STRA535 Essay 2

Strategic narrative and the power of

small states.

Shane Wilcoxwilcox.shane@gmail.com

5000 words (approx., excluding quotations)

The formation of grand strategy would seem on the face of it to lie within the preroga-

tive only of major powers, of those with the capacity to project power both deeply and inde-

pendently in pursuit of sweeping and ambitious goals. The actions of such powers can be se-

en in relation to a small set of organising principles or “pillars,” which provide an interpretive

framework for past actions, and a prescriptive one for the future. These pillars are supposed

to be not only sufficiently broad and enduring to provide the necessary foundation for the

execution of high international politics, but also malleable enough to accommodate shifting

domestic economic and political grounds; they must stand firm in the face of some storms

crossing the international landscape, and bend, just enough to demonstrate their resilience,

with others. They are variously described, typically according to whether the commentator is

broadly-speaking a “realist” with respect to their theory of international relations (e.g. Mi-

ller’s “five pillars,” 2012), or an “idealist” (Kupchan’s “four pillars,” 2012), but an un-

derlying assumption in either case is that for a great power to behave as a great power, much

less a superpower, in the international arena, it must be in accordance with a grand strategy.

Indeed, it is considered a damning criticism of the leader of a great power to question whet-

her their foreign policies are so underwritten: it is better to stand accused of having a bad

grand strategy than no grand strategy at all.

It does not make sense to question or accuse the governments of small states in the sa-

me way. By this account, it is the lot of small states to be swept up in the tides of history, at

best able to stay afloat by virtue of their own deeds, more easily if offered a line, less so if ig-

nored or pushed under by the great powers as they make their waves. The strategies available

to small states are entirely contingent upon finding a balance between the interests of greater

powers, their success or failure due in large degree to their sensitivity to even the most nuan-

ced displacements in the relative positions of those powers across the range of military, eco-

nomic and political domains. Even when a small state elects to cast its lot with one great

power against another, the prudent strategist will provide some space for manoeuvre through

Shane Wilcox 2

the maintenance of back channels for negotiation should the fortunes of its sponsor falter.

For the small state, the foundation of strategy is less a question of pillars than of reeds.

Is this difference in power expressed in the fundamental strategies of large and small

states really a difference in kind or merely in degree? For the great and the small, strategy

might be seen as entwined with a narrative that gives it meaning by placing it in relation to

the state’s material history, geopolitical situation vis a vis other states, and military and eco-

nomic resources, and that traces a future-directed arc whose trajectory is determined accor-

ding to the state-elite’s normative and substantive goals, however these may in turn be deri-

ved. Thus, strategy and narrative are understood as mutually determining, the relative

primacy of the terms changing with context and intention. Strategy as narrative might then

be a category that includes the grand strategies of great powers, and the various attempts to

institute or redirect them; for example, George Kennan’s pseudonymous (written as “X”) and

influential paper on “the sources of Soviet conduct” and the containment strategy by which

the US would pit the free world against the communist (1947), or the more recent “Mr Y” ar-

ticle, which purports to offer a “national strategic narrative” as a corrective to X’s Cold War

world view (Porter & Mykleby, 2011). Narrative as strategy, on the other hand, might inclu-

de the speeches of state representatives before international bodies, intended to garner sup-

port for certain concessions or to justify a state’s actions; this would conform to the definition

offered in a recent working paper on the concept: “Strategic narratives are a means for politi-

cal actors to construct a shared meaning of international politics to shape the behaviour of do-

mestic and international actors” (Miskimmon, O’Loughlin, & Roselle, 2012, p. 3). As the ci-

ted examples, and a number of others to be drawn upon below show, both forms of the

relationship between strategy and narrative have been termed “strategic narrative.” While

this usage risks confusing an analytically useful distinction, the term illustrates the fact that

while neither form is given pure expression in any real, material instance, any such instance

will, however, tend towards one or the other as it functions in a specific context. “Strategic

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narrative” will here refer to particular instances and to the general class of these entities, whi-

le the terms “strategy as narrative” or “narrativized strategy,” and “narrative as strategy” or

“strategized narrative” will refer to the analytic concepts.

To return to our question, which might now be rephrased: what is the relationship

between power and strategic narrative? In The Future of Power, Nye elaborates a typology

of power that divides it broadly into two kinds: “hard,” or coercive power, which employs

force or payment (“push”), and “soft power,” which employs persuasion and attraction

(“pull”). These functional modes operate across “three faces,” defined according to the man-

ner in which another’s behaviour is modified: the first face is inducing others to do what they

otherwise would not do, the second is framing and setting the agenda, and the third is shaping

the other’s initial preferences (2011, p. 90). Strategic narrative appears at first glance to fit

neatly within the operations of soft power, whether a narrativized grand strategy that seeks to

legitimise a superpower’s position by encoding it as the natural extension and guarantor of a

world order founded on universalized values, both framing any interactions with other states

and making the alignment of preferences appear to be a natural default position; or a narrative

as strategy by which a state might hope to gain certain trade concessions despite initial resis-

tance, perhaps by arguing that the status quo relatively disadvantages both parties, or by

which a state may try at an international forum to justify a proposed future or even a recent

past action in order to gain material or moral backing. Other examples are more difficult to

categorize. If the action needing justification is an offensive military incursion, is the suppor-

ting strategic narrative an example of hard or soft power? The increasing importance and

complexity of strategic narrative as an integral part of the conduct of war itself is the subject

of a recent work hailed by some, perhaps somewhat immoderately, as the heir to Clausewitz’s

On War (Simpson, 2013). Nye would include such examples under the rubric of “smart

power,” which refers more generally to the conjunctions of hard and soft power in the pursuit

of explicit goals according to a planned and evaluated strategy. Smart power finds its highest

Shane Wilcox 4

expression in grand strategy, and in his closing chapter, Nye expounds his own five step pro-

gramme for a “liberal realist” grand strategy for the USA, complete with the inevitable pillars

(2011, p. 232). Simpson’s strategic narrative would be subordinated to the construction of

grand strategy as an element of its fourth step: “choosing among power behaviours, choosing

command power or co-optive power in different situations, and adjusting tactics so that they

reinforce, rather than undercut, each other” (Nye, 2011, p. 225).

Nye’s conceptual tools provide us with a useful approach to the analysis of the beha-

viour of large states and the evaluation of their grand strategies. Implicit in this is the privile-

ging of strategy as narrative over narrative as strategy, and it is arguably this privileging that

explains the relative weakness of Nye’s approach when he attempts to analyse the behaviour

of small states. He notes, for example, that Canada often prevails in trade disputes with the

USA, concluding that “[s]mall states can often use their greater intensity, greater focus, and

greater credibility to overcome their relative vulnerability in asymmetrical interdependen-

ce.… The asymmetry in resources is sometimes balanced by an opposite asymmetry in atten-

tion and will” (2011, p. 61). This simply begs the question regarding the factors to which he

attributes causality, and Nye’s primary tools can find no purchase on the fine grain of locali-

zed and asymmetrical struggles, underwritten as his concepts are by the teleological drive

towards the unification of smart power and grand strategy in new forms of American global

dominance. The intensity, focus, credibility, attention and will attributed to small states by

Nye require explanation in terms that account for the modes of power and strategy proper to

them. Small state strategies are, as noted earlier, by and large contingent, and the narratives

that support them are therefore likely to be strategized towards the exertion of marginal influ-

ence over events typically instigated elsewhere. Such influence can, on occasion, be decisive

with respect to the small state’s interests, and may even adopt the guise, if only temporarily,

of an overarching “grand” strategy, co-opting further contingent efforts aimed at maximizing

and prolonging any advantage. These opportunities are rare, and are likely to be missed

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when they do occur, but when grasped successfully are apt to be eulogized, not least by the

small state itself, and in terms not unlike those provided by Nye.

A conception of power that captures the ephemeral strategies and successes of small

states especially in relation to large is offered by Foucault, most clearly spelt out in “The

Subject and Power” (1982). Although developed in contexts determined by the relationships

found primarily between state institutions and the people they seek to govern, Foucault’s ba-

sic concept can be brought into play in the constitution of a theory of interstate, and particu-

larly small state power relations. For Foucault, “what defines a relationship of power is that

it is a mode of action which does not act directly and immediately on others. Instead, it acts

upon their actions: an action upon an action, on existing actions or on those which may arise

in the present or the future” (1982, p. 789). Power relations clearly do not exclude the use of

coercion and violence or the gaining of consent, which are among its primary instruments,

but these are not to be thought of as types of power, merely as the way its relations operate at

either extreme. Between these extremes, power relations presuppose the existence of acting

subjects, and this in turn implies freedom of action within “a field of possibilities in which se-

veral ways of behaving, several reactions and diverse comportments, may be realized” (1982,

p. 790). The conquest and total subjugation of one state by another signals the end of the

power relationship between them, which can be re-established only with the possibility of re-

sistance, and thus the nature of a true power relationship, circumscribed by the limits of total

physical defeat and complete acquiescence, is agonistic — one of reciprocal provocation and

combativeness.

In order to properly account for the behaviour of a small state in its relations of power

with others, we must be able to define the field on which the reciprocal play of actions upon

actions takes place. Foucault provides a list of five points (1982, p. 792; italics in the quotati-

ons below are Foucault’s) which can be taken to mark its contextual boundaries, and to provi-

de a framework for establishing the rules of the game:

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1. “The system of differentiations which permits one to act upon the actions of others.”

The right to so act is given according to the manner in which a difference is interpreted and

promulgated as a distinction, in the sense of inaugurating a hierarchy. It is not the brute fact

that a state may have a larger and better-equipped military, or a higher gross domestic pro-

duct, that gives a state the right to impose its will over the behaviour of others; this merely

provides the ability to do so under certain circumstances. A small state may not have the me-

ans to overcome a great power in a militarized conflict, but it might attempt to reveal or un-

dercut the grand strategic narrative by which the power arrogates to itself the prime position

in a naturalized order and according to which it claims the right to maintain this order in the

face of threats. A carefully strategized narrative could support a domestic opposition within

the large state, it might provide the opportunity for a rival large state to assert its own pri-

macy, or serve as the rallying point for a coalition of states. More subtly, the narrative may

attempt to demonstrate that the small state’s actions are in fact of a piece with the large state’s

own grand strategy and do not disturb the order, thereby gaining support for actions in self in-

terest. Nevertheless, the right of action for small states is in most cases a right of reaction

within a system stacked without reference to its needs. It will be noted that this system impli-

es a certain circularity with respect to power relations, in that the distinctions so drawn are

both prerequisite to the right of action, and the consequence of such actions.

2. “The types of objectives pursued by those who act upon the actions of others.” For

large powers, these objectives relate primarily to the maintenance of the system of differenti-

ations that set it above others. Beyond meeting the requirements of what might be termed

their geopolitical imperatives, which it might be argued cannot be in question if a state is

truly to function as a great power, the objectives of small states with respect to their relations

with others are in large degree determined by a domestic agenda, and need not refer at all to

questions of the global order or other lofty themes of grand strategic significance, unless it is

of direct and local interest to do so. This is not to say that isolation is more than very rarely a

Shane Wilcox 7

viable option for small states, but simply that the legitimacy of a small state’s objectives can

be derived from naked expressions of self interest, offering a degree of flexibility not so rea-

dily available to great powers. The system of hierarchical differentiations, through which

great powers maintain themselves as such and to which their actions on the world stage must

always refer, imposes a series of constraints on small states, and it is precisely these cons-

traints that generate their singular freedom of action, cast always as a reaction as if to an ex-

ternal threat, and therefore at least to this extent legitimate.

3. “The means of bringing power relations into being.” Military and economic might,

regional and global surveillance operations, control over the functions of international organi-

zations (for example by means of formal or de facto power of veto) and others are among the

more or less direct and material means by which states bring their actions into effect. The

depth of projection of action is at base a function of the extent to which these means are avai-

lable, but their deployment is preceded and accompanied by various statements of intent, jus-

tification, threat, conciliation, etc, which function as a strategic narrative context aimed at li-

miting and guiding the range of responses available to the target state.

4. “Forms of institutionalization.” At the level of the state, these include the govern-

mental bodies engaged in interstate relations and the channels through which they interact

among themselves in the generation of actions and their framing narratives. The internal co-

herence of these actions and their consistency with produced narratives, and the presence of

contradictions within and between narratives that require “repair,” are in part a function of

these interdepartmental processes. International organisations, formal bi- and multilateral tre-

aty arrangements, heads-of-state fora, trade agreements, track two meetings, academic confe-

rences, international journals and so on, all provide conditions, more or less heavily circums-

cribed, for the interplay of strategic narratives. These arrangements are designed or

otherwise structured in order to allow a certain independence of narrative from material me-

ans, to a degree which varies according to the purpose of the institution. This may amount to

Shane Wilcox 8

a partial reversal of the predominance of the material underpinnings of power relations, gi-

ving states with limited means an opportunity to extend the play and influence of their narra-

tives in a kind of “virtual” projection of action, in ways that are not necessarily so constrained

by the limitations of reaction. For this reason, the bare self-interest that often characterizes

small-state reactions in other contexts is unlikely to confer legitimacy to actions so conducted

in these settings, and such actions will therefore tend towards the production of strategy as

narrative, sharing many features of the grand strategies of their larger peers.

5. “The degrees of rationalization.” The actions of states are brought to bear in a “fi-

eld of possibilities,” enabled and constrained by material and technological capacities, econo-

mic cost, likelihood of success, and the actions and reactions of other states. This field is the-

refore itself the object of an intense analysis which generates a “science” at the intersection of

a range of rational discourses of the physical sciences, economics, military studies, sociology,

history, linguistics and semiology, geography, political science; a potentially endless array of

contributing disciplines, drawn on to greater or lesser extent by the state in the planning and

execution of its actions, and in the management of their consequences for the state and on the

field itself. The generation of strategic narratives will draw on the same array of disciplines,

but a certain set of these narratives will in addition serve to organize this science of the field

of action in a reflexive manner, such that its function is not limited to mere description, but

extended towards the provision of prescriptive and legitimizing principles to underpin policy.

It is instructive to test this framework in the analysis of a particular instance of small

state behaviour in its relations with a great power. In 1984 in New Zealand, a Labour govern-

ment under Prime Minister David Lange was elected in part on a platform of furthering New

Zealand’s anti-nuclear stance. Policy decisions taken with respect to the continued visitation

rights of potentially nuclear armed and/or powered US warships attempted to negotiate the

popularity both of maintaining a nuclear-free New Zealand and South Pacific, and of the AN-

ZUS alliance with Australia and America (opinion polls cited in Pugh, 1989, p. 205-207).

Shane Wilcox 9

The issue is typically reported to have come to a head with the ultimate refusal by the New

Zealand government to allow port entry to the USS Buchanan early in 1985, on the grounds

that its non-carriage of nuclear weapons could not be verified under the terms of the US

“neither confirm nor deny” (NCND) doctrine. This action was interpreted by the Reagan ad-

ministration in the US to be in breach of New Zealand’s commitments under ANZUS, and so

undertook to “ignore” New Zealand in the course of future ANZUS proceedings pending a

reversal of Wellington’s position on the matter of nuclear vessels. Such a reversal was rende-

red considerably more difficult by the first passage through New Zealand’s parliament of the

Nuclear Free Zone, Disarmament and Arms Control Bill in 1985. US Secretary of State Ge-

orge Shultz announced his government’s withdrawal from its ANZUS-based obligations to

New Zealand at a press conference at the 1986 ASEAN ministerial conference in Manila:

“We part company as friends, but we part company.” With the final passage into New Zea-

land law of the Nuclear Free Zone, Disarmament, and Arms Control Act 1987, the US State

Department downgraded New Zealand’s official status from “ally” to “friendly country.” The

ANZUS Treaty itself remains extant, but has functioned as a pair of linked bipartite arrange-

ments between the US and Australia, and Australia and New Zealand, rather than as the

designed tripartite agreement (Hensley, 2013; Pugh, 1989; Tow, 1989). However, more re-

cent events have signalled the potential for formal resumption of certain defence arrange-

ments in the wake of ad hoc cooperation in Afghanistan, and to a lesser degree in Iraq, with

the signing of the Wellington Declaration in 2010, and the Washington Declaration in 2012,

despite continued New Zealand enforcement of the 1987 Act and the prolonged “suspension”

of the NZ-US leg of ANZUS (Ayson & Capie, 2012).

This case of “intra-alliance opposition” has been discussed by Catalinac, who derives

from international relations theory on the function of asymmetric alliances four potential rati-

onales that may drive such an opposition: “a desire to hedge against entrapment,” “a desire

to free ride,” “a desire to soft balance,” and a “desire to assert autonomy” (2010, pp.

Shane Wilcox 10

324-325; italics in original). By means of a careful qualitative analysis of recorded state-

ments made primarily by certain New Zealand protagonists (but including some from the

Australian and US camps) both during the course of the conflict at its height and during inter-

views she conducted some twenty years later, Catalinac concludes that the primary driver was

the desire on the part of the New Zealand leadership to assert their state’s autonomy of action

in foreign policy, despite the potential material costs of their defiance. The autonomy so clai-

med did not appear to function as a means in pursuit of some other interest, but as an end in

itself, and Catalinac identifies “three reasons why states might value the act of asserting auto-

nomy more than the end for which autonomy is sought: it puts the state on the map and

makes it ‘known’ for something; it gives the state a ‘unique’ identity; and it gives the state the

chance to claim ‘moral leadership’ (2010, p. 334).

Catalinac’s analysis neatly captures the almost entirely narrative sphere in which New

Zealand’s assertion of autonomy played out. However, despite providing an understanding of

the motivation for the actions of New Zealand’s leaders, little insight is granted into how “au-

tonomy” might have been attained and how it could function in New Zealand’s foreign relati-

ons. What I would argue here is that this assertion of autonomy signals a recognition of and

engagement in a true power relationship with the US as an asymmetric partner, entailing a

sophisticated interplay of strategic narratives that fully exploits the fluidity and ambiguity of

movement between strategy as narrative and narrative as strategy.

The denial of port access for the Buchanan is, in all these accounts, taken to be the

initiating event of the crisis. It was immediately cast by the US as a disturbance in the previ-

ously calm waters of the grand strategic “alliance of free nations” by which was arranged the

containment of Soviet aggression and expansion according to the logic of the cold war “sci-

ence” of deterrence. The strength of the series of interlocking and mutually interdependent

regional barriers was to be maintained by the possibility of free and unfettered deployment of

the US/NATO nuclear deterrent throughout the “free world.” New Zealand’s unprovoked ac-

Shane Wilcox 11

tion, contrasted against the reasonable acquiescence to this logic by other avowedly anti-nu-

clear states such as Denmark and Japan, could not go unpunished, lest the fabric of world pe-

ace be rent by the tumbling dominoes of other conscientious objectors. Such rhetoric was

accompanied by US Information Service public relations campaigns, and possibly an attempt

by the CIA to implicate the Lange government in an engineered Maori loans scandal in

1986, designed to illustrate the irrationality and even corruption of an administration that

could act in so irresponsible a manner (Pugh, 1989, p. 133-138).

The New Zealand response, exemplified in Lange’s address at the Oxford Union de-

bate and his Foreign Affairs article, both in 1985, was to exploit the system of differentiations

implied by statements of US grand strategy, effectively noting that within such a system, any

action by New Zealand could only ever be a reaction to a world order it could not overcome,

but to which it had the right and even the duty to respond, in defence of that same world or-

der, itself threatened not by the actions of a small South Pacific nation, but by the “perverted”

and “inhuman” logic of the nuclear deterrence itself (1985b). In “New Zealand’s Security

Policy,” Lange takes autonomy of action as his grounding principle, beginning with “New

Zealand’s decision to exclude nuclear weapons from its territory, and the American response

to that decision,” thus in one sense reversing his tactic in the Oxford Union debate by expres-

sing what amounts to a “grand” narrativised strategy of collective security in the context of

global nuclear disarmament (1985a, p. 1009). In this, he might be seen as responding to the

institutional setting of his paper, and acceding to the demand that a statement of policy con-

tained therein not be reducible to mere politics. But it also allows him to position certain

contingencies within an overarching and justifying structure — the action by which his go-

vernment has asserted its autonomy with respect to the US is framed as a forced move in res-

ponse to the failure of international institutions to quell the arms race. “Against this back-

ground, the government has acted to implement the only practical measure of nuclear arms

control available to it: the absolute exclusion of nuclear weapons from New Zealand” (1985a,

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p. 1010). Everything follows from this as if by logical progression, from New Zealand’s

“low-key” and stabilizing relations with its South Pacific neighbours, to its Antarctic policy,

to the proper functioning of ANZUS itself in a regional context to which the US is blinded by

its “global perspective” (1985a, p. 1015). That New Zealand’s good offices in its own

“backyard” have worked to the benefit of American interests in the region seems to have been

lost on the US, and provides an opportunity for his own exhibition of overwrought incredu-

lity: “Who is shooting whom in the foot?” (1985a, p. 1017).

A response to Lange’s statement by US Admiral James Watkins was printed in the

next issue of Foreign Affairs, and provides an encapsulation of US grand strategy in pursuit

of global security, underpinned by a “forward-deployed” nuclear deterrence dependent on an

entire “system of well-established, operable military alliances.” Lange’s characterization of

the decision to exclude nuclear weapons as a matter of geostrategic necessity is reduced to

the “whims of politics” and the shirking of responsibility based on the discarding of reality in

favour of “utopian bliss,” but nevertheless as a decision already having a profound effect on

the “strategic equation” in the region as the Soviets establish their base at Cam Ranh and

“gain footholds” in the South Pacific islands (1985, p. 169-70).

Autonomy of action appears to function both as the precondition for and the outcome

of this exchange between great and small powers, but the field on which it played out was not

left unchanged. Subtle shifts along all five axes of the Foucaultian model employed here are

observable even in the brief analysis above, driven entirely by a conflict between strategic

narratives. Grand strategic narrative exerts its dominance over the direction of each axis both

by its own structure — its coherence, generation of norms by appeal to a naturalized world

order, and co-optation of rational discourses in the production of a supporting “science” —

and by its grounding in a preponderance of material means. A small ally will, virtually by de-

finition, align its own narratives in parallel with those of its patron, on the condition that it is

free to do so; and as noted, it is this relative autonomy that makes such an alliance an agonis-

Shane Wilcox 13

tic relationship of power. Lacking the material means upon which to erect its own grand nar-

rative superstructure, it will attempt to increase its freedom of action by generating narratives

that are aimed at producing small disturbances along one or more axis without necessarily af-

fecting the overall trajectory of the great power’s narrative in which, if it wishes to maintain

an alliance, the small state clearly has a stake. It is in accordance with this general fra-

mework that I would see Catalinac’s rationales for opposition within an alliance as functio-

ning, and that they are therefore all derived from, and are expressions of, a more fundamental

will to autonomy. The narrowly instrumental view of autonomy she takes from Morrow, the

“autonomy to pursue interests,” is what leads to the unexpected inability “to pinpoint a cle-

arly defined interest for which autonomy was sought” (Catalinac, 2010, p. 333). What was

understood, consciously or not, by her interlocutors, is that autonomy is no more nor less than

the currency of the game played on the field of power relations, and that it does not simply or

directly translate into material gains or losses in the pursuit of more material interests.

Which is not to say that it does not translate at all. That the instance of the game dis-

cussed here can be seen as having been conducted entirely in the sphere of narrative exchan-

ge does not mean that there were no material risks. The guarantee of US military protection

in the event of armed conflict directly involving New Zealand was formally gambled and

lost, perhaps revealing a failure of execution of New Zealand’s strategic narratives. On the

other hand, subsequent events did not significantly test this loss, and so may in retrospect be

considered a “win” for New Zealand, particularly in light of recent Declarations which

arguably restore much of what was substantive in ANZUS. In addition, one may speculate

that New Zealand’s gain in “strategic autonomy” allowed the development of a narrativized

“strategy for the South Pacific” that facilitated effective and leading actions in Bougainville,

the Solomon Islands and Timor-Leste, in turn strengthening a claim on relative autonomy of

action in the region. The development of closer and relatively favourable trade relations with

China might also be found to be linked in part with a perception that New Zealand’s actions

Shane Wilcox 14

are not dictated by its relations with the US.

It is therefore clear that an analysis of the relationship between strategic narrative and

power does not flow directly into the generation of policy, understood as a set of guiding

principles for specific material action. Nevertheless, it may assist in policy making if concei-

ved as a way of demarcating the spheres of action of strategy and policy. In this sense, we

might see strategic analysis as the examination of the means by which autonomy of action is

maintained and extended in relations of power, and policy analysis as the study of the transla-

tion of means generated and supported by strategic autonomy into material ends. As the gi-

ven examples of possible historical effects of increased strategic autonomy suggest, such “po-

licy outcomes” will of necessity feed back into strategic analysis but remain conceptually

separable from them.

Shane Wilcox 15

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