The Visual Limits of American Liberal Democratic Internationalism and the Woman Indifference; On Kathryn Bigelow’s Zero Dark Thirty.

The Visual Limits of American Liberal Democratic Internationalism and the Woman Indifference; On Kathryn Bigelow’s Zero Dark Thirty.

By Fernando Gómez Herrero (fgh2173@gmail.com).

Initial Quotes:


To take seriously American liberal democratic internationalism, p. 410.


Until the late 1980s, American scholarship neglected to investigate with any comparative framework or historical depth the consequences for foreign peoples and for the international system of the greatest ambition of United States foreign policy over the past century: to foster democracy abroad as a way of ensuring national security, p. 393.


Whatever the differences among them, then, these three paradigms agree on one matter: democracy should seldom (realist theory), can seldom (comparative theory), will seldom (Marxism) be fostered abroad by American foreign policy. The attempt to investigate the impact overseas of American liberal democratic internationalism in terms either of specific countries or with respect to the international system is thus not what a serious person (read exponent of these schools) would choose to do, p. 396.


What is nonetheless striking in retrospect about American democracy promotion in these very different circumstances is how thin the actual conceptual structures were upon which Washington erected its ambitious undertakings. It was as if the Americans were working with pieces of a puzzle whose final composition escaped them, p. 350

zero dark thirty soldier agent contrast

There is a deep layer of Messianic consciousness in the mind of America… We were, as a matter of fact, always vague, as the whole liberal culture is fortunately vague, abut how power is to be related to the allegedly universal values which we hold in trust for mankind. Fortunate vagueness, he [Reinhold Niebuhr] explained, arose because in the liberal version of the dream of managing history, the problem of power is never fully elaborated, p. 353.


What better indication of the new era for Western historical science can there be than in the successful mating of Marxism with its historical breadth of vision, to a politically centered study of American foreign policy and world affairs?, p. 413.





Visual mass-culture products will be good occasion, not a festive one, for swift application of interrogation techniques on American foreign policy first and foremost and its harsh, brutal relationship with world affairs typically going begging for good discourse, also filmic, in the home of the brave. Better a little something than nothing at all, then and there will be little intellectual satisfaction and perhaps some perverse pleasure in the thriller. What follows is second chapter to a previous piece of criticism ”The Hurt Locker Shows U.S. Foreign Policy” (The Oberlin Review, April 30, 2010, p. 12).  Past: imperfect. Present: no better in relation to a political film Zero Dark Thirty by Kathryn Bigelow. And the title is military language for twelve thirty midnight hour, which refers to the unsurprising moment of the predictable culmination of the film, the manhunt of the supreme bad guy, the baddest of the baddest, mind you, which happens to be also the normal, standard indeed “natural” violation of international-law regulations by the U.S., exception to the rest of nations by virtue of its military superpower status. Make it explosive: imagine other nations doing it with your citizens apropos national-sovereignty boundaries, extraordinary rendition and enhanced interrogation techniques, indeed torture, and use of deadly violence, drones and commando attacks with collateral damage. Some of this “shit” hits you in the face with Zero Dark Thirty. One thing is the film and studies of it. Another thing is the “muck and stink that sometimes go into the effort of keeping this mighty country of ours intact and safe” as Bruni says, and there’s got to be some irony in the exalted phrasing since such “effort” happens to be “ruthless cost-benefit analysis and some very ugly things to which we should never turn a blind eye.” The all-inclusive first person plural is always problematic no matter how you peddle it in the marketplace of visual ideas (Frank Bruni, “Bin Laden, Torture and Hollywood,” New York Times, Dec. 8, 2012,  (www.nytimes.com/2012/12/09/opinion/sunday/bruni-bin-laden-torture-and-hollywood.html?_r=0). Yes, Zero Dark Thirty gives us some of that ugliness and my argument is that it does not do it enough, that there is something of a thriller going on around and with it, and it is always important to keep geopolitical matters somewhat separate from the manufacture of the film product and the cumulative effect of the marketing and the defensive declarations of its makers playing cautiously with tautologies (a film is a film) and neutralities of some sort (Bigelow’s declarations about being a pacifist, and how the similarities with the protagonist are not conscious, and the calculated small background of both and how deeply moral and political the film is, etc.). There is big banality about the individuality of the director in question, about her upbringing and childhood declarations, and good looks and artistic inspiration and authorial intention, however carefully modulated, is one aspect. Think of the needle in the haystack against the big tumble between the US and foreign affairs.

zero-dark-thirty poster

Yes, of course showing torture is not condoning it, and torture is morally reprehensible in abstract, and this is only one aspect of other political issues happening in the big terrain of politics called geopolitics. A cruel joke could be to ask Corleone why he tortures, and what do you think he is going to say?, while stupidly forgetting to mention that he also smuggles merchandise in the black market, that he remains secretive about kidnapping, killings, local-government alliances, etc. Same thing with the discourse about the torture promotion or denunciation in the film, which must be put together with other ugly things already in the open, as open as the suspension of civil rights in a democracy in the U.S. enclave of Guantanamo in the island of Cuba. Mostly, Zero Dark Thirty makes a thriller out of this, throwing the woman exception into the equation with a noticeable payback structure of contiguity (black screen with screams of those at 9/11 is followed up by torture scenes, the loss of one female-agent comrade, not quite a friend, makes the focus of the female-agent protagonist to capture the supreme bad guy sharper, etc.). There is here something of the conventional payback, the U.S. playing tough defense, they attacked us first, which is ideological trap of selective Procustrean bed of the geopolitical universe with U.S. as the fundamental force for good in the whole wide and messy world sometimes going awfully wrong and yet stick to the main clause. Zero Dark Thirty, to me, sticks to this narrative and the film fundamentally can be used well for CIA recruits. As written in relation to Hurt Locker, this is mostly about “suck it up.” Playing mischief with the famous song of James Brown, Bigelow’s filmic universe says that this is a man’s world and it would be nothing without a faithful woman out there in the same violent world.


Scan the conventional images and try to get some good images of American violence out there and a feeling for geographical discretion. Parse the grammar in the written press and try to see good handling of the uncomfortable language of “extraordinary rendition,” and “state terrorism.” Silence is thick. So it is good to see some in Zero Dark Thirty. It is, at least to me, beyond doubt that Bigelow makes her film name in the vicinity of military fascination, with or without the calculated statements about being (a-)political, or neutral, and how deeply moral the movie in question is. Call it display of brutal force if you will and around it you can do other things, for example the “woman” factor, or twist, or even tease, and not few will fall for this blindness and insight in relation to the sole woman who got an Oscar award, for directing the Hurt Locker. And there is the doubling in relation to the female protagonist, the CIA operative, being as forceful as she can be within and against a predominantly male universe of tough males and tough nails all about the business at hand with few distractions, the film industry may apply as well. There is, to me, more blindness than insight in the emphasis on the woman difference in difficult contexts of terrorism and its twin sister, state terrorism. As the main protagonist in Zero Dark Thirty says at one point in the film, she is effectively the “motherfucker” who brought the very bad and very foreign guy to the critical attention and within happy trigger-distance of the good guys in the unsurprising end. Here, boys are boys and they do not for the most part mix with girls and these girls (there are at least two, including the main protagonist, the CIA operative Maya interpreted by Jessica Chastain in an uneven performance) want to be tight knot and bundle in the film complicity of the dirty handkerchief with them. Mono-perspectivism bears this out. This film is Polyphemus’ one-eye, the roving eye of the liberal Leviathan in an early morning raid in a foreign country with a distinct mission that will not stop to contemplate international-law niceties, that is for others. So, let us keep this desired indifference in mind also in relation to the tears in the good-looking face of the female protagonist in the final scene of Zero Dark Thirty which I will cover in the end of this review. Some interchange can happen with the cynical smile of the main protagonist in the bomb suit in Hurt Locker.


I would argue accordingly that Zero Dark Thirty is mostly about the visual limits of American liberal democratic internationalism, which can be claimed to be the dominant Obama ideology of foreign affairs, side by side the stronger normality of “realism,” at least according to Tony Smith. Bruni’s aforementioned article speaks of some initial collaboration between the Obama team and Bigelow’s, and some Republican skepticism, and how the film turns out to be less liberal than expected. I suppose less liberal has to be understood in the less propagandistic sense of the term and it makes you wonder what good liberal and good propaganda would then be, perhaps ask Tony Smith who also keeps his distance from Princeton liberals, in the current times in which we live: and what about a little visual criticism functioning within conventional venues that keeps the whole wide frame of geopolitics under wraps? I think the film remains conventionally liberal in the sense of the Tony Smith’s initial quotes. The cumulative effect is liberal, tough liberal if you wish, and I agree with those protesters who outside the movie theater were handing out flyers transcending the CIA view of the world (worldcanwait.net). I want to take both, mass-culture visual forms and its ideology equally seriously holding the burning candle of Tony Smith’s America’s Mission: The United States and the Worldwide Struggle for Democracy (Princeton UP, [1994] 2012). Zero Dark Thirty is mediocre film about such complications that will not go away soon. Smith’s is ambitious and finally profoundly disorienting scholarship in that it remains equally critical of Wilsonian flaws, marks differences with some neo-Wilsonian Obamians against “realism,” and yet the wide world does not emerge meaningfully in relation to the re-signification of democracy not always already in the vicinity of state security (I have written a somewhat detailed piece about it, see “Sobre la Crisis Oficial de la Política Exterior Estadounidense en las Primeras Décadas del Nuevo Siglo” (Nuevo Texto Crítico,  2010, Vol. XXIII, No. 45/46; pp. 15-39). Some of this remains ideologically significant in Zero Dark Thirty and in a terrible fashion.  Zero Dark Thirty shares the same ideological universe as American liberal democratic internationalism.

Zero Dark Thirty - Jessica Chastain

And it is within and against these limits and limitations that we must operate, at least occasionally, whether popular visual culture or more minority enclaves of the cultures of historical scholarship. Smith wants to occupy a revitalization of the position that puts the U.S. as cause of democracy promotion in foreign parts, as though the venerable name “democracy” was ipso facto immediately understood by everyone and needed no exegesis, much less comparative studies and area-study relations, also as though the cause-effect could not happen differently, always with the U.S. as cause and the rest of the world as effect, and pause for a minute at the disequilibrium in the magnitude in the equation, and you may perhaps arrive flat-out in grand fashion, call it xenophilic, to the possibility that exotic literatures and foreign languages and cultures may indeed also as well educate the democratic sensibility of the natives over here. There is absolutely none of a scintillating, titillating foreignness in both films by Bigelow, which remain Americanist in all (bad) senses of the word, thus comparable to Smith’s closeness of the “idealist” neo-Wilsonian wing of the American mind.


The distinction of idealist and realist schools of thought may lose compelling force from a certain critical distance that puts national security within larger political frames. Difficult to say where Bigelow’s artistic vision lies here and whether it really matters in the production of visual thrillers. Growing into the job, Maya gets the job done. That is what matters. I would argue that this is fundamentally the message of Zero Dark Thirty. And you may grit your teeth and the interpellation is accordingly, and are you down with it? I do not have to tell you that this is a horrendously complicated matter to handle publicly in the current moment in the U.S. The film helps pushing the inquisitive cart a bit further, a liberal bit further, with some lights and shadows, light art and darkness, which may be an awful lot if you happen to look at it, film and world, from a rigid all-American and unintelligent American-only world-island. You will agree with me that there is an awful lot of that of this thick peanut-butter jingoism sandwich in the popular culture and academic culture with realist and idealist modulations.


Tony Smith, still a solid, respectable scholar of latitude and ample vision not automatically hijacked by automatic state interests, underlines the inherited vagueness and the thinness of American liberal democratic internationalism, which is a very good step towards self-criticism. Yet, his core appears to remain on national security –isn’t this the same one in Bigelow’s military films?– and therefore on state structures accordingly, not quite put out there significantly to air. There is some “air” in Zero Dark Thirty but perhaps not enough and I am willing to grant my reader the tremendous limitations inside the U.S. about these matters. Discourse is thick and soldiers defend your freedom and try to deviate from this narrative in public and see how far you go. So there is some deviation here, but not much. . Tony Smith’s surprising final question in America’s Mission as included before is about the possibility of mating “intelligence” and Marxism, and he provides a list of mostly American names (p. 467). Is this incongruence since he provided shortcomings of previous Marxism? But he continues advocating the Wilsonian vision? Is this provocation towards some daring openness? I can’t really say. And yet it is my wish to put this element of “danger” side by side the limits of such American ideology also defended by Smith near Bigelow’s calculated vagueness, also by the producer and writer Boal’s, apropos the rather mediocre film Zero Dark Thirty. This mediocrity constitutes our contemporaneity whether we like it or not mostly in the U.S. Let us not leave it alone accordingly.

Tony Smith America's Mission


Zero Dark Thirty is Visuality of Imperial America.


Zero Dark Thirty is visuality of imperial America with the relative difference of the woman exception, director and protagonist, within if not against a mostly male universe of film-making and film-making about state violence at least in the last two films Hurt Locker and Zero Dark Thirty. The genre is quasi-documentary, but without pushing the boundaries. There is some investigative reporting and some perhaps exceptional access to intelligence units, but nothing in my opinion that can cause major upheavals apropos major narratives. The emphasis is obviously on contemporary events, almost chasing the headlines of the chase of the most wanted. Hence some Hollywood superlative must be assumed ever so naturally. Why else the focus on the manhunt of Bin Laden at this juncture in between the two terms of Obama, one may legitimately wonder against what type of landscape of vision, perhaps erosion of the U.S. ideals, even Empire, erosion of a Eurocentric teleology of modernity or erosion of an Euro-American political economic power, which are two dimensions, too big for the film in question to handle. Yet, Zero Dark Thirty is, in essence, concrete truth on the ground; forget big geopolitics. This is about the attempt of the protagonist to push the state machine to get the bad, and it is symbol of badness, and the attempt is to make it a thriller, an action movie, always scrupulously from the perspective of the goodness of Empire, inevitably with a few bad things attached to the endeavor, but again since there is structural under-developed badness of bad guys out there, filmically speaking, there is no counter-point to add to the intersecting lines of goodness and badness. That is part of the thrill of Bigelow’s film-making. And you are asked to join in with or without second thoughts. So, yes, please, bring them all with you.


The gist of the message: whatever it takes. This is close-up camera-angle follow-up of U.S. intelligence officials without the need to do big geopolitical flights of fancy. The film centers on Maya, the camera lingering on her white alert, focused and concentrated face in front of a computer screen, the lovely red-hair against the skin or the shirt or the shoulders, pursuing information, getting acquainted with torture procedures, holding the position, toughening it out, never getting any fun, nothing but mission accomplished surrounded by the guys. Woman is good catalyst of the goodness of the mission in Zero Dark Thirty. You will see previews during the American-football playoffs and the images will be of special forces playing horseshoe and of the final nighttime raid on Bin Laden’s compound. She is therefore something of a cheer-leader to the military mission and here the explicit political language in the film is redolent of American lazy lip. No ambiguity: spectators get to see the scenes from the perspective of U.S. soldiers. The night time raid has a game quality to it. And you know the ending.  The very bad guy is barely seen when he is already fallen, and captured and taken in some bag, a piece of fabric here, a piece of beard there, a fast glimpse at the nostrils. No evil eyes, much less language and being a 29-year-old Sikh Londoner called Ricky S. Sekhon helps if you play it (“Being Bin Laden,” www.nytimes.com/2013/01/17/opinion/i-played-osama-bin-laden-in-zero-dark-thirty.html?_r=0). This “evil” is very conventional Hollywood genre of the barely developed human alien dimension vividly on display, but fleetingly so. The raid has some messy quality, helicopter goes down, children and women are shot, but the cumulative effect is one of mission accomplished. Maya, almost like an angel, supervises the dirty deed, from the distance. The soldiers slap each other upon the return and the “girl” –she is addressed as such— is the one who verifies the identity of the “catch,” kept off-camera for the comfort of the viewers, and the official who is nearby is thus confirming the identities on the phone to POTUS. Dirty deed is done: fundamental message of Zero Dark Thirty.


Now what? There are several points. White supremacy is one and the adjective has to be understood in the same way as the latest Census. Filmic white element is dominant feature fighting against a non-white dimension, and the second film is identical to the first, the geopolitical color line white and American and perhaps also Western by implication, and who doubts that this is the conventional edifice of our visual culture entertainment of explicit political nature. Zero Dark Thirty does not move an inch further, no internationalization here of perspectivism, thank you very much, for example in the torture scenes, the dealings of the protagonist, or the final raid, or culmination, and the point of it is that we have to approach such encounters from the standpoint of whiteness always, but also of state officialdom and of Americanness in dangerous geographies and there is no attempt at any exploration of any political bit of information that may cause some self-reflexivity (zero soliloquies and precious little dialogue that gives more latitude or greater context to the heroine, who suffers the death of a comrade). There is zero perspectivism of the other side of the state structure so to speak. It is utterly immaterial. There is no curiosity to explore the foreign geographies of human endeavor that rise up to challenge such sophisticated state machinery. Zero Dark Thirty narrows down and naturalizes, i.e. individualizes, and even feminizes the state terrorism of state structures. There is torture but there is also the nocturnal raid into another nation’s national sovereignty, and one can add extraordinary renditions, detentions in undisclosed locations, commando activity, drones, etc. It must immediately be underlined that the term “state terrorism” remains uncommon term and “un-American” even among your smart college friends who took advantage of liberal private education in the arts and sciences inside selective pockets of privilege in the contemporary U.S. and who doubts that the visual misery of Zero Dark Thirty has to do with no daring to speak a stronger visual  language in the conventional American idiom precisely at the historical and social high point of intense exception, call it Carl-Schmittian if you wish. The America of Zero Dark Thirty is the only game in the global town and it is all work and officialdom visually speaking and its vague, self-doubting and even occasional remorseful mood is also self-serving self-pity, retroactively feeding its brutal isolation from a rich universe of multiple perspectives on these horrid deeds.  Americanism here is exception, and a thriller of one, to the theoretical universal applicability of international-law regulations. Allegorically speaking, the red-hair, white-beautiful and workaholic young female protagonist seating alone, mission accomplished, in the big military plane taking off to where?, with tears rolling down her cheeks: Bigelow’s Obama’s America doing awful things out there? But it can mean other things. Relief, release and outlet: I finally did it! I am a strong girl and I am out of here! And even “fuck them,” the pronoun having a few candidates (men, the enemy, the hell of others, all those opposing my wishes)! And why should you bite the emotional bait and emote along those female tears in the end?


Or are you going to privilege the “woman” solidarity card? And how would this work? It would be, for example, truly obscene to pick and choose the “woman” feature in a context such as Torture Taxi: On the Trail of the CIA’s rendition flights  by Trevor Paglen and A.C. Thompson (Hoboken, New Jersey: Melville House Publishing, 2006) includes at least two, a “Sarah” and “a white female with glasses, 5’6’’, short, blue eyes” who takes photos of those tortured and who could be our stand-in for Maya, a generic gender type of forceful dedication to the tough mission in question (pp. 26-8). Zero Dark Thirty seeks your complicity with Maya: no ambiguity here. Do you think we are meant to empathize with the lives lost in the raid? Are these grievable lives inside these frames of war thrill –I am recreating the title of an excellent mediation by Judith Butler– in the ideological frame of this film? What is the hierarchy built in? It is easy to see. Start putting the features besides “woman” therefore (young white American woman in the military doing covert operations inside a predominantly white male social circle of relative power and privilege, etc.).


One more time: Bigelow’s declarations along the lines that showing torture is of course not the same thing as endorsing it is of course right, but it is so, side by side her calculated no-pronouncements of the conflicts at large, for all the wrong reasons in the context of her own film in fundamental coherence with the previous one, Hurt Locker. As Zizek has written, imagine how we would react to calculated gestures of neutrality if there was a brutal rape scene of a (white) woman in foreign parts and the director claimed neutrality in the filmic approach, play with gender pronouns for greater effect and intensity (“Zero Dark Thirty: Hollywood’s gift to American power,” (www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2013/jan/25/zero-dark-thirty-normalises-torture-unjustifiable). News of a brutal rape in India made it to the international headlines during the release dates of the film. Imagine statements of scrupulous neutrality about undesirables (pick your most odious group) expressing themselves forcefully. So, one must consider the tense climate in the U.S. for showing such material, the understandable self-defense mechanism by the director and the producer, particularly when attacked, who in essence deliver platitudes about multiplicity of perspectives, and generic repudiations of torture in the abstract and a calculated neutrality and vagueness about large geopolitical issues not filmed and left discursively for a better time and place but not here and now.  There is something of a thinness of discourse that is quintessential to the film, subtracting discursivity as it were, and the director’s explicit framing of the film as though “[we] were working with pieces of a puzzle whose final composition escaped [us],” and I am recreating Tony Smith advisedly, changing the directionality of the pronouns, hitting home so to speak, to illustrate better the ideological thesis of the fundamental liberal complicity at stake here. I am not suggesting any kind of cheap pedagogic moralism in matters of art and politics. Yet, Zero Dark Thirty remains in the end, to me at least, unfortunately vague in the liberal sense of the term. Bigelow’s vague treatment of the problem of power, and grotesque abuse of power at that, happens not to merit a fierce interrogation either, and thus the whole topic of (state) power remains, oddly enough, oblique.


Zero Dark Thirty is thus about the quintessential bildungsroman of the single young woman wanting a piece of it. A dutiful Cinderella story –and what is foreground and what is background?– in which the protagonist cannot “have fun” after all? Is there something of a sacrificial insinuation –hard-working white American woman being put down by the necessities of the law, strategy and the transformations of the state in a Hobbesian vision that would have pleased Philip Bobbitt (www.fernandogomezherrero.com/blog/?p=457)? And how fast do you think we are going to leave behind all those dark faces and bodies speaking in foreign tongues and clad in burqas, etc.? The most dynamic scene in the film has to do with the subterfuge of covert agent donning burqas. This scene was selected for previews of the film that show well during football-game breaks. The marketing of Zero Dark Thirty has an upbeat quality like a bunch of guys throwing a horseshoe, or a football, in a beach-like, desert location out there. There is something of an attractive, rough, disheveled, beard-look to the special-forces men. There are there for you, fighting for your freedom, doing what it takes, no questions asked, going into the compound not knowing who will be inside. You want to join them and be a man with them. Tellingly, there is one poster-like scene with Maya in dark glasses smiling amused at their pranks.


Viewers are thus meant to participate in US-official proceedings and join in and stay in the room and shout at the prisoner to behave accordingly and to tell the truth. Maya learns fast, like a little girl telling the weaker guy that he should tell the big guy in charge what he wants. This is the torture scene. When there is confirmation that he will never get out of this situation, why bother cover the heads, let that red-hair shine on you. Yes, this is all work ethic –also in the torture chamber– and no fun as when the fellow female agent who is enjoying her wine glass asks Maya if she has already hooked up with the male fellow agent with cute messed-up hair, who was part of the enforced interrogation technique. No, she demurs. She is all business, a steel magnolia, and this is what Jessica Winter highlights about Bigelow as well (Time Magazine: “Art of Darkness: How Zero Dark Thirty Director Kathryn Bigelow Made the Year’s Most Controversial movie,” Vol. 181, No. 4, 2013). There is something of a cardboard morality of intent, an ideological, political rigidity in the quintessential solitary American heroine with precious little context, society or background. Maya is deliberately kept thin. There is no thick texture to her and this is how Bigelow wanted her role model, not far away from Gary Cooper in High Noon. Our American heroes do not, cannot, will not have fun, neither our unsung heroines. Zero Dark Thirty is something of a small recognition of such heroism, the small or big difference the woman factor makes inside the Bobbittian transformation of the state, and the vicarious enjoyment of a thriller and action movie around awful geopolitical dimensions in faraway locations accordingly. It would have been much more potent to have had less desert and more American geography, possibly close to the island of Cuba, but Paglen and Thompson help us with routes of rendition flights across many other locations. In relation to state, think the other side of pretty. In relation to the sole standing superpower of a state, what do you think?

torture taxi

With or without protestations of the director and the producer, Zero Dark Thirty is a general invitation to a perverse participation in the exercise of cruelty reaching the ultimate destruction of who else but the ultimate evil doer, in the institutional sadism engaging a foreignness kept at some distance while the camera gives flesh to male abuse and keeps the female second banana nearby (announcement that women could serve in combat roles just happened, and I am sure that such news will make some happy, perhaps even Bigelow and I have not heard any comments in this regard, www.washingtonpost.com/local/women-say-they-already-serve-in-combat-roles-despite-pentagons-announcement/2013/01/26/738c4c4a-6705-11e2-93e1-475791032daf_story.html). I personally hold no fundamental uncertainties that Zero Dark Thirty is embedded ideological combat role for the woman difference on the side of American Empire. It matters little to me if such difference is here big or small. Guantanamo and Abu Ghraib are recent references and the viewer will likely find like I did that there was something of an overlap between images in the film and other images one may have seen elsewhere about such atrocities and current conflicts in the Middle East, largely kept out of mass-media outlets circulating in the U.S. Just imagine if Maya had turned Lynndie England, and had held a leash attached to the prisoner, had grabbed the balls of the prisoner, had made him do something disagreeable, had used an intimidating dog, had taken photographs of the abuse, had urinated on the sacred book of religious rules, etc. There is coyness here: “our” women are tough but not disagreeably tough, that is for men, and this is clear case of male supremacy informing beginning and end of Zero Dark Thirty. There is water-boarding and yet there is some weird restraint. We are not taking the full scene. The camera is close-up on the face of the prisoner. It would have been much difficult to watch it from some outside observer taking all the bodies interacting in the cell. That proximity of camera angle also wants our participation in what is going on. Using a soccer analogy, we run typically in the film with the ball too close to our good foot and not like good players do which is knowing at all times where their team mates are and who is better situated to receive the ball and keep it running. Bigelow is not that good of a player or a film maker to even dare want to give an ambitious vision of policy, politics and geopolitics (one scene has Obama speaking on television about Americans not torturing people and the operatives dead-pan). I would expand this dead-pan quality, with or without the final tears coming in a second, to cover the entire Zero Dark Thirty as a sign of political vagueness and thinness, call it conventionally U.S. liberal. Maya loses her temper once I think with one superior who does not let her be herself in the pursuit of her mission and this demonstration of character is probably the worst acting on the part of the otherwise competent and certainly attractive Jessica Chastain. No use of religion, profanity, no display of genitalia. Little urban landscapes. Some desert. There is, how not?, hipness to the military action scenes, no wonder preview material, and we all cheer internally almost like good parents when the female agent expresses confidence in the all-male conference room, she is the “motherfucker,” no pun intended, no one laughs, and that she is 99% certain that the bad guy is in the compound, when she addresses the all-male soldiers about the mission. She does not throw a horseshoe, spit tobacco or drink liquor, even fuck, excuse my French, one of those good American men, but she should have. No release. No outlet. No truth? The final tears I have already mentioned could go many places. In this tough context, why should one be forced to assume the final true emotion in the tears of an individual woman? And what is the perspective of the omniscient, exterior camera telling us now? There is an off-camera voice asking where to go. Suggestion: nowhere. It does not matter. Any place but here and here means that foreign location or anyplace but here of gross violation of civil rights and human rights. Rest assured: Zero Dark Thirty is interplay of US-agent perspective and omniscient, exterior camera and never foreign, much less bad-guy perspective.

1134604 - Zero Dark Thirty


Probably the best thing out of Zero Dark Thirty will be the stir of discourse in the public pot. With the increasing evacuation of critical intelligence in university structures, dramatically so in the foreign humanities, where are they in relation to these matters?, a few good articles can easily be found in various outlets. Predictably, the U.S. ones are the ones more predictable inside the liberal ideological neutrality affiliation, for example, the already mentioned by Jessica Winter in Time Magazine (Vol. 181, No. 4, 2013). There is something of a rigid identity of the “we” –us qua the U.S., and nothing but the U.S., us seduced by the state, but also some woman solidarity, us white American women doing tough things out there against non-white, non-American not directly against women… if I may put it that way– that will not break open and go unhinged sociologically and politically, as it should. A second example: ‘Zero Dark Thirty:’ Kathryn Bigelow Shows us the Things We Carried” by Susan Zakin, seemingly blinded by the sole example of top female accomplishment in the tough Hollywood industry (www.truthdig.com/arts_culture/item/zero_dark_thirty_kathryn_bigelow_shows_us_the_things_we_carried_20130111). And who wants to stick the nose predictably to one national leash anymore? Get out if you can. Compare and contrast with “Dark, zero-feminism” by Zilla Eisenstein, which has more bite (www.aljazeera.com/indepth/opinion/2013/01/2013120121530123614.html), and even with “Dirty Wars: Jeremy Scahill’s antidote to Zero Dark Thirty’s heroic narrative,” (www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2013/jan/28/dirty-wars-jeremy-scahill-zero-dark-thirty?INTCMP=SRCH). Yes, the heroism remains in the end and we can discuss how much dirtiness goes with it. Yet it appears that our version of heroics in the early 21st Century is more like the hardened effort of a dedicated athlete than anything else. Our time is the time of Lance Armstrong already caught. There is something of a feeling of the “competition” being rigged and politics being very dirty, but we know this at least since Machiavelli’s times. The point is to historicize it and to see how much of it we wish to know and what to do with it once we are in the know. Hence, what I would call the general tone of seriousness of purpose, and the narrow-focus on the female protagonist, in Bigelow’s craftsmanship –typically in close-ups of head and shoulders, much less the whole body in camera, makes Maya look like a studious graduate student– does not press buttons, does not “radicalize” and fleshes out what is in essence a generic type, and hence fails to satisfy visually and intellectually. And what else is different to say about the other characters?


But continue looking, and you will find more freeplay information, still playing off both sides of the English-speaking pond, still in The Guardian. Nothing of it circulates inside the U.S., much more ideologically rigid, still in my experience:  ”A Letter to Kathryn Bigelow on Zero Dark Thirty’s Apology for Torture” (www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2013/jan/04/letter-kathryn-bigelow-zero-dark-thirty). “By peddling the lie that CIA detentions led to Bin Laden’s killing, you have become a Leni Riefenstahl-like propagandist for torture.” The provocation is well taken. And how endearing does the director come across in the interviews defending her turf?: “Kathyrn Bigelow: Under Fire” (www.guardian.co.uk/film/2013/jan/12/kathryn-bigelow-zero-dark-thrity?INTCMP=SRCH). The defense strategy appears to be not to stir the big spoon inside the hot pot too much. Perhaps we will all be able to do this in a few years.

bigelow in 1989 on the set of her third feature blue steel

Stepping outside English-language circles momentarily, I will end with the disorientations of the otherwise dignified Literature Nobel Prize winner Mario Vargas Llosa,“Apogeo y Decadencia de Occidente (elpais.com/elpais/2013/01/10/opinion/1357832274_367312.html):

¿Ha desaparecido el espíritu crítico en la frívola y desbaratada cultura occidental de nuestros días? Yo terminé de leer el libro de Niall Ferguson el mismo día que fui al cine, aquí en New York, a ver la película Zero Dark Thirty, de Kathryn Bigelow, extraordinaria obra maestra que narra con minuciosa precisión y gran talento artístico la búsqueda, localización y ejecución de Osama bin Laden por la CIA. Todo está allí: las torturas terribles a los terroristas para arrancarles una confesión; las intrigas, las estupideces y la pequeñez mental de muchos funcionarios del gobierno; y también, claro, la valentía y el idealismo con que otros, pese a los obstáculos burocráticos, llevaron a cabo esa tarea. Al terminar este film genial y atrozmente autocrítico, los centenares de neoyorquinos que repletaban la sala se pusieron de pie y aplaudieron a rabiar; a mi lado, había algunos espectadores que lloraban. Allí mismo pensé que Niall Ferguson se equivocaba, que la cultura occidental tiene todavía fuelle para mucho rato.


“Have we already seen the disappearance of the critical spirit from a broken Western civilization of frivolity? The same day I finished reading Niall Ferguson’s last book I went to see in New York Kathryn Bigelow’s Zero Dark Thirty, an extraordinary masterpiece that narrates the manhunt and killing of Osama bin Laden by the CIA. Everything is there: the terrible tortures to get a confession out of the terrorists, the intrigues, the stupidities and small-mindedness of many state officials and also the courage and idealism of those who complete their task despite all bureaucratic obstacles. At the end of this superb film, also extraordinarily self-critical, the hundreds of New Yorkers who crowded the movie theater stood up and gave it a sound round of applause; some spectators were crying nearby. There and then I thought Niall Ferguson was wrong, and Western civilization still has plenty of wind in its tail for a while” (my translation).


I could not disagree more with Vargas Llosa’s poor film-studies interpretation, which is still ideologically congruent with his major Western geopolitical focus, properly toeing the line of American liberal democratic internationalism. Again, the dutiful seriousness of specific purpose of Bigelow is emphatically not expansive critical visual intelligence of geopolitics. But, what is the purpose, really? And your literary-criticism educational upbringing is asking this question not wanting cheap (American) moralism, and much less a straight-forward declaration of individual intent on the part of the author, which will never be taken at face value. There is, I defend, something horrendously predictable about the manhunt that does not quite bring it up to make it into a good thriller. There was no climax to what had not been a good intercourse and make it as dirty as you wish, politically speaking. The very bad guy, indeed the most wanted by the Good Empire, has no bone, blood, life animation in him. The film avoids the evil eyes. There is a quick glimpse of the bearded chin as he is already in the bag. There is facial hair emphasis all over Zero Dark Thirty and this is some un-American feature that makes the film look a bit foreign, attractive hirsute quality of the special forces included. Yet, the Manicheanism is under-developed and finally anemic and just for a minute imagine the explosiveness of its opposite, the giving of life to the political force of sustained contestation of state terrorism. Foreignness is nothing else but body to be tortured or target to be shot at in the night raid. There is collateral damage in these women and children, but no effort whatsoever to give us a bit of development to any of these challenges to official and institutional, read, state-mediated American national identity as presently constituted (we may wish to remember what the great Raúl Ruiz has criticized about this Hollywood convention, the immensely predictable single-minded pursuit of conflict theory resolution, Zero Dark Thirty is all about this, with the phantasmagoria of the very bad and foreign guy on top).


But the gist of the film is, in hindsight, the single-focus dedication and pure pursuit of the woman, put generic type Maya here. The core is about what the woman wants. Feel good about putting foreignness in the background. And what does she want, we may wish to ask with or without Freud, who also had a beard and moustache and a few things about conscious and unconscious impulses? She wants is to be celebrated part of the state machinery, not matter what and doing what it takes. I feel like going for the exchange Maya and Bigelow, don’t you? Bigelow, and many others with her, will not go further, and probably cannot, pressing the buttons of the Tony Smith criticism of American liberal democratic internationalism with which this article opened up. And how many “good guys and gals” trying to make a living in the U.S. inside and outside the film industry would you say could and would? Unlike bad girls in the film noir era, Maya is no juicy role, cool, calculating gal in a B-picture exploring the dark side of (political) life, who could stick a knife in a man’s back and make him like it, and you bet I get the prose from some colorful dvd jacket. I confess to liking Maya somewhat. I confess to liking Bigelow somewhat. There is strategic coyness and even timidity, also complicity, in Zero Dark Thirty with ominous state structures as though one had to try hard, really hard, and do really nasty things, to get the approval that will not come. For all the woman dimension, there is also rigidity and diffidence, and male-supremacy underpinning the portrayal of Maya, a vagueness, a thinness, almost Cinderella type, making the most out of things and making do in the end since the real deed in the night hour is done by the men out there. Is she foreground and main story or background to the “greatest manhunt in history” as the poster advertising of Zero Dark Thirty declares oblivious of any insinuation of moderation and proportionality? But, contextualization and proportionality, historical cognitive mapping and relativity of the US in the first place, are not the main issue here. The main issue appears to be a relatively banal one: the generic typecast feminization of individual pursuit in a tough, though man’s world out there. In times of interlacing of global boundaries, bring it all home, man’s world also in here. My praise to Bigelow is largely for not smiling too much and yet I am not with her liking her wholeheartedly. Her film-making does not win me over to her side visually, much less politically. Repetition: given the increasing evacuation of critical intelligence inside university structures, almost anything would do, a thriller, an umbrella, a sunflower, the baking of a shoe instead of steak.  What does not kill you will have to feed you. The next one by Bigelow will be nicer.

The New York Film Critics Circle Awards

By Fernando Gómez Herrero, fgh2173@gmail.com

I Think the Nasty World of You; On Robert D. Kaplan’s The Revenge of Geography.

I Think the Nasty World of You; On Robert D. Kaplan’s The Revenge of Geography.

By Fernando Gómez Herrero, fgh2173@gmail.com

revenge of geography

No hiding: Popular Americana will still find you. So, make the most out it, add food for thought to the entertainment value, and also explore the symptoms laced around pressing tensions and expansive dilemmas. This time, the return of the repressed by the name of geography, think physicality, space, matter, circumstance as in existential historicism or even Cartesian res extensa if you wish, and imagine it in a fury throwing tantrums, obstacles, burning oil, stones and sand at the conventional wheels of realism and idealism, the typical and unconvincing dichotomy of US foreign-policy schools of thought. The choice of “good guy” today puts himself in the realist camp, and my quotation marks poke fun at such popular nomenclature in conventional mass media in the U.S. The advice then: not to believe the world has gone flat, not to assume the totality of your favorite digital virtualizations. Attachment to place still matters and this is equally banal and a very serious assertion indeed. Thus, imagine a vengeful deity that puts you in your place, pun intended. Yes,  “everything that is solid melts into air,” surely, but solidifications will also follow suit, and possibly hit you in between your eyes unless you pay attention.  Yet, there is precious little seductive foreignness in the perambulation of the world map suggested by our author, I must say, and there is typical aversion of the foreign languages, also in the bibliographic apparatus. This “mind the geography, stupid” has become something of a fashion in the last decade and this is also the emphasis of the latest book by Robert D. Kaplan (www.RobertDKaplan.com, www.stratfor.com, long-term correspondent of The Atlantic). Yet, the main theme is no geography per se, but power, the big game, world politics, or geopolitics, the big enchilada, and brace yourself up for the nasty vision of Mexico that will emerge. Boys will be boys and Kaplan is one of “them” and one of “us” in Uncle Sam’s. We will see his kind in what follows. Are we the company we keep, momentarily?

Robert Kaplan

There are other sub-themes: avatars of Area Studies as they morph from Cold-War to into Post-Cold-War situations; what we might perhaps want to call a new continentalism, inside which a gradual US decline must be registered; and most importantly, one perennial question: how does official and institutional American intelligence and sensibility relate to the world at large? There is plenty of thick peanut butter to spread around the sliced bread in a disposition more teeth-gritting and disagreeable than generous and convivial, more xenophobic than xenophilic, more mono-tone and mono-perspectival than choral and multi-cultural, with the inspirations of Isaiah Berlin and Thomas Hobbes –how strong is your Anglophilia?– and Kaplan’s avowed “philosophy” will stop there. America provides zero inspiration except for a few names in the boys’ club. Thin vegetation indeed in this world vision. This is geopolitics, ludicrously defined as attention to the outside environment, and most intellectual inspirations appear to stop here by the 1950s, say the George Kennan moment. Little of importance has happened, apparently, in the historiographic department ever since. Our author will not agonize over such blindness. This is history of the big guys, the victors, and how to continue being one of them, or leave the center stage, gracefully. But the adverb will not be warranted by the preceding pages. This is crude, thick-brush history of bigger and bigger units competing with each for global domination and no amount of fine-brush painting will change it significantly. There is fall from the number-one-of-the-universe however: the contemporary world increasingly hinges on Eurasia, also a monstrously big foreign unit for any political imagination to consider. How well equipped is your conventional American imagination to do such explorations?



Eurasia –and it is more the tail than the head, more weight in Asia than Europe despite the clear Eurocentrism in the approach– is here the hub of the wheel, the Crown Jewel, the sun for the sunflowers, all roads will pass through this Rome (India, China, Iran, Russia, etc.) in the following decades… The reference to the eternal city is not altogether unwarranted: Kaplan repeats the cliché of the imperial analogy. Obama’s contemporary U.S. is like the Roman Empire falling down and the hope is that it does it slowly and gracefully. And the assertion is already unoriginal and “old,” as the vituperation in the American idiom has it. Kaplan is repeating an abbreviated Toynbee, a hundred years later, after identical repetition by Samuel Huntington, for whom our author, has open sympathy since he  “looked at the world in the eye.” This is manner and matter, tempo and mood, in the self-imposed task of offering a predictive vision of world politics that the U.S. could make its. Look at the fundamental continuity of human nature, never go soft and tough it out, man. No world for old men.



Kaplan’s version of geopolitics –is there another, gentler kind?—is grim. Such grimness does not need cathedrals. There is no time for aesthetics. No patience for the idiographic humanities. This is mostly about nomothetic formulas that may allow you to put the big dimension together. Kaplan’s America is desert of desired pagan ethos striving after superpower status and little else. The gaze is not turned inwards. There is eccentricity and extraversion with no sense of boundaries and transformations, except the threat that we will see shortly. I quote from an entirely different sensibility that helps us circumscribe the author in question: “Since there is no self without a boundary, and that boundary is always a site of multiple relations, there is no self without its relations. If the self seeks to defend itself against this very insight, then it denies the way in which it is, be definition, bound up with others. And, through this denial, that self becomes imperiled, living in a world in which the only options are to be destroyed or to destroy” (Parting Ways: Jewishness and the Critique of Zionism (2012), by Judith Butler, p. 98).  By self we must understand the chain of being of individual author, but also the single political unit, the nation-state and the new continentalism. Kaplan’s world geography is not picky about the constitution and transformation of such boundaries containing no significant traffic amounting to sound and fury, and nothing. What matters is to be on top.




For all the superlative gesture at world coverage, power here is no climax, offers no exhilaration, no exuberance. There is teeth-gritting pursuit of something that requires no explanation, philosophical rumination, textual exegesis and clearly zero introspection that may push the thinking rabbit out to the other side of foreign cultures and civilizations. If Eurasian is the focus, what happened to the Western-bound course of Empire? Bye, bye to Hegel? But the German totalizer does not register here, despite some infatuation with Central Europe, put together as ideal for the future. I cannot think of one single example of Eurasian desirability. The world at large is site of dread. There is no mirage. No sirens. No eastern sophistication. No high cuisine. No geishas. In a nation notorious for the ignorance of geography, Robert D. Kaplan’s latest The Revenge of Geography: What the Map Tells us about Coming Conflicts and the Battle Against Fate (2012) has to be healthy reminder that “the we know that the world is real and [that] our role in it [is] big and hard,” hopefully getting acquainted and outgrowing the errors of our predecessors, as Bundy eloquently put it. There are many problems here, which will be spread out in some detail, for the evaluation of critical passion that must necessarily accompany the hot affair of geopolitics and studies.


Revenge and Kaplan

The Revenge of Geography makes the case for the need to travel to get a feel of what is going on out there, and in here. This text is coming from a war correspondent, a travel journalist, an unsmiling “boy” who sticks to old boys in form and content, there are zero women, thank you very much, and a “realist” type as such, who gives you a bit of global history, a bit of geopolitics, and a few predictions of what is to come. This is U.S. mono-perspectival, self-styled Western via Eurocentric platform and, no big surprise here, English-only and thick American idiom at that. Try to set up tent in this desert and see how long you linger. The business at hard: how to continue being a significant player if conditions are met in the Northern portion of the Western hemisphere, and the conditional is crucial. The US appears fated to deal with multi-polarity, and is not in a favorable situation, against previous perceptions.

kiss geography


In hindsight, The Revenge of Geography is at the same time eminently banal and even silly, and supremely problematic and even dangerous. Geography matters. You bet your hat. You get my money. How? Why? And we can only to think of someone like Isaiah Bowman (1878-1950) in relation to two Presidents, Roosevelt and Wilson to begin to have a feel (there is a great text, American Empire: Roosevelt’s Geographer and he Prelude to Globalization by Neil Smith). So, of course geography matters, silly donkey, but the point is the social relations instrumentalizing it! And what about chronology? But Kaplan covers the fate of nations, from pharaonic Egypt to the Arab Spring, as Kissinger praises. So this is thick-brush in a couple of pages in which one nation is dealt with and move on to the next. There is something very American, by the bad name of American, in this quick touristic tour that brings nothing home except competition, victory or defeat (think of the Olympic Games coverage in conventional U.S. television sets). But of course that virtuality does not do away with idiographic densities and localized attachments over some kind of mirage of placelessness and detachment from timespaces, a kind of liberal ideology of affluence that the U.S. cannot afford any longer. We are all in it together, we are in other people’s faces, there is less and less room, the others are reproducing fast and how do we go about the world structurally inside a capitalism in severe crisis (you bet your money the name of the system is not included, in quintessentially American fashion in which the mere naming the system is tantamount to defiling it).

Isaiah Bowman Time Magazine


But why the focus on space over time? Wouldn’t the notion of timespace be more provocative, slippery, intelligent? Kaplan will not philosophize. His is an extrovert and eccentric gaze, literally understood. The Revenge of Geography is about “out there” with binoculars and telescopes, and my main point of interest is in the “in here,” how that fits into the picture. What Kaplan says about the world says more about Kaplan’s gaze and his vision of America than about anything foreign, which is dim, grim, paltry merchandise where you would not like to go and settle, if you were to take him for granted. This is why this critical review wants to turn things around and bring the immediate circumstance as close as possible. First, the beam in one’s own eye, and then the straw in the others. First, the blindness and nastiness in your worldview and how you got about it and then other views. But there are truly no desirable foreign societies in Kaplan’s narrative, with or without his travels since the 1980s. He is embedded with American soldiers “grunting imperially,” as one book title has it. He will not be sipping tea Bedouin style conversing about philosophies of history in foreign languages. There are no religious world views to explore either since the ideal required for imperial endeavors is pagan or incredulous. Empire does not need exegesis either, a little bit of Niall Ferguson will do. The introduction of  Mitteleuropa reads like a conventional, hurried and hasty travel guide with no blood, and lacks, for example, Zizek’s sensibility included in the Fright of Real Tears about the films of great Polish director Kieslowski. It is safe to say that there are no foreign humanities whatsoever worthy of the name in Kaplan’s The Revenge of Geography, this attempt at geopolitics does not make significant efforts at occasional ethnographic insight. The xenophobia that emerges is thus thick-grain dirty salt, mostly around the name of Mexico in the dreadful final chapter of a generally very mediocre, middlebrow, non-academic book.Kaplan is the ideological antagonist of foreign-affair journalists such as Chris Hedges and the Robert Fisk, the latter with sustained lived experience in the Middle East and PHD-level of research and writing of the author of The Great War of Civilization.



The title is messy waters. Geographic comebacks –did geography ever leave town?— and they do so with a “revenge.” Taciturn look at “the human condition,” as the initial quote by Marguerite Yourcenar’s Memoirs of Hadrian (1951) reminds readers. There is “fate,” which in the American vernacular, implies the fatalism of non-choice, or bad things are coming your way, whether you like it or not; and the first person plural pronoun, the “us,” which is the chain of being of the readers necessarily identified with the official foreign policy of the United States. Nothing of the agonies surrounding decision-making, for instance. The authorial intention: the predictive impulse of future conflicts in foreign affairs and the naturalization of the U.S. viewpoint wanting to become part of such decision-making. But our author is in the “rim” of the “heartland,” and this type of language will emerge later. The Revenge of Geography includes four sections: a preface titled “frontiers,” part one, titled “visionaries,” part two, titled “the early-twenty-first century map,” and the final part, part three, titled “America’s destiny.” The most interesting sections are the rescue of some geostrategists and “publicists” of one hundred years ago, and the final Mexican catastrophe stuck in the ditch of the historical imagination. The least interesting section, the map of the 21st century world once he left Europe behind. The Eurasian world is cursory, hasty tour made available by McNeill and Hodgson. The reader must assume that America’s destiny in the final section is the said fate of the subtitle, amid conflicts in the past and battles to come. Grabbing this fish by the tail, I want to begin with such final section, “America’s destiny.”

mackinder heartland


The Revenge of Geography is popular Americana, street-level, no big-academic, middlebrow “common-sense” current affairs consumed while en route as it were, reading it while riding the waves in some plane, and having some mild headache about world travails. How becoming is the vision of the U.S. that emerges in The Revenge of Geography? How proud does it make you feel in your still recent naturalization? The nation is said to have been granted an “exceptional geography” (p. 32), separated by two oceans. So, world mess is out there, and we are in here. All cosy? No foreign entanglements. This is “island nation” (p. 67), enjoying “splendid isolation” (p. 87), “the most favored state in the world from the point of view of geography” (p. 90), mark the adolescent superlative, and its geography, “early sustainer of American freedom” (p. 91). The final adjective of The Revenge of Geography will be “free” in relation to multi-polar world, but it is utterly unwarranted by what has preceded. And yet there are anticipations and premonitions that not everything is going all right. Kaplan puts the US as “off-shore balancer” (p. 223), as ideal catalyst and good stabilizer, more preserver than aggressor and invader, more reasonable partner  than imperial force (Turkey Foreign-Affairs Minister Ahmet Davutoglu, meriting an inclusion in the  book, has recently turned such apparent blessedness into thin historicism and serious fragility of novice nation terribly far away from crucial  networks). The US is thus instead predictably “ultimate source of good” (p. 88), and “liberal,” which is a good thing to call it always in such foreign-affairs domains, I suppose, but never domestically (most visible fellow “realist” Robert Kagan, not included in the text, does the same).



Part three, or final chapter fifteen, puts the observation platform, the immediate circumstance, in front of the inquisitive lenses. The tripartite title is somewhat misleading: Braudel, Mexico and Grand Strategy. The verb? To project what is to come. But more than the French historian, there is a dialogue with Andrew Bacevich recreating Huntingtoniana with a significant modulation. Still, Kaplan makes the claim of paying attention to French historians such as Lucien Febvre, Marc Bloch and Fernand Braudel (p. 319), admirative of big landscapes of vision. What is at stake is the big-unit approach and the desire for a grand strategy that could make sense of post-Cold-War-situations lacking one. And how many contenders are out there to become the new George Kennan and possibly allow the repetition of new containments and new balances of power inside multi-polarity? Philip II’s grand strategy in the context of the Mediterranean is Eurocentrism of sorts –modulating the thin ideal of Central Europe with which the book opens and then goes nowhere—and Braudel affords a “god-like quality of the narrative” (p. 323) broken down into long-term, medium-term and shortest-term cycles. But it is the Luttwakian approach to the Braudelian big-vision that intrigues Kaplan the most. Philip II loses the choice of our Paris’s apple over the beauty of the imperial strategy of the Roman Empire –synthesis of the Mediterranean West, analogical precedent of the U.S. counter-acting Middle-East, Arab-Spring and Asian emergencies.  Theoretically seduced by sweeping vistas, Kaplan americanizes such foreign historians via Andrew Bacevich. The context: a panel in the Center for a New American Security. The charge: massive state failure in relation to Iraq and Afghanistan according to Bacevich. The suggested re-orientation: Why not fix Mexico instead? (p. 324). The Revenge of Geography is situation room of history and the room is getting crowded, according to globalization. Picture a crowded elevator going up or going down. This is eminently boys’ club, or gentlemen’s club if you wish (325ff). A child of late Huntingtoniana, Kaplan accepts an irreversibility that would make the ghost of the old Harvard political scientist turn in the grave: Hispanicization is here to stay.



Three dilemmas encircle U.S. foreign policy accordingly: chaotic Eurasian heartland, increasing Chinese assertiveness, increasing Mexican mess creeping into the fabric of the U.S. (p. 326). Coming from someone who supported going into Iraq, and the words of criticism about Wolfowitz are not unkind, “we never should have gotten involved in these countries” (p. 327). In this a posteriori recognition of his mistake, Kaplan shakes hands with his Wilsonian internationalist counter-parts such as Anne Marie Slaughter, who did the same. The consensus about the bad foreign policy of the Iraq war has put Democrats and Republicans in the same tight knot of the mistaken handkerchief. And the lessons learned? Kaplan does not elaborate.




The Revenge of Geography proposes a land-sea dichotomy, which is Schmittian, and the name of the dangerous German intellectual is missing in action, but his fingerprints are all over this belated Anglo-American postmodernization of Central-European Real-Politick. The US must restrict itself to being air and sea power to continue being a major force, and not fall for the same mistake that Venice did in the fifteenth century (p. 328-9). Transpositions of analogies come and go a bit often too unencumbered of chronological and geographical proportionalities. Kaplan’s goal in this frequent historical comparativism: “It is the permanence of small wars that can undo us” (p. 329). It appears that asymmetry in wars or bigness is not immediate threat. The final pronoun is telling. A second historical illustration of the analogical travel hammers the nail in the coffin: Iraq in 2006 and 2007 during the worst fighting is comparable to the Indian mutiny against the British in 1857. Little in Kaplan of Judith Butler’s fastidiousness with the analogical mode. No need to hold doubts about Kaplan’s red-white-and-blue colors: “Yet the debacle did not signal the end of the British Empire, which expanded even for another century. Instead, it signaled the transition from an ad hoc imperium fired by an evangelical lust to impose its values to a calmer and more pragmatic empire built on international trade and technology” (p. 329). Clear about authorial intentionality then? In case you needed strong references for this candid imperialism, Kaplan includes Niall Ferguson and himself in the endnotes to such desideratum.


But there is more: “Ancient history, too, offers up examples that cast doubt on whether Afghanistan and Iraq, in and of themselves, have doomed us” (p. 329). From Thucydides to Presidents Kennedy and Ford, Luttwak’s book about the grand strategy of the Roman Empire is brought to some pinnacle of fearlessness in the Ronald Reagan years. It is difficult to keep a straight face with such wild historical comparativism, but this Reaganism must be imagined some kind of Republican utopian refuge. What remains significant is the ideological build-up of the Reagan years for a desired future projection in the name of US foreign policy (for perspective, Huntington is a life-long Democrat, speechwriter for Adlai Stevenson in the 1950s, a foreign-policy adviser to Hubert Humphrey in the 1960s, and one of the authors of Jimmy Carter’s speeches on human rights in the 1970s as Kaplan reminds us in his long Atlantic article). Repeating Huntington repeating Toynbee, Kaplan speaks of the Romanization of the barbarian tribes “eliminating the last vestiges of nativist disaffection,” of prosperous and widespread empire with the need to deploy its military “everywhere” (p. 330). Globalization is Romanization, which is another name for Americanization. And the egg shells have been broken and the omelette has changed sides on the frying pan: the “barbarians” are now moving into Empire. The Toynbeean threat: from the borders, the “others” are moving in changing your face in the buried mirror of self-identity in the following generations. The over-stretch –concept that made David Kennedy famous, and the name will recur later—and the grand strategy is the utopia, the good thing “we” do not presently have. If only Kaplan could come up with one and cash it in!


The disaster of the final chapter continues side by side the sign “Grand strategy wanted!” (p. 331). The wish is for a “graceful retreat” (p. 332) of the US from global hegemony. Will it happen? Kaplan –not given to the loneliness of the long-distance runner, always sticking to Bacevich—casts his eyes on the Western Hemisphere map in the gloomy and grim direction of the Southwest border, bringing into question “the coherence of America as a geographically cohesive unit” (p. 332), which is the type of turn of phrase that betrays poor geographical sensibility, Samuel Beckett would call it a “bastard phrase,” since the sign “America” is never here historicized, not even obliquely, it was thus from the times of pharaonic Egypt. David Kennedy’s GDP data casts doubts on such coherence and Third World nations pull First World nations to the povery hole in such dreadful contiguity: “Nothing will affect its society more than the dramatic movement of Latin history northward” (p. 332). But where is the movement coming from? What have the movements crossing over borders been? No philologist: Kaplan will not be doing etymologies and compare-and-contrast placenames inside the borders he so much wants to protect.

Border Patrol

The Revenge of Geography makes abundant use of the experiential first-person traveler. Thus we see a vignette of a young Kaplan hitchhiking in the US in the 1970s, 40 years ago, marveling at the splendor of the geography, and immediately juxtaposing such experience of youthful bliss with the more sober and mature mess of crossing the border with contemporary Mexico. Lost in translation? And how is your Spanish, amigo? I am imagining Cantinflas’s famous sketch with the donkey in the desert border and bargaining with the border patrol. Do not worry: Kaplan pulls out his best Mexican guide, you got it, Toynbee again, who speaks of the barbarians at the frontier threatening the Pax Romana. Wild analogical reasoning comes in handy filling in the empty back pack of Mexican intelligence and sensibility. The witches’ brew is looking dangerously thick fog and seriously obtuse by now. The threat: the Mexican population (p. 334) threatening Mackinder’s “World-Island” (we can imagine Kaplan a 21st century vulgar version of the more sophisticated “publicist” Lippman using identical language). The Mexican geography is one of disunity and “infernally divided,” and one wonders where such unions and disunions come from. And here geography is stand-in for something else –try racism– that this clumsy reportorial approach will not dare name (p. 335). No fear: Kaplan will not be having dialogues with Mexican historians offering you big visions of Eurocentrism and Western universalism, not even the borders and frontier schools of thought, few recognizable names that could easily bring shame to him. No global history from Mexican historians, no Latin Americans ever cross this limpid sky and crisp air. What imaginations does the smart reader think populate “America’s destiny” instead? Ciudad Juárez, Drug Cartels, Indians, difficult for the Spanish to tame. Alas, no gastronomy, no mole, no rancheras and no bellas señoritas. Have no fear: Kaplan will not do subaltern history. He will not quote from indigenista anthropologists. No equivalent Mexican journalist, bellicose or not. He has not read Octavio Paz’s sociology of the Reagan years apropos the philantrophic ogre. The mettle is certain: tribute to Huntington (p. 336). And the quotes doubting whether we can continue being a nation of immigrants are David Kennedy’s. Nothing of the comparative sociology of ethnic groups of people like Moynihan and Novak in the 1970s and perhaps greater mental rigidity. Scarecrow: “By 2050, one third of the population of U.S. could be Spanish speaking,” and the citation is from Carlos Fuentes’s Espejo Enterrado (Buried Mirror). Do you think Kaplan clap hands?


There is one significant difference. The Huntingtonian last will to recommit to the Protestant ethos is no longer possible. America will become a Polynesian-cum-mestizo civilization (p. 339) and perhaps the first adjective will raise an eyebrow, why not Asian?, and perhaps also the relative normalization of the Vasconcelista language of one hundred years ago reaching English-speaking “America.” Kaplan’s dream: to become the “globe’s preeminent duty-free hot zone for business transactions, a favorite place of residence for the global elite” (p. 339). One who disparages “liberal universalism” (p. 5) will not get caught in public with his pants down advancing human rights and international law. So, it is trade and elites!, which is code for capitalism and those who profit from it. This is the ideological home where Kaplan wants to be, geographically speaking. Will these elites be reading Braudel? Or turning instead to the first language of Leopoldo Zea, Edmundo O’Gorman, Enrique Dussel, Aníbal Quijano, even Walter D. Mignolo? The dictum: “America is no longer an island, protected by the Atlantic and Pacific. It is brought closer to the rest of the world not only by technology, but by the pressures of Mexican and Central American demography” (p. 339). The U.S. being an island is at the very least a “metaphor” of an ideological nature that betrays poor historicization. Bacevich is right, Kaplan concludes. And in so doing he puts together Mexico and Afghanistan (p. 340): and from where else if not from the connector of the U.S. platform? And which platform is here the “off-shore balancer,” the catalyst, the aggressor, the invader? The “mis-mission” over there could instead turn to the greater hemispheric coherence that intervenes in Mexico –but how?— and in so doing pulls closer Colombia and the Greater Caribbean against Venezuela and the Southern Cone –there is no mention of Cuba. It reads like a revamping of the Monroe Doctrine that gerrymanders the American geography from Alaska to Patagonia seeking its immediate interests: “A stable and prosperous Mexico, working in organic concert with the United States, would be an unbeatable combination in geopolitics” (p. 340). Canada is quieter partner. The southern portion of South America is equidistant from the U.S. and other continents and can go funny ways. There is here no mono-continental American coherence, therefore. Kaplan’s dream: the U.S. appropriates for itself the continental name, breaks it into two halves and re-arranges the Northern portion to its convenience to hegemonize the larger unit in a New Monroe Doctrine and thus compete better with emerging continentalities out there. Still, there is perceptible decline.

samuel huntington


The Revenge of Geography is symptomatic Post-Cold-War mapping apropos the intimate conjoining of First-Third worlds (p. 342). Kaplan fails and fails again about developing cognitive mappings apropos alternative or competitive geopolitical visions. This is truly a mono-focal US-only English-exclusively perspective, and a flat one at that. His Toynbee is short-changed and parrot-like too-reverential –almost a hundred years later. Our author would never go to Ortega y Gasset’s criticism of Toynbee in the same manner Huntington never did (Anglo-Americans repeat their Anglo cousins in another time and place but in an infinitely more coarse and cruder fashion, it is not the Toynbee’s skeptical of Western imperialisms, for example). Kaplan speaks of the Coronado medieval route followed now by the Hispanic populations who are not medieval (p. 344). The choice of adjective betrays that a weak modernization paradigm keeps its hold. But Hispanic worlds are not easy territory for Kaplan, and I wonder out loud about any regional upbringing of significance of the fifty-year-old, New-York-born journalist). Such Hispanic wedge breaks open Mackinder’s World-Island (Eurasia and Africa) (p. 344), that remains immensely reductive epistemologically speaking. Still, the advocacy is for the millet system, or the patchwork, a cohesive bilingual supra-state of sorts with Canada and Mexico (p. 344). Huntington is “partly wrong” (p. 345), and Kaplan’s article in The Atlantic is vastly celebratory (“Looking the World in the Eye,” December 2001).


Nothing meriting the word intellectual or historical or aesthetic comes from Mexico. No Spanish language whatsoever in The Revenge of Geography, amigo. What else? Malthus, come to the rescue: “their” population versus “ours.” Think the conventional institutional use of “demographic” by managers and some of this is what is at stake when nothing else is included in these vengeful Hispanic geographies. In the meantime, we must be balancing and unifying (p. 346). Alert to the choice of euphemistic verbs of a “bad guy” playing defensively or on the retreat. Such North America will not receive the praise of “cosmopolitan” that Central Europe merits (p. 346): call it modulation of Eurocentrism and the future  vision is worse than unsmiling, petty, niggardly, “hopefully with Mexico by our side.” The adverb has been missing in preceding pages in relation to a vision of geopolitics that is everything but hopeful. This renewed North America will be “independent buffer states between Maritime Europe and the Heartland,” the latter, the Eurasian re-establishment as core world area. This re-adjusted multi-polarity, bespeaking of unmistakable US debilitation, receives a feeble and unexpected “good-note” of “free.” Do you see our author clapping hands now?

como esta amigo


Let us open the widows to wider fields of pasture. The fantastic praise by Kissinger is included in the front jacket. There is an indifferent review by Anne Marie Slaughter (“Power Shifts: Looking at Global Upheavals through the Prism of Geography,” New York Times, October 7, 2012; p. 14). There is another, tepid lengthier review in The New Yorker, “ Faces, Places, Spaces: The Renaissance of Geographic History” by Adam Gopnik (Oct. 29, 2012). The Revenge of Geography engages in “the struggle to construct liberal orders” (p. xxii). The plural form may be the most surprising element. Thin on ethnographic and idiographic specificities, The Revenge of Geography is mostly about predictive and desiderative modulations, which are unoriginal. Kaplan follows continental bulk and faithfully seeks the proximity of academic “might be giants.” For the emphasis on a few historians, French and American, this is not really a history text. It treats history as background and even landscape in which politics happens. But it is not political-theory treatise either. Nor is it an account of who’s done what where of mighty importance, geopolitically. The Revenge of Geography is really desire of the nomos of the earth, a wish to run into a grand strategy for the next couple of decades or so. 9/11 exposes “the limits of liberal universalism” (p. 5), so “geography” here is something like “culture,” a more particularistic endeavor, a humility lesson for the sole existing super-power that this is no longer –was it ever?—a matter of “going it alone” and that some compromises will be needed. What about intellectual compromises?

North American Map


What remains except naked pursuit of power without intellectual niceties? Expect no subtlety: “Liberalism ultimately rests on power: a benign power perhaps, but power nevertheless” (p. 11). The triple repetition says it all, in case you missed the first one. The Revenge of Geography is no about the mechanics of politics, too reverential of older figures such as Kissinger or Brezinski. Think of a more manageable and journalistic version of Robert Kagan, whom he does not mention, of Venus-disposed Europeans and Mars-prone-Americans fame. Naturally, Kaplan is here happy clinging to the legacies of Morgenthau without registered disagreements of any kind.



Fights for power and knowledge and prestige will be fought in the Eurasian platform, increasingly on the Asian portion, not exactly your typical travel destination for a majority of compatriots of Kaplan. Puzzlingly against “trendy monistic theories” (p. 9), Kaplan celebrates the Heartland of Mitteleuropa, called “beacon of multiethnic tolerance and historic liberalism, to which the contiguous Balkans and Third World regions further afield could and should aspire” (p. 138).  Puzzling, to say the least. The ground shifts: it is Benelux, Charlemagne Europe, Holland and even Spinoza makes a brief appearance. Kaplan gets this desirable trajectory from global histories such as McNeill’s, so the ideal of “cosmopolitanism” (p. 346) is unequivocally provincial in origin, wanting nothing from foreignness, desiring nothing from it, American in destiny and fate, zero openness, zero Levinasian intermingling with the other, thinking nothing inspirational of the cohabitation with the Mexicans worth writing on the page. As the famous line, Kaplan goes abroad to Americanize himself and his readers, keeping in mind the American mission, for example as embedded journalist. The descriptive and prescriptive dimensions get tangled up with the predictive and desiderative in manners that are radically not expansive.

woodrow wilson


Our “Iraq war supporter” (p. 18) gains distance from what he calls “idealists” (p. 19). Put Wilsonian legacy here, gaining terrain, apparently in the 1990s (hence, his historical retreat to the previous decade of the 1980s to project some feeble desirability forward). He critiques the Air-Force universalism of such idealists –left unnamed—who mistakingly thought that universalism mattered more than “terrain and the historical experience of people living on it” (p. 19). The US appears sea and air power, and The Revenge of Geography builds itself via Halford Mackinder and James Fairgrieve with the alleged preference for land (Kaplan reminds me a bit of those forceful provincials who go overseas and mainly follow pointers of their own relatives scrupulously in their original native tongues about what to see, eat, buy, etc.).



The human-nature vision is surely harsh and unremitting that does not need to historicize Hobbes or poke holes into Berlin (p. 21). These are the two “philosophers,” the Russian expatriate for the first half and the English scholar for the second half of the cycle called of the Post Cold War. Kaplan may claim interest in Braudelarian long duration, but his eyes are mostly on the next two decades. There is abundant analogical thinking. Munich signifies appeasement, and you know with whom, and this is called “universalism” (p. 20), which is no longer possible after 9/11. The analogies build connectivity with Vietnam, and there are more things unsaid than said, Hussein is put together with Hitler and Stalin, etc. Our grasshopper hops one too many geographies and temporalities and the goal is to put the U.S. in the good light, and put himself as the lighthouse. The myth of omnipotence of the U.S., which Kaplan projects back to the 1980s, is gone, alas, for us. True realism a la Morgenthau (p. 24) gives us the human nature that we want side by side Thucydides, so for all the travel to foreignness, human nature exhibits an impressive continuity, short, brutish, etc.  (incidentally, Donald Kagan, father of our Robert, did something similar with old Greek history in Yale circles, so this antique-modern modus operandi must have had some purchase in some circles). Wolfowitz had the best of intentions in the faulty Iraq War (p. 25) and he was there with him at that time. The male-exclusive club that matters is one in which geopolitically-minded individuals such as Nicholas J. Spykman strut their stuff (p. 29).

spykman book


The possible charge of “determinism” is misplaced, in case you happen to think that the quotation marks give out a very bad name (think of “fundamentalism” as well). The big and rather banal claim of The Revenge of Geography is that geography influences but does not determine (p. 36), has effects on human affairs (p. 124), is “partial determinism” (p. 56), yet geography “no longer reigns supreme” (p. 119). Hence, your intelligence should not buy whole the physicality of it, but nibble around the edges (p. 119, 129, 146, 177). Geography is one factor among others. So some de-emphasis on the geographical disposition appears appropriate, but wait, it remains important, etc. It is not “an explanation for everything, neither is it a solution” (p. 171). Hence, the disposition is “quasi-determinist” (p. 59). But this has nothing to do with the social or natural sciences, the poor humanities always already in the gloomy corner of virtual invisibility. The core of it all is geopolitics, very poorly defined as “the study of the outside environment” (p. 60). Extroversion, eccentricity, in the literal sense of these terms: I have no problems with myself, I look outside of me to understand how the world challenges to me. “Hell is, effectively, others,” with or without Sartre. But there is little smiling and sunny heaven in this grim vision of human nature, also undeveloped, and the U.S. does not emerge to life forcefully any better. Reconstructing this mindset, I do not need to go introspective, or build consensus with myself, Cartesian style, or even anti-Cartesian style, in social-ontological-relational fashion, Kaplan’s attitude is genuinely anti-philosophical, while holding hands with Berlin and Hobbes. There is zero exploration of grounds of intelligibility, one’s own or others’. Kaplan does not touch any ideas that could pose an existential threat. There is no explanation either of why ideation happened in one way then and in another way now… He follows bulk, big size, demographics and he behaves docilely with the male names mentioned he finds in the old boys’ club. He does not include the argumentation he does not like, for example, the universalism that “we” cannot afford after 9/11, and he silences the proper names of those ideological opponents. Perfect. Give them no inch. Think the antithesis of totalizing Hegelian self-consciousness accordingly, a rather flat, rehash of “old” Western sources, European expatriates in the U.S. in the field of geopolitics mostly, some European historians in English translation, remaining eminently content towards the frame of big nation-state conflagration. The cherry on top of this pie in the face of our author: anti-academicism;  “geography is the generalist’s answer to academic specialization” (p. 61). Middlebrow Americana requires the occasional explicit profession of generalism. There is coldness towards American academic environments in our travel writer, Stratfor chief geopolitical analyst and visiting professor in national security at the U.S. Naval Academy, Annapolis, as the jacket useful details.



Historians in the U.S. neighborhood such as McNeill and Hodgson provide the big sweep of historical account (p. 38). The Revenge of Geography is most re-heated pages of these historians and a few geopolitical items. It is not a history of geopolitics proper either. The quick thick-brush rendition of such “bad guys” is the most interesting section in the book, the so-called “visionaries.” The weakest section is by far the global mapping of the world running from Europe to Russia, China to India, Iran and the “former Ottoman Empire.” Our author does not feel to respect the provenance of foreign materials generating multi-perspectivism. Ours is the time of annihilation of foreign-affairs correspondents seeking the truth “on the ground,” and contrasting it with other sources. Imagine American football: Kaplan notices the big bulks on the football field and follows the official whistle close to his seating bench. Think painting, Kaplan applies the thick brush stroke to large-scale dimensions inside cumulative conglomerations in the vicinity of the stars and stripes. There is no need to complicate the already complicated picture. Who would want to include Indian sources for India, Iranian sources for Iran, Turkish sources for Turkey, etc.? What about world-visions with or without the US intervention emerging from Eurasia, the alleged corner of world politics in the decades to come?

spykman photo


Central Asia emerges as pivot of history qua world domination (p. 61, 62). Kaplan imagines no other history worth pursuing. Land power wins here. Eurasia will dominate geopolitical calculations: from the heartland to the world (p. 73, 74). Mahan’s Naval-Force power takes backstage (there is a good tactful rebuke of Mahan by McGeorge Bundy’s fine-brush prose dealing with native dimwits, “Foreign Policy: From Innocence to Engagement,” in Arthur M. Schlesinger and Morton White’s Paths of American Thought (1963), pp. 293-308 [302-3]. The Revenge of Geography conveys to me the increasing feeling of an epistemological retreat, a kind of cognitive withdrawal symptom, a “closing of the American mind,” if you wish. The U.S. does not hold much sway. I recall Moynihan’s pithy comment that is also significant here: “It has always seemed interesting to me that never in the long history of the American republic have we occupied the role of what Lewis Feuer calls the “nation of conscience” for the intellectuals of the world (Daniel Patrick Moynihan: A Portrait in Letters of an American Visionary (2010), edited by Steven R. Weisman, p. 106). The Revenge of Geography does not even try to reverse the charge coming from the former liberal Irish senator of the native state of our writer. Hence, the feeble attempt to put Central Europe as the cosmopolitan ideal model and toleration pinnacle when it is the Asian portion of Eurasia that matters most. But Kaplan surrounds himself mostly with McNeill, Hodgson, Braudel and Mackinder. The latter fails him a little, “he [goes] soft in supporting “Wilsonian” (sic, in quotation marks in the original) principles of national self-determination” (p. 75). Kaplan’s language says it all in the choice of adjective –what’s less manly?— apropos the dismissive tone appertaining to national sovereignty, the theoretical principle of the United Nations, unmentioned in The Revenge of Geography. What other principle would Kaplan uphold, perhaps confederations or new continentalisms? Kaplan repeats the Mackinder language of World Island (p. 77), but Mackinder was “deep down a liberal” failing in his “drift [was] towards Wilsonian principles” (p. 76).

down with usa


The first part of the book travels from Herodotus, receiving mere four pages, to come to nest –a bit too predictably?—in the immediate precedent of the “really bad guys,” the Nazi distortion of the crisis of room. This is the immediate negative historical precedent against whom almost everybody looks good by analogy. Kaplan is, and you would have predicted by now, closer to Bernard Lewis than Edward Said, the Kagans over Judith Butler’s modulated Hegelianism and red-alerts over analogical thinking over suffering. The Nazi impulse is “illegitimate geography” (p. 81) because it “annihilates the individual and replaces him with the vast racial multitude,” in what is a silly repudiation in favor of “the forces of good” (p. 82). Another exclusive club: Strausz Hupé, Haushofer, Mahan, and Mackinder and Nicholas J. Spykman, some of them expatriates of Northern European lands making a professional living in the U.S. in the years before and after the Third Reich (I insist on the suspicious invisibility of Carl Schmitt). This is the “realism” that Kaplan will die defending, and the best pages are, to me, chapters IV and V dealing with summaries of these individuals contemplating world maps setting up the conditions for U.S. supremacy (p. 92), squaring the circle, so to speak, for the conventional use in the U.S. of the sign “America” thus naturalizing imperialism and colonialism.



Hence, the New World, or the Western Hemisphere if you wish, is “American Mediterranean” (92ff) in Spykman and who doubts that such remains still to this day the conventional American imaginary of all things Latin American? Still, it is too close to the skin, too close for comfort. Latin America brings Third-World instability and mutation of conventional identity markers (Mexico is according to our interpreter a threat for the U.S., 189ff, p. 319, in the same way that China is not, p. 200, so this gives you an idea of the kind of identity threat that Kaplan is, following Huntington, contemplating). The bad things do come from the outside, like Hollywood blockbuster horror films, and the inside is all good and cosy and beautiful youthful bodies in bikini laughing and taking a plunge into the ocean where the bad shark lives. The Caribbean is, Kaplan reminds us, already part of the very fabric of American life, something like a cushion or defense mechanism,  and I am sure you will trust me if I say to you that The Revenge of Geography promises zero intelligence that could be called Latin. What is Latin is demography and big-number migration (p. 94). Another sign radically missing from these geopolitical mappings, “democracy.”



Flip a coin high in the sky and bet that “the entire earth is in play.” Kaplan reheats Spykman’s recreations of Mackinder’s Heartlands and Rimlands (one can think of parallels such as centers and peripheries in environments of historical sociology our author will not touch with a ten-foot pole, not to mention dependency theories). George Kennan’s containment theory is said to have both Spykmanesque and Mackinderesque feel (p. 97), and this is the last grand consensual Cold-War synthesis that is still lacking its post-Cold-War progeny (Huntingtonian clash of civilizations and Fukujama’s end of history may qualify as contenders). The baseline of world politics: North America and Eurasia, how colossal are the categories?, South America and Africa “achieve significance only in their relationship with the northern continents” (p. 101). The single unit of the World-Island breaks down into such continental dimensions pursuing naked political power. The U.S. is here, predictably, an “offshore balancer” (p. 223), referee, “liberal” judge of sorts, and North America is still the “most significant of the continental satellites” (p. 102), and the perceptive reader can quickly feel the slippage between geographic markers (island and continent, lands and seas, and feel free to ask your conventional Americans to reason out how many continents there are out there), and astronomical features (satellites and planets, stars and stripes and the glory of the sun). But if you remove the abstract center of national self-interest, Kaplan is blind to any other forces. Our author betrays no interest in idiographic textures embedded in ethnographic popular-culture approached perhaps seeking vigorous Canclinesque hybridities that could tie your tail to the big tree and get you all tangled up in blue or in a cat’s cradle of epistemic confusion that could then walk on all four legs towards other understandings, perhaps utopian. A repetition: how does Kaplan operate accordingly? Think big hulk and think squeeze. There is crisis of room and the big guys will have to go about some re-ordering with Eurasia, “huge area,” re-emerging as the hub to multi-polarity of competing centers, despite the concept being absent, “as they did during the Middle Ages following the break-up of the Roman Empire” (p. 128). Nothing else world-historical except this naked pursuit of power framed within nation-state conglomerates has the force to inspire the uninviting future envisioned by Kaplan. The past is no different and there is very little desirable “American” here. And there is Malthus and crowd psychology and you can already deduce how Kaplan will handle it.



Fourteen books are credited to Kaplan and I am the first one to be surprised that I have already read three in three different moments of my American peregrinations: An Empire Wilderness: Travels into America’s Future, Imperial Grunts: The American Military on the Ground and the one that concerns us today. My favorite is the one dealing with the U.S. I suppose that one reason why I keep paying attention to this type of popular Americana is the firm disposition not to sentimentalize its findings. Kaplan’s America is not love at first sight and he will be the first one to tell you what’s got love to do with any of this?, perhaps with an expletive or an imperial grunt. The Revenge of Geography will not bring your love an inch closer. You will not fall either for this version of Central Europa as cosmopolitan ideal, in a rather bizarre combination of Charlemagne, Low Countries, English channel and Holland –rim of the heartland that matters. It is a somewhat bizarre celebration of the Habsburg Empire of 1648-1913, and the sniff of militarism is always close to Kaplan, with or without  Iberian-and-American earlier half of the homonymous empire. There is maritime Europe and there is a continental one with a crush zone in between (p. 151). It is the crush zone that Kaplan wants you to inhabit. No love for detail of it either and no persistent infatuation with protagonists other than analysts coining the new academic discipline of geopolitics. America is nasty worlds away from becoming utopian for the rest of the world, but also for itself. Remember the previous, tremendous line by the liberal Irish senator from the Empire State who was followed up by Hilary Clinton: the U.S. represents zero intellectual ideal for the world, also this is coming from this anti-intellectual and anti-academic travel writer turning to foreign-affairs frames of immediate future endeavor.



Once we leave Europe behind, other units appear less gripping. These are foreign bodies crowding the planet and emphatically nothing emerges that will seduce you. Kazakhastan is Mackinder’s heartland (p. 184ff) and this is prime site for uranium, chromium, lead and zinc, manganese and copper, coal, iron and gold. Afghanistan, “geographical buffer,” is dealt with quickly in 245ff and you can imagine colorful balls on an awful lot of green of the billiards table.  Iran is “chasm of the millennium” and “civilization attractor” (p. 269): do you think anything desirable emerges out of such magnificence? Run the gamut of Turkey, China, India… I am reminded of the Henry James’ predicament exemplified at the end of one of his novels in which the male protagonist hits with the fists the walls surrounding the antique monastery inside which his beloved object of desire will be contained, incomprehensibly. How could anyone choose “old” over “modern”? This is fine-grain, eminently literary HenryJamesian sensibility to magnify disparities in chronological appreciations or spatial depreciations between Europe and the U.S. Magnify the existential drama, collectivize it and travel with such excess to imaginary places you have not yet seen. And which geographies to rescue and treasure according to The Revenge of Geography?


In the end I submit to you that this is a rather miserable vision of a rather miserable world, stretching like tasteless chewing gum from pharaonic Egypt to the Arab Spring, and the U.S. is radically no better, dim presence of imperial politics according to a few analysts, also sociologically on its way to becoming something else, perhaps something different, call it by the funny “Latin,” more mixed, more hybrid, perhaps in a gradual decline, perhaps even bilingual, and what else if not English and Spanish?, no more and no less than any other part and parcel of a new continentalism. Such utopia fails here to emerge seductively by our raw and crude American author who, it is safe to say, does not love with all the necessary philosophical love needed, geopolitically speaking as well.


Questions, comments?, fgh2173@gmail.com