks the Vatican statement is also “far less useful.” He cites the injunction of the Talmud, “Make ye a fence to the law.” A fence prohibits actions that, although not in themselves wrong, open the way to wrong. The problem with the Vatican statement, says Krauthammer, is that it is “a fence too far.” The Vatican, he writes, “sees what hell lies at the bottom of the slippery slope, and rather than erect bulwarks, detours, and sandbags, it declares the entire mountain off-limits.” For Krauthammer, “There is no way off the slope.” “Better,” he asserts, “to find a reasonable way to live on it.”
At best, it seems, we can slow the slide to what Krauthammer calls the “hellish center” at the bottom. Reports such as that of the Warnock Committee recommend detailed ethical examination of every inch of our downward slide, and they would even put some provisional obstacles in the way, but their very logic precludes the erection of any fences at all, whether near or far. More than that, they invite the conclusion that there is no hell that the fit and the flexible could not learn to live in with a “clear conscience.”
When it comes to the elimination of the unfit, Robert Destro, law professor and member of the United States Civil Rights Commission, believes there might be some safety in the legal tradition and in existing laws. “The prejudice against the disabled and those with mental disabilities,” he writes in the Journal of Contemporary Health Law and Policy, “is a strong one, with a long and sordid history.” In recent years, civil-rights law in particular has been significantly extended to include the handicapped. If courts are now to countenance discrimination against the mentally and physically handicapped by permitting guardians to starve their wards, says Destro, “they should do so directly rather than mask their decisions in high-sounding arguments claiming to rely on ‘privacy’ and ‘self-determination.’” In cases where the ward is incompetent, Destro goes on, the only privacy and self-determination being served are those of the guardian, not those of the ward. On a collision course with the entire history of achievements in civil rights, “the law is in the process of adopting a functional definition of the value of the human person, but it is doing so by indirection.” Destro concludes: “Though it may take some time, I do believe that we will live to regret leaving to lawyers, doctors, judges, legislators, and ethicists the important task of deciding who among the disabled shall live, and who shall die. We have been down that road before.”
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Writing in 1963, Mark H. Haller, a historian of the American eugenics movement, noted that since the war against the Nazis there were signs of “a renewed interest in eugenic problems, although the word eugenics has seldom been used.” He cited the noted eugenist Frederick Osborn who urged the movement to be patient, waiting for scientific knowledge, technology, and social attitudes to prepare the way for the radical changes required. Otherwise, said Osborn, the movement would make the mistakes it did in the past and would once again “turn public opinion back against eugenics.”
Twenty-five years later it seems the time is right. Perhaps the law, or maybe the remembrance of horrors past, will yet fend off the return of eugenics in its fullness. Perhaps popular moral judgment, drawn from older traditions of moral truth, will, through the democratic process, begin to erect fences. Perhaps our cultural leaders will rediscover modes of moral reason that appeal to a good beyond emotion. And perhaps not.
And so, quite suddenly it seems, we are facing questions for which we have no ready answers. The questions are being answered, however. Most of us, probably because we want to live with a clear conscience, prefer not to think about the answers that are being given. Later, we can say that we did not know.
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1 I am sometimes asked whether I “believe in” the slippery slope, as though it requires an act of faith. I believe in the slippery slope the same way I believe in the Hudson River. It's there. There is no better metaphor to describe those cultural and technological skid marks which are evident to all who have eyes to see.
2 Simon & Schuster, 256 pp., $18.95.
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The Return of Eugenics
Must-Reads from Magazine
The Method in North Korea’s Madness
A monstrous regime's rational statecraft
Nicholas Eberstadt 2018-01-16
ne of the more improbable geostrategic surprises of recent years has been the revival of the North Korean economy under the direction of Kim Jong Un. Just to be clear, that economy remains pitiably decrepit, horribly distorted, and desperately dependent on outside support. Recent estimates suggest that its annual merchandise exports do not reach even 1 percent of the level generated by its nemesis, South Korea. Even so, the economic comeback on Kim Jong Un’s watch has been sufficiently strong to permit a dramatic ramp-up in the tempo of his nation’s race to amass a credible nuclear arsenal and develop functional intercontinental ballistic missiles capable of striking the U.S. mainland. That is, of course, the express and stated objective of the program. Pyongyang today appears to be perilously close to achieving its aim—much closer now, indeed, than complacent Western intelligence assessments had presumed would be possible by this juncture. But then, North Korea is full of surprises for foreign observers.
The difficulty with analyzing the country’s weaknesses and strengths comes from the fact that the North Korean system—which is made up of the Kim dynasty, the North Korean state, and the economy constructed to maintain them both—is unlike any other on earth. By now, its brand of totalitarianism (“our own style of Socialism,” as Pyongyang calls it) is sufficiently distinctive that children of the Soviet or Maoist tradition also commonly find themselves at a loss to apprehend its logic and rhythms.
North Korea is no longer even a Communist state, if that term is to have any meaning. The once-prominent statues of Marx and Lenin in Kim Il Sung Square were removed some years ago. Mention of Marxism-Leninism has reportedly been excised from the updated but still currently unpublished Charter of the Korean Workers’ Party. The 2016 version of its constitution excises all references to Communism, extolling instead only the goal of “socialism”—and its two “geniuses of ideology and theory,” Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il (the grandfather and father of the current dictator). Small wonder that the world routinely misjudges—and very often, underestimates—the North Korean state and its capabilities.1
Despite its suffocating ideology, for example, North Korea is capable of highly pragmatic adaptation and economic innovation. Notwithstanding its proclaimed “self-reliance” and its seeming isolation, it is constantly finding new sources of foreign cash through ingenious and often remarkably entrepreneurial schemes overseas. And despite all the international sanctions, Kim Jong Un really has overseen a North Korean economic upswing of sorts since assuming power in 2011, the signal fact that best helps explain the acceleration in Pyongyang’s push for a credible nuclear and ballistic arsenal. Thanks to these and other apparent paradoxes, an economy seemingly always on the knife edge of disaster somehow manages to stay on course, methodically amassing the military might for what it promises will be an eventual nuclear face-off with the world’s sole superpower.
Though the hour is late, given all the progress that North Korea has been permitted over the past generation, it nevertheless looks as if there may still be time left to prevent Pyongyang from completing and perfecting its nuke and missile projects through “non-kinetic means”—that is to say, through international economic pressure as opposed to military action. For such an approach to work, however, we will need an informed and robust strategy—not the feckless, episodic, and intellectually shoddy interventions we have mainly witnessed up to now.
Indispensable to such a strategy must be an understanding of the North Korean economy—the instrument that makes the North Korean threat possible. In particular, we need to understand 1) how that economy functions, and to what ends; 2) how the “Dear Respected Comrade” Kim Jong Un brought to it a limited but critical measure of economic revival; and 3) how America and others might use the considerable financial and commercial options at their disposal to impair the North Korean regime’s designs, before Pyongyang wins what is now a race against time.
Despite the information blackout that North Korean leadership has striven to enforce for generations, we already know much more about all these things today than the Kim family regime could possibly want—more than enough to begin purposely defanging the North Korean menace.
One: The Economy of Command
Given its longstanding reputation as a basket case, it may startle readers to learn that there was actually a time when North Korea was regarded as a dynamic and rapidly advancing economy. Back in 1965, the eminent British economist Joan Robinson wrote that North Korea’s achievements put “all the economic miracles of postwar development…in the shade.”2
In those days, if Western intellectuals happened to talk about the “Korean miracle,” they weren’t discussing anything going on in the South. And it wasn’t just dreamy academics and well-hosted foreign visitors who seemed to hold North Korea’s economic prospects in high esteem. Between the late 1950s and the early 1960s, Japan witnessed an exodus of ethnic Korean residents—in all, roughly 80,000 people—who packed up and steamed off under their own free will to the North, voting with their feet to join the Korean state they deemed to offer the greater promise.
Despite the devastation North Korea suffered during the war it launched against the South in 1950, and despite the blazing economic takeoff in South Korea that commenced in the early 1960s under the Park Chung-Hee junta, North Korea may have been ahead of South Korea in per capita output for two full decades after the 1953 armistice. A CIA study in the late 1970s, for example, concluded that South Korea did not catch up with North Korea until 1975.3 Contemporaries at South Korea’s Korean Central Intelligence Agency (KCIA) concurred that the North was well ahead of the South on a per capita basis throughout the 1950s and 1960s, though they argued that the South caught up with the North a few years earlier than the CIA believed.
In retrospect, the wonder is that North Korea’s economy worked as well as it did for as long as it did. For from its 1948 founding onward, North Korea was not just another Cold War Soviet-type economy: It was a Stalin-style war economy on steroids.
As fate had it, the Japanese colonial overlords who controlled Korea from 1910 until 1945 constructed a heavy industrial base in its northern half—a forward supply zone to support their own greater Asian war efforts. Unlike the South, the North had major deposits of coal, iron, and other minerals, along with plenty of natural hydropower. “Great Leader” Kim Il Sung—the onetime guerrilla fighter and later Red Army officer who started North Korea’s Kim family dynasty—inherited this infrastructure when he took over the northern part of the divided peninsula in 1945 and used it as a base camp from which he directed an upward climb toward the summit to which he aspired: an economy set on permanent total-war footing.
Kim Il Sung came perilously close to consummating his vision. By the mid-1970s, the Great Leader would observe that “of all the Socialist countries, ours bears the heaviest military burden.”4 Even by comparison with places like the Soviet Union and East Germany, his North Korea was a garrison state. By the late 1980s, this country of barely 20 million was fielding an army of more than 1.2 million—a ratio comparable to America’s in the middle of World War II. Those military-manpower estimates, by the way, are derived not from U.S. or South Korean intelligence, but rather from unpublished population figures Pyongyang transmitted to the UN in 1989 (data that inadvertently revealed the size of the country’s non-civilian male population).5
Today, two Kims later, the International Institute for Strategic Studies reports that North Korea currently maintains the world’s fourth-largest standing army in terms of sheer manpower—ahead of Russia and behind only the globe’s demographic giants (China, India, the United States). For more than half a century—since 1962, the year Kim Il Sung decreed the “all-fortress-ization” of the nation—North Korea has been the most exceptionally and unwaveringly militarized country on the face of the planet.
But why? What possessed North Korean leadership to commit their country, decade after decade, to such an extraordinarily expensive and irrational economic posture? There was a method to this seeming madness. Kim Il Sung’s grand design for unending super-mobilization served many logical purposes, given the first premises of his North Korean state.
Enforcing permanent war-economy discipline comported nicely with perfecting the domestic totalitarian order the Great Leader desired. Further, given the unhappy realities of geography and 20th-century Korean history, having the might to stand up to any and all foreign powers—including his nominal Communist allies in Moscow and Beijing—may also have seemed an imperative. But above all else, North Korea’s immense military economy reflected Kim’s overarching obsession with unifying the divided Korea, and doing so unconditionally—that is to say, to finishing up that Korean War he had started in 1950, and finishing it up on his own terms this time.
In the eyes of North Korea’s rulers, the South Korean state was (and still is) a corrupt, illegitimate, and inherently unstable monstrosity, surviving only because of the American bayonets propping it up. The Great Leader wanted to be able (when the right opening presented itself) to strike a knockout punch against the regime in Seoul and wipe it off the face of the earth—“independent reunification,” in North Korean code language. This he could not do without overwhelming military force—and without an economic system straining constantly to provide that muscle.

at Kim Il Sung Square in PyongyanG. (Photo by Kyodo News via Getty Images)
As early as 1970, the Great Leader was warning that “the increase in our national defense capability has been obtained at a very great price.”6 And by the late 1980s, Kim Il Sung’s “economic miracle” was all but dead in the water. Decades of crushing military burden and systemic suppression of consumer demand had taken their predictable toll. And North Korean planners had compounded these difficulties with additional unforced errors of their own.
Their idiosyncratic application of the Great Leader’s Juche (“self-reliance”) ideology, for example, included a general injunction against importing new foreign machinery and equipment. This ensured that the country would have to maintain a high-cost, low-productivity industrial infrastructure. Juche also apparently meant never having to pay your foreign debts, whether to fraternal socialist states or to “imperialist” creditors in Western countries foolish enough to lend money to Pyongyang. By the 1980s, global financial markets had caught on to the game, and North Korea found itself almost completely cut off from international capital. And the longstanding “statistical blackout” North Korean leadership enforced to facilitate international strategic deception also inadvertently impaired economic performance by blinding domestic decisionmakers and requiring them to “plan without facts.”
But it was the ending of the Cold War that pushed the North Korean economy out of stagnation, and into disaster. Juche ideology notwithstanding, North Korea had never been self-reliant; sustaining its severely deformed economy required constant inflows of concessionary resources from abroad. Pyongyang was (and remains) consummately imaginative in devising schemes for extracting aid and tribute from overseas. In the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s, Kim Il Sung procured the equivalent of tens of billions of dollars in support from Beijing, Moscow, and the Kremlin’s Warsaw Pact satellites, expertly playing the Kremlin off against China, gaming aid out of each while aligning with neither.
In 1984, Kim Il Sung made a fateful error: He leaned decisively toward Moscow, a tilt signaled by his unprecedented six-week state visit to the USSR and Eastern Europe that same year. The gamble paid off initially: Between 1985 and 1989, the Kremlin transferred around $7 billion to Pyongyang, twice as much as the amount transferred over the entire previous 25 years, much of it in military matériel. In 1988, North Korea relied on the Soviet bloc not only for almost all its net concessionary foreign-resources transfers, but also for roughly two-thirds of its international trade, most of it arranged on political, highly subsidized, terms.
Then the came the Soviet bloc’s collapse. By 1992—the year after the collapse of the USSR—both trade and aid from the erstwhile Soviet bloc had plummeted by nearly 90 percent. North Korea’s worldwide overall supplies of merchandise from all foreign sources consequently plunged by more than half over those same years.
These sudden devastating shocks sent North Korea’s economy into a catastrophic free fall from which it would not manage to recover for decades. The socialist planning system essentially collapsed. Famine was just around the corner.
Two: A Man-Made Horror and Its Surprising Aftermath
The North Korean famine of the 1990s was a catastrophe of historic proportions. No one outside North Korea’s leadership knows just how many people died in that completely avoidable man-made tragedy, but the toll was certainly in the hundreds of thousands and could possibly have exceeded a million.7 It arguably qualifies as the single worst economic failure of the 20th century. It was the only time in history that people have starved en masse in an urbanized, literate society during peacetime.
It is noteworthy that the famine—usually dated from 1995 to 1998—did not commence until after the death of the Great Leader and the ascension of his son and heir, “Dear Leader” Kim Jong Il. This was no coincidence. Economic failure was the Dear Leader’s stock-in-trade. His political rise almost perfectly corresponds to the decline and fall of the North Korean economy. It happens that the Dear Leader did succeed in what was arguably his primary political objective: to die of natural causes, still safely and securely in power. But economic progress worthy of the name would not be possible in North Korea so long as he was its supreme ruler.
Though both father and son were totalitarian tyrants enthused with their hereditary total-war machine, the differences in their economic inclinations and impulses were nonetheless striking. Dogmatic as he was, the Great Leader still possessed a peasant’s sense of practicality. Proof of his pragmatism is the singular fact that North Korea, alone among all Asian Communist states (and including Russia in this roster), avoided famine during its 1955–57 collectivization of agriculture.
On the other hand, the Dear Leader, from his sheltered Red Palace upbringing onward, was every bit the paranoid, secluded ideologue. He not only disapproved of any concessions to economic pragmatism but feared these as positively counterrevolutionary and potentially lethal to his rule. He likewise regarded ordinary commercial interactions with the world economy as “honey-coated poison” for the North Korean system. At home, he wanted total mobilization but without any material incentives; from abroad, he sought a steady inflow of funds unconstrained by any reciprocal obligations. Kim Jong Il’s preferred economic model, in short, was to enforce Stakhanovite fervor at home through propaganda and terror while financing his war-economy state through military extortion abroad. He called this approach “military-first politics.”
Unwilling as he was to address the country’s newly dire economic circumstances with reforms—in his view, there was nothing to reform—Kim Jong Il’s North Korea was trapped in deepening depression for most of the 1990s. We will know how close the place came to total economic collapse—to the sort of breakdown of the national division of labor that Germany and Japan suffered at the very end of World War II—only when the archives in Pyongyang are finally opened. Throughout the 1990s, in any case, heavy industry was largely shut down, with inescapable consequences for conventional military forces. The death spiral for the war-making sector redoubled the importance to the regime of the nuke and missile programs, both as an insurance policy for regime survival and as the last viable military instruments for forcing the South into capitulation in some future unconditional unification.
In retrospect, it is clear that Pyongyang had no intention of desisting from its quest for nuclear weapons and ballistic missiles, even as it played Washington and her allies for aid for years by pretending its nuclear program might be negotiable. Yet also in retrospect, the slow tempo of nuke and missile development under Kim Jong Il’s rule has to be considered a surprise. Any serious weapons program requires testing to advance—yet Pyongyang managed just one long-range missile launch in the 1990s and only three during his 17-year reign. The Dear Leader also oversaw two nuclear tests before his death in 2011—but only toward the end of his tenure, in the years 2006 and 2009.
Why this hesitant tempo if nukes and missiles were a central priority for the North Korean war economy? Although other possible explanations come to mind, the obvious one has to do with financial and economic constraints. Ironically, despite his vaunted “military-first politics,” North Korea’s nuke and missile programs may also have been inadvertent casualties of Kim Jong Il’s gift for stupendous economic mismanagement. (True, North Korea could undertake expensive nuclear projects internationally, such as the undeclared plutonium reactor in Syria that was nearing completion when the Israelis leveled it in 2007—but that was apparently a cash-and-carry operation, bankrolled by the Dear Leader’s friendly customers in Iran.)
There is considerable evidence that the North Korean economy hit bottom around 1997 or 1998. That bottom was very low indeed: Rough estimates suggest that, by 1998, North Korea’s real per capita commercial merchandise exports were barely a third their level of just a decade earlier, while real per capita imports, including supplies indispensable to the performance of key sectors of the domestic economy, were down by about 75 percent.
North Korea appears to have turned the economic corner not on the strength of new or better domestic economic policies, but rather on breakthroughs in international aid procurement. Pyongyang figured out how to work the West’s international food-aid system: Between 1997 and 2005, the year before its first nuclear test, it was bringing in an average of over a million tons of free foreign cereal each year, ending the food crisis. It is tempting to regard this as “military-first politics” in action, for military menace played an important role in the international community’s solicitude. It is impossible to imagine a helpless and stricken sub-Saharan population obtaining “temporary emergency humanitarian aid” on such a scale, for such an extended duration and with so very few conditions attached.
Central to this upswing in food aid and other freebies from abroad was the fact that North Korea got lucky with the alignment of governments in Seoul, Washington, and Tokyo. For a while, the leaders of this consortium of states were commonly willing to underwrite an exploratory policy of “sunshine” or “engagement” with the Dear Leader by offering him subventions and financial transfers. To secure his June 2000 Pyongyang Summit with the Dear Leader, for example, South Korea’s then-president had hundreds of millions of dollars secretly wired to special North Korean accounts—thereby committing crimes under South Korean law (for which he later issued pardons).
In the event, the “sunshine”-aid influx that may have rescued North Korea at its darkest moment would wane after its clandestine uranium-processing project surfaced in 2002—but the nuclear crisis that revelation triggered also made possible the next big round of North Korean international aid-harvesting.
After the 2003 U.S. invasion of Iraq, Beijing—alarmed by the possibility that the U.S. might also engage in a similar military confrontation with neighboring North Korea—organized and convened a “six-party talks” diplomatic process, ostensibly for deliberations over North Korean denuclearization, to cool things down. While the subsequent years of talking quite predictably led nowhere, North Korea’s price of attendance was apparently a steep increase in economic support from China. Between 2002 and 2008, China’s annual net balance of shipments of goods to North Korea—its exports to Pyongyang minus corresponding imports—more than quintupled, rocketing upward from less than $300 million to more than $1.5 billion. By then, North Korea had become just as economically dependent on Chinese largesse as Pyongyang had been on Soviet-bloc blandishments two decades earlier—but these inflows, and the politically subsidized trade they came with, were evidently sufficient to help at least partially revive the Dear Leader’s broken economy. From Chinese trade statistics, for example, we can infer that Chinese investments were instrumental in a resuscitation of North Korea’s mining and metallurgy sectors in the last years of Kim Jong Il’s life. (We must rely on inference here since Beijing to this day remains almost totally opaque about its economic relation with Pyongyang.)
All in all, Kim Jong Il’s North Korea took in more than $1 billion from its enemies in Washington, and nearly $4 billion from the “puppet regime” in Seoul (not including the South’s additional expenditures on “off-the-books” transfers and special economic or tourist zones in the North). And from China, North Korea scored more than $12 billion of net merchandise inflows under the Dear Leader—a sum that would look even greater if valued in today’s dollars. All the while, North Korea was also earning invisible revenues from a whole network of highly enterprising if generally illicit overseas endeavors: its “nuke-and-missile homework club” with Iran; à la carte weapons sales and military services provided to a host of dictatorships and terror groups; counterfeiting of U.S. currency; drug racketeering; insurance frauds perpetrated against firms in London’s City; and more. The Dear Leader was extensively involved in the world economy, after all—just in a Bizarro World, Legion of Super-Villains sort of way.
Thanks to highly skilled aid-wheedling, international shakedowns, and financial gangsterism, Kim Jong Il’s North Korea clawed its way back from famine to a low but acceptable new economic normal—all the while forswearing domestic economic reforms or genuinely commercial contacts with the outside world. North Korea did not completely avoid potentially fraught economic changes under Kim Jong Il, of course—that was beyond the powers even of the Dear Leader. Domestic cellphone use began during the Dear Leader’s reign, for example, as did a tentative marketization of private consumption (about which more in a moment). But these and other analogous economic changes during the Kim Jong Il era are best understood as “transition without reform,” to borrow an apt term from North Korea watcher Justin Hastings.8
The economy’s “new normal” in the Dear Leader’s final days was still at a miserable level. Although North Korean scientists could launch long-range missiles and test atomic weapons, and although North Korea’s population had reportedly achieved a fairly high level of educational attainment (higher than China’s, if North Korean figures are believed), the country’s international economic profile was Fourth World. According to the World Trade Organization, North Korea’s per capita merchandise trade levels in 2010 approximated Mali’s. Its share of world merchandise trade that same year was roughly the same as that of Zimbabwe, a country with half of North Korea’s population—and despite its measure of recovery after 1998, North Korea’s global trade share fell by more than two-thirds between 1990 and 2010, even more than Zimbabwe’s under Mugabe’s misrule in that same period.
The world is a moving target and, generally, an improving one—so national stagnation also means continuing relative decline. Although the Dear Leader bequeathed his son Kim Jong Un a system that had avoided total collapse, there was little else that could be said to commend his economic legacy.
Three: The Economic Upturn
Dear Respected Comrade Kim Jong Un faced formidable odds when he took over in late 2011. The twentysomething was a novice manager at the time of his father’s demise. Unlike the Great Leader, who had groomed his son to rule from an early age, Kim Jong Il himself put off the whole business of naming a successor for as long as he possibly could, designating the child of one of his mistresses as the next Supreme Leader only after an incapacitating stroke made the naming of an heir an unavoidable matter of state.
As Kim Jong Un took office, the planned economy was no longer functioning, and to make matters worse, North Korea’s limited market sector was beset by galloping and seemingly unstoppable inflation. His father had experimented with a limited monetization of North Korea’s tiny consumer sector in 2002 but botched it—and only made matters worse with a surprise 2009 “currency reform” that effectively confiscated private holdings above $100, drastically degrading the already low credibility of the won.
From this unpromising beginning, Kim Jong Un has proved a relative success in delivering economic results in North Korea. There is evidence that the North Korean economy has enjoyed some measure of growth, macroeconomic stabilization, and even development under his aegis.
Pyongyang, “the shrine of Juche,” may be a Potemkin showpiece—but is showpiece-ier today than in the past. Construction cranes are whirring, and whole new sections of the city have risen up. Traffic jams now sometimes clog “Pyonghattan’s” vast, previously empty boulevards. Expensive restaurants and shops purveying luxury goods increasingly dot the capital, and their customers are mainly locals, not foreigners. The upsurge in prosperity and living standards evident in Pyongyang is reportedly reflected, albeit to a more modest degree, in other urban centers as well.
Furthermore, in sharp contrast to previous North Korean trends, or other earlier Soviet-type economies, the country today not only displays considerable marketization but also market stability. This much is demonstrated by cereal prices and foreign-exchange rates in informal markets across North Korea. Over the decade between mid-2002 and mid-2012, North Korea’s won depreciated against the U.S. dollar in such markets by a factor of more than 5,000 (no, that is not a typo). But that depreciation abruptly stopped a little over five years ago, and since then the won has traded around 8,000 to the dollar (fluctuating within a band around that average). In other words, North Korea now has a stable currency that is convertible into hard currencies. Likewise, the domestic price of rice in North Korean markets suddenly stopped soaring five years ago and has been in the vicinity of 5,000 won per kilogram ever since. Whatever else one may say of these new domestic price signals from Kim Jong Un’s North Korea, they are not what one would expect to see from an economy in mounting crisis and disarray.
Finally and by no means least important: In the military realm, nuke and missile testing has accelerated. In the 13 years between Kim Jong Il’s first Taepo Dong test and his death, North Korea launched three long-range rockets and detonated two atomic devices. Kim Jong Un has been in power just over six years; his regime has already set off four nuclear tests and shot off more than a dozen long-range missiles. Some of the speed-up could reflect long-term strategic choices and might in part be affected by improvements in efficiency (cost reduction) within the WMD industrial sector. All other things being equal, though, this sharp acceleration would seem to betoken a major new infusion of resources into programs already long accorded a top priority by the North Korean state. Without a bigger economic pie and substantially greater funding sources, it is hard to see how Pyongyang could have pulled this off.
All this said, North Korea is still shockingly unproductive, still punching far below its weight, still nowhere near self-sustaining growth. Kim Jong Un’s boundless self-indulgence is manifest in costly vanity projects like a spanking-new “ski lift to nowhere” resort, Masikryong, a venture otherwise inexplicable save perhaps for the memories of childhood days in Switzerland that it might elicit.
But by distancing himself from his father’s most economically destructive policies and practices, and navigating into previously uncharted waters of economic pragmatism, Kim Jong Un has opened up heretofore ungraspable opportunities for raising living standards and building military power at one and the same time. Thus the name of his signature policy: byungjin, or “simultaneous pursuit.”
In short order after his ascension, Kim Jong Un demoted—or killed—most of the Dear Leader’s closest cadres and confidants. And less than five months after assuming power—at a ceremony commemorating his grandfather’s 100th birthday in April 2012—he made an astounding declaration, coming as it did from North Korea’s supreme ruler: “It is our party’s resolute determination to let our people…not tighten their belts again.” Translation: This is no longer your father’s dictatorship; aspiration for personal betterment is no longer a counterrevolutionary act of treason.
Dear Respected has deliberately and steadily reshaped the economy under his command. The fundamental strategic difference between Kim 2 and Kim 3 was this: Whereas the Dear Leader saw “reform” and “opening” as deadly “ideological and cultural poison” pure and simple, Dear Respected believes that North Korea could withstand a bit of that poison—actually, quite a bit—and even end up stronger for taking it.
Pyongyang’s new policy directives have been informed by this insight. In agriculture, Kim Jong Un promulgated the “June 28 Instructions” (2012), which permitted family-level work units and allowed farmers to keep 30 percent of their surplus—a bonanza compared with all previous official rules. For enterprises and industry, there were the “May 30 Measures” (2014), which allowed managers to hire and fire workers, pay them according to their productivity, and keep a portion of any profits they earned. People were, increasingly, paid with money for their work—and it was real money, as in, money that could buy things people wanted. The gradual marketization and monetization of North Korea’s civilian economy over the past two decades is a major transformation, and one critical to understanding the country today.9
By the late 1980s, North Korean leadership had fashioned a consumer sector that would have turned Stalin green with envy. No country on the planet had so tiny a share of total national output flowing to personal consumption as late Cold War North Korea—and no country had so low a fraction of its personal consumption accruing to citizens on the basis of their own market choices. By the late 1980s, North Korean planners had come closer to completely demonetizing their economy than any modern polity this side of the Khmer Rouge. Most goods, services, and supplies that North Korean families consumed were provisioned to them directly by the state, with no “interference” by actual consumer preferences. North Korean planners wished to cede as little control over their command economy as humanly possible.
Pyongyang’s near-total control of the consumption basket, however, presupposed that the state would be supplying its subjects with their daily necessities in the first place. That collapsed in the mid-1990s when the Public Distribution System simply stopped providing the full promised daily food rations to most of the population—and stopped supplying any food at all to some of the population. A terrible number of those who trusted the government to take care of them ended up perishing. To survive the famine, North Koreans had to learn to buy and sell in informal markets that began to spring up—even though such activity was against the law, and some “economic crimes” were punishable by death. The Kim Jong Il government loathed these new private markets, but it needed them to forestall wholesale calamity. Thus commenced the two-steps-forward-one-step-back dialectic of marketization that lasted the rest of the Dear Leader’s life—and after his death, marketization and monetization of the civilian economy gained further steam.
Today it is all but impossible to get by in North Korea on state-supplied provisions alone—and a wide array of goods and services, both foreign and domestic, are available for money in North Korean markets. Although formally prohibited, even real estate is for sale throughout the country, with a vibrant market for private flats in Pyongyang. And a wealthy marketeering caste has arisen: donju, or “money masters,” stereotypically a well-connected official and his enterprising wife, who use political influence as well as entrepreneurial savvy to enter this nouveau riche North Korean elite.
In case you were wondering: Yes, corruption is rife in North Korean markets. It is the necessary lubricant for all North Korean private commerce. In addition, the government expects a big cut, and such funds have been integral to the recovery of the North Korean state.
The marketization and monetization of its consumer economy, in conjunction with new agricultural and commercial incentives and a more tolerant official attitude toward informal activity, laid the groundwork for a domestic-production upswing in North Korea (and a veritable boom in private consumption, although from a very low starting point).
Unlike Asia’s “reform socialism” states, China and Vietnam, North Korea has never made a serious effort to attract private investment from abroad from real live capitalists. Pyongyang prefers large-scale foreign projects that are political in nature. Such projects are bankrolled by governments indifferent to profit, which is to say by the foreign taxpayers who can ultimately be left holding the bag. Examples include the ill-fated Kaesong Industrial Complex paid for by South Korea, as well as its doomed Kumgang Tourist Resort. For international trade and finance, the overwhelming bulk of North Korean activity still falls into two categories: 1) politically predetermined, highly subsidized economic relationships, or 2) what we might call “guerilla warfare” or “outlaw” finance.
Four: North Korea’s Friends
Preferential trade ties with China are pretty much the only game in town for Pyongyang these days. With the virtual shutdown of South Korea’s politically subsidized inter-Korean trade in 2016 following accusations that money from the Kaesong project was being used to fund the North’s missile program, China may now account for close to 90 percent of North Korea’s international commercial-merchandise trade turnover. And North Korea always receives much more than it gives in its arrangement with China, year after year.
There is, to be sure, an element of harsh capitalist bargaining within this overall relationship—but most of that is in the “people to people” bartering and petty trading at the border, largely for consumer goods. At the national level, judging by Chinese customs statistics, North Korea raked in well over a billion dollars a year in net merchandise shipments from China from 2008 through 2014—with no transparency on Beijing’s part about the mechanisms by which this ongoing transfer is financed, much less about the Chinese government’s objectives and intentions in extending this lavish lifeline.
Since 2015, official Chinese numbers suggest that Beijing’s de facto aid is down—but these look like figures deliberately fudged in the face of mounting international demands for sanctions against North Korea. It is at the very least possible that important aspects of Chinese support for the North Korean economy or its defense industries have not yet come to light. Given what is already known, though, it is indisputable that deals with China under the two latest Kims have been key to reviving North Korea’s heavy industrial sector. (For the year 2016, China reported shipping over three-quarters of a billion dollars of machinery and transport equipment to North Korea, 10 times the volume in 2003, when the six-party talks commenced.)
Vital as Chinese support may be to North Korea’s survival and economic revival, North Korea evidences no gratitude for Beijing’s largesse. Pyongyang does not “do” gratitude. Moreover, leadership in Pyongyang knows very well a bitter truth about Chinese aid that they can never utter: namely, that capricious cutbacks in free food from China in the year 1994 were the trigger for the Great North Korean Famine, which became impossible to conceal by 1995.
Apart from its Chinese lifeline, North Korea’s other main sources of international support come from “outlaw” forays into the world economy—including activities tantamount to state-sponsored organized-crime operations. These shady dealings typically attempt to generate revenues for the state that avoid international detection, often relying on the special protections and prerogatives of a sovereign state for cover.
One cannot help but be struck by the industry, ingenuity, and sophistication that have generally kept such schemes one step ahead of international authorities. Koreans in the North can be world-class innovators, too—it’s just that their chosen fields of excellence happen to be in smuggling, drug-running, money-laundering, and the like.
Some of these inventive schemes have been in the news. In recent years, for example, Pyongyang has made unknown millions abroad from what we might call its own style of human trafficking: profiting off the tens of thousands of workers in labor gangs it has sent to China, Russia, the Middle East, and even parts of Europe. No less inventive has been Pyongyang’s apparent monetization of its growing capacity for cyberwarfare through international bank robbery. In 2016, “unknown” hackers relieved the Central Bank of Bangladesh of $81 million in a spectacular heist; in late 2017, similar cyber-fingerprints were detected in a theft of $60 million from a bank in Taiwan. These are just two of many “hit and runs” orchestrated under the Kim Jong Un crime family. And as the WannaCry ransomware attack last year demonstrated by infecting hundreds of thousands of computers the world over, vastly greater dividends from cybercrime may lie just over the horizon.
Then there is North Korea’s signature global service industry: WMD proliferation. For obvious reasons, most of this work never makes the news. No one outside Kim Jong Un’s court probably knows just how much this nefarious business is bringing in these days. These unobservable flows, however, may be consequential. Consider this: Barely weeks after Tehran inked its September 2012 Scientific Cooperation Agreement with Pyongyang, the won suddenly ended its decade-long freefall and finally achieved exchange-rate stability. North Korea may have had additional, still concealed, operations that were also paying off at the same time as that Iranian deal, of course. But either way, the deal clearly marked a turning point in North Korea’s macroeconomic fortunes, and the stabilization of exchange rates and domestic cereal prices probably could not have occurred without an open spigot of foreign cash.
In sum, the hallmarks of Jong-Un-omics economics would appear to be new revenues from foreign sources, along with the new flows of funds derived from privatization and growth at home. These monies have apparently sufficed not only to stabilize North Korea’s previously toxic currency, and to bring an end to runaway inflation in North Korean key private markets, but also to abet Pyongyang’s nuclear and ballistic ambitions. This, at least, would seem to be the most plausible reconstruction of the limited but meaningful evidence from the jigsaw puzzle that is the North Korean economy today.
To repeat: While we should recognize the existence of this economic upswing we should also keep its scale in perspective. All one need do is consider the sad, stunning space photos of North Korea at night—the satellite shots revealing a territory almost pitch-black, while the rest of Northeast Asia is glowing with light. They attest better than any available statistics to the limits of economic recovery under Kim Jong Un.
Among the other implications of that space imagery, the North simply does not have the pocketbook for a wholesale modernization of its conventional army and a nuke-missile program. For now at least, most of the military’s equipment, apart from critical nuclear-related pockets like submarine production, remains outdated and ill-suited for the tasks originally assigned. Today, Kim Jong Un cannot credibly threaten to roll in and occupy South Korea. But Kim Jong Un is on track to manufacture enough nuclear matches to burn the place down, with Tokyo and Washington thrown in for good measure, in the foreseeable future.
Five: How to Put Pressure on Pyongyang
Given what we know about the North Korean economy, can America and the world community keep Pyongyang from reaching its ultimate nuclear objectives through a real economic-pressure campaign?
We do not know just how close North Korea is to perfecting its weaponization of ballistic missiles, or how many nuclear weapons the North currently possesses. We also do not know as much as we need to about North Korea’s strategic inventories and reserves. If Pyongyang were stopped in its tracks today, its nuclear and missile work would require unwavering vigilance and far-reaching containment for the remaining life of the regime. That said, a serious international campaign of trade and financial sanctions—led by America, ruthlessly executed, and starting immediately—could very significantly slow the pace of Pyongyang’s ongoing nuclear-ballistic march. And if we are in it for the long haul, a serious sanctions campaign could eventually promise the effective suffocation of the entire North Korean military economy.
An international economic campaign of this sort won’t be easy (though America has many more cards in her hand than many now appreciate). It probably won’t be pretty, either. But in any case, it is the world’s last chance to thwart North Korea’s nuclear ambitions by nonmilitary means.
Let’s start with the unpleasant truths. We must recognize that economic pressure will not alter the intentions of the Kim family regime—ever. We must dispense with the fantasy, still inexplicably maintained in various esteemed diplomatic circles and Western universities, that Pyongyang can somehow be pressured—or bribed—at this late stage into changing its mind about its multi-decade march to a credible nuke and missile arsenal. There is no “bringing North Korea back to the table” that ends with CVID—comprehensive, verifiable, irreversible denuclearization. Period.
So much for the bad news. The rest of the news about the outlook for sanctions against North Korea, fortunately, is better than we usually hear.
Many authoritative voices seem to think sanctions have little chance of influencing North Korea’s nuclear trajectory. Economic historians note that the record for coercive economic diplomacy is poor and has been for centuries. Policy wonks and foreign-affairs experts add that successive rounds of UN and international economic sanctions seem to have had no real bite so far against North Korea. These pessimistic assessments, however, misread the prospects for international economic pressure against North Korea on two important counts.
As poor as the general record of coercive economic diplomacy may be, North Korea is not exactly a typical economy. It is an outlier—it’s world-class dysfunctional, recent changes under Dear Respected notwithstanding. The economy is incapable of growth (or for that matter, even stagnation) without steady inflows of financial support from abroad to keep it on its feet. Remember: When net aid from abroad sharply dropped (but did not end) in the 1990s, that was enough to send North Korea spiraling downward into paralysis and mass famine. The North Korean regime in short, is a poster child for a successful international campaign of economic strangulation. Despite Pyongyang’s nonsense about “self-reliance,” it is uniquely vulnerable to the cutoff of foreign money and subvention.
Kim Jong Un has not yet faced anything even remotely resembling an international campaign of “maximum economic pressure.” The continuing stability of North Korea’s foreign exchange rate and domestic food prices pointedly suggest international sanctions have not yet greatly impacted North Korea. But few foreign-policy experts, and even fewer general readers, seem aware of how flimsy were the array of sanctions imposed on North Korea by the UN and U.S. during the George W. Bush and Obama years.
Consider first the successive rounds of UN Security Council sanctions lodged against the regime since its first atomic test in 2006. China and Russia flagrantly and routinely violate the very sanctions their own Security Council representatives voted to impose. Most countries around the world still ignore them, too. In early 2017, the UN’s Panel of Experts on the sanctions reported that 116 of the UN’s 193 members had not yet bothered even to file implementation reports on the then-latest round (UNSC 2270, levied in response to Pyongyang’s fifth nuclear blast). The previous year, the Panel noted that 90 countries had never reported on any of the sanction resolutions against North Korea (eight at that time, the first of them ratified a decade before that report). And filing a report on these sanctions resolutions is not the same thing as enforcing them. Several countries with whom Washington enjoys ostensibly friendly relations have turned a blind eye to illicit North Korean activities on their soil for many years (Malaysia, Singapore, and some of the Gulf States being among the more egregious examples).
When it comes to Washington’s own economic measures, furthermore, North Korea is still far from being “sanctioned out,” no matter the received wisdom. In the final year of the Obama administration, according to Anthony Ruggiero of the Foundation for Defense of Democracies, fewer entities and individuals from North Korea were under U.S. Treasury Department sanction than those from seven other countries, including Zimbabwe and Sudan. While the Trump administration has been much more serious about sanctioning North Korea, Ruggiero testified that as of late summer 2017, North Korea nonetheless remained less sanctioned than either Syria or Iran. For some mystifying reason, moreover, North Korea was not put back on the State Department’s list of strictured “state sponsors of terrorism” until the end of 2017, after enjoying a nearly decade-long holiday off that roster.
As 2018 commences, three big changes augur well for the prospect of devastating “shock and awe” sanctions against the North Korean system. First: At the end of 2017, the Security Council endorsed a broad new writ and scope for sanctions against North Korea, dispensing with the earlier “marksman” approach of picking off particular military-related firms or individuals and embracing instead the “blockbuster” approach of crippling North Korea’s entire military-industrial complex. The new sanctions, among other things, ban all industrial imports by North Korea, severely cut permitted energy imports, and require UN member governments to “seize, inspect, and freeze” vessels violating some of the new restrictions.
Second: In late 2017, the U.S. Treasury announced new and much more sweeping authority for North Korea sanctions, granting U.S. officials wide discretion to impose what are known as “secondary sanctions.” Henceforth any business or person engaging in any kind of commercial or financial transactions with North Korea could be severely penalized, with punishments including fines, seizure or forfeiture of assets, prohibition against any commerce in or with the U.S., and being cut off from the worldwide clearing system for dollar-based financial settlements.
Finally, and by no means unrelated to these other changes, is the third change: the advent of the Trump administration. Under President Trump and his team, there appears to be a qualitative change in America’s North Korea policy—one that accords the North Korean threat a higher priority, and more unblinking attention, than it has been granted by any of Trump’s predecessors. The White House calls this new approach to North Korea a policy of “maximum pressure.”
Six: The American Role
Trump’s address before South Korea’s National Assembly last November on the North Korea problem was the most incisive, and moving, statement on the topic ever delivered by an American president. Whatever else may be said of him, Trump is keenly aware that the North Korean threat he inherited was allowed to fester and worsen under each of the four men in the Oval Office immediately before him. He appears to have no intention of continuing that tradition.
The Achilles’ heel of the North Korean economy—and thus, of Pyongyang’s nuclear and missile programs—is its existential dependence on foreign aid and outside money. The fortress-prison country is an operation that cannot be sustained on its own. To date, North Korea has skillfully extracted wherewithal and extorted financial concessions out of a largely unfriendly world. To jam the gears of the North Korean war machine, the international community must recognize, and finally begin systematically exploiting, Pyongyang’s unique economic weakness. This will require a campaign of economic pressure worthy of the name—and the pieces for such a campaign are already falling into place.
In broad strokes, what would this “maximum economic pressure” campaign look like? It must be Washington-led, since it will not coalesce spontaneously. To carry it out most effectively, diplomacy will be crucial: Alliance coordination and the building and maintenance of motivated coalitions are obvious force multipliers for this exercise. But the U.S. has unique international strengths that allow us to act unilaterally and with great consequence when necessary.
For starters, now that we ourselves have relisted North Korea as a state sponsor of terrorism, we have a stronger case for pressing governments around the world to shut down the regime’s embassies, trade missions, and other facilities located on their soil. Not necessarily to sever diplomatic ties, much less end all communication, with Pyongyang: just to deprive North Korea of safe havens for their illegal rackets on foreign shores. Given North Korea’s standard operating procedure overseas, affording Pyongyang an embassy in one’s country is like offering diplomatic immunity to the Mafia. The Trump administration has begun some of this advocacy already and has some initial results to show for its troubles. In conjunction with a consortium of like-minded states (including Japan), a full-court press could gain true international momentum. At the very least, this would disrupt some of North Korea’s illegal rackets and reduce the take from them.
Washington can also take the lead in lobbying governments to shut down the North Korean work crews operating within their own countries—these are too close to slave labor for comfort. This need not be quiet diplomacy. The complicit governments in question, including Beijing and Putin’s Kremlin, deserve to be called out publicly if they are intransigent. (The wording of the latest round of Security Council sanctions calls for shutting down such arrangements within 24 months, an amendment Moscow negotiated for—but there is no reason that the U.S. or independent human-rights groups should not try to speed up that timetable.) The U.S. also has options for penalizing trading partners who violate internationally recognized labor standards, which is to say we can affect the cost-benefit calculus for governments that tolerate North Korea’s odious practices in their own backyards.
This brings us to a rather larger diplomatic task: confronting China and Russia about their continuing financial malfeasance on North Korea. The scope and scale of China’s furtive support for North Korea dwarfs Russia’s, of course—but that is no reason to give the Kremlin a pass. These two states have long been playing a double game—one that must come to an end starting now.
Seven: The Russians and the Chinese
Contrary to some hand-wringing in Washington and elsewhere, the U.S. is by no means devoid of options in facing down China and Russia for their economic enablement of the Kim family regime. As already noted, Washington possesses an extraordinarily powerful tool for inducing their compliance: the U.S. dollar—the most important reserve currency in the world economic order. America gets to decide who can, and who cannot, engage in the dollar-denominated financial transactions with the myriad of correspondent banks serving the globe, for which the Federal Reserve Bank is the clearing house. Existing legislation and executive orders already provide the U.S. government with a panoply of instruments for inflicting nuanced and escalating economic penalties and losses on financial institutions, corporations, and private individuals who rely upon U.S. correspondent banks but engage in illegal or forbidden commerce with North Korea.
So far, the United States government has used only minor pinpoint-pinprick secondary sanctions against Chinese and Russian parties that violate restrictions on dealings with North Korea. Both nations face potentially major economic costs if they do not address and control such violations, should we choose to impose them.
It is no secret, for example, that the Chinese banking system is highly leveraged and that some of China’s largest banks are in what we might call a financially delicate situation. Does Beijing really want to find out whether one of these major concerns can survive a Treasury Department-Justice Department inquiry for North Korea infringements, much less the weight of actual secondary sanctions—or to find out what happens at home and in international financial markets if it looks as if a major Chinese bank might fail on that account?
If the Kremlin and Beijing believe we mean business, they will have reason to suppress illicit deals with North Korea—but convincing them we mean business is our responsibility. Washington has been curiously hesitant here, possibly for fear that Beijing or the Kremlin, or both, would respond by sabotaging any further UN sanctions. But we now have pretty much what we need from UN resolutions for a campaign of “maximum economic pressure” on North Korea—so the time for horse-trading and slow-walking is over. And while we are at it, these governments’ official economic support for North Korea shouldn’t be off the table. Isn’t it time to spotlight and track those flows, too?
As we work to rein in China and Russia, we should not lose sight of the money that North Korea receives through arrangements with other governments—including states in Africa and the Middle East that receive U.S. foreign aid. Yet much of what Washington needs to do in this economic campaign, alas, is currently unknown. This is a failure of our intelligence community that must be immediately addressed if “maximum economic pressure” is to stand a chance of ending up as more than just a slogan.

By the very nature of intelligence activity, spy agencies cannot take credit for many of their successes. But the U.S. intelligence community doesn’t deserve a slap on the back for its performance in this particular area. It should be something of an embarrassment, for example, that some of the best work mapping out the connections between Chinese front companies and the North Korean military these days should apparently come from a small think tank, C4ADS, that relies entirely on open sources. And that is just one small example of intelligence insufficiency. Our government also appears to know much less than it should about the financial relations between Pyongyang and its backers in Tehran, North Korea’s money ties with terrorist groups, and its adventures in crypto-currencies and other harder-to-trace instruments of finance.
Much of what is currently unknown—by our government—about North Korea’s covert international financial networks and overseas holdings is in fact knowable, given better legwork and intelligence. The story of the U.S. government’s interagency Illicit Activities Initiative (2001–6), which methodically mapped out North Korea’s money trails before being derailed by bureaucratic infighting under the George W. Bush administration, provides an “existence proof” that such research can be done. North Korea’s overseas financial networks have had more than a decade since the demise of IAI to evolve and hide their tracks—so a new IAI-style effort would have to play catch-up.
With the information we could gather from a well-funded and coordinated intelligence initiative, we can help shut down North Korea’s worldwide criminal enterprises, arrest their international accomplices, freeze and seize violators’ overseas assets (not just Kim Jong Un’s assets: think Iran, Syria, Hezbollah, and the rest), and levy potentially devastating fines against commercial and financial concerns that willfully aid North Korea in violating the law. We can also improve the efficacy of existing proliferation-security efforts.
With better intelligence, better international coordination, and the will to get the job done, an enhanced “maximum economic pressure” policy could swiftly and severely cut both North Korea’s international revenues and the vital flows of foreign supplies that sustain the economy. An enhanced Proliferation Security Initiative (PSI), indeed, could use interdiction not only to monitor the goods entering North Korea but also to regulate and, as necessary, suppress that level. (UN sanctions, by the way, make provisions for humanitarian imports into North Korea a matter the U.S. and others must attend to faithfully.) Yes, this is economic warfare, and it can be conducted with much more sophisticated tools than were available in the 1940s. In fact, it should be possible through such a campaign to send the North Korean economy—and the North Korean military economy—into shock, possibly even in fairly short order.
Eight: Success and Its Failures
If comprehensive sanctions and counter-proliferation against North Korea fail, we enter into a new world with darker and much less pleasant options. But what if, by some measure of success, they turn out to succeed? What then?
In addition to their intended consequences, successful policies always have unintended ones. Three potential consequences of an effective economic-pressure campaign against the North Korean regime deserve special consideration in advance.
The first concerns the role of North Korea’s donju elite in a future where North Korea is increasingly squeezed economically. These “money masters,” who until now have enjoyed waxing wealth and have lived with rising expectations under Kim Jong Un, would stand to suffer very sharp financial loss. What would a serious reversal in the fortunes of this privileged element in North Korean society mean for elite cohesion and for regime dynamics? Even North Korea has domestic politics. Poorly as we may be able to apprise North Korean politics, it would behoove us to try to understand in advance how such a change would alter the realm of the possible within the country—and what new opportunities such internal developments might present.
Second is the all-too-likely possibility that North Korea would careen back into famine under an effective sanctions campaign—and not because Pyongyang would be incapable of purchasing or procuring sufficient food to feed its populace. The reason North Koreans starved last time was the government’s dreadful songbun system, still very much in force today. Songbun is a unique North Korean instrument of social control that carefully subdivides the North Korean populace into “core,” “wavering,” and “hostile” classes, lavishing benefits and meting out penalties according to one’s station. Life chances in North Korea—and no less important, death chances—turn on one’s assigned class. Just as it is a safe bet that virtually no one outside the “core classes” has amassed great donju riches, so too death from starvation is almost entirely consigned to the state’s designated enemies from the “hostile classes.” Only “intrusive aid” (provided on site by impartial outsiders) and public diplomacy, including calling out Dear Respected on this vile practice, stand to mitigate the toll of the impending humanitarian-cum-hostage crisis should “maximum economic pressure” work.
Finally, there are the countermeasures Pyongyang will surely adopt if the economic-pressure campaign is attaining a measure of success. These will be intended to terrify and to break the will of the sanctioners. North Korean leaders are practiced masters of white-knuckle, bared-fang diplomacy—and they would naturally regard the stakes in this contest as particularly high. No national directorate is so expert in brinkmanship or so consummate at carefully gaming through seeming “outbursts” well in advance.
North Korea will test the stomach and the will of the pressure alliance, threatening what sees as the campaign’s weakest and the most exposed elements and ranks. These probes and tests may be military in nature, with a range of options that could well include threats of nuclear war. Pyongyang will try to make Washington and the international community fear that they are facing a “Japan 1941 moment,” with a cornered Kim family regime: a déjà vu of the drumroll that led to World War II in the Pacific, only this time against a nuclear-armed adversary.
This would be a point of incalculable danger. There are good reasons to think North Korea would not resort to first use of nuclear weapons, most compelling among them, its own state-enshrined doctrine known as “Ten Principles for the Establishment of a Monolithic Ideology.” (The essence of this doctrine: The Hive must keep the Queen safe, and at all cost.) But there is no sugarcoating the terrible risks, including risks of miscalculation, inherent in North Korea’s most likely countertactics.
Any way you look at it, North Korea’s adversaries are in for a long and bumpy ride. The alternative to thwarting North Korea’s war drive now is permitting Pyongyang to prepare to fight and win a limited nuclear war in the future, at a time and place of its own choosing, when the situation for America and her allies may be even more perilous.
Like it or not, Pyongyang plays for keeps, and we are in this with them for the long game. The next move is ours.

1 Full disclosure: I am one of those who seriously underestimated North Korea’s resilience in the 1990s. Twenty years ago, I would have thought it almost unimaginable for the North Korean state to survive to this day. Needless to say, subsequent events have proved otherwise, and studying my own mistakes has led to the analysis under way here.
2 Joan Robinson, “Korean Miracle” Monthly Review, January 1965, Vol. 16, No. 8, pp. 541–549.
3 Korea, the economic race between the north and the south: a research paper, ER 78-10008, January 1978, CIA.
4 Kim Il Sung, Works, Vol. 31 (Pyongyang: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1987), p.76.
5 Nicholas Eberstadt and Judith Banister, The Population of North Korea. (Berkeley, CA: University of California, 1992).
6 Kim Il Sung, Selected Works, Vol. 5 (Pyongyang: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1972), p. 431.
7 On this man-made, and completely unnecessary, tragedy, see Stephan Haggard and Marcus Noland, Famine in North Korea: Markets, Aid and Reform, (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007).
8 Justin V. Hastings, A Most Enterprising Country: North Korea in the Global Economy. (Ithaca NY: Cornell University Press, 2016).
9Perhaps the best analysis of this transformation is Kim Byung-Yeon, The North Korean Economy: Collapse and Transition. (New York: Cambridge Univer sity Press, 2017)
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The Unsound and the Fury
Washington Commentary
Andrew Ferguson 2018-01-16
s I write, Michael Wolff’s Fire and Fury has become a mere husk of a book, emptied of everything consumable and tasty. And it’s only been out a week! In the hinterlands, the book is selling briskly, but here in Washington, we already find ourselves in the final phase of a mass hysteria, a hangover that we would call the Woodward Detumescence.
Woodward is Bob Woodward, of course. Every few years, for more than 30 years, Woodward has sent Washington reeling with a book-length, insider account of one administration after another, presenting government as high drama, with a glittering cast of villains and heroes.
The sequence of the symptoms seldom varies. First comes the Buildup. We hear premonitory rumblings: Freshly minted Woodward revelations are on the way! His publisher declares an embargo on the book, mostly as a tease. Another reporter writes an unauthorized report guessing at what the revelations might be. Washington can scarcely breathe. At last the first excerpts appear in a three-part serial in Woodward’s home paper, the Washington Post.
We enter the Swoon.
The excerpts tell of betrayals and estrangements, shouting matches and tearful reconciliations, tough decisions and disappointing failures of nerve, all at the highest levels of government. Woodward goes on TV shows to explain his findings. Sources attack him; he stands by his book. The frenzy intensifies, the breathing is labored, until, at last, comes the Spasm, as all the characters from the book refuse to comment on a “work of tabloid fiction.”
Then the newspaper excerpts end, there is a collapsing sigh, a dying fall, and the physical book, the thing itself, appears. The text seems an afterthought, limp as a wind-sock and, by now, even less interesting. If there were more revelations to be found in its pages, after all, we would have read them already. We skulk back to the routines of what passes for normal life in Washington, slightly abashed at our momentary loss of self-control. This is the Woodward Detumescence. Shakespeare foresaw it in a sonnet: “the expense of spirit in a waste of shame.”
The Fire and Fury frenzy omitted some of these steps, prolonged others. It was touched off by an excerpt in New York, appearing a week before the book’s original publication date. Running to roughly 7,000 words, the excerpt was densely packed and so juicy it should have come with napkins. The article’s revelations about White House backbiting and self-loathing are by now universally known, and have been from the moment the excerpt hit the Web. One thing they make plain is that Michael Wolff bears little resemblance to Bob Woodward. Over a long career, our Bob has shown himself to be a tireless and meticulous reporter. He is a creature of Washington, besotted by government; Woodward never found a briefing paper he wouldn’t happily read, as long as it was none of his business.
Wolff, on the other hand, is an incarnation of Manhattan media. He’s a 21st-century J.J. Hunsecker, the gossip columnist in the great New York movie Sweet Smell of Success, although, unlike J.J., he has a pleasing prose style and a sense of irony. His curiosity about the workings of government and the shadings of public policy is nonexistent. “Trump,” Wolff writes with typical condescension, “had little or no interest in the central Republican goal of repealing Obamacare.” Neither does Wolff. Woodward would have given us blow-by-blow accounts of committee markups. Wolff mentions Obamacare only glancingly, even though it was by far the most consequential failure of Trump’s first year.
If you want to learn how Trump constructs that Dreamsicle swirl that rests on the top of his head, or the skinny on Steve Bannon’s sartorial habits, then Wolff is your man. He tries to tell his story chronologically, but he occasionally runs out of things to say and has to vamp until the timeline lets him pop in a new bit of shocking gossip. Early in the book, for example, after he has established that Trump is reviled and mocked by nearly everyone who works for him, Wolff leads us into a tutorial on The Best and the Brightest, David Halberstam’s doorstop on the 1960s White House wise men and whiz kids who thought it would be a great idea to get in a land war in Southeast Asia. He calls Halberstam’s book a “cautionary tale about the 1960s establishment.” Wolff’s chin-pulling goes on for several hundred words. Apparently, Steve Bannon had had the book on his desk.
This is interesting, I guess, and so are the excessive digressions about New York real estate, Manhattan’s media culture, the evolution of grande dames into postfeminist socialites, and many other subjects that are orthogonal to the book’s purpose. If you’ve bought Fire and Fury, chances are, you wanted to learn things you didn’t know about the first year of the Trump administration. The New York excerpt was chockablock with such stuff, told in sharply drawn scenes and vivid, verbatim quotes. But the book dwells much more on general impressions, flecked here and there with scandalous asides. In these longeurs—most of the book—Wolff writes at an odd remove, from the middle distance. The prose loses its immediacy and becomes diffuse.
He’s not so much padding his book as filibustering his readers, perhaps hoping to deflect a reader’s attention from another revelation: He really hasn’t delivered the goods. All of Wolff’s most scandalous material was filleted and packed into the New York excerpt. Listening to discussions among friends and colleagues, I keep hearing the same items, all from the magazine: Staffers think Trump might be (literally) illiterate, Steve Bannon thinks the Mueller investigation puts Trump’s family in legal jeopardy, the president uses vulgar language when talking about women. He is a child, Wolff wants us to know, and the disorder of his government is directly traceable to that alarming fact.
And it is indeed alarming, but nobody who has followed Trump’s Twitter feed or watched his news conferences will think it’s news. Wolff wrote a scintillating 7,000-word magazine article; the problem is that he spread it over a 328-page book. The rumor has gone around (hey, if he can do it, so can I) that before submitting his manuscript, Wolff warned his publisher that it didn’t contain much that was new.
This explains a lot. Wolff clearly was unprepared for the explosion set off by the magazine article. You could see it in his halting explanations of his journalism techniques. When his quotes were questioned, he let it be known that he had “dozens of hours” of tapes. (Other news reports inflated the number to hundreds.) When quotes continued to be questioned, he was asked, by colleagues and interviewers, to release the tapes. He refused. Wolff said his book threatens to bring down the president—on evidence that he alone has and won’t produce.
Spoken like a true journalist! Much has been made of this modern Hunsecker’s techniques. One explanation for the candor of his sources is that Wolff gained their confidence by misleading them about his intentions; they had concluded he was writing a book that would show the administration in a kinder light. “I said what I had to to get the story,” he proudly told one interviewer. Many of his colleagues in the press have shrugged at his willful misdirection—his deception, in fact—as a standard trick of the trade.
They’re probably right. But they demonstrated again the utter detachment of journalists from normal life. Whole professions are generally and rightly maligned—trial lawyers, car salesmen, lobbyists—because ordinary people see that prevarication is built into their work. When it comes to the people who write the books they read, they have a right to ask how far the deception goes. If a writer will mislead his sources, how can we be sure he won’t he do the same to his readers?
“My evidence is the book,” Wolff responds. I’m not sure what he means. In any case, as the Detumescence recedes, it becomes clearer that his evidence is thin. The book isn’t particularly good journalism, but it’s a triumph of marketing. Our Trump hatred has been targeted with such precision that we’ll lower any standard to embrace Fire and Fury, even if the tale as told signifies nothing, or nothing much.
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The Bible Comes to Washington
An uncontroversial museum still manages to offend the ignorant
Michael J. Lewis 2018-01-17
t one point during his 2000 campaign, George W. Bush gave his listeners a folksy admonition: “Don’t be takin’ a speck out of your neighbor’s eye when you got a log in your own.” This amused Frank Bruni of the New York Times, who called it “an interesting variation on the saying about the pot and the kettle.” Bruni’s words in turn amused the substantial portion of Americans who knew that Bush was actually quoting Matthew 7:3. To them it was simply unimaginable that someone could graduate Phi Beta Kappa with a degree in English and subsequently study at the Columbia School of Journalism, as Bruni did, without having once encountered the Sermon on the Mount. The anecdote revealed the extent to which, in the space of a few generations, America went from habitual Bible reading to biblical illiteracy, and of the most abject and utter kind. This is the justification for the Museum of the Bible.
The Museum of the Bible, which opened in Washington, D.C., in November, is an enterprise of appropriately pharaonic ambition. At a capacious 430,000 square feet, it cost half a billion dollars to build, all of it contributed privately. It is the brainchild of Steve Green, the president of Hobby Lobby, the chain of arts-and-crafts supply stores that successfully challenged the contraception mandate of Obamacare. Indeed, to those who felt the Burwell vs. Hobby Lobby decision was a catastrophic setback to the separation of church and state, the coming of the Museum of the Bible seemed nothing less than the physical manifestation of that threat—an unwelcome expression of evangelical political power standing in plain sight of the Capitol. Burwell vs. Hobby Lobby has loomed large in the coverage of the museum, as has the Green family—as well as the $3 million fine levied on Hobby Lobby for illegally importing cuneiform tablets from Iraq.

But those who looked forward to exposing the museum as a bigoted and ignorant enterprise, with a laughably literal view of biblical truth, have been bitterly disappointed. Its exhibitions are conspicuously even-handed and scholarly, and not at all sectarian. The Museum of the Bible is no vehicle of theological indoctrination. If anything, it errs in the other direction. When it was first incorporated as a nonprofit organization in 2010, it pledged itself “to inspire confidence in the absolute authority and reliability of the Bible.” It has quietly lowered its sights since, and now seeks only “to invite all people to engage with the history, narrative, and impact of the Bible.” This makes the museum less objectionable (who can object to an invitation?), but a less incendiary Bible is also a less interesting one. The danger of the Museum of the Bible is that by sidestepping the question of biblical truth it might downgrade the Good Book, as it were, into one of the Great Books.
With all their resources, the Green family might easily have commissioned a celebrity architect to build a prodigy of a museum. But they did not want a building that would compete with its contents. Instead, they bought a 90-year-old cold-storage warehouse two blocks south of the Mall, and into its windowless brick shell they inserted six stories of exhibition and administrative space. The interior is intelligently planned but hardly remarkable, and nothing about its materials, finishes, or details speaks of the Bible or antiquity. If anything, it has the glossy impersonal cheeriness of contemporary hotel architecture.1
The heart of the museum is in the exhibitions of the third floor (The Stories of the Bible) and the fourth (The History of the Bible). These are utterly different in texture and tone, but they work in tandem—one delivering sensation and the other information. This is hardly a new distinction; it is the difference between the stained-glass window and the sermon.
The Stories of the Bible are told through crowd-pleasing “immersive” galleries—the fashionable term for displays in which a coordinated battery of sound effects, musical cues, dramatic lighting, and moving forms are combined to induce an overwhelming sensory experience in the viewer. These were devised by BRC Imagination Arts, a design firm that specializes in corporate branding—as they put it, in “creating emotionally engaging experiences that generate lasting brand love.” When it comes to emotionally engaging material, the exhibits Genesis and Exodus offer at least as much as the Heineken Experience (another recent BRC creation) and here the designers have outdone themselves. Noah’s Ark presents “a unique, stylized representation of the great flood, they tell us.”
“Stacks of boxes tower over them. Inside each box are artistic representations of animals—two by two—lit by flickering candlelight. Guests hear the raging of the storm outside and the creaking of the wooden ship.”
Somewhat later, although not until they have seen “a hyssop bush bursting into flames from the story of Moses,” visitors themselves can part the Red Sea, or an abstraction thereof, created by a web of taut metal cables shimmering under blue light. (It is curious how the highly cinematic events of the Hebrew Bible lend themselves to abstract expression.)
By contrast, the World of Jesus is rendered in literal terms, by means of a realistic re-creation of a first-century village complete with actors in period costume. In the Galilee Theater, visitors can watch a short film and see John the Baptist confronting King Herod (as played by John Rhys-Davies). Even those of us who are allergic to historic reenactments will see that it is carried through with extreme competence and attention to detail. What is there is done well; it is what is not there that has caused a good detail of quiet grumbling. To the bafflement of many, the central events of the Christian Bible—the Crucifixion and Resurrection—are not represented. Were there fears that a scene of unspeakable horror would disturb the museum’s upbeat, family-friendly ambiance? Or is it that its academic advisors come from the mainstream of contemporary Biblical studies, for whom the Resurrection is not a truth but a trope? Perhaps both factors are at play.
Another curious aspect of the display, though unhappy, is understandable: The Hebrew and Christian Bibles are rendered as two segregated and self-contained experiences, and like oil and vinegar, the exhibition paths are not allowed to mix. Unfortunately, the visitor who has waited for the one is unlikely to stand in line again for the other. One can appreciate that the organizers wanted to avoid a linear sequence in which the Hebrew Bible serves as mere prelude to the New, but in the process, the relationship between the two is lost. Surely a compromise might have been found, perhaps with the occasional physical passage between the two, so that the viewer might move back and forth and make his own connections—alas, a proposition that is heretical in today’s world of manipulative museology.
If the third floor gives us the stories in the Bible, the fourth gives us the book itself—not only the text itself but its translations, copies, orthography, printing, binding, illustrations and all else that is associated with a literary artifact. The oldest objects here (although of disputed authenticity) are tiny fragments of the Dead Sea Scrolls, and from them to the most recent translations, one is struck by the fastidious probity with which the text was transmitted. Here we learn the high stakes of tampering with the Bible in the story of how the 14th-century theologian John Wycliffe was posthumously excommunicated for daring to make the first English translation. We also learn how the Bible acted to codify and order regional dialects into a national language; Martin Luther’s translation did this for the German language just as the King James translation did a century later for English. A remarkable display shows the innumerable phrases from the Bible that have entered vernacular speech in the world’s languages, some of which I did not know (e.g., “den of thieves,” “suffer fools gladly,” “at their wit’s end,” etc.
Here one senses a certain reservation—a curatorial suspicion, perhaps, that vellum manuscripts and printed books are intrinsically boring. There is nothing an exhibition designer fears more than a bored visitor. This would account for the rather plaintive effort to provide visual relief in the form of arresting objects: a facsimile of the Liberty Bell with its inscription from Leviticus, a tableau of books burned by the Nazis, and statues of Galileo and Isaac Newton. These diversions suggest that the designers did not trust the words themselves and their hotly disputed variants and interpretations to generate interest on their own.
This is a lost opportunity. For instance, the history of the English translations would have been far more effective with a comparison of representative examples. One might illustrate various renderings of the 23rd Psalm, juxtaposing the lapidary King James version (“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want”) with the explanatory translation of the International Standard Version (“The Lord is the one who is shepherding me; I lack nothing”) or the willful flatness of the Good News Bible (“The Lord is my shepherd; I have everything I need”). A few examples from the recent push to purge the Bible of any and all sexist language would also have been eye-opening. To refer to this trend blithely in passing, as the wall labels do, without confronting the viewers with the sobering reality of a gender-neutral Bible is a sign of either haste or indifference.
And for those who are not fascinated by the fact that the neuter possessive its appears just once in the entire King James translation, they still have the chance to take a peek at Elvis Presley’s personal copy of the Bible.
The truth is, the Museum of the Bible is as innocuous, gregarious, multifaceted, and congenial an institution as one might have hoped. It certainly does not preach biblical inerrancy; the attentive reader will see that Noah’s flood is anticipated by the much older flood story in the epic of Gilgamesh, complete with divine instructions on building the ark.
Nonetheless, the museum has been greeted with extraordinary hostility, although of a strangely unfocused sort. It has hardly been “dogged by scandal,” as Business Insider charged, apart from the importation of antique materials with a false provenance (something of which the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Getty Museum have both been guilty). The real objection is not its business practices or its theology (which it wears so lightly as to be invisible), but rather that it comes from the wrong side of the cultural tracks. One has the sense that the museum is a social faux pas, that the wrong guests have crashed the party, blundering uninvited into Washington and violating rules of which they are ignorant. CityLab, the digital magazine of the Atlantic, expressed this attitude most pithily when it called the museum “pure, 100 percent, uncut megaplex evangelical white Protestantism…megachurch concentrate.”

The charge that the museum presents a narrow and exclusively white version of Protestantism is undercut by a single visit; the audience is comprehensively ecumenical and international. But it has been repeated endlessly nonetheless, in part because of the recent publication of Bible Nation: The United States of Hobby Lobby, by Candida R. Moss and Joel S. Baden—a furiously ambitious attempt to discredit the museum, its theology, its founders, and Hobby Lobby itself. (This may be the first time a book has been published condemning a museum before it was built.) Moss first came to public attention in 2013 with The Myth of Persecution: How Early Christians Invented a Story of Martyrdom, which charges early Christians with forging accounts of their suppression. Bible Nation is written in a similarly debunking spirit. For her, the “thousands of fragments of contradictory material” in the Bible make it pointless to try to make of it a coherent or meaningful document. The insights of contemporary biblical scholarship, she says with conspicuous exasperation, ought to be “a faith killer.”
Clearly they have been for her. But if anything, the museum’s fourth floor testifies to the opposite: This is a building built by believers for whom the analysis of the materials contained within is a noble task. The curators have taken painstaking efforts to get it right, as did those scribes who through the millennia worked to reconcile the discrepancies, to choose among the contradictory variants the ones that are most rigorously supported. And where the conflicting documents are irreconcilable—as between the two opening chapters of Genesis, or between the four Gospels—the procedure has always been to preserve multiple sources rather than impose an arbitrary uniformity. In the end, the Museum of the Bible pitches it about right.

Photos by Alan Karchmer
Its greatest surprise is that it makes no truth claim. The central propositions of the Hebrew Bible (God’s covenant with his chosen people) and the Christian Bible (Christ’s Resurrection) are subordinated to the existence of the Books that carry those propositions. One might imagine that a museum devoted to other monumental culture-shaping books, say The Iliad and The Odyssey, would look similar in approach.
And of course they are right to have done so. The place to make claims to the truth in these cases is a church or synagogue, not a museum. But even the lesser claim that the Museum of the Bible makes, that the Bible is a foundational document of our civilization, is to many an unwelcome one. And as biblical ignorance grows, the claim grows progressively more unwelcome. The Bible seems to be one of those books that the less people know about it, the less they like it. And for those who know it only as a “Bronze Age document” (one of Christopher Hitchens’s favorite epithets) and from some of the livelier passages in Leviticus, it is an offensive absurdity.
Writing in the Washington Post, the novelist and art historian Noah Charney asserted that “in Washington, separation of church and state isn’t just a principle of governance, it’s an architectural and geographic rule as well.” It’s unclear who established such a rule, and in any case, the “principle” of the “separation of church and state” does not originate in the Constitution. Rather, its source is to be found in Matthew 22:21: “Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s; and unto God the things that are God’s.” We all carry a stock of mental habits and moral values, and a language with which to express them, that ultimately derives from the Bible, whether we have read it or not. The Museum of the Bible merely proposes that we read it. And for all its shortcomings and missed opportunities, and all its fits of cuteness (there’s a Manna Café), it does so with refreshing sincerity and surprising effectiveness.

1 The building has one passage of real brilliance. The entrance portal on Fourth Street is flanked by a pair of immense bronze panels, nearly 40 feet high, that call to mind Boaz and Jachin, the mighty bronze pillars that guarded Solomon’s Temple. In fact, they are panels of text inscribed with the opening lines of Genesis, as printed in the Gutenberg Bible of 1454, the first mass-produced book to use moveable metal type. The letters are reversed, confusingly, until one realizes that this aids in making souvenir rubbings that themselves embody the printing process. The genesis evoked here is that of universal literacy and the cultural transformation wrought by the printed book.
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Alt-Blight
Review of '(((Semitism)))' By Jonathan Weisman
Ben Shapiro 2018-01-17
Now, two years later, Weisman has published a book about anti-Semitism—and, more specifically, about the supposedly grave threat to Jews springing from the alt-right and the Trump administration. (((Semitism))), for such is the book’s title, suffers from two grave ills. First, Weisman believes that political leftism and Judaism are identical. Second, he knows little or nothing about the political right, in whose camp he places the alt-right movement. Combine these two shortcomings with a heavy dose of self-regard, and you get (((Semitism))): a toxic brew of anti-Israel sentiment, bagels-and-lox cultural Jewishness, and unbridled hostility toward mainstream conservatism, which he lumps together with despicable alt-right anti-Semitism.
According to Weisman, Judaism derives its present-day importance from the way it provides a religious echo to secular leftism. This is his actual opening sentence: “The Jew flourishes when borders come down, when boundaries blur, when walls are destroyed, not erected.” Thus does he describe a people whose binding glue over the millennia is a faith tradition literally designed to separate its adherents from those who are not their co-religionists.
This ethnic-Jew-centric perspective leads Weisman to reject not merely Jewish observance, which he finds parochial and divisive, but the tie between Judaism and Israel, which he subtly titles “The Israel Deception.” He laments: “The American Jewish obsession with Israel has taken our eyes off not only the politics of our own country, the growing gulf between rich and poor, and the rising tide of nationalism but also our own grounding in faith.” He sneers at Jews who promote the “tried and true theme of the little Israeli David squaring off against the giant Arab Goliath.” Weisman believes, like John Mearsheimer and Stephen Walt, that members of both parties are guilty of “kissing the ring” at AIPAC, of “turn[ing] to mush when the subject was Israel.” In fact, Weisman says, the anti-Semitic BDS movement on college campuses “is worrisome as much for what it says about the American Jew’s inextricable links to Israel as for what it says about anti-Semitism.” In his view, “Barack Obama was the apotheosis of liberal internationalism.…The Jew thrived.”
Thus Weisman has this to say about his infamous Iran-deal chart: “I had my own brush with fratricidal Jew-on-Jew violence during that heated debate.” Was Weisman attacked? Assaulted? No, he received some nasty notes in response to running a chart. Weisman says he found the uproar “absurd” and laments that he is “still hearing about it.” Poor lamb.
W eisman gets it right when he writes about the mainstreaming of the alt-right—the winking and nodding from Breitbart News and Donald Trump himself, the willingness of many in the mainstream to reward alt-right popularizers like Milo Yiannopoulos. (I left Breitbart in March 2016 due to differences regarding our coverage of the presidential campaign). Weisman is at his best when describing the origins of the alt-right and their infiltration of more well-read outlets.But he can’t stop there. Instead, he seeks to impute the alt-right to the entire conservative movement and builds, Hillary Clinton–style, a fictitious basket of deplorables amounting to half the conservative movement. He cites “Christian fundamentalist” Israel supporters, to whom he wrongly attributes universally apocalyptic End of Times motivation. He condemns anti-immigration advocates, whose opposition to importation of un-vetted Muslim refugees he likens to anti-Semitic anti-immigrant movements of years past. He reviles “anti-feminists,” those who oppose political correctness in video games, Republican Jewish Coalition members who laughed at Trump making a Jewish joke, and free-speech advocates supposedly engaged in “forcible seizure of the free-speech movement” (a weird charge to level, considering that it cost Berkeley $600,000 to prevent Antifa from burning down the campus when I visited). In other words, pretty much anyone who didn’t vote for Hillary Clinton gets smeared with the alt-right brush, outside of those specifically targeted by the alt-right.
The problem of alt-right anti-Semitism, Weisman thinks, is just a problem of anti-leftism. If we could all just give money to the notoriously left-wing propaganda-pushing Southern Poverty Law Center, watch Trump-referential productions of Eugene Ionesco’s Rhinoceros at the Edinburgh National Festival (yes, this is in the book, and no, it is not parody), ignore anti-Semitic attacks at the Chicago Dyke March (I am not making this up), slap some vinyl signs on synagogues (no, I am still not making this up), and “not get too self-congratulatory” (seriously, guys, this is all real), all will be well. In the end, Weisman’s goal is to build a coalition of ethnic and political groups, cobbled together in common cause against conservatives—conservatives, he says, who represent the alt-right support base.
As the alt-right’s chief journalistic target in 2016, I’m always happy to see them clubbed like a baby seal. And there is a good book to be written about the alt-right. At times, Weisman borders on it, particularly when he seeks to investigate the bizarre relationship between Trump and the trolls who worship him.
But Weisman’s ardent allegiance to leftism leads him to misdiagnose the problem, to ignore the rising anti-Semitism of his own side (the DNC nearly elected anti-Semite Keith Ellison its leader last year), to prescribe the wrong solutions, and, most of all, to react in knee-jerk fashion to the alt-right by flattering himself as the epitome of everything the alt-right hates. Thin as the paper it was printed on, (((Semitism))) is a failure of imagination.
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Democracy Dies in Smugness
Review of 'The People vs. Democracy' By Yascha Mounk
Sohrab Ahmari 2018-01-17
The save-democracy writers have generally taken two tacks in answering it. Some see a simple replay of the previous century: The West’s authoritarian spirit has resurfaced, they say, and seduced the multitudes once more. It is up to heroic liberals to fight back, as their forebears in the 1940s did. But others have tried to trace today’s crack-up to liberal missteps or even to flaws in the liberal-democratic idea. This is a more useful avenue for those of us concerned with the preservation of self-government.
Yascha Mounk’s The People vs. Democracy wants to be the latter kind of (subtle, thoughtful) book but too often ends up making the cruder arguments of the former. The author, a lecturer on government at Harvard, argues that while liberals took liberalism’s permanence for granted, voters became “fed up with liberal democracy itself.” Elections across the developed world, in which fringe characters and populists routed mainstream establishments, provide the main evidence. Mounk has also collected mountains of public-opinion data, mainly from the World Values Survey, which shows a deeper transformation: People in the U.S. and Europe increasingly reject democratic principles and even hanker for strongman authority.
Fewer than a third of U.S. millennials “consider it essential to live in a democracy.” One out of 4 believes that democracy is a bad form of government. One-third of Americans of all ages now favor some sort of strongman rule, without checks and balances, and 1 of 6 would prefer the strongman to don a military uniform. Similarly, a third of German respondents and an astonishing half of those from Britain and France support strongman rule. Parties of the far right and far left are rapidly expanding their appeal, particularly among young people. There are many more depressing statistics of the kind, presented in numerous charts and graphs throughout.
Mounk thinks there are two factors at play in these attitudes. The first is the emergence of illiberal democracy, or “democracy without rights,” as a serious rival to the current order. Vladimir Putin in Russia, Recep Tayyip Erdogan in Turkey, Narenda Modi in India, and Viktor Orbán in Hungary, among others, exemplify this model. Once elected, these leaders chip away at individual rights and independent institutions until democracy is all but hollowed out and it becomes nigh impossible to remove the ruling party from office. Mounk strongly suspects that the Trump administration plans to pull something like this on the American public, though thus far the president’s illiberal bluster has proved to be just that.
The second factor is undemocratic liberalism, or “rights without democracy.” Here Mounk has in mind technocratic liberalism’s drive to remove an ever-growing share of policy decisions from the purview of voters and their elected representatives. This has been necessitated by the complexity of contemporary problems such as climate change and international trade, Mounk contends. Yet rights without democracy has generated mistrust and cynicism. Liberals, he says, should aim to “strike a better balance between expertise and responsiveness to the popular will.”
Mounk’s sections on the damage wrought by undemocratic liberalism should be instructive to his fellow liberals. But conservatives have for years stamped their feet and pulled their hair over the same phenomenon, only to be ignored by elite liberals on both sides of the Atlantic. Right-of-center readers might be forgiven for sarcastically muttering “no kidding” as Mounk takes them on a guided tour of liberal folly.
Conservatives have been warning about administrative bloat, for example, since at least the first half of the 20th century. It turns out that they had a point. Writes Mounk: “The job of legislating has been supplanted by so-called ‘independent agencies’ that can formulate policy on their own and are remarkably free from oversight.” Ditto activist judges: “The best studies of the Supreme Court do suggest that its role is far larger than it was when the Constitution was written.” And ditto the European Union’s democratic deficit: “To create a truly ‘single market,’ the EU has introduced far-reaching limitations” on state sovereignty.
He also strikes upon the idea that nations really are different from one another, and in politically significant ways. “After a few months living in England,” the German-born author confesses, “I began to recognize that the differences between British and German culture were much deeper than I imagined.” No kidding. What about the anti-Western monoculture that lords over most college campuses? Here, too, the right was on to something. “Far from seeking to preserve the most valuable aspects of our political system,” Mounk writes, liberal academe’s “overriding objective is, all too often, to help students recognize its manifold injustices and hypocrisies.”
Mounk’s discovery of these core conservative insights, however, doesn’t spur a rethink of his reflexive disdain for conservatives. This is most apparent in his coverage of American politics. The book is supposed to be a battle cry for democracy to rally left and right alike. Yet, with few exceptions, conservatives and Republicans are cast as cynical operators who rely on underhanded tactics and coded racism to undermine democracy and ultimately abet the populists. (Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama receive adulatory treatment.)
He describes Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell’s refusal to hold hearings for Merrick Garland, Obama’s final Supreme Court nominee, and GOP filibustering of Democratic legislation as “abuse[s] of constitutional norms” (they weren’t). But he pooh-poohs popular outrage at Clinton’s unlawful use of a private email server and elides the Obama Internal Revenue Service’s selective targeting of conservative nonprofits ahead of the 2012 election.
He also underestimates a third development of recent years—liberal illiberalism (my term, not his)—a liberalism that not only lacks democratic legitimacy but seeks to destroy, in the name of tolerance, the fundamental rights of those who stand in the way of full-spectrum progressivism. This is the kind of liberalism that compels nuns to pay for contraceptives and evangelical bakers to bake gay-wedding cakes, silences conservative speakers on campus, and denounces sushi restaurants as “cultural appropriation.”
Mounk isn’t ignorant of these tendencies, and he wants liberals to ease up (a bit). Yet, because he maintains that the censorious left’s heart is in the right place, he can’t seem to reach the necessary conclusion: that much illiberalism today comes, not from the right, but from ostensibly liberal quarters, and that this says something about the nature of contemporary liberal ideology. The true illiberal villains, for Mounk, are only ever the Modis, Trumps, and Orbáns—plus the troglodytes down South. Well-intentioned liberals who back censorship, he writes at one point, “ignore what would happen if the dean of Southern Baptist University…were to gain the right to censor utterances” he dislikes.
In fact, there is no such institution as “Southern Baptist University.” According to the most recent rankings from the Foundation for Individual Rights in Education, however, four of the 10 worst U.S. colleges for free speech last year were public schools located in blue states, while five were blue-state private or religious schools with longstanding reputations for progressivism (Mounk’s own Harvard among them).
His quickness to frame Southern Baptists as illiberal bogeys is telling and suggests that, for all its exhortations against liberal highhandedness, Mounk’s book comes from the same high-handed place. It colors the author’s approach to questions of nationalism and immigration that are at the heart of the current ferment. He concedes that liberal democracy is compatible with voter demand for limits on mass migration. But he can’t help but attribute those demands to irrational “resentment,” eschewing completely the—perfectly rational—fear of Islamist terrorism.
He sees the nation-state as an “imagined community” to which too many of our fellow citizens remain attached. Ideally for Mounk, the empire of rights and procedural norms would thrive independently of nationhood, civilizational barriers, and sacred communities. For now, he allows, liberals unfortunately have to contend with these anachronisms. His view is an improvement over the liberal transnationalism that is still committed to doing away borders altogether, even after the popular counterpunch of 2016. Still, why should Poles or Hungarians or Britons remain politically attached to Polish, Hungarian, or British democracy? What is it about Polishness as such that matters to Poland’s democratic character? Mounk has no answers.
No wonder, finally, that the author never satisfactorily links liberalism’s turn against democracy and the rise of illiberal democrats. He can never bring himself to say outright that the one (rights without democracy) is begetting the other (democracy without rights). Liberals, of the classical and the contemporary varieties, badly need a book that offers such uncomfortable reckonings. Yascha Mounk’s The People vs. Democracy is not it.
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The Woke Warriors
Social Commentary
Christine Rosen 2018-01-16
I was reminded of Heloise when I learned that the New York Times recently appointed a “gender editor” to oversee the newspaper’s coverage of…well, of just about everything, evidently. The press release announcing the appointment of Jessica Bennett described her as leading a “multi-pronged initiative” that includes “pushing forward research into how tone, storyform, subjects, sources, and other elements of the report affect women’s consumption of it, and evangelizing best practices around the newsroom.” Indeed, the Times is going all-in on gender. Reporter Susan Chira was named “senior gender correspondent,” and the newspaper also created a gender editor for the op-ed page as well as another director of an internal Times Gender Initiative.
In an interview with Teen Vogue, Bennett described her approach: “To me, what gender issues means is not simply coverage of feminism or issues related to women’s rights. Though of course that is important, and we’re committed to approaching those issues and approaching them from an intersectional lens.… So whether that means stories about gender identity, or sexuality, or masculinity, or race and class and how that plays into gender identity, or simply the subjects that the Times already covers—politics, international affairs, science, health.” In short: everything.
In theory, the appeal of a “gender editor” is that she promises to help us navigate these revolutionary yet confusing times; in an interview with WNYC Radio’s “The Takeaway,” Bennett said as much, noting how the #metoo moment “feels like a tsunami” (she later added that it was also an “avalanche” and a “hurricane”). “There seems to be no end in sight,” she said, describing the flood of accusations and outings of harassers and sexual predators. “There is a sense of being overwhelmed.” Her message—echoed by others among this new breed of “woke” cultural-guidance counselors—is: Trust us! We will tell you what to think and how to behave in these turbulent times.
Unfortunately, this new crop of intersectional Heloises do not inspire confidence, and their advice is more likely to come in the form of a shove rather than a hint.
In making its announcement about the appointment of Bennett, the Times praised her “compelling contributions” to the newspaper not on hard-hitting subjects such as sexual harassment or the wage gap, but for op-eds on topics such as “resting bitch face.” It also cited her book, Feminist Fight Club, an illustrated guide targeted to millennials and stuffed full of advice such as “carry yourself with the confidence of a mediocre white man.” The book also offers hipsterish guidance on how to avoid male workplace types such as “the Manterrupter,” the “Bropriator,” and the “Menstruhater,” among others, and urges its (presumably female) readers to embrace something called “Vagffirmative Action.” Reviewing the book for Slate, Laura Kipnis wrote, “Reading this book felt like clawing my way through snowdrifts of saccharine. My brain felt gooey afterward.” Saccharine stereotyping of men seems not to bother the Times; the press release announcing Bennett’s hire linked to a “Feminist Mortal Kombat video” she made to promote Feminist Fight Club that’s worth watching if you’re wondering about the seriousness with which Bennett approaches workplace interactions between the sexes.
If the mission of the gender editor is to better clarify readers’ thinking about complicated issues related to sex, Bennett’s tenure thus far has not been a success. In a piece published in November on sexual harassment in the post–Harvey Weinstein era, Bennett wrote at length about Anita Hill’s accusations against Clarence Thomas (never once noting for the record the inconsistencies in Hill’s testimony or the fact that Thomas denied the charges) while only briefly mentioning Paula Jones’s accusations about liberal men like former President Bill Clinton (to say nothing of Clinton’s many other accusers).
Muddled and dangerous thinking was also on display in another recent essay Bennett wrote for the Times, “When ‘Yes’ Is Easier Than ‘No,’” wherein she suggests that “cultural expectations” about how women should act mean that they sometimes have sex when they don’t really want to—and thus even consensual sex should be suspect. “Our idea of what we want—of our own desire—is linked to what we think we’re supposed to want,” Bennett writes, “with what society tells us we should want. And most of what society tells us—when it comes to women and sex, anyway—is wrapped in dangerously outdated gender norms.”
“Society” tells me I should buy $500 stiletto heels, too, but I know that if I can’t afford them, I shouldn’t buy them. (I learned that from Heloise!) “But what about a woman who doesn’t feel that she can speak up because of cultural expectations?” Bennett asks. “Should that woman be considered unable to consent too?”
For a gender editor, Bennett seems deeply confused about what consensual sex is. Consent is a yes-or-no question, not an existential one. It means a man and a woman mutually agree to have sex. It doesn’t mean a woman says yes, later regrets the encounter, and then claims the man should have understood that “cultural expectations” made her say yes when she meant no. Bennett’s attempt to blame cultural expectations or outdated gender norms for women’s poor decisions regarding sex doesn’t grant women some newfound insight or power; it effectively turns them into children incapable of standing up for themselves and setting clear boundaries about what they are and aren’t willing to do. It also implies that we should criminalize a fairly wide range of normal sexual behavior (or “problematize” it to the point of effectively rendering it obsolete). Would Bennett have us trade the nondisclosure agreements of the pre-Weinstein era for elaborate consent documents (or telepaths) that ostensibly protect women who might not trust their own decision-making powers?
None of this would matter if the portfolio granted to a “gender editor” weren’t so vast, practically inviting the kind of mission creep that could easily morph into politically correct censorship. “We’re thinking about this really holistically,” Bennett told Teen Vogue. “It’s about the type of coverage, and at times, elevating some of the underrepresented voices. It’s also about looking at our own report [sic] critically and thinking about tone, and subtle language things, and the visual displays of stories, and bylines and sources.” Rigorously monitoring “subtle language things” or counting up the number of female sources and bylines to achieve gender parity doesn’t sound so benign given the ideological agendas of those enforcing the practices.
The Times is not alone in embracing enforcers for our new “woke” age. New York magazine recently profiled Dhonielle Clayton, who works in “the booming business of sensitivity reading.” Sensitivity readers are basically freelance barometers for political correctness; they are hired to read drafts of books and offer suggestions to writers about their portrayal of characters (usually racial minorities) or storylines, ostensibly to encourage “authenticity” in the final book. Clayton, who is black, has many “unhappy memories of reading” as a child because of the absence of black characters in books. “I was reading everything looking for myself,” she told New York. “I didn’t get it.”
Did no one tell her that reading—particularly reading fiction—is a unique opportunity to gain insight into people who aren’t like yourself? Today, however, an increasing number of books for children and young adults do feature nonwhite characters; but, as Clayton complains, too many of those books are still being written by nonblack people.
Ms. Clayton clearly has strong (and rather condescending) feelings about people who try to write fiction about anyone who isn’t exactly like themselves. “The same canned answer always comes back” from nonblack writers who write a black character, she told New York. “This character just walked into my head fully formed.” And she harbors strong resentment about nonblack writers who get their work published. “Them writing a story about a black kid prevents me from writing one,” she told New York, “because when I show up with my manuscript, the publisher tells me that the position is filled.”
Professional sensitivity readers like Ms. Clayton downplay their roles as censors. “I’m not the diversity police officer, policing non-marginalized people,” she says. And yet, objecting to a Times story that suggested sensitivity readers are practicing a form of censorship, Clayton tweeted, “The reason I’ve done over 35 sensitivity reads this year alone is b/c publishers aren’t hiring black content creators but everyone wants to write about black people.”
Publishers aren’t the only ones embracing internal wardens of wokeness. In December, the New York Times reported on an effort by business-school professors to be more enlightened in their teaching approach, with some universities offering au courant classes on “Uber and ‘bro’ culture,” and sexual harassment. The Forte Foundation, which promotes women in business, now offers a downloadable “tool kit” for men in business school called “Men as Allies,” which encourages men to form “Manbassador” programs at their schools (Dartmouth, Columbia, and Harvard have them). Such programs are designed to host events, encourage “role-playing scenarios about sensitive situations,” and even “encourage men in your MBA program to sign and pledge their support of gender equality” by affixing their names to the Men as Allies pledge. As Alen Amini, a founder of Dartmouth’s Manbassador program, told the Times, he is “making sure that as men we’re very aware of some of the privileges we’re afforded simply because of gender.”
The policing of privilege is nothing new on campus, of course. As the Wall Street Journal noted recently, some ideological campus warriors have even declared war on civility itself. Two Iowa professors recently argued, “Civility within higher education is a racialized, rather than universal, norm” and attacked what they call “whiteness-informed civility.” What does this look like in practice? During a 2014 collegiate debate final, two students “sidestepped the nominal resolution, which had to do with restricting a president’s war powers, in order to argue that war ‘should not be waged against n—as.’”
Like many zealous crusaders, today’s woke warriors see problems wherever they look. “I think it’s everywhere, but I also think it’s one of those things that we don’t necessarily see,” Bennett told Teen Vogue about gender issues. Hence the need for a mandarin class of woke monitors to guide us toward a more enlightened future. They aren’t acting as censors in the traditional sense—they’re not strategically placing a fig leaf over the naughty bits of a statue. Rather, they look at the statue and want to smash it because it was sculpted by a cis-gender white man. “A gender editor exists because media was created by and for white men,” Bennett told WNYC.
But a world of gender editors and “manbassadors” means a world focused on stories about gender (or race or whatever the identity du jour is) and fewer discussions of what it means to build a common culture with agreed-upon norms (like acknowledgment of some standards of civility and consent). And all too often in these stories, women and minorities are portrayed as victims or martyrs; the news becomes a never-ending story of resistance and activism. Getting along doesn’t sell.
Pitched as helpful representatives of their race or sex, an on-call conscience for an age that wants to fix its racist and sexist ways, this new crop of woke warriors will likely end up a permanent bureaucratic enforcement mechanism for identity politics. “I’ve been joking that I will be successful when my job is no longer needed,” Bennett told WNYC. If that’s true, then the joke is on us.
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