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大難前夕 - C. Emmerson
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Eve of Disaster
CHARLES EMMERSON, 01/04/13
Why 2013 eerily looks like the world of 1913, on the cusp of the Great War.
The leading power of the age is in relative decline, beset by political crisis at home and by steadily eroding economic prowess. Rising powers are jostling for position in the four corners of the world, some seeking a new place for themselves within the current global order, others questioning its very legitimacy. Democracy and despotism are locked in uneasy competition. A world economy is interconnected as never before by flows of money, trade, and people, and by the unprecedented spread of new, distance-destroying technologies. A global society, perhaps even a global moral consciousness, is emerging as a result. Small-town America rails at the excessive power of Wall Street. Asia is rising once again. And, yes, there's trouble in the Middle East.
Sound familiar?
In many ways, the world of 1913, the last year before the Great War, seems not so much the world of 100 years ago as the world of today, curiously refracted through time. It is impossible to look at it without an uncanny feeling of recognition, telescoping a century into the blink of an eye. But can peering back into the world of our great-grandparents really help us understand the world we live in today?
Let's get the caveats out of the way upfront. History does not repeat itself -- at least not exactly. Analogies from one period to another are never perfect. However tempting it may be to view China in 2013 as an exact parallel to Germany in 1913 (the disruptive rising power of its age) or to view the contemporary United States as going through the exact same experience as Britain a century ago (a "weary titan staggering under the too vast orb of its fate," as Joseph Chamberlain put it), things are never quite that straightforward. Whereas Germany in 1913 explicitly sought a foreign empire, China in 2013 publicly eschews the idea that it is an expansionist power (though it is perfectly clear about protecting its interests around the world). Whereas the German empire in 1913 had barely 40 years of history as a unified state behind it and was only slightly more populous that Britain or France, China in 2013 can look back on centuries of continuous history as a player in world affairs, and it now boasts one-fifth of the world's population. Whereas Germany's rise was a genuinely new geopolitical phenomenon in 1913, the rise of China today is more of a return to historical normality. These differences matter.
Similarly, the strengths and weaknesses of the United States in 2013 are not quite the same as those of Britain 100 years ago. Then, Britain benefited politically from being the world's banker and from being the linchpin of the gold standard. Today the United States, though benefiting politically and economically from being the issuer of the world's principal reserve currency, is hardly in the same position: The country is laden with debt. (One can argue about whether it should really be such a big issue that so much of that debt is owned by Chinese state entities -- after all, Beijing can't just dump Treasury bonds if it doesn't get what it wants from Washington. But Chinese ownership of U.S. debt feeds a perception of American decline, and perceptions of the relative powers of states matter a lot to how other countries treat them.) There are other differences between Britain in 1913 and the United States in 2013. Britain was never a military superpower on the order of the United States today. There was never a unipolar British moment. Britain in 1913 had slipped behind Germany industrially decades before, living more and more off the proceeds of the past; the United States in 2013 is still the world's largest economy and in many respects the most dynamic and most innovative.
Moreover, the global context in which powers rise and fall in the 21st century is not quite the same as the one of the early 20th. In 1913, a handful of empires, mostly European, ruled over most of the world. Only two countries in Africa -- Ethiopia and Liberia -- could claim to be truly independent. In 2013, the United Nations counts over 190 independent states among its membership. Fifty-two of these are African. In 1913, one in four of the world's people lived in Europe; now it's less than one in 10. And the web of international laws and institutions that bind the world together is much thicker now than it was 100 years ago, though it shouldn't be forgotten that the Hague conventions on the laws of war date from before World War I, while the forerunner of the International Court of Justice opened its doors to the world in -- you guessed it -- 1913.
But the fact that historical analogies are imperfect -- and the analogy between 1913 and 2013 is far from being seamless -- does not make them useless. It simply means that they need to be interpreted with care. As Mark Twain put it: "History doesn't repeat itself, but it does rhyme." The task is to listen for those rhymes and to calibrate our hearing to catch them.
In the end, the utility of history to the decision-maker or to the policy analyst is not as a stock of neatly packaged lessons for the contemporary world, to be pulled off the shelf and applied formulaically to every situation. Rather, it is to hone a way of thinking about change and continuity, contingency and chance. Thinking historically can remind us of the surprises that can knock states and societies off course and, at the same time, can check our enthusiasm for believing that this time is different. The world of 1913, on the threshold of the seminal catastrophe of the 20th century yet by and large not expecting it, is a case in point. Sure, there is such a sin as misusing history -- abusing history, even. But there is a much worse mistake: imagining that we have escaped it.
Technology is a common culprit here. It is often remarked that we live in an era of superfast, hypertransformative technological innovation, when history, as Henry Ford put it, is bunk. When innovation comes packaged in the form of a shiny new iPhone -- the subatomic functioning of which seems pretty close to magic -- it is easy to succumb to the technofantasy that we live in an entirely new age, a new era, quite unlike anything that has come before. Yet radical technological change is hardly new. The world of 1913 had its own revolutionary technologies. Radio telegraphy was being introduced, with the promise of improving the safety of shipping at sea and allowing market and strategic information to be pinged around the globe without the need for wires. Automobiles were coming off the world's first production line -- Ford's Highland Park plant in Detroit -- and being shipped around the world, including, in 1913, to the Buddhist monks of Mongolia. Oil was replacing coal to fuel the British Royal Navy -- the world's largest -- pushing the Admiralty to go into the oil business in southern Iran and inaugurating modern petroleum diplomacy in the Middle East. The first feature-length Hollywood movie began shooting at the end of the year, and the first Indian film reached cinemas in Bombay. U.S. President Woodrow Wilson even used a campaign film in the presidential election of the previous year. (Its theme would be well suited to 2013: Tax the rich.)
In the end, technological advances, remarkable in themselves, change things much more than we can ever expect -- the speed of adoption of new technologies is hard to predict, and the second- or third-order impacts of adoption even less so -- but also much less. However new the technology, it is ultimately being grafted onto the rather old technology of the individual human, or the community, or the state. And even the newest of technologies can be manipulated for the oldest of ends. It took less than 10 years from the Wright brothers' first flight, a truly revolutionary and liberating event in the history of humanity, to the first use of aircraft to conduct aerial bombing: over the cities of Libya in 1911 and over the Balkans in 1912 and 1913. Similarly, while the Internet was hailed 20 years ago as a force for the liberation of oppressed people around the world -- and indeed many people still see it that way -- authoritarian states have begun to wise up too. At the end of 2012, a rogues' gallery of authoritarian states tried to use a U.N. conference to advance an agenda of much tighter state control of the Internet internationally. Domestically, such states are already using aspects of the Internet to contain or watch their people. The world's second-oldest profession -- espionage -- has rapidly adapted itself to operations in the open, online world. Technology may be a driver of historical change, but it is subject to historical context too.
To the historically minded, the recurrence of particular themes, or particular rhymes, through history -- human greed, the manipulation of technology, the importance of geography in determining military outcomes, the power of belief in shaping politics, a solid conviction that this time is different -- is no surprise. You thought that the debt-fueled boom of the 2000s was different from all those other booms throughout history? Wrong. The ancient Greeks, with their understanding of greed, self-deception, hubris, and nemesis, would have been quite able to interpret the 2008 financial crisis without the need for an advanced degree in financial astrophysics from Harvard Business School. You thought pacifying Afghanistan would be a piece of cake because we have laser-guided munitions and drones these days? Not so much. You think that globalization is destined to continue forever, that interstate war is impossible, and that the onward march of democracy is ineluctable? Hang on a second; isn't that what people thought in 1913?
The crucial point about the world 100 years ago, then, is not that it is identical to the world today -- it isn't -- but that there was a time, in the not-so-distant past, when a globalized world, not entirely dissimilar to our own, fell apart. And it wasn't because human societies were in the grip of the uncontrollable forces of destiny or that they were particularly dumb. Most just didn't expect things to pan out the way they did. People actually living through the year 1913 did not experience those 12 months as the moody prelude to catastrophe. In retrospect, there were storm clouds on the horizon. But at the time, many people found themselves living through the best of times -- or simply had other things to think about.
The world in 1913 was dynamic, modern, interconnected, smart -- just like ours. 1913 was the year that the modern European art of the Armory Show conquered New York. It was the year the United States established the Federal Reserve, the essential precondition for the global financial power that it would later become, in much the same way that the emergence of the Chinese renminbi as a globally traded currency today is laying the groundwork for a Chinese challenge to American financial supremacy tomorrow. 1913 was the year Gandhi made a name for himself as a political agitator in South Africa, the year Australians laid the foundation for their new capital city, the year Russian Ballets Russes took the capitals of Europe by storm -- and then did the same in Buenos Aires, then one of the richest and fastest-growing cities on Earth. In 1913, China assembled its first democratically assembled parliament, weeks after the leader of its largest party, Song Jiaoren, had been assassinated -- a murder that perhaps changed the course of global history as much as the far more famous killing of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary in Sarajevo a year later. In 1913, Lenin was living in exile in the mountains of Galicia; Russia was in the middle of an industrial boom, with many believing that the moment of maximum revolutionary danger had passed and that the Tsarist Empire was on its way to becoming the dominant Eurasian power. In 1913, Japan -- a country that in 60 years had gone from being a hermit empire to an expansive, industrializing Asian nation, recognized as a peer by the other great powers -- was dealing with the uncertainties of a new emperor on the throne and mourning the death of the last shogun. In the last year before the Great War, Germany was Britain's second-largest trading partner, leading many in the City of London -- and across Europe -- to conclude that, despite the rise of Anglo-German antagonism over naval armaments, a war between the two was unlikely. If the international solidarity of the workers did not stop a war, the self-interest of global finance would, it was argued.
Of course, there were prognosticators of gloom and doom in 1913 -- just as there are in any era. But there were plenty of seasoned observers of the world then who saw the processes of internationalization all around them -- of everything from the measurement of time to the laws of war -- as the natural unfolding of history's grand plan. "No country, no continent any longer lives an independent life,"wrote G.P. Gooch, a British historian, in 1913. "As the world contracts the human race grows more conscious of its unity. Ideas, ideals, and experiments make the tour of the globe. Civilisation has become international." Many noted that economic globalization made war unprofitable; some thought it made it impossible. In 1913, as in previous years, an international exhibition was held to commemorate the advances of the world toward greater integration -- held in Belgium this time, in a city that would quake with the sound of artillery shells within a year. In 1913, German Kaiser Wilhelm II was viewed by some as a peacemaker. A few years earlier, president of the University of California/Berkeley had nominated him for the Nobel Peace Prize.
What does any of this say about the world in 2013?
Not that we are on the cusp of a new Great War and that, on reading this, you should head for the hills and hope for the best. There is nothing inevitable about future conflict between the great powers and there is nothing foretold about the collapse of global trade -- though I would argue that both are substantially more likely now than 10 years ago. But looking at the world of 1913 reminds us that there is nothing immutable about the continuity of globalization either, and certainly nothing immutable about the Western-oriented globalization of the last few decades.
There are plenty of distinct and plausible shocks to the system that could knock our expectations of the future wildly off course -- and plenty of surprises that we can neither predict nor anticipate, but that we can indirectly prepare for by attuning ourselves to the possibility of their occurrence. To take an example of one of the more plausible shocks we now face, a miscalculation in the South China Sea could easily set off a chain of events not entirely dissimilar to a shot in Sarajevo in 1914, with alliance structures, questions of prestige, escalation, credibility, and military capability turning what should be marginal to global affairs into a central question of war and peace.
In a general sense, while the United States in 2013 may not be a perfect analogue for Britain in 1913 (nor China in 2013 a perfect analogue for Germany in 1913), it is certainly the case that the world we are now entering is more similar to that of 100 years ago -- a world of competitive multipolarity -- than that of a quarter-century ago. Just as in 1913, technology, trade, and finance bind the world together now -- and rational self-interest would suggest that the integration that these forces have brought about is irreversible. Yet, over the last few years, the world has witnessed a rise in trade protection, a breakdown in global trade negotiations, totally inadequate progress on global climate discussions, and moves to fragment the Internet. There is a corrosive and self-fulfilling sense that the dominance of the West -- as the world's rule-maker and pace-setter -- is over.
Humanity is forever condemned to live with uncertainty about the future. But thinking historically equips us to better gauge that uncertainty, to temper biases, question assumptions, and stretch our imagination. By understanding the history of other countries -- particularly those that are re-emerging to global eminence now -- we might better understand their mindsets, hopes, and fears. And when we've done that, we might find we need to think again about how to build a future of our own making, rather than one decided for us by events.
The world of 1913 -- brilliant, dynamic, interdependent -- offers a warning. The operating system of the world in that year was taken by many for granted. In 2013, at a time of similar global flux, the biggest mistake we could possibly make is to assume that the operating system of our own world will continue indefinitely, that all we need to do is stroll into the future, and that the future will inevitably be what we want it to be. Those comforting times are over. We need to prepare ourselves for a much rougher ride ahead.
http://www.foreignpolicy.com/articles/2013/01/04/why_2013_looks_a_lot_like_1913?wp_login_redirect=0
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戰爭的「原因」、「藉口」、和「導火線」 - R. Kaplan
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How Wars Start
Robert Kaplan, 02/21/13
Just as Herodotus is the father of history, Thucydides is the father of realism. To understand the geopolitical conflict zones of the 21st century, you must begin with the ancient Greeks. Among the many important lessons Thucydides teaches in his History of the Peloponnesian War is that what starts a war is different from what causes it.
Thucydides chronicles how the Peloponnesian War began in the latter part of the late fifth century B.C. with disputes over the island of Corcyra in northwestern Greece and Potidaea in northeastern Greece. These places were not very strategically crucial in and of themselves. To think that wars must start over important places is to misread Thucydides. Corcyra and Potidaea, among other locales, were only where the Peloponnesian War started; not what caused it. What caused it, he writes in the first book of his eight-book history, was the growth of perceived maritime power in Athens and the alarm that it inspired in Sparta and among Sparta's allies. Places like Corcyra and Potidaea, and the complex alliance systems that they represented, were in and of themselves not worth fighting a war over -- a war that would last more than a quarter century, no less. That didn't matter. They were pretexts.
No one understood this distinction, which was perhaps made first in literature by Thucydides, better than Thucydides' most distinguished translator, the 17th century English philosopher Thomas Hobbes. Hobbes writes that a pretext for war over some worthless place "is always an injury received, or pretended to be received." Whereas the "inward motive to hostility is but conjectural; and not of the evidence." In other words, the historian or journalist might find it hard to find literal documentation for the real reasons states go to war; thus, he often must infer them. He often must tease them out of the pattern of events, and still in many cases be forced to speculate.
In applying the wisdom of Thucydides and Hobbes to conflict zones across Asia, a number of insights may be obtained.
The South China Sea conflict, for example, becomes understandable. Here are geographical features which, in their own right, are valuable because of the measureable energy deposits in surrounding waters. They also fall in the path of sea lines of communications vital for access to the Indian Ocean in one direction, and the East China Sea and Sea of Japan in the other, making the South China Sea part of the word's global energy interstate. Nevertheless, let's assume one is somewhat dismissive of these facts and says such specks of dry land in the middle of a great sea are in any case not worth fighting a war over. Thucydides and Hobbes would pronounce him wrong. They would say that it is the perceived rise of Chinese sea power -- and the alarm that it inspires among America's formal allies and de facto allies -- that, in turn, could be the real cause of conflict sometime over the coming decade. Thus, the features in the South China Sea, as important as they might be, would merely be the pretext.
Indeed, nobody would prefer to say they are provoking a conflict because of rising Chinese sea power; rather, they would say they are doing so because of this or that infringement of maritime sovereignty over this or that islet. All the rest might have to be conjectured.
The same is true with the conflict between China and Japan over the Senkaku/Diaoyu islands in the East China Sea. Even if one argues that these islets are worthless, he or she would miss the point. Rather, the dispute over these islets is a pretext for the rise of Chinese sea power and the fear that it inspires in Japan, helping to ease Japan out of its quasi-pacifistic shell and rediscover nationalism and military power. (And by the way, the rise of Chinese sea power does not mean that China is able to engage the U.S. Navy in fleet-on-fleet battle. It only means, for example, that China can use the placement of warship patrols, along with economic and diplomatic pressure and the staging of protests at home, all together in a series of "combination punches" to undermine the Japanese and other East Asian rivals.)
Then there is North Korea. With a gross domestic product of only that of Latvia or Turkmenistan, it might be assumed to be another worthless piece of real estate. Geography tells a different story. Jutting out from Manchuria, the Korean Peninsula commands all maritime traffic in northeastern China and traps in its armpit the Bohai Sea, home to China's largest offshore oil reserve. China, as I've previously written, favors an economic takeover of the Tumen River region -- where China, North Korea and Russia intersect, with good port facilities fronting Japan. The fate of the northern half of the Korean Peninsula will help determine power relationships throughout northeastern Asia, therefore. Of course, all of this, as Thucydides and Hobbes would say, would have to be inferred, conjectured. North Korea's erratic behavior could start a conflict, but the causes might also lie elsewhere.
India and China have territorial tripwires in the Himalayan foothills, an area which, again, might be judged by some as worthless. But these tripwires become more meaningful as India partially shifts its defense procurements away from confronting Pakistan and towards confronting China. It is doing so because the advance of technology has created a new and claustrophobic strategic geography uniting India and China, with warships, fighter jets and space satellites allowing each country to infringe on the other's battlespace. If a conflict ever does erupt between these two demographic and economic behemoths, it probably will not be because of the specific reasons stated but because of these deeper geographical and technological causes.
As for India and Pakistan, I remember decades ago sitting with a group of journalists in Peshawar, reading about Pakistani and Indian troops confronting each other on the Siachen Glacier in Kashmir, terrain so high the troops had to wear oxygen masks. Could such territory be worth fighting over? Again, the conflicting claims were merely symptomatic of a deeper dispute over the very legitimacy of these states arising out of the partition of the subcontinent in 1947.
Of course, Israel fears for its own survival, were Iran to develop a deployable nuclear bomb. This is a case where the start of a conflict (by the United States, acting as Israel's proxy) may largely overlap with its cause. Nevertheless, Israel has other fears that are less frequently expressed. For example, a nuclear Iran would make every crisis between Israel and Hezbollah, between Israel and Hamas, and between Israel and the West Bank Palestinians more fraught with risk. Israel cannot accept such augmentation of Iranian power. That could signal the real cause of a conflict, were Israel ever able to drag the United States into a war with Iran.
In all these cases, and others, the most profound lesson of Thucydides and Hobbes is to concentrate on what goes unstated in crises, on what can only be deduced. For the genius of analysis lies in quiet deductions, not in the mere parroting of public statements. What starts conflicts is public, and therefore much less interesting -- and less crucial -- than the causes of conflicts, which are not often public.
Robert D. Kaplan is Chief Geopolitical Analyst at Stratfor, a geopolitical analysis firm, and author of the bestselling new book The Revenge of Geography. Reprinted with permission.
http://www.realclearworld.com/articles/2013/02/21/how_wars_start_100568.html
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危言聳聽之「大難前夕」 ------ G. Till
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What Arms Race? Why Asia Isn’t Europe 1913
Asia is not experiencing an arms race like the one that preceded World War I -- at least not yet.
Geoffrey Till, 02/15/13
Arms races, naval or otherwise, get a bad rap. They are usually regarded as the military expression and consequence of the existing state of international relations, but they can also develop a momentum of their own, wasting money, exacerbating already tense relations between states and threatening to destabilize whole regions. Instead of reflecting policy as Clausewitz reminds us the military should do, arms racers determine it. All too often, moreover, they seem to make conflict more likely.
In the Asia-Pacific region many media outlets and pundits fear that a naval arms race is indeed developing and lament its possible consequences. It is not hard to see why— Whether it is Malaysia’s Scorpene submarines, Vietnam’s Kilos, India’s unprecedented naval building program or China’s new carrier the Liaoning and its carrier-killing ballistic missiles, naval modernization across the region is producing, if not always an overall increase in numbers, then at least substantially more impressive offensive and defensive naval capabilities.
And all of this is coinciding with, or even produced by, rising maritime tensions in the East and South China Seas. There are more narrowly focused tensions too, with analysts especially debating the dismayingly competition between China’s “counter-intervention” strategies and capabilities, and the U.S.Air-Sea Battle construct. Vietnam’s Kilos can also be seen as a more modest version of an anti-access/area-denial (A2/AD) strategy. These examples all suggest a worsening competition between “offensive” and “defensive”capabilities.
But is all this really developing into a naval arms race similar in style (and potentially effect) to the Dreadnought race that took place between Britain and Germany before the First World War – and even if it is, how serious might its consequences in the Asia-Pacific Region actually be?
While the answer to this question partly depends partly on how one defines a naval arms race, there are some major differences between pre-war Europe and the situation now. Most obviously—and with some exceptions like China, Singapore, and India— Asian countries today are devoting a far smaller proportion of their national treasure to defense than did Britain, Germany and the other countries of pre-war Europe. In general, naval armaments are making much slower technical advances than was the case a century ago, with acquisition programs around the area being more incremental, deliberate, and less determined by transformational technology. It is hard to think of a modern equivalent, for example, of HMS Invincible, brand spanking new and revolutionary when commissioned in 1909 but obsolescent when sunk at the Battle of Jutland seven years later in 1916.
Compared to then, technological transformation now is much steadier, and the importance of maintaining an edge over rivals more debatable, given the rise of asymmetric technological/political/legal alternatives and strategies. Crucially, few national leaders, diplomats, or even sailors talk in arms race terms, and they certainly do not justify their efforts by the need to “get ahead.” On the contrary policymakers make every effort to avoid publically naming possible adversaries that they need to build against.
This was not the case in Europe before WWI when some politicians did not hesitate to single out adversaries and warn of the dire consequences of falling behind them militarily. Others, on the contrary, conceded their countries were in an arms race and warned of the catastrophic consequences it was likely to have, unless it was stopped. Particularly in the years 1909-12, there was, with good reason, an air of imminent disaster.
Nor did Europe have the kind of compensating institutional arrangements that draw nations together rather than drive them apart. For all the limitations of the “Asian way,” increasing levels of economic interdependence and transnational regional structures like ASEAN restrain violate competition. They also facilitate cooperation between regional navies against common threats such as maritime crime in its various forms (piracy, drugs , human trafficking and so forth), hold innumerable bilateral and multilateral exercises and operate side by side in dealing with humanitarian and civil disasters (the tsunami relief operation of 2004). Although there were such acts of naval togetherness amongst the European navies of the period before the First World War, they never became as routine as they currently are in the Asia-Pacific.
This not to say that everything in the naval garden is rosy, for it certainly is not. Any day in the disputed East and South China Seas could easily generate an incident that risks turning mild competition into a full-blown international crisis at sea. All the countries now investing for the first time in submarines – a difficult and demanding discipline – could well be the victim of an accident. The oil exploration rigs proliferating around the East and South China Seas are likely, to judge by events in more tranquil places elsewhere, to be the scene of a maritime disaster, sooner or later. Any of these could be really difficult to handle in ocean areas where ownership is in dispute and nationalist feeling rising- and, sadly, this applies to a great swathe of the western Pacific. All in all, what’s happening is not a naval arms race at the moment, but it is far from impossible that the naval modernization process we see around the region could turn into one.
Several factors increase the likelihood of this. First the high levels of secrecy in regional naval policies. This near total lack of transparency about the true extent of individual naval acquisition programs and the intentions that lie behind them force naval planners to operate on worst case analyses. Nor is this much moderated by institutionalized arms control and arms usage procedures. The complete failure to operationalize the 2002 Declaration on the Conduct of Parties in the South China Sea after more than a decade, the paucity of real working hot-line arrangements and Incidents at Sea agreements all illustrate the problem. And then there is the growth of social media and the committed “netizen” all too ready to give vent to nationalist sentiment over the latest spat in the East and South China Seas, reducing their government’s capacity to maneuver and its often already fragile ability to keep events under control.
A modern version of the “Dreadnought fever” that gripped Europe before the First World War is not yet evident. That being said, it would take a brave analyst to rule out this eventuality in the face of the cyber-sparring that attended the Scarborough Shoal crisis in 2012, or the ramming incident that took place in the Senkaku/Diaoyu islands in 2010. For such reasons, sailors and diplomats in the Asia-Pacific region should be continually alert to the risk that today’s naval modernization might just, despite their best intentions, turn into tomorrow’s arms race. As a result the military means might indeed overwhelm the political ends.
Geoffrey Till is a British naval historian and Professor of Maritime Studies in the Defence Studies Department of King’s College London. He is the author of Asian Naval Expansion: An Arms Race in the Making (London: Routledge, An Adelphi book for the IISS, December 2012), from which this article is adapted.
http://thediplomat.com/2013/02/15/what-arms-race-why-asia-isnt-europe-1913/?all=true
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