Hyperconflict: Globalization and Insecurity

Hyperconflict

GLOBALIZATION AND INSECURITY

James H. Mittelman

STANFORD SECURITY STUDIES

An Imprint of Stanford University Press

Stanford, California 2010

Stanford University Press

Stanford, California

© 2010 by the Board of Trustees of the Leland Stanford Junior University.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system without the prior written permission of Stanford University Press.

Printed in the United States of America on acid-free, archival-quality paper

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Mittelman, James H.

Hyperconflict : globalization and insecurity / James H. Mittelman

p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 978-0-8047-6375-2 (cloth : alk. paper) —

ISBN 978-0-8047-6376-9 (pbk. : alk. paper)

ISBN 978-0-8047-7714-8 (electronic)

1. Globalization. 2. International relations. 3. Security, International. 4. International economic relations. 5. World politics—1989-. I. Title.

JZ1318.M57 2010

303.4—dc22                                                                 2009021453

Typeset at Stanford University Press in 10/14 Minion

For Linda

Alexandra, Jordan, and Alicia

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Preface

Foreword, by Richard Falk

Abbreviations

1  Prelude

2  Preliminary Answers

3  Coercive Globalization

4  Conflict 1: Multilateral Agreement on Investment

5  Conflict 2: Asian Debacle

6  Conflict 3: Battles of Seattle

(Coauthored with Jacob Stump)

7  Conflict 4: 9/11 and the Global War on Terror

(Coauthored with Priya Dixit)

8  Postnational Security

Epilogue

Notes

References

Index

TABLES AND FIGURES

TABLES

Global Competitiveness Index Rankings, 2008–2009 and 2007–2008 Comparisons

Changing World Order

FIGURES

IMF managing director Camdessus and Indonesian president Suharto (1998)

The Battle of Seattle, fought in 1856; painted circa 1890 by Emily Inez Denny

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A project of this scope benefited from substantial assistance along the way. A visiting professorship at the Institute of International and Malaysian Studies at the National University of Malaysia, resident fellowships at the Helsinki Collegium for Advanced Studies (a most congenial atmosphere in every respect), a travel grant from the American Political Science Association, and overall support from the School of International Service at American University were especially helpful.

I have had the good experience of presenting my research and receiving feedback from colleagues at the University of Newcastle upon Tyne, the University of Warwick, the University of Toronto, Johns Hopkins University, the Central European University, China Foreign Affairs University, l’Université du Québec à Montréal, RMIT University, Victoria University of Wellington, and annual meetings of the International Studies Association and the American Political Science Association.

Among the individuals to whom I am indebted are Jacob Stump and Priya Dixit, Ph.D. candidates at American University and coauthors of Chapters 6 and 7, respectively. I have also been immeasurably aided by capable research assistants: Priya Dixit, Daniel Dye, Carl Anders Härdig, and Timo Pankakoski. I offer my humble thanks as well to hundreds of students who have contributed in myriad ways to my education.

I owe a large debt of gratitude to Richard Falk for writing an elegant foreword to this book. Special thanks go to Robert W. Cox, Pek Koon Heng, Randolph Persaud, Manfred Steger, Linda Yarr, and John Willoughby, who painstakingly read chapters and provided penetrating criticism. Mark Beeson and Christopher Chase-Dunn offered tough and constructive comments on a subsequent draft. Pek Koon Heng and Mika Ojakangas generously shared research materials. In addition, I am grateful for the exchange of views with Barry Gills, Akihiko Kimijima, James Rosenau, Heikki Patomäki, and Raimo Väyrynen. I greatly appreciate their advice, though I have not entirely followed it, and bear sole responsibility for the results.

In addition, I have had the good fortune to work with Stanford University Press. Geoffrey Burn, director of the press and editor of Security Studies, graciously expressed confidence in my ideas and encouraged me to complete this book, several years in the making. His assistant Jessica Walsh and editors John Feneron and Jeff Wyneken helped greatly to hone the manuscript.

Above all, I acknowledge my wife, Linda Yarr, and our wonderful children, Alexandra, Jordan, and Alicia, for their forbearance, guidance, and unstinting love.

PREFACE

Matters of security and insecurity are endemic to the globalizing world that marks daily existence. Not conditions of one’s own choosing, they are inseparable from personal experience. So, too, this book is about big, powerful structures. But there is also a story behind it. Not mere abstractions, the concerns in the pages ahead stem from my journey through life. Although not wanting to detain the reader with an autobiography that may be intrinsically uninteresting, I offer a brief personal history in the Preface, for I believe in the importance of self-reflectivity.

Born during World War II, I vividly recall my father and uncles recounting a history of U.S. military valor. Having served in the European and Pacific theaters of war, the veterans in my family returned to the home of the brave—in the artful language of the national anthem, which we often recited—and found it painful to relive the grit of armed conflict. Nonetheless, these former soldiers continued to fight this war as a war of words. I was tutored in passionate narratives of masculinity, heroism, patriotism, and American invincibility. As my father put it, ‘We’ won every war that ‘we’ ever fought. And some family friends, Holocaust survivors, did not have to voice their horrific stories. Tattooed in blue with numbers from concentration camps, their forearms evinced such gruesome tales. Time and again, children of my age viewed war movies that graphically portrayed threats posed by the enemies of the free world.

At school, my teachers reinforced the narrative about U.S. military courage and love of freedom. In the wake of a shadowy war against a putative transnational enemy (the communist threat) in Korea, distinctions between we and they were inscribed in the consciousness of American youth. During drills in the 1950s, sirens sounded an alarm, signaling that teachers and students should quickly move to the schools’ interior corridors and put heads down on folded arms as a form of self-protection against impending nuclear attack. Although as a youngster, I had little knowledge of McCarthyism, I vaguely recall witnessing this scaremongering on television and radio, which alerted citizens to enemy agents within U.S. national borders.

Imperiled by the Soviet Union, the font of international communism, the United States no longer faced fascist dictatorships as its chief enemies. In this fearsome climate, our neighbors built fallout shelters, as they were called, and stockpiled such home fortifications with ample supplies supposedly to help them withstand the mushroom cloud that atomic bombs would visit upon us. If one needed a reminder of the gravity of this struggle, the Soviet Union launched Sputnik, spurring the United States in the space race.

Growing up in Ohio, I resided in an area subject to restrictive covenants applied on the basis of classifications of race, class, and religion at least until the 1960s, when rioters torched inner cities. In these heady times of conflict over civil rights and black power, parts of my hometown went up in flames.

So, too, many of my memories of university life in Michigan revolve around exclusion—boundaries between friends and enemies. Of those who attended a lecture by Martin Luther King Jr., some students refused to stand and applaud; they remained seated in a show of disapproval of King’s values and goals. Their behavior was a sign of resistance to restructuring in not only the United States but also the transnational realm. For me, as for many Americans of my age, the assassinations of King and John F. Kennedy, and next his brother Robert, caused a deep sense of loss and soul-searching about violence.

An intellectual awakening occurred in my courses on international relations. Political and moral awareness came in a seminar on international organization in which I was shocked to learn about the protracted conflict over South Africa’s system of racial exclusion known as apartheid.

Later, less than satisfied with my first year of graduate studies in the United States, I felt a kind of intellectual itching and wanderlust. I then enrolled in an M.A. program in African studies at Makerere University in Uganda (at the time, a branch of the University of East Africa). Johan Galtung, the distinguished Norwegian peace researcher who pioneered this field, taught one of my courses.

Having arrived shortly after decolonization and a violent civil conflict in Buganda, the country’s heartland area, I learned firsthand about postconflict reconstruction. I visited refugee camps for Rwandans who were fleeing a wave of genocide; met mercenaries fighting in the Congo (today the Democratic Republic of the Congo) and white fathers, Belgian priests who ran copper mines there; and traveled to or across the border (not entirely demarcated) with the southern Sudan, which was ensconced in a long, bloody conflict with the north. Some of my fellow students in Uganda had escaped violence in their own countries and were members of liberation movements. Spontaneously, I joined a demonstration at the British High Commission in Kampala to protest the decision of Ian Smith’s white-settler regime to hang three blacks in Southern Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), only to be grabbed and roughed up by a mob. Luckily, Makerere students happened by and rescued me. In a sense, I have never recovered from the good fortune of my formative experience in East Africa, a turnaround in my life.

When I returned to the United States to undertake a Ph.D. in political science, with a specialization in international organization, I was greeted by the anti–Vietnam War movement, the takeover of buildings by activists on university campuses, and fervent debates over peace and conflict. During this period, I also interned at the United Nations in New York, where I profited from a broad and practical exposure to matters of security and insecurity.

Another turning point came when I attended my first professional association meeting, held in Montreal. There, the former head of department and dean at Makerere asked what I would be doing next year. Unabashedly, I responded to the effect of Something interesting; why do you ask? Without hesitation, I pounced on his invitation to rejoin Makerere as a special tutor (instructor) and carry on with my doctoral research.

Not long after, on the night of January 25, 1971, gunfire disturbed my sleep. At first, I thought that it was mischief perpetrated by kondos, or thieves, whose gunshots sometimes troubled residents of Kampala. Living in the placid quarters of the Makerere Institute of Social Research just inside the University’s secure main gate, I heard a knock at my door. I peered through the peephole and spotted a black Mercedes Benz, a government car. The man outside was a stranger, but his face looked familiar. Sir, he said to me, may I take refuge in your flat? He was a minister in the government of President Milton Obote, who had just been toppled by a military coup led by Idi Amin.

After witnessing grotesque scenes in Kampala, I subsequently moved to Tanzania and then to Mozambique toward the end of its armed struggle for political independence, which was soon to erupt in civil war. There, I had an opportunity to befriend freedom fighters from neighboring South Africa, a country where, after the defeat of apartheid, I served as a visiting professor. In the interim, I lived and worked in Singapore and Malaysia, including during the 1997–98 turbulence, which provides a case study in this book. Also, on six occasions, I taught, gathered documentary material, and conducted interviews in China and Japan, similarly important to this project.

While recording my findings from these visits, I was in Washington, D.C., when the 9/11 attackers struck the Pentagon and the World Trade Center. Suddenly, political authorities defined a new enemy—not the same kinds of fascists or communists of earlier decades but transnational terrorists against whom a U.S.-led coalition pledged to fight a global war.

By this point in my life, successive leaders of the United States had told me to prepare for world wars against a series of enemies: fascists, communists, terrorists. Years earlier, I had been subject to the military draft (but not called up) during the Vietnam War and, not long after, the Cuban missile crisis, when a confrontation between the United States and the Soviet Union almost triggered an outbreak of war. And overseas, on four occasions, I was on the unfortunate end of the deeds of armed combatants and thugs (no exaggeration: some of these personal stories appear in Mittelman and Pasha 1997). Yet answers to the why questions seemed to be grossly lacking.

Having carried out research on the ground on coups d’état, revolutions, liberation struggles, ethnic conflicts, civil and regional wars, and other aspects of political violence, I long puzzled about whether these pieces are part of a whole. I am convinced that a worm’s-eye view of specific hotspots is invaluable, up to a point. But the big picture is perplexing. How can it be drawn? How to combine bottom-up and upstairs-downstairs perspectives from multiple research sites?

A place to begin is with the basic questions, Does globalization promote security or fuel insecurity? and, What are the implications for world order? To come to grips with these matters requires building a bridge between the geopolitics and geoeconomics of globalization, one that extends to the geostrategic sphere. Few researchers have sought to span this gulf, and these efforts have produced sharply divergent views (Chapter 2).

Some analysts maintain that globalizing processes are prone to peace because the expansion of commerce, the spread of democracy, and technological advances bring the world closer together and favor cooperation. Yet other observers argue to the contrary: the same global structures provoke conflict over trade, are used to enable criminal and terrorist networks, and lower the costs of transactions, including flows of weapons.

These debates stumble over major issues, especially on how the fringe zones of the world, as policy planners and strategic thinkers in Washington call them, relate to the American epicenter of power. Based in New York and Washington for most of my career, I have benefited from ample exposure to their orientations, talked to key actors in international organizations and government, collected a vast amount of data, and learned about the core processes under consideration in this book. As vital as a wealth of up-to-date information is, the standpoints adopted at these locales in the United States are wanting insofar as they focus on the here-and-now without grasping what is behind short-term events and where they are heading.

To fill the void, this book contends that beneath the exigencies of our times lie the systemic drivers of global security and insecurity. One of them may be found in the geoeconomy: a shift in the reconstitution of competition, with the development of a more belligerent form. The other driver is embedded in geopolitics, namely, the extraordinary distance between the capacities of the United States and those of other states. Furthermore, the United States is the principal node in hyperpower, which exceeds the power of a territorial state. Hyperpower includes a vast network of military bases and private security contractors, a long economic reach, dominance in the knowledge industry, technological prowess, and the wherewithal for widespread cultural diffusion, with the propagation of the American version of the English language as its most apparent sign. This argument does not however underestimate the extent to which the United States as the lead power has profound difficulty effectively using the means at its disposal.

That said, I claim that as a result of the confluence of these forces, insecurity is being globalized. And the dynamics portend hyperconflict. This emergent condition may be best understood as an evolving galaxy of social power relations and historical narratives. The ensuing chapters lay out the characteristics of hyperconflict, document this trend, and assess its prospects.

My main thesis does not at all cut against the findings of empirical studies of war and peace, which painstakingly show that in recent decades the frequency of armed conflict has decreased or, some say, remained level. But given structural shifts in the global political economy, why should one believe that the future will be more of the same? If the rosy view about the incidence of conflict cannot be projected in a linear manner, another perspective is worth considering.

Tilting against both classical liberal thinkers, including Adam Smith, who posited the harmony of motives, and contemporary institutionalists, who seek to trace international regimes that ensure stability, I hold that in a globalizing era, the balance is swinging in another direction. It changes course, for history is dysrhythmic and without a predefined end. If so, what are the plausible scenarios for future world order? And if the central power is imploding, how to prevent a gathering storm of hyperconflict? These themes are the landing at the close of this book.

FOREWORD

By Richard Falk

It has become increasingly difficult to frame international relations according to the realist template premised upon interaction among sovereign states. When World War II ended, the United Nations was constructed on the basis of such a template, conceiving of membership in organized international society as an exclusively statist prerogative. No other political actors were considered sufficiently significant as participants in international political life to challenge the Westphalian paradigm that has dominated thought about world politics for several centuries.

The UN Charter did close its eyes to the tension between its juridical affirmation of the equality of states and its constitutional acknowledgment of existential inequality in the form of veto rights for the five permanent members of the Security Council. It closed them even tighter with respect to the colonized peoples of Asia and Africa, who were (mis)represented at the United Nations by their colonial masters. As the decolonization process rapidly unfolded in the period between 1947 and 1980, the newly independent states were admitted to membership in the United Nations, which meant that the Westphalian system that had previously been mainly regional in scope and civilizational in identity gradually evolved into a genuinely universal framework. This was the first time that such a formally multicivilizational framework embraced all the peoples of the world, and did seem to be a small step in the direction of what might be called constitutional globalization.

But it is important to appreciate that this kind of organizational framework did little to alter the logic of security that was based, as it had been for centuries, on military capabilities, alliances, and geopolitical hierarchies. The Cold War period, culminating this dynamic of international relations that sustained the security of major states, made the specter of war so fearsome in what came to be known as a system of mutual deterrence supposedly made stable by the prospect of massive devastation associated with the possession of huge arsenals of nuclear weapons by the main antagonists on the global stage. Such a bipolar world order established a condition of apocalyptic vulnerability for the entire planet that had never previously existed, and carried the amorality of political realism to the stratospheric heights of potential omnicide, or what some observers viewed as a geopolitics of extermination. This geographic extension of destruction to encompass the whole world can be best interpreted as the onset of military globalization. An aspect of this global setting that dominated the political imagination during the Cold War was the negotiation of zones of stability (in the North), as signaled by the avoidance of intervention in Europe, and zones of interventionary rivalry (in the South), as epitomized by the wars in Korea, Vietnam, and Afghanistan.

These developments were profound but did not challenge the conceptual foundations of a Westphalian world constituted by the complex interplay between sovereign states and a supervening discipline administered by geopolitical actors exerting direct and indirect control over subordinate weaker states. A challenge did emerge in the years following the collapse of the Soviet Union due to several converging developments: the spread of what was labeled in the early 1990s as market-oriented constitutionalism, the consequent fading away of a socialist alternative, the ascendancy of the United States as the sole surviving superpower, and a set of technological and administrative moves associated with information technology that facilitated transnational networking and socioeconomic integration. It was this series of interrelated developments unfolding in an atmosphere free from ideological rivalry that gave such salience to trade and investment trends, which were increasingly described beneath the banner of economic globalization. The traditional preoccupations of states with security were temporarily displaced by preoccupations with economic growth as the universal engine of progress, and conflict was seen more as peripheral to world order—as disruptive encounters of mainly local, national, and humanitarian concern—and not as previously perceived, that is, as dangerously unresolved geopolitical dramas of deadly encounter.

The exception to this pattern of geopolitical calm came in the First Gulf War, when in 1990 Iraq attacked and attempted to annex Kuwait, generating a collective response organized by the United States with the backing of the United Nations. The American president at the time, George H.W. Bush, associated the military response in 1991 with a new world order, precisely because the leading countries could agree on a common response that was given legitimacy by a decision of the UN Security Council. James Baker, the secretary of state, acknowledged a few years later that it was an unfortunate mistake for the U.S. government to have associated the new world order with collective security during the Kuwait crisis rather than to connect it with the ideological underpinning of neoliberal globalization. More to the point, it was these emerging patterns of behavior and supportive structures, especially the combination of minimally regulated financial markets and disciplinary control of the South through the International Monetary Fund and World Bank, that cumulatively achieved the first rupture in the Westphalian framing of world politics through the prism of sovereign states delimited by territorial boundaries.

The second rupture came a decade later in the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon. These attacks were notable because they exhibited the geopolitical potency of nonstate actors and networks, demonstrating their fearful capability to disempower the traditional security mechanisms of sovereign states, which rested on their unchallengeable control of military power to deter and defend. What Al Qaeda achieved by way of inflicting harm on the dominant geopolitical actor possessing the most formidable military capabilities in the history of the world was a result that no adversary state would dare to undertake. Beyond this disclosure of a post-statist vulnerability was the awkwardness of the response, a flaying of destructive capacities without a notable impact on the terrorist threat. The response relied heavily on the military machine constructed to address hostile threats posed by adversary states but proving almost useless against this new type of threat. To the extent the threat was effectively addressed it was done through a combination of intelligence and police work that was, if anything, hampered by the clumsiness of the military undertakings. What was disclosed by 9/11 and its aftermath was a globalization of insecurity, characterized by an inability to ensure protection or to remove the threat.

But this second rupture also gave rise to a second profound shock to Westphalian verities in the form of the emergence of a global state. The United States, with its military bases spread throughout the world, its navies on every ocean, its satellites in the skies, its special forces ignoring the constraints of foreign sovereignty, could be grasped as neither an oversized sovereign state nor as a new type of empire. It was something new and different, which corresponded to the security challenge that could not be situated territorially. Such a perception of a global state was reinforced by the reach of American diplomatic ambition and popular culture.

The third rupture took the form of the financial meltdown of 2008 and the ensuing global economic crisis, radiating its negative impacts to all corners of the planet. Whether this moment of truth for neoliberal globalization is manageable as a cyclical dislocation cannot now be discerned. If unmanageable, it would be viewed as a systemic dislocation imperiling the future of capitalism. What is already evident, and on message, is that the statist problem-solving framework relied upon to reform global economic policy is not well calibrated to the global scale of the challenge. As a result, national economic rivalry, protectionism in various forms, is likely to preclude a more benevolent pattern of response based on respecting and realizing the global public good.

It is with these three ruptures in mind that I find James Mittelman’s book to be such an invaluable contribution to thought and action in a period characterized by confusion, turmoil, anxiety, and a pervasive sense of risk that gives rise to an enveloping atmosphere of insecurity. Mittelman brilliantly and presciently provides us with the first comprehensive mapping of this twenty-first century terrain of insecurity, the touchstone of his heroic effort to depict the wider implications of neoliberal globalization for the future of humanity.

What makes this undertaking truly heroic is that Mittelman accepts the daunting challenge of reconstituting a conceptual framework capable of sustaining inquiry given the obsolescence of Westphalian categories of diagnosis and prognosis. He adapts the terminology of hyperpower, hypercompetition, and hyperconflict to the originality of the global setting, whether viewed from traditional geopolitical or geoeconomic perspectives. Without questioning the continuing importance of the territorial state, the building block of Westphalian world order, Mittelman draws our attention with great erudition to how old boundaries, as between domestic and international, between self and other, between we and they, are being reconstituted to the great disadvantage of those individuals, groups, and societies that are particularly vulnerable and in various ways situated at the margins. Mittelman invokes such currently influential thinkers as Carl Schmitt, Michel Foucault, Edward Said, and Judith Butler, as well as the usual suspects found in progressive works dealing with the global setting, including Gramsci, Schumpeter, and Karl Polanyi. He also is conversant with contemporary social science approaches used to depict international trends as well as to discuss the nature and role of state and market. Overall, Mittelman builds confidence that his theory-building rests on a thorough consideration of the best thinking that has preceded his monumental undertaking. You may not agree with the assessments reached, but it is difficult to resist the conclusion that Mittelman did his very best to draw insight and support from the work of others, including those with different, even antagonistic, worldviews, such as Samuel Huntington, Thomas Barnett, and Niall Ferguson. He also does not ignore the contributions of thinkers far more congenial, including Robert Cox and Susan Strange. Such a wide net catches many ideas and approaches, making this book a pedagogical natural for university instruction.

The central argument of the book (but not its subtlety and nuanced analysis) is conveyed by the title, Hyperconflict: Globalization and Insecurity. Without the temerity to summarize or dissect Mittelman’s worldview, I think it evident that the major conjecture underlying the text is that economic globalization is not just an extension of world trade and investment but is having revolutionary effects on the organization of political, economic, and social life of the peoples of the world; further, that the regressive ideological underpinnings of this phenomenon have been provided by neoliberalism, which privileges the market and the interests of capital and finance while neglecting the adverse consequences on people and culture. Using a series of illuminating case studies to show these forces at work in specific contexts enables Mittelman also to analyze the countermovement of resistance, both through the mobilization of civil society, as in the battle of Seattle, and, pathologically, through the 9/11 attacks with their antihyperpower animus. Moving beyond the interactions in these examples, Mittelman provides revealing accounts of how the United States as hyperpower strives to establish a self-serving form of security but has unwittingly, and instead, intensified hostility and distrust to the point of generating hypercompetition, which in turn gives rise to hyperconflict. This pattern leaves in its wake a sense of heightened risk and uncertainty that is being variously experienced at different sites of struggle and vulnerability as totalizing insecurity. This experience of insecurity exhibits the novelty of this interplay of forces, making it mystifying and opaque, which in turn calls out for exposition.

Mittelman is very clear that his mission is to help us think, and not to offer simplistic solutions, much less to set forth specific policy prescriptions. He writes assuredly from a progressive perspective, movingly acknowledged in an autobiographical preface that helps establish his credential for identification and sympathy with those who find themselves victimized by forces they cannot control but strive to understand and resist. As the currently unfolding world economic crisis confirms, the tentacles of insecurity grip the hyperpower as well as the weak and vulnerable, and what is more, as clearly perceived by Mittelman, security cannot be restored by the old Westphalian reflex of militarism. Indeed, as the neoconservative Bush presidency pathetically revealed, yielding to the militarist impulse, historically so often decisive in the high politics of global rivalry, greatly accentuated American insecurity as well as inflicted massive suffering elsewhere.

This is Mittelman’s most urgent message to his readers: the old ways of power will not work, and the new ways are not yet accepted by those with the authority and capability to act. Can new leadership in this country and elsewhere, as pushed by crisis conditions and pressures from below (globalization-frombelow) and from without (climate change), restore security? Mittelman’s answer, without specifying a road map, is that this hopeful possibility can only be materialized if a genuine commitment to the construction of global democracy is coupled with a drastic reorientation of globalization, basically, a shift from the priorities of capital to the imperatives of people, conceived of holistically as the human species, and not from the perspective of class, ethnicity, gender, or nation-state.

This is an inspiring book written for all those who are ready to sign up for planetary citizenship, even if this is not their current mind-set. We can keep our old identities built around loyalty to and pride in nation and state, but to move forward we will need to enlarge them as well if we are to find creative and humane responses to the multiple challenges of globalization. Mittelman not only helps us to see the world as it is but shows us how we should think about the future so as to overcome insecurity and to ground hope. This is a great achievement, warranting our attention and reflection, and eventually our