HANDBOOK ON THE POLITICS OF SMALL

STATES
Handbook on the Politics of Small
States

Edited by
Godfrey Baldacchino
University of Malta, Malta
Anders Wivel
University of Copenhagen, Denmark

Cheltenham, UK • Northampton, MA, USA

© Godfrey Baldacchino and Anders Wivel 2020

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a

retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical or
photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher.

Published by
Edward Elgar Publishing Limited
The Lypiatts
15 Lansdown Road
Cheltenham
Glos GL50 2JA
UK

Edward Elgar Publishing, Inc.

William Pratt House
9 Dewey Court
Northampton
Massachusetts 01060
USA

A catalogue record for this book

is available from the British Library

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019954467

This book is available electronically in the

Social and Political Science subject collection
DOI 10.4337/9781788112932

ISBN 978 1 78811 292 5 (cased)

ISBN 978 1 78811 293 2 (eBook)
Contents

List of contributorsviii
Acknowledgementsxiii

PART I INTRODUCING SMALL STATES

1 Small states: concepts and theories 2

Godfrey Baldacchino and Anders Wivel

2 Small states: surviving, perishing and proliferating through history 20

Matthias Maass

3 Small states: politics and policies 38

Dag Anckar

4 Small states: public management and policy-making 55

Külli Sarapuu and Tiina Randma-Liiv

5 Small states: challenges of political economy 70

Godfrey Baldacchino

6 Small states: challenges and coping strategies in the UN

General Assembly 83
Diana Panke and Julia Gurol

PART II EUROPE

7 Small states in Europe 99

Anders Wivel

8 The Nordic states: keeping cool at the top? 113

Baldur Thorhallsson and Jóna Sólveig Elínardóttir

9 The non-identical Mediterranean island states: Cyprus and Malta 131

Roderick Pace

10 Politics of the four European microstates: Andorra,

Liechtenstein, Monaco and San Marino 150
Wouter P. Veenendaal

11 Small states in Europe as a buffer between East and West 168

Revecca Pedi

v
vi Handbook on the politics of small states

12 Small states of the Balkans: after Yugoslavia and its ‘third way’ 189
Stefano Bianchini

PART III MIDDLE EAST AND AFRICA

13 Mediation by small states: Norway and Sweden in the Israeli–

Palestinian conflict 207
Jacob Eriksson

14 Politics and economy in small African island states: comparing

Cabo Verde and São Tomé and Príncipe 222
Edalina Rodrigues Sanches and Gerhard Seibert

PART IV CENTRAL AND SOUTH AMERICA AND THE CARIBBEAN

15 Small states in Central America 242

Tom Long

16 The foreign policy of South American small powers in regional

and international politics 259
Leslie E. Wehner

17 Island versus region: the politics of small states in the Caribbean 278
Godfrey Baldacchino

PART V ASIA AND THE PACIFIC

18 Small states in post-Soviet Central Asia: navigating between

two great power neighbours 294
Flemming Splidsboel Hansen

19 Enlarging Singapore’s foreign policy: becoming intermediary

for diplomacy, transportation and information 311
Alan Chong

20 Small states, China and the South China Sea 329

Leszek Buszynski

21 Small states in the Pacific 343

Jack Corbett and John Connell

PART VI BEYOND SOVEREIGNTY? SEMI/

NON-SOVEREIGN SMALL STATES AND TERRITORIES

22 Small, subnational jurisdictions 362

Gerard Prinsen
 Contents vii

23 Exploring de facto state agency: negotiation power, international

engagement and patronage 379
Eiki Berg and Kristel Vits

24 Protodiplomacy: sub-state diplomacy and wannabe states 395

David Criekemans

Index411
Contributors

Dag Anckar is Professor Emeritus of Political Science at Åbo Akademi University,

Åbo/Turku, Finland. His research interests include public administration, small state
governance and the behaviour of political parties, with a special focus on small states.
His books include Liberalism, democracy and political culture in Finland (1983),
Essays on democratic theory (edited with Erkki Berndtson) (1984) and Rationality
and legitimacy: essays on political theory (co-edited with Hannu Nurmi and Matti
Wiberg) (1988). He served as President of the Nordic and Finnish Associations of
Political Science, and has been awarded Honorary Doctorates from the University of
Uppsala (Sweden) and the University of Turku (Finland).
Godfrey Baldacchino is Professor of Sociology at the Università ta’ Malta, Malta
(the world’s tenth smallest country, by land area). He also served as Canada Research
Chair (2003–2013) and UNESCO co-Chair (2016–2020) at the University of Prince
Edward Island, Canada. He is the (co-)author or (co-)editor of 45 books and 140
book chapters and journal articles, some of which explore the characteristics of
small (often island) states and territories. Since 2018, he is the executive editor of the
online journal Small States & Territories.
Eiki Berg is Professor of International Relations at the University of Tartu,
Estonia. He has published widely on bordering practices, identity politics, power
sharing in post-conflict settings and de facto states. During 2003–2004, he served
as a member of the Estonian Parliament and observer to the European Parliament.
In 2012, he received the National Science Award in the field of Social Sciences for
research on identities, conflicting self-determination and de facto states.
Stefano Bianchini is Professor of East European Politics and History at the University
of Bologna, Italy. He is Rector’s delegate for relations with Eastern Europe. As an
expert of Balkan issues, he has (co-)edited 36 books and some 150 articles in Italian,
French, English and other languages. He was an adviser to the International Criminal
Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY) in The Hague. He is the Executive Editor
of the journal Southeastern Europe. His latest book is Liquid nationalism and state
partitions in Europe (2017).
Leszek Buszynski is Visiting Fellow with the Strategic and Defence Studies Centre
at the Australian National University, Canberra, Australia. He previously served as
Professor of International Relations at the International University of Japan, and
Lecturer at the National University of Singapore. He has published widely on Asia
Pacific security issues and is co-editor of the Routledge book series on Asia Pacific
Security.

viii
 Contributors ix

Alan Chong is Associate Professor at the S. Rajaratnam School of International

Studies, Nanyang Technological University, Singapore. He has published on the
notion of soft power and the role of ideas in constructing the international relations
of Singapore and Asia. His articles have appeared in Contemporary Southeast Asia,
Pacific Review, International Relations of the Asia-Pacific, Asian Survey, Review
of International Studies, Cambridge Review of International Affairs and Armed
Forces & Society. He is the author of Foreign policy in global information space:
actualizing soft power (2007) and editor of International Security in the Asia Pacific:
Transcending ASEAN towards transitional polycentrism (2018).
John Connell is Professor of Geography at the University of Sydney, Australia.
His research interests include rural development, migration, decolonization and
nationalism, especially in the Pacific. He has published widely on the challenges
facing small (and mainly island) developing states. His books include Islands at risk?
Environments, economies and contemporary change (2013).
Jack Corbett is Professor of Politics at the University of Southampton, United
Kingdom. He is the (co-)author or (co-)editor of 6 books and some 60 book chap-
ters and journal articles, some of which explore the characteristics of small (often
island) states and territories. Since 2018, he is the Book Reviews Editor of the online
journal Small States & Territories. He is co-author (with Wouter Veenendaal) of the
book Democracy in small states: persisting against all odds (2017).
David Criekemans is Associate Professor of International Relations at the University
of Antwerp, Belgium and part-time Assistant Professor at University College
Roosevelt, The Netherlands and the Geneva Institute of Geopolitics, Switzerland.
His research interests include sub-state diplomacy, federalisation and comparative
regional foreign policy. He is the editor of Regional sub-state diplomacy today
(2010).
Jóna Sólveig Elínardóttir is former Member of Parliament (during which time she
served as Deputy Speaker and Chair of the Foreign Affairs Committee) and a Senior
Adviser with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Government of Iceland. Her areas of
expertise include international politics, international relations theory, Nordic studies
and European Union Studies. She has taught study units about the power potential of
small states in the European Union at the University of Iceland, Reykjavik, Iceland.
Jacob Eriksson is the Al Tajir Lecturer in Post-war Recovery Studies at the
University of York, United Kingdom. His research interests include conflict res-
olution, the Israeli–Palestinian conflict, Middle Eastern politics and security and
post-war recovery. His publications include Small-state mediation in international
conflicts: diplomacy and negotiation in Israel-Palestine (2015).
Julia Gurol is a Research Associate and Lecturer at the Chair for Multilevel
Governance at the Albert-Ludwigs-University of Freiburg, and Research Fellow at
the Centre for Applied Research in Partnership with the Orient (CARPO) in Bonn,
x Handbook on the politics of small states

both in Germany. Her research focuses on EU–China relations and European foreign
policy.
Flemming Splidsboel Hansen is Senior Researcher in International Security at
the Danish Institute for International Studies, Copenhagen, Denmark. His research
interests include Russian domestic and foreign policy, Russian national identity,
Ukraine, Belarus, the CIS, the Caucasus, Central Asia, EU Eastern Partnership,
NATO, OSCE, the Arctic, sanctions and intelligence work. His work has appeared in
such journals as International Politics, Europe-Asia Studies, Security Dialogue and
European Security.
Tom Long is Associate Professor of International Relations at the University of
Warwick, United Kingdom, and an Affiliate Professor at the Centro de Investigación
y Docencia Económicas in Mexico. He is author of Latin America confronts the
United States: asymmetry and influence (2015). He has published widely on small
states and Latin American international relations. His work has featured in such
journals as International Security, International Studies Review and International
Affairs.
Matthias Maass is Associate Professor of International Relations at the Graduate
School of International Studies, Yonsei University, Seoul, Korea. He previously
held professorial positions in Singapore, Hawai’i, France and Vietnam. His areas
of expertise include small states and security in Northeast Asia. He is the author of
the book Small states in world politics: the story of small state survival, 1648–2016
(2018).
Roderick Pace is Professor of International Relations and European Studies at the
Università ta’ Malta, Malta. His interests span Euro-Mediterranean relations, small
states, southern European politics and Malta’s relations with the European Union.
He has authored several book chapters, journal articles, monographs and co-edited
works. He is a member of the editorial board of the journal South European Society
and Politics.
Diana Panke is Professor of Political Science with a Chair in ‘multi-level govern-
ance’ at the University of Freiburg, Germany. She has published several monographs
and some 50 journal articles on topics that include international negotiations,
international norms, multilateral diplomacy, comparative regionalism, the design of
international organizations, small states in international affairs, governance beyond
the nation-state and European Union politics.
Revecca Pedi is Assistant Professor in International Relations at the University
of Macedonia, Thessaloniki, Greece, where she runs the Annual Workshop on the
International Relations of Small States. Her research interests focus on neoclassical
realism, the international relations of small states, and entrepreneurship in inter-
national relations. Her writings have appeared in international edited volumes and
journals, including Political Studies Review.
 Contributors xi

Gerard Prinsen is Senior Lecturer in Development Studies at Massey University,

New Zealand. His areas of research include a focus on the relationships between
(former) colonial metropoles and their far-flung ‘sub-national island jurisdictions’.
Matters of identity and public policy negotiations are central to his interest in an
emerging ‘Islandian sovereignty’ on these islands.
Tiina Randma-Liiv is Professor of Public Policy and Vice-Dean for Research at
Tallinn University of Technology, Estonia. She is the author of some 80 journal arti-
cles and book chapters, and (co-)author of two monographs. Her research interests
include governance of small states, comparative public management, civil service
reforms, the impact of fiscal crisis on public administration and transitional public
administration.
Edalina Rodrigues Sanches is Research Fellow in Political Science at Instituto de
Ciências Sociais, Universidade de Lisboa, Portugal. Her research interests include
democratization, political institutions, elections, parties and party systems, with
a focus on Africa. Her work has appeared in Parliamentary Affairs, International
Politics, Electoral Studies and Acta Politica. She is the author of Party systems in
young democracies: varieties of institutionalization in sub-Saharan Africa (2018).
Külli Sarapuu is Associate Professor at Tallinn University of Technology,
Estonia. Her research interests include public sector coordination, governance of
public organizations, and the civil service and public administration in small states.
Her work has appeared in several edited volumes as well as in Public Management
Review, International Review of Administrative Sciences and the International
Journal of Public Administration. She co-edited (with Per Lægreid, Lise Rykkja and
Tiina Randma-Liiv) Organizing for coordination in the public sector: practices and
lessons from 12 European countries (2014).
Gerhard Seibert is Associate Professor of Anthropology at Universidade da
Integração Internacional da Lusofonia Afro-Brasileira (UNILAB), São Francisco
do Conde, Bahia, Brazil. He is the author of various book chapters and journal arti-
cles. He is the author of Comrades, clients and cousins: colonialism, socialism and
democratization in São Tomé and Príncipe (2006) and co-editor of Brazil–Africa
relations: historical dimensions and contemporary engagements (2019).
Baldur Thorhallsson is Professor of Political Science and Jean Monnet Chair in
European Studies at the University of Iceland, Reykjavik, Iceland, where he helped
set up the Centre for Small State Studies. His research interests deal primarily
with small state studies, European integration, Icelandic politics and Iceland’s
foreign policy. His books include The role of small states in the European Union
(2000), Iceland and European integration: on the edge (2004) and Small states
and shelter theory: Iceland’s external affairs (2018).
Wouter P. Veenendaal is Assistant Professor in Political Science at Leiden
University, the Netherlands. He previously worked at the Royal Netherlands Institute
for Southeast Asian and Caribbean Studies (KITLV), where he studied the six Dutch
xii Handbook on the politics of small states

Caribbean islands as part of the NWO-sponsored project Confronting Caribbean

Challenges. In 2016, he acquired a NWO Veni-grant for his research project When
things get personal: explaining political stability in small states (2017–2020).
Veenendaal’s research focuses on politics and democracy in small states. He is
co-author (with Jack Corbett) of the book Democracy in small states: persisting
against all odds (2017).
Kristel Vits is Doctoral Researcher in International Relations at the University of
Tartu, Estonia. Her research interests include bordering practices, identity politics,
secessionism, power-sharing in post-conflict settings and de facto states, especially
the latter’s relations with their patron state. Her work has appeared in Ethnopolitics
(co-authored with Eiki Berg).
Leslie E. Wehner is Reader in Foreign Policy Analysis at the University of Bath,
United Kingdom. He was previously Senior Research Fellow at the German Institute
of Global and Area Studies, Hamburg (2012–2014). His research interests include
role theory in foreign policy analysis, international political economy, emerging
powers (BRICS), foreign policies of Latin American states, and regional coopera-
tion in Latin America. His articles have appeared in the Bulletin of Latin American
Research, Cambridge Review of International Affairs, Foreign Policy Analysis,
International Studies Review, International Politics and the Journal of International
Relations and Development.
Anders Wivel is Professor with special responsibilities in the Department of
Political Science, University of Copenhagen, Denmark. His research interests
include power politics, small state foreign policy and European and Scandinavian
politics. His recent publications include articles in European Security, International
Studies Review and Global Affairs as well as two books, The Routledge handbook
of Scandinavian politics (2018, co-edited with Peter Nedergaard) and International
institutions and power politics: bridging the divide (2019, co-edited with T. V. Paul).
Acknowledgements

Recent years have witnessed a surge of interest in the politics of small states. The
euphoria of a hegemonic USA and one effective global superpower that followed
the collapse of the Berlin Wall in 1989 was short-lived: had that order come to pass,
all the other states in the world could have been easily considered small. But the
last three recent decades have instead been characterized by a search for political
and economic models that needed to fit a more complex, dynamic, turbulent and
uncertain environment riven by new and serious challenges: organized terrorism,
mass migration, failed states, financial collapse, tax evasion, populism, Brexit. In
this context, political leaders from some of the strongest powers have pointed out
and lauded the virtues of small states: these include social cohesion, pragmatic
decision-making and the ability to ‘punch above their weight’. At the same time,
many small states were struggling to secure not just economic prosperity and social
stability but also a measured voice in international fora after advancing to political
independence and sovereignty, often after many decades of colonial rule, or as parts
of the now-collapsed USSR and Yugoslavia. Consequently, the study of the politics
of small states has been reinvigorated with a vengeance. This has resulted in the
launch of a new online academic journal, Small States & Territories, in 2018 and
a growing number of academic articles, monographs and books on various aspects of
the topic, albeit often with a narrow focus on one or a very few states.
The ambition of this book is to engage critically with the politics of small states,
while wary and cognizant of the contemporary state of international relations. We
add to the existing literature on the subject by providing systematic yet detailed
discussions and analyses of small state politics around the world. The book presents
a ‘state of the art’, global examination of small state politics, while also critically
engaging with dogmas, stereotypes and preconceptions about these small states. The
results of such a grand review suggest that small states share a number of domestic
and international challenges, but they then vary considerably in their capacity to
meet, and how to best handle, these challenges. Based on the documented analyses,
the book draws a number of lessons for understanding and conducting small state
politics.
We would like to thank Alex Pettifer, Editorial Director at Edward Elgar, who con-
ceived the idea of a handbook on the politics of small states and encouraged us to take
on its editorial responsibilities. Alex and his staff offered timely assistance and a con-
structive dialogue on the content and form of the book from the initial stage of putting
together a book prospect until the final stages of creating a coherent manuscript. Our
authors greeted our invitation to contribute to the book with great enthusiasm, allow-
ing us to put together a very strong team of young talent and established scholars. We

xiii
xiv Handbook on the politics of small states

trust that the results will be of value to those researching, teaching and learning about
small states as well as to those engaged in small states policy and politics.
Finally, a note on the choice of the book’s cover. We opted for this graphic since
it suggests that the small state is considered, and may consider itself, as a powerless
and insignificant pawn in the regional or global chess game of international relations.
And yet, the long shadow of a rook suggests that small states can surprise and break
out of this mould of hackneyed expectations.
Godfrey Baldacchino and Anders Wivel
Valletta and Copenhagen, August, 2019
 PART I

INTRODUCING SMALL
STATES
1. Small states: concepts and theories
Godfrey Baldacchino and Anders Wivel

INTRODUCTION

Small states are more visible and prominent than at any other point of world history
(Hey, 2003, p. 1). The combined effect of the collapse of empires, the rise of nation-
alism and the strengthening of an institutional international architecture, including
a widening of the respect and rule of law, since the end of the Second World War
has served as a vehicle for the proliferation of small sovereign states. As noted by
Neumann and Gstöhl (2006, p. 3), “small states are simply too numerous and – some-
times individually, but certainly collectively – too important to ignore”. This volume
offers a timely, rich and systematic review of the politics of small states. The authors
assess the opportunities as well as the challenges of small state politics and discuss
problems of marginalization and the strategies that small states deploy in order to
influence the fate of their own societies and that of regional and global affairs.
For many of these small states, their fundamental problématique has been trans-
formed. Their physical security and territorial integrity is rarely threatened as it was
in the past (Løvold, 2004), and ‘extantism’ – once a state, always a state – is alive
and well in the twenty-first century (Bartmann, 2002, p. 366): the last attempt to
‘eliminate’ a state was probably the invasion, and subsequent annexation, of Kuwait
as the nineteenth province of Iraq in August 1990. And yet, at the same time, the
political action space of small states has been restricted in both domestic politics and
international affairs. Globalization has proven to be a double-edged sword for small
states allowing most of them to boost trade and avoid poverty, but at the same time
increasing vulnerabilities and dependency for many as a consequence of unconven-
tional security risks stemming from mass migration, terrorism, money laundering and
environmental degradation (Bailes, Rickli, and Thorhallsson, 2014). The increasing
number, complexity and detail of international institutions have helped to level the
playing field in international affairs by allowing small states a bigger voice and more
platforms and arenas where to seek influence; but this development has also restricted
their autonomy and applied more pressure on their limited and thinly-stretched dip-
lomatic and administrative resources.
The central aim of this book is to identify the most important characteristics,
challenges and opportunities facing the politics of small states today. We identify the
historical legacy and explanatory factors influencing small state politics and unpack
the costs and benefits of different models for doing politics in small states. The book
seeks to answer three general questions: What are the characteristics of the politics of
small states? What are the major opportunities and challenges of policy-making and
policy implementation in small states? How do small states respond to these oppor-
2
 Small states: concepts and theories 3

tunities and challenges? Furthermore, the coherence of the volume is underpinned

by a temporal focus on the present and recent past (10–20 years), with a historical
contextualization provided only when this is relevant for understanding current small
state politics.
The aim of this chapter is to set the scene for the book. We do so in five stages.
First, we tackle the perennial problem of defining what we mean by a ‘small state’.
While this topic seems to have taken up an excessive amount of space in the literature
on small states, we seek a functional and pragmatic definition that allows us to fulfil
the aim of the book: to analyse the politics of small states. Second, we start from
this definition to draw the contours of the political space inhabited by small states
by identifying three dilemmas of small state politics in order to briefly identify some
of the challenges that these states share because they are small. The third section
explains the structure of the book, while the fourth section sums up the major find-
ings of the book and draws lessons from the analyses of the book to identify a number
of promising future research trajectories on the politics of small states before the
chapter is concluded.

WHAT IS A SMALL STATE? WHY DOES IT MATTER?

There exists no consensus definition of small states and the borderlines between such
categories as ‘micro state’, ‘small state’ and ‘middle power’ are usually blurred and
arbitrary (Mouritzen and Wivel, 2005; Raadschelders, 1992). The lack of a consensus
definition is not a problem tied exclusively to the study of the politics of small states.
In any case, and certainly in the social sciences, consensus on how to define central
concepts is rare, and disagreement over how to understand central concepts such as
democracy or power has not – and should not – stop us from studying these important
aspects of world politics, just as much as it should not hinder us from studying small
states (Amstrup, 1976; Baldacchino, 2018). However, debates on how to define and
categorize small states have played an excessively dominant role in the study of small
states for the past 50 years. On the one hand, these debates have created a “funda-
mental definitional ambiguity”, which “has hindered theory building [and] compli-
cated comparison” (Long, 2017, p. 144). On the other hand, definitional discussions
have provided a fertile ground for a pluralist study of small states and a continuing
discussion of the meaning and consequences of smallness for doing politics (Maass,
2009). In that sense, the study of small states can even be viewed as avant-garde by
preceding and foregrounding more recent discussions on the virtues of eclecticism,
and the benefits of mid-level analysis addressing specific and important real-world
problems over grand theorizing (Lake, 2013; Sil and Katzenstein, 2011).
Despite the fogginess of the small state concept, few people question that small
states exist or that small states share a number of challenges (Archer, Bailes
and Wivel, 2014; Baldacchino, 2018; Cooper and Shaw, 2009; Knudsen, 2002).
However, the lack of a consensus definition necessitates a brief discussion about how
we define ‘small state’ in this book, and why we make this choice. While we reject
4 Handbook on the politics of small states

any attempt at an essentialist, universal definition of small states, we acknowledge

that definitions do matter. The manner in which we define small states has both
analytical and political implications. As noted by Christopher Browning, “size has
generally been connected to capability and influence. Whilst being big is correlated
with power, being small has been viewed as a handicap to state action, and even
survival” (Browning, 2006, p. 669).
The literature on small states includes many definitions of small size; but this
corpus can be largely distilled into three, ideal-type definitions.

Ideal-Type 1: ‘Non-Great’ Powers

First, the simplest way of defining small states is to see them as those states that are
not great powers. This ideal-type corresponds well to how a small state is understood
in political discourse in most countries, and it has deep historical roots. Traditionally,
small states and great powers played very different roles in international relations.
During the European Concert (1815–1914), all states except Austria, Prussia, Russia,
the United Kingdom and France were small states. The great powers took respon-
sibility for maintaining stability and writing international law, while small states
were the rule takers, free of systemic responsibility, but at the same time suffering
from a limited political action space, particularly when it came to foreign relations
(Neumann and Gstöhl, 2006, pp. 2–5). More recently, permanent membership of
the United Nations (UN) Security Council, possession of nuclear weapons, or the
deployment of an aircraft carrier have been used as thresholds for great power status
(e.g. Handel, 1990, p. 12; Cooper and Scobell, 2014). However, this would relegate
Germany to the status of a non-great power, since it has none of these. In contrast,
France would be a great power: it has nuclear weapons, an aircraft carrier as well as
a permanent seat at the UN Security Council.

Problems with this definition

And yet, would not this be a rather counter-intuitive classification after the recent
power shifts in Europe, and including ‘Brexit’, leaving Germany with close to
hegemonic status in both economic and political affairs? Likewise, countries such as
Spain and Turkey have been viewed as non-great powers (Fox, 1959, 1969). Krause
and Singer simply propose a list of nine great powers in overlapping intervals of
international world history since 1816: Austria-Hungary, China, France, Germany/
Prussia, Italy/Sardinia, Japan, Russia/USSR, the United Kingdom and the United
States, and which they claim to identify according to “scholarly consensus” (Krause
and Singer, 2001, p. 15). Alternatively, small states may be viewed as those states
that are neither great powers, nor consistently striving for middle power status, but
this still leaves a small state as a residual category (Neumann and Gstöhl, 2006,
pp. 5–6). In sum, neither a great power, nor a small state in the world today, are as
self-evident as in the nineteenth century. By characterizing small states as ‘not great
powers’, ‘small states’ become a residual or leftover group, which at the same time –
paradoxically – constitutes the large majority of states in the world.
 Small states: concepts and theories 5

Ideal-Type 2: Material Assessment

The second ideal-type focuses on the absolute or relative material capabilities of

small states. Small states are states lacking power capabilities, most notably military
capability (Rickli and Almezaini, 2017, pp. 9–10) and, as noted by Handel, this
resource is related to population size: “[h]istorically, the single most important yard-
stick for the measurement of military power has been the population size of a given
state” (Handel, 1990, p. 13). Military capability permits a projection of state power
beyond its territory; it creates the potential for military actions with or against other
states; and builds domestic defensive capability or deterrent in case of invasion or
attack. Some small states, recognizing their clear inability to project military force,
have opted to dismantle their armed forces, or abandon their formation, whittling
down their security forces to basic and humanitarian, ‘search and rescue’ operative
teams (Bartmann, 2007, p. 299). This definition allows us to identify absolute and
relative limitations to small states’ capacity to handle different types of challenges
and to create a clear and easily applicable definition of small states, i.e. get a more
clear-cut definition than when defining small states as ‘not great powers’.

Problems with this definition

However, defining small in terms of capabilities, i.e. the possession of power
resources in absolute or relative terms, suffers from at least two challenges. First,
where is the cut-off point between those that are small states and those that are not?
For instance, while the World Bank identifies a population of 1.5 million as the
threshold, others venture as high as 16 million (e.g. the Netherlands in the EU) or
25 million (e.g. Madagascar in Africa) (World Bank, 2017; Marriott, 1943; Molis,
2006). Likewise, why would we rank, say, the three, five or seven states in Africa
with the largest population or GDP as ‘great powers’ and relegate the rest of that
continent’s states to the category of ‘small states’? Second, which absolute or rela-
tive criteria should be used for determining which states are small: gross domestic
product (GDP), resident population size, defence expenditure, or something else?
The diminishing return of military conquest over the past century has altered which
capabilities are important for any state, and small states in developing countries often
have larger populations than economically advanced small states in Europe and East
Asia (Vital, 1967). Moreover, a focus on material power resources typically leads
to a focus on military security, because material resources are so closely coupled to
the military survival of the state (Wivel, Bailes and Archer, 2014, p. 7). Even human
and economic resources tend to be regarded as ‘latent power’ providing the base for
the military superstructure (Mearsheimer, 2014). This is less useful to the aims of
this volume, which seek to understand the politics of small states, and not just their
alliance choices, military expeditions and/or defence policies.
6 Handbook on the politics of small states

Ideal-Type 3: Political Constructs

The third ideal-type views the small state as a political construct. To paraphrase
Alexander Wendt (1992), size is what small states make of it. According to this view,
‘small states’ are constructed by the perceptions and preferences of the people and
institutions of the small state as well as of other states (Thorhallsson, 2006, 2012).
This allows us to decouple the concept of small states from materialist, national
security considerations, which follow from the power possession definition. Thereby,
it potentially provides an optimistic contrast to the rather pessimistic prospects for
small state politics as defensively focused on survival and security.

Problems with this definition

Nevertheless, and for all its attraction, were this definition to stand alone, it would
also risk overemphasizing the freedom of action and opportunities of small states,
turning a blind eye to the inequalities between small states and great powers and
between different types of small states. Thus, for a rich, stable and democratic (albeit
small) NATO member state such as Norway (population: 5.2 million), opportunities
may abound; but for Lebanon, Liberia or Jordan, or even fellow NATO member
state Estonia, the challenges emerging from limited capacity and power asymmetry,
including turbulent geopolitical neighbourhoods, may be both real and acute.

FOR A SYNTHETIC DEFINITION

Given the limitations of each of these three ideal-types, it is no surprise that there
have been various attempts at creating a blended definition of a small state, combin-
ing ‘objective’ material criteria with the perceptions and constructions of domestic
and foreign elites (Archer and Nugent, 2002; Värynen, 1971). While these combina-
tions allow more nuanced definitions of small states to be proposed, they also run the
risk of importing the multiple weaknesses of the ideal-type definitions into a new and
more complicated designation. Therefore, we take a different route towards a work-
able definition for analysing the politics of small states.
First, our starting point is that small states are states. In accordance with modern
customary law and the 1933 Montevideo Convention, small states must have
a defined territory, a permanent population and a government in control, and are
willing to participate in international relations (Maass, 2017, pp. 21–22). Thus, small
states are legally sovereign, but their actual autonomy may vary. This volume takes
legally sovereign states as its point of departure and primary object of study. It uses
legal sovereignty as a baseline when embarking on analyses and discussions on var-
iations of the autonomy of territories and regions.
Second, rather than trying to arrive at a universal definition of what constitutes
a small state across time and space, we accept as our starting point that being a small
state is tied to “a specific spatio-temporal context” (Thorhallsson and Wivel, 2006,
p. 654). From this point of departure, it makes little sense to define small states
 Small states: concepts and theories 7

according to a specific population or other absolute or relative criteria and then apply
that definition through time and space.
This leads us to a pragmatic working definition identifying two characteristics
of small states and serving as a point of departure for the analyses of this volume.
First, small states are states that are characterized by the limited capacity of their
political, economic and administrative systems. For this reason, they are prone to
experience reduced competition and a monopolistic or oligopolistic arrangement in
the marketplace of ideas, in the economy as well as the race for political and admin-
istrative office (Armstrong et al., 1993; Murray, 1981). However, they are also well
positioned for enjoying the benefits of informality, intense personalization and a less
hierarchical society (Baldacchino and Veenendaal, 2018; Baldersheim and Keating,
2015; Corbett and Veenendaal, 2018; Thorhallsson, 2019). Consequently, this
volume explores the political effects of limited capacity and the structural distortions
of ‘free markets’ and ‘perfect competition’ in small states.
Additionally, small states typically find themselves as “the weaker part in an
asymmetric relationship, unable to change the nature or functioning of the relation-
ship on [their] own” (Wivel, Bailes and Archer, 2014, p. 9) as well as “stuck with
the power configuration and its institutional expression, no matter what their specific
relation to it is” at both the regional and global level (Mouritzen and Wivel, 2005,
p. 4). Thus, in external relations, the consequences of limited capacity are exacer-
bated by power asymmetry, leaving small states to struggle with being price and
policy takers overall: with being hard put to manage security threats; with limited
diplomatic power when seeking to influence international negotiations and institu-
tions; with a chronic openness to international trade regimes; and with a vulnerability
to various other external, economic or environmental shocks (Armstrong and Read,
2002; Briguglio, 1995; Cooper and Shaw, 2009; Thorhallsson and Steinsson, 2017;
Värynen, 1971). And so, this volume also explores the effects of power asymmetry
for small states.

THREE DILEMMAS OF SMALL STATE POLITICS

The number of small states has waxed and waned over the centuries. Although it is
a common assertion that the number of small states is now at a highpoint in world
history, this is actually not the case (Maass, 2017, pp. 34–36). Counting from the
end of the Thirty Years War in Central Europe (1618–1648) and the Treaties of
Westphalia – the yardstick most often used for signifying the beginning of the
modern state system – the number of ‘small states’ – defined as structurally irrelevant
units of the states system (Maass, 2017, p. 18) – fell from more than 430 to around
approximately 150 today.1 This was due to a combination of successive wars in

1
In his database, Maass categorizes all states for every year since 1648, identifying both
the absolute number of small states and the ratio of small states to large states in the system.
8 Handbook on the politics of small states

Europe and development of military technologies, making it increasingly difficult for

small and autonomous political entities to defend themselves; as well as the voluntary
or forced amalgamation of smaller political entities to compose larger states, most
importantly Germany and Italy, often with strident appeals to nationalism (Wimmer,
2012).
To many contemporary observers, the first half of the twentieth century – includ-
ing two world wars and a significant increase in the destructive arsenal of great
powers – heralded the comprehensive demise of the small state altogether. As noted
by Annette Baker Fox in her classic study of the power of small states, “[d]uring
World War II, it was widely asserted that the day of the small power was over. Not
only could such a state have no security under modern conditions of war; it could
have no future in the peace that presumably one day would follow” (Fox, 1959, p. 1).
However, the end of the Second World War also marked the end of the downward
trend in the global number of small states, which has since risen by approximately
100, most importantly as a consequence of the demise of empires and the strengthen-
ing of the norm of national self-determination. In 1946, Iceland became the smallest
member of the United Nations (UN), with a population of 300,000. Today, 23 UN
member states each have a resident population smaller than Iceland; and, of the 193
UN member states, more than 100 participate in the informal grouping, titled the
Forum of Small States (FOSS), initiated by Singapore in 1992 (Kassim, 2012; see
also Iceland UN Mission, 2008).
The politics of small states has changed radically over the past two centuries, cre-
ating new challenges and opportunities. In particular, we can identify three pressing
dilemmas in small state politics.

The Nationalist/Cosmopolitan Dilemma

Since the mid-nineteenth century, nationalism has played a central role in the cre-
ation of new small states, the lingering of old small states (as with the European
continental microstates) and occasionally in the (voluntary or involuntary) demise
of small states integrated into larger entities: think Zanzibar, Somaliland or South
Yemen. This is true for nineteenth- and twentieth-century small state perseverance
in the face of the threat of domination and annexation from great powers, as well as
in the small states created by decolonization and post-Cold War geopolitics. Yet, for
small states, nationalism is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it is a necessary
condition for the survival of small states, creating a unifying socio-cultural fabric
and a historical narrative which legitimates the state and unites people under one flag
(Anderson, 2006). On the other hand, small states have a strong interest in containing
and delegitimizing the irredentist exercise of national interests by the great powers as
this may threaten their action space or even their very survival (e.g. Paci, 2015). They
tend to do so by championing cosmopolitanism and eschewing isolationist policies
(unless forced to do so: think Cuba and Taiwan). Moreover, with the dramatic seces-
sion of Tuvalu from already small Kiribati, or of Anguilla from small St Kitts-Nevis,
it seems that no state is small enough to prevent internal fission and fragmentation
 Small states: concepts and theories 9

(Clarke, 1971; McIntyre, 2012). Thus, small states face a dilemma between promot-
ing the national values and characteristics of their own societies at home in order to
secure a strong base for national policy-making; and promoting cosmopolitan values
internationally to curb encroaching nationalist challenges peddled by outsiders.

The Democratization/Group Think Dilemma

Democratization has transformed the politics of small states (Corbett and Veenendaal,
2018). Small states are sometimes viewed as more democratic than larger states,
because small size typically means a short distance between the population and the
political elite, and because small states are viewed as more coherent political commu-
nities than larger states (Ott, 2000; Richards, 1982; Srebrnik, 2004). However, this is
not necessarily the case. Smallness can usher in a lack of pluralism, reduced choice
and significant social pressures to conform to dominant ‘codes’ (Baldacchino, 2012;
Dahl and Tufte, 1973). Even in the Nordic countries – well known for their tightly
knit political communities and egalitarian and consensus seeking polities – divisions
between highly educated city elites and rural areas feeling left behind are evident;
and have become manifest in the current wave of populist politics. Moreover, small
states are prone to small and tightly knit political and economic elites without suffi-
cient counterbalancing coalitions, enhancing the risk of ‘group think’ (Janis, 1982),
lack of innovation, but also corruption and personalized politics (Corbett, 2015;
Corbett and Veenendaal, 2018).

The Influence/Autonomy Dilemma

The intertwined increase in interdependence and interaction capacity – the capacity

for communication, transportation and organization (Buzan, 1993, p. 331) – from the
early nineteenth century and onwards has changed the conditions for policy-making
within small states as well as the conditions for small state external relations. The
invention and subsequent proliferation of transport and communications technol-
ogies, including the airplane, the Internet and the World Wide Web, as well as
developments in weapons technology leading to a massive increase in the destructive
power of the great powers and their ability to fight wars far from home, mean that the
threats and opportunities of small states are no longer confined to their geopolitical
vicinity, as was the case for the first centuries of the modern state system. Moreover,
these developments have been accompanied by an increase in the organizational
capacity of the world system and the collapse of progress in multilateral trade agree-
ments, crafting the ‘spaghetti bowl’ character of a ‘new regionalism’ with multiple
overlapping agreements (Alter and Meunier, 2009; Menon, 2014). For small states,
these developments have contributed to the reduction of interstate warfare since the
end of the Second World War, thereby reducing the traditional survival problem of
most small states. However, small states now face a more acute dilemma between
policies aimed at maximizing autarchy and national autonomy versus policies
10 Handbook on the politics of small states

seeking to secure international influence; even though small states do not have much
choice but to follow the winds of economic liberalism.
The study of small states has grappled with these dilemmas and their effects on
small state politics, leading to both optimistic and pessimistic assessments about
the present and future opportunities for small states, and their ability to successfully
develop their societies. The ambition of this volume is neither to parade small
states as sophisticated examples of ‘best practice’, nor to shame them as dysfunc-
tional trouble makers. That would be naively simplistic, unfair and incorrect. At
least to some extent, both gloomy and rosy valuations have often been a function
of case selection (Wivel, 2016, pp. 93–95). Instead, our ambition is to combine
a state-of-the-art overview of small state politics with cutting edge analyses of the
present and future opportunities and challenges of small states. The next section
explains how we structure the book in order to fulfil this ambition.

THE STRUCTURE OF THE BOOK

The book is organized into six parts. Part I sets the scene and discusses the fundamen-
tals of small state politics. This first chapter develops a framework for the subsequent
analyses and underpins the analytical coherence of the book by identifying a shared
starting point for how to understand what we mean by a small state by positing the
three fundamental dilemmas of small state politics. This chapter is followed by
chapters on small states in world history, the characteristics of politics and policies of
small states, the public administration of small states, the political economy of small
states and small states in the UN.
The following four parts each explore small state politics within a specific geo-
graphical region: Europe, the Middle East and Africa, Central and South America
and the Caribbean, and Asia and the Pacific. The final section of the book shifts
focus from sovereign small states to semi/non-sovereign small states and territories.
For these five sections, analytical coherence is assured, with all authors relating to
a shared set of analytical questions: What are the most important domestic charac-
teristics of these states as small states (e.g. social policy, economic policy, political
dynamics and public administrative issues)? What are the most important interna-
tional characteristics of these states as small states (e.g. relations with great/regional
powers, participation in regional/international forums)? How do these small states
confirm and/or defy our expectations of small states (as vulnerable targets, policy
recipients, weak players, etc.)? What are the most important challenges facing these
small states, and how do these challenges align with, or relate to, their small size?
How do these small states seek to meet, handle and/or overcome these challenges?
 Small states: concepts and theories 11

MAIN FINDINGS AND FUTURE RESEARCH

TRAJECTORIES

This volume illustrates the diversity of small states: from poor post-colonial island
states of Africa and the Pacific, to the dynamic entrepôt of Singapore in Asia, to
resilient and rich democracies in Europe. However, despite their self-evident diver-
sity, taken together the contributions to this volume allow us to identify at least three
shared characteristics of small states today.

Capacity and Capabilities Matter

The politics of small states are restrained by limited capacity and capabilities. The
chapters of this volume show that limited capacity and capability have an absolute
dimension, a relative dimension and a relational dimension. First, the public admin-
istration, politics and political economy of small states all suffer from absolute
limitations in capacity and capabilities (Anckar, 2020; Baldacchino, 2020a; Sarapuu
and Randma-Liiv, 2020). Limited competition, personal relations and a small mar-
ketplace for ideas as well as commodities creates challenges for economic growth,
democratic accountability and administrative efficiency. These challenges are often
magnified when small states deal bilaterally with stronger powers or seek to influ-
ence international society more generally. They have limited diplomatic capacity and
their limited economic and military capabilities places them in a weak negotiation
position, especially when there is a real threat of economic or military sanctions.
Even in relatively safe spaces such as the UN or the EU, small state policies begin
from a position of relative weakness that may be either ameliorated or exacerbated
by their relations with middle and great powers. Consequently, as shown particu-
larly in the chapters dealing with small states in the UN (Panke and Gurol, 2020),
the Nordic countries (Thorhallsson and Elínardóttír, 2020) and Singapore (Chong,
2020), the willingness and ability of small states to think out and implement coping
strategies somehow compensates for their material weakness. The contributions to
this book show that small states may actively use their status as small (and therefore
non-threatening) as a starting point for influence-seeking in ways that are charac-
terized by caution, flexibility, consensus-seeking and coalition-building, preferably
within an institutional setting that presumes some basic rules of the game, and
sheltering against the most aggressive types of great power behaviour and security.

Institutions Make a Difference

This points to a second shared characteristic of small states. The right design and man-
agement of domestic and international institutions help small states to better face and
manoeuvre the challenges ensuing from limited capacity and capabilities. This hand-
book’s analyses of small states in South America (Wehner, 2020), Central America
(Long, 2020), Central Asia (Hansen, 2020), East Asia (Buszynski, 2020; Chong, 2020)
and Africa (Sanches and Seibert, 2020), as well as the small island and archipelagic
12 Handbook on the politics of small states

developing states in the Caribbean (Baldacchino, 2020b) and the Pacific (Corbett and
Connell, 2020), illustrate how political leadership becomes decisive in cases of weak
political institutions. In contrast, strong domestic institutions in Western Europe have
underpinned democratic accountability and administrative effectiveness; they have
served as points of departure for Nordic influence and nation branding (Thorhallsson
and Elínardóttír, 2020). Rather than the rational design of visionary policy-makers,
this is the outcome of century-long political developments including an idiosyncratic
mix of war, nationalism, social-democracy and liberal democratic ideology and the
willingness and ability to absorb these developments and pragmatically adapt to the
role of a small state with limited action space, both domestically and in international
affairs. A particular set of institutional characteristics pertain to semi/non-sovereign
small states and territories (Berg and Vits, 2020; Criekemans, 2020; Prinsen, 2020).
Politics in these small territories is often even more personalized than in sovereign
small states. Furthermore, politics is sometimes additionally challenged by geograph-
ical dispersion, as many of these entities are islands and archipelagos. Wannabe states
are logically challenged by their desire to get something (sovereignty), which they are
unlikely to get; but some of them have developed ingenious coping strategies, based
on cooperation between regional and national, political and administrative levels.
Moreover, where they operate within the purview of a larger, often richer, patron state,
non-sovereign small states and entities are often more flexible and less vulnerable
than sovereign small states and can afford to worry less about security risks. In their
institutional set-up, de facto states tend to mimic sovereign states, but various paradip-
lomatic initiatives such as representation offices, cultural centres or trade offices and
ties between civil societies tend to matter more.
Internationally, institutions provide shelter against external shocks as well as plat-
forms for influence. The UN has underpinned the development and galvanization of
the norm of self-determination. It offers influence for small states willing and able to
prioritize diplomatic resources, working through regional groups and actively using
persuasion strategies to convince third parties (Panke and Gurol, 2020). In Europe,
the EU and NATO continue as venues for great power politics as well as shelters and
platforms for small states seeking to maximize their interests and influence (Wivel,
2020). In Central Asia, the institutional landscape is relatively densely populated,
but institutions such the dying Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS), the
EurAsian Economic Union (EAEU), the Collective Security Treaty Organization
(CSTO) and the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation (SCO) remain weak and with
little independent power or influence (Hansen 2020). In East Asia, ASEAN is at
the same time a vehicle for China to assert its claims on the South China Sea onto
the participating small states, but at the same time a venue for these small states to
occasionally voice their concerns (Buszynski, 2020).

History Creates a Strong Precedence

Finally, the current political challenges and opportunities of small states are very
much the product of history (Masss, 2020). This is most evident in Andorra,
 Small states: concepts and theories 13

Liechtenstein, Monaco and San Marino: four European microstates which have
political institutions more akin to those common in Europe in the Middle Ages or
the Renaissance (Veenendaal, 2020). Also, the relatively late colonization of the
Pacific small states results in the persistence of ‘pre-modern’ and indigenous cultures
and traditions, such as the absence of political parties and institutionalized party
systems (Corbett and Connell, 2020). The comparative analysis of Malta and Cyprus
is illustrative in showing how small island states in the same geopolitical neighbour-
hood can follow very different historically contingent paths of political and societal
development (Pace, 2020). Small states in Africa in particular continue to bear the
costs of a past as colonies. Meanwhile, in contrast, some West European small
states – Austria, Belgium, Denmark, Greece, Portugal – were themselves, at some
point in their history, colonial or imperial centres. In Central and Eastern Europe,
a Communist past continues to influence political culture and institutions. In the
Balkans, the added experience of the violent break-up of Yugoslavia left the newly
created small states in very different positions, in terms of both domestic politics and
future access to membership of EU and NATO (Bianchini, 2020). In addition, recent
years have seen a ‘return of history’ with great powers, Russia and China, empha-
sizing their right to spheres of interest thereby challenging small states in the South
China Sea area (Buszynski, 2020), Central Asia (Hansen, 2020) and Eastern Europe
and reintroducing the concept of the buffer state (Pedi, 2020).
This handbook’s authors also strongly suggest that small states can actively artic-
ulate and/or reconstruct their history in useful ways. Singapore and the Nordic coun-
tries are examples of states using their past history in present politics to create strong
international brands. These brands are typically rooted in political and strategic
cultures such as Swedish and Norwegian cultures of peace and engagement, which
has allowed them to take on the role of peace mediators, e.g. in the Israeli–Palestinian
conflict (Eriksson, 2020).

New Research Agendas

Our conclusions point to at least two avenues for future research relating the results of
this handbook to contemporary scholarly debates. First, a recent wave of scholarship
explores the nature and effect of relationality in world politics (e.g. Chamberlain,
2016; Long, 2017; Womack, 2016). This literature shows how “[p]ower asymmetries
that favour the stronger state are often combined with asymmetries that favour the
weaker one: disparities in intensity of interests, externalities with regard to other rela-
tionships, and information about the workings of the other state” (Musgrave, 2019,
p. 285). The contributions to this volume show how small states pursue a selection
of coping strategies to compensate for material weakness, including allying with
other small states or stronger powers, prioritizing resources and organizing smartly.
However, the extent to which these strategies allow small states to ‘punch above their
weight’ varies considerably. Previous research has shown that, in times of war, it is
the combination of small state and great power strategies in asymmetric conflicts that
is decisive for the success of small states (Arreguin-Toft, 2005). The analyses of this
14 Handbook on the politics of small states

volume point to the importance of domestic and regional institutions as well as the
historical legacy of the state and its relations with other states. They show also that
material weakness can be a strategic asset, allowing small states – as well as semi-
and non-sovereign small territories – a bigger action space and easier access to politi-
cal, economic and political shelter. Future research would benefit from exploring this
relationship between history, institutions and absolute and relative material capacity
and capabilities in explaining small state success in asymmetric relationships.
Second, the contributions to this volume add to our knowledge about the relation-
ship between power politics and international institutions. Power politics and inter-
national institutions have often been studied separately and analysed as opposites,
with institutions viewed as a remedy for or antidote to power politics. However,
recent research has explored more complex relationships, seeking to understand
how power politics shapes institutional change and innovation at the same time as
institutions create and limit the action space for particular types of power politics
(Wivel and Paul, 2019). The analyses of this volume suggest how small states are no
less focused on maximizing interests and power than great powers have traditionally
been. However, their influence is typically negotiated and embedded in international
institutions. Future research could profitably explore how these insights add to the
growing understanding of how small states seek shelter in multilateral and bilat-
eral relationships (Thorhallsson, 2019) and seek to maximize status in attempts to
increase security and influence (de Carvalho and Neumann, 2014).

CONCLUSION

“Small states are rarely problematic, except to themselves. The drama that unfolds
within is rarely enough to generate outsider interest” (Baldacchino, 2018, p. 4). Small
states mostly achieve attention from great powers and the international community,
when they are perceived as potentially dangerous or in acute need of aid. However,
the contributions to this volume show that small states are illustrative of both the dos
and the don’ts of politics. Their citizens may not be amused; but smallness and weak-
ness often make such states quaint and interesting laboratories for the representation
of political success or fiasco: being represented as resilient or vulnerable to the
effects of climate change is an apt contemporary example of this trend (Gay, 2014).
We seek to usurp such nagging parochialism and stereotyping associated with
small states as ‘banana republics’ by offering more scientific and evidence-based
discussions of their general characteristics, challenges and opportunities. We activate
these general insights in analyses of the politics of small states around the world. The
contributions challenge the orthodoxy of those idealizing the small state as well as
those viewing small states as inconsequential at best and nuisances to world politics
at worst. Small states today may remain restrained by limited capacity and capabil-
ities in pursuing their domestic and international ambitions and are stuck as weak
actors in asymmetric relationships, creating dependency and threatening their values
 Small states: concepts and theories 15

and interests. However, they also benefit from being weak, since this allows them
a bigger action space and success in pursuing coping strategies.

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2. Small states: surviving, perishing and
proliferating through history
Matthias Maass

INTRODUCTION: SMALL STATE HISTORY AS

A STRUGGLE TO SURVIVE

Singapore’s founding father and long-time leader, Lee Kuan Yew, understood well
the connection between small state ‘survival’ and its ‘relevancy’, emphasizing that
“[w]e must make ourselves relevant so that other countries have an interest in our
continued survival and prosperity as a sovereign and independent nation” (Guo and
Woo, 2016, p. 29). This story of small state survival in a world that is hostile and does
not much care about any one small state’s fate is the analytical focus of this chapter.
The argument is built on a historical observation: over the course of modern world
history, the small state’s fortune has changed more than once. The small state’s
fate since about the mid-seventeenth century is one of survival by the hundreds, of
perishing and rapid decline to barely three dozen cases, and then the remarkable
proliferation, back to about 150 small states, in recent times.
When looked at from the historian’s perspective, the picture that emerges is one of
the small state as a security taker. Only rarely can a small state shape its own security
to an extent that provides true safety and guarantees survival. Instead, small state
security and states’ chances to survive are determined first and foremost by the state
system in which they exist, as history underlines. In the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries, the pluri-lateral arrangement of the European balance of power allowed
for a remarkable survival rate of hundreds of small states. The nineteenth century’s
system of a great power oligopoly, however, was detrimental to small state security
and survival. The bipolarity of the Cold War was the framework for unprecedented
small state proliferation. Beyond the system’s structure, the history of the small
state was further shaped by nationalism, integrative at times, disintegrative at others,
in the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries, by the emergence and hardening of
self-determination during the twentieth century, and the powerful assertion of decol-
onization in the twentieth century’s second half. The system’s structure, plus at times
equally impactful political dynamics, have together been making up the environment
in which the small state’s history of termination, survival and proliferation has been
played out. The same categories of factors still shape the present and likely future of
small state survival. This is, in a nutshell, the main argument of this chapter.
But why bother with the history of small states in the first place? On the one hand,
International Relations theory has been constructed without much concern for the
small state. As Waltz (1979, pp. 72–73) put it: “[I]t would be . . . ridiculous to con-

20
 Small states: surviving, perishing and proliferating through history 21

struct a theory of international politics on Malaysia and Costa Rica.” Similarly, world
affairs and the world’s political history are generally told as the stories of the large
and the strong. Theory, research, news or reporting have generally had little to say
about the small state. The argument here is that these narratives are not necessarily
wrong, but incomplete. The story of the small state not only enriches but actually
completes our understanding of international affairs. Put differently, world history is
in part – in critical part – also the history of the small state and its saga of surviving,
perishing and proliferating. After all, the observation that Africa contains “the small
states upon which the ‘great’ powers act” (Dunn and Shaw, 2001, p. 3) is as valid as
Waltz’s dismissal of Malaysia and Costa Rica. Thus, the goal here is to ‘mainstream’
the small state in discourses on world affairs, past, present and future (Baldacchino,
2018).
After setting out the definitional and temporal stages, this investigation proceeds
chronologically. The exploration of the small state’s fate in the later seventeenth and
in the eighteenth centuries is followed by an inquiry into the small states’ increas-
ingly complex but also growingly supportive security environment of the twentieth
century, the Cold War, the immediate post-Cold War, and an outlook on the current
and likely future security environment in which small states may find themselves.

LOCATING THE SMALL STATE IN STATE SYSTEMS,

WORLD HISTORY AND WORLD POLITICS

Placing the small state in ‘world history’, as the chapter’s title states, combines
abstraction with the disciplines of History and Geography. The focus is on the small
state as a category or particular ‘type’ of state, not only on individual cases or groups
of small states. The perspective adopted here prioritizes the international history of
the current state system; and the focus is on the history since the hardening of the
current state system in the mid-seventeenth century.
Today’s modern state system is unique but certainly not the only state system
known in history. Watson (1992) distinguishes between three such systems: (1) the
“ancient state systems” (Sumer, Assyria, Persia, Classical Greece, Macedonia, India,
China, Rome, Byzantium and the Islamic system); (2) the evolution of a European
international society (Medieval Europe, Renaissance Italy, the Renaissance era in
Europe, Habsburg’s bid for hegemony, the 1648 Westphalian order, the Age of
Reason and balance, European expansion, the Napoleonic empire, and collective
hegemony); and (3) a global international society (Westphalia again, the worldwide
expansion of the hardened European system, the collapse of European nation-state
domination, the age of superpowers and decolonization, and the contemporary inter-
national society as the “heir of the past” (Watson, 1992).
All the above systems contained states of different sizes; but the story of the
small state in its contemporary form begins in the seventeenth century, with the
Westphalian state system. Earlier systems knew of weak, little and small states but,
with the Westphalian order, ‘statehood’ was reinvented around sovereignty and
22 Handbook on the politics of small states

equality of states, and not just around autonomy, and on equality, not hierarchy. Of
course, small states remained weak in terms of power, were little and lacking signif-
icance in the state system, and stayed small in material dimensions. But, from now
on, small states were ‘more equal’ regarding rights and privileges, were governing
themselves independently, and were as sovereign as larger states.
All the above is not to deny the self-imposed geographical, cultural and historical
boundaries and related challenges that come with framing this issue within the
context of the Westphalian state system, the politics it generated, and the theoriza-
tion it stimulated (Dunn, 2001). Instead, the argument is that the Westphalian states
system that emerged in the seventeenth century evolved over 350 years and remains
the foundation of today’s international system of states; it is different and distinct
enough to warrant its own investigation and thus frames the following study of the
small state.

A HISTORY OF SMALL STATE DEATH, SURVIVAL AND

PROLIFERATION

The story of ‘small states in world history’ starts in the middle of the seventeenth
century in Europe. There, the so-called Westphalian states system emerged and pro-
duced the blueprint for the modern sovereign state in a system of equally independent
and territorial states. This is not to deny other regions’ historical experiences with
‘international’ organizing of peoples. However, the clearest lineage of today’s inter-
national world is traced from what evolved in seventeenth-century Europe. Since
then, small states have been part and parcel of the states system. This study is focused
on their thriving in the system over time. The focus here is on their well-being in its
extreme forms, state death and state creation. Survival has particular immediacy for
the small state because only rarely can a small and weak state ensure its own survival,
given its limited capacities. Moreover, the small state is structurally easily dispos-
able, and its termination does not change the system noticeably. Niccolò Machiavelli
(1985 [1532]) understood this very well, emphasizing the need for the prince to pri-
oritize his principality’s survival over anything else. In short, survival must constitute
the top priority for the small state. Thus, it is the pivotal concern in the study below.
Ultimately, it is their struggle to survive that characterizes the history of small
states. Over the last 370 years, small states have experienced vast changes in numbers
– both up and down – indicating the historical changes in the security environment
in which they have been operating. This holds true for the absolute number of small
states, as well as for their numbers relative to all larger states. In other words, the fate
of the small state over time can be seen in the changes in their absolute numbers, and
confirmation comes from corresponding changes in their share of all states, large and
small. And this history of the small state over time has been shaped by the systemic
environments and their varying permissiveness to small and weak state survival
(Maass, 2017a, 2017b). The small state’s history of survival has been playing out
in a handful of distinct eras. And these eras are a critical part of the explanatory
 Small states: surviving, perishing and proliferating through history 23

narrative of small state survival over time. As such, they will be used to structure the
discussion below.
The age of the fairly unrestrained balance-of-power system, from the mid-1700s
to the end of the eighteenth century, was followed by the so-called concert system of
the nineteenth century. During the 1800s, small states found themselves in a system
where the great powers maintained an oligopoly over the balance of power, and
later they also had to face the new force of nationalism. In the twentieth century,
the history of small state survival was shaped by the evolving strength of collective
security and defence, norms and laws, as well major shifts in polarity. A right to
self-determination and the illegality of war began to harden, accompanied by decol-
onization in the century’s second half, all helping with small state creation. The Cold
War era’s hostile bipolarity offered further protection. More recently, small states
experienced the support and protection of a unipolar post-Cold War era. However,
today’s re-emergence of pluri-polarity – with a handful of superpowers - appears to
bring along new security challenges to small states.

SYSTEMIC IRRELEVANCY: CAPTURING THE ESSENCE

OF THE SMALL STATE THROUGH TIME

The question of how to define the small state remains important but has proven
difficult and is not necessarily clarified by extending it back in time (Maass, 2009).
However, ‘powerlessness’ has been a historically constant feature, whether viewed
in absolute, relative or relational terms (Baldacchino and Wivel, Chapter 1 this
volume). As small Singapore’s former leader Lee Kuan Yew remarked: “[S]mall
countries have little power to alter the region, let alone the world” (Guo and Woo,
2016, p. 29).
In light of Lee’s observation and this study’s systemic orientation, the correspond-
ing definitional understanding of the small state adopted here is of a systemically
irrelevant state. Such a small state has no significance for the overall structure of the
state system in which it exists (Maass, 2017b). This is not to challenge its right to
existence, its contribution to world society, or its place in the community of states.
‘Irrelevance’ is meant strictly in the sense of systemic impact. Such a definition is
sufficiently generalized to work seamlessly across time. Key features of the world
order, critical to states and statehood, have been changing: from world population
to the globalization of trade; with them, the perspectives on and of small states have
been changing as well. However, the individual irrelevance of the small state to the
overall structure of the system has remained in place across time.
In a similar vein, prominent theories of IR claim that, when all is said and done,
small states do not count for much in international politics. Wight (1978, pp. 65–66),
of the English School, has observed that small states have had really “no role” in
world affairs and attributes this to their systematic marginalization. And neoliberal
Keohane (1969) suggests a four-tiered hierarchy of states, ranked according to their
relevance to the system’s structure; and small states come at the very bottom, given
24 Handbook on the politics of small states

their systemic ineffectiveness (Keohane, 1969, pp. 292–297). By implication, the

structural realism of Waltz and Mearsheimer makes a similar argument (Waltz 1979;
Mearsheimer 2001). Its theoretical discourses are focused sharply on great powers
and thus ignore small states intentionally (Waltz, 1979, p. 72). Because small states
make no difference structurally, they are secondary at best to the great powers, which
shape the system. Whether the small state’s definition is lifted from praxis or theory,
ultimately it stems from its irrelevance in and to the system of states.

SMALL STATES IN WORLD HISTORY: THEIR STORY OF

SURVIVAL

Small State Survival in the Era of Laissez-Faire Balance of Power, Seventeenth

and Eighteenth Centuries

Going against the grain of immediate, common-sense assumptions, the historic era
of unbridled balance-of-power politics turned out to be rather permissive to small
state survival. The rivalries and jealousies of the greater powers regularly allowed
small states to seek and secure protection from one powerful state in order to ward
off ambitions or threats from another.
From the mid-seventeenth century, when the Thirty Years War came to a close, to
the end of the eighteenth century, when the French Revolution broke out, the number
of all larger, non-small states remained constant at just under 20 units (Maass,
2017c). The overall structure of the state system during this era of the laissez-faire
balance of power did not change much. This state system included hundreds of small
states and, although their numbers eroded consistently over the next 140 years, they
survived in historically large numbers. Over 420 small states existed when the Peace
of Westphalia was concluded in 1648; just over 340 small states still existed when the
French Revolution started in 1789 (Maass, 2017c).This loss of 80 small states was no
minor change, to be sure; but the vast majority of small states survived, and managed
to do so while brute power politics reigned supreme and the balance of power was
largely unrestrained by norms and laws.

Small States Bandwagoning in France’s Proto-Hegemony

The Peace of Westphalia in 1648 had assigned sovereignty and equality in principle
and before the law to all states, irrespective of size. Now, small states were chal-
lenged to master their security autonomously, too. But, to do so, they had to confront
the effects of an unbalanced power scenario: France was on the rise and, especially
under King Louis XIV and until his death in 1715, it pursued an expansionist policy
along the River Rhine (Nussbaum, 1953, pp. 174–175). There, small states were easy
targets. In 1681, for example, France annexed Strasbourg – until then a Free City
under the umbrella of the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation – and quickly
integrated it into the French state. Such annexations were disturbing but not enough
 Small states: surviving, perishing and proliferating through history 25

for other major powers to counteract French expansion. As a result, no counterbal-

ancing act, norm or law was there to protect small states within France’s reach.
Without access to the balance of power’s dynamics, small states were left to band-
wagon. If they submitted to France, they could at least hope to keep their autonomy,
however limited, in return. The game was to “serve France” yet without becoming
French (Stoye, 2000, p. 199). The predicament of small states, even beyond the River
Rhine, was summarized by Brandenburg Elector, Frederick William, who stated that
“no prince will henceforth find security and advantage except in the friendship and
alliance of the King of France” (Nussbaum, 1953, p. 171).

Small State Survival in a Balanced Equilibrium of Powers

Fortunately for the small states, France’s early upper hand did not persist. Instead, it
deteriorated in the eighteenth century’s second decade and left most of the century
to an even equilibrium. Proper maintenance of this re-calibrated balance of power
was the primary ordering principle of international politics throughout most of the
eighteenth century. With sovereign states in a fairly unencumbered system, national
security and state survival became top priorities for all states (Kissinger, 1995,
pp. 71–75). In this revived balance of power, small states quickly regained options
to bandwagon.
Early in the seventeenth century, the balance of power was already recognized
as critical to state security. The 1713 Treaty of Utrecht spoke of a “‘just balance
of power’” (Sheehan, 1996, p. 16), making it part-and-parcel of this “‘system of
Utrecht’” (Sheehan, 1996, p. 76; Osiander, 1994, pp. 90–165). Maintaining such
a fair equilibrium was expected among the major states. Since small states were not
‘weights on the scale’ to be kept in balance, their security was indirectly bolstered
through the balance of power.
Small states did relatively well during the largely unbridled era of the balance of
power. After the Peace of Utrecht, about 50 small states were lost before the French
Revolution triggered their mass termination at the end of this era (Maass, 2017c).
With 340 small and 19 large members, the states system was still largely populated
by small states, even at its end in the early 1790s. Moreover, the eight decades of
laissez-faire balance of power had seen a steady but measured decline in the number
of small states, and no rush of annexations and incorporations of small states by great
powers.
The modest loss of small states in this era was due largely to the core dynamics of
the extant balance of power system. Small states could lean on larger states to counter
threats to the former by highlighting the strategic danger that such threats posed to
the larger states themselves. The finely tuned European equilibrium protected many
small states as well: not directly and openly, but indirectly through the counterbal-
ancing of great and middle power rivals.
Initially, the constellation was part dynastic, part power equilibrium, with Austria,
Great Britain and the Dutch Republic opposed by France and Spain (Anderson, 1961,
p. 163). By mid-century, the system abandoned the dynastic tradition completely,
26 Handbook on the politics of small states

with the so-called Diplomatic Revolution of 1756. In this era’s balance of power,
any European state, large and small, was free to steer a course that looked only at the
European equilibrium.
The one thing that all larger states wanted to prevent was another state’s hegem-
ony. What Louis XIV had almost achieved and what Napoleon Bonaparte would
achieve for a brief period of time, was the one thing to be avoided at all cost, includ-
ing war. And as long as properly followed, this dynamic also generated a significant
degree of security for the small state. The more the larger states eyed each other with
suspicion, the more they looked jealously at each other’s ambitions, the more they
saw each other as rivals, the more opportunities opened up for small states to seek
and secure protection. Thus, the story of the small state during the era of the classic
laissez-faire balance of power is one of survival in large numbers.

France’s Hegemonic Moment and the Transition to the Concert System

During the Napoleonic era, the balance of power was levered out, and the small states
were the first to suffer. Many vanished forever. In 1791, on the eve of the French
Revolution, nearly 340 small states existed; by 1812, at the height of Napoleonic
power and imperial extension, only 75 were left. First, the attraction of populist
nationalism and then Napoleon Bonaparte’s military genius and imperial designs led
to the mass termination of small states. For a moment, France held all the trump cards
and the European balance of power was effectively neutralized. As a result, small
states had no state, mechanism or structure to appeal to for security. Few managed
to switch to bandwagoning quickly enough. As a result, small states were easily
mopped up by the French empire and its client states.
Worse yet, when the logic of the balance of power finally overcame France mil-
itarily in 1814/15, small states were not rehabilitated at a level even remotely close
to the level prior to the Napoleonic era. And with the long-term termination of over
250 small states at the turn of the century, the state system, too, had changed. It had
featured a ratio of 18 small states for every one larger state before the rise of France;
it had changed to a ratio of less than four small states to every larger state by 1812.
The large-scale termination of small states during Napoleon’s hegemonic moment
was reverted, however, after his defeat in 1814/15.

Small State Death during the Nineteenth Century: A Collective Hegemony of

the Great Powers

Not only did small state numbers not recover after French hegemony was beaten
back, but they fell much further during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.
The so-called concert system of this era was in many ways toxic to the small state.
Great powers were running international affairs as an oligopoly and thus small states
could not rely on one great power to hold the other in check.
There was only a minor recovery in the number of small states with the Treaty of
Vienna in 1815 and peace between France and the countering alliance; and a further
 Small states: surviving, perishing and proliferating through history 27

modest rise in the number of small states to nearly 100 by 1840; but the numbers
would drop again. With the unifications of Italy and Germany, just over 50 small
states were left. But the decline continued. The historic low of the number of small
states was reached in 1904, with only 35 left. The states system, too, had changed,
and was now characterized by an unprecedented 1.35 ratio of small and larger states.
And, until the outbreak of the First World War in 1914 and the violent end of the
nineteenth-century era of the European concert system, the small states number had
risen only marginally, to 42. Historically speaking and viewing small state security
through the changes in their numbers, the nineteenth century of collective hegemony
of the great powers was by far the worst environment for the small state.

The Nineteenth Century Concert System’s Inhospitality to the Small State

The post-Napoleonic system was essentially a “great power tutelage over the rest of
Europe” (Elrod, 1976, p. 164). The great powers would form a management circle,
cooperating in running international affairs as they saw fit. As the century proceeded,
however, great power cooperation transitioned into rivalries and enmities. Either
way, the self-declared concert states ran international affairs as an oligopoly of priv-
ileged, great powers.
Small states had no voice in this system’s creation, lacked a role in its implementa-
tion, and held no meaningful place in its operation. The nineteenth century was an era
of the great power and the small state was systematically sidelined. For their security,
small states could not count on much external help.
Unsurprisingly then, the era of the concert system already began as a major dis-
appointment for the small state. No honest, meaningful effort was made to restore
the large numbers of small states that had disappeared under Napoleon (Schulz,
2009, pp. 47–48). Formerly independent Venice was given to Austria, for example.
Belgium was denied separation from the Netherlands to better keep France in check.
In the new era, small states were seen by the great powers as secondary in their great
game and thus undeserving of restoration or protection.
Decisions about small state survival or termination were made by the victorious
powers alone, without input by or concern for the affected small states. Small states
were thus not only seen as second tier political tier, they barely escaped a legal
downgrading of their sovereign equality. Worse yet, a Zeitgeist that heralded larger,
muscular units, in business and politics in particular, worked against the small state.
Increasingly, the small state was seen as petty, outdated, incompatible with moder-
nity, and a hindrance to large and ‘masculine’ nation-states that were evolving in
Western Europe, North America, and later Italy and Germany.
Notable exceptions to the sidelining of small states were the German Confederation
and South and Central American independence movements. Regarding the former,
35 small German states (along with two great and two middle powers) came together
to collectively oppose any future French threats. For the small states, this translated
into enhanced security. First, as a bloc, they constituted more than the sum of its
parts. The German Confederation gained structural relevance and thus a rationale to
28 Handbook on the politics of small states

keep and protect. Second, with Austria and Prussia both involved, the small states
could count on their rivalry to protect them from aggression.
In Latin America, independence movements had sprung up already before the turn
of the century. European colonizers’ grip was declining rapidly. The US was assert-
ing a policy of keeping rising European powers from extending any influence over
the Western hemisphere epitomized by the 1823 Monroe Doctrine. In this environ-
ment, new small states could emerge. Bolivia, Ecuador, Peru and Uruguay secured
their formal independence in the 1820s (Nicolson, 1989, pp. 272–273).
Globally, however, European colonialism and imperialism, later joined by the
US and Japan, prevented the emergence of more small states, especially in Africa.
Instead of ‘exporting’ the Westphalian model of the sovereign states and allowing the
creation of (large and) small states worldwide, Western colonialism and imperialism
took control of territories across the globe and ran them as subordinated lands. Many
of today’s small states were forced to endure colonization and suppressed autonomy
throughout the nineteenth century.

From Bad to Worse: The Post-Crimean War System and Small State Exodus

At the latest after the Crimean War of 1853–56, the concert system deteriorated
rapidly. For the small states, things got worse. Any restraint implied in collectively
managing international affairs, any prioritization of stability over national egotism
of the great powers, vanished. In this environment, small states could not count on
great powers’ animosities to hold them in check. Instead, small states could be used
easily as quick and easy fixes to great power disputes (Maass, 2017a). Thus, in 1860,
France felt slighted when Sardinia was allowed expansion. The solution was French
annexation of Savoy and Nice.
Now, small states’ sovereignty was easily and willingly ignored and sacrificed in
the name of overall stability. Put differently, small states were readily instrumental-
ized for structural stability among the European great powers. In their eyes and in
their practice, small state security and survival were a distant second to the manage-
ment of great power aggrandizement and desire to expand.
Without the opportunity to trigger early counterbalancing for their security,
small states had no choice but to bandwagon again. At the beginning of the 1880s,
Romania had little faith in Russian and Austria-Hungarian regional ambitions can-
celling each other out. Instead, Romania opted to bandwagon with the stronger side,
Austria-Hungary. In this scenario, without the opportunity to gain security by trigger-
ing counterbalancing, only bandwagoning satisfied the “imperatives for immediate
security” of the small state (Rothstein, 1968, p. 214; Keohane, 1969, p. 295).
In some parts of the world, nationalism had helped with small state creation. In
others, however, small states fell victim by the dozen to new, integrative nation-
alism. On balance, many more small states were terminated in Italian and German
lands than were created in South America and Eastern Europe. Early in the 1860s,
Italy achieved national territorial unification, much at the expense of small states.
A decade later, Germany was united under Prussian leadership and here, too, a large
 Small states: surviving, perishing and proliferating through history 29

number of German small states lost their independence. Critical in both cases was the
maturation of nationalist narratives in which Italian and German particularism was to
be overcome. Small states appeared old, outdated, standing in the way of progress in
the form of the modern, vigorous and muscular great power nation-state.
In sum, the nineteenth century’s so-called concert system had declined from
willing cooperation among the great powers via reluctant coordination to a hostile
circle of ambitious great powers. However, their role as primus inter pares never
changed and small state security was dramatically undermined. In light of this, it
is not surprising that the number, both absolute and relative, of small states in the
international system of states reached historic lows, with 35 states and a 1.3 ratio to
larger states respectively in 1904. In this era, small states’ sovereign independence
was fundamentally challenged and avenues to enhance security at the structural level
vanished, making this international arena indeed a “very unattractive political world”
for the small state (Rothstein, 1968, p. 220).

Small State Survival and Proliferation in Twentieth- and Twenty-First

Century Systems of Shifting Polarity

The history of the small state in the twentieth century is one of a remarkable recovery
from a historic low. Since the Versailles Treaty that ended World War in 1918 and
again with the political and economic arrangements that followed the Second World
War after 1945, structures emerged and principles hardened that allowed for an
impressive revival of the number of small states. This is especially true for the Cold
War, when bipolarity kept two superpowers in check and when self-determination
and decolonization combined to unleash small state creation at rates never seen
before or since. In this sense, the Cold War proved to be a very attractive political
world, to rephrase Robert Rothstein’s quote above (Rothstein, 1968, p. 220).
The twentieth-century history of the small state needs to be subdivided into three
periods: (1) the Versailles settlement, (2) the Cold War, and (3) the long post-Cold
War period that has been giving way to a pluri-polar system only recently, during the
later 2010s. In these systems, small states have not only survived but proliferated.
Their numbers quickly returned to the levels prior to integrative nationalism and
plateaued far above nineteenth-century levels, at roughly one third of the seventeenth
century’s all-time high.
In 1914, the world entered its first global war with 42 small states, but ended
it with 54 already: an increase of around 28 per cent. During the interwar years,
a handful of small states were lost, and at the end of the Second World War, 50 small
states together with 28 larger states made up the international system of states. Both
numbers grew during the Cold War, but unevenly. By 1990, at the end of Cold War,
the state system contained 130 small states, 144 when the Eastern bloc fell apart,
and 150 exist in 2018. Put differently, the number of small states tripled in the seven
decades since the end of the Second World War. Today, at the end of the twenty-first
century’s second decade, these 150 small states exist together with 49 larger states.
Since the beginning of the Cold War in the mid-1940s, the relationship of small
30 Handbook on the politics of small states

versus larger states has changed remarkably, from a ratio of about 2:3 then to 1:3
today, making the second half of the twentieth century an era of particular small state
proliferation.

Small States and the Promise of Liberal Internationalism

Much of twentieth-century small state revival is due to the revolutionary changes

at the system level. First was Wilsonian idealism, an early attempt to implant
core pillars of liberal internationalism in the rapidly globalizing state system. US
President Woodrow Wilson pushed for his liberal agenda at the Paris peace negoti-
ations in 1919. His modern vision of the old philosophers’ “perpetual peace” (Kant,
1984 [1795]; Saint-Pierre, 1986 [1713]), a “permanent peace” (Wilson, 1917) of
equality among states large and small, and of collective security was tremendously
appealing to small states. Unsurprisingly, a good number of them joined the new
international organization, the League of Nations, which integrated and ‘personified’
these international transformations.
The creation of the League’s collective security arrangement “was a victory for the
smaller states” (Briggs, 1945, p. 669); or at least a stage win. It applied constraints on
power politics and enhanced small states’ broader security environment. The found-
ing principles of the League system – deterrence of aggression, collective action and
peaceful conflict resolution – matched the interests of small states to a fault. But
when the attention turned to the new arrangement’s effectiveness, it proved too ambi-
tious for its time. No other great power lent its full and honest support; and, in the
end, even the US abandoned the idea and decided against League membership. Thus,
after a modestly promising start of League-centred security during the 1920s, great
power aggression and expansion at the expense of the weak and the small returned
with a vengeance. In 1931, Japan continued its imperialist streak with the military
seizure of Manchuria and, in 1939, Germany coerced Western Europe’s great powers
into ceding small Czechoslovakia. The outbreak of the Second World War in the
same year killed off any remnants of collective security under the League of Nations.
Despite these major setbacks, norms and principles highly permissive to small
state security, survival and, ultimately, proliferation had been introduced at Versailles
and kept hardening afterwards. The first marker was set in 1928, with the ‘General
Treaty for Renunciation of War as an Instrument of National Policy’, the so-called
Kellogg-Briand Pact. Outlawing aggressive war was meaningless in the short term,
to be sure, but started to pay dividends as it hardened over the following decades.
Small and militarily weak states in particular benefit from an additional legal hurdle
to military threats. With the prohibition of aggressive war came the illegality of
forceful annexation, further enhancing small state security. These developments
led to the “waning of war” (Mueller, 1989) in the twentieth century’s second half.
Small states were the first to benefit from a norm that made military conquest and
outright occupation illegal, morally repugnant, and thus increasingly unlikely. The
growing illegality of state termination (Fazal, 2007, pp. 153–228) and the spread of
 Small states: surviving, perishing and proliferating through history 31

‘extantism’ (Bartmann, 2002) helped small states in particular to survive despite their
systematic shortcomings in traditional security.
At least as determinative to small state history in the twentieth century was the
further advance of self-determination since Versailles and its confluence with
decolonization. The peace settlement of 1919 already incorporated the principle of
self-determination, leading to small state creation in territories of defeated empires.
Later, during the Cold War, more empires fell apart and former colonies in the South
turned into sovereign states, mostly small states. The principles of self-determination
and decolonization, together with the revival of collective identities and creation of
new nationalisms in formerly dependent and occupied territories created a “logic of
national liberation” (Morgenthau, 1958, p. 173) that contributed significantly to the
international acceptance of new (small) states and the permissiveness of (small) state
creation during the twentieth century’s second half in particular.

The Cold War Environment and its Permissiveness to Small State Proliferation

With the end of the Second World War, the fortunes of the small state had turned and
a remarkable era of numerical recovery commenced. The “take-off” point (Rostow,
1956, 1990) for small state proliferation was reached as the post-war order emerged.
The take-off accelerated as the bipolar structure and superpower rivalry combined
with hardened legal norms and political standards. Thus emerged an international
environment highly permissive to small state security, survival and proliferation.
Part and parcel of an overall permissive international environment of the twen-
tieth century’s second half were its security arrangements. First, the successor to
the League of Nations, the United Nations, also embraced the promise of collective
security. Unfortunately, in between the two bookends at the beginning of the Cold
War and its end – the Korean War of 1950–1953 and the Gulf War of 1990–1991 –
collective security was largely neutralized by the two opposing superpowers’ veto
privilege at the UN Security Council. However, the second feature – collective
defence through two opposing, superpower-led alliances – guaranteed the survival of
even the smallest member state. Members of NATO or the Warsaw Pact, large and
small, had a full security guarantee against external threats from one of the nuclear
superpowers.
Even outside NATO and the Warsaw Pact, the bipolar system and superpower
rivalry provided high levels of protection to small states. The logic of a zero-sum
game meant that the challenge to even the smallest state could easily turn into an
extension of the two superpowers’ stand-off. Regular conflict, through direct super-
power involvement or as proxy wars were the violent result which, nevertheless, was
critical to overall small state security and survival. This could apply to small state
protection even in extreme cases. Thus, when Cuba was receiving nuclear-capable
missiles from the Soviet Union in 1962, open aggression and outright invasion was
avoided at all cost by the US, in spite of feeling directly threatened. Clearly, the ease
with which a great power could use force against a small state, so well described by
Thucydides (1972) and so often witnessed in the preceding seventeenth, eighteenth
32 Handbook on the politics of small states

and nineteenth centuries, had “waned” (Mueller, 2006). In the end, a negotiated
settlement left small Cuba’s sovereignty unchallenged.
Beyond traditional, hard security matters, small states proliferation was helped by
the era’s attention to underdevelopment and development assistance, not the least
of small states. Many newly founded small states found themselves massively chal-
lenged financially and economically, but organizational attention to their develop-
mental needs and their “vulnerability” (Commonwealth Consultative Group, 1985)
helped them survive. These efforts continued beyond the end of the Cold War. They
broadened the agenda beyond its initial focus on development (Kisanga and Dancie,
2007), and pushed for a moving from lamenting vulnerabilities to finding opportu-
nities to enhance competitiveness (Wignaraja, Lezama, and Joiner, 2004), and build
“resilience” (Briguglio, 2007; Kisanga and Briguglio, 2004; Kisanga, Crodina, and
Briguglio, 2006).
The emergence of so-called microstates, “very small states” (Dommen, 1985,
p. 1), notably smaller states than the ‘mainstream’ small state, was a remarkable
development of this era. With all the security dynamics just mentioned above,
together with growing economic opportunities in a steadily opening world economy,
and change of perception by the world community of undesirable and unviable
mini-states to deserving new members of the world community, microstates sprang
up all over world, from Nauru (1968) in the Pacific, Singapore (1965) in Southeast
Asia, Bahrain (1971) in the Gulf, and São Tomé and Príncipe (1975) in Africa, to St
Kitts and Nevis (1983) in the Caribbean.
To be sure, fears of a dangerous “Balkanisation” (Lewis, 2009, p. x), objections
to creating economically unviable statelets, and a traditional aversion to pursue a
“championship of small powers to quixotic lengths” (Temperley, 1925, p. 193) had
not been fully overcome. And even for such “diminutive states”, the expectation
remained that they “function and . . . deport themselves as individual and collective
participants” in the “international environment” (Plischke, 1977, p. 8). But, by
mid-century, the world had changed enough to allow many small and microstates to
emerge, survive, and even prosper.

The Transition to the Post-Cold War and Further Small State Proliferation

The end of the Cold War was marked by a noticeable increase in the number of small
states. The year 1990 witnessed the addition of 14 new, mostly small, states. The
imperial superpower Soviet Union fell apart and, all around Russia’s periphery, new
states sprang up, from the Baltics to Central Asia, and many of them small. Only
Moscow’s control had kept them from independent statehood. Similarly, the tight
control of Belgrade had kept Yugoslavia united, but without the rigour of the Cold
War system Yugoslavia, too, disintegrated. Ultimately, seven small states emerged,
and years of fighting could not stop them from re-doing the Balkan map.
With only one superpower left standing, the world had its “unipolar moment”
(Krauthammer, 1991), with the US reigning supreme over an international system
highly supportive of the small state. In fact, the promise of a “new world order”
 Small states: surviving, perishing and proliferating through history 33

(Bush, 1990) was made in the context of a major military effort to liberate small
Kuwait from aggressive Iraq. In 1991, an American-led multilateral force defeated
Iraq on the battlefield and pushed it out of the small state. To be sure, Iraq’s control
over Kuwait’s oil and gas reserves threatened the smooth running of the American
and global economies. But the US and with it much of the world community was con-
cerned about what such a land grab, if left standing, would mean for the emerging,
post-Cold War era. The liberation of the small state Kuwait in 1991 was then at least
as much about symbolism as it was about natural resources.
The US not only pushed a normative agenda opposing strong power aggression
and highly supportive of self-determination, but also pressed for further globaliza-
tion and especially global economic integration. The early support for the creation
of the International Criminal Court, and the strong backing of the World Trade
Organization established in 1995 are marks of America’s post-Cold War vision.
Protection from aggression, strong international law, and an open world economy
shaped an international environment highly supportive of small states.
Further augmenting this favourable environment was, first, the European Union,
which had the means and interest to financially support Eastern Europe’s numerous
small states, and second, global liberal economics. In the globalized economy, lack
of size turned from a traditional disadvantage to a possible advantage for small but
perfectly sized, nimble states (Alesina and Spolaore, 2003). Global economics not
only allowed small states to prosper (like Singapore) or to catch up quickly (like
Estonia) but also “reduced [the] cost of secession” (Enriquez, 1999) and thus helped
with further small state creation in Africa, Asia and Europe.
Changes at the global level accumulated during the first half of the twentieth
century. New norms at least suggested a new era of small state security and survival.
During the century’s second half, hardened legal norms had reached a tipping point,
and in the bipolar stalemate, a decades-long proliferation of small state could play
itself out. The international system was characterized by the nuclear superpowers’
deep hostility, but it was highly permissive to small state survival and creation. And
this dynamic extended into the post-Cold War era, when unipolarity did not turn
into hegemony and further small states emerged, even if at a much decelerated pace.
After Eritrea and Palau gained independence in 1993 and 1994 respectively, East
Timor seceded from Indonesia in 2002 and South Sudan from the Republic of Sudan
in 2011.
In sum, a nineteenth century of small state decline was countered by a twentieth
century of small state proliferation. Moreover, half the loss in numbers of small states
over the previous 250 years was recovered during the twentieth century’s second
half. Both are due, first and foremost, to major changes that occurred and develop-
ments that accumulated at the international level of the state system.
34 Handbook on the politics of small states

CONCLUSION: A HISTORY OF SURVIVING, PERISHING

AND PROLIFERATING

The modern history of the small state is to be found between struggles to survive
and opportunities to proliferate. The history of the small state in the modern system
of states is neither linear nor constant, but irregular and highly dependent on
system-level factors and forces beyond the small state’s immediate control.
Critical to understanding the story of the small state during modern world history
is an appreciation of the system-level dynamics for small state survival and prolifer-
ation. Looking back at history, some historical state systems have been much more
supportive of small state survival than others. To begin with, in the largely unbridled
balance-of-power system of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, small states
had easy access to great power rivalries and jealousies which provided cover and
security. In this era, small states survived in large numbers, but less by their own
doing than by the system’s structural logic.
Next, the structural dynamics of the European Concert are central towards under-
standing the struggles of the small state in this era. The cartel of great powers felt
no compulsion to restore the abundance of small states that had characterized the
previous system. Moreover, the powerful concert states instrumentalized small states
repeatedly in their great power competition. Moreover, the integrative nationalism
of the later nineteenth century was the unchecked death knell for many Italian and
German small states that had survived for so long. The nationalist imperialism of
European, American and Japanese great powers was the last blow, cutting off the
opportunity for new, small states in Africa, Asia and Latin America to emerge.
The post-First World War system combined traditional power politics with collec-
tive security and enhanced legal structures, most critically self-determination. The
latter in particular was instrumental in laying the groundwork for new small states to
emerge where empires had imploded. Less than three decades later, a bipolar system
developed. Together with the norm of self-determination and decolonization, it
proved fertile ground for small state creation on a large scale after 1945.
Small state proliferation also marked the transition into the post-Cold War era.
In its unipolar environment, small states emerged where empires and multi-ethnic
states collapsed. In many ways, small state creation was the enabler of imperial
decline, whether on formerly Soviet lands or Yugoslav territory. For the small state,
the post-Cold War world system proved supportive. The trend continued well into
the twenty-first century. The unipolar system of the extended post-Cold War period
proved equally permissive to small state survival on a large scale and occasional
small state creation. The American unipolar leader favoured a liberal-infused system
of restrained power politics.
Fairly safe areas for small state proliferation remain to this day. In Europe,
Catalonian and Scottish independence is being debated. In the Pacific, French
Polynesia, New Caledonia, Guam, West Papua, Bougainville, and even American
Samoa have emerged as candidates for small statehood. Their regional security envi-
 Small states: surviving, perishing and proliferating through history 35

ronment may indeed allow them to create small states, quite in contrast to the Kurds
and Palestinians who are located in highly contested regions.
During recent years, the unipolar system has begun its transition towards a, most
likely, pluri-lateral system. Great powers began to reassert their place as primus inter
pares and reclaimed the option to use force, including military force, in the pursuit
of their interests. The US felt justified to invade Iraq in 2003, China has turned
combative in the South China Sea, and Russia challenged the small state of Georgia
in 2009 and seized the Crimea from Ukraine in 2014. The new pluri-polar system of
the twentieth century’s second decade is beginning to threaten the small state again.
Overall, today’s emerging system does not offer small states a reliable security
umbrella. Collective security remains highly unreliable; NATO’s collective defence
has been cast in doubt; the prohibitions of aggressive war and territorial change by
force have been undermined; the liberal economic world order has come under threat.
So far, the emerging system is not featuring new or stronger avenues to enhance
small state security. But, as the history of the small state in world politics shows,
security features at the system level will most likely remain critical for small state
security and survival.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This chapter summarizes the author’s key findings of a larger study, published as:
Matthias Maass, Small states in world politics: the story of small state survival,
1648–2016 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2017). The author thanks
Manchester University Press for its agreement to reuse some of the book’s material here.

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3. Small states: politics and policies
Dag Anckar

INTRODUCTION

This chapter deals in a comparative vein with two separate but still connected aspects
of small states politics, namely regimes and productivity. The comparisons that are
made are either internal, meaning that sets of small states are compared to other sets
of small states; or external, meaning that sets of small states are compared to sets of
larger states.
The logic of these comparisons is evident and two-fold. First, if small states, when
compared to each other, exhibit similarities rather than dissimilarities, then a case
can be made that small size carries explanatory power: when and if small-sized units
copy each other in terms of ideology and performance, small size comes across as
an important explanatory factor. On the other hand, if the similarities are not there,
small size obviously does not count for much in terms of explanation. Second, the
comparison of small states to larger-than-small states takes on board the important
observation that the political science discipline remains poorer for not utilizing small
states to a larger extent as research objects (Rich, 2014). Veenendaal and Corbett
(2014) argue that, contrary to received wisdom, democratic development in poor
societies is possible and the systematic overlook in studies of democratization and
democratic conduct of small-state regions like the Pacific greatly distorts our under-
standing of democratic transitions. Nevertheless, a study of smallness in and of itself
does not establish a valid knowledge of smallness and its effects. Needed are efforts
to control for the validity of findings by undertaking comparative research in a more
systematic fashion, i.e. by comparing small and not-small states (Sartori, 1991). This
advice, sadly, has limited followers. Rather, current studies of small state politics
tend to appear in the form of studies of one or a few cases.
The preoccupation of this chapter with small states obliges a choice in regards
of defining and measuring smallness, which is, of course, an elusive and contested
concept (Maass, 2009). In principle, the population investigated here consists of
states that at independence were so-called microstates with populations of less than
one million. Admittedly, this threshold differs from some other approaches in this
Handbook; still, while the choice of the one million threshold is not self-evident,
it has its merits and advantages. For one thing, it separates what is small from
what is not, and thereby deviates from efforts that classify almost everything under
a great-power-level as being ‘small’. Importantly: the choice avoids a pitfall which is
evident from the many efforts out there to define smallness in terms of qualities that
should really be regarded as consequences or correlates of smallness: such as vulner-
ability, shortage of military and economic power and a lack of diversity of trading
38
 Small states: politics and policies 39

partners. Such attempts conflict with a sound methodological precept which states
that definitions of a concept should not include aspects that are about determinants,
conditions and consequences of that same concept: when and if this rule is violated,
researchers deprive themselves from studying these aspects empirically. The logic
should not be one of states being small because they are weak and vulnerable; but one
of states being weak and vulnerable because they are small. Let it be added that the
one million criterion that is used here may be deceptive, as statistical analyses have
suggested that the association between smallness and democracy which is evident
from examinations of small states tends to weaken and disappear when the threshold
that defines smallness is raised from 500,000 to one million resident population (C.
Anckar, 2008, pp. 439–440). The finding would perhaps rather have dictated here
a strategy like the one followed by Wouter Veenendaal, who in his dissertation on
microstate democracy has focused on the diminutive cases of Palau, St Kitts and
Nevis, San Marino and the Seychelles (Veenendaal, 2013).

DIRECT DEMOCRACY IN SMALL STATES

Given the fairly common belief that direct democracy is a regime form that is much
sensitive to differences in country size, it makes good sense to start this review by
commenting on the use in small states of direct democracy devices.
Intuitively, precisely because they are small, small-sized units provide an ideal
context for direct democracy. This is for a variety of reasons. Small states exist on
a scale that accommodates and encourages a direct participation of people in political
life, and the intimacy and nearness inherent in small countries promote a general
understanding of local political problems. Furthermore, a small-sized frame of refer-
ence works against non-discernible special interests that distort representation, and
the possibility of bypassing political parties that is embedded in the idea of direct
democracy is enhanced in several small polities (Anckar and Anckar, 2000). On the
other hand, however, again intuitively, the belief comes natural that small size actu-
ally works against the emergence of direct democracy. This would be because direct
democracy appears a superfluous and redundant form of politics in small units: the
distances between those who govern and those who are governed are close, consent is
fairly widespread, and information aspects of political life benefit less than in larger
units from an extended political participation. In sum, therefore: two rather clear-cut
conceptions compete for explanatory power. Emphasizing conformity, the one states
that it is only natural that direct democracy thrives in small and manageable societies;
emphasizing, instead, redundancy, the other argues that direct democracy devices are
unnecessary in small societies, which are so easy to access.
There are rather few studies of small states that intervene systematically in this
clash between two hypotheses. However, an explorative investigation of the use of
direct democracy in microstates that was conducted some 15 years ago (Anckar,
2004a) contains materials that may guide and facilitate interpretation. According
to this investigation, the second of the two above hypotheses is more robust and
40 Handbook on the politics of small states

better substantiated: popular initiatives, be they direct or indirect in nature, are

non-frequent in small states; some 40 per cent of the microstates of the world have
the constitutional referendum but have not introduced other direct democracy vari-
eties; some 30 per cent of the microstates do not have direct democracy at all; the
policy vote institution is found in 10 microstates only out of 42; only four microstates
have inaugurated the popular initiative as well as policy votes and the constitutional
referendum. The saying that “as the fountain of sovereign authority, the electorate
should have the authority to decide when representative decision making should be
replaced by unassembled direct democracy” (Zimmerman, 2001, p. 283) may appear
appropriate and inherent to the small setting; the truth is, however, that small-sized
units take exception rather than subscribe to the ideals and vehicles of direct democ-
racy. Indeed, very few microstates have arrangements for triggering constitutional
amendments that involve the citizenry at large (Anckar, 2017).
In his study from decades ago of majoritarian and consensus democracies Lijphart
noted “the extreme unevenness of the incidence of referendum” (1984, p. 201),
and he reached the conclusion that “the question of why referendums occur more
frequently in some countries than in others cannot be answered satisfactorily” (1984,
p. 197). And indeed, given the restricted and random use in small states of direct
democracy devices, any search for explanatory factors becomes uncertain. However,
it would appear that a colonial background factor is of some relevance here. Direct
democracy is alien to the Westminster model (Lijphart, 1984, pp. 15–16), which has
spread to many former British colonies. Thus, one would expect that former British
colonies are less prone than former non-British colonies to introduce and apply direct
democracy tools. And indeed, as evident from the above study (Anckar, 2004a,
pp. 385–386), this is the case. Out of a dozen small states that endorse direct democ-
racy devices only two, Maldives and the Seychelles, have a British background; on
the other hand, of 20 small states with a non-British background, half are in a direct
democracy group. Furthermore, other distributions are congruent with the idea of an
impact of colonial history. There are three small states that are former US trust ter-
ritories, Marshall Islands, Micronesia and Palau; all three practise direct democracy,
reflecting the widespread state-level use of the popular initiative in the US (Cronin,
1989, pp. 38–59).

INITIAL REGIMES, SMALL STATES STYLE

Dealing with political regimes and regime change, this section of the present chapter
walks a well-worn path; indeed, the study of regime change is said to be among the
“classical political science questions” (Peters, 1998, p. 179). However, the focus of
the study on the case of so-called initial regimes, i.e. the set of political institutions
that are established at the time of independence, makes the study less traditional and
conventional. Namely, observations in the research literature are that there are sur-
prisingly few studies of why new states establish different forms of political regimes
(Lehtinen, 2014). This section, then, adds to a still limited body of knowledge. In line
 Small states: politics and policies 41

with the tradition in regime research to observe a key distinction between democratic
and autocratic regimes (Siaroff, 2011, pp. 2234–2235), the section makes an effort
to identify and penetrate the dividing line in the small states universe between these
two main regime types. Two specific research questions are posed and answered: (1)
to what extent have small states preferred a democratic as against an autocratic initial
regime? and (2) what is the impact of initial regimes in terms of regime endurance:
how long, to quote a relevant title from the literature, “does the first rule last?” (Denk,
2015).
The operational solution here to the task of defining a cutting point between
democracy and autocracy is to apply the annual surveys since 1972 of the countries
of the world by the Freedom House organization. The Freedom House understanding
of freedom encompasses two sets of characteristics that relate to political rights
and civil liberties. Based on extensive checklists, rights and liberties are rated sep-
arately on a seven-category scale for each country and the scales are then merged
to produce a three-way classification of countries: entities are “Free”, “Partly Free”
or “Not Free”. Concerning the division of countries in democratic versus autocratic
regimes, this study, in line with others (e.g. Denk and Silander, 2012; Karvonen,
2008; Lijphart, 1999; Veenendaal and Corbett, 2014), regards “Free” countries only
as adherents to the democratic regime formula. One specific feature of the Freedom
House data merits attention. Namely, large-N studies of political life are often
criticized for using inadequate data that is based on constitutional principle rather
than actual political practice (e.g. Foweraker and Krznaric, 2000, p. 765). Avoiding
this pitfall, Freedom House does not score countries on the basis of governmental
intention or constitution only, but relies also on real-world situations caused by
governmental and non-governmental factors. This feature makes the Freedom House
methodology suited to the task of encircling and penetrating a regime concept. Most
importantly, given the focus of this study, while most global analyses of the condi-
tions for democracy and democratization exclude small states, the Freedom House
index is updated on an ongoing basis and includes all states, small and large.
While straightforward enough, the use of the million population criterion still
invites complementary comments that follow in part from the reliance in the investi-
gation on Freedom House data. The following specific considerations apply.
A large group of microstates, 24 in number, are problem-free from the point of
data availability and validity. All these states secured independence in the years
following 1972 and are, in consequence, well covered from independence by the
Freedom House data. Dominica, independent in 1978 and St Kitts-Nevis (1983) are
examples. However, another group of states, also 24 in number, are independent
earlier than 1972 and the initial regime is therefore not examined and evaluated by
the Freedom House data, which, as explained, extends over periods from 1972 only.
Most of these states, however, like Fiji (1970) or Mauritius (1968), are independent
at dates immediately preceding the Freedom House threshold year of 1972, and the
task of filling the respective short gaps by means of research and a literature review is
feasible. One does not have to rely on Freedom House to be convinced, for instance,
that Barbados, independent since 1966, started out as a democracy in the years
42 Handbook on the politics of small states

1966–1972 (Inniss, 1982), or that Qatar, independent in 1971, established an auto-

cratic regime at that time (Gräf, 2007; Lawson, 1999). One also does not have to rely
on Freedom House data to conclude that Iceland, independent already in 1944 from
Danish rule, was established at that time as a democratic regime (Árnason, 2007;
Petersson, 1992, pp. 7–26). Similarly, Gabon, independent already in 1960 from
French rule, immediately embarked on a policy of power conservation and outlawing
of opposition (Fleischhacker, 1999, pp. 387–390; Hargreaves, 1999, pp. 223–224).
However, in a handful of cases, independence has been introduced at times
which are early enough to disqualify the use of Freedom House data and speak
against the very incorporation of the cases in the analysis. Taking into consideration
these cases from long ago suggests difficulties and disagreements concerning the
identification of states and dates of independence as well as difficulties in terms of
access to historical data (Denk and Anckar, 2014, pp. 392–393). Furthermore, the
very frame of reference for categorizing democracy and autocracy is so distant and
different that any attempt to fit these cases into the same initial regime framework
that applies to later microstates is doomed to failure. Clearly, Luxembourg must be
disregarded in this research – inspired by the Belgian constitution of 1831 the current
Luxembourg Constitution which establishes a constitutional monarchy dates back
to 1868 (Grote, 2010, pp. 3–4). The same is true of the Principality of Liechtenstein
which became formally a sovereign state in the early nineteenth century (Duursma,
1994, pp. 143–144), and of San Marino which has existed as a separate entity since
the foundation of the Papal States (Duursma, 1994, p. 216). Also excluded from
analysis are Bhutan, where a theocratic Buddhist political system was replaced early
in the twentieth century by a hereditary monarchy (Rose, 1999), and the Pacific
island kingdom of Tonga where following the foundation of the new Kingdom in
1820–1845, a traditional system of chiefly rule was replaced in 1875 by the first con-
stitution of the country (Campbell, 1992). These five small places are, in a manner
of speaking, remnants from the past and are therefore discarded in the study at hand.
In all, then, 43 (48 less 5) countries are included in this review. They are listed in
Table 3.1, which also gives for each country the independency year that is, in most
cases, also the year of adoption of the initial regime. Due to population growth,
some of these countries have – during later years covered by Freedom House – lost
their initial microstate status. One example is Botswana, a microstate in the years
1972–1982 only. Another example is Trinidad and Tobago, a microstate in the
years 1962–1975 only. Despite graduating out of microstate status, these countries
are included in this review. The reason is simple enough: the review is about initial
regimes, and at the time of regime choice the states in question were all microstates.
It follows that they are to be regarded as adequate representatives of small states and
small state regimes.
The two research questions that were laid out at the beginning of this chapter
are answered by means of data presented in Table 3.2. Two sets of data are given.
First, percentage calculations are presented as regards the extent to which the small
states have embraced democratic versus autocratic regime types: each state is given
a percentage value, which is a measure of how frequently the country in question is
 Small states: politics and policies 43

Table 3.1 The 43 small states in this study, with year of achievement of
independence

Andorra (1993) Gabon (1960) St Kitts-Nevis (1983)

Antigua & Barbuda (1981) Grenada (1974) St Lucia (1978)
Bahamas (1973) Guyana (1966) St Vincent & Grenadines (1979)
Bahrain (1973) Iceland (1944) Samoa (1960)
Barbados (1966) Kiribati (1979) São Tomé and Príncipe (1975)
Belize (1981) Kuwait (1962) Seychelles (1976)
Botswana (1966) Maldives (1965) Solomon Islands (1978)
Brunei (1984) Malta (1964) Suriname (1975)
Cape Verde (1975) Marshall Islands (1991) Swaziland (1968)
Comoros (1975) Mauritius (1968) Trinidad & Tobago (1962)
Cyprus (1960) Micronesia (1991) Tuvalu (1978)
Djibouti (1975) Monaco (1962) United Arab Emirates (1971)
Dominica (1978) Nauru (1968) Vanuatu (1980)
Equatorial Guinea (1968) Palau (1994)
Fiji (1970) Qatar (1970)

rated as democratic. To give an example, a country that became independent in, say,
1975, and has been ranked thereafter by Freedom House each year in the time span
1976–2012, has 37 classifications, and if all the rankings have been in the democracy
category, the democracy rating is 100. If the country has not once during the 37 years
of classification been ranked in the democracy category, the democracy rating is 0. If
the country is ranked in the democracy category, say, 21 times out of 37, the resulting
percentage calculation gives this country a democracy rating of 57 (21/37 × 100).
Second, an attempt is made to categorize and elucidate the elements of regime
dynamics that stand out. There are two sections in the table: one on regimes that are
initially democratic, and one on regimes that are initially autocratic; both sections
communicate brief verbal expositions of the regime type in question. While the first
four types all have democracy as a point of departure, the first regime in the wake of
independence being democratic, the types clearly differ from each other in regards
to the following sequences. The first of the four groups is composed of states that
have retained a democracy status and are stable democracies. In the second group are
states that, shortly after their independence, abandoned the democracy track and have
fallen permanently into autocracy. In the third group are states that have likewise
turned from democracy to autocracy, but have done this only after a more prolonged
democracy sojourn. The fourth group, finally, consists of states that are oscillators
between the democracy camp and the autocracy camp. Typically, these states walk
a thin line between democracy and non-democracy, situational circumstances mostly
deciding their course of development. As evident from the table, the second section
repeats the above classifications but now in a reversed order, autocracies replacing
democracies and democracies replacing autocracies.
From Table 3.2, two lessons are learned about small states as against larger states.
First, small states tend to enter upon independence as democracies rather than autoc-
racies: of 130 newly formed states during the period 1946–2008, 52 (40 per cent) of
44 Handbook on the politics of small states

Table 3.2 The small states of the world: quality and stability of initial regimes

Almost uninterrupted continued existence as democracy

Andorra (100), Bahamas (100), Barbados (100), Belize (100), Dominica (100), Iceland (100), Kiribati (100), Malta
(92), Marshall Islands (100), Mauritius (92), Micronesia (100), Nauru (100), Palau (100), St Kitts-Nevis (100), St
Lucia (100), St Vincent and the Grenadines (100), Trinidad and Tobago (100), Tuvalu (100)
Rapid decay into autocracy (A)
Seychelles (3)
Relatively long continued existence as democracy, followed by decay into autocracy
Fiji (36), Solomon Islands (61)
Oscillation between democracy and autocracy
Guyana (51), Suriname (53)

Almost uninterrupted continued existence as autocracy

Bahrain (0), Brunei (0), Comoros (0), Djibouti (0), Equatorial Guinea (0), Gabon (0), Kuwait (0), Maldives (3), Qatar
(0), Swaziland (0), United Arab Emirates (0)
Rapid development into democracy
Botswana (84), Cyprus (82), Grenada (78), Monaco (80), Vanuatu (84)
Relatively long continued existence as autocracy, followed by development into democracy
Cape Verde (61), Samoa (44), São Tomé and Príncipe (61)
Oscillation between autocracy and democracy
Antigua and Barbuda (57)

the investigated cases emerged as democracies (Lehtinen, 2014, pp. 276–277). The
corresponding findings from this study are much different. No less than two-thirds
of the 43 small states in this review have opted at independence for democratic
governance, and this observation serves to reconfirm a pattern that has come to the
fore in several earlier investigations. For instance, an earlier study of regime choices
in microstates indicated that, of 36 microstates with a colonial past, two-thirds
(24) were in a democracy category (Anckar, 2004b, pp. 217–218). Confirming this
proportion, another study from the years 2004–2006 indicated that, out of 41 micro-
states, 29 were then democracies (D. Anckar, 2008, p. 77). A review article has noted
that “a significant feature about many small island jurisdictions has been their ability
to maintain democratic political systems” (Srebrnik, 2004, p. 339); the present study,
then, adds to the verification of such a proposition. Admittedly, the proposition does
not always hold true: not all small states are democracies and specific dangers may
lurk in small-sized units that challenge a truly democratic way of life (Anckar, 2010;
Baldacchino, 2012; Veenendaal, 2015). Still, the overall picture is persuasive: the
likelihood of freedom and democracy increases with a decrease in the size of political
units (Colomer, 2007, p. 215).
Second, small size fosters stability. Two main clusters of small states are identified;
both include states that have remained faithful to the choice of their initial regime
format. In the larger of these clusters are 18 states that have, since independence,
retained a democracy perspective over the years. Also, close to this cluster, are five
more states that have entered independence as autocracies but have soon internalized
a democratic regime form. This confirms the observation that democratic regimes
 Small states: politics and policies 45

tend to become instigated as a consequence of regional and sub-regional diffusion

(Lehtinen, 2014, pp. 123–143). The small island states of the Caribbean and Pacific
regions are well represented in this group. Most members of the group have, since
independence and up to now, maintained flawless democracy records at a maximum
(100 per cent). Malta and Mauritius are two exceptions in the margin; but it is good to
remember that Mauritius is the only African state to have been free of major political
strife since independence (Royle, 2001, p. 182). In the second of the two larger clus-
ters are 11 states that have, since independence and without exception, retained an
autocratic regime form – this confirming the observation that countries with a dom-
inant Muslim religious orientation are rather foreign to democracy (Anckar, 2011,
pp. 51–61; Lehtinen, 2014, pp. 102–109). Arab countries are well represented in this
group. All in all, of 43 states, 29 are paragons of continuity and stability. In addition,
a handful of other states have followed the same pattern rather closely.
In addition, findings from Table 3.2 offer a venue for a comment on patterns of
regime endurance. One relevant belief in this genre is that democratic regimes in
newly established states are unstable. Newly established states usually face many
challenges; gradually, however, one would believe, the challenges and difficulties
are overcome. One would expect political institutions to become stable over time,
identity crises and conflicts to be solved, issues regarding territory and citizenship to
be settled and undemocratic legacies to fade away (Denk and Anckar, 2014, p. 388).
A relevant hypothesis, therefore, is that the likelihood of democratic failure, meaning
the collapse of an initially democratic regime, decreases with increasing years as
a democratic state.
However, upon reflection, an opposite theory is perhaps equally plausible, which
states that democratic failure may occur, if at all, only after a prolonged time of
democratic effort. According to this belief, first waves of democratic enthusiasm
and support for democracy are gradually over-shadowed by feelings of disappoint-
ment and disillusionment, as the democracy framework proves unable to implement
offered value sets and to secure a just and even development of society. When and
if this happens, a return to earlier models of autocracy and stringent leadership may
appear tempting. Such a political climate may also open doors for agitators and ruth-
less leaders who understand and take advantage of the situation. In short, the essence
of this theory is that democratic failure happens in established democratic rather than
newly democratic contexts.
Of the two theories, the first has gained more support in the empirical study of
democratic endurance. Relevant findings are that there is indeed a negative rela-
tionship between length of independence and democratic failure, and that the length
of democratic rule has a positive impact on democratic stability (Denk and Anckar,
2014). The review here of small state behaviour does not question this overall valid-
ity of the first theory: in that sense the expansion of the research field to include small
states does not alter what is already known. Importantly, however, the specific look
at smaller states reveals that these states cherish regime endurance and stability to
an unusually high degree, and therefore stand out as a group of their own in debates
concerning early or late democratic failure. In fact, democratic failure is an almost
46 Handbook on the politics of small states

unknown condition in the world of small states. In the data at hand, there is only one
case of rapid democracy decay, namely Seychelles, where a semi-presidential system
of government, introduced at independence in 1976, was abandoned already in 1977
after a coup that installed a new constitution and a socialist one-party regime. A polit-
ical and constitutional return to multiparty politics then took effect in the early 1980s
(Thibaut, 1999, pp. 775–778). Against this one case of early democratic failure are
two cases of late failure. One is Fiji, tormented since the late 1980s for many years
by violent unrest and constitutional instability (Lal, 2007; Lawson, 1996, pp. 37–76);
the second is the Solomon Islands, which experienced ethnic violence during
1998–2003 that triggered a formal request by the Solomon Islands Government for
outside help, manifested in 2003 by the arrival in the islands of Australian and Pacific
Island police and troops. Three more cases, Antigua-Barbuda, Guyana and Suriname,
represent patterns of oscillation that are difficult to interpret; one observation about
Antigua as well as Guyana as of 2010 is that there has been political change from one
party to another since independence (from A to B), but there has been no political
change-back (from B to A) or even change to another political force (Ghany, 2013,
pp. 30–31).
Srebrnik (2004, p. 339) commented: “Maybe we will never be able to isolate scien-
tifically that elusive independent variable that seems to make islands more conducive
to democracy, even if one exists”. Given that most islands are small or very small,
this wonder is certainly valid for small states also. Anyhow, the search for one deci-
sive variable may in some exceptional cases be successful, like in Samoa, accepted as
a democracy only when in October 1990 the citizenry voted in a plebiscite to reform
the electoral system which had prevailed since independence in 1962 and which
restricted the candidature for parliamentary office and the franchise to bearers of
traditional chiefly titles (Lawson, 1996, pp. 148–151; Meleisea, 1987, pp. 220–228).
In most cases, however, as evident also from findings reported here, the search must
be for several variables and even combinations and chains of variables rather than
for one crucial explanans. Small states tend towards democracy and stability and it is
likely that the two conditions are not strictly associated but rather emanate from con-
stellations of different sources and variables, external conditions perhaps being in the
foreground in efforts to understand democratization, and internal conditions being
important factors in understanding tendencies towards endurance and immobility.
More research should be devoted to such questions. The many ideas and suggestions
for developing comparative small state research that were put forward decades ago
by Dahl and Tufte (1973) still resonate today.

ON POLITICAL PRODUCTIVITY

While the above sections of this chapter have dealt with selected aspects of the
process of policy-making, the focus in the following section is on policy analysis,
i.e. the contents of policy, the focus turning from system environments and inputs to
system outputs and outcomes (Easton, 1965a, 1965b). Intuitively, one would expect
 Small states: politics and policies 47

that the output and outcome performances of small states remain in most cases
inadequate and modest. Small states, for obvious reasons, do not command vast
resources in terms of money, manpower and knowledge: they are poorly equipped
to manage the task of creating a competitive economic space. Admittedly, because
they are small, small states do have a potential for developing a specific sort of
political resourcefulness, for managing a rapid policy development and for enjoying
the advantages of a structural openness (Baldacchino, 2000, pp. 70–74). But still,
the thought that inputs to small systems are as a rule followed by modest outputs
and outcomes seems a reasonable point of departure for any attempt to measure and
analyse the performances of small states.
This section deals primarily with 40 microstates, as listed in Table 3.3, with data
that compares their efforts to manage and maintain a satisfactory political produc-
tivity. The table builds upon a fairly simple idea, which makes use of available
country-wise and relevant rankings of the countries of the world, higher individual
rankings implying a better performance than lower rankings. Obviously, rank figures
are, for a variety of reasons, less than ideal and precise comparative measures; inter-
pretations that are based on rankings therefore need to be cautious and moderate. This
being said, however, it is also true that rankings worldwide offer relevant approxima-
tions of distances and proportions and are helpful in identifying group formations as
well as evident deviations from group patterns.
Table 3.3 has five columns. The first represents microstate rankings in the field
of general economic performance; the measure that produces the ranks is the con-
ventional GDP per capita (PPP). Data is supplied by the United Nations Department
of Economic and Social Affairs; they reflect the situation in the year 2018 and are
published from the CIA World Factbook in that year. The second column and respec-
tive rankings is about the quality of national health systems in the countries of the
world, with data drawn from the World Health Organization (WHO) World Health
Report, published in the year 2000. Later versions of this same review have not been
consulted because they do not exist: WHO no longer produces such a ranking table.
The third column registers a composite measure, the Human Development Index,
developed by the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP), which com-
bines indicators of life expectancy, educational attainment and income into an index
of development and modernization (Human Development Index, 2017). A fourth
column registers a ranking of countries in terms of the above mentioned Education
Index; data is again drawn from the UNDP (Human Development Reports). Finally,
a fifth column gives an average rank for every microstate, based on the ranks from
earlier columns. Missing data has, to some extent, rendered compilations difficult;
the cases to which such failings apply are marked in the table by the letter combi-
nation NA (not available). Given the topic of this study, it is unfortunate that data
is not accessible for several small states, most notably in regards to the Human
Development Index: here, data is missing for Marshall Islands, Monaco, Nauru, San
Marino, Tuvalu and the Vatican.
From Tables 3.3 and 3.4 follow three main observations. First: the small size
factor is not in itself decisive in determining the level of productivity. If size were
48 Handbook on the politics of small states

Table 3.3 The small states of the world: rank positions of microstates in five
policy areas

Policy Areas
Countries Human
Economy Health Education Composite Rank
Development
Andorra 27 4 32 37 25
Antigua and
70 86 62 61 70
Barbuda
Bahamas 73 94 58 51 69
Barbados 89 46 54 59 62
Belize 128 69 103 54 89
Bhutan 125 124 132 136 129
Brunei 10 40 30 30 28
Cape Verde 135 113 122 123 123
Comoros 172 118 160 159 152
Djibouti 154 157 172 170 163
Dominica 112 35 96 93 84
Equatorial Guinea 53 171 135 144 125
Fiji 120 96 91 88 99
Grenada 100 85 79 79 86
Guyana 128 128 127 121 126
Iceland 23 15 9 13 15
Kiribati 169 142 137 133 145
Liechtenstein 1 NA 15 18 11
Luxembourg 5 16 20 21 16
Maldives 84 147 105 103 109
Malta 39 5 33 39 29
Marshall Islands 156 141 NA NA 148
Micronesia 156 123 127 124 132
Monaco 3 13 NA NA 8
Montenegro 90 NA 48 51 63
Nauru 111 98 NA NA 105
Palau 94 82 60 60 74
St Kitts-Nevis 68 100 74 73 79
St Lucia 103 68 92 97 90
St Vincent and the
114 74 99 91 95
Grenadines
Samoa 141 119 104 106 118
San Marino 19 3 NA NA 11
São Tomé and
158 133 142 142 144
Príncipe
Seychelles 64 56 63 71 64
Solomon Islands 167 80 156 157 140
Suriname 102 110 97 100 102
Tonga 142 116 101 100 115
Tuvalu 152 136 NA NA 144
Vanuatu 161 127 134 131 138
Vatican NA NA NA NA NA
 Small states: politics and policies 49

Table 3.4 Percentage and number (N) of microstates ranked along five
dimensions among the 50 and 100 highest in the world

Dimension Among 50 highest Among 100 highest

Economy 18 (N=7) 46 (N=18)
Health 24 (N=9) 59 (N=21)
Human Development 21 N=7) 53 (N=18)
Education 21 (N=7) 62 (N=21)
Average 21 (N=8) 54 (N=21)

decisive, most small states would somehow clump together and their internal differ-
ences in terms of performance would be largely negligible. This, however, is not the
case. Some small states perform very well indeed, whereas other small states have
poor records. The differences are conspicuous. The gap between on one hand, say,
Iceland, ranking in positions between 9 and 23, or Liechtenstein, ranking in positions
between 1 and 18, and, on the other hand, Samoa, ranking in positions between 104
and 141, or São Tomé and Príncipe, ranking in positions between 133 and 158, is
striking, to say the least. Furthermore, it is not the case that small states have either
very good or very poor performance profiles: for example, a closer look at the
rank positions in Table 3.3 with regards to the HDI reveals a scattered, variegated
and disintegrated pattern. Data is missing for six small states; of the remaining 34,
four – Brunei, Iceland, Liechtenstein and Luxembourg – are in the position interval
1–30; six small states are in the 31–60 interval; four in the 61–90 interval; nine in the
91–120 interval; eight in the 121–150 interval; and three – Comoros, Djibouti and
Solomon Islands – in the 151+ (or worst) interval. Small states are everywhere and
at all levels.
Second: yet, the differences between small states are not random, but form
a distinct pattern. Some states perform consistently well over sectors whereas other
states consistently perform poorly. In all, disregarding NA-cases, Table 3.3 is made
up of 183 individual classifications, nine of which denote top positions among the
10 highest and 28 of which denote positions among the 30 highest rankings. A total
of eight countries are ranked at least once in the 10 best-category: Andorra, Brunei,
Iceland, Liechtenstein, Luxembourg, Malta, Monaco and San Marino. With the
exception of Brunei, which has “one of the highest levels of per capita income in
the world” and being at the same time “a sultanate with no democratic procedures”
(Hass, 1999, p. 145), the countries are well-established European democracies, two
being islands and five being landlocked states. The same countries make up the list
of countries qualifying once or more for the 30-best category. The conclusion is,
therefore, that about one-fourth of the world’s small states manage very well, and
consistently so, in terms of policy performance. Almost all of these countries are
also, as evident from Table 3.2, mature and stable democracies. On the other hand,
data that captures the ‘worse than 130’ category emanates from such African coun-
tries as the Comoros, Djibouti and São Tomé and Príncipe, as well as such Pacific
island states as the Solomon Islands and Vanuatu. Close to this group are Equatorial
Guinea, Marshall Islands and Tuvalu. In spite of such modest placements, four of
50 Handbook on the politics of small states

these eight countries are democracies. In sum, then: of well-to-do small states, almost
all are democracies; of less-than-well-to-do small states, a good portion still flaunt
democratic features.
Third: differences exist not only between states, but also between policy areas.
Findings are reported in Table 3.4; they indicate, however, that the differences are
fairly marginal. Small states are at their weakest on the economy dimension, less
than half of the states having positions among the 100 highest and at their strongest
on the health and education dimensions, more than half of the states being amongst
the 100 highest positions. As evident especially from the list of states among the 50
highest positions, however, the outcomes do not differ much and again suggest that
it is in the main the same group of small states that perform well and repeatedly. The
performances in terms of education and learning are of special interest. Admittedly,
the nature and extent of the links between education and democracy are by no means
fully researched today (Lipset and Lakin, 2004, p. 168); however, relevant findings
from earlier studies and reviews are that education is in fact of vital importance, lit-
eracy perhaps being even the central factor in the modernization process (Hadenius,
1992, pp. 86–91), and that larger portions of microstates than of other states show
high literacy ratings (Anckar, 2002, p. 221), these two observations, then, when
combined, sketching out an explanation why smallness is apparently conducive to
democracy. The present analysis, however, does not substantiate such an explanatory
pattern. The question whether or not small states perform better in the education area
than in other areas is by evident margins answered in the negative: of the 34 cases for
which data is available, two-thirds (23) do not stand out as successful promoters of
education policies. Of course, it may well be that the method for establishing patterns
that is used here is too clumsy and unwieldy, obscuring rather than disclosing infor-
mation. Be this as it may, observations and interpretations from other and more spe-
cific sources seem to suggest that individual small states have engaged successfully
during independence in purposeful efforts at education and schooling. One random
example out of a multitude is about staffing figures relating to a new secondary
school system in Barbados: whereas in 1976 the percentage of trained graduates was
15.4, the corresponding share increased 10 years later to 40.1 and increased again
10 years later (1996) to 56.9 per cent. Corresponding figures in regards to graduates
were 26.2, 51.7 and 64.1 per cent respectively and in regards to trained teachers 57.3,
78.3 and 80.6 per cent respectively (Shorey and Rose, 1996, p. 128).

CONCLUSION

A much-quoted and by now classic remark from the democratization literature reads:
“The more well-to-do a nation, the greater the chances that it will sustain democ-
racy” (Lipset, 1959, p. 75). Over the years, this Lipset hypothesis has been tested on
numerous occasions and by the use of various data and methods, the results perhaps
being less than fully convincing but still, for the most part, in line with expectations.
This chapter is one additional link in the chain of research that supports, albeit not in
 Small states: politics and policies 51

an unreserved vein, the Lipset formula: well-to-do countries, be they large or small,
tend towards democracy.
This is a rule with few exceptions, and it should be noted that several small states,
confirming the view that the quality of institutions and governance in small econo-
mies surpass those in larger ones (Read, 2018, pp. 395–396), are in this group of suc-
cessful well-to-do entities. However, differences between large and small come to the
fore when the triggering policy factor is no longer there and the comparison becomes
one between less successful large and small entities. Now, as demonstrated also in
other recent research on democracy and modernization (Anckar, 2018, pp. 440–442),
non-modernized larger states are non-democracies, but the situation is much different
in regards to small non-modernized states. Of these, an evident majority remain in
the democracy camp, this meaning that several small countries combine rather poor
policy performances and very satisfying democracy scores. Examples of countries
in this category are: Barbados, Belize, Kiribati, Marshall Islands, St Kitts-Nevis and
Tuvalu. In future research, detailed case studies of these countries and others are
called for to advance our understanding of the web of policies and conditions that
have made possible this somewhat improbable blend of successful politics and less
successful policy.
In line with findings in this chapter, Elkins and Ginsburg (2011, p. 17) report that
the watchword of constitutionalism in the English-speaking Caribbean “is one of
stability” and that “this is a region in which most constitutions remain intact from
the initial independence era, albeit with modest revisions”. Moreover, also in line
with findings here, constitutional stability “has gone hand in hand with democratic
stability” (2011, p. 17). Given that one finds in that particular region several small
and democratic states, it appears an important task for future research to find out
to what extent such observations are helpful in bringing about at least a partial
understanding of why small size spells democracy. The above expressions convey
an impression that Westminster-inspired constitutional principles and ideas were
rather imposed on, rather than accepted freely, by the former colonies; case studies of
the constitution-building processes in the former colonies are therefore called for to
clarify the mechanisms of introducing satisfying democracy standards. Furthermore,
the research should aim at revealing the extent to which the states in question have
initiated, or have been forced to initiate, rigorous thresholds that place obstacles to
constitutional reforms that conflict with Westminster-style democracy conceptions.
One example of several provided by Elkins and Ginsburg (2011, p. 15) concerns the
small archipelago state of St Vincent and the Grenadines, where in 2009 a proposal
for rather far-reaching constitutional reform was blocked at the ballot-box: the pro-
posal failed to achieve at referendum the requisite two-thirds majority required for
ratification.
Importantly, the observations in this chapter may to some extent follow simply
from operationalization. The threshold used for defining ‘small’ has been a pop-
ulation of no more than one million; other operationalizations are possible and in
use. A recent Handbook of small states refers to five different lists of small states,
featuring in all 58 countries and making frequent use of a population threshold of up
52 Handbook on the politics of small states

to 1.5 million (Briguglio, 2018, pp. 2–3). Most probably, findings of the impact of
smallness will vary in accordance with the yardstick applied for defining smallness;
for instance, the validity of the finding here that small states exhibit flawless regime
stability and have not experienced democratic failure may be questioned in research
that applies other indicators of ‘small’, comparing, for instance a group of states with
populations of one million, to a group of states with 1.5 million, a group of states
with 5 million, and so on. As already noted here, given particular points of departure
and particular assumptions, it may even be that the threshold of one million people is
somewhat high and therefore misleading and should for exploratory reasons at least
be reduced to 500,000.

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4. Small states: public management and
policy-making
Külli Sarapuu and Tiina Randma-Liiv

INTRODUCTION

Small is often taken to be beautiful. Small states are frequently evaluated based
on popular myths that equal small scale to charm, ease or non-complexity. Just
like myths, such beliefs are often far from the truth and mostly function to offer
comfortable ways of disregarding the wide variety and controversy of the actual
world. In practice, the daily life of small states is hardly simple and quaint. In the
introductory chapter to this book, Baldacchino and Wivel (2020, pp. 7–10) outline
three pressing dilemmas that characterize small state politics: finding the balance
between a national and an international focus, maintaining the plurality of opinions
instead of falling to social conformism, and keeping national autonomy in the era
of globalization and international interdependence. None of these dilemmas has an
easy way out or can be resolved with simple choices. A closer look at the domestic
governance of small states reveals an even more detailed picture of conflicting
demands: small state leaders face dilemmas in balancing the condition of small scale
with the need to support the same functions as large states; in managing the limits
of specialization with a simultaneous need to develop in-depth policy expertise; in
matching the pressures for formalization with the need to preserve flexibility and
informality; and in upholding the principle of democratic decentralization with the
concurrent need to maximize the use of limited resources (Randma-Liiv and Sarapuu,
2019). In short, small states have to live with a number of ‘governance paradoxes’
that derive specifically from their size and lead to unavoidable trade-offs in choosing
appropriate response measures.
Nevertheless, the distinctive characteristics of small scale have not yet been well
conceptualized, and there is still little systematic knowledge on the exact impact of
state size on public administrations and public policy-making. The existing research
on the governance of small states has not moved much further from simply describing
the pressures on small state governments. Comparative studies seldom include the
size of states among their explanatory variables, and knowledge on the impact of
size on the functioning of politico-administrative systems is still modest (Veenendaal
and Corbett, 2015). Compared to the academic debate on small states in international
relations or international political economy, the discussion on thwe domestic govern-
ance of small states is much less elaborate.
Still, a few substantial matters emerge from the existing research. One of the
most important ones relates to the conceptualization of size from the public admin-

55
56 Handbook on the politics of small states

istration perspective. Unlike the discipline of political science that tends to rely on
relative definitions of ‘smallness’ for analysing the opportunities and challenges
of small states in international power relations (Maass, 2009; Thorhallsson, 2006;
Thorhallsson and Wivel, 2006), the public administration perspective, with its inter-
est in the internal matters of governing, takes a more absolute stance and concentrates
on the limited size of population as the key defining feature of small states. There
are good reasons for that. Although the financial and material resources of small
states are usually also limited, their key constraint from a governance perspective is
the shortage of human resources and the special social ‘ecology’ that comes with it
(Sarapuu, 2010). A small population has an impact on the functioning of government,
the private sector as well as the non-governmental sector in terms of capacities, limits
to specialization and a small client base for various products and services. The small
size of the social field leads to a particular social ecology composed of a closely
knit community with highly personalized relationships, informality of interactions,
intertwinement of political and administrative roles and personalization of jobs
(Benedict, 1966; Bray and Packer, 1993; Farrugia, 1993, p. 221; Lowenthal, 1987;
Randma-Liiv, 2002; Sutton, 1987).
It is difficult to assess the exact effect of population size: small states come with
an enormous diversity (Baker, 1992, p. 5), and due to ‘combinatory complexity’
(Nielsen, 1999), many other variables, such as culture, geographical location, area,
wealth, historical background and institutional fidelity, influence the functioning of
their public administrations. Nevertheless, the understanding that scale does make
a difference, and that population size is a core determinant of scale is shared by dif-
ferent disciplinary perspectives on small states (Ingebritsen et al., 2006; Lowenthal,
1987; Maass, 2009; Raadschelders, 1992; Sarapuu, 2010). Consequently, several
scholars suggest that states should be conceptualized on ‘a continuum of size’ (e.g.
Bray, 1991, p. 13; Bray and Packer, 1993, p. 91): they can be expected to have
certain characteristics and organizational patterns the more one goes down the scale,
based on the size of their population. The smaller the population gets, the more
likely are the states to present common institutional ‘small state characteristics’ in
public governance, regardless of their other traits. So, when examining the strategies
and behaviour of states in the international arena, we can expect the administrative
capabilities of ‘small powers’ (Ingebritsen et al., 2006; Thorhallsson and Wivel,
2006) to be more strongly influenced by special small state constraints the more their
population decreases.
This chapter seeks to unpack these constraints and opportunities. The existing
knowledge on small administrations contains studies on small states within the EU
decision-making structures (e.g. Panke, 2010a, 2010b; Thorhallsson, 2000), small
developing island states (e.g. Baker, 1992; Barrett, 1986; Chittoo, 2011; Farrugia,
1993) and studies on specific policy issues in a small state context (e.g. Bacchus and
Brock, 1987; Bray and Packer, 1993; Crossley, Bray, and Packer, 2009; Crossley
and Sprague, 2014; Larmour and Barcham, 2006; Lutterbeck, 2009). An important
contribution to small states’ literature is a recent quantitative study on the effects of
country size on performance of national governments (Jugl, 2019). However, the
 Small states: public management and policy-making 57

literature does not offer a systematic framework for analysing the special qualitative
context of policy-making and implementation in small states. Consequently, the
chapter proceeds with an effort to provide an overview of the core characteristics of
small state public administrations, the limitations and opportunities that come with
them and their impact on small state governance.
In structuring the discussion, we rely on Pollitt and Bouckaert (2017), who indi-
cate the five core components of public administration systems that have been at
the centre of public management reforms in the last decades. These are: budgetary
systems, personnel systems, public sector organization, performance measurement,
and openness and transparency (Pollitt and Bouckaert, 2017, pp. 76–77). These
are the crucial components of public management that shape the functioning and
results of the public sector and are addressed in the quest for administrative capacity,
efficiency and effectiveness. We focus on the four core components most affected
by smallness in the form of limited human resources: public sector organization,
performance management, personnel management, and openness and transparency.
Budgetary systems, the most technical part of public management, is less affected
by limited human resources and therefore largely beyond the scope of this chapter.
Under each of these four topics, we discuss the special characteristics of small states,
their challenges and opportunities. The chapter concludes with a discussion of the
impact of smallness on public management and policy-making.

PUBLIC SECTOR ORGANIZATION

The proper structure of public administrations and the best way to organize public
functions has been a core concern of recent international public management reforms
(Pollitt and Bouckaert, 2017). Various reform endeavours have built on the percep-
tion that contemporary public sector structures are failing to tackle complex societal
problems. Better ways for balancing specialization with coordination, and hierarchi-
cal structures with network or market-based approaches, have been sought. However,
the burden of organizing for independent statehood is probably even heavier on small
states and presents small state decision-makers with several dilemmas. Lowenthal
(1987, p. 37) claims that small state governments are both meddlesome and burden-
some. By and large, the functions of small and large states are similar, and there are
certain functions that a state has to fulfil regardless of its size (Baker, 1992, p. 7).
All states need to address their security and international relations, their economic,
environmental, education and health policies as well as their systems of justice.
A complete abandonment of core state functions is not an option. Delegating the
provision of public services to other states, for example in the fields of education or
health, would come with a demand for in-house competence, transaction costs and
unintended side-effects (e.g. brain-drain) (Randma-Liiv and Sarapuu, 2019). A small
client base for public services makes it difficult for public administrations to enjoy
economies of scale. Consequently, small states face the challenge of mobilizing
58 Handbook on the politics of small states

limited administrative resources to deal with a wide range of public problems, and
this has implications on the organization of their public sectors.
First, there is a strong pressure to prioritize in organizing the public functions
in small states (Bray, 1991). In light of limited resources, the tasks cannot be dealt
with in as much depth as would be desirable, and with regard to certain functions,
a decision may have to be made not to undertake them at all. Some functions in public
administration are less common in small than large states, including, for example,
planning, inspection and guidance (Bray, 1991, pp. 42–49). Some government activities
may be eliminated and some others scaled down (Kersell, 1987). Every decision
to promote activities in the public sector addresses a trade-off between public
service excellence and competition for scarce resources with private enterprises
(Warrington, 1992, p. 229). The pressure to prioritize is also reflected in the foreign
policy and diplomacy of small states, where a limited number of goals are pursued
and activities are directed to the spheres of vital interest (Hay, 2002; Thorhallsson,
2000, pp. 91–93).
Second, the small size of public organizations puts limits to the division of labour.
In combination with finite resources, both human and financial, the small scale limits
specialization and pushes public institutions towards multi-functionalism (Bray and
Packer, 1993; Farrugia and Attard, 1989; Randma-Liiv, 2002). Since public service
provision is gripped by diseconomies of scale, the number of clients is limited,
and public sector organizations may fall short of necessary competence, there is
a constant pressure in small states towards centralization of various state functions,
exacerbating the trend towards multi-functionalism further. The multi-functionality
occurs both on the level of individual officials and entire public organizations. Small
states tend to have more multi-functional ministries, as the grouping of functions
gives them a scalar advantage by providing internal access to a wider range of
skills and permitting more efficient use of resources (e.g. technical support staff)
(Bray, 1991, pp. 40–41). On the individual level, public servants have to cope with
multi-grade and multi-disciplinary duties (Randma-Liiv, 2002, p. 377). One senior
small state official is often in charge of several policy issues or phases in the policy
cycle, which in larger countries are catered for by separate units (Farrugia, 1993;
Hay, 2002, p. 220; Thorhallsson, 2000, p. 81). Multi-functionality facilitates getting
the ‘big picture’ on policy problems, but it comes with the cost of constraining the
development of in-depth expertise and higher competition for attention and resources
between different public functions.
Third, small state administrations tend to rely more on flexible and informal struc-
tures than their counterparts in larger states. The interaction between administrative
units is often characterized by the lack of machinery for formal coordination and
heavier reliance on informal communication (Raadschelders, 1992, p. 28). Small
states are likely to have fewer government organizations, hierarchical levels and
positions, and less distance between executives and lower levels of organizations,
which is why the coordination process is often faster and more flexible than in large
states (Hoscheit, 1992, p. 274; Thorhallsson, 2000, pp. 82–83). Such informality
and flexibility allows small states to cope with the constraints of scale, to prioritize
 Small states: public management and policy-making 59

on a running basis, and to devote resources to the issues in need of instant attention.
On the other hand, the reliance on informal work arrangements and the tendency to
adapt structures to people and situations make it more difficult to apply hierarchical
and standardized organizational practices. Consequently, coordination and commu-
nication problems are typical of small state public administrations, especially in less
salient policy issues.

PERFORMANCE MANAGEMENT

Governments worldwide are under pressure to improve their performance in pursuit

of more efficiency and effectiveness, and in order to maintain or revive their citizens’
trust in public institutions. Using private sector management practices in the public
sector has led to fostering a ‘performance culture’ and an increase in the use of
various performance management tools in government (Van Dooren, Bouckaert, and
Halligan, 2010). At the same time, performance management does not always lead to
better performance and may even result in pervasive effects (Bevan and Hood, 2006;
Pollitt and Bouckaert, 2017). A recent quantitative study by Jugl (2019) shows that
public service performance increases with size and that the smallness of a country
limits effectiveness due to missing economies of scale. Whereas the size of a country
systematically affects public service performance, which could hardly be changed,
we will here focus on the special environment that small states face when developing
their performance management and accountability systems.
Multi-functionalism affects the performance of public servants in two contrasting
ways. On the one hand, it enables officials to develop a picture of the organization
or a programme as a whole and be more flexible and adaptive compared to their
colleagues in the large states. On the other hand, the multiple tasks of public servants
can become obstacles to their overall performance. The necessity of sharing time
between different duties and regularly shifting attention from one task to another, as
well as the need to develop adequate levels of knowledge and skills simultaneously
in various areas, tends to weaken the area-specific expertise of officials (Farrugia,
1993). As argued by Benedict (1966, p. 32), the specialist in a small country must be
a Jack (or Jill) of all trades with the risk that s/he is a master (or mistress) of none.
Multi-functionalism also has consequences for performance management per se.
Several distinguished authors of performance management (Bevan and Hood, 2006;
Talbot, 2007) have drawn attention to the problem that the multiplicity of objectives,
and thus multiple performance criteria, make the goals of both individuals and
organizations vague, difficult to follow and hard to evaluate. As multi-functionality
of both individuals and organizations is a characteristic of small states, this presents
a substantial challenge for effective performance management.
Furthermore, small governments are likely to face specific problems with manage-
ment and control of specialists, since the expertise in a particular policy sector may
be concentrated within a limited number of people, often only one or two individuals
within a state (Randma, 2001; Sarapuu, 2010; Sutton, 1987) who develop a ‘monopoly
60 Handbook on the politics of small states

of expertise’, leading to accountability problems (Baldacchino, 1997, pp. 73–76).

The institutionalization of performance management tools requires expert knowl-
edge from the evaluators of performance. If there are only a handful of specialists
in a particular field in the whole country, nobody is available locally with a strong
professional base to evaluate how good the professional is. Several authors (Boyce,
1989, p. 5; Bray and Packer, 1991, p. 89) argue that, in some instances, this allows
individuals (and whole professional units) to get away with poor performance and
inappropriate behaviour (the so-called ‘terror of specialists’ or ‘pseudo-expertise’).
Moreover, as one of the ‘soft’ tasks of performance evaluation is to give feedback to
an individual and to raise his/her motivation and self-fulfilment, improper evaluation
may lead to dissatisfaction, as the professional feels that his/her knowledge and skills
are not adequately valued.
The most important challenge of small states in relation to performance man-
agement is the particular ‘social ecology’ of small societies reflected in highly
personalized relationships and informality of interactions. The notion of ‘small state
ecology’ dates back to Benedict (1966), who noted that the main criteria of size for
‘societies’ was the number and quality of role-relationships: in a small society, indi-
viduals interacted with each other over and over again in different roles and in a wide
range of social situations. Parsons (1951) has characterized such role-relationships as
‘particularistic’, where relations extend over a considerable time-span and the roles
involved are usually ascribed (rather than achieved). Benedict (1966, p. 26) argues
that the standards of judgement in ‘particularistic’ role-relationships depend on who
persons are rather than what they do. They contrast with ‘universalistic’ relations,
where the judgement is impersonal and based on more or less fixed standards and
criteria of achievement, instead of lineage, clan or dynasty (Benedict, 1966).
Lowenthal (1987, pp. 38–39) offers the term ‘managed intimacy’ to describe the
particularistic social relations prevalent in small states. As the social field is small,
every relationship carries several interests and may have long-term consequences.
Therefore, inhabitants in small states ‘learn’ to get along, whether they like it or not,
with people they will meet in various contexts over their entire lives. Lowenthal
(1987) argues that this is why small state inhabitants become ‘experts’ at muting
hostility, deferring their own views, containing disagreement, and avoiding dispute
in the interests of stability and compromise (see Boissevain, 1990 on the Malta expe-
rience). In large societies, it is easier to criticize people whom you most likely will
not meet again; but in small states two people may have a long shared history and
expect to meet in unpredictable ways in the future. Deferring one’s own views may
lead to a problem: once the conflict explodes, it is likely to be strong and to last for
a longer period. This explains why Benedict (1966, p. 33) claims that the affectivity
of predominantly particularistic relationships can also be negative.
Consequently, the special social ecology and particularistic relations provide a per-
formance management problem for small states. The core principles of performance
management are based on the universalistic model. However, in a small-scale society
where relationships tend towards particularism (Benedict, 1966, p. 27; Richards,
1982, p. 158), clear lines of accountability are difficult to maintain. The smaller the
 Small states: public management and policy-making 61

society is, the more particularistic are the social relations and the more challenging it
is to follow universalistic criteria in performance management. People in small soci-
eties tend to develop either strong positive or negative relationships with each other;
these last over a long time and may influence the entire performance management
process and, most of all, the establishment of impartial performance evaluation prac-
tices. Giving too positive an evaluation to incompetent public servants or weak top
officials may be resorted to in small states due to the need to manage intimacy and to
avoid worsening the interpersonal relations. Managers who give their subordinates
negative rankings still need to meet these individuals regularly in other professional
and social settings (Farrugia and Attard, 1989, p. 75). Only larger institutions are
able to introduce proper control and evaluation instruments, because it is in the larger
organizations that the manager does not know individual employees well enough per-
sonally so that s/he can use impersonal mechanisms of evaluation (Edwards, 1979).
In the closely knit environment of small states, it remains questionable to what extent
formal and impartial performance management tools can be implemented.

PUBLIC PERSONNEL MANAGEMENT

The quest for a well-performing public sector – and, more broadly, for good govern-
ance − has brought public personnel management to the centre of attention of politi-
cians, senior administrators and academics. Modern governments depend to a great
extent on the work of public servants (Peters, 2018). Public sector decision-makers
are looking for new approaches to inspire performance, accountability, motivation
and integrity in the public service. Scarce human capital in small states does not
undermine the importance of people. On the contrary, public service plays a crucial
role in small states, since it is among the biggest and most influential employers
(Bray and Packer, 1993). The shortage of highly qualified human resources in small
states means that the government competes for the best and the brightest with the
private sector and with international employers. Public personnel management in
small states faces particular challenges in regard to job design, recruitment and selec-
tion, training and development, and career management.
In small systems, it is vital to use all available skills, since the pool of human
resources is limited (Bray and Packer, 1991; Chittoo, 2011). The traditional approach
to job design relies on concrete structuring of organizational tasks, which puts the
focus on formal positions and makes it difficult to fully utilize individuals’ strengths
and competencies. However, in a small state context, it may be more desirable to
define positions around the skills, knowledge and abilities of individuals rather than
to design ideal jobs for people who may not even exist. For example, Murray (1981,
p. 194) claims that specialists in small states are sometimes recruited according to
rather vague criteria and are left to determine their own duties as they see fit. As
individuals usually play multi-functional roles, it is possible to invent novel ways of
grouping different tasks together. Consequently, individuals in small states can be
not only role-takers but also role-makers (Randma-Liiv, 2002). This gives individual
62 Handbook on the politics of small states

job holders great responsibility and ‘ownership’ over their jobs, offering extensive
room for manoeuvre. However, a job description written by and for a single person
who does a particular job can be biased and shaped to fit the person, not the job in
general. According to the traditional model of public administration, such a personal-
ized approach constitutes ‘bad’ administration. However, in small state practice, this
can be an accepted practice.
The possibility that positions are tied to particular individuals may cause problems
in recruitment and selection. It is very difficult to match candidates’ skills and knowl-
edge with (sometimes missing or inadequate) requirements for a position.
In addition, there can be a shortage of qualified people competing for a job. Skills
and knowledge accumulate easier in large systems and, therefore, staff competencies
can be better matched to the greater variety of tasks. Mismatches between people
and jobs in small systems can lead to career development problems for individuals,
expensive turnover, lower productivity, and a shortage of capable managers in organ-
izations (Slavenski, 1986).
In both small and large states, there is a serious danger of appointments being
influenced by personal connections. As a result, the traditional values of merit in
public service selection and promotion, as well as the overall trust in the government,
may be adversely affected. As Weber (1978, p. 975) put it:

. . . bureaucracy develops the more perfectly, the more it is ‘dehumanised’, the more
completely it succeeds in eliminating from official business love, hatred, and all purely
personal, irrational, and emotional elements which escape calculation.

The possibility of recruitment decisions being influenced by personal relationships

is greater in small states because of the higher level of particularism and due to the
interrelatedness of role-relationships. Bray and Packer (1993, p. 87) claim that,
in order to avoid the influence of personal connections on recruitment decisions,
ministries in small states often establish very detailed procedures for recruitment
and promotion and may rely on them even more rigidly than their colleagues in
larger states. Despite such measures, the universal application of merit principles
can be challenged in small states. Due to the limits of domestic labour, individuals
may be offered employment even when they lack qualifications and aptitudes for the
jobs they are expected to perform (Farrugia and Attard, 1989, p. 60). Appointment
practices may not follow the formal merit principles widely accepted in large developed
public services, for example by exempting employees from formal recruitment pro-
cedures by resorting to ‘temporary’ appointments or other methods to avoid merit
testing (Farrugia and Attard, 1989; Randma, 2001). Due to the shortage of qualified
human resources, small administrations may find it useful to have more flexible
recruitment policies, allowing fast and ‘elastic’ appointments of people who do not
necessarily have all the qualifications required for the position. Although this may
prove practical for small state reality, it may also open a window for patronage.
The small size of the labour force has implications also for the education and
training of civil servants (Bacchus and Brock, 1987; Bray and Packer, 1993; Chittoo,
 Small states: public management and policy-making 63

2011; Crossley, Bray, and Packer, 2009; Farrugia and Attard, 1989). The limited
number of professionals in the public service makes it economically inefficient and
academically impractical to provide specialist curricula in particular policy fields
(such as health policy or social policy) in higher education institutions. Similarly,
diseconomies of scale and the small number of specialists to be trained makes the
cost of specialized and/or advanced in-service training courses very high (Bray,
1991). Due to the scarce demand, small states are likely to have a limited market for
private sector training providers, lack of country-specific textbooks and case studies,
and a shortage of high-quality trainers to share their knowledge.
In addition, specialists in small countries are more likely than their colleagues in
large public services to lack the professional interchange and stimulation which is
provided in large countries by associations, publications, conventions and so forth
(Bray and Packer, 1993). Consequently, the specialists in small states tend to live
“in a condition of professional loneliness” (Selwyn, 1975, p. 141). Rare specialists
can be lonely on the one hand but domestic stars on the other hand. To become an
expert of a narrow field in a small state may not require special education, years-long
experience and continuous self-improvement. In contrast, it is possible to become
a ‘domestic champion’ as a result of short-term focusing on a specific topic. In
the context of limited institutionalized training opportunities, the knowledge and
skills of public servants become dependent on their motivation and commitment
to self-development, the creativity of their employers in search of relevant training
opportunities, and on international collaboration in the provision of public service
training.
With regards to career management, in the traditional public administration model,
the structure of the organization itself constitutes an organizational career, where
officials move upwards on predetermined ladders. In such a model, the public service
career is a long-term organizational reward accruing from commitment and effort for
deserving members. This refers to ‘linear careers’ based on vertical upward mobility
corresponding to stable internal labour markets and resulting in lifetime employment
in the public service. While the relevance of such a ‘linear career’ is increasingly
questioned in the contemporary world (Lægreid and Wise, 2015), it is especially dif-
ficult to apply in small systems which have fewer levels in their hierarchies and fewer
advancement opportunities than large systems (Randma, 2001). Accordingly, many
people may reach the peak of their careers very quickly and then plateau. This results
in ‘dead-end’ jobs for public servants, which, in turn, may cause dissatisfaction and
lack of motivation among individuals (Stout, Slocum, and Cron, 1988). This is one of
the factors leading to brain-drain from smaller organizations to larger ones, and from
smaller states to larger ones. The employees of large organizations have stronger
tenure than those in small organizations (Bielby and Baron, 1983; Wholey, 1990):
small governments are thus more likely to provide for horizontal and cross-sectoral
rather than vertical mobility. It can be argued that the smaller the public service, the
smaller the opportunities for a lifetime career within it and the more likely that indi-
viduals change their jobs and careers a number of times during their lives.
64 Handbook on the politics of small states

OPENNESS AND TRANSPARENCY

A traditional problem of governance centres on the optimal balance between formal

and informal governance. The classical values of public administration – such
as transparency, predictability, neutrality and equality – assume formalization.
Safeguarding the respect for these values demands rules and standardization.
However, the everyday reality of small states − in the form of higher personalism,
close social relationships, the need to prioritize and multi-functionality – steers
small administrations away from rigid rule-following and towards adopting infor-
mal working procedures and flexibility. The implications are double-edged: on
the one hand, the reliance on informal means of communication may result in
a failure to record decisions and the reasoning on which those decisions were based
(Selwyn, 1975), with subsequent problems of transparency, barriers to control and
accountability, and institutional amnesia. Furthermore, in a situation where public
organizations are ‘multi-functional’ in their very nature because of the need to cope
with different and possibly conflicting considerations and values (Christensen et al.,
2007, p. 7), the public organizations of smaller states can be characterized as ‘double
multi-functional’. If multi-functional organizations give public servants opportuni-
ties for discretionary judgment and a degree of freedom in assessing what consider-
ations to emphasize (Christensen et al., 2007, p. 7), then double multi-functionality
increases this room for manoeuvre even more and results in problems of transparency
and accountability.
On the other hand, it is expected that the small scale of a state balances the afore-
mentioned problems, as it brings decision-makers closer to the people, making them
more representative, responsive and accountable (Veenendaal and Corbett, 2015). It
is anticipated that small size makes administrative processes more personalized, and
government officials take on individual responsibility for their community. People in
small states are more or less known to each other so that ministers, high government
officials, influential businesspersons or politicians can be more easily accessible,
either formally or informally (Bacchus and Brock, 1987; Bray and Packer, 1993;
Sutton, 1987). That should make the system more transparent. However, the evi-
dence from practice shows that small states’ reality is not necessarily so conducive to
democratic governing (Larmour and Barcham, 2006; Veenendaal and Corbett, 2015).
The same social characteristics that are expected to make governing more responsive
and accountable may lead to personality politics overriding other considerations,
patron–client relationships, corruption and despotism (Baldacchino, 2012; Corbett
and Veenendaal, 2018). Public servants and politicians can be subordinated to lobby
groups or influential individuals, leading to severe accountability problems and the
‘capture’ of the state (see, e.g., Hampton and Christensen, 2002 on small island tax
havens). There may be a high impact of interest groups on policy-making, especially
if there are few strong industrial sectors in the country, while the limited possibilities
for specialization in the market and society may lead to a shortage of capable partners
to cooperate with (Sarapuu, 2010). Small societies may lack a critical mass of insti-
tutionalized interest groups that could balance each other in the political discourse
 Small states: public management and policy-making 65

(Larmour and Barcham, 2006). This may lead to the domination of those who are the
loudest, the richest or the closest to the politicians: a politico-economic collusion of
elites that seeps through structures and institutions and can go largely undetected.

CONCLUSION

Contrary to popular myths, governments, politicians and administrators in small

states must routinely deal with contradictory pressures and face complex paradoxes,
from which they do not have an easy way out. Governing small states is different
from large states, quantitatively and qualitatively. Scarce human resources and
a special social ecology lead to a limited scope of activity, multi-functionalism,
reliance on informal structures, constraints on steering and control and higher per-
sonalism (Sarapuu, 2010). These traits of small states make an imprint on public
policy-making and implementation. The politics–administration dichotomy is even
more difficult to maintain in smaller states than in large ones, and more tolerance
towards movement between the administrative and political spheres is common
(Farrugia, 1993, p. 222; Hay, 2002, p. 221; Randma-Liiv, 2002).
Informal communication, crossing both vertical and horizontal as well as adminis-
trative and political boundaries, makes a small government apparatus a comprehen-
sive informal network (Bacchus and Brock, 1987; Bray and Packer, 1993; Sutton,
1987). While formally set institutional procedures dominate large systems, more
informal and personal relationships shape policy-making in small states. Factors
that may facilitate cooperation may also obstruct and complicate it. ‘Personification’
of policy-making may put great personal pressure on officials (Chittoo, 2011) and
ultimately lead to avoidance of decision-making (Sutton, 1987). A less institutional-
ized policy-making system allows for a higher degree of personal intervention and
a corresponding ad hoc approach to policy-making (Sutton, 1987). Although ideas
and standpoints can be communicated more easily and quickly, necessary decisions
and actions can simultaneously also be modified, adjusted and sometimes blocked by
personal interventions (Farrugia, 1993, pp. 222–223). Reliance on informal networks
may contribute to adaptability, but also lead to systematic underestimation of formal
coordination and control.
Altogether, the combination of high personalism, multi-functionality and infor-
mality implies that individual political and administrative leaders can have a major
impact on public policy-making and implementation in small states, both for good
and for bad. In small states, civil servants are more influential policy-makers than
their colleagues in larger states due to their expert power in substantial policy areas.
Small state civil servants often initiate, design, implement and eventually evaluate
policy changes. Individual (frequently mid-level) civil servants may carry unique
expertise, whereas both their administrative and political superiors may be short of
the respective knowledge in order to effectively steer them. Neither political parties
nor the parliament are likely to have a critical mass of people in order to develop
substantial competence in a wide range of policy areas. Specialized civil servants
66 Handbook on the politics of small states

hold expert power indispensable to their country, leading to blurred lines between
administering and political decision-making and to potential problems of accounta-
bility. Due to fewer ‘veto points’ in small compared to large systems, the experience,
knowledge, skills, values and preferences of individual senior civil servants may exert
a major impact on government performance. The management capacities, integrity
and personal example of both political and administrative leaders are crucial.
The existing research on the governance of small states still offers a limited
systematic understanding of the impact of state size on public management and
policy-making. There is considerable room for further studies and developing the
generalized theoretical knowledge on the operation of small administrations as
well as their opportunities and challenges in dealing with complex policy problems
in the contemporary global environment. Among other issues, there is the need to
elaborate on the interaction of politics and administration in small systems, the design
and operation of core executives, governance of informal networks, management
of expertise, and the impact of multi-functionalism on public policy-making and
service delivery in small states. With regard to several of the issues mentioned (e.g.
multi-functionality or informal coordination practices), the small state context offers
a perfect environment for studying phenomena of general theoretical interest.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The preparation of this chapter has been supported by the project ‘Navigating
the storm: The challenges of small states in Europe’ under Grant Agreement
587498-EPP-1-2017-1-IS-EPPJMO-NETWORK and the Estonian Research Council
grant PUT1461.

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5. Small states: challenges of political
economy
Godfrey Baldacchino

INTRODUCTION

The smaller the state, the more dominant the role of the state in the local economy.
Hence, even in circumstances where liberal economic theory is assumed to be best
suited to suggest and inform development trajectories, what actually unfolds is often
more akin to political economy (Bertram and Poirine, 2007). Creating and sustaining
gainful employment, and producing goods and services, in small states are critically
determined by political decisions in response to regional or global market conditions
over which the small state itself may have little or no influence. Domestically, the
state looms large as a significant actor: whether as a major – and typically, by far
the largest – employer in its own right; as a facilitator and gatekeeper for inward
investment; and as the allocator of scarce resources (such as land titles), contracts and
licences to service providers, often in oligopolistic or monopolistic circumstances
which distort competition (e.g. Baker, 1992). The private sector is often concentrated
in one or a few economic sectors that are export-led, and may expect, and benefit
from, special concessions or subsidies from the state. In addition, other small state
citizens may work in the informal economy or in small and micro enterprises that are
family run, usually servicing the small domestic market. A sizeable diaspora resident
abroad may support the local economy with remittance transfers, or as tourists who
tend to come on repeat visits and stay with relatives and friends when they do so.

SMALL STATES: THREE CATEGORIES

The focus of this book is small states, and therefore the critical consideration is the
impact and effect of small size on economic and political behaviour. As discussed in
the introduction (Baldacchino and Wivel, 2020), it is neither possible nor advisable
to come up with a strict definition of what is a small state.
This chapter prefers to deal with a particular type of small state: that with a resident
population of less than one million. This decision, however, leaves out other small
states included in this volume (such as the Baltic and Nordic countries), with resident
populations from just over one million (Estonia, Cyprus) to around eight million
(Sweden). In my defence, I choose the world’s smallest states for analysis here as
‘extreme’ cases; allowing us to detect more glaringly small state challenges which
other, not-as-small states tend to experience as well but less severely. Selecting the

70
 Small states: challenges of political economy 71

states by absolute population size rather than relative or relational criteria makes
sense if we want to know about the political economy of small states, because a small
population will typically result in a number of shared challenges: small market size,
absence of economies of scale, lack of domestic competition and a small elite in the
private sector, often intertwined with an equally small political and administrative
elite.
There are today 39 states with a resident population of one million or less. This
comprises just over one-fifth of the total membership of the United Nations (cur-
rently at 193). This family of the very smallest of sovereign states is likely to feature
within any collection of small states (except those that may be region-specific). Its
members fall within quite distinct geopolitical clusters (See Table 5.1).
The largest sub-group – 20 states, so just over half the total – consists of archipel-
agos. These jurisdictions must contend with the issue of ‘islandness’ (e.g. Hall, 2012)
but also territorial fragmentation, which complicates infrastructure and investment.
The provision of adequate transportation and other social and economic services
to outlying islands will be critical towards the maintenance of populations on such
islands and thus stave off domestic migration, if not wholesale depopulation, to
capital island/cities.
Five additional small states are single island units: their whole population is settled
on one, single island. All of these have a small land area, and therefore typically high
population densities; except Iceland, with its sprawling land mass.
Another country – Brunei – forms part of another, larger island (Borneo). It there-
fore shares characteristics with other island territories, with the added complication
that it must contend with neighbouring states – in this case, Malaysia and Indonesia
– with whom it needs to get along, although relations are typically strained.
These 26 small island states are located largely in the Caribbean Sea and in
the Indian and Pacific Oceans. As many as 20 of these entities are former British
colonies, thus inheriting particular civil service, parliamentary, linguistic and legal
traditions. Such island units must deal continuously with the issues of isolation and
connectivity, perhaps also of peripherality with respect to trade routes, as well as
internal fragmentation (in the case of archipelagic, multi-island jurisdictions), and
where the viable transportation of people and goods can be critical to their economic
and even demographic survival.
The second category of small states tends to be distant from seas and oceans. Six
other small states are landlocked: their ongoing, often complementary, relation-
ships with their neighbour/s have a significant impact on their economic status and
performance. All six of these states but one (Bhutan, in Asia), are European buffer
microstates with a long history of autonomy: Andorra, Liechtenstein, Luxembourg,
San Marino and the Vatican. Practically all of these have idiosyncratic and special
relations with one or more of their neighbouring states.
The remaining seven small states come in a third and final category: they are small
coastal continental states, perched on the coasts of four continents: Belize, Guyana
and Suriname off Central and South America; Djibouti and Equatorial Guinea off
East and West Africa respectively; and Monaco and Montenegro off South-West
72 Handbook on the politics of small states

Table 5.1 Distribution of the world’s 39 small states with a population

of less than 1 million by geopolitical status and their economic
implications

No Type of small state Names Economic challenges

5 (Single) island states Barbados, Dominica, Iceland, Nauru, St Isolation, peripherality,
Lucia diseconomies of scale
20 Archipelago states Antigua & Barbuda, Bahamas, Cape Verde, Isolation, peripherality,
Comoros, Federated States of Micronesia, diseconomies of scale,
Fiji, Grenada, Maldives, Malta, Marshall fragmentation
Islands, Palau, Samoa, São Tomé and
Príncipe, Seychelles, Solomon Islands, St
Kitts-Nevis, St Vincent & the Grenadines,
Tonga, Tuvalu, Vanuatu
1 State that is part of another, Brunei Relations with island
larger island neighbours
6 Landlocked states Andorra, Bhutan, Liechtenstein, Transportation, connectivity,
Luxembourg, San Marino, The Vatican diseconomies of scale
7 Coastal states Belize, Djibouti, Equatorial Guinea, Guyana, Relations with mainland
Monaco, Montenegro, Suriname neighbour/s

and South-East Europe respectively. These also need to deal with and survive along
much larger neighbours; but may have the option of engaging in both land-based and
seaborne trade.

ECONOMIC FORTUNES OR HANDICAPS

The discourse surrounding the economic fortunes of small states has been driven by
a long-standing debate as to whether, on one hand, their presumed vulnerabilities are
chronic, inherent and directly consequent on their small size, in which case they are
a given (Briguglio, 2018); or else, whether small size also brings opportunities that
may even not be enjoyed by larger jurisdictions (Bertram and Poirine, 2018). The
openness to trade, capital investment, expertise, tourist flows, and so many addi-
tional inputs from abroad that are obligated by the inherently small domestic market
are seen as powerful contributors of vulnerability, from which there is no escape.
“Anything, from cotton and linen to machine parts and, in some cases, specialised
knowledge, has to be imported” (Eriksen, 2018, pp. 128–129); although there are
exceptions: beer is a notable one (Baldacchino, 2010). Such vulnerability can result
from: the size and frequency of exogenous shocks (observed or anticipated); expo-
sure to shocks; and the ability to respond to shocks (Guillaumont, 2010). For their
foreign policy goals to be pursued and possibly secured, active policies of regional
integration and ‘pooling of sovereignty’ are necessary (Kurecic, 2017) and seeking
‘shelter’ in the shadow of the great may be inevitable (Griffiths, 2014; Thorhallsson,
2018). And yet, the same commitment to openness can be seen to make for a more
flexible polity, a more elastic and responsive (and hence more resilient) economy,
 Small states: challenges of political economy 73

and a more multi-functional society, able to switch economic focus successfully

(albeit not necessarily painlessly) (Baldacchino, 2011, 2015; Katzenstein, 1984,
p. 257; Kurecic, Luburic, and Kozina, 2017; Thorhallsson, 2010, p. 376).
Boon or bane, small states have to contend with the various implications of their
size when it comes to ‘doing business’. We are dealing here with a limited land area
(although possibly a large ocean area) and finite resources; and there are limited
domestic markets and client bases. The indivisibility of various public goods, ser-
vices and administrative structures add to the costs of governance per capita (Brown,
2010). Local consumers may have clear preferences for imported metropolitan
goods, rather than locally made commodities. In the case of island jurisdictions,
the physical isolation may imply that significant transport costs come into play in
order to access distant alternative markets or source raw material, especially for
manufactures (Armstrong and Read, 2003; Bray, 1992; Briguglio, 1995; Srinivasan,
1986). Even where small states nurture good quality and competitive products, and
even command competitive niches, there may still be difficulties in securing effective
research and development capability, skilled human resources, suitable terms for
financing and/or appropriate technology. This is a scenario that small states share
with many, just as small, sub-national jurisdictions (Armstrong et al., 1993; Dolman,
1985; Doumenge, 1985, p. 86; Encontre, 1999; Fischer and Encontre, 1998; Payne,
1987). The absence of economies of scale, the existence of tight, clannish and
stubbornly networked communities, the obligation to export or perish, and a ubiqui-
tous (often meddlesome) government, in their various combinations and with their
various implications, prove challenging to the economic prospects of small states. No
wonder that the ‘development’ agenda of various small states has been held hostage
by a paradigm of vulnerability since the 1990s. Nevertheless, a recognition of resil-
ience has now, mercifully, become mainstream and has provided a welcome reprieve
from an excessively fatalistic and deterministic discourse (Briguglio, Cordina, and
Kisanga, 2006; Briguglio et al., 2006).

ECONOMIC ASPECTS OF ‘DOING’ POLICY

When discussing the economic aspect of ‘doing policy’ in small states, we need to
consider at least four, interlocking sets of policy issues. They have serious implica-
tions on the nature of politics.

The Virtues of Being Small

First, is how to make a virtue out of smallness. Having an economy that is inevitably
open to the wider world may be construed as evidence of a structural weakness
(Srinivasan, 1986); but opportunities do come along with the challenges. When
wealth is defined in GNI or GDP (at purchasing power parity) standards, many small
states score exceptionally well. Small (and mainly island) jurisdictions actually
perform economically better than larger (and mainly continental) states (Armstrong
74 Handbook on the politics of small states

and Read, 2004; Armstrong et al., 1998, p. 644; Easterly and Kraay, 2000, p. 2015).
The world’s smallest states show considerable resourcefulness in spite, or because, of
the very real challenges of their predicament. The creative endeavours of their resi-
dents, facilitated by an adroit public policy that is quick to respond to market signals,
spawns economic and investment opportunities that can translate into private sector
employment and decent livelihoods. Small state ingenuity (at national, sectoral,
household and individual levels), coupled with strategic investments, the support of
the island diaspora, and perhaps some dashes of good fortune and serendipity thrown
in, have led to a suite of (sometimes unlikely or controversial) products and services
being developed, marketed and sold or rented. These include ‘citizenship and res-
idence by investment’ schemes; top-level Internet domain names; place-branded
foods and beverages; electronic gaming; niche manufacturing; medical tourism;
higher education services; flag registers; processed fish products; offshore finance;
detention services; trans-shipment hubs; and, now, blockchain and blue/green growth
initiatives (Baldacchino, 2015; Bernal, 2018; German, 2018; Onguglo and Eugui,
2018; Prasad, 2004). There is much more to small state survival than subsistence
farming, aid, remittances and public sector workfare (Dana, 2015). Few may be ready
to admit this; and politicians, with an obligation to transmit assurances of governing,
planning and being ‘in control’, admit this least of all. Instead, life in small states
is more likely to be a scramble to exploit one economic niche or opportunity, then
another, moving as nimbly as possible from one to the next, as one dries up and
(hopefully) another presents itself, and doing so while seeking to build a more diver-
sified economy and so not having all one’s proverbial eggs sitting dangerously in
the same basket (Baldacchino, 2011; Baldacchino and Bertram, 2009; Guillaumont,
2010).

Market Concentration

Second, small economies exhibit market concentration: they tend to generate export
sales from a narrow range of products or services: cash crops (bananas, sugar, tea,
nutmeg, cocoa, sugar) but also mineral resources (oil, gas, phosphate, nickel), and
tourism and financial services (insurance, gaming, offshore company registrations).
In the absence of such commercial activity, small state livelihoods may otherwise
depend on the transfer of (bilateral or multilateral) aid and/or remittances from
abroad. Given the small size of the economy and society, any successful economic
sector can achieve market dominance fairly quickly. Economic success translates into
a mixed blessing. It renders the small economy dangerously sensitive to and depend-
ent on the fortunes of just one sector, which typically rest on forces beyond the small
state’s purview. At the same time, that same sector assumes greater political clout
and leverage in the corridors of local power, acting as a champion of protectionism
and as a brake on liberal economic policies (Brito, 2015; Meilak, 2008; Ridderstaat
and Nijkamp, 2016; Streeten, 1993). Additionally, a boom in one economic sector
squeezes profitability in other sectors: it siphons investment and labour away while
also placing upward pressure on the exchange rate, rendering the other sectors less
 Small states: challenges of political economy 75

able to export competitively (Corden and Neary, 1982; Jayaraman and Lau, 2018).
This phenomenon is known as ‘Dutch disease’, traced to the appreciation of the then
currency of the Netherlands, the guilder, after a surge in foreign exchange inflows
which came about after the discovery of commercially exploitable North Sea oil and
gas in the 1960s (Seers, 1964).

Imperfect Competition

Third, there is the domestic small state economy to contend with as well. Here, the
defining feature may be market failure. In larger jurisdictions, large numbers of
service providers – human or corporate – can be presumed to compete actively for
market share and profitability: they need to offer good quality services at competitive
prices to attract and hold on to consumers. Such scenarios of ‘perfect competition’
are however untenable in many aspects of the economics of small states (even
though they continue to serve as the basis of their economics textbooks at their
schools and university classrooms). The small domestic markets of small states
simply do not and cannot support multiple companies producing the same goods
and services (Briguglio and Buttigieg, 2004). Power and influence, economic as
much as political, tends to be concentrated in the hands of single (hence, monopoly
power) or a few (hence, oligopoly power) individuals, institutions or organizations
(Gerring and Zarecki, 2011; Richards, 1982). National airlines, universities, banks,
media outlets, Internet service providers, ferry companies and water and electricity
firms tend towards a convergence of political and business elites, possibly with state
involvement as shareholder or sole owner (e.g. Mayo, Pace, and Zammit, 2008;
Puppis, 2009). These economic sectors tend to be dominated by one (or a few)
service providers, often operating in conditions of regulated prices; but, also, if these
are private providers, of guaranteed profit margins over a period of time and which
make the upfront financial outlay worthwhile (Baldacchino and Veenendaal, 2018).
Indeed, in a small state, a privatized monopoly provider may create more problems
than it solves (Pirotta, 2001, p. 44). The alternative could very well be not to offer
such services at all; but such a prospect does not jive with small state political elites
bent on nation-building initiatives.

Economies of Scope

Fourth, within the public administrations of small states, there are critical mass
requirements and indivisibility constraints but without economies of scale (Sarapuu
and Randma-Liiv, 2020). This means that the public servants of, say, Tuvalu or
Liechtenstein must manage the full functions of the public administration of a sov-
ereign country; as much as the public servants of Germany or India. Obviously,
they have to maintain a similar reach and scope, but with much less personnel
and resources. The trade-off is, on one hand, to broaden the portfolio of incum-
bents, obliging a disposition towards economies of scope and multi-functionalism
(Farrugia, 1993; Farrugia and Attard, 1989). Thus, for example, Tuvalu has only two
76 Handbook on the politics of small states

ambassadors; Germany almost 100. And so, while German incumbents can focus
energies on specific countries, those of Tuvalu must do so while also ‘monitoring’
the rest of the world (Panke, 2012).
On the other hand, there is a natural resort and disposition towards flexible spe-
cialization, so ‘experts’ may need to broaden their specialism to generate sufficient
demand in their area of expertise and competence (Poon, 1990; Sultana, 2006, p. 31)
or even migrate inter-sectorally throughout their careers (Baldacchino, 2011, 2019).
This strategic response to environmental variables often flies in the face of the inher-
ent disposition of the small states’ educational systems, and those of larger countries
with which they must deal, to nurture specialists (Bacchus and Brock, 1987; Bray and
Packer, 1993). Economies of scope and ‘polyvalency’ replace economies of scale as
survival algorithms (Bennell and Oxenham, 1983, p. 24). After all, even if specialist
techniques are required, there is typically not enough work for an individual, or
company, to earn a living through the specialization alone (Bray 1991, p. 512; Njie
and Fye, 1991, p. 48). “Small countries certainly need the best; but, in small econo-
mies, the best may sometimes be defined in terms of flexibility and breadth, rather
than depth” (Brock, 1988, p. 306).

DISCUSSION

It is clear that the privileged status that many small states held under the regimes
negotiated in successive rounds of the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade
(GATT), allowing preferential access to the metropolitan markets of former colonial
powers (and particularly France and the United Kingdom), is now a closed history
chapter. This has given way to a neoliberal and ‘free trade’ regime driven by the
World Trade Organization (WTO) where competitiveness drives access to markets.
Here, larger players with a stronger economic heft command economies of scale and
so can provide the cheapest products. Small states compete by seeking to move up
the quality chain, justifying their more expensive offerings via careful ‘place brand-
ing’ and niche marketing (Baldacchino and Khamis, 2018). Small states can also
specialize, as well as build strong competencies, within specific sectors or a narrow
range of services where, generally, there are few economies of scale to be reaped. For
example, the seven countries and territories with the largest flagged merchant navies
in the world are all small: Panama, Liberia, Marshall Islands, Hong Kong, Singapore,
Bahamas and Malta, in that order (Van Fossen, 2016).
As may be expected, larger players do not take being outmanoeuvred by small
states lightly. The competitiveness of small states in being able to offer low tax
services has been shamed and criticized by larger states, fearful of an exodus of tax
revenue; even though some larger states perform similar practices ‘onshore’ (Eden
and Kudrle, 2005; Persaud, 2001; Vlcek, 2008). The ‘residency’ or ‘citizenship by
investment’ schemes put into place by small states have been slandered by the same
for being allegedly abused by criminal gangs and other shady interests; although,
again, larger states themselves offer such services (Shachar, 2018). Even where the
 Small states: challenges of political economy 77

relevant authorities have found in favour of small states when larger countries have
sought to ring-fence certain trade practices in breach of WTO rules, larger states
have still managed to secure their positions. A case in point are the ramifications
of the case won by Antigua & Barbuda against the USA – both members of the
WTO – when the latter prevented its citizens from gambling on Antigua-based game
platforms (Cooper, 2009).
The final straw may come with climate change, which impacts especially heavily
on small island and coastal states (Pelling and Uitto, 2001). The 2017 hurricane
season in the Caribbean brought to life the palpable threats to small island state sur-
vival (Stephenson and Jones, 2017). Many of these jurisdictions have taken initiatives
to bolster their credentials as green/blue growth locations – such as setting up marine
protected areas – and have been applying for various financial tools to help adapt
to, or mitigate the effects of, climate change (Wilson and Forsyth, 2018). It is ironic
indeed that small states of late have gained some visibility and sympathy, even some
‘dark, voyeuristic tourism’ (but little else) as victims of the Anthropocene, through
hardly any fault of their own (Farbotko, 2010). Their developmental aspirations
may now be hijacked and dictated by the availability of climate-related international
finance (Baldacchino, 2018; Baldacchino and Kelman, 2014).

CONCLUSION

This chapter has offered a synthesis of the (at times contradictory) arguments which
highlight the (mainly economic) vulnerabilities and opportunities faced by states
because they are small. They may not be game controllers, not even game changers,
in the international economy; but small states have tended to survive fairly well, even
by deploying unorthodox policies. Hence the alignment of political and economic
strategy.
Small states have proliferated and many have prospered since 1945, capitalizing
on a rule-based international order. They have sought to exploit US–USSR super-
power rivalry; they have benefited from the ‘chequebook diplomacy’ between China
and Taiwan (e.g. Yang, 2011); and more recently they have gained attention as ‘labo-
ratories’ for climate change finance. Bartmann (1992) described “a world made safe
for small states”, at the same time that the USSR collapsed and ushered in an epoch of
US hegemony and, optimistically, an ‘end of history’ (Fukuyama, 2006). However,
with the advantage of hindsight, we now know that this was a hasty and misguided
conclusion. Moreover, with the election of President Trump in the US; the Brexit
debacle in the UK, and resurgent populism in most of Europe, post-Second World
War multilateralism is increasingly under threat. Military incursions – as in Georgia
(2008) and Crimea (2014) – have occurred with impunity, rewarding the perpetrator,
and emboldening it and any others who may be seeking similar adventures. When
and if large powers seek to pursue self-interest at the cost of undermining global
institutions, then small states are in for a rough ride (Ng, 2018). Small states prefer
to cooperate with other states and look for institutions and international rules in order
78 Handbook on the politics of small states

to ensure their safety and security (Bartmann, 2002, pp. 361–365; Burton, 2013,
p. 218). Will their strength in numbers allow small states to marshal and secure
observance to multilateral globalism? As ominous clouds gather, we will need to
watch this space closely.

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6. Small states: challenges and coping
strategies in the UN General Assembly
Diana Panke and Julia Gurol

INTRODUCTION

International cooperation between states can take place on an ad hoc basis or via
institutional arrangements, such as international organizations (IOs) or international
regimes (Alvarez, 2005; Barnett and Finnemore, 1999; Farer and Sisk, 2010; Fearon,
1998; Keohane, 1988; Young, 1989). IOs are principally open to all states and are
often composed of both bigger and smaller states. Bigger states are often the focus
of scholarly attention and are frequently regarded as being successful on the inter-
national level (Beeson, 2006; Gaddis, 1994; Keohane, 1984; Levy, 1982; Mankoff,
2011; Waltz, 1959); and so, we tend to know less about the conditions under which
smaller states are successful in international arenas (for exceptions, see Goetschel,
1998; Hey, 2003; Ingebritsen et al., 2006; Katzenstein, 1985; Panke, 2010; Steinmetz
and Wivel, 2010). Small states often operate on smaller budgets and, consequently,
their ministries have limited capacities to develop national positions concerning
issues on the negotiation table of IOs and smaller delegations at IO headquarters.
This chapter explores whether the limited capacities render the effective participation
of smaller states in international negotiations more difficult and whether this applies
to all stages of an IO policy cycle equally: that is, agenda setting, negotiations and
decision-taking (Baldacchino and Wivel, 2020). More specifically, this chapter sheds
light on the following question: Which challenges do small states face in the United
Nations General Assembly (UNGA) and how do they cope with them?
The number of IOs today is considerable and has been growing ever since the end
of the Second World War (Barnett and Finnemore, 1999; Hurd, 2011; Martin and
Simmons, 2001). However, not all IOs are so strongly based on the principle of the
sovereign equality of states qua states as is the UNGA (Panke, 2013c, 2017). Here,
all states have equal rights and obligations across agenda setting, negotiations and
the passing of UNGA resolutions, and votes are not weighted according to the size
of countries (Brazys and Panke, 2017b; Dreher and Jensen, 2007, 2013; Holloway,
1990; Keohane, 1969). Thus, formally, Kiribati carries the same weight as Russia,
China, India or the United States. Such a formal equality between states is strongly
institutionalized in the design of the UNGA (Panke, 2017); yet, in practice, states
differ significantly in their behaviour (Alker Jr., 1964; Holloway, 1990; Iida, 1988;
Kim and Russett, 1996; Manno, 1966; Panke, 2013c, 2014c; Smith, 2016). States
also differ considerably in terms of their size; some are very small, such as Tuvalu,
Palau or Micronesia, while others are more than a hundred times larger, such as

83
84 Handbook on the politics of small states

Argentina, Indonesia or Turkey. Thus, the UNGA is an interesting context to explore

the challenges small states face in international negotiations. On the one hand, all
are formally equal; on the other hand, the differences in size between the states are
enormous.
This chapter sheds light on the challenges small states face in the UNGA and how
they seek to cope with them. The first section elaborates on coping strategies that
smaller states can use in order to operate successfully and actively in the UN context.
This encompasses prioritization and selective engagement, working through groups,
and using non-capacity intensive strategies such as persuasion. The remainder of
this chapter examines which challenges small states face in the UNGA policy cycle
in the agenda setting, the negotiation, and the voting stages and discusses how they
can cope with these challenges. It reveals that small states differ in their activities
across the different stages of the policy cycle and that not all small states are equally
active or successful in this context. Agenda setting is a capacity-intensive matter and
smaller states that work through regional groups tend to be more active in proposing
UNGA resolutions than smaller states that work for most parts on their own. Yet,
when small states use coping strategies and prioritize a resolution, concentrate their
available capacities on this issue and use persuasion-based approaches to garner
support from third-party states, they can also turn into successful agenda-setters.
After agenda setting, the content of draft resolutions is discussed in the UNGA com-
mittees, which also requires diplomatic capacities if states seek to attend all meetings
for all UNGA resolutions. Therefore, smaller states struggle to be active concerning
all issues on the UNGA agenda in a given session. Thus, prioritization strategies are
essential, and, when combined with either working through groups or engaging in
persuasion strategies, can lead to success. Compared to agenda setting and nego-
tiating the content of a resolution, the final stage in a policy cycle, the passing of
a resolution in the General Assembly, requires fewer capacities. Nevertheless, many
of the smaller states participate less often in voting than larger and better-resourced
ones. Thus, prioritization can have negative side effects if smaller states that placed
no priority on a resolution remain absent when the issue is called to a vote.

SMALL STATE CHALLENGES IN INTERNATIONAL

NEGOTIATIONS AND COPING STRATEGIES

Which challenges do small states face in the negotiations beyond the nation-state
and how do they cope with them? Reviewing the literature on small states reveals
a series of challenges that smaller states face when acting on the international level.
For instance, International Political Economy (IPE) research has illustrated that
having smaller markets and more limited market power can be disadvantageous in
international trade negotiations (e.g. Ingebritsen et al., 2006; Katzenstein, 1985; Lee
and Smith, 2008; Thorhallsson, 2011).
Smaller states have fewer financial means and therefore usually also fewer
diplomats and attachés posted in missions to negotiate for their country in IOs.
 Small states: challenges and coping strategies in the UN General Assembly 85

Staff shortages reduce the chances for negotiation success for such countries since
time-intensive negotiation strategies (e.g. serial bilateral lobbying) cannot be system-
atically applied and the time an individual diplomat has to prepare for the negotiation
of an average issue is much more limited the more issues an individual has to cover
(Panke, 2010, 2013c).
In addition to having smaller national delegations available to participate in inter-
national negotiations, smaller states can also face staff shortages in the ministries
back home, such as the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA) or line ministries. This
is important since national positions do not naturally exist, but rather need to be for-
mulated by the state (Mo, 1995; Moravcsik, 1997; Panke and Risse, 2007; Putnam,
1988). Smaller ministries at home can lead to delayed instructions for international
negotiations, inhibiting the diplomats posted abroad to negotiate effectively for their
country in IOs or in situations in which diplomats do not receive a national position
at all which they could voice in international negotiations (Panke, 2013a).
Another challenge that small states might face is being subject to power-based
negotiation strategies of larger actors. The vote-buying literature argues that official
development donors can exert pressure on development aid recipients by requesting
voting loyalty in exchange for aid (Alesina and Dollar, 2000; Brazys and Panke,
2017a, 2017b; Dreher, Nunnenkamp, and Thiele, 2008; Eldar, 2008). Thus, while
unable to buy voting support themselves; small states would de facto lose autonomy
over their negotiation and voting pattern should vote-buying indeed take place sys-
tematically. Moreover, smaller states cannot use their economic or political leverage
to the same extent as larger states in order to offer side payments to third-party states
in exchange for support on a specific issue (Mattila, 2004).
The challenges that states with tight budgets and slim delegations generally face in
international negotiations also apply to the UNGA. Yet, compared to most other IOs,
the UNGA is even more challenging for small states. This is because the workload
in the UNGA is onerous: on average, the UNGA passes some 320 resolutions per
session, which can be very taxing on diplomats (Panke, 2013c). This is compounded
by the fact that the negotiations tend to be concentrated between September and
December of each year. In order to manage such a large number of resolutions in
such a short time-span, negotiations take place not only in the General Assembly, but
also in six UNGA committees. In addition, resolutions are often discussed in parallel,
which makes it especially difficult for members of smaller delegations to attend all
meetings.
In sum, in the UNGA, small states face the multiple challenges of a high work-
load due to the high number of UNGA resolutions on the negotiation table at any
given time, the high number of member states with massive capacity differences, as
well as large actors and the possibility that they might engage in vote-buying. Can
small states possibly cope with these challenges? The literature on small states in
international negotiations has pointed out that small states face disadvantages but
at the same time can engage in coping strategies (Archer, Bailes, and Wivel, 2014;
Arter, 2000, S. 679, 683; Björkdahl, 2007; Browning, 2006; Hey, 2003; Ingebritsen
et al., 2006; Katzenstein, 1985; Lee and Smith, 2008; Magnette and Nicolaidis, 2005;
86 Handbook on the politics of small states

Steinmetz and Wivel, 2010; Thorhallsson, 2006a, 2006b, 2011; Tiilikainen, 2006).
The most important coping mechanisms involve selective engagement, regional
groups/coalitions, arguing and framing.
Following all issues on the UNGA agenda is work-intensive. States with capacity
shortages are well advised to set priorities and engage selectively rather than seek to
cover all resolutions and doing so to an equal extent. Prioritization is a strategy by
which a smaller state can save resources (time, staff, administrative support) on items
on the IO agenda that are less important to the state and redirect these resources to
those resolutions featuring high on a country’s priority list (Habeeb, 1988; Laffan,
1998; Laffan and O’Mahony, 2008; Maes and Verdun, 2005; Panke, 2013c; Pruitt,
1991). Instead of acting alone, small states can benefit from working through groups,
such as regional groups or issue-specific coalitions. Groups allow for a division of
labour amongst their members: for instance, by dividing who is following which
meetings and who is speaking on behalf of the group in which arena (Ahmia, 2012;
Iida, 1988; Ingebritsen et al., 2006; Panke, 2013b, 2014b, 2014d; Vincent, 1970).
Groups and coalitions are also useful to provide leverage in international negotiations
(Delreux, 2013; Kissack, 2010; Panke, 2017; Panke, Lang, and Wiedemann, 2015;
Smith, 2013). A third coping strategy relates to the selection of negotiation strategies
that are not power and capacity intensive. Arguing and framing, by which states seek
to persuade others based on good and plausible reasons, require less economic and
political power than bargaining or vote-buying and fewer capacities than serial bilat-
eral lobbying (Fearon, 1998; Müller, 2004; Panke, 2013c, 2015; Steinberg, 2002).

SMALL STATES AND THE TABLING OF RESOLUTIONS

Which challenges do smaller states face in the agenda setting stage of the UNGA
policy cycle? According to Chapter VII of the UNGA’s Rules of Procedure, the
UNGA member states are responsible for submitting draft UNGA resolutions
(United Nations General Assembly 2008). This is called ‘sponsoring’ (Peterson,
2008; Rai, 1977).
Sponsoring resolutions requires not only an interest in a particular topic, a defini-
tion of the problem and/or the status quo, and ideas of the aims and objectives to be
achieved, but also usually a factual, legal, and perhaps even an economic, political,
social or scientific analysis of the status quo and possible changes (Panke, 2013c).
Moreover, resolutions can only be passed in the decision-taking stage of the UNGA
policy cycle if either consensus is achieved or if at least a majority of the yes votes
support the resolution. Accordingly, states sponsoring resolutions need to reach out
early on to other states in order to obtain their support. This usually involves conven-
ing sponsorship meetings in which all participating states negotiate over the wording
of the draft resolution before the draft resolution is formally tabled. In other words:
sponsorship is capacity-intensive and therefore poses a challenge to smaller states.
Figure 6.1 illustrates that states differ in how active they are in UNGA agenda
setting (the dotted line indicates the number of UNGA resolutions each state has
 Small states: challenges and coping strategies in the UN General Assembly 87

Figure 6.1 Total number of sponsored and co-sponsored UNGA resolutions,

1999/2000–2009/2010

sponsored and co-sponsored in the period between GA sessions 99/00 and 09/10).
The sponsorship activity of states is plotted against their size (here captured by the
number of staff members in the national missions in New York). As the solid line
indicates, states sponsor and co-sponsor more UNGA resolutions, the larger their
national missions are. On one end of the spectrum is Kiribati, with 11 resolutions in
total; and, on the other end, is Germany with 1,897 (co-)sponsored resolutions. This
indicates that not all small states use coping strategies to the same extent, since some
smaller states, such as Portugal (population: 10 million) or Finland (5.5 million),
are better able to cope with the challenges associated with tabling resolutions in the
UNGA than other, much smaller states, such as Kiribati (population: 114,000) or
the Maldives (420,000). To shed light on small states’ coping strategies at play, this
chapter uses the examples of Malaysia (population: 32 million), Ireland (4.7 million)
and the Netherlands (17 million).
As mentioned before, small states have different coping strategies to shape resolu-
tions at stake according to their own position. One example for a small state, which
managed to set the agenda of the UNGA and table a resolution despite its small size,
is Malaysia. During the 51st session of the General Assembly in 1996, and together
with other co-sponsoring states, the country pushed through an International Court
of Justice (ICJ) follow-up resolution on nuclear weapons (Panke, 2013c), which
re-emphasized the weight of the ICJ’s statement of 1994 that no circumstances
permit the use of nuclear weapons (Hippler Bello and Bekker, 1997). The follow-up
resolution responded to the critical stance of the USA, UK, France and Russia that
the initial UNGA resolution did not include the second part of the ICJ’s advisory
opinion, which revealed disagreement within the Court on the question whether
extreme cases of self-defence might justify the use of nuclear weapons. Facing the
opposition of the P5 states and their allies, Malaysia pushed even harder to put this
88 Handbook on the politics of small states

topic on the agenda of the following UNGA session. To counter the bargaining
power of the USA, UK, France and Russia, who demanded an expansion of the reso-
lution and the inclusion of the critical second part of the advisory opinion, Malaysia
engaged in a bargaining and arguing strategy. Accordingly, it argued that the tabled
resolution should only focus on certain parts of the preceding ICJ advisory opinion,
namely those on which the judges agreed (Panke, 2013c).
A further example of small states ‘punching above their weight’ (Edis, 1991)
is working through regional groups or coalitions. This increases their chance to
set certain topics on the agenda. One example is the human rights resolution on
Myanmar, which reports on the state of democracy and human rights in the country,
criticizes shortcomings observed on the ground, and welcomes positive changes,
should they occur (Panke, 2013c). Since this resolution takes into consideration the
current developments in Myanmar, it differs slightly in content every year. The reso-
lution was first tabled in the Third Committee of the General Assembly in December
1991 by the Netherlands. With the resolution, the EU member states reacted to the
military junta’s brutal crackdown on nationwide demonstrations and to the nullifi-
cation of 1990’s election results (Kaspar, 2016). The strategy, which helped to put
Myanmar’s human rights record on the UNGA’s agenda, was coalition building
(Panke, 2013c). When the resolution was first tabled, the Netherlands held the EU
Council Presidency, but later on other small European countries such as Ireland in
1996, updated the content of the resolution and set it on the UNGA agenda again.
Being small-sized states in the UN context, the Netherlands and Ireland used the
office of the EU Presidency to set the agenda and to gather a group of supporting EU
member states. Thereby, the resolution was soon recognized as being EU-sponsored
and 17 additional states joined it.

SMALL STATES AND NEGOTIATIONS OVER THE

CONTENT OF RESOLUTIONS IN UNGA COMMITTEES
After (co-)sponsors have drafted a resolution and tabled it, negotiations formally
start in the UNGA (Peterson, 2008). In the negotiation stage, smaller UNGA member
states face a series of challenges as well. Before a resolution moves to the assembly
level, negotiations take place in one of the six UNGA committees – Disarmament
and International Security Committee (DISEC), Economic and Financial Committee
(ECOFIN), Social, Cultural and Humanitarian Committee (SOCHUM), Special
Political and Decolonisation Committee (SPECPOL), Administrative and Budgetary
Committee, and the Legal Committee – as well as in informal settings (e.g. recep-
tions, coffee breaks, lunches, dinners or other bi- or multilateral meetings). In these
formal and informal negotiations, state diplomats have the opportunity to voice
national positions and push them, based on different negotiation strategies, such
as arguing, framing, bargaining, vote-buying and lobbying. In order to influence
the content of UNGA resolutions, states need to actively participate in the formal
negotiations but also need to be prepared to use informal venues to talk other state
 Small states: challenges and coping strategies in the UN General Assembly 89

actors into supporting a specific UNGA resolution or a specific item in a resolution.

Thus, states need sufficient capacities in the ministries in their respective capitals to
construct national positions and to translate them into good negotiation instructions
(e.g. speaking points with legal and factual analysis to support a point, scientific
insights), on the basis of which national diplomats can seek to exert influence in
UNGA negotiations. Capacity limitations back home translate into challenges for
smaller states in international negotiations, since diplomats cannot articulate their
country’s position with respect to a specific UNGA resolution as long as they do
not know what this position is. In addition, states need to have sufficient capacities
in the missions in New York, since a workforce is required to attend the discussions
and engage in negotiation strategies in formal and informal venues. Accordingly,
states with smaller diplomatic missions in New York face challenges in covering
all the negotiations taking place in these different settings (Panke, 2013c). Bilateral
lobbying is especially capacity-intensive and therefore hardly feasible for smaller
states on a broader scale. Finally, the more administrative support and the more legal,
scientific and political support diplomats receive, the more elaborate their negotia-
tion strategies can be. Moreover, the more likely it is that their argumentative and
framing strategies will win support for their respective positions. Thus, smaller states
need to develop sound and compelling persuasion-based strategies and have to do
so with fewer resources than their larger counterparts. International negotiation lit-
erature shows that, next to such persuasion-based strategies, bargaining and perhaps
vote-buying are most important (Björkdahl, 2007; Deitelhoff, 2009; Deitelhoff and
Müller, 2005; Elgström and Jönsson, 2000; Fearon, 1998; Johnstone, 2003; Mo,
1995; Panke, 2015; Payne, 2001; Pruitt, 1991; Risse, 2000).
Such strategies pose additional challenges to smaller states, since they work best
when the states in question possess economic or political power and when they are
important development aid donors and such strategies are therefore not available to
small states in general (Archer, Bailes, and Wivel, 2014; Ingebritsen et al., 2006;
Lee and Smith, 2008; Panke, 2013c). Illustrative examples for the challenges that
small states meet in the negotiation process are again the ICJ follow-up resolution on
nuclear weapons and the Myanmar human rights resolutions (Panke, 2013c). In the
beginning, quite a number of states opposed the ICJ follow-up resolution. In addition,
Malaysia as the main sponsor faced high pressure from all P5 states except China.
Moreover, as a small state within the UNGA, Malaysia itself did not possess enough
financial and humanitarian resources to participate actively in the UNGA meetings
and the informal negotiation venues for all the resolutions on the UNGA agenda.
With just ten diplomats plus the ambassador, Malaysia could not cover all UNGA
resolutions on the negotiation table in a given year with equally strong attention.
Instead, it had to prioritize and to concentrate its few resources on issues at stake
that were deemed of high importance to the country. The ICJ follow-up resolution
on nuclear weapons was clearly one of the main priorities of Malaysia in the UNGA
and the country devoted most of its resources to this issue accordingly. Thereby, it
managed to pass the resolution without many changes. Two additional strategies sup-
ported the Malaysian endeavour. Firstly, some of the co-sponsoring states – mostly
90 Handbook on the politics of small states

states from the Non-Aligned Movement – lent their staff to defend the resolution
during the meetings, increased their bargaining leverage and thereby displayed col-
lective strength against the powerful opponents. Furthermore, Malaysia engaged in
an arguing and framing strategy where it framed the tabled resolution in the context
of other treaties and resolutions, such as the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of
Nuclear Weapons (NPT) and referred to real-world developments. By applying this
non-capacity intensive strategy, Malaysia won the support of all those states that had
supported the referenced treaties. Consequently, the resolution passed and has been
introduced annually since 1997, enjoying “cross-regional support” (Government of
Malaysia, 2015).
The second example of approaches to negotiations by smaller states in the UNGA
is the Netherlands and Ireland, which tabled different versions of the resolution on
Myanmar in 1991 and 1996 respectively. Both lead countries opted for selective
engagement and placed high priority on the resolution. Thus, the Netherlands – and
especially smaller Ireland – concentrated most of their negotiation efforts in the
UNGA in the respective years on the Myanmar case. On this basis, they engaged in
argumentative strategies, communicating the state of democracy development and
human rights affairs in Myanmar in 1990 and 1995 to the other UNGA members
in order to foster support for the resolution. In addition, both countries used their
EU membership in order to divide the lobbying work amongst the group members
and outreach to all states that might become critical by not supporting the resolution
(Panke, 2013c).

SMALL STATES AND DECISION-TAKING IN THE UN

GENERAL ASSEMBLY

Once the discussions in an UNGA committee end, the respective UNGA resolution
is moved to the Assembly level in order to be passed. While this is possible on the
basis of majority voting, in practice most UNGA resolutions are passed by consensus
without formal voting taking place (Peterson 2008). If explicitly requested by at
least one UNGA member state, voting takes place and each state has one vote. Thus,
each state can opt for ‘yes’, ‘no’ or press the ‘abstention’ button. In addition, there
is a fourth option, which is not to participate in the voting stage at all and to remain
absent (Panke, 2014a). Compared to the two preceding stages in the UNGA policy
cycle, voting poses fewer challenges to smaller states since the capacity require-
ments are more limited. In order to participate in the voting stage, it is necessary
that diplomats attend the General Assembly meeting and know what the position
of their country is. Compared to committee discussions and informal negotiations,
there are fewer GA meetings, thus they require less staff capacity than the preceding
stages. In addition, since line and foreign ministries back home have had additional
time to develop a national position concerning a resolution when it has reached the
decision-taking stage compared to the agenda setting stage in which being swift is
essential, the decision-taking stage poses less of a challenge to smaller states.
 Small states: challenges and coping strategies in the UN General Assembly 91

Source: UNGA Reports.

Figure 6.2 Workload, voting and absent rates (logarithmic scale),

1999/2000–2009/2010

Between 1999/2000 and 2009/2010, states voted on 994 occasions (see Figure 6.2).
As the participation-rate on average is 89 per cent, that means states were absent
in 11 per cent of all the voting occasions. Absenteeism is neither rare nor equally
distributed across UNGA member states (see Figure 6.3): states differ in the extent to
which they do not participate in voting on UNGA resolutions, and a country’s share
of remaining absent increases the smaller a country’s national mission in New York.
This indicates that, despite requiring fewer capacities, some smaller states neverthe-
less struggle to participate actively in this stage of the UNGA policy cycle.
Why do states cope differently with the challenge of actively participating in
UNGA voting? Are there specific coping strategies at play to counteract these chal-
lenges, or do some strategies bring about absenteeism?
The narrative examples have shown that specific coping strategies such as selec-
tive engagement, building alliances or interest groups, and framing and arguing
to a certain extent do indeed counteract the challenges that small states face when
participating actively in the UNGA’s agenda setting and negotiation phases of
policy-making. For example, Malaysia managed to table the follow-up resolution to
the advisory opinion of the ICJ on the legality of the threat or use of nuclear weapons,
which was passed with 137 to 24 votes, 25 abstentions, and 7 non-voting in the first
voting occasion in 1996 (Refworld, 1996). Similarly, Ireland and the Netherlands
used all three small state strategies – prioritization, working through groups and
92 Handbook on the politics of small states

Figure 6.3 Absenteeism by member states, sessions 54–64

persuasion – in order to set the Myanmar resolution on the agenda and persuade the
other states in the UNGA to support its passing.
However, the necessity to prioritize and concentrate their few resources on the
issues which a small country regards as important leads to high negotiation activity
for those resolutions but can leave few, if any, diplomatic and other resources for
many of the other resolutions also discussed in the UNGA. Accordingly, many but
not all of the smaller states tend to neglect issues that are less important. This contrib-
utes to a higher tendency towards absenteeism from smaller states (Panke, 2014a).

CONCLUSION
The UNGA is an organization that formally operates on the notion of sovereign
equality, which implies that each state has equal rights no matter how large or small
it is. In line with this notion, this chapter has illustrated that the main challenge
smaller states face relates to their more limited number of diplomats posted in
New York. Smaller states’ diplomatic missions are considerably understaffed in
comparison to the missions of larger states and usually receive less administrative
support as well. This usually also applies to the line ministries and foreign minis-
tries at home. As a result, diplomats from smaller states tend to receive fewer and
less detailed negotiation instructions from their respective capitals, placing an even
higher workload on the missions in New York, with ambassadors at times having to
infer or adopt a ‘national position’ on a resolution on the fly. With all these factors
combined, smaller states can often neither attend all the meetings underway nor
fully prepare for any such meetings due to a lack of time, expertise and manpower.
Therefore, on average, it does not come as much of a surprise that smaller states tend
 Small states: challenges and coping strategies in the UN General Assembly 93

to be less active in setting the agenda, negotiating the content of resolutions in the
committees, and passing the resolutions in the GA than their larger counterparts are.
However, not all smaller states behave in the same manner. Usually smaller states
are more active in the first two stages of the policy cycle, if they engage in coping
strategies. This encompasses selective engagement or prioritization, working through
groups and using non-capacity intensive negotiation strategies (persuasion) instead
of resource intensive ones (such as vote buying). However, selective engagement –
where smaller states only follow the resolutions that they regard as highly important
for themselves – can have consequences for the active participation in the last stage
of the policy cycle. Smaller states’ prioritization of some resolutions can lead to
non-voting for those resolutions that are dismissed as less important.
What unfolds at the UNGA also provides lessons for small state challenges and
opportunities in other contexts. In all IOs in which the institutional design grants
all states the same formal rights concerning agenda setting, negotiation and voting
regardless of size, small states face challenges similar to those in the UNGA. For
instance, the International Labour Organization, the Conference of Disarmament, or
the Food and Agriculture Organization are contexts where small states compete with
larger states under conditions of formal equality. In these IOs, small states would
therefore benefit from a combination of coping strategies similar to those used in the
UNGA, namely: selective engagement or prioritization, working through groups, and
using persuasion-based strategies.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

We would like to thank Edward Vaughan for valuable assistance in proofreading.

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PART II

EUROPE
7. Small states in Europe
Anders Wivel

INTRODUCTION

Most small states in Europe are relatively safe and relatively rich compared to small
states in other regions in the world. In general, their political institutions are resilient,
the likelihood of civil war and revolutions is low, and they tend to score highly on
indexes of human development and freedom. Despite recurring crisis, regional insti-
tutions, most importantly the European Union (EU) and the North Atlantic Treaty
Organization (NATO), are strong and stable and have seen membership grow over
the past decades, adding to an already comprehensive institutionalization of Europe.
In many ways, Europe seems to have overcome the “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and
short” characteristics of great power politics which have long dominated international
relations and which have served as a constant in small state policy-making since the
establishment of the modern states system by the Peace of Westphalia in 1648.
The aim of this chapter is to unpack the conditions for small state policy-making in
Europe and to identify patterns of small state behaviour in the region. Small states
remain the weaker parties of asymmetric relationships (Baldacchino and Wivel,
2020), but the nature of these relationships and the state capacities decisive for navi-
gating successfully in these relationships have changed radically since the end of the
Second World War.
The argument proceeds in five steps. First, I identify the universe of small states
in Europe showing that one important but sometimes overlooked characteristic
of Europe is that it is essentially a region of small states. Second, I unpack the
conditions for small state policy-making in Europe and show how these conditions
continue to change, while being subject to three historical megatrends affecting both
the scope and content of how small states navigate the European political landscape.
Third, I analyse the patterns of small state policy-making in Europe, identifying three
separate clusters of small states with overlapping yet distinct patterns of behaviour.
Fourth, I discuss ongoing changes in the balance of power and the institutional
balance in Europe and how these changes test small states. Fifth and lastly, I con-
clude the chapter by summing up and identifying current challenges and opportuni-
ties for small states in Europe.

IDENTIFYING EUROPE’S SMALL STATES

Small states and Europe are both contested concepts subject to considerable political
and academic debate with maximalist definitions including the area from the Atlantic
99
100 Handbook on the politics of small states

to the Urals (Wæver, 1989). Understandings of what constitutes Europe have been
subject to political contestation for centuries. These struggles continue today in
debates over membership of European and Euro-Atlantic institutions, e.g. potential
NATO or EU membership for Georgia and Ukraine (and even in debates over Israeli
participation in the Eurovision Song Contest). This chapter follows a conventional
geographic definition of Europe delineated by the Mediterranean Sea to the south,
the Atlantic Ocean to the west, the Arctic Ocean to the north and the Ural Mountains,
Ural River, Caspian Sea, Caucasus Mountains, the Black Sea and the Bosporus Strait
to the east (National Geographic, 2014), but excluding the two large countries divided
by these geographic borders: Russia and Turkey. This leaves 44 countries in Europe,
with Germany having the largest population of more than 82 million inhabitants and
the Holy See/Vatican having the smallest population of around 800 inhabitants.
Few states aim to be ‘small’ and “[w]hilst being big is correlated with power, being
small has been viewed as a handicap to state action, and even survival” (Browning,
2006, p. 669). Some studies of European small states eschew the question altogether
by arguing that size is essentially a social construct (Hanf and Soetendorp, 1998;
Thorhallsson, 2006). Other studies apply an inclusive definition of small states,
going far beyond the World Bank threshold of a population of 1.5 million (World
Bank, 2017). One definition includes all European states that are not essential for
the nature, internal dynamic and external power projection of Euro-Atlantic institu-
tions, i.e. all European states with the exception of Germany, France and the United
Kingdom (Mouritzen and Wivel, 2005, pp. 25–28). Another expert on small states
in Europe argues that European small states are those with a population of “signif-
icantly less than 40 million inhabitants” (Bunse, 2009, p. 11). Other definitions are
more intuitive and use the Netherlands – with its current population of around 17
million – as the threshold between great powers and small states, the Netherlands
being the largest of the small states (Grimaud, 2018, p. 16; Neumann and Gstöhl,
2006, p. 6). In accordance with the introduction to this volume, this chapter adopts
a pragmatic view of the small state as the weaker member of an asymmetric rela-
tionship. I apply the definition proposed by Panke and Gurol (2019, p. 3) whereby
a small state is a state characterized by smaller populations than the average member
state of the unit in question. When applied to the unit of Europe, with a population
of around 610 million based on UN 2017 data (Worldometers, 2019), the average
country size is a population of 13,584,856, leaving 35 countries in the category of
European small states, of which 20 are EU member states. The 35 sovereign states
are, in ascending population: the Holy See, San Marino, Liechtenstein, Monaco,
Andorra, Iceland, Malta, Luxembourg, Montenegro, Cyprus, Estonia, Latvia,
Slovenia, North Macedonia, Lithuania, Albania, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Moldova,
Croatia, Ireland, Norway, Slovakia, Finland, Denmark, Bulgaria, Switzerland,
Serbia, Austria, Belarus, Hungary, Sweden, Portugal, Czech Republic, Greece and
Belgium. Essentially, this makes Europe a continent of small states; a characteristic
reflected in the soft and regionally circumscribed foreign and security outlook of the
EU mirroring the traditional approach of small states to external affairs (Pedi, 2019;
Toje, 2011).
 Small states in Europe 101

THE TRANSFORMATION OF SMALL STATE ACTION

SPACE IN EUROPE: SECURITY, PROSPERITY AND
INFLUENCE

The nineteenth-century literature on European small states, heavily influenced by the

geopolitical thinking of the time, viewed small states as an anomaly in international
affairs: they survived despite their perennial weakness. This situation was perceived
as a potential problem for what was considered the ‘natural’ working of the balance
of power (small states resisted the ‘laws’ of growth and created instability). Small
states were at the mercy of the great powers and therefore an object of pity (Amstrup,
1976, pp. 163–164). Small states at the time were rule- and policy-takers subject to
the interests and whims of the great power rule- and policy-makers. The 1814–15
Congress of Vienna sought a long-term peace plan for Europe after the French
Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars by recognizing a special and privileged role for
five great powers: the United Kingdom, Prussia, Austria, Russia and France, acting
in concert to maintain stability and avoid great power conflict (Neumann and Gstöhl,
2006). Small states had little choice but to accept this de facto cooperative hegem-
ony between the Big Five; but they also benefited from stability, allowing them to
free-ride on the security order supplied by great power cooperation.
During the first half of the twentieth century, the European continent was the main
battleground in two world wars. The increased destructive power of the great powers
underpinned the perception that the creation and perseverance of small states were
basically functions of the interests of individual great powers in their geopolitical
neighbourhood (Fox, 1959; Wivel, Bailes, and Archer, 2014). However, at the same
time, political developments pointed in a different direction. The German invasion
of Belgium in 1914 created “an international commitment to small state security”,
which became even more pronounced in speeches and proclamations after the war
(Maass, 2017, p. 163). The Paris Peace Conference after the First World War saw
the establishment of new small states such as Austria, Hungary, Czechoslovakia,
Iceland, Ireland, Finland, Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania. In outlining his proposal
for a post-war peace settlement in January 1918, US President Wilson argued that
a “general association of nations must be formed under specific covenants for the
purpose of affording mutual guarantees of political independence and territorial
integrity to great and small states alike” (Wilson, 1918, Point XIV). This general
association, the League of Nations, consolidated and institutionalized inequalities
between great powers and small states (as the United Nations does today by award-
ing five great powers a permanent seat and the right to veto in the UN Security
Council). However, it also offered, at least for a time, the promise of international
order, common rules for great powers and small states (and the middle powers in
between), a forum for negotiating peace and a platform for small state influence,
which European small states, and the Nordic countries in particular, took advantage
of (Amstrup, 1976, p. 164; Gram-Skjoldager, 2012).
The post-1945 European order seemed at first to offer few prospects for the future
of the European small state. The preferred interwar strategy of many of the region’s
102 Handbook on the politics of small states

small states had been to avoid entanglement with the great powers by pursuing
a strategy of neutrality. However, both the prelude and aftermath of the Second
World War was a hard lesson in the dangers of this strategy, leaving small states
exposed and subject to great power dominance, absorption and subjugation, not least
from Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union. Moreover, the war itself had demonstrated
the gap in war fighting capability between the small states and the great powers.
However, the post-war order soon offered European small states answers to their
three most pressing problems: security, prosperity and influence.
First, the problem of national security. From the Peace of Westphalia until the
end of the Second World War, European states struggled for security and survival.
Although the Cold War and post-Cold War orders did not eradicate small state
security challenges, they gradually transformed the challenges of most European
small states from a survival-problem to an influence-problem (Løvold 2004). The
Cold War (1945–89) created a stable order for European small states protected from
invasion from hostile great powers by bipolarity underpinned by a nuclear balance
of terror (Maass, 2020). In Western Europe, the permanent deployment of more than
300,000 US troops during the Cold War, 250,000 troops in West Germany alone
(Kane, 2004), effectively overlaid the region’s own security dynamics, which had
put small state security at risk for centuries (Buzan et al., 1990). The creation of
an American ‘empire by integration’, with the United States as a liberal hegemon,
underpinned the development of the region, not only by troop deployment but also by
institutional development. The Organisation for European Economic Co-operation
(OEEC) – since 1961 the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development
(OECD) – was established in 1948 and NATO was established in 1949. These organ-
izations enhanced stability and predictability of relations among European states.
At the same time, they allowed West European states to develop their own brand
of societal models without interference (Lundestad, 1998). For instance, Denmark,
Sweden and Norway developed social democratic welfare states and advocated (and
branded their own countries as) a third way between capitalism and socialism, while
remaining under US protection. This was illustrative of the leverage enjoyed by small
West European states as a consequence of superpower antagonism. Small NATO
members – such as the Netherlands, Denmark and Norway – openly challenged
NATO deterrence policies. Austria wrested concessions from Western allies, fearing
Austrian rapprochement towards the Soviet Union after the Second World War; and
Malta was in a similar position after gaining independence in 1964 (Maass, 2017,
p. 185). Soviet interventions in Hungary in 1956 and Czechoslovakia in 1968 illus-
trated to the small states in the Communist bloc that they did not enjoy as wide an
action space as Western European small states, although the policies of Yugoslavia
and Albania illustrated some leeway for Eastern European small states as well.
Second, the problem of prosperity. Small states have small economies subject to
political decisions responding to international markets and the political-economic
decisions of larger countries over which the small state has little or no influence
(Baldacchino, 2020). Small states suffer from “supply constraints” in terms of fewer
resources and entrepreneurs, a more restrained capital base and a smaller labour
 Small states in Europe 103

force; as well as “demand constraints” in terms of a small domestic market and the
absence of economies of scale and therefore less resource efficiency (Griffiths, 2014,
p. 48). Together, these challenges result in economies that are more vulnerable and
less resilient than those of larger states.
Two developments brought some reprieve to these challenges for Western
European states during the Cold War. First was the liberalization of international
trade and the elimination of trade barriers such as tariffs and quotas through both
bilateral agreements and seven rounds of negotiations on the General Agreement
on Tariffs and Trade (GATT) since its establishment in 1947. Second was the cre-
ation in 1957 and subsequent widening and deepening of the European Economic
Community (EEC), which gave small member states a much bigger market as well
as voice opportunities in negotiations over Western European political-economic
developments and a shelter against financial and economic turmoil. The small states
in Eastern Europe were not as directly exposed to international markets but suffered
from corruption, lack of efficiency and state interference. The Council for Mutual
Economic Assistance (COMECON) functioned as a forum for economic cooperation
and for economic support from the Soviet Union to weak member states but without
a functioning market.
Third, the problem of influence. As noted in one study of European small states,
“[s]mall size is frequently equated to a lack of power to influence policy outcomes”
(Bunse, 2009, p. 11). The growth in the number and influence of international
institutions in the post-war international system, and in post-war Europe in par-
ticular, created new avenues for small state influence. And so, for example, the
number of intergovernmental organizations (IGOs) peaked in the last years of the
Cold War, with 378 IGOs in 1985, up from 37 in 1909 and 123 in 1951 (Union of
International Associations, 2015). IGOs performed two functions for small European
states. First, they provided shelter from both security challenges and economic
turmoil (Thorhallsson, 2018), thereby supplying small states with the stability and
predictability that they have historically craved but been unable to achieve (Jervis,
1978, pp. 172–173; Maass, 2017). Superpower hegemons with a strong interest in
the region guaranteed both military and economic stability through the institutions
of the Capitalist and Communist blocs. Security and economic shelter reduced the
survival problem that had for centuries been the focal point in the foreign policy
of small states. This allowed small states to direct their attention at more offensive
goals, such as influencing the international realm in the long term. Second, IGOs
offered platforms for influence, both regionally and globally. Small European states
were much better equipped than small states from other regions to take advantage of
these platforms. They were richer, allowing them to divert resources to international
diplomacy. Through centuries, they were socialized into the diplomatic practices of
international negotiations by participation in international conferences and peace
negotiations of the European international system, which had gradually expanded to
the rest of the world. Many European small states were old states with resilient state
structures developed over centuries and strong domestic institutions creating a solid
base for seeking influence internationally. Finally, the political and strategic culture
104 Handbook on the politics of small states

of European small states differed considerably from small states in other parts of the
world. Some of them – like Greece, Austria or Denmark – had at some time in their
history been imperial centres in Europe dominating a considerable part of the region,
while others – like Portugal or Belgium – had been colonial powers. Thus, in contrast
to the experience of subjugation and marginalization dominating the political and
strategic culture of Third World small states being subject to European colonialism,
many European small states approached the international realm with confidence,
experience and a sense of entitlement.
The end of the Cold War served mostly to strengthen the security, prosperity and
influence of small European states. The collapse of the Communist bloc created
ten new small states in Europe as a consequence of the break-ups of Yugoslavia,
Czechoslovakia and the Soviet Union: Montenegro, Slovenia, North Macedonia,
Bosnia and Herzegovina, Moldova, Croatia, Serbia, Slovakia, Czech Republic
and Belarus. NATO and EU expansion secured security and economic shelter for
most Central and Eastern European small states. The 1992 Treaty on the European
Union built on the 1986 Single European Act (designed to create a single European
market and codify foreign policy cooperation), simplifying EU decision-making and
creating a political and economic union with a common currency and strengthened
cooperation on such areas as migration and defence. In 1991, NATO’s first post-Cold
War strategic concept transformed the rationale of the alliance from defence against
military threat to stabilizing Europe and this development was further strengthened
in the 1999 strategic concept emphasizing the role of the alliance as peacekeeper and
peacemaker inside and outside Europe (Rynning, 2005).
These developments reconsolidated and expanded the institutional shelters for
small states in Europe in the first decades after the Cold War, but they also created
a new set of challenges for Europe’s small states. First, they created an external
imbalance between expanding Euro-Atlantic institutions and Russia, which con-
tributed to a reterritorialization and remilitarization of security in Eastern Europe
effectively closing the window of opportunity for states like Sweden, Finland,
Belarus, Moldova and Serbia to join NATO (should they wish to do so) and exposing
other small states, most notably the Baltic States, to new security challenges. Second,
within the EU, the creation of the European Union created an imbalance between
those states putting emphasis on strengthening the effectiveness and decision-making
power of the EU (most importantly Germany and France) and those states more con-
cerned with protecting national sovereignty (most importantly the United Kingdom).
This contributed to the decade-long (self-)marginalization of the UK, culminating in
the June 2016 referendum that kick-started the tortuous process for the UK to leave
the EU (Brexit). Consequently, the development of the EU is now even more than
previously dependent upon Germany and France. Finally, widening and deepening
Euro-Atlantic institutions created two simultaneous developments: the individual
small state now faced a more difficult time furthering its interests and getting the
attention of the great powers (because of increased competition from other small
states) and at the same time it was expected to contribute more actively to the produc-
 Small states in Europe 105

tion of collective goods underpinning the wealth and security of Europe. Thus, small
states faced the combined risk of marginalization and overstretch.
For this reason, taking the lead on selected issues, creating expertise within selected
niches and proving effective in contributing to the solution of shared problems have
become even more important for influence-seeking small states working hard to
prove their value to and forging strong relationships with middle and great powers.
Some – like Norway or Denmark – have primarily succeeded in creating strong
bilateral relationships with the United States and branding themselves as good allies
in NATO. In addition, Denmark and Norway cooperate with fellow Nordic NATO
member Iceland and the two neutral Nordic small states Sweden and Finland in
Nordic Defence Cooperation (NORDEFCO), a functionalist and pragmatic attempt
at making effective use of Nordic defence capabilities without violating the overall
commitments of the five countries. Denmark is also part of the French-led European
Defence Initiative (E2I) along with other small states Belgium, Estonia, Finland and
Portugal (as well as Germany, the Netherlands, Spain and the United Kingdom). The
E2I allows states able and willing to cooperate outside existing institutional struc-
tures to share intelligence, anticipate future challenges and plan operational cooper-
ation. Other small states have actively built strong bilateral partnerships in the EU,
either with stronger powers (e.g. Hungary’s partnership with Poland or Portugal’s
relationship with Spain) or with other small states (e.g. the Swedish–Finnish, Greek–
Cypriot and Estonian–Latvian relationships), while yet others have had little success
in forging any partnerships (Austria, Bulgaria, Croatia, Ireland, Slovenia) (European
Council on Foreign Relations, 2018).
Taken together, the many crisscrossing partnerships and coalitions inside and
outside the EU and NATO illustrate an increasingly fluid structure of more or less
institutionalized relations between Europe’s small states and their big and small
cooperation partners. Whereas the foreign policy action space of the region’s small
states was previously primarily defined by the institutional affiliation with the great
powers through EU and NATO (Mouritzen and Wivel, 2005), the framing and
understanding of the challenges and opportunities of small states by small states
themselves is becoming increasingly important (Kovačević, 2019).

CLUSTERS OF SMALL STATES IN EUROPE:

INSTITUTIONAL AFFILIATION, POLITICAL OUTLOOK,
PROSPERITY AND COMPETITIVENESS

Small European states share a position in international affairs that compares favour-
ably with small states in most other regions of the world. However, significant
variations among small European states exist in terms of institutional affiliation,
outlook on the role and function of Euro-Atlantic institutions and economic capacity
and competitiveness.
Given the institutionalization of regional politics in Europe, one way of identifying
clusters of small states is on the basis of their institutional affiliation with EU and
106 Handbook on the politics of small states

NATO. Many European small states are members of both organizations: Belgium,
Bulgaria, Croatia, Czech Republic, Denmark, Estonia, Greece, Hungary, Latvia,
Lithuania, Luxembourg, Portugal, Slovakia, and Slovenia. Austria, Cyprus, Finland,
Ireland, Malta and Sweden are only members of the EU, while Albania, Iceland,
Montenegro and Norway are only members of NATO. The Holy See, San Marino,
Liechtenstein, Monaco, Andorra, North Macedonia, Bosnia and Herzegovina,
Moldova, Switzerland, Serbia and Belarus are not members of either of the two
organizations. However, after resolving a long-standing dispute with Greece over the
name of the republic, North Macedonia in 2018 began accession talks with the EU
and in 2019 signed the accession protocol into NATO. Bosnia and Herzegovina is
the only other country with a NATO membership action plan. In addition to North
Macedonia, Serbia, Montenegro and Albania are all candidate countries in the process
of integrating EU legislation into national law, whereas Bosnia and Herzegovina and
Kosovo are candidate countries not yet fulfilling the requirements for EU accession.
In sum, NATO and/or EU membership is the default solution for small states in
Europe. Small states not members or prospective members of any of these organiza-
tions are either states with distinct political, economic or ideational interests already
sheltered by relationships with neighbouring states and therefore with little to gain
from membership (The Holy See, San Marino, Liechtenstein, Monaco, Andorra
and Switzerland) or states left in a geopolitical buffer zone between ‘the West’ and
Russia, with little chance of membership of either body any time soon (Moldova,
Belarus).
A second way of identifying clusters among European small states is to look at
their political outlook or visions for the role and functions of Euro-Atlantic institu-
tions (Wivel and Thorhallsson, 2018). One cluster is comprised of Atlanticist, liberal
and intergovernmentalist countries, mostly in Northern, Central and Eastern Europe.
The Baltic States, Norway, Iceland and Denmark constitute the core of this cluster;
but Sweden, Finland, Ireland, Austria and Switzerland may be included (despite their
non-aligned security policies). Most Central and Eastern European states, although
less politically liberal than the Northern European states, also share this Atlanticist
predisposition and an intergovernmentalist approach to the EU focusing on its ability
to create a European market space. These states generally favour free trade and are
sceptical of grand European ideas and increased supranationalism, in particular in
the realm of national security, because they fear that this will compromise either
their relationship with the United States (Norway, Iceland, Denmark, the Baltic
States, Central and Eastern Europe) or their non-aligned status (Austria, Switzerland,
Sweden, Finland, Ireland). To be sure, this is a diverse group of small states defined
as much by their opposition to (sometimes imagined) developments towards a less
Atlanticist and supranational Europe as by their shared outlook. Thus, they define
their vision of Europe reactively against (mainly French) ideas of a more integrated
and independent Europe. These ideas are supported by a cluster of small Europeanist
and largely protectionist small states such as Belgium, Cyprus, Greece, Malta and
Portugal.
 Small states in Europe 107

A third identification of clusters may be based on prosperity and competitiveness.

Small states are among the richest and poorest countries in Europe and may be
divided into a rich cluster of North European states and a poor cluster of Central and
East European states, with the Mediterranean states and the Baltic States in between.
According to World Bank estimates, Luxembourg, Switzerland and Norway are
the three richest countries in the world as measured in GDP per capita. Ireland,
Iceland, Denmark and Sweden are in the world’s top 10 as well; these together
are the seven richest countries in Europe (the Netherlands being number 8). At the
same time, Moldova, Albania, Bosnia and Herzegovina, North Macedonia, Serbia
and Montenegro are the six poorest countries in Europe (Romania being number 7)
(World Bank, 2017). These rankings correlate largely with competitiveness and are
therefore unlikely to change anytime soon, although individual states may move up
or down the ranks (Schwab, 2018).
The three different ways of identifying clusters show that small European states
cannot be viewed as a group with common interests across policy areas. There are
few behavioural characteristics shared by all small states in the region. However,
three patterns can be identified. First, small states in Europe all tend to seek shelter
from stronger powers and/or international institutions (Thorhallssson, 2018). Second,
the more exposed to Russia, the more reluctance towards an independent Europe with
a reduced role for NATO and the United States; i.e. the stronger support for a military
security shelter backed by US military might. To these states, the 2008 Georgian–
Russian war and the 2014 annexation of Crimea by Russia demonstrated that the
EU’s soft diplomatic and economic power “was badly calibrated to geopolitical
realities, delivering sometimes more power than acknowledged and thus upsetting
the geo-economic constellations, while at other times failing to match a militarised
crisis” (Wivel and Wæver, 2018, p. 318). Third, the less competitive and prosperous,
the stronger the support for a strong economic shelter in the EU. To the less prosper-
ous and competitive small states in Southern Europe, the experience of a German-led
coalition of Northern European countries demanding strict austerity measures in the
2008–13 economic crisis illustrated the need for strong institutions able to mediate
and cushion the deep political and economic divisions in Europe rather than leaving
it to the economic hegemon to set the rules of the game.

REBALANCING EUROPEAN ORDERS: CONSEQUENCES

FOR SMALL STATES

Despite their differences, European small states share two challenges stemming from
changes in the political order of the region. The changes have been ongoing since the
early 1990s, but they have increased in intensity since the late 2000s.
First, the balance of power in Europe is changing. The United States and the United
Kingdom are likely to play a less prominent role in the future of the region, whereas
the influence of Germany and France is increasing. This is less a consequence of
differential growth rates than the product of different European policies of the four
108 Handbook on the politics of small states

powers that have dominated Europe since the end of the Cold War. US President
Obama’s ‘pivot to Asia’ initiated in a Foreign Policy article by then Secretary of
State Hillary Clinton sought to rebalance US political attention away from Europe
and the Middle East and towards the Pacific (Clinton, 2011). This was followed up
by President Trump’s ‘America First’ policy stressing the obligations of Europeans
to contribute more towards covering the costs of security and stability in their own
region. Since the election of Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher in 1979, the United
Kingdom has increasingly emphasized national interests, e.g. in its continuous focus
on rebates and exemptions in its relations with the EU, while cherishing a ‘special
relationship’ with the United States. This relationship initially gave the UK an impor-
tant role as bridge-builder between continental Europe and the US superpower, but
the combined effect of the end of the Cold War, the terrorist attacks on New York and
Washington DC in 2001 and the growing power of China has diverted US attention
away from Europe and increased the number of issues where Europe and the United
States tend to disagree over ends as well as means. Moreover, with the UK’s deci-
sion to leave the EU, France has increasingly rivalled the UK as America’s ‘go-to
guy’ in Europe. Finally, a resurgent Russia has remilitarized European security and
re-articulated irreconcilable differences between the visions and interests of Russia
and the Western powers.
The changing balance of power in Europe has important consequences for small
states in the region. The stability and development of Europe increasingly depends on
Germany and France. While there are strong anti-EU pro-nationalist factions in both
countries, Germany in particular understands its own interests as dependent upon a
“post-sovereign inter-governmentalism”, where the pursuit of the national interest is
closely tied to the continuous development of an economically solid and politically
stable region (Wivel and Wæver, 2018, p. 322). This is good news for small states
in the region that have benefited immensely from political and economic stability
and absence of great power war in Europe since 1945. France on the other hand, has
demonstrated its ability and willingness to take the lead on both specific military
operations in Libya in 2011 and Mali in 2013 and more general initiatives like the
E2I. In that sense, the new development reinvigorates the “cooperative hegemony”,
which has formed the basis of European integration since the 1950s (Pedersen 1998).
However, neither Germany nor France has the ability or willingness to replace the US
security guarantee in the coming decades. Thus, all small states in the region have an
interest in continued US military presence in the European theatre. The more specific
effects of the changing balance of power on small states depend on which cluster
they belong to. The less competitive and prosperous states in Southern Europe will
be keen on France balancing Germany’s conservative austerity policies. The cluster
of Atlanticist, liberal and intergovernmental small states are forced to reassess funda-
mental strategic priorities and find new friends among the stronger states. However,
the effects should not be exaggerated. The changing balance of power is a long-term
phenomenon and several small states have already taken precautions. Thus, Estonia
and Denmark, two of the most Atlanticist small states, take part in the French initi-
 Small states in Europe 109

ated E2I in military affairs and are staunch supporters of German policies about the
political economy of the European Union.
Second, the institutional order in Europe is changing. The region has seen a reter-
ritorialization of interstate relations stemming from both domestic developments,
with the rise of nationalist populist political parties in many countries, including in
various small states; and international developments, with the increasingly vigorous
articulation of national interests as a legitimate basis for state action by actors such as
the United States, the United Kingdom and Russia. This has had consequences for the
internal workings of NATO as well as the EU, with implications for small states. In
the 1990s and 2000s, small NATO member states would focus on output contributing
to the increasing number of military operations headed by the alliance as it moved out
of area and increasingly took operational responsibility for interventions, typically
embedded in UN resolutions. However, in the 2010s, NATO discourse increasingly
focused on input, especially the size of national defence budgets as measured as
a percentage of GDP. This is a challenge to most small states in the region, with
the exception of the Baltic States and Greece. In addition, the increased threat to
European security and stability from Russian resurgence, combined with the contin-
uous demand for international military operations, puts severe strains on the limited
defence forces of small states.
From the establishment of European institutions in the 1950s, institutional bal-
ances and decision-making rules in the EEC/EU have reflected a fundamental com-
promise between big and small member states. The continuous enlargements of the
EEC and the EU upset this balance; but it was restored by institutional reforms in the
treaties of Nice (2000) and Lisbon (2011). The rebalancing retains some of the most
important safeguards of small state influence: for example, the intergovernmentalist
nature of treaty negotiations, formally if not practically awarding small states the
same power as big member states due to the principle of unanimity. However, the
attempts to democratize EU politics have shifted power to the European Parliament
from the European Commission, which has traditionally been viewed as the guardian
of common European interests and the small states’ best friend (Bunse, Magnette,
and Nicolaïdis 2005). Democratization efforts have been accompanied by an increas-
ing acceptance of intergovernmentalism and informal great power cooperation. For
small states, this accentuates the importance of good bilateral relations with big
member states and creates a paradox where institutions are formally strengthened at
the same time as informal networks become more important in the day-to-day politics
of the Union. However, in these day-to-day politics, the relatively modest economic
and diplomatic resources of small states limit their ability to navigate and influence
an increasingly complex institutional landscape in Europe (Panke and Gurol, 2019).
This is particularly true of new member states, which typically lack the necessary
experience, competencies and networks to compensate for limited resources.
110 Handbook on the politics of small states

CONCLUSION

Small states in Europe are privileged. They are typically stronger and more resilient
than small states in other parts of the world and benefit from institutional develop-
ments and political cultures underpinning influence-seeking. Post-war and post-Cold
War reconstructions of Europe and the absence of (hot) great power wars since
1945 have created unique conditions for small states to pursue security, prosperity
and influence through regional institutions. However, despite regional institution-
alization of both economic and security affairs, small states in Europe remain the
weaker parties of asymmetric relationships, restrained by the limited capacity of their
political, economic and administrative systems (Baldacchino and Wivel, 2020). In
NATO, the United States remains “Europe’s American pacifier” (Joffe, 1984) and
agenda-setter, as recently exemplified by the increases in national defence budgets
across Europe urged by US President Trump. In the EU, Germany and France
continue their “cooperative hegemony” (Pedersen 1998), now with fewer restraints
than previously due to the UK’s decision to ‘Brexit’ and opt out of EU membership.
Power politics remains, but, for members of NATO and the EU, it is now transmitted
and mediated by institutional and diplomatic rules and norms. Institutionalization has
not levelled the playing field in Europe, but the game is now played with diplomatic
means rather than hard military power.
The rebalancing of power and institutions in Europe challenges the order under-
pinning small state security, prosperity and influence since the early Cold War.
A more fluent and complex institutional order creates both challenges and opportuni-
ties for the region’s small states. They are now less likely to be stereotyped as incon-
sequential actors, but more likely to be excluded from decision-making processes
unless they take a proactive stance towards new initiatives and developments. This
benefits small states with strong human resource capabilities and effective bureau-
cracies able to take advantage of the various opportunities for influence-seeking in an
institutionalized environment. National administrative procedures and traditions for
delegation and communication between national and international parts of the civil
service are often decisive for an agility in small state diplomacy and consequently
for successfully promoting the national interest (Panke, 2010). Likewise, the ability
and willingness to: (1) prioritize means and ends effectively and consistently over
time, (2) take on positions as mediator and chair in negotiations, and (3) tap into
the dominant discourses of the stronger states, allow small states to act ‘smart’ and
use their weakness as a strength and a starting point for influence (Grøn and Wivel,
2011). The current changes in the region may signal the end of the golden era of the
small state in Europe as a general phenomenon, but, for individual small states, there
remains plenty of room for manoeuvre and influence.
 Small states in Europe 111

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8. The Nordic states: keeping cool at the top?
Baldur Thorhallsson and Jóna Sólveig Elínardóttir

INTRODUCTION

The Nordic states and territories represent stable, well-functioning democratic socie-
ties where the rule of law, human rights and respect for and protection of minorities
are guaranteed through established state institutions. They possess a functioning
market economy and a high standard of equality, personal freedoms and civil liber-
ties. In fact, the Nordic countries have been described as role models for advanced,
post-modern societies, i.e. progressive, activist and egalitarian welfare states (Wivel
and Nedergaard, 2018). Although political and demographic developments in the
region have resulted in a reformed Nordic welfare model, the Nordics still build their
societies on the fundamental principles of statehood (an extensive role for the state
and the public sector), universalism, equality and social corporatism (Kuhnle and
Alestalo, 2018).
In addition to the five independent Nordic states – Finland, Iceland, Denmark,
Sweden and Norway – this chapter will include some discussions about the external
affairs of three Nordic subnational island jurisdictions: Greenland, the Faroe Islands
and Åland. The former two enjoy autonomous self-rule but are part of the Kingdom
of Denmark; Åland has an autonomous status within Finland.
In comparison to the more powerful neighbouring European states, namely
Germany, the United Kingdom (UK), Russia and France, all the Nordics can be clas-
sified as small states, even though their sizes vary. Their limited population numbers
affect other traditional parameters of size, i.e. their military, economic, and admin-
istrative capabilities. Their military spending and sophistication, as well as their
individual military capabilities in terms of numbers of armed forces personnel, are
limited, making it difficult for them to defend their territorial integrity on their own.
The size of their diplomatic corps also pales in comparison to their larger European
neighbours. Moreover, their domestic market size prevents them from maintaining
high GDP per capita on their own, thus making it impossible to build sustainably
prosperous societies without external market access (Thorhallsson, 2006).
Accordingly, the Nordics require shelter, or need to form alliances with larger
states and join regional and international organizations to protect their political, eco-
nomic and societal interests. This also holds true for ensuring their ability to wield
influence internationally (Thorhallsson and Bailes, 2017). It is within this theoretical
framework that our analysis of the Nordic states and entities will be built, taking into
account different dimensions of their political, economic and societal vulnerabilities
as small states, and the different solutions available for small states seeking to alle-

113
114 Handbook on the politics of small states

Table 8.1 The Nordic states and entities: comparison of key ‘size’ variables

Military capacity
Territory GDP per capita Armed
Population* Military spending
(km2)* (US$)** forces
(% of GDP) ***
personnel****
Sweden 9,995,000 447,435 50,090 1 30,550
Denmark 5,749,000 42,926 50,564 1.2 16,100
Finland 5,503,000 338,430 45,204 1.4 24,200
Norway 5,258,000 323,781 61,039 1.6 23,950
Iceland 338,000 103,492 53,817 – –
Greenland 56,000 2,166,086 37,600 – –
Faroe Islands 50,000 1,396 40,000 – –
Åland 29,000 1,581 38,200 – –

Notes:
* (Nordisk Ministerråd, 2017)
** (CIA, 2018a, 2018b; OECD, 2018a)
*** (SIPRI, 2018)
**** (World Bank, 2018)

viate, contain or usurp these (Thorhallsson, 2011, 2012; Thorhallsson and Bailes,
2017). Table 8.1 provides a glimpse of the size of the Nordic states and territories.
The Nordic region is an important economic actor, comprising the twelfth largest
economy in the world. Moreover, the Nordic population is growing faster than the
EU average; the Nordic labour market is known for its high levels of unionization,
compressed wage structures, high female employment rates and low share of
unskilled jobs; and the famous Nordic welfare system has proved resilient in times
of both economic boom and crisis (Nordisk Ministerråd, 2018b). Furthermore, the
Nordic states are renowned for their active engagement in international affairs, espe-
cially within the United Nations (UN), and for having developed extensive regional
collaboration over the decades, e.g. through the Nordic Council and the Nordic
Council of Ministers. This collaboration has moreover served the countries well
when acting within international organizations, such as the European Union (EU).
Even though the countries do not always take the same stance on matters within the
EU, they are accustomed to sharing information (Rûse, 2015). Historically, however,
the Nordic states have been reluctant to take part in the European integration process,
though they are all highly engaged in it.
In spite of their successes, the Nordic states face a number of domestic and
external challenges. First, the Nordics cannot escape feeling the looming threat
of an increasingly aggressive Russian neighbour. This threat has been met with
increased collaboration with NATO, the United States (US) and amongst themselves,
and increased spending in the field of security and defence. Secondly, the Nordics
are all affected by Brexit, although the level and the nature of the negative effects
differ. While some rely more heavily than others on trade with the UK, all of them
have a vested interest in a well-functioning and economically stable EU. Thirdly,
taking into account the fact that small states benefit from international stability and
 The Nordic states: keeping cool at the top? 115

are completely reliant on widespread respect for international laws and norms, the
multifaceted international instability caused by the US presidency of Donald Trump
has negative effects on the Nordic states. Fourthly, the ongoing migration crisis
in Europe has had political, societal and financial effects, witnessed in the rise of
populist parties, more restrictive migration and border policies, and ongoing changes
and adaptations to Nordic welfare policies in order to ensure the sustainability of the
signature welfare model. Finally, the openness of the Nordic markets has made them
vulnerable to the fluctuating international economy and they are regularly faced with
deep economic downturns. Moreover, they have to find a delicate balance between
keeping their export industries internationally competitive and maintaining their high
public spending on the welfare state.
This chapter will next delve into the Nordic model and other more specific domes-
tic affairs covering economic and migration policies and the latest political develop-
ment in the Nordic states. It will then examine the Nordic states’ external affairs, i.e.
foreign policy, security and defence, as well as giving an account of the position of
the Nordic countries, as small states, vis-à-vis today’s most powerful states acting in
the region. A conclusion offers an overview of coping strategies.

DOMESTIC AFFAIRS

The Nordic region has a long history of being conceptualized as such, i.e. as a region,
or a region within a region within Europe. It builds on a strong heritage and common
Nordic identity that has developed over centuries, resulting in what has been termed
the Nordic model. The Nordic countries are top performers according to numerous
metrics of national performance and the well-being of their citizens such as happi-
ness, life expectancy, education, and environmental activism – and their well-being
is grounded on welfare systems that, in the twentieth century, supported the move
towards unparalleled social equality (in broad terms), social coherence and support
for redistribution (Kuhnle and Alestalo, 2018). Nevertheless, the Nordic states face
a number of challenges in their attempt to adjust the Nordic model to changing
domestic and external circumstances.

The Nordic Model

What has characterized the Nordic countries is the overall willingness of their elec-
torates to pay a large proportion of their earnings to shared funds. This willingness is
based on the universal character of the welfare systems in these states, which means
that most of the population reap benefits from the system. The Nordic welfare system
is grounded on this social contract; that is, as a contributor to the system, one has
the same right to benefit from it, regardless of one’s earnings (Kuhnle and Alestalo,
2018).
This unique system came about under unique circumstances where the labour
movement in the countries was just powerful enough to have an effect on social
116 Handbook on the politics of small states

developments, without taking over, i.e. it brought about cross-class coalitions, which
meant that the Nordic middle class would also benefit from the system (Jensen and
Kersbergen, 2018, pp. 70–71). Moreover, the state was just strong enough to be able
to carry out its welfare policies, albeit through continued consultations with unions
and employer associations. This meant that while the state apparatus was incorrupt
and professional, it also left a lot of power to the labour market partners, in terms
of developing and administering the labour market and even welfare programme
policies. This has been described as a “strange mix of state interventionism in some
areas and laissez-faire in others” (Jensen and Kersbergen, 2018, p. 71), better known
as social corporatism or Scandinavian corporatism, which also allowed these small
economies to adjust well to developments in the international economy (Katzenstein,
1985).
In recent decades, Nordic political culture has been changing. Political reform
policies have been met with opposition from the social partners thus creating a dis-
tance between the politicians and policy-makers and the social partners during the
policy-making process. Nevertheless, interest groups still enjoy privileged access
to the Nordic countries’ administrations. The decision-making processes, from
policy to legislation to implementation, are still characterized as being consensual
(Christiansen, 2018). This consensual culture is further strengthened by the fact that
Nordic states have a multi-party system where coalition governments are the norm,
creating a fertile ground for a culture of negotiation with minority parties and politi-
cal compromise (Kuhnle and Alestalo, 2018).
Another important factor in the development of the Nordic model was the low
unemployment rates following the first 20 years after the Second World War, which
came at the same time as women in the Nordic countries started entering the labour
force en masse. This allowed for the establishment of strong sectors of eldercare and
childcare, operated mostly by female workers, which would make it almost impossi-
ble to reverse that development when economic turmoil hit the countries (Jensen and
Kersbergen, 2018).
The Nordic countries have a strong reputation for equality between sexes and
classes as well as low income disparities. Moreover, the states seek to provide
housing to all their citizens, through collaboration with key players in society, i.e. the
national government, local governments/municipalities and private actors, as well as
introducing different types of subsidies and housing support to help ensure general
access to housing (Lujanen, 2005).
The Nordic administrative model is based on rule-of-law culture, transparency
and accessibility. It builds on five common values, i.e. neutral professionalism
grounded in expert knowledge, coupled with political loyalty based on majority
rule and the parliamentary principle of governance; the so-called Rechtsstaat
values, such as impartiality, neutrality, fairness, predictability, due processes and
rule of law; evidence-based policy-making; responsiveness and inclusiveness; and
financial and administrative efficiency (Lægreid, 2018). In fact, efficiency, pro-
fessionalism and adaptability are key to small states’ ability to function, especially
internationally. Furthermore, the Nordics enjoy high levels of social capital: they
 The Nordic states: keeping cool at the top? 117

display both a higher level of social trust than the largest European countries (UK,
Spain, Germany, Italy, France, Russia and Poland) as well as high civic engagement
(Andersen and Dinesen, 2018).
However, everywhere in the region, except in Iceland, income inequality has
trended upwards, although it is necessary to view this in in the context of very high
initial redistribution, rising demands for economic efficiency as well as looming
demographic and social changes that will require further adjustment (Egholt Søgaard,
2018). According to a recent study by Bergh (2016, p. 202), the Nordic countries
have “become more similar to the OECD countries when it comes to expenditure on
cash transfers, but they have actually become more different in spending on welfare
services. Welfare services have thus become an increasingly important characteristic
of the Nordic welfare states”. Bergh moreover notes that “[w]elfare services are also
an important mechanism by which the welfare states affects the income distribution
and promotes equality more generally” (2016, p. 6). It is, however, clear that the
Nordic welfare model will need to adjust further in response to demographic changes
and migration in order to remain sustainable (Brochmann, 2018).
Middle-class support for the welfare state system is essential for its survival, making
it important that its universal characteristics remain in place. However, immigration
flows put the universal character of the system under strain, both financially as well
as politically, especially since “[…] a huge gap remains between migrant and native
employment rates. This has opened up a Pandora’s box of political debate around
issues of reciprocity and deservingness” (Jensen and Kersbergen, 2018, p. 77). At
the same time, as societies get richer, as is the case in the Nordic countries, citizens’
demands for and on welfare services increase, which in turn leads to increased cost
(Bergh, 2016). This typically means higher taxes, which for the Nordic countries,
with comparatively high taxes, is likely to be met with political opposition (Jensen
and Kersbergen, 2018). The application of a mixed method of increasing taxes, as
well as allowing for a so-called topping up strategy (adding private financing on
top of a publicly financed welfare service) and even a paying twice strategy (buying
private insurance arrangements on the market for privately provided welfare ser-
vices) is therefore likely to be increasingly applied in one form or another. The latter
two strategies, i.e. facilitating topping up and paying twice strategies, may however
lead to increased inequality of access to welfare services on the one hand and risking
political support for the welfare state on the other (Bergh, 2016).
In sum, the Nordic welfare system will need to continue adapting to societal
changes, stemming from internal demographic developments and the challenges
brought on by conflicts and economic troubles in other parts of the world. In the short
term, the Nordics will need to apply their renowned skills for adaptation and flexibil-
ity, such as investing heavily in the education system and collaborating effectively
with the labour market partners in retraining the unemployed, thus adjusting them
to the needs of the labour market. Moreover, in the longer term, mixing other, more
controversial measures such as the ones mentioned above, with the more traditional
methods, may be increasingly needed in order to secure the sustainability of the
Nordic model.
118 Handbook on the politics of small states

Economic Policy and Crises

From a macro-regional perspective, the Nordics are considered to constitute a very

economically coherent region. Their economic growth numbers have been reasona-
ble – despite economic difficulties at times – their R&D expenditure is stable and the
region is considered an attractive destination for foreign investment, accounting for 7
per cent of Europe’s total FDI inflows (Nordisk Ministerråd, 2018c).
The Nordics are marked by their small internal market size. This has led to
their participation in the EU’s internal market and adoption of its four freedoms
(free movement of goods, capital, services and labour). Their participation in the
European project nevertheless differs greatly, as discussed below. They are known
for the way in which they have been able not only to meet the challenges that come
with globalization and increased international competition but to turn them to their
advantage (Grøn and Wivel, 2018). Yet, these have not been easy lessons to learn.
The Nordic countries have had to undergo tough reforms in recent decades, following
harsh recessions and economic crises, more often than not brought about by external
developments. A common Nordic feature is that, while all adopted different sets of
measures, all Nordic states introduced major reform programmes – most notably in
the field of pensions – and fiscal consolidation to overcome their economic crisis and
underpin the resilience of the welfare state in the long run. Moreover, their ability
to act decisively, promptly and with a broad social consensus has enabled them to
restore international credibility and trust relatively quickly. This, in turn, has had
positive effects on and strengthened their national economies (Bergman, Jensen, and
Thøgersen, 2018). This ability relates directly to their small size. In fact, the Nordic
states have all been forced to develop and nurture adaptability and flexibility in their
economic systems and administrations. In a way, they have been able to turn weak-
ness, which comes with their small size, into a necessary strength, thus enabling them
to run economically prosperous welfare states (Thorhallsson, 2015).

Immigration and Migration Crises

Immigration is not new to the Nordic countries, which have a long tradition of
intra-Nordic immigration. This tradition was formalized in 1952 with the Nordic
passport union, allowing any citizen of a Nordic country to reside in any other
Nordic country. Immigration from non-OECD countries, however, did not become
pronounced in the region until after the start of the twenty-first century (Karlsdottir
et al., 2018). The huge influx of asylum seekers and refugees from war-torn countries
as well as from poorer countries outside the OECD, notably since 2015, has increased
support for populist anti-immigration and anti-multicultural parties and led to more
restrictive immigration policies (Brochmann, 2018). Moreover, populist parties in
Finland, Denmark and Norway have developed from generally marginalized actors
into accepted political players with real political sway and the capacity to influence
policy (Jungar, 2018).
 The Nordic states: keeping cool at the top? 119

Sweden, Denmark and Norway have traditionally been known for liberal, “human-
itarian” approaches to immigration, focusing on multiculturalism and integration.
In fact, Sweden has been labelled as the “leading immigrant state in the region in
terms of seniority, scope and policy making” (Brochmann, 2018, p. 230). Denmark
and Norway followed Sweden until the 1980s, when they chose different and more
restrictive paths, accepting fewer immigrants, although – as in Sweden – once immi-
grants were ‘in’, they enjoyed treatment equal to that of other citizens (Brochmann,
2018, pp. 230–231).
Finland and Iceland differ from their Nordic partners in this field. They were
net emigration countries until the 1980s and 1990s respectively. At the turn of the
century, Finland would follow closely in Sweden’s liberal steps with regards to
policy. Iceland, however, which had very few immigrants, resembles Denmark more
than Sweden in this regard. Unlike its Nordic partners, immigration has not become
a major political issue in Iceland. However, both Finland and Iceland have experi-
enced changes in the flow of immigrants to their countries since the beginning of the
European migration crisis. This may affect political developments at home and thus
policies in the near future (Brochmann, 2018; MPI, 2018).
The small size of the Nordic states, their populations and economies, makes them
more vulnerable, economically and socio-politically, to international developments.
The ongoing refugee crisis has put extreme pressure on public finances at the central,
regional and municipal levels; in Sweden, there was a doubling in the amount of
asylum applications, from around 81,000 in 2014 to 160,000 in 2015, before falling
back to around 30,000 annually in 2016 and 2017. This mirrors a move towards
a more restrictive approach to immigration (Bergman, Jensen, and Thøgersen, 2018;
Brochmann, 2018; MPI, 2018). Although the numbers were much less pronounced
in the other Nordic states, they all saw an increase during 2014–16: Iceland took the
lead in 2016 with 3.4 asylum seekers per 1,000 native citizens, having gone from
receiving just 45 asylum applications in 2010 to receiving 1,085 in 2017.
The heavy flows of migrants to the region have put a lot of pressure on the coun-
tries’ traditional political parties; voting patterns suggest that an increasingly large
part of the Nordic electorate opts for parties that emphasize stricter immigration rules
in their political agendas (Önnudóttir and Hardarson, 2017). Nevertheless, according
to a study by Önnudóttir and Hardarson (2017), the attitudes towards immigrants
remained relatively stable between 2002 and 2014. The Nordic countries have
been generally more positive towards immigration than their European neighbours
(ESS, 2018). So, immigration is becoming increasingly important on the political
agenda, there has been a move away from the traditionally more open border policies
(Brochmann, 2018; Kuhnle and Alestalo, 2018), and there has been a rise in support
for anti-immigration parties; nevertheless, the Nordic public remains overall rela-
tively well disposed towards immigration and immigrants.
Populism “has been a long-standing political current in the Scandinavian political
systems and goes against common perceptions of populism as short-lived, person-
alized and weakly institutionalized political forces” (Jungar, 2018, p. 157). Populist
parties have maintained a presence in all Nordic countries since the 1950s, except
120 Handbook on the politics of small states

in Sweden and Iceland where their development is much more recent. Throughout
the decades, these parties have mobilized public support in different policy niches
at different times, ranging from anti-establishment, anti-tax issues and anti-EU
policies to anti-immigration/anti-multiculturalism (Hansen and Kosiara-Pedersen,
2018; Jungar, 2018). Today, these populist parties have been accepted by the tra-
ditional political parties as real political players (with the exception of Sweden) in
line with the universal consensus seeking policy-making framework in the region.
The Progressive Party in Norway is in government for the second consecutive term,
after having supported centre-right governments twice between 1997 and 2005 and
having gained 15.2 per cent of the vote in 2015 (Milne, 2017). A fragment from the
anti-immigration/anti-multiculturalism and anti-EU/anti-establishment Finns Party
(which received 17.7 per cent of the votes in 2015), Blue Reform, continues to work
in the Finnish coalition government that was formed in 2015 (NEOnline, 2017). The
Danish People’s Party, which has been running on a similar ticket, has provided
parliamentary support to the government four times over the last six government
terms and in the 2015 parliamentary election, it became the second largest party in
Denmark with 21.1 per cent of the votes (BBC, 2015). The Sweden Democrats won
17.5 per cent of the votes in 2018. Having been treated as a pariah since their first par-
liamentary success in 2010, the party has been actively working towards becoming
a legitimate party with government credibility, expelling openly racist and neo-Nazi
members (Jungar, 2018). Interestingly, the parties that were traditionally more right
leaning in terms of economic issues, especially in Denmark and Norway, seem
to be gaining increased support from adopting left of centre/centrist and welfarist
socio-economic policies (Hansen and Kosiara-Pedersen, 2018; Jungar, 2018). This
also holds true in Iceland where it is mirrored in the People’s Party (which received
6.9 per cent of the votes in 2017): it boasts a strong focus on increased public spend-
ing on welfare, as well as strong anti-establishment/anti-EU and anti-immigration
views (Flokkur fólksins, 2017).

EXTERNAL AFFAIRS

The Nordic states share many foreign policy objectives and work closely together
within the UN and other international organizations. Moreover, formal Nordic
cooperation has a long tradition and constitutes one of the most advanced and
integrated regional collaborations in the world today. The cooperation is founded
on strong political, financial and cultural roots originating in nineteenth-century
Scandinavianism, a Nordic movement paralleling the nationalist movements in
Europe at the time. Consequently, the Nordic peoples started organizing and working
together through various grassroots organizations and partnerships, e.g. in the Nordic
Association of Civil Associations (‘Foreningen Norden’), which was established in
1919. Nevertheless, the states have developed a culture of being united in diversity
when it comes to foreign affairs, as well as security and defence. When it comes to
type and size of shelter to secure their vital national political, economic and societal
 The Nordic states: keeping cool at the top? 121

interests, their needs have differed, resulting in a scattered image when it comes to
the nature and level of international engagement.

Nordic Cooperation

The Nordic countries have developed vibrant cooperation in many public policy
fields, the collaboration being strongest in the fields of social, education and labour
market policies. They also collaborate closely in areas such as passport issues,
citizenship and national registration, legal and tax issues, culture and research.
Moreover, collaborations between civil society, trade unions and employers’ asso-
ciations have developed and are mirrored in such institutions as the Council of
Nordic Trade Unions (NFS) and regular meetings of representatives of the Nordic
Employers’ Associations.
The Nordic countries have traditionally been unable or unwilling to cooperate in
high-political policy areas, such as traditional (economic) foreign policy and security
and defence. However, the widening of what constitutes international high-political
foreign policy areas has created new cooperation opportunities for the Nordic states.
This is not lost on the Nordic leaders who have launched a three-year initiative on
the Prime-Ministerial level called Nordic Solutions to Global Challenges (Nordisk
Ministerråd, 2018a).
Nordic political cooperation has a formal (institutionalized) dimension as well
as an informal dimension, both of which include cooperation among ministers, par-
liamentarians and civil servants. The work takes place within the framework of the
Nordic Council, the parliamentarians’ forum for cooperation, established in 1952,
and in the framework of the Nordic Council of Ministers, the governmental forum
established in 1971. The role of the Nordic Council, which consists of 87 members
elected by their respective parliaments, is to take initiatives and advise Nordic min-
isters, as well as to oversee the respective governments’ implementation of decisions
on Nordic cooperation. Decisions within the Council are determined by unanimity
among member countries. The three Nordic subnational jurisdictions are associate
members of the Nordic Council.
The Nordic states also collaborate extensively, albeit on an informal footing, on the
high-political issues not covered by the Nordic Council format, i.e. on foreign policy,
hard security and defence, as well as on development cooperation in what has been
called the N5 format. Moreover, the Nordic countries’ embassies and representations
have developed a comprehensive informal and practical cooperation, a good example
of the latter being the joint Nordic embassies in Berlin (Germany) and the Nordic
House in Yangon (Myanmar). The Nordic states also benefit from Nordic coopera-
tion in other regional and international fora, most notably in their work within the EU
and UN. A good example of their UN collaboration is the decades-long tradition of
rotation between the Nordic states when it comes to running for an elected seat on the
UN Security Council (UNSC). In addition, they often collaborate on campaigns for
official roles and responsibilities within different UN bodies, as well as developing
122 Handbook on the politics of small states

and adopting, when possible, common Nordic positions on different issues of inter-
national importance (Jakobsen, 2018; Utanríkisráðuneytið, 2018).
Since the end of the Cold War, the Nordics have also developed a close relation-
ship with the three Baltic States, Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania, in both a formal and
informal NB8 setting. The eight Ministers of Foreign Affairs meet twice a year, once
under the NB8 setting but also once with the Visegrad states, i.e. Poland, Slovakia,
Czech Republic and Hungary (NB8-V4).

Not So Special Any More

Except for Iceland (until recently), the Nordic states have a history of being active in
development, peacekeeping and peacebuilding missions all over the world through
their UN membership. Their active participation in these fields, which builds on what
has been termed the Nordic UN model, has helped these states build their Nordic
brand internationally and lead by example (Jakobsen, 2006, 2018). For instance,
Denmark, Norway and Sweden have been among the OECD countries with the
highest relative aid disbursements since the 1960s (Olesen, 2018).
Whereas their image building was almost solely confined to the UN until the end
of the Cold War, Nordic states have started to use other media, in addition to their UN
activities, to build up their identity. According to Jakobsen (2018) the Nordic states’
foreign policies are not that unique anymore when it comes to peacekeeping and
peacebuilding and their contributions to the UN in this field have been significantly
reduced as they now spend more attention and resources on conflict management
embedded in other organizations, such as the EU and NATO (Jakobsen, 2018). This
shows the way in which the Nordics, as small states, adapt to the international envi-
ronment in order to safeguard their interests and sovereignty in the world. That is to
say that when international circumstances change, small states are required to adapt
to those changes in order to protect vital national interests. This was part of their
tactic during the Cold War, where they abstained from taking a position on matters
of conflict between the US and the Soviet Union in the UN (Jakobsen, 2018), as well
as today where they have a vested interest in siding with the Western military powers
within NATO, on whom they depend for military shelter. This is also true for the
non-aligned countries, Sweden and Finland, who have developed extensive collabo-
ration with NATO, the US and their Western allies (Creutz forthcoming; Economist,
2017; NATO, 2018a, 2018b).
Interestingly, the Nordic states have all emphasized close cooperation with
Russia and China, despite their differences with these powers. China has showed an
increased interest in developing bilateral and multilateral relations with the Nordic
countries in recent years (Gudjonsson and Nielsson, 2017). This allows China to
project its identity as a “near-Arctic state”, in an effort to secure its possible future
interests in the region (Hong, 2014). Moreover, this has been positively received by
the Nordic states who all expressed support for China’s application for permanent
observer status on the Arctic Council (Jakobson and Peng, 2012, p. 13). Development
of Sino-Nordic relations are also mirrored in reciprocal visits by state leaders, where
 The Nordic states: keeping cool at the top? 123

the Arctic and the Chinese Belt and Road Initiative are among key topics of discus-
sion (e.g. Jing, 2017).
The Nordics have made sure that they nurture good bilateral relations with
Russia, despite increased Russian military activity in the North Atlantic and near the
Norwegian–Russian border. For instance, close cooperation in the Arctic Council,
the main intergovernmental forum for cooperation, coordination and interaction
among the Arctic states and communities, has not been interrupted by Nordic partic-
ipation in the Western restrictive measures against Russia (both regarding Ukraine
and the Salisbury nerve agent attack) and Russian counter-sanctions on them.

Security Policy

Collaborating on security and defence has always been a challenge for the Nordic
countries, not least because of their very different geopolitical concerns, as well as
different history, economic means and prioritization. Nevertheless, since the Russian
annexation of Crimea, as well as increased international interest in the Arctic, there
has been some revival of interest in closer collaboration through the Nordic Defence
Cooperation (NORDEFCO).
Three of the Nordic states, Denmark, Norway and Iceland, are founding members
of NATO and have adopted an ‘Atlanticist’ approach in their geopolitics; whereas
Finland and Sweden have, to this day, decided to remain outside the Alliance and,
arguably, maintain their foreign policy principle of “non-alignment in peacetime and
neutrality in war” (Gebhard, 2018). Nevertheless, the two ‘non-aligned’ states have
developed a close collaboration with NATO and the US since the end of the Cold
War, beginning with entering into NATO’s Partnership for Peace in 1994 and only
three years later their membership in the Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council (Creutz,
forthcoming; NATO, 2018a, 2018b). There have been considerable discussions
in the states about the possibility to join NATO, especially in Sweden where the
right-of-centre parties are pro-NATO. This is, however, unlikely to materialize since
public opinion still remains set against the idea in both countries, although there
are some signs of change in public opinion becoming more pro-NATO in Sweden
(Salonius-Pasternak, 2018). There is consensus amongst security experts that, if
Sweden were to join NATO, Finland would swiftly follow; but, for that to happen,
the leading Swedish political party, the Social Democratic Party, would have to
abandon its policy of neutrality (Institute of International Affairs, 2018).
Since the end of the Cold War, Denmark has shifted from mainly focusing on
its contributions to UN peacekeeping missions towards a more militaristic foreign
policy, which also reflects the growing importance of the DK–US relationship
(Wivel, Mariager, and Mortensen, 2018). The relationship is also firmly grounded
on the common interests that the two states share when it comes to geo-strategically
important Greenland: the US-run Thule Air Base in Greenland hosts a forward
early-warning radar system and a satellite communication centre (Bailes, Herolf, and
Sundelius, 2006).
124 Handbook on the politics of small states

Similarly, Iceland has historically nurtured a strong bilateral relationship with

the US, with which it has had a bilateral defence agreement since 1951 (Bailes and
Thorhallsson, 2006). The US also remains Norway’s closest ally and is substan-
tially increasing its presence of military forces on its soil (Haugevik and Sending,
forthcoming). Importantly, Finland and Sweden are strengthening their ties with
Washington. For instance, in May 2018 they signed a trilateral statement of intent,
to deepen defence cooperation (Creutz, forthcoming). Moreover, the NATO Nordics
have increased their security and defence spending in line with US and NATO
demands (Gronholt-Pedersen and Skydsgaard, 2016; Long, 2018; RÚV, 2017).
In recent years all five Nordic states have voiced an interest in furthering their
cooperation in NORDEFCO, although to different degrees (Gebhard, 2018). There
are several reasons for this revived interest, ranging from strategic necessity, to geo-
political and economic factors. Created in 2009, NORDEFCO is a comprehensive
institutional framework for cooperation in the field of security and defence. It is the
result of developments in the global security environment, especially pragmatic,
economic reasons, in terms of balancing the increased costs of defence technology
and maintaining a functioning military force. However, the increased international
strategic interest in the Nordic region, notably in the US during Obama’s presidency,
has also supported the revived interest among Nordic authorities (Harris, 2016).
Moreover, the much firmer tone being sent from the Trump administration, chastis-
ing the low levels of military spending in the countries that enjoy the US’s military
shelter, may have strengthened the revived interest in the Nordics states of pooling
resources and working together.
There is also reason to believe that a more aggressive Russia has pushed the
Nordic states in this direction. Since small states rely on great powers respecting
international laws and norms, the Russian annexation of Crimea, and the continued
conflict in eastern Ukraine, is perceived as a serious threat to the Nordic countries’
sovereignty. This is reinforced by Russian provocations in the region, the Zapad-17
military exercise in September 2017 being the most pronounced and serious example
(Economist, 2017), as well as the significantly increased Russian submarine traffic in
North Atlantic waters and the Arctic, which has reached new heights since the end of
the Cold War (Woody, 2018a, 2018b). Yet another perceived threat is the continued
airspace violations and jet scrambles by Russian fighter jets in the region (Nardelli
and Arnett, 2015), as well as a recent chemical weapons attack in Salisbury, UK, in
March 2018. All this supports worries of a more aggressive and assertive Russia, at
a time when the US seems to be less willing to lend a helping hand (Rogin, 2018;
Woody, 2018c).

European Integration

The small size of the Nordic market has made them dependent on the much larger
European market. Nonetheless, the relationship between the Nordics and the EU is
complicated (Grøn and Wivel, 2018). They are all highly involved and integrated
into the EU, albeit to differing degrees, and in some cases to such an extent that the
 The Nordic states: keeping cool at the top? 125

Nordics who have chosen to stay outside of the EU are even more integrated in some
policy areas than other EU members.
Both Norway and Iceland have chosen not to enter fully into the EU, but enjoy
access to the internal market through the European Economic Area (EEA). The
European Free Trade Area (EFTA) manages the functioning of the EEA and conducts
many free trade agreements on behalf of its members (Norway, Iceland, Liechtenstein
and Switzerland). Denmark (excluding the Faroe Islands and Greenland), Sweden,
and Finland (including Åland, albeit with opt-outs) are EU members; but only
Finland has adopted the euro. Sweden and Denmark both have their own national
currencies. Whereas Denmark opted for a fixed exchange rate through the ERM II in
1999, Sweden runs an independent monetary policy with a floating krona (European
Commission, 2018). Greenland departed from the EU in 1986, after having been
obliged to join it as part of Denmark in 1973, and the Faroe Islands has never been
a member. After the financial crisis hit Iceland in 2008, Iceland applied for EU mem-
bership but as the economy was quick to pick up on the island, almost at the same
time as the euro crisis reached the EU, interest in the matter dwindled. With a new
government in 2013, the accession negotiations were put on hold.
Since 1993, Denmark has formal opt-outs from the Euro, EU defence coopera-
tion and Justice and Home Affairs (JHA) (European Commission, 2018), whereas
Norway has attempted to strengthen its collaboration with the EU on JHA, security
and defence. Moreover, the ‘non-aligned’ states, Finland and Sweden, have partici-
pated fully in the development of the Common Security and Defence Policy (CSDP)
of the EU, making no reservations with regards to the solidarity clause, which has
been compared to Article 5 of the NATO treaty, to which the two states are not party.
All five Nordic states are, however, members of Schengen. In general, the Nordic
states and entities have been suspicious of the supranational character of the EU,
as they seek to safeguard their ‘way of life’ and protect their fisheries and agrarian
sectors (Neumann, 2001; Rebhan, 2016).
The fact remains that the Nordic economies are burdened by the challenges that
follow their smallness; they are sensitive to developments in the international arena,
which has led to their participation in the EU internal market. At the same time, the
specific nature of their national economies, such as the status of key export industries,
as well as different geopolitical and socio-historical factors have led them to choose
different types of shelter provided by larger states and international organizations, as
shown in Table 8.2.
The three NATO Nordics also share strong ties with the UK, and their trade rela-
tionship is currently under threat from the UK’s decision to leave the EU. The UK is
Norway’s top export destination with 19 per cent of its exports going there (followed
by Germany with 14 per cent); and it ranks second and third for Iceland (12 per cent)
and Denmark (7 per cent) respectively. This puts considerable strain on the foreign
services in these countries which have had to adapt and prioritize accordingly within
their administration in order to ensure their countries’ business interests after Brexit.
Meanwhile, since 1999 Norway has emphasized building a special relationship with
Germany (Haugevik, 2017), referring to it as its “most important partner in Europe”
126 Handbook on the politics of small states

Table 8.2 Present economic, political and societal shelter of the Nordic states
and entities

Shelter Type Economy Political Societal

Sweden EU EU EU/NC
Denmark EU EU/NATO EU/NC
Finland EU EU EU/NC
Norway EEA/EFTA NATO/Schengen EEA/NC
Iceland EEA/EFTA NATO/US/Schengen EEA/NC
Greenland DK DK/US/NATO DK/NC
Faroe Islands DK DK/NATO DK/NC
Åland Islands EU/FI FI/SE/EU FI/SE/EU/
NC

Notes: NC: Nordic cooperation; DK: Danish Kingdom; FI: Finland; SE: Sweden.

(Regjeringen, 2014), thus indicating its emphasis on participation in the European

project and the increased weight of Germany in Norwegian foreign policy.

CONCLUSION: KEEPING COOL AT THE TOP

The Nordic model has been kept intact despite considerable domestic and external
challenges. The Nordic states also continue to run their distinctive foreign policy and
remain united in diversity when it comes to NATO and EU engagements. At the same
time, they have shown adaptability and found a delicate balance in relation to: their
competitive export oriented economy and costly social policies; domestic uproar
in relation to an increased number of asylum seekers and refugees and inclusion of
anti-immigration parties in governmental decision-making; and closer security and
defence engagements with NATO, the US, and the EU, as well as close bilateral
relations with Russia and China.
Challenges posed by external events, such as Brexit, Russian aggression and an
unpredictable ally (the United States) are being met with closer Nordic collaboration
on high political issues. Policy responses to such challenges are driven by a deep and
intimate understanding of their position as small states, susceptible to the fluctuating
international economy, external aggression and a fractional world order. They seek
either informal or formal political, economic and societal shelter provided by their
closest allies (the US, the EU and NATO), while simultaneously building bridges to
other leading world powers (Russia and China) and continuing their long-term policy
objective of stabilizing the world through active UN engagement. The Nordic states
meet unpredictable world leaders with caution but their long-time consensus-seeking
behaviour at home and abroad during the Cold War taught them not to overreach
in crisis situations but rather to adopt a cautious and flexible approach. They keep
cool at home and abroad. This is precisely how they dealt with challenges to their
domestic order and the international world order in the past and how they are dealing
with them at present.
 The Nordic states: keeping cool at the top? 127

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9. The non-identical Mediterranean island
states: Cyprus and Malta
Roderick Pace

INTRODUCTION

Cyprus and Malta are respectively the third smallest and smallest member states of
the European Union (EU) by population. Both are former British colonies, geograph-
ically located in the Mediterranean region, at the southernmost edge of the Union’s
maritime boundaries. Both joined the EU in 2004 and the European Monetary Union
(EMU) in 2008. For this reason, it is tempting to mistake them for identical twins.
The two islands have also had different colonial experiences (Holland, 2014). This
difference accounts in part for the diverse paths which their political and economic
development have followed since independence.
Small island states have small domestic markets which thwart economies of scale.
For this reason, they have a stronger reliance on trade than large states, which in turn
makes them more open to global economic influences. Their economic openness is
often intensified due to export commodity specialization and the volatility of prices
on world markets. They have an obvious direct interest in the maritime sector and
many of them develop activities that are conveniently gathered under the heading
of ‘blue economy’. For their security, they tend towards external dependence on
a stronger regional or global power. On the domestic side, they have a small society,
where particularism (i.e. relations based on friendship or kinship) eclipses universal-
ism. They are more likely to be overlooked in world politics and by the international
media unless something sensational occurs.
The Mediterranean regional context plays a crucial role in shaping Cypriot and
Maltese societies. Its shores belong to three continents. Three of the world’s most
influential monotheistic religions – Judaism, Christianity and Islam – and their
respective denominations and sub-cultures – meet, and at times collide, in this region
and its hinterland. Out of the hundreds of inhabited Mediterranean isles, some bigger
in population and/or land mass, only Cyprus and Malta have achieved sovereignty,
after long periods of colonial rule. During their quest for independence, violent in
Cyprus, peaceful in Malta, Britain (as the colonial power) at first attempted to hold on
to both territories by a policy of divide et impera, which left its indelible mark on the
islands’ post-colonial domestic politics. But this was more devastating in the case of
Cyprus where its two main ethnic communities, in spite of having shared a common
history for centuries (though not always bereft of conflict), became strongly divided
but were later expected to work together under a finely tuned constitution, requiring
the greatest degree of consociation between them.

131
132 Handbook on the politics of small states

The economic performance of the two island states shows that they have an
enormous capacity for bouncing back after hard times. Cyprus did so after the 1974
partition of the island and the 2012–13 financial crisis. Malta survived huge eco-
nomic challenges in its modern history as well, such as the damage caused by the
Second World War, and the loss of rentier income from British spending after the
1979 closure of UK military bases on its territory. Both states have shown an eco-
nomic resilience to adverse conditions, but their political resilience is much weaker.
Resilience, however defined, is cultivated or eroded by the policies which small
states adopt at home and in international affairs. Resilience helps such small states to
resist adverse shock and rebound – but, often, only as long as most other states in the
international system are pulling in the same direction.
After reviewing some basic features of their physical, social and political charac-
teristics, this chapter fans out in different directions to assess the two islands’ expe-
rience from four interconnected angles: their domestic characteristics, international
alignments, policy-making, and the challenges they face and the outcomes of their
decisions. It then dwells on their respective EU membership experiences. The narra-
tive takes on a small state perspective by reference to what we hypothesize about the
general behaviour of small states and what actually happens on the ground.

DOMESTIC CHARACTERISTICS OF CYPRUS AND MALTA

Physical Size and Geographic Location

Cyprus and Malta are dissimilar in size, population and economic heft (see Table 9.1).
Malta consists of three inhabited isles: Malta where the capital, Valletta, and the
main seaports and only airport are located; Gozo whose population is around 7.3 per
cent of the total population of the Maltese islands; and Comino, which is inhabited
by only three residents and many day tourists (NSO, 2017).
Cyprus, a single island, is divided into four zones: (1) the British Sovereign Base
Areas (SBA) of Akrotiri and Dhekelia, which cover an area of 254 km2; (2) a 180
km-long buffer zone dividing the island, including its capital Nicosia, controlled by
the United Nations, with an area of 346 km2; (3) the northern part of the island, the
‘Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus’ (TRNC) proclaimed in 1983 and recognized
only by Turkey, which covers 3,355 km2 or 35.2 per cent of the island’s territory; and
(4) the remaining 59 per cent of the territory, which is controlled by the Republic of
Cyprus (Drevet and Theophanous, 2012). Greek Cypriots make up an estimated 74.6
per cent of the island’s population; Turkish Cypriots number 9.7 per cent and foreign
residents 15.7 per cent. The latter include many Turkish settlers coming from the
mainland (Republic of Cyprus, 2018).
Geographic location is relevant to a small state’s economic development, along
with good governance, human resources, factor endowments and policies to mitigate
the costs of remoteness (Henderson, Shalizi, and Venables, 2000). Cyprus and Malta
are both blessed by being close to large markets and are not marooned somewhere
 The non-identical Mediterranean island states: Cyprus and Malta 133

Table 9.1 Cyprus and Malta: comparison of key ‘size’ variables

GDP (Purchasing
Territory GDP per capita
Population Power Parity) (US$),
(km2) (US$), 2017
2017
Cyprus 1,180,000 9,240 25,235 31.19 billion
Malta 425,000 316 26,950 18.53 billion

distant from economic centres of activity as is the case with many small island devel-
opment states (SIDS) in the Pacific.

Historic Background

Historic events shape countries differently. For many centuries, up to the fall of
Constantinople and the end of the Byzantine Empire and after, Cyprus formed part
of the Hellenic world. In 1571, it was incorporated into the Ottoman Empire (Kyrris,
1996). In sharp contrast, six years earlier, Malta had repulsed an Ottoman siege and
avoided a similar fate.
Religion has played a crucial role in moulding the different cultures of the two
island states. Both Cyprus and Malta trace their Christian faith to the Apostle Paul,
who deliberately went to Cyprus accompanied by St Barnabas, a Cypriot native of
Salamis, but only visited Malta fortuitously when he was shipwrecked there on his
way to Rome from Crete. However, the religious paths of the islanders eventually
diverged. When Cyprus fell to the Ottomans, the Orthodox Church finally gained
pre-eminence over the Roman Catholic Church whose supremacy had been aggres-
sively promoted by the Venetians while they occupied the island (Hackett, 1901).
Meanwhile, Malta became entrenched in the Catholic world during the 270-year
rule of the Knights Hospitaller of St John of Jerusalem and was thus integrated in
the southern European, western Mediterranean system while Cyprus was linked
to the Near East and the Balkans. In different ways, the Maltese Roman Catholic
Church and the Cypriot Greek Orthodox Church played significant political roles in
safeguarding the identity and representing their respective communities in the eras
of external domination.
Cypriot and Maltese nationalism differ somewhat, for this reason. Maltese nation-
alism was influenced by the Western European experience and particularly the Italian
Risorgimento and the reunification of Italy, completed in 1871. Under British rule,
Malta also saw its institutions gradually evolve towards democracy, beginning first
with the establishment of a free press (1839), the establishment of a Chamber of
Commerce and Enterprise in 1848, the first trade union set up in 1885 (Baldacchino,
2009), and the emergence of competing political parties, a national legislative
assembly and a self-governing constitution in 1921 (Carammia and Pace, 2015;
Frendo 1979, 1993). Up to the start of the Second World War, independence from
Britain would have signified unification with Italy, based on a strain of irredentismo
rooted in the historic fact that the Maltese islands once formed part of the Kingdom
134 Handbook on the politics of small states

of Naples (Frendo, 1979, 1993). After the war, it metamorphosed into complete
independence from Britain and Italy (Frendo, 1993, p. 567).
In Cyprus, British colonialism started much later than Malta’s and its effect on the
political development of the island was more limited since the British maintained the
Ottoman administrative and legal system in place until the status of Cyprus changed
from a protectorate to a self-governing crown colony in 1922. In other matters,
Cyprus’s experience was similar to Malta’s: since the outbreak of the Greek war of
independence in 1821, the majority Greek Cypriot community began to see itself as
part of the Megali Hellas, the greater Greece, comprising the Greek Communities in
Greece itself, the Aegean and Asia Minor that had existed up to Byzantine times and
thereafter (Smith, 1998). Hence, throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries
until 1960, for the Greek Cypriots, freedom from Ottoman domination and subse-
quently from British rule meant enosis or union with Greece, which had emerged
as a state in 1832. Agitation in favour of enosis started in Cyprus at the start of the
Greek war of independence in 1821 as did brutal Ottoman measures to suppress these
aspirations. A century later, in 1923, when the Turkish state emerged, the Cypriot
Muslim minority, inspired by its own brand of nationalism or ‘Kemalism’ (Mango,
2004; Tunçay, 2018), began to define itself as Turkish-Cypriot. In the 1950s, the
Turkish Cypriots allied themselves with Britain to oppose enosis. Britain manipu-
lated their apprehensions to enlist their cooperation in defeating the Greek Cypriot
military uprising, begun in 1955 and headed by EOKA (Ethniki Organosis Kyprion
Agoniston, the National Organization of Cypriot Fighters). This policy deepened the
fissures separating the two communities and laid the ground for the island’s present
problems.
Maltese independence was secured in 1964 at the end of a peaceful constitutional
process (Pirotta 2001, 2018). In contrast, Cyprus became independent in 1960 during
a violent guerrilla campaign and as a result of a complex series of treaties (Macris,
2003), giving guarantor powers to Greece, Turkey and Britain to safeguard and
uphold the constitution. This turned the island into a formally independent republic
in which the majority Greeks formally renounced enosis and the minority Turkish
Cypriots gave up union with Turkey and ‘Taksim’: the partition of the island into
Greek and Turkish zones.

The Political System

The 1960 Cypriot constitution gave birth to a Presidential system (Article 1) with
a Greek Cypriot as President and a Turkish Cypriot as Vice-President, each elected
by their respective ethnic community. Both the President and the Vice-President
could veto legislation in key areas of policy primarily in foreign policy (Cyprus
Cmnd. 1093, 1960). This meant that the constitution could work in theory only if
the two ethnic communities were capable of bridging their differences in favour of
consensus politics (Andeweg, 2000; Lijphart, 2012). Given the antagonism between
the two communities, this was perhaps too much to expect. The constitution was
a finely balanced document built on a number of compromises, and requiring an
 The non-identical Mediterranean island states: Cyprus and Malta 135

array of skills and further compromises to work properly (Adams, 1966). It was also
very difficult to change. When, in 1963, President Makarios presented a 13-point
plan to amend the constitution, the Turkish Cypriots deserted the parliament and
inter-communal strife ensued.
In Malta, constitutional changes were often preceded by intense debate, secretive
negotiations between the two dominant political parties – the Partit Laburista (PL,
formerly the Malta Labour Party, MLP), founded in 1921 and the Partit Nazzjonalista
(PN, Nationalist Party) founded in 1880 (Briguglio and Pace, 2013) – a parliamentary
vote requiring a two-thirds majority for any amendments to be approved, followed
by continuous media-posturing. In 1974, the MLP-PN agreed to transform Malta
into a Republic (Act LVIII, 1974), but the parties also agreed to remove any right of
a popular referendum in approving constitutional amendments stipulated in the 1964
constitution, thus transforming it into an heirloom of the two political parties. The
further evolution of the constitution was thus stunted.

Party Politics

The Cypriot and Maltese party systems are very different. Cyprus is a multiparty state
while Malta has been described by Lijphart (2012, pp. 73–74) as “a pure two-party
system with two and only two highly equal parliamentary parties”. However, Malta
has not always been a pure two-party system. Between 1921 and 1962, no fewer than
nine political parties managed to win parliamentary seats at some stage, although
only the PL and PN managed to enter parliament in all elections and regularly
won most seats. Thus, a pure two-party system existed in Malta between 1966 and
2017. The PL-PN dominance was slightly dented in 2017, when the newly formed
Democratic Party (Partit Demokratiku, PD) won two parliamentary seats, mostly
because its candidates were included in the ballot sheet with PN candidates and so
were able to inherit votes from weaker PN candidates in the complicated balloting
system based on the Single Transferable Vote (STV).
In contrast, political parties in Cyprus emerged much later than in Malta. A com-
munist party, which was founded in 1922, was succeeded in 1941 by AKEL, the
Progressive Party of Working People of Cyprus (Anorthotikon Komma Ergazemenou
Laou) (Katsourides, 2014). All other parties emerged after independence and par-
ticularly following the passing of Archbishop Makarios III in 1977. The spiritual
and political leadership of the Cypriot Greek Orthodox Church, and the central
position occupied by the Archbishop as the Ethnarch of the community, may have
inadvertently delayed the emergence of secular political leaders and parties. The
struggle for independence, constitutional difficulties and inter-communal strife after
independence could also have played a part by convincing many potential political
figures to unite behind the immensely charismatic Archbishop Makarios in a national
(Greek) coalition and ‘popular front’. Makarios, however, failed to lead Cyprus out
of the enosis quagmire which eventually precipitated the partition of the island with
the military intervention of Turkey in 1974 (Sant Cassia, 1983, p. 212).
136 Handbook on the politics of small states

The Cypriot socialist party (EDEK) was founded in 1969, but it was the collapse of
the popular front a couple of years later that created the conditions for the formation
of the parties which dominated the political scene from then onward. Democratic
Rally (DISY) and the Democratic Party (DIKO) were founded in 1976. Newer,
smaller political parties have emerged in response to single issues and won parlia-
mentary seats. These include the Greens/Ecologists, Solidarity Movement, Citizens’
Alliance and the ultra-right National Popular Front. The first secular President,
Spyros Kyprianou of the Democratic Party, took office in 1977 as Acting President,
following the passing of the Ethnarch.

INTERNATIONAL ALIGNMENTS

Immediately after independence, the two island states began to assert their statehood
by joining international organizations whose membership was open only to sovereign
states and establishing diplomatic relations with other countries. Cyprus joined the
UN in 1960 and the Council of Europe in 1961. Malta joined the two organizations
respectively in 1964 and 1965. Their foreign policies differed from the start. Malta
embarked on a pro-Western policy until 1971, when it began shifting towards neutral-
ity and non-alignment. Before independence, Makarios attended the 1955 Bandung
Conference, when the Afro-Asian cooperation agenda was fashioned to oppose both
Western and communist imperialism; he participated in the Belgrade summit con-
vened by Yugoslavia’s President Josip Broz Tito in 1961, which saw the launching
of Non-Aligned Movement (NAM). Yugoslavia was one of the first countries with
which the newly independent Cyprus established diplomatic relations. The Belgrade
authorities wanted to establish a consulate in Nicosia before independence and the
bond between the two countries solidified from there onward and remained intact
until the collapse of Yugoslavia. One issue bedevilled the relationship: Makarios’s
reluctance to include the Cypriot Communists (AKEL) in his governments (Meyn,
2015).
With respect to NATO, Malta and Cyprus also had different approaches. One
would have assumed that with the guarantors of the Cypriot constitution – the United
Kingdom, Greece and Turkey – all being members of NATO, Cyprus would have
also applied to join the alliance after independence. Both President Archbishop
Makarios and General Grivas supported such a move (Papadopoulos, 2015); but
the UK and Turkey opposed it. Papadopoulos refers to two other attempts made by
Cyprus to join NATO in 1965 and in 1985, both of which were rejected on Turkey’s
insistence. Cyprus instead followed a policy of non-alignment by joining the NAM,
being one of its founding members at the 1961 Belgrade conference. The Turkish
Cypriot Vice-President at the time, Fazıl Küçük, was ready to veto the development
of relations with the NAM, but was held back by Turkey (Ker-Lindsay, 2010). The
NAM served Cyprus to mobilize international support on the Cyprus question, par-
ticularly after the 1974 Turkish invasion and partition and to maintain the isolation of
the breakaway Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus when this was formed in 1983.
 The non-identical Mediterranean island states: Cyprus and Malta 137

Sevki Kiralp (2018, p. 159), quoting Cypriot President Glafcos Clerides, claims that
Makarios’s aim was to garner international support that would enable him to eventu-
ally end Turkish Cypriot veto rights. Aware of this, Küçük refrained from vetoing the
bid by Cyprus to join NAM as he could have done, calculating that such membership
would raise suspicions in NATO and perhaps even help Turkey intervene in Cyprus
on behalf of the Turkish Cypriots. After the end of the Cold War, NAM lost much
of its remaining relevance and both Cyprus and Malta left it when they joined the
European Union (EU).

Malta’s NATO Flirtation

On 16 December 1952, the North Atlantic Council (NAC) created the Allied
Mediterranean Command subordinated to the Supreme Allied Commander Europe
(SACEUR) and established it in Malta. Three years later, the Malta Labour Party
(MLP) gained a parliamentary majority and started to pursue integration of the
island with Britain. This plan met serious difficulties and the Labour government
had to resign in 1958, precipitating a constitutional crisis which lasted until 1961.
Had the integration project succeeded, Malta would have also become part of NATO
territory. The failure of integration led the MLP to demand complete independence
(Malta Labour Party, 1959). In the 1962 elections held after the restitution of the
constitution, the PN was elected to government by a slight majority and demanded
independence from Britain, thus setting off the process which would culminate in
independence two years later. On the defence of the island, two alternatives were
discussed: a ten-year defence treaty between an independent Malta and the UK,
with the latter holding on to most of its military facilities on the island; alternatively,
associate or full membership of NATO. The Maltese government of Prime Minister
Gorg Borg Olivier sent out feelers to this effect to NATO, but the Atlantic Alliance
rejected them on the grounds that Malta was too small and that it would impose costs
on the organization due to its economic weakness (Smith, 2006: doc. 171).
According to a 1963 memo from Benjamin H. Read, executive secretary to
McGeorge Bundy, Special Assistant to the US President for National Security
Affairs (1961–6), the Americans wished to open direct negotiations with Borg
Olivier’s government for the establishment of a “Tropospheric Scatter Station” (in
later dispatches referred to simply as the “Tropo negotiations”) in Malta. The memo
was prepared for a meeting between the Maltese Prime Minister Borg Olivier and
President Kennedy. This station was to form part of NATO’s “ACE HIGH” commu-
nications system which eventually involved some 49 such stations linked over 8,300
route miles from the northern tip of Arctic Norway, where the system was originally
tried and started, to the eastern edge of Turkey as part of the Alliance’s long-haul
communications system. The Americans were also worried about the long-term
prospects of Malta remaining in the Western camp after independence and suggested
the establishment of a sovereign military base in Malta along the lines of what
Britain had done in Cyprus. They proposed locating the station at Marfa Ridge, the
site of a British military installation (Department of State, 1963). This plan was later
138 Handbook on the politics of small states

abandoned after encountering opposition from the British and Maltese governments,
and Malta’s bid to join NATO eventually also receded. On independence, a ten-year
defence treaty was signed with Britain (Pirotta, 2018).

Malta: Foreign Policy from Independence

In the period 1964–71, Malta followed a pro-Western foreign policy. The election
of the MLP to govern the country saw the gradual shift of emphasis towards the
Mediterranean, non-alignment and eventually neutrality. In the meantime, relations
with the European Community (EC) based on the 1970 Association Agreement,
continued to flourish until they hit an impasse in 1981. The realignment of Malta’s
foreign policy in the 1970s is signposted by these main events: the 1972 UK–Malta
Defence and financial aid agreement to replace the one signed between the two
countries in 1964 stipulating the closure of the UK military bases on Maltese territory
by 31 March 1979; recognition of the People’s Republic of China and the start of
diplomatic relations with it that same year; and closer ties with Libya.
Relations with Italy improved. In 1980, Italy and Malta concluded a Neutrality
Treaty which also included the first of a series of financial protocols. Five of these
protocols were implemented and concluded when Malta joined the EU in 2004.
Financial transfers under these protocols went into the improvement of the economic
infrastructure. Italy also supported Malta’s EU policies and was instrumental in
facilitating the successful conclusion of the 1972 Anglo-Maltese Defence Treaty
(Pace, 1999).
During the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE) which
ended in Helsinki in 1975, Malta pressed for the inclusion of the Mediterranean
region in the work of the conference. This was resisted by the two superpowers
out of fear that it would further complicate the already complex agenda and make
agreement more difficult given that decisions were adopted by consensus. Malta’s
Mediterranean policy showed its preference for a comprehensive, multilateral
approach to the resolution of the many conflicts bedevilling the region, as opposed
to reliance on the vexed model of ‘balance of power’. Its adoption of neutrality and
non-alignment was intended to maintain equidistance from the superpowers and help
the concretization of détente (Council of Europe,1980). But the official declaration
of neutrality came later, more than two years after the closure of the British military
facilities on the island when it was adopted by the Maltese Cabinet on 14 May 1981
and published the next day (Malta Government, 1981). The declaration reproduced
the text of the Italo-Maltese Neutrality Treaty of 15 September 1980, ratified by both
countries in 1981 (Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Malta, 1980). Soon after the ratifica-
tion of the Italo-Maltese neutrality treaty, Malta concluded a similar agreement with
the Soviet Union, by means of the exchange of aide memoires (Ministry of Foreign
Affairs, Malta, 1981) which was perceived in Italian circles as a breach of good faith.
In 1987, the declaration of neutrality, which in the meantime had earned the support
of several member states of the UN, was inserted into the Maltese constitution.
 The non-identical Mediterranean island states: Cyprus and Malta 139

EU ASSOCIATION WITH CYPRUS AND MALTA

The relations between Cyprus, Malta and the EU date back to 1962 when the UK
launched its first application to join the then EEC. Both countries were economically
dependent on the UK and as such risked economic damage in the event that Britain
joined the EEC without sufficient safeguards to guarantee them unimpeded links with
the British economy. With Cyprus, the EU initiated the procedure for the conclusion
of an Association Agreement in 1963, which however was left in abeyance after
the collapse of the EEC–UK membership negotiations (Nicholson and East, 1987).
Similarly, Malta entered into contacts with Brussels in order to conclude an interim
agreement which would lay the foundations for a future EEC–Malta Association
Agreement after independence (Pace, 2001). The two countries did not renew
interest in the agreements until 1967, in the light of Britain’s second application.
They eventually concluded Association Agreements which provided for a gradual
liberalization of industrial trade and some agricultural exports as well as the achieve-
ment of a customs union with the EEC in two stages. The Association Agreements
became effective with Cyprus in 1973 and with Malta in 1971 (European Economic
Community, 1971, 1973). Cyprus and the EU agreed in 1987 on a final 15-year
transition to a full customs union, but Malta negotiated an indefinite prolongation of
the first stage of the Association Agreement. Cyprus applied to join the EU on 4 July
1990 and Malta applied on 16 July of the same year. Both island states joined the
Union in 2004 and introduced the euro as their currency on 1 January 2008.
In seeking relations with the EU in the 1970s, Cyprus and Malta wanted access
to the growing and expanding European internal market, while at the same time
consolidating their ties with Britain (Nugent, 2003; Pace, 2001). The two countries’
quest for EU membership was motivated by the same and additional considerations.
The EU was expanding to include the former communist countries in central Europe
and both Cyprus and Malta risked being cut off from the mainstream of European
politics if they decided not to board the ‘moving train’. Public opinion in Malta was
almost equally split, with the PN championing membership and the MLP opposing
it, proposing instead a free trade area agreement with a number of other protocols
covering cooperation in several sectors, including security, in a manner that would
not compromise Maltese neutrality. This alternative was almost implemented when
the MLP was returned to government in 1996, had it not lost its parliamentary
majority after just 22 months in power on an unrelated issue. Malta’s EU application
was revived in 1999. Negotiations with Cyprus and Malta were concluded in 2002
and the following year both island states completed the ratification of the Treaty of
Accession in different, but equally dramatic, contexts.
In Malta’s case, a referendum was held on 8 March 2003 at the end of a very
intense national debate, to decide whether Malta should join the EU (Cini, 2003,
2005; Pace, 2004). Ninety-one per cent of eligible voters cast their votes; 53 per cent
voted in favour, 45.7 per cent voted against, while 1.3 per cent invalidated their votes.
A general election was then held on 12 April which returned the PN to government,
thus sealing the issue. In the aftermath of these plebiscites, the MLP changed its
140 Handbook on the politics of small states

policy in favour of membership, whereupon the PN-MLP competition shifted from

European to domestic policy issues (Pace, 2004). Party Euroscepticism thus came
to an end and support for the EU increased in the following years (Pace, 2011). The
Treaty establishing a European Constitution and its successor the Lisbon Treaty were
both approved by consensus in the national parliament, as were the treaties and agree-
ments approved by the Euro-zone countries between 2010 and 2015 to strengthen the
European Monetary Union (EMU).
Divergences appeared at times on issues related to the status of neutrality despite
cross-party agreement that the declaration and definition of Malta’s neutrality
entrenched in the constitution was outdated and out of step with global realities.
Malta and Cyprus were both precluded from participating fully in the Berlin Plus
process based on EU–NATO cooperation since they were neither members of NATO
nor of its Partnership for Peace (PfP). Malta had joined the Partnership in 1995 and
suspended itself in 1996 following Labour’s return to government. After reactivating
its membership in 2008, the way was reopened for Malta’s participation. However,
Cyprus’s involvement remained blocked by Turkey which also opposed its member-
ship of NATO and the PfP.
Broadly speaking, despite Malta’s constitutionally enshrined neutrality and
Cyprus’s participation in the Non-Aligned Movement, both countries have been par-
ticipating in the developing EU security and defence policy. Cyprus and Malta joined
the European Defence Agency (EDA) from its inception in 2004, and Malta began
to participate in EU Common Security and Defence Policy (CSDP) missions from
2008. However, in 2017, Cyprus joined PESCO (Permanent Structured Cooperation)
in the field of defence, while Malta adopted a ‘wait and see’ approach, with the pos-
sibility of acceding later.

Cyprus and the Accession Referenda

When Cyprus applied for EU membership, many member states were reluctant to
see it join before a resolution of the ‘Cyprus Problem’. On the other hand, Cypriots
believed that EU membership would help resolve the problem for it was not just
a Cypriot problem but had wider ramifications (Theophanous, 2004). The fact that
Cyprus was allowed to join without a solution of the problem raises a number of
issues for the EU particularly with respect to Turkey which is an EU candidate
country. Since the outbreak of inter-communal strife in the early 1960s in Cyprus,
the United Nations has stationed peacekeeping forces to separate the two sides, and
has been involved in several attempts at brokering a lasting negotiated solution to the
conflict. In 2003, a draft constitutional settlement proposed a loose federation based
on the Swiss model, but with a stronger strain of confederal elements. What became
known as the ‘Annan Plan’ went through several versions and was finally put to the
vote. Two referenda were organized on 24 April 2004, one in the Republic of Cyprus
and the other in the TRNC, to seek popular approval of the plan. Seventy-six per cent
of Greek Cypriots rejected the plan while 65 per cent of Turkish Cypriots approved
it (House of Commons, 2005). Three days before the referenda, Gunther Verheugen,
 The non-identical Mediterranean island states: Cyprus and Malta 141

European Commissioner in charge of enlargement, expressed his dismay in the

European Parliament that “to everyone’s complete surprise, the Cypriot Government
led by President Papadopoulos has said that it fundamentally rejects the United
Nations peace plan and is urging the Greek Cypriot community to vote against it”
(European Parliament, 2004).
After the referenda, the EU member states deeply regretted the result as witnessed
by a Council statement (2004) expressing its “strong regret that the accession to the
EU of a united Cyprus will not now be possible on 1 May”. However, these claims
are astonishing considering the little that was done by the EU to reassure the Greek
Cypriot community that ‘voting yes’ was in their interest. The Greek Cypriots had
given the EU an undertaking that they would not scuttle an agreement; however, that
did not mean that they were ready to sign up to it no matter what it contained. Palley
(2005, pp. 221–237) called the plan “an international relations debacle” and summed
up the reasons why the Greeks voted against it: they perceived it to be a foreign impo-
sition; it did not provide for a really independent Cyprus, but maintained the 1960
treaty guarantees for an indefinite period; it allowed Turkey the right of unilateral
military intervention and the stationing of Turkish troops on the island; it legitimated
the British sovereign base areas in perpetuity; it lacked safeguards for Greek Cypriot
refugees of the 1974 partition to return to their homes in the North; it allowed Turkish
settlers from the mainland to stay on the island; financial burdens could be imposed
on Greek Cypriots; it maintained unworkable governmental decision-making pro-
cedures, almost a replica of the 1960 constitution; and no measures were envisaged
should the agreement collapse.
Palley’s other verdict was that the whole saga had revealed the UN secretariat’s
unsuitability for achieving a fair dispute settlement and its unwillingness to uphold
international law on military occupations. This was of consequence not only to
Cyprus, but to all small states and peoples who looked up to the UN for protection
from aggression and its results (Palley, 2005, p. 239). Drevet and Theophanous
(2012) refer to the “unequal” treatment forced on Cyprus by the colonial power when
the island state’s sovereignty was limited by a number of treaties giving Britain,
Greece and Turkey a right to intervene militarily in the island’s affairs. The Annan
Plan was not much different.
The Accession Treaty between the EU and Cyprus covered the whole of the
Cypriot territory, including the TRNC. However, the acquis was to be applied only
to those areas under the control of the central government (Protocol 10, 2004). Soon
after enlargement, the EU announced a series of measures in favour of the Turkish
Cypriots and approved the ‘green-line regulation’ covering the movement of goods
and persons between the northern and southern parts of the island (European Union,
2004). Direct EU economic aid to the Turkish Cypriots started in 2006.
142 Handbook on the politics of small states

CYPRUS AND MALTA IN THE EU

Both Cyprus and Malta have experienced economic growth since they joined the EU.
Between 2006 and 2017, Cyprus registered an average annual growth in real GDP of
1.2 per cent, marginally below the EU’s average, compared to Malta’s 4.2 per cent.
The biggest fall in real GDP growth in Cyprus occurred in 2013 (5.8 per cent), with
smaller declines in 2012 and 2014 (Eurostat, 2018). That was the year of the ‘Cyprus
haircut’ or ‘bail-in’ when, in return for a €10 billion international loan, the Eurogroup
forced Cyprus to close the Popular Bank (Laiki Bank), impose a one-time levy on
all its uninsured deposits and do the same on around 48 per cent of similar deposits
in the Bank of Cyprus (the island’s largest commercial bank) (Apostolides, 2013;
Demetriades 2017).
Party Euroscepticism came to an end in Cyprus in 1995, when AKEL aban-
doned its principled opposition to European integration. After membership, AKEL
adapted its rhetoric, stressing that it was “Eurocritical” rather than Eurosceptic
(Agapiou-Josephides, 2012). In Malta, the PL abandoned Euroscepticism from the
very beginning of EU membership. As Verney (2012, p. 17) observes, in both cases,
the “policy change seems to have been linked to the approach to power”: both the PL
and AKEL were able to seriously contend to govern their respective countries if they
shifted their stance on European integration.
The two states introduced the euro as their currency on 1 January 2008 without
major hitches. But the onslaught of the Great Recession and the euro crisis at first led
to huge public doubts in Malta over the wisdom of the move and similar misgivings
in Cyprus. The crisis did not seriously affect Malta and its banking system held its
ground. It did, however, rock the Cypriot financial system. Cyprus and Malta held
the rotating Presidency of the Council of the EU, the former in 2012 (Government
of Cyprus, 2013), the latter in 2017 (Harwood, Moncada, and Pace, 2018). The
Cypriot Presidency had a special relevance because the country was already in the
grips of a financial crisis. During the respective presidencies, the government of both
countries was in the hands of leaders from former Eurosceptic parties: in the case of
Cyprus, President Christophias from AKEL; in Malta’s case Prime Minister Muscat
of the Labour Party. There was reason to believe that the Cypriot Presidency would
bring the Cyprus Problem to the fore, but these expectations did not materialize;
Cyprus managed the Presidency well, without any spectacular diplomatic spats with
Turkey.
In 2012, as the economic problems were beginning to engulf Cyprus, commercial
reserves of gas were discovered in Cypriot territorial waters. This served as an
impetus for further explorations which opened up another dispute with Turkey which
does not recognize the delineation of the Cypriot Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ)
and claims that part of the EEZ belongs to the TRNC. In 2018, it forcibly stopped
prospecting by the Italian energy company ENI in a Cypriot licensed area. Instead of
leading to the much hoped for peace in the region, the discovery of commercial gas
fields has led to the strengthening of cooperation between Israel, Egypt, Cyprus and
Greece and disputes between Israel and Lebanon, and a more serious one between
 The non-identical Mediterranean island states: Cyprus and Malta 143

Turkey and the rest (Weise, 2018). The exploitation of gas deposits by Cyprus holds
potential economic gains for the island and, if realized, would help the EU lessen its
external dependence on external energy resources.

ECONOMIC FORECAST

Cyprus and Malta are moving towards brighter economic futures barring a severe
downturn in the European or global economy. Cyprus seems to have emerged from
the effects of the financial crisis and Malta’s economy is still galloping forward at an
impressive rate of GDP growth. The two economies share some characteristics: both
rely on tourism, financial services, ship registration and the individual citizenship
by investment schemes, along with some manufacturing and agricultural output. In
the case of Malta, we find a thriving online gaming sector; Cyprus is following suit.
However, both countries need to look over their shoulders at the ongoing debate in
the EU on tax harmonization which might negatively impact their financial services
sector unless they manage to secure safeguards and exceptional treatment in which
case their small size and lack of other opportunities could become crucially impor-
tant. Both states now have a considerable part of their economic activity oriented
towards the single market. In its 2018 European Semester recommendations, the
European Commission has highlighted some challenges which the two countries are
facing. Cyprus has made limited progress on the 2017 country-specific recommenda-
tions, and its social indicators are not improving. Banks remain fragile, public debt
is decreasing but still high, while private debt is among the highest in the EU. The
Commission highlighted inefficiencies in the public sector, particularly high levels
of corruption, and weaknesses in the justice system as well as the tax regime which
allows aggressive tax planning (European Commission, 2018a). As for Malta, the
Commission observed that it had addressed some of the 2017 recommendations and
continues to perform well in achieving social targets. It also drew attention to the
possibility of aggressive tax planning. The main problems for Malta are identified as
the need for a more stringent supervision of the financial sector, the weakness of the
judicial system and the control of corruption. The labour market shows a gender gap
and skill shortages. Finally, the Commission warns that “increased economic activity
may exacerbate existing bottlenecks, including in infrastructure, and put further pres-
sure on environmental resources” (European Commission, 2018b).
One issue that has affected the two island states has been irregular migration. The
two islands are frontier states on the edge of the EU’s stability zones. But both resist
any attempt to turn them into offshore holding centres of the EU, which they suspect
is what some other member states want to do. Malta has invoked its smallness and
high population density to repulse any attempt to have migrants rescued at sea forced
upon it. This has brought it into frequent conflicts with Italy, although at times good
relations with its neighbour helped alleviate the problem. Malta has also obtained
substantial aid from the EU budget to cope with the problem as well as a relocation
programme, EUREMA, with the EU and another with the USA (Pace, 2012, 2018).
144 Handbook on the politics of small states

Cyprus is beginning to experience the worse side of the problem due to its prox-
imity to the Middle East, the division of the island and the activities of smuggling
networks. Both Cyprus and Malta want a European solution, which is supported by
the Mediterranean EU states and opposed by the majority of the Central and Eastern
European countries. There is very little in terms of their limited resources which the
two states can do on their own to address this challenge.

CONCLUSION

It is commonly held in the literature on small states that lacking power and
a large-enough domestic market which would allow them a modicum of space
to attain economies of scale, they need more than larger states, to seek solutions
beyond their shores through international trade. Freer access to larger markets spurs
economic growth and investments (Briguglio and Vella, 2018). For their defence
and security they seek cooperation with other states through some form of alliance
or transnational organization. Alliances, as Handel (1990) observes, can take various
forms some of which are not beneficial to the small states concerned. The Cypriot
experience shows that security dependence on more powerful states, in this case
treaty guarantees provided by Britain, Greece and Turkey, do not always place the
safety and interests of the small state at the head of priorities. British, Greek and
Turkish meddling in Cypriot affairs shows amply how their strategic priorities took
precedence over those of the Cypriots. The three guarantors manipulated the ethnic
communities to achieve their own ambitions.
Malta sought security guarantees to maintain its neutrality defined as non-alignment
by formal agreement with Italy, a NATO member state, and then tried to balance this
by a similar agreement with the Soviet Union, followed by a special security arrange-
ment with Libya in 1984 which contained secret codicils for cooperation in military
affairs (Pace, 1999). The latter agreement violated Malta’s self-declared neutrality.
However, this multi-guarantee arrangement could also have worked against Malta’s
interests in a crisis as happened to Cyprus. That Malta’s neutrality has not been seri-
ously challenged may not owe a lot to these risky arrangements, but to good fortune
that its neutrality has never been seriously challenged. As to non-alignment, both
Cyprus and Malta played an active role in NAM in an effort to shelter themselves, but
Cyprus’s membership of this “alliance” did not help it overcome aggression. During
the Cold War the USA held the NAM in suspicion and probably a working relation-
ship with NATO and/or the USA would have worked better for Cyprus, though not
perhaps for the cause of enosis, which Cyprus was meant to forget by the 1959–60
Treaties of Establishment. The main point is that all courses open to small states have
their own unintended consequences and there is certainly no completely safe shelter.
Small states share similar characteristics which in theory ought to elicit similar
responses. But this does not always happen: their actions are impacted by several
domestic factors, such as institutions, political system and culture, economic endow-
ments, the long arm of history and the unity of their society, lobbyists and interest
 The non-identical Mediterranean island states: Cyprus and Malta 145

groups, just as in larger states. Both Cyprus and Malta have divided societies. No
ethnic consciousness has been salient in Malta so far; and this has lessened internal
divisions. However, in Cyprus’s case it is the main dividing line: ethnicity and
irreconcilable nationalisms with a propensity to settle issues by force while internal
disagreements in the two communities are settled by the ballot box.
In Malta’s case, the divisions are almost as tribal, but the contestation occurs in
the political arena, without external interference and issues are settled by peaceful
means. Hence, enormously divisive issues such as integration with the UK (1955–8),
independence (1961–4), neutrality (1979–87), EU membership (1990–2004) and
the introduction of the euro (2004–8) were followed by national consensus after the
political decision was taken. This speaks a lot about the sturdiness of political insti-
tutions which have evolved over a long time frame, from the arrival of the Knights
Hospitaller of St John in 1530, and particularly during the span of 160 years of
British rule (the long arm of history). This may also help it to conclude successfully
further constitutional reforms which are still in the early stages of discussion.
Significantly, Cyprus and Malta had different constitutional powers in determining
their own foreign policy from the start of their independence. Ethnically divided and
territorially fragmented from the start of its life as a formally independent state – and
particularly after the Turkish invasion and partition of 1974 – Cyprus was more
constrained in picking its international alignments. Contrastingly, Malta enjoyed full
independence of action albeit it needed to remain prudent for the sake of survival. All
other considerations remaining equal, Cyprus pursued a riskier foreign policy than
Malta.
Both states started their contacts with the EU much earlier than the eight other
countries which acceded to the Union with them in 2004. But, as members of the EU,
they had different experiences with different outcomes. While Malta has roughly
achieved most of them, Cypriots are disappointed with the way that the EU treated
them in the infamous bail-in (Cyprus haircut) and because no progress has been reg-
istered in resolving the Cyprus Problem. There is no doubt that this has left a bitter
taste in the mouth in both Cypriot communities and the Turkish Cypriots remain shut
out from the full EU benefits. Once again, this proves the point that the EU should
not be considered as a panacea or as some impenetrable shelter to protect small
states from all troubles, including self-inflicted ones. Hence along with maintaining
social and political cohesion in domestic affairs – thus blocking the door to external
meddling – small states need to strengthen their resilience in other ways. Good gov-
ernance becomes an irreplaceable instrument for achieving this. The EU can indeed
offer small states shelter and opportunities in the global economy, but only if they
adopt complementary policies to reap these benefits.
As for the Cyprus Problem, the key to a solution lies in the hands of its two ethnic
communities and their respective backers, Greece and Turkey. It can only be a nego-
tiated settlement where all sides may have to compromise on key pillars of their
long-held ‘principles’ of enosis and taksim, the right of return of Greek Cypriots to
the northern part of the island and the fate of the Turkish settlers there.
146 Handbook on the politics of small states

The two island states have shown a capacity to adjust (as they did to EU mem-
bership) or to bounce back from economic downturns or political disasters (as with
Cyprus after the Turkish partition and the 2012–13 financial crisis and Malta follow-
ing the closure of the UK military bases). They have also shown a propensity to adjust
their policies, as they did in the case of non-alignment and neutrality. Timely adapta-
tion is the touchstone of a small state’s security in the broader meaning of the term.

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10. Politics of the four European microstates:
Andorra, Liechtenstein, Monaco and San
Marino
Wouter P. Veenendaal

INTRODUCTION

With less than 100,000 inhabitants and territories of less than 500 square kilometres
each, Andorra, Liechtenstein, Monaco and San Marino stand out as the four micro-
states on the European continent.1 In terms of their population size, these countries
are considerably smaller than other European small states such as Cyprus, Iceland,
Luxembourg, Malta and Montenegro, which all have more than 300,000 citizens.
And while the latter small states are either fully-fledged members of the European
Union (EU) or have in the past or present applied for EU membership, the four
microstates are generally not regarded as viable member states of the EU (Dósza,
2008), even though their economies, politics and societies are closely intertwined
with the Union and its members. The four microstates have among the highest GDP
per capita (or PPP) figures on the continent and in the world, providing a formidable
challenge to theories that highlight the lack of development opportunities in small
states. Perhaps most intriguing, however, is the fact that these four microstates have
existed as independent, sovereign entities for a very long period of time. While small
European states like Cyprus, Iceland and Malta only acquired full statehood in the
mid-twentieth century or later, and after a prolonged period of colonialism, the attain-
ment of political sovereignty by San Marino (in the year 301 AD) Andorra (1278),
Monaco (1489) and Liechtenstein (1866) occurred at a much earlier point in time.
Even during the nineteenth century, when Europe was almost entirely composed of
large multinational empires and kingdoms, these microstates survived as autonomous
entities, albeit often under the suzerainty of a larger power.
Reflecting their diminutive size and protracted existence as sovereign states, the
political systems of the four microstates contain various idiosyncratic elements, as
well as some unique political institutions that cannot be observed elsewhere. Many
of their contemporary institutional arrangements were quite common in Europe in the
Middle Ages or the Renaissance, but have elsewhere disappeared as a consequence
of nationalism, political liberalization and democratization, and the emergence

1
Vatican City, which has a territory of 0.44 square kilometres, is sometimes regarded as
the smallest sovereign state in the world. However, since it lacks a permanent population and
is not a member state of the United Nations, it is not included in the present analysis.
150
 Politics of the four European microstates 151

Table 10.1 Descriptive statistics of the European microstates

Country Population Area (km2) GDP per capita Government

Monaco 31,000 2 $116,000 Principality
San Marino 34,000 61 $60,000 Republic
Liechtenstein 38,000 160 $139,000 Principality
Andorra 77,000 468 $49,900 Principality

Source: CIA World Factbook (2018).

of large nation-states. The political system of San Marino, for example, closely
resembles that of Renaissance-era Italian city-states like Ferrara or Lucca, meaning
that San Marino offers a fascinating glimpse into how politics in these jurisdictions
functioned (Bacciocchi, 1999, p. 17). In similar fashion, while monarchy has long
been the most common regime type across Europe, at present only the microstates of
Liechtenstein and Monaco retain royals with extensive executive powers, while other
European monarchs have been relegated to playing a mostly symbolic, ceremonial
role (cf. Corbett, Veenendaal, and Ugyel, 2017).
The present chapter offers an in-depth analysis of the political systems, inter-
national relations and economic and societal characteristics of the four European
microstates. In Table 10.1, some initial descriptive statistics on these four cases have
been presented, showing not only their smallness and political characteristics, but
also their extraordinary levels of economic development and wealth.
Recognizing that small states are generally excluded from comparative political
analyses (Veenendaal and Corbett, 2014), the chapter highlights the analytical sig-
nificance of these four under-researched cases to (European) comparative politics.
In doing so, it builds on some excellent and rich case study publications on these
microstates (e.g. Beattie, 2004; Becat, 2010; Duursma, 1996; Grinda, 2007), but
also adds insights that were gathered during two stages of field research in San
Marino and Liechtenstein, which primarily consisted of semi-structured interviews
(Veenendaal, 2014a, 2014b). The analysis of these four microstates occurs against
the backdrop of a broader – and rapidly expanding – body of academic work on small
states (Archer, Bailes, and Wivel, 2014; Baldersheim and Keating, 2015; Cooper and
Shaw, 2009; Corbett and Veenendaal, 2018; Ingebritsen et al., 2006; Maass, 2017),
in which the particular characteristics, challenges and opportunities of this group
of countries are underscored. In doing so, the chapter links up with the themes and
dilemmas that have been discussed and identified in the introductory chapter of this
volume (Baldacchino and Wivel, 2020). The analysis commences with a brief over-
view of the political history of the four microstates, followed by an investigation of
their contemporary political systems. Subsequently, the microstates’ socio-economic
dynamics and international relations are analysed in more detail.
152 Handbook on the politics of small states

POLITICAL HISTORY OF THE FOUR MICROSTATES

As mentioned above, the four European microstates have prolonged political

histories as independent states. Due to the fact that these countries’ contemporary
political dynamics continue to be strongly shaped by their particular state formation
processes, this section provides a synopsis of the key historical and political develop-
ments in each of the microstates.

Andorra

The Principality of Andorra can be seen as the last survivor of Charlemagne’s

Marca Hispanica, the buffer states that were created to prevent the Islamic inva-
sion of France in eighth-century Europe. Until the thirteenth century, the territory
remained in the hands of the Count – and later Bishop – of Urgell, but a conflict
over the property arose when the Count of Foix (in contemporary France) married
a girl from Urgell (Colliard, 1993, p. 378). The conflict was resolved with the 1278
Acte de Paréage, in which it was decided that Andorra was to be jointly ruled by
the Bishop of Urgell and the Count of Foix (Colliard, 1993, p. 378; Duursma, 1996,
pp. 344–345; Whittlesey, 1934, p. 149). This diarchic nature of Andorra’s political
system remains intact to the present day, even though the constitutional rights of the
Count of Foix were transferred to the French head of state in 1607. In centuries that
followed the Acte de Paréage, the Andorrans succeeded in preserving their autonomy
by “the art of playing off their joint suzerains against each other” (cf. Catudal, 1975,
p. 190; Whittlesey, 1934, p. 153).
In the beginning of the 1930s, political unrest emerged due to demands for uni-
versal suffrage and the seizure of power by Russian adventurer Boris Skossyreff,
who proclaimed himself King Boris I of Andorra (Eccardt, 2005, p. 157; Klieger,
2013, pp. 33–34). After the arrest of Skossyreff, Spanish forces restored order and
introduced universal male suffrage in 1933. In this year, a new constitution was
implemented that transformed the country into a Parliamentary Principality, in
which the Co-Princes from France and Urgell however retained significant executive
powers. Andorra managed to remain detached from the Spanish Civil War because of
its ties with France and remained neutral during the Second World War, thanks to its
ties with Spain (Catudal, 1975, p. 191). After 1945, Andorra’s relatively underdevel-
oped peasant society was swiftly transformed into a flourishing tourist and banking
economy.
Because the Principality was always ruled by external forces and because the polit-
ical status of Andorra has been uniquely undefined for a long period of time, domes-
tic political institutions have been slow to develop (Colliard, 1993, p. 377). Although
a preliminary legislature was established as early as 1419, universal male suffrage
was introduced in 1933 and female suffrage only in 1970 (Eccardt, 2005, p. 56).
During the 1970s and 1980s, Andorran demands for autonomy and independence
increased and under the direction of the two Co-Princes, a process of political mod-
ernization was initiated (Colliard, 1993, pp. 378–379). This process culminated in the
 Politics of the four European microstates 153

writing and enactment of a new constitution in 1993, which established Andorra as

an independent parliamentary democracy (Becat, 2010; Colliard, 1993, pp. 385–386;
Duursma, 1996, p. 349). In the same year, Andorra’s autonomy was reconfirmed by
its accession to the United Nations, which concluded the modernization process that
in less than 20 years transformed Andorra’s medieval political system into a modern
democracy (Eccardt, 2005, p. 74).

Liechtenstein

The Principality of Liechtenstein is named after its ruling dynasty; the Von und Zu
Liechtenstein family. The (originally Austrian) Princes of Liechtenstein purchased
the domains of Schellenberg and Vaduz in 1699 and 1712 respectively and in 1719
the Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, Charles VI, recognized this territory as the
Principality of Liechtenstein (Beattie, 2004, p. 6; Catudal, 1975, p. 189). After the
1815 Congress of Vienna, Liechtenstein became part of the German Confederation
and as such in 1818 acquired its first constitution (Beattie, 2004, pp. 23–24;
Catudal, 1975, p. 191; Duursma, 1996, p. 143). In 1866, upon the collapse of the
Confederation, Liechtenstein disbanded its army, adopted a policy of political neu-
trality and became an independent state (Catudal, 1975, p. 191).
Although Liechtenstein managed to remain neutral during the two world wars, the
country was seriously affected by both conflicts. After the end of the First World War
and the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Liechtenstein switched its political
allegiance from Austria to Switzerland, with which it signed a monetary union (in
1920) and customs union (in 1924; Beattie, 2004, pp. 50–57; Eccardt, 2005, p. 103;
Kohn, 1967, p. 553). In the Second World War, the Principality could remain neutral
despite an attempted putsch by Liechtenstein’s pro-Nazi party in 1939 (Beattie, 2004,
pp. 98–102). In the latter half of the twentieth century, Liechtenstein managed to
develop a profitable manufacturing industry2 and strong banking sector, as a result
of which it has managed to realize one of the highest GDP per capita figures in the
world.
The first institutions of Liechtenstein’s contemporary political system were created
in 1862, when a national assembly (the Landtag) elected by universal male suffrage
was established (Beattie, 2004, pp. 27–29). In 1921, a new constitution was put
into force, in which the contemporary balance of power between the Prince and the
people was instituted and a number of instruments of direct democracy were adopted
(Beattie, 2004, pp. 174–176; Marxer, 2007, pp. 3–7). Due to pressure from politi-
cians and the people, the Principality was transformed from an absolute monarchy
into a constitutional one, but the Prince actually retained much of his power (Marxer,
2007, p. 1). In the 1990s, a constitutional crisis erupted that lasted for more than
a decade, centring on the constitutional position of the Prince. The crisis culminated

2
The dominant manufacturing products are electronics, metal, textiles, ceramics and
pharmaceutics (Beattie, 2004).
154 Handbook on the politics of small states

in the 2003 constitutional referendum, in which a majority of voters endorsed Prince

Hans-Adam II’s proposals for constitutional revision. It is generally agreed that the
2003 constitutional modifications have enhanced the political power and influence of
Liechtenstein’s monarchy vis-à-vis the government and parliament (Marcinkowski
and Marxer, 2011; Marxer, 2007, p. 13; Veenendaal, 2014a; Wolf, 2015).

Monaco

The political history of the Principality of Monaco starts in 1297, when the Grimaldi
family took hold of the fortress at the Rock of Monaco and founded the Grimaldi
dynasty, which still reigns over Monaco today (Duursma, 1996, p. 278; Grinda,
2007, pp. 1–2). In 1489, King Charles VIII of France recognized the independence of
Monaco and accepted the Grimaldis as the legitimate rulers of the polity (Duursma,
1996, p. 278; Eccardt, 2005, p. 96). During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries,
Monaco switched its political allegiance from France to Spain and back again, but
following the French Revolution the territory was annexed by French forces in 1793
and was renamed as Port-Hercule (Grinda, 2007, p. 4). After the breakdown of the
French Empire and the Congress of Vienna, Monaco was destined to become a pro-
tectorate of the Kingdom of Sardinia (Catudal, 1975, p. 191; Duursma, 1996, p. 279),
but in 1860 France regained control of the area.
The 1861 Franco-Monegasque Treaty, in which the independence of the Principality
is reconfirmed, constitutes the first of three agreements in which the relationship
between the two countries was negotiated. After the 1918 Monaco Succession Crisis,
in which France prohibited the inheritance of the Monegasque throne by a German
prince, a Franco-Monegasque ‘friendship treaty’ was signed, in which French pro-
tection of the territory was guaranteed in exchange for the Principality’s “perfect
conformity with the political, military, naval and economic interests of France”
(Franco-Monegasque Treaty 1918, Art. 3; Grinda, 2007, p. 28). Additionally, the
royal succession issue was resolved by deciding that in the case of a vacancy of the
throne, Monaco would become a French protectorate. This regulation was abolished
in the 2002 Franco-Monegasque Treaty, which established a much more balanced
and equal relationship between the two countries and in which Monaco’s sovereignty
was also confirmed by international law (Grinda, 2007, pp. 32–35).
Monaco was governed as an absolute monarchy until 1911, when a new con-
stitution was established in reaction to the so-called Monegasque Revolution that
occurred one year earlier. The 1911 constitution provided for the foundation of a leg-
islature (the Conseil National), of which the members were to be elected by universal
male suffrage, whereas considerable powers remained in the hands of the Prince.
In 1962, the constitution was revised, transforming Monaco into a constitutional
monarchy (Catudal, 1975, p. 194; Grinda, 2007, p. 52). Additionally, female suffrage
was introduced and a more balanced relationship between the Prince and the National
Council was established. As a consequence of the 2002 Franco-Monegasque Treaty,
Monaco’s political system was further democratized, as the competencies of the leg-
islature were enhanced (Grinda, 2007, pp. 89–97). Although the Prince is no longer
 Politics of the four European microstates 155

the absolute ruler of Monaco, he has a much more powerful political position than
most of his European counterparts and is a “very active head of state” (Grinda, 2007,
p. 57; Guillot, 2010).

San Marino

The Most Serene Republic of San Marino, which claims to be the most ancient repub-
lic in the world, was according to the legend founded by the Christian stonecutter
Marinus the Dalmatian (later canonized as Saint Marinus – San Marino in Italian) on
3 September, 301 (Catudal, 1975, p. 189; Duursma, 1996, p. 216). Facing persecu-
tion for his religious beliefs, Marinus created his city-state as a place where people
could freely practise their religion and since this time San Marino has been known as
a bastion of liberty and freedom and a safe haven for political refugees (Bent, 1879).
During the Middle Ages, the poor, agricultural Sammarinese community remained
independent primarily by not attracting the attention of larger, more powerful neigh-
bours (Sundhaussen, 2003, pp. 215–216). At some point in this period, communal
rules were set up and an assembly in which the male heads of all Sammarinese
families were represented (the Arengo) came into being. Additionally, in 1244 the
duumvirate of the Captains Regent (Capitani Reggenti) was created, which persists
to the present (Bacciocchi, 1999, pp. 28–29).
At the end of the eighteenth century, when Napoleon’s forces invaded the
Italian peninsula, San Marino signed a treaty of friendship with the French Empire.
Appreciating the Republic’s traditional values of liberty and equality, Napoleon
reassured San Marino’s independence, which was reconfirmed at the Congress of
Vienna in 1815 (Casali and Crescentini, 2003, p. 74). Because the microstate had
given asylum to Giuseppe Garibaldi and his supporters, the newly established Italian
Kingdom in 1862 also respected the sovereignty and autonomy of the Republic in
a signed agreement between the two states (Eccardt, 2005, p. 100; Sundhaussen,
2003, pp. 215–216). During the two world wars, San Marino’s declared neutrality
was largely respected, with the exception of an erroneous bombardment by Allied
forces in 1944.
Over the centuries, the contours and institutions of contemporary Sammarinese
democracy evolved. After the fourteenth century, the powers of the Arengo were
delegated to the newly established Council of Sixty, as the heads of families who
constituted the Arengo had come to see its compulsory attendance as a burden rather
than a privilege (Bacciocchi, 1999, pp. 31–32). From 1906 onwards, members of
the Council of Sixty (now known as the Consiglio Grande e Generale, or Great
and General Council) are directly elected, although female suffrage was introduced
only in 1957. Between 1926 and 1943, San Marino was ruled by the Sammarinese
Fascist Party, which transformed the country into a single-party state (Duursma,
1996, p. 218). After the end of the war and the restoration of democracy, a coalition
of communists and socialists was voted into office and for several years San Marino
was the only Western European country that was ruled by (elected) communists
(Bonelli, 2010, pp. 163–165). In 1957, during San Marino’s constitutional crisis
156 Handbook on the politics of small states

and subsequent coup d’état (the so-called Fatti di Rovereta), the left-wing minority
government was toppled by the opposition, supposedly aided by the CIA and the
Italian government (Bacciocchi, 1999, pp. 117–118). Since then, San Marino’s
Christian-democratic and social-democratic parties have dominated the Republic’s
politics, but in recent decades the Sammarinese party system has fragmented and, just
like in Italy, many new (populist) parties have gained parliamentary representation.

CONTEMPORARY POLITICAL INSTITUTIONS, DYNAMICS

AND CHALLENGES

Reflecting their particular and often peculiar political histories, the political systems
of the four European microstates contain a variety of idiosyncratic and sometimes
unique features. Andorra and San Marino are the only countries in the world with
two heads of state, and, occupying their position only half a year, the Sammarinese
Captains Regent have the shortest periods in office of any head of state around
the globe. The ambiguous position of the Liechtenstein and Monegasque princes
has sparked debates about how to classify these monarchies (cf. Marxer, 2007;
Veenendaal, 2014a; Wolf, 2015) and Liechtenstein is the only country in the
world that combines the three elements of monarchy, representative democracy
and direct democracy (Liechtenstein, 2009).3 Both Liechtenstein and San Marino
employ a number of instruments and mechanisms of direct democracy that are
not observed elsewhere (Marxer, 2007). Among these, one finds the Sammarinese
Istanze d’Arengo, occasions during which citizens can present petitions and requests
of public interest to the newly elected Captains Regent (Casali and Crescentini,
2003). As these examples demonstrate, despite their smallness and dependence on
larger neighbouring countries, the political systems of the European microstates
have developed largely autonomously. In contrast to small states in other world
regions, which mostly adopted the political institutions of their former metropolitan
power(s) upon decolonization, the institutions of the European microstates were
largely shaped by internal, endogenous processes. This also entails that the European
microstates have traditionally been more nationalist than cosmopolitan, and before
the Second World War they mostly abstained from participating in international
affairs (Duursma, 1996).
Yet despite this important difference, the diminutive size of the European micro-
states entails that they share various political features with other small states, resulting
in both political challenges and opportunities. In the first place, all four microstates
have strongly cohesive and interconnected societies, in which “everybody knows
everybody” (cf. Corbett, 2015). In terms of politics, this entails that politicians have

3
While larger constitutional monarchies like Denmark, the Netherlands and the United
Kingdom also allow for the organization of popular votes, in Liechtenstein both the monarchy
and direct democracy play a much more prominent (or equal) role vis-à-vis representative
institutions.
 Politics of the four European microstates 157

very close and personal ties with their constituents, producing overlapping and
intersecting personal and professional relationships (cf. Ott, 2000). Relating to the
democratization/group think dilemma highlighted in the introduction to this volume,
these close connections produce mixed outcomes for democratic governance. From
a positive perspective, such face-to-face politics and reciprocal communication
between citizens and politicians enhances the capacity of politicians to adequately
represent their constituents (Dahl and Tufte, 1973). In contrast to larger Western
European democracies in which voters are increasingly cynical and detached from
politics, citizens of the four European microstates are very much politically involved
and active. According to one of the Liechtenstein ministers I interviewed:

The politicians are quite close to the people. We are not a political elite; a political group of
people who are far away from reality, but we are involved in daily life, involved in relations
with the citizens. (Veenendaal, 2014a, p. 339)

The closeness between citizens and politicians thus produces a non-hierarchical

society in which informal relations enhance citizens’ involvement in politics
(Baldersheim and Keating, 2015; Thorhallsson, 2019). Reflecting this notion, inter-
view respondents in San Marino highlighted the importance of political participation
to the survival of the microstate and its political system:

Participation in politics is very important and it is one of the reasons why the Republic of
San Marino has remained independent, while being so small. This collective participation
in public life has determined the success of the Sammarinese republican model after all
these ages. (Veenendaal, 2014b, p. 78)

The greater access of citizens to politicians in European microstates can be clearly

observed when looking at the ratio between citizens and members of parliament
(MPs). With 34,000 inhabitants and 60 MPs, on average each Sammarinese
Consigliere represents less than 600 people, which is the smallest ratio in the world.
In Monaco and Liechtenstein – which have 24 and 25 MPs respectively – this ratio
is around 1,500, while parliamentarians in more populous Andorra each represent
3,000 citizens. Striking differences can be seen when these figures are compared to
citizen/MP ratios in Western European democracies like Switzerland (42,000), the
Netherlands (110,000), France (116,000) and Germany (130,000).
Another consequence of the close connections between citizens and politics
is that programmatic forms of contestation in the four microstates are virtually
absent, meaning that politics is mostly conducted on the basis of personal relations
(Richards, 1982; Veenendaal, 2013). Because citizens know a considerable number
of politicians personally, voting behaviour is strongly determined by these personal
ties. As highlighted in the introduction to this volume, the absence of ideological
pluralism sometimes results in a lack of (substantive) political alternatives, leading
to the entrenchment of political elites and limited alternation in office. Monaco
has essentially been a single-party state from 1962 to 2003, when the revised
Franco-Monegasque Treaty ascertained pluralism within the National Council
158 Handbook on the politics of small states

(Grinda, 2007, p. 86). In the decades before this change, the National and Democratic
Union (Union Nationale et Démocratique) had dominated Monegasque politics and
sometimes was the only faction with representatives in parliament (Eccardt, 2005,
p. 81; Guillot, 2010). Even though formal governing and opposition movements are
now discernible in Monaco, as Grinda (2007, p. 72) argues, there are no significant
differences between their platforms:

Unlike many countries, here is no ideological confrontation in the usual sense of the
word. Indeed, the political movements, although existing and very active, have nothing in
common with party organizations in neighbouring countries, where an organized structure,
a government programme and the conquest of power are the objectives.

In Liechtenstein, a somewhat comparable situation exists. Since the end of the Second
World War, the Principality’s politics have been dominated by the Fatherland Union
(Vaterländische Union, VU) and the Progressive Citizens’ Party of Liechtenstein
(Fortschrittliche Bürgerpartei in Liechtenstein, FBP). Although their names might
suggest differences in political orientation, both parties have a conservative, econom-
ically liberal and royalist political position and there is “little if any difference in their
political and social philosophies” (Beattie, 2004, p. 189).
In Andorra, parties are “necessarily personalized due to the smallness of the
electorate and the demographic basis of Andorra” (Becat, 2010, p. 155). The estab-
lishment of representative political institutions here in 1993 has not led to a decrease
in person-oriented politics, “because a long tradition has forged solid alliances of
interest between groups of families” (Becat, 2010, p. 156). The fragmentation of
the Sammarinese party system after 1990 – which has led to a rapid increase in the
number of political parties – was “guided by important personalities in Sammarinese
politics” (Bacciocchi, 1999, p. 97). This conclusion is shared by Pelliconi (1995,
p. 89), who points out that:

[l]ike in the past, in San Marino, individual politicians, the leaders, have a decisive influ-
ence . . . especially in a microstate so susceptible to changes.

The lack of ideological politics and the focus on personal relations also make the
politics of the European microstates more susceptible to conflicts of interest, patron–
client linkages and corruption. The case study literature on all four countries reveals
a tendency to favouritism and the exchange of votes in return for preferential treat-
ment. This shows the downside of the accessibility of politicians: voters can exert
formidable pressure by means of their political connections. As one high-ranking
Sammarinese public official noted during an interview:

Every citizen has access to political leaders; because they are friends, because they are
related, or because they love each other. . . . And this closeness makes it difficult to respect
the law; in this country it is very difficult to respect the law. Especially because of this
reason, because everyone seeks a way to circumvent the law. . . . So the minister who one
day of every week receives the public does not receive people who ask for respect of their
 Politics of the four European microstates 159

rights, but he receives people who ask him to break the law in their interest. (Veenendaal,
2014b, pp. 90–91)

Like its larger neighbour Italy, San Marino has gained a reputation for clientelism
and corruption, particularly after a large number of former high-ranking politicians
from different parties were convicted for bribery, corruption and money-laundering
in the still ongoing Conto-Mazzini process (La Repubblica, 2015). This legal investi-
gation also exposed links between the Sammarinese political elite and the Calabrian
mafia group ’Ndrangheta, with the crime group using the microstate’s banks for
money-laundering purposes. While less prominent, corruption scandals involving
microstate politicians and high-ranking criminals or transnational crime groups have
also occurred in the other three microstates, indicating that this particular type of
corruption indeed represents a considerable political challenge for these countries. In
this sense, they sometimes tend to confirm Somerset Maugham’s image of “a sunny
place for shady people” (1941, p. 156).
The political institutions of Andorra and San Marino are fully compatible with
principles of modern democracy; however, the position and role of the Liechtenstein
and Monaco monarchies continue to spark both domestic and international debates.
The Council of Europe’s Venice Commission has published reports criticizing the
powerful political role of these unelected monarchs (Venice Commission, 2002,
2013) and also in international media, the political role of the Liechtenstein and
Monegasque Princes has been portrayed as anachronistic and undemocratic (cf.
BBC, 2012; The Independent, 2012).4 Yet while Monaco’s population seems united
in its support for the royal family, in Liechtenstein the actions and role of the Prince
have created sharp political divisions and polarization, with a vocal minority calling
for a limitation of the Prince’s powers (Veenendaal, 2014a; Wolf, 2015). As one min-
ister indicated during an interview, such tensions can run quite deep during referenda
on the constitutional position of the monarchy:

The emotional fight that we had for the vote on the constitution was so troubled that there
was a real fight in families, in marching bands, in choirs, in all these social events where
people gather they were fighting so hard. And people that got along with each other well
suddenly really emotionally fought about the future of our state. And there was no party,
there was no funeral and no wedding and no Christmas party, no birthday party where
people did not get into fights. (Veenendaal, 2014a, p. 344)

As this quote underscores, the entanglement of public and private spheres in small
societies entails that political conflicts can have a direct impact on people’s personal
relationships. Under such circumstances, there can be strong pressures to conform
to “unitarist values and practices” (Baldacchino, 2012), with those who voice a dis-

4
Both Liechtenstein and Monaco are classified as ‘free’ in the Freedom House dataset
(which is the only aggregate index of democracy that includes these microstates). However,
they have a lower score on the dimension of political rights due to the dominant position of the
unelected monarch in their political systems (Freedom House, 2018).
160 Handbook on the politics of small states

senting opinion running the risk of social exclusion and ostracism. As the following
section on socio-economic dynamics will demonstrate, in all four microstates this is
a recurrent phenomenon.

SOCIO-ECONOMIC DYNAMICS

Coming out of the Second World War, the European microstates were relatively
underdeveloped agricultural societies which in the absence of industrialization
and natural resources appeared to lack any solid basis for economic growth (cf.
Sundhaussen, 2003). Their societies consisted mostly of a small number of peasant
and merchant families, which in the cases of Andorra and San Marino maintained
a lengthy tradition of self-governance and in the cases of Liechtenstein and Monaco
had long been governed by a well-respected princely family. The establishment
of the Monte Carlo Casino in 1856 had already produced a steady flow of income
for Monaco, but in the other three microstates opportunities for the exploitation of
such niche markets emerged only in the latter half of the twentieth century. Over
the course of less than 20 years, the development of banking sectors propelled these
countries from economic backwaters into the most prosperous per capita jurisdictions
in Europe. As Table 10.1 indicates, all four microstates have GDP per capita levels of
US$50,000 or more, which is higher than any of their neighbouring countries except
Switzerland. While small states are generally “characterized by the limited capacity
of their political, economic and administrative systems” (Baldacchino, and Wivel,
2020, pp. 2–18), their affluence entails that the European microstates are to some
extent exceptions to this rule.
The unusual combination of economic growth without industrial development
(pace Liechtenstein) produces a number of noteworthy societal dynamics. First, in the
absence of a class struggle or labour movement, the societies of the European micro-
states have remained politically conservative, which is indeed a general feature of
very small states and microstates (Guidi and Ferrari, 2003; Sutton, 2007). Indications
of this pattern are the continuously dominant role of the Church; restrictive laws
regarding abortion, euthanasia, LGBTQI rights and soft drugs; and an enduring gap
between men and women regarding employment, wages and political representation.
The microstates were also among the last countries in Europe to implement female
suffrage. In 1957 San Marino was the first of these four microstates to extend voting
rights to women; but, due to a slow implementation of laws, women could only vote
for the first time in 1964 and passive electoral rights were granted to women in 1973
(Bacciocchi, 1999, pp. 123–124). Whereas Monaco introduced female suffrage in
1962 and Andorra in 1970, in Liechtenstein women could only vote since 1984.
In this latter microstate, equal rights between the sexes were only realized in 1992
(Beattie, 2004, p. 176).
Having long remained generally shielded from international affairs and outside
influences, rapid economic growth from the 1960s onwards resulted in the influx
of significant numbers of migrants. In all four microstates, resident foreigners now
 Politics of the four European microstates 161

constitute a large proportion of the population. Monegasque nationals comprise less

than a quarter of the population of Monaco, with French, Italian and British citizens
together forming more than half of the inhabitants of this Principality. Andorrans
make up about one-third of the population of this microstate, with French, Spanish
and Portuguese citizens together constituting a majority. Two-thirds of the inhab-
itants of Liechtenstein are citizens of the Principality, while over 80 per cent of
the inhabitants of San Marino possess the Sammarinese passport. The proportion
of national citizens to foreign residents thus differs strongly per microstate; but,
in all four of them, in-migration has had a strong societal impact and has sparked
debates about belongingness and national identities. Migration has therefore rapidly
raised the significance of the nationalism/cosmopolitan dilemma (Baldacchino
and Wivel, 2020), which perhaps plays an even more prominent role here than in
other small states. Resistance towards immigrants has become a common feature
of most Western European societies; but, in the four microstates under review, the
fear of losing national identity and becoming a stranger in one’s own country due
to the overwhelming presence of foreigners (a sensation called Überfremdung, or
‘over-foreignization’ in Liechtenstein) is even more profound (Grinda 2007; Marxer,
et al., 2017).
In response to such feelings and perceptions, and by virtue of not being a member
state of the EU and therefore party to its four freedoms, including freedom of
movement, these four microstates have adopted very restrictive naturalization laws,
which in some cases make it almost impossible for migrants to obtain citizenship and
political rights. In Andorra, for example, prospective citizens must marry a resident
Andorran, or live in the Principality for more than 20 years to qualify for citizenship;
in Liechtenstein, this same process takes at least 10 years (Freedom House, 2018).
Aside from the attainment of active and passive suffrage rights, citizenship com-
monly also carries a variety of other prerogatives, among which land ownership and
access to higher wages and social security provisions. As a result, foreigners residing
in one of the four microstates often express feelings of discrimination and (social)
exclusion and feel like they are treated as second-class citizens. In recent years, this
situation has come to the forefront due to emergence of populist, anti-immigrant
parties such as Die Unabhängigen (DU – the Independents) in Liechtenstein, which
exploit simmering feelings of xenophobia among the population.
As a consequence of the minuteness of their societies and the presence of a large
foreign-born population, all four microstates exhibit a strong tendency towards “con-
certed political harmony” (Sutton, 2007), which translates into strong in-group and
out-group dynamics and certain dominant cultural codes that members of society are
expected to adhere to (Baldacchino, 2012). As Grinda (2007, p. 70) remarks in the
case of Monaco:

The fact that Monegasques are a minority in their own country only reinforces their sense
of unity. . . . The community is reluctant to exhibit its divisions other than in the reduced
setting of the press, since it is conscious of the risk of incomprehension from foreign
observers.
162 Handbook on the politics of small states

The sources of national identity and belonging vary per microstate, but commonly
centre on religion, language and family heritage. In the case of Monaco and
Liechtenstein, a strong emphasis is put on support for the royal family and in the
latter country those who do not support or criticize the political position of the Prince
run the risk of social exclusion. As a journalist in this microstate indicated during an
interview:

I mean for many people it is at the heart of our identity. Liechtenstein is a monarchy
and as a Liechtensteiner you identify with the Prince and if you don’t you’re not really
a Liechtensteiner. It’s as easy as that. (Veenendaal, 2014a, p. 342)

As in other small societies, pressures to conform to dominant cultural and communal

norms in the four microstates can be formidable and the intimacy and social control
may generate feelings of claustrophobia (Baldacchino and Veenendaal, 2018).
Especially for younger people, pursuing education in a larger neighbouring country
represents a welcome opportunity to (at least temporarily) escape from what could be
a stifling, social straitjacket.

INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS: CHALLENGES AND

OPPORTUNITIES

Having long successfully maintained their political independence and even surviving
two world wars, the four European microstates appear to be remarkably effective
in the management of their international affairs. The case study literature reveals
that both in the past and present, political elites of these countries have successfully
asserted their neutrality, exploited loopholes in the international system, and played
off various European powers against each other (Eccardt, 2005). This shows that the
microstates are successful in defensively securing a space for national actions and
asserting their sovereignty, while they have not really had the ambition or capability
to influence international affairs. In terms of the influence/autonomy dilemma high-
lighted in the introduction to this volume, the focus of the European microstates has
therefore clearly been on maintaining their autonomy and independence. Certainly
before the Second World War, but to a large extent also afterwards, they have opted
for policies of abstinence and neutrality rather than to exert international influence
(cf. Fox, 1959; Maass, 2017; Rickli, 2008). Yet, while their very survival can be con-
sidered remarkable, after the Second World War the European microstates have even
thrived, becoming the wealthiest per capita countries on the continent due to their
offshore finance and banking industries. Expanding European integration has offered
the microstates far-reaching benefits and opportunities, although they have formally
not been part of this process (Dósza, 2008). Cornerstones of EU policy, among which
open borders, the free flow of people and goods and the single market have provided
the microstates with a politically secure and economically highly profitable external
 Politics of the four European microstates 163

environment, offering them opportunities that are far out of reach for microstates and
small states in other world regions (Frommelt, and Gstöhl, 2011).
All four microstates have very close relations with their immediate neigh-
bours, which in various ways exceed regular interactions between sovereign states
(Duursma, 1996). Swiss diplomats for example commonly represent Liechtenstein
in international affairs and Liechtenstein relies on the Swiss army for military pro-
tection. The two countries also have a customs and postal union and Liechtenstein
uses the Swiss franc as its national currency (Beattie, 2004). France continues to
have a strong impact on domestic Monegasque politics, even providing candidates
for important political and judicial positions in this Principality (Grinda, 2007).
While relations between San Marino and Italy were very tense in the 1950s, even
culminating in an 18-month blockade of the microstate in 1951–1952, at present the
economies and politics of the two countries are closely intertwined, with San Marino
hiring members of the Italian police force and judges to enforce and apply its law.
Having close relations with both its French and Spanish neighbours, Andorra relies
on these two countries for various services and before the introduction of the euro
Andorra used both the French franc and the Spanish peseta.
Yet, despite the very close links between Liechtenstein and Switzerland, Monaco
and France, San Marino and Italy and Andorra and both France and Spain, these
relationships have come under significant pressure at the dawn of the new millen-
nium. First, in 1998, the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development
(OECD) launched a global initiative against fiscal evasion and tax havens, in which it
also specifically targeted the European microstates (Hishikawa, 2002; OECD, 1998;
Sharman, 2006). In a second report that was published in 2000, Andorra, Liechtenstein
and Monaco were explicitly listed as “uncooperative tax havens”. Reasserting their
political sovereignty and claiming the freedom to devise their own banking and tax-
ation systems, the microstates initially repudiated the OECD initiative. However, the
global financial and economic crisis of 2008 strongly increased the external pressures
on the microstates, as countries like Germany, France and Italy launched their own
initiatives against fiscal evasion, explicitly targeting the microstates and branding
them as malevolent tax havens. Aware of the fact that their wealth largely depended
on banking and taxation systems, the microstates forcefully defended their positions
and did not eschew powerful rhetoric in doing so. In response to German pressures,
Prince Hans-Adam II of Liechtenstein, for example, spoke about his “powerful
northern enemies” and said: “in the last 200 years, we have survived three German
Reichs, so I hope we will also survive a fourth” (Süddeutsche Zeitung, 2010). In San
Marino, political actors stipulated that Italian businesses, parties and politicians had
long used the microstate as their bank to store money, but now suddenly attacked San
Marino for playing this role.
The fight against fiscal evasion posed a formidable threat to the economies of the
four microstates. Confronting San Marino, the Italian government in 2008 announced
a tax amnesty for Italians who repatriated their offshore assets, while concurrently
announcing further legal action against those who maintained their bank accounts in
San Marino (RTV San Marino, 2008). In addition, the Italian government explicitly
164 Handbook on the politics of small states

discouraged Italian companies to do business with San Marino (IMF, 2011). In

response to these actions, the Sammarinese economy strongly contracted between
2008 and 2013, with a negative growth rate of −12% reported for the year 2009. More
or less similar figures could be observed in Andorra, Liechtenstein and Monaco, but
since 2013 all four microstates are showing signs of economic recovery. Already in
2009 the OECD removed Andorra, Liechtenstein and Monaco from its tax haven
blacklist and in recent years the microstates have signed and ratified various tax
agreements with the European Union and neighbouring countries (cf. Tanganelli, and
Pou, 2012; Eggenberger, and Emmenegger, 2015). In 2017, the Andorran govern-
ment even passed a law to fully criminalize tax evasion (France 24, 2017).
While representing an arduous economic and international challenge, the con-
flict over tax regulation paradoxically also presented some opportunities to the
microstates’ political elites. By evoking powerful sensations of external threats and
vowing to protect their country’s independence in this modern version of David
versus Goliath, some microstate leaders were able to bolster their domestic political
positions. This is particularly the case for the Monegasque and Liechtenstein mon-
archs, with the latter highlighting the fight against “powerful enemies” and “so-called
democrats” both at home and abroad, thereby putting domestic critics squarely in the
anti-Liechtenstein camp (Marcinkowski, and Marxer, 2011).

CONCLUSION

This chapter has reviewed the main political, economic, societal and international
dynamics of the four European microstates, with particular attention to size effects.
Throughout the chapter, various references have been made to publications on small
states, showing the extent to which these four cases are similar to or different from
small states in other parts of the world. While the majority of small states are island
nations with low or middle income economies that have only fairly recently attained
statehood, the four microstates under review are (extremely) wealthy continental
jurisdictions with a long history as (semi-) sovereign entities. As a result, despite
their small size, the four microstates’ societies and political systems have developed
in relative isolation and the Sammarinese (Latin) dictum cogniti nobisque incogniti
aliis – “known to us, unknown to others” – was long a cornerstone of their foreign
policies (cf. Sundhaussen, 2003, p. 217). In comparison to other small states, the
European microstates have therefore traditionally been inward-looking and detached
from international affairs. This all changed abruptly in the second half of the
twentieth century, when rapid economic development, substantial immigration and
European integration catapulted the microstates into the modern era. In the case of
Andorra, this process culminated in the adoption of a completely new parliamentary
democratic system and this microstate “transformed essentially from a medieval state
into a modern one in less than twenty years’ time” (Eccardt, 2005, p. 74).
European integration and the exploitation of niche markets have provided the
microstates with great opportunities. Yet, as in other small states, such occasions
 Politics of the four European microstates 165

are always accompanied by risks and vulnerabilities. Immigration has reinforced the
significance of the nationalist/cosmopolitan dilemma in the microstates, producing
strong pressures to be more active and engaging in international affairs but also to
protect the national culture and identity. The four microstates have only just recov-
ered from the effects of the 2008 global economic crisis and the ensuing clampdown
on fiscal evasion and tax havens, which has hit their finance-based economies
disproportionally hard. Faced with ever stricter international laws and regulations
regarding offshore finance and taxation, these countries must find new markets to
exploit, of which tourism seems to offer the best opportunities. However, the eco-
nomic crisis has also exposed some of the political challenges stemming from these
countries’ small size, as a result of which Sammarinese media for instance reported
about a double crisis: one international and one domestic. The recent persecution and
conviction of many key figures of the former Sammarinese political elite for bribery,
corruption and money-laundering most accurately shows some of the perils of gov-
ernance in small states (La Repubblica, 2015). In this sense, domestic circumstances
nowadays appear to form an equal or perhaps even greater quandary to the political
future of the four microstates.

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11. Small states in Europe as a buffer
between East and West
Revecca Pedi

INTRODUCTION

This chapter examines small states in Europe as buffer states between East and West,
during the last 10 to 20 years. For most of the post-Cold War era, the buffer state
concept has been absent from both political and research agendas. Great powers
and regional blocs have advanced integration projects and tried either to force or to
attract small states’ participation in them. At the same time, small states either sought
a shelter alliance strategy (Bailes, Thayer, and Thorhallson, 2016) or a multi-vector
foreign policy (Nitoiu, 2018). During that period, small states that found themselves
between great powers or blocs in Europe, namely states in the post-Soviet space,
were viewed and studied as states ‘entredeux’ (Cadier, 2014), in-between (Torbakov,
2013) or in a “contested neighbourhood” (Ademmer, Delcour, and Wolczuk, 2016).
However, it was the conflict between Russia and Ukraine, the annexation of Crimea,
and the resulting upheavals in East–West relations that brought the buffer state
concept back to relevance (Graham, Menon, and Snyder, 2017; Mearsheimer, 2014;
Menon and Snyder, 2017).
This chapter explores whether the often misused and misunderstood concept of the
buffer state remains significant in the post-Cold War era (see also De Spiegeleire,
1997; Jesse and Dreyer, 2016). It also investigates the challenges that small states
finding themselves in between great powers have confronted during that period,
and the choices they have made. With this in mind, we focus on the case of Ukraine
and its relations with Russia and the West since the former’s independence. In spite
of its size – a population of 45 million and an area larger than France – Ukraine’s
relationship with both Russia and the West is highly asymmetric. It has found itself as
the weaker state caught in East–West rivalry and, relationally, it fits the definition of
a small state introduced in the introduction to this volume (Baldacchino, and Wivel,
2020). Thus, Ukraine makes for an interesting small state case study.
This chapter first reviews the buffer state concept and its applicability to the
post-Cold War era. Then we turn to Ukraine’s relations with Russia and the West
and look first at Russian, US and EU perspectives on Ukraine’s role and then on
Ukraine’s challenges and choices, given Russia’s and the West’s ambitions and
goals.

168
 Small states in Europe as a buffer between East and West 169

WHAT IS A BUFFER STATE?

Table 11.1 Definitions of buffer states

Proponent/s Definition Defining

Criterion/a
Spykman (1938) A relatively weak state, geographically located between two strong states. Location;
Relative Power
Mathisen (1971) A small independent state, lying between two larger, usually rival, states. Location;
Relative Power
Wight (1995) A weak state, zone or region between two or more stronger ones, maintained Location;
or even created with the purpose of reducing conflict between them. Relative Power
De Spiegeleire (1997) A state located between buffered actors; its relative power is significantly Location;
smaller than that of either of the buffered actors; and has to be a truly Relative Power;
independent sovereign actor within the international system. Foreign Policy
Orientation
Fazal (2004) A state physically located between two rivals, unless an ocean separates the Location
rivals. The exception regarding oceans only affects US–Russia and US–China
rivalries.
Spykman & Rollins A state lying between a pair of rivals where at least one of the rivals shares Location
(1939); Valeriano & a land or water boundary.
Benthuysen (2012)
Menon & Snyder States or zones lying between the spheres of influence of two or more Location;
(2017) powerful states but are not allied with, or dominated by, any of them. Relative Power;
Foreign Policy
Orientation

Buffer states appeared in the nineteenth century, created by European great powers
in order to manage competition between them in Europe, Asia and Africa, as colonial
powers; they thus helped to avoid direct confrontation and led to prolonged periods of
peace among rival powers. Afghanistan, Belgium, Siam and Switzerland constitute
examples of buffer states from that period, later joined by the Netherlands, Norway,
Sweden, Finland, Austria and Yugoslavia (Jesse and Dreyer, 2016; Kratochwil,
1986; Mathisen, 1971; Menon and Snyder, 2017). Writing in the interwar period,
Spykman and Rollins (1939, p. 404) observe that “[A]mong political devices to
increase frontier security, the buffer state is the most persistent type.” Fazal (2004)
finds that, between 1816 and 1992, 50 states had served as buffers, and 10 of these
more than once in their history.
In spite of divergent views, the main defining criteria for buffer states are three:
location: lying between two rival powers; relative power: having limited power in
comparison to the states it buffers; and foreign policy orientation: pursuing a policy
of neutrality or of alliance. There is no agreement on whether a state has to fulfil all
three criteria to be considered a buffer (see Table 11.1).
Scholars have added other qualities describing the buffer state, including their
topography, conditions of creation and the potential for state success. But, just as
170 Handbook on the politics of small states

with the elusive definition of the small state (Maass, 2009), discussions about the
buffer state may sow confusion. For that reason, we examine the role that buffer
states play in the international system and which is intrinsic to their existence.
A buffer is “a state or mini-complex within a security complex and standing at the
centre of a strong pattern of securitisation, whose role is to separate rival powers”
(Buzan and Wæver, 2003, p. 489). Mathisen (1971, p. 107) notes that “[I]t seems
natural to think of it [the buffer state] as a sort of political fender serving to reduce
the danger of conflict between its greater neighbours.” The creation and maintenance
of buffer states as tools for the management of great power rivalry is the outcome
of great power calculation; they prefer the buffer state solution to avoid conflict,
but only if the costs to conquer an adjacent smaller state exceed gains (Menon and
Snyder, 2017; Partem, 1983). That is why buffer states are found where a balance of
power exists and their fate usually follows that of the distribution of power among the
rival states or great powers in the system. If one of the rival powers becomes more
powerful and able to conquer the buffer state, then it should be expected that the
stronger power will attack the buffer state and the latter will cease to exist (Menon,
and Snyder, 2017; Partem, 1983). Thus, buffer states are vulnerable to state death
(Fazal, 2004; Valeriano and Benthuysen, 2012), to pressures by the great powers in
the system, and to changes of the distribution of power in the international system.
If the buffer state chooses to bandwagon with the stronger side or balance it by
joining its opponent power, the other side should be expected to retaliate (Menon and
Snyder, 2017; Partem, 1983). In a classic case of security dilemma, one side does not
want the other to benefit from a closer relationship or occupation of its neighbouring
small state. In addition, for the buffer state to be sustainable, it has to be of almost
equal value to both rival powers (Menon and Snyder, 2017; Partem, 1983). If one
side is less interested, then the buffer state finds itself in danger of being abandoned
into the disposition of the more interested power. Hence, buffer states exist as parts
of a system with specific dynamics and behaviour patterns. The following conditions
need to be met (Partem, 1983, p. 16):

●● Geography / Location: Country B is contiguous with two or more other states or

blocks of states (I, J).
●● Capability Distribution / Relative Power: Country I perceives its probability
of defeating Country B in a bilateral conflict as more than 50%; country J also
perceives its probability of defeating B in a bilateral conflict as more than 50%.
The difference in capability between I and J is small. Country B is perceived as
incapable of determining the outcome of the I–J rivalry.
●● Foreign Policy Orientation: The buffer will avoid a military alliance with either
I or J. The alliance patterns of I and J are dissimilar.

Partem (1983) distinguishes imperial expansion from buffer system and also notes
that foreign policy choices of all the three, and especially of the two greater powers
are important, as the geography of the in-between state cannot change but the orien-
tation of the other two can. The case of the Germany–Belgium–France buffer system
 Small states in Europe as a buffer between East and West 171

is indicative of such a change, Belgium does not serve as a buffer state anymore,
because the relations between Germany and France have changed. If we think of the
buffer state as part of such a system, then it becomes clear that a buffer state should
be a neutral state. As a neutral state, it constitutes a protective zone and in addition
none of the two rivals can be benefited by exploiting the buffer state’s territory or
resources (Jesse and Dreyer, 2016). Thus, a buffer system should also be differenti-
ated from an extensive defence perimeter, where the weaker state is directly depend-
ent on one of its more powerful neighbours (which can even station its troops on the
small state’s territory), and within its sphere of influence (De Spiegeleire, 1997):

[B]uffer zones lie between the spheres of influence of two or more powerful states but are
not allied with or dominated by any of them. . . . By contrast, spheres of influence arise
when powerful states exercise predominant sway over nearby territories, sometimes with
the tacit recognition of rival powers. (Menon and Snyder, 2017, p. 966)

What is crucial, then, is whether the more powerful neighbouring states or blocs
see the weaker in-between states as buffers, as their defence perimeter or as parts of
their sphere of influence; and also how the small states themselves, as actors, react to
demands by their more powerful neighbours and their goals.
Although all buffer states have to be parts of a system with a specific geography,
capability and foreign policy orientation, all buffer states do not necessarily follow
a similar pattern of behaviour. There are strong and resilient buffer states, but also
weak buffer states, prone to state death. The former are distinguished by their high
levels of cohesion and unity, and sufficient economic, military and social capability
for credible resistance, potentially assisted by difficult terrain. In this sense, strong
buffer states share many of the characteristics of small states that not only succeed
in surviving, but also ‘punching above their weight’ (Pedi, 2016). Sustainable buffer
states have also been active in the international system on issues related to the promo-
tion of international norms and peace (Sweden), by joining efforts with other small
and neutral or non-allied states to defend their interests (Yugoslavia), or by playing
the broker role between East and West during the Cold War (Austria) (Mathisen,
1971). Thus, buffer states are not necessarily impotent actors in the international
system, but they can contribute to it by playing specific roles, just as the small state
literature suggests (Goetschel, 2011; Ingebritsen, 2002). In addition, buffer states in
the past have tried to play off one power against the other, in order to extract gains
or room for manoeuvre (Jesse and Dreyer, 2016; Mouritzen 1991). They have also
employed a ‘moral hazard’ pattern of behaviour which, according to Menon and
Snyder (2017, p. 974), arises when a buffer state assumes that an outside power will
protect it from its rivals, regardless of its strategic choices, “leading to consequences
that are unforeseen and undesired by the patron” (also Keohane, 1971).
Advances in communications and military technology, increasing levels of inter-
dependence, the end of the Cold War and the development of regional projects such
as the EU, have (independently and in combination) altered the relations between the
great powers in the system, and also the choices that small states have as well as the
172 Handbook on the politics of small states

interaction between small states and great powers. Small state choices – like those
of ‘balancing’, ‘bandwagoning’ and ‘neutrality’ – have been complemented by new
theories, such as those of ‘alliance shelter’ (Bailes, Thayer, and Thorhallsson, 2016)
and ‘multi-vector foreign policy’ (Contessi, 2015; Gnedina, 2015). The conflict
between Ukraine and Russia, the annexation of Crimea and the increasing competi-
tion between Russia and the West, have revived concepts like that of ‘the buffer state’
(Buras, 2014; Graham, Menon, and Snyder, 2017; Mearsheimer, 2014; Menon and
Snyder, 2017) and ‘finlandization’ (Mouritzen, 2017), which had been considered
redundant. Therefore, in the next two sections, we explore the East–Ukraine–West
system, investigating the heuristic relevance of the buffer concept after the end of the
Cold War and the ways that geographic positioning of small states caught in between
great powers impacts upon the challenges they confront and the choices they make.

UKRAINE, RUSSIA AND THE WEST: THREE DIFFERENT

PERSPECTIVES

Russia’s Perspective

Since the end of the Cold War Russia’s relations with the West have undergone many
changes, yet Russia’s approach towards Ukraine and the rest of the Commonwealth
of Independent States (CIS) has not wavered. Ukraine and the other CIS member
states belonged to Russia’s ‘near abroad’, its ‘sphere of interests’: this was not an
issue of negotiation with the West, it was a matter of respect for Russia as a great
power (Buzan and Wæver, 2003; Trenin, 2009). Therefore, Russia could not see
Ukraine and the rest of the CIS states simply as buffers, neutral states between it and
the West. To this background, in 2008 and on the occasion of NATO’s promise to
Ukraine and Georgia for future membership, Vladimir Putin, Russia’s Prime Minister
at that time, warned NATO leaders that Russia would perceive such a development as
a “direct threat” and that the future of cooperation between Russia and the West “will
depend on whether NATO members take Russia’s interests into account” (quoted in
Bloomfield and Kirkup, 2008). Furthermore, Putin (2008) pointed out that millions
of Russians live in Ukraine, Crimea had been given to Ukraine as a ‘gift’, and that
a series of internal animosities would be exacerbated were Ukraine and Georgia to
seek to join NATO. Later, Russia also securitized Ukraine’s Association Agreement
with the EU (Dragneva and Wolczuk, 2016; Stewart, 2014). A democratic and west-
ernized Ukraine would constitute a bad example to Russia and other countries in the
neighbourhood and that is why Russia’s reaction to both the ‘Orange Revolution’
and the ‘Revolution of Dignity’ was that those uprisings were instigated by the West
(Kuzio and D’Anieri, 2018).
Ukraine has been especially important to Russia for historical, economic, security
and political reasons; that is why Russia did not accept Ukraine’s independence
easily and initially considered it abnormal or temporary (Brzezinski, 1994; Grigas,
2016; Kuzio and D’Anieri, 2018; Wolczuk, 2016). Nor should the securitization of
 Small states in Europe as a buffer between East and West 173

Ukraine’s turn towards the West have come as a surprise (Buzan and Wæver, 2003).
In 1994, Brzezinski noted: “without Ukraine, Russia ceases to be an empire; but with
Ukraine suborned and then subordinated, Russia automatically becomes an empire”
(p. 80). Yet, it was not that Russia wanted to keep Ukraine neutral; rather it wanted
to integrate Ukraine into its own CIS projects at all costs (Dragneva and Wolczuk,
2016). Russia’s aim was to keep Ukraine dependent on Russian gas in order to exert
its influence on economic and political elites and through them on domestic politics
and foreign policy (Stewart, 2014; Wolczuk, 2016). To this end, Russia has employed
a series of traditional and hybrid tools: russification, passportization, separatism,
Crimea’s annexation, disinformation campaigns, and the gas price as a political
weapon. Similar tools were also deployed in Georgia and Moldova (Grigas, 2016).
As Ademmer, Delcour and Wolczuk (2016, p. 12) observe, “Russia acts as a security
(Armenia) or insecurity (Georgia, Ukraine, Moldova) provider in the various hot and
frozen conflicts” in the region.

The West’s Perspective

In contrast to Russia, the West’s approach to Ukraine was neither unified nor fixed.
Rather, it evolved in step with developments in the international system, changes in
the US and the EU and their relations with Russia, as well as with developments in
Ukraine’s domestic scene. According to Kuzio (2003, 2012), the West’s relationship
with Ukraine following its independence has followed a three-way cycle: from disin-
terest, to partnership, to disillusionment and to disinterest again.

The US
The US’s main concern with Ukraine in its first years after its independence was
the nuclear warheads the latter possessed, carried over from the USSR era (Allison,
2012). And so, the US entertained the idea of cooperating with a Russia that would
guarantee security and stability in the CIS area, help with the denuclearization of
smaller states, promote democracy and push for a market economy at home and in
the region (Brzezinski, 1994). In this sense, the US encouraged Russia’s dominance
over the CIS countries; at that point, the imagined spheres of influence were shared
between the West, winner of the Cold War, and the defeated Russia that would
follow the US on a course towards Western democracy, rule of law and a market
economy (Buzan and Wæver, 2003). However, Russia had no intention to follow
the US plan and was incrementally reclaiming its international role as a great power
and the other pole in the international system. It was then that Ukraine’s requests for
a closer relationship with the US and NATO membership found a place on the US
agenda; the US invested a great amount of money in support of Ukraine’s democracy,
civil society and economy and was a fervent supporter of Ukraine’s participation
in NATO, even though its European allies did not want to irk Russia (Kuzio, 2003,
2012). Thus, the US had not considered Ukraine a buffer state: it could belong either
to Russia’s sphere of influence, or to theirs. A series of scandals and the alleged sale
of Ukrainian armaments to Iraq rocked the US–Ukraine relationship in the early
174 Handbook on the politics of small states

2000s. US interest was rekindled after the Orange Revolution, only to wane again
due to the unwillingness of Ukrainian elites to proceed with real political and eco-
nomic reforms (Kuzio, 2012). Ukraine attracted the US’s attention again during the
Revolution of Dignity. The US saw, in both uprisings, a hope for Ukraine to proceed
with reforms and subscribe to Western values. After the annexation of Crimea, and
given Russia’s assertiveness in the international system, Ukraine became important
to the US for other reasons.

The EU
The EU did not develop a consistent policy towards Ukraine until the early 2000s,
despite Ukraine’s interest in integration into the European Communities (Kuzio,
2003). Only after the 2004 enlargement, when on the one hand the EU started to
share a border with Ukraine and on the other the Orange Revolution gave a new
impetus to Ukraine’s prospects for democratization and westernization, did the
EU start showing interest in Ukraine. Since 2009, Ukraine had been a member of
the EU’s Eastern Partnership, which contains also Georgia, Moldova, Armenia,
Belarus and Azerbaijan, seeking to introduce EU norms and rules to its Eastern
neighbourhood and enhancing economic ties. Each of the participating countries has
a different degree of engagement and progress in the required reforms and the EU
follows an incentives-based, ‘more for more’ approach (Eastern Partnership Civil
Society Forum, 2017). In the context of the Eastern Partnership, Georgia, Moldova
and Ukraine have signed an Association Agreement with the EU and for that reason
have been sanctioned by Russia, which has securitized EU’s policies in the region, as
they alienate small states in Russia’s periphery from its politico-economic model and
its integration projects and consequently diminish its influence. EU decision-makers
view the EU as a unique international actor. Official EU discourse does not see
the world through the lens of power politics; and so, concepts like ‘buffer states’,
‘sphere of influence’ or ‘sphere of interest’ are alien to the EU which is viewed by
its proponents as a ‘civilian’ and ‘normative power’, seeking to bolster its security
by promoting resilience of states and civil societies on its periphery (EEAS, 2016).
That is why, in the case of the Association Agreement with Ukraine, the “EU was
adamant . . . that no third party could effectively veto an agreement between the
EU and another country. This norm was extremely important, as it underpinned the
notion of a Europe governed by norms and rules rather than by great powers” (Kuzio
and D’Anieri, 2018, p. 82). Ukraine has become a central issue in EU–Russia rela-
tions, as the former imposed sanctions on the latter because of Crimea’s annexation.
The EU “will not recognise Russia’s illegal annexation of Crimea nor accept the
destabilisation of eastern Ukraine” (EEAS, 2016, p. 33). However, the EU has no
other means to change the situation beyond sanctions, whose effectiveness has been
already contested (Connolly, 2018). Thus, it finds itself before with a fait accompli
that challenges the potency of its normative power.
 Small states in Europe as a buffer between East and West 175

UKRAINE AS A SMALL STATE BETWEEN THE EAST AND

THE WEST

Although, after the 2013 crisis, Ukraine follows a clear pro-Western foreign policy,
its in-between geographic position has been well reflected in its domestic politics,
economy and society as well as its external relations, since its independence. As
a result, its relations with both Russia and the West have undergone many upheavals,
provoked by changes in Ukraine’s domestic political scene as well as by develop-
ments in the international system (Burant, 1995; Dragneva and Wolczuk, 2016;
Gnedina, 2015; Kuzio and D’Anieri, 2018; Shyrokykh, 2018; Stewart, 2014). Five
periods in Ukrainian domestic politics and external relations can be identified, each
distinguished by a different President and a different orientation in Ukraine’s foreign
policy. Yet, in all of them, Ukraine’s domestic weaknesses remain remarkably
consistent.

1991–1994: The First Years of Independence and the ‘Return to Europe’

Ukraine emerged as an independent state with a unique combination of positive and

negative legacies bequeathed by the USSR era: an enviable geographic position, vast
area, market size and population, strong armed forces, a significant nuclear arsenal
and a socialist economy which accounted for 16 per cent of the USSR’s GDP, but
was dependent on Russia and its gas (Karatnycky, 1992). Despite divisions between
the western areas of the country (which were sympathetic to Europe and the West)
that had fallen under Russian control only in 1939, and the pro-Russian east of the
country – including Crimea, that was given as a ‘gift’ from Soviet leader Khrushchev
to Ukraine in 1954 – Ukrainian society was adamant about the country’s inde-
pendence and sovereignty, as confirmed by the pro-independence vote in the 1991
referendum (Burant, 1995; Kuzio and D’Anieri, 2018).
At that stage, Ukraine’s goals were to safeguard its identity and sovereignty, resist
Russia’s demands for control, and integrate the country into Western structures:
mainly, into the then European Communities but not in NATO, as Ukraine initially
had adopted neutrality (Burant, 1995; Shyrokykh, 2018). Thus, its first President
Leonid Kravchuk supported the view that the CIS should not take the form of a new
union; he saw it as a series of agreements to prevent an uncontrolled and possible
violent dissolution (Burant, 1995; Kuzio and D’Anieri, 2018). Since then and until
its withdrawal from the CIS, Ukraine remained an associate member that never
ratified the CIS Charter and has been reluctant towards plans for further integration
(Ponomarenko, 2018). Other issues of contention with Russia were Ukraine’s borders,
the fate of the Black Sea fleet in Sevastopol, Crimea – and, for some nationalists in
Russia, Crimea itself – as well as the submission of nuclear weapons to Russia in
order to be dismantled (Kuzio and D’Anieri, 2018; Zhurzhenko, 2005). Kravchuk
exploited these issues to flex Ukraine’s newly acquired sovereignty and to strengthen
its bargaining position with Russia (Burant, 1995). None of these issues had been
settled when Kravchuk’s successor Leonid Kuchma came to power.
176 Handbook on the politics of small states

Ukrainian leadership at that time held a clear and consistent position on its coun-
try’s orientation: Ukraine belonged to Europe and the West, just like its neighbours
and other former member states of the Warsaw Pact in Eastern and Central Europe
(Burant, 1995). It pursued membership in the Visegrad group and the Central
European Initiative; yet unsuccessfully regarding the former and succeeding in par-
ticipating only as an associate member in the latter due to the absence of a reformed
and market oriented economy (Burant, 1995). Karatnycky (1992) suggests that
central and eastern European countries would welcome the idea of Ukraine being
integrated into the West and act as a buffer against an assertive Russia. Yet, the
Visegrad group members Poland, Hungary and the then Czechoslovakia pursuing
their own integration into the Western structures, preferred to avoid an association
with Ukraine; first because in their eyes Ukraine was an outsider, a CIS member
following a different trajectory from theirs concerning reforms, and second because
they did not want to provoke Russia (Burant, 1995). However, in 1993, Ukraine
along with Poland and Hungary initiated the Carpathian Euroregion project, later
expanded to include Romania and Slovakia (Bauer, 2015).
In addition, Ukraine was the first CIS member state to sign a Partnership and
Cooperation Agreement with the European Communities and their member states in
1994, and was the first CIS member state that joined NATO’s Partnership for Peace
(PfP) programme. Moreover, due to the fear of NATO’s eastward expansion without
including Ukraine, President Kravchuk insisted on a new, pan-European security
structure in which NATO members and former members of the Warsaw Pact would
participate equally; an idea that would not find much support (Burant, 1995).
On the domestic front, Ukraine gave priority to military reform, seeking to build
a strong and devoted Ukrainian army (Burant, 1995), and also made some progress
concerning political reforms, especially in media freedom, but was reluctant to
proceed with radical reforms in the economy (Karatnycky, 1992). Corruption also
started to expand at that period and it was under the weight of an economic crisis
in 1993 and civil uprisings in the eastern part of the country, that Kravchuk signed
Ukraine’s entry into the CIS Economic Union but only as an associate member
(Dragneva and Wolczuk, 2016).

1994–2004: The Rise and Fall of Ukraine’s Multi-Vector Foreign Policy I

In 1994, Leonid Kuchma, an eastern Ukrainian, was elected President under the
promise of improving relations with Russia: ‘to Europe with Russia’ was a popular
slogan during his presidency (Kuzio, 2003). Kuchma argued that, given its geo-
graphic position between Russia and the West, Ukraine should balance its foreign
policy between the two. And so, he introduced the concept of a multi-vector foreign
policy into Ukraine’s external relations (Freire, 2009; Kuzio, 2003; Shyrokykh,
2018). Thus, for Kuchma’s administration what was important for Ukraine, was not
a ‘return to Europe’ but for the country to become an important knot in the Euro-Asia
region (Burant, 1995).
 Small states in Europe as a buffer between East and West 177

A closer relationship between Russia and Ukraine, however, presupposed that the
two parts would reach an agreement on the latter’s independence and borders and the
former’s demands on nuclear weapons and the Black Sea fleet. Under the shadow of
the economic crisis that forced Kravchuk to participate in the CIS Economic Union
and pressures from both the US and Russia, Ukraine agreed on a final surrendering
of nuclear weapons; yet, it asked NATO for security guarantees, fearing Russian
revisionism (Allison, 2012; Kuzio and D’Anieri, 2018). Finally, in December 1994,
the US, Russia, the UK and Ukraine signed the Budapest Memorandum to confirm
the agreement and the security assurances in connection with Ukraine’s accession to
the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons. With the Memorandum,
the three powers “reaffirm their commitment to Ukraine, in accordance with the
principles of the Final Act of the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe,
to refrain from economic coercion designed to subordinate to their own interest the
exercise by Ukraine of the rights inherent in its sovereignty and thus to secure advan-
tages of any kind”. Three years later, in 1997, Ukraine and Russia also settled the
Black Sea fleet issue: the latter would keep “roughly 80% of the fleet’s ships, a lease
on part of the base until 2017 and the right to keep a force of up to 25,000 personnel
at the base” (Kuzio and D’Anieri, 2018, p. 72). In the same year, the two countries
signed the Russia Ukraine Friendship Treaty, under which Russia officially accepted
Ukraine’s independence and sovereignty and committed itself to respect Ukraine’s
territorial integrity. Finally, in 2003, 12 years after Ukraine’s independence, the two
countries closed negotiations on their land borders.
Despite this progress, Ukraine’s relationships with Russia remained hazy, and the
West continued to play the role of the ‘other pole’ for Kuchma. At this time, Ukraine
joined Georgia, Azerbaijan and Moldova to set up a pro-Western international
regional organization for democracy and economic development, named GUAM
after the initials of the four countries. According to its charter, GUAM sought to
promote cooperation among the four countries, support democracy and human rights
promotion and express concern with the aggressive separatism and extremism in
the area: all four countries now confronted frozen conflicts that were directly or
indirectly supported by Russia. In addition, Ukraine, following US policy on Iran,
did not take part “in the construction of the Bushehr nuclear plant, thereby opening
the door to Russian involvement, and closing the door on what would have been the
biggest Ukrainian project in the region” (Shelest, 2018, p. 67). Also during Kuchma’s
presidency, Ukraine had been the most active CIS state in NATO’s PfP programme,
participated in the Coalition of the Willing with 2,000 troops, and was among the top
three country recipients of US aid (Kuzio, 2003). The Ukrainian President sought
a closer relationship with the EU – he even aspired for an Association Agreement
– and expressed Ukraine’s ambition for NATO membership in 2002. However, the
lack of economic reforms, deterioration of democracy, escalation of corruption, the
persecution of political opponents, the alleged assassination of the Ukrainian journal-
ist Georgy Gongadge and the alleged sale of Ukrainian armaments to Iraq suggested
to the West that Ukraine’s rapprochement was not serious (Kuzio and D’Anieri,
2018). Kuchma’s multi-vector foreign policy was a useful tool to avoid an exclusive
178 Handbook on the politics of small states

relationship with a rising Russia and orientate the country in a direction compatible
with international developments; while, at the same time, it was serving the interests
of the country’s corrupt political and economic class (Kuzio, 2003). But such a policy
was rejected by the West and relations between Ukraine and the US reached a historic
low (Kuzio, 2003; Kuzio and D’Anieri, 2018).
Kuchma overestimated the interest of the EU and US in Ukraine and found
himself isolated and under pressure from the Russian side to sign the Agreement
for a CIS Eurasian Economic Community (EEC) (Dragneva and Wolczuk, 2016).
Kuchma’s aim was to cement his power and, with the hope for support from Russia
in the approaching election, he signed the agreement for Ukraine’s entry into the
CIS EEC: again, not as a full member, but as an associate, as Kravchuk had done
with the CIS and the CIS Economic Union in the past, and as Kuchma himself did
with the CIS Custom Union in 1995 under the pressure of rising costs in Russian oil
and gas (Dragneva and Wolczuk, 2016). Russia’s claim to Tuzla island in 2003 had
reinforced the perception of Russia as a threat to Ukraine’s sovereignty (Zhurzhenko,
2005). In addition, the entry to the CIS EEC was denounced as anti-constitutional by
the Opposition and western Ukrainians (Dragneva and Wolczuk, 2016), for whom
the turn towards Russia was a matter of concern. In this election, Russia stood openly
by President Kuchma’s Prime Minister, Yanukovych, an eastern Ukrainian. His
opponent at the ballot was Yushchenko, a western Ukrainian and pro-West candi-
date, and another former Prime Minister under Kuchma’s administration.

2005–2010: From the Orange Revolution to the Need for a Multi-Vector

Policy Again

After the Orange Revolution, a civil uprising against the 2004 election fraud and
against Kuchma’s and Yanukovych’s corrupt leadership, Yushchenko came into
power. “By the time victory was announced – in the form of opposition leader
Viktor Yushchenko’s electoral triumph – the Orange Revolution had set a major new
landmark in the post-communist history of eastern Europe, a seismic shift Westward
in the geopolitics of the region” (Karatnycky, 2005, p. 35). We now know that this
‘seismic shift’ was reversible; but the Orange Revolution left a significant impact
on Ukraine’s domestic politics and external choices, as well as on Russia’s and the
West’s stances with respect to Ukraine.
Consistent with his pledges, Yushchenko brought Ukraine closer to the West.
Under his leadership, Ukraine joined the World Trade Organization, extracted
a promise of future membership to NATO, joined the EU’s Eastern Partnership and
started negotiations for an Association Agreement (Dragneva and Wolczuk, 2016).
The civil society uprising and Yushchenko’s pro-West views had rekindled the
West’s interest in Ukraine, especially that of the EU which, after its 2004 enlarge-
ment, now shared a border with Ukraine (Kuzio and D’Anieri; 2018; Zhurzhenko,
2005).
And yet, despite the momentum that the Orange Revolution created, Yushchenko
failed to proceed with reforms, fight corruption and improve Ukraine’s economic sit-
 Small states in Europe as a buffer between East and West 179

uation. His presidency was marked by infighting among the members of his coalition,
recriminations for corruption and relations with different clans of oligarchs, along
with competition with his Prime Minister Yulia Tymoshenko (Kuzio and D’Anieri,
2018). In the four years of his presidency, Ukraine changed four governments, and
in the last one Yanukovych, once Yushchenko’s opponent, was appointed Prime
Minister.
The economy remained dependent on Russia and therefore vulnerable, as
Yushchenko had not prepared the country for the foreign policy reorientation
(Dragneva and Wolczuk, 2016). Russia did not remain passive with regards Ukraine’s
turn towards the West and Yushchenko’s anti-Russian positions. Russia used the gas
price for political leverage: during Yushchenko’s presidency, in 2006 and 2009,
the infamous ‘gas wars’ between the two countries took place. On these occasions,
Russia cut off the supply of gas to Ukraine, crippling the Ukrainian economy and
citizens but also many other European countries and citizens, since Russian gas
reaches several European states through Ukraine. To this background a return to
a multi-vector foreign policy took center stage in the 2010 elections (Yermolenko,
2009). Ukrainians had to choose between Yanukovych and Tymoshenko, both of
whom aspired to repair relations with Russia but maintain relations with the West,
with Tymoshenko being slightly more pro-West than Yanukovych.

2010–2013: The Rise and Fall of Ukraine’s Multi-Vector Foreign Policy II

Under Yanukovych from 2010 to 2013, ambivalence in foreign policy was restored
(Stewart, 2014). The then Ukrainian President, who increased high-level corrup-
tion in Ukraine at an unprecedented level (Åslund, 2014), offered his version of a
‘multi-vector’ foreign policy (Gnedina, 2015).
Under Yanukovych, the Parliament voted for a ‘non-bloc’ status which was meant
to cut off Ukraine’s prospects to join NATO and bring the country closer to Moscow
(BBC, 2010). In addition, in an effort to appease Russia’s fears of its closer rela-
tionship with the EU as well as to extract short-term gains for its economy, Ukraine
signed the ‘Khariv Accords’ according to which the Black Sea fleet lease to Russia
was extended until 2042 in return for a reduced gas price (Kuzio and D’Anieri,
2018). That said, Yanukovych remained reluctant towards Putin’s integration plans
and followed Kuchma’s path of creative ambiguity. Despite its ‘non-bloc’ status,
Ukraine continued cooperation with NATO, provided troops to NATO missions
and operations, permitted NATO ships to access the Black Sea, and initiated the
NATO Defence Education, Enhancement Programme in order to improve its armed
forces (Menon and Motyl, 2011; NATO, 2018). Yanukovych wanted to keep a loose
relationship with Moscow’s integration projects, maintaining ties with NATO and
seeking further cooperation with the EU. He reconfirmed Ukraine’s interest in
signing an Association Agreement and in participating in the Energy Community,
yet without implementing the necessary reforms (Dragneva and Wolczuk, 2016;
Stewart, 2014; Wolczuk, 2016).
180 Handbook on the politics of small states

In his multi-vector foreign policy context, Yanukovych did not see Ukraine’s
association with the EU status as incompatible with a closer relationship with
Moscow which, however, at that period promoted the CIS Customs Union inte-
gration project. Ukraine’s membership of the CIS Custom Union was significant
given its market size and the importance that the country had to Russia. Yet, the
EU’s Association Agreement and the CIS Custom Union were mutually exclusive
projects and Yanukovych was the first Ukrainian president who had to make a clear
choice between Russia and the EU (Dragneva and Wolczuk, 2016). Yanukovych
misread the situation, the intentions of the EU and Russia, as well as the state of the
Ukrainian economy. He overestimated Ukraine’s importance to the EU and thought
that, in order to attract Ukraine, the EU would overlook Ukraine’s lack of progress
in reforms, the deterioration of democracy, his opponent’s Yulia Tymoshenko’s
imprisonment, and the expansive corruption (Pifer, 2012). Although the EU relaxed
conditionality for Ukraine, subscribing into EU values and norms still remained
a sine qua non for signing the Association Agreement. Moreover, Ukrainian bureau-
cracy confronted difficulties in dealing with tasks set by the EU for the completion of
the process; the Ukrainian economy had deteriorated and the EU would not provide
Yanukovych with the financial resources he desperately needed (Stewart, 2014). At
the same time, Russia was neither appeased by the ‘Khariv Accords’ nor satisfied
with the ‘3+1’ formula that Yanukovych proposed for Ukraine’s association with
the CIS Customs Union. Confronting the danger of Ukraine signing an Association
Agreement with the EU increased the pressure and provided a series of negative and
positive incentives for Ukraine to join the CIS Customs Union. Finally, Yanukovych
refused to sign the Association Agreement and agreed with Vladimir Putin on a loan,
which would increase Ukraine’s dependence on Russia and finally made membership
into CIS integration projects inevitable (Pifer, 2012; Stewart, 2014). At this point,
Yanukovych made another miscalculation; he underestimated Ukraine’s powerful
civil society, the entrepreneurs, the workers, the students and other activists’ groups
that opposed Yanukovych’s domestic and foreign policy decisions, especially the
annulment of the Association Agreement with the EU and the turn towards Russia,
and who carried out the ‘Revolution of Dignity’ or ‘Euromaidan’ that was fatal for
Yanukovych’s presidency, the annexation of Crimea and the deterioration of rela-
tions with Russia, increasing polarization between the western, eastern and southern
parts of the country, and Ukraine’s reorientation towards the West (Menon and
Motyl, 2011; Pifer, 2012; Stewart, 2014).

2014–2018: Ukraine’s Shelter Seeking in the West

An interim government finally signed the Association Agreement with the EU and
also took a series of measures with the aim to reinforce Ukrainian identity (Stewart,
2014). In 2014, the Ukrainian Parliament overturned the country’s non-allied
status (BBC, 2014). On the occasion of the 2016 independence parade, Ukraine’s
President Petro Poroshenko stated that Ukrainians had “got lost in the arrows of the
multi-vector policy trying to keep a foot in both camps” and, on another occasion,
 Small states in Europe as a buffer between East and West 181

noted that Ukraine’s “vocation is to become the Eastern border of the European
civilization, a contributor to European and international security, an engine of the
continental economy” (Poroshenko, 2017). Ukraine’s primary foreign policy aims
are to resist pressures from Russia and achieve closer cooperation with the EU.
Ukraine withdrew its representatives from all CIS bodies (Ponomarenko, 2018)
and lost no opportunity to underline that Ukraine’s security was guaranteed by the
Ukrainian armed forces and not by any ‘Budapest Memorandum’ or ‘Friendship
Treaty’ with Russia (Poroshenko, 2016). In addition, Poroshenko sought to build an
anti-Russia front in the West and to keep the sanctions status alive. In this sense, he
tried to render Ukraine a central issue in West’s relations with Russia and a symbol
for all those wishing to maintain the post-Cold War order and resist revisionism and
autarchy (Poroshenko, 2018).
The issue of reforms and corruption remained central in both domestic politics
and Ukraine’s relationship with the West. Public trust in government remained low
and most citizens still believed that the fight against corruption was failing (Ilko
Kucheriv Democratic Initiatives Foundation, 2018). There has been a sense that
Poroshenko has not delivered what he promised and that Ukrainian politics remain
driven by elites’ ambition for self-enrichment which is “put on hold only during elec-
tions or revolutions, when rival clans organize into camps to woo votes with either
pro-Western or pro-Russian slogans” (Saradzhyan, 2016). However, others suggest
that Ukraine has made serious progress in reforms since the ‘Revolution of Dignity’
and it holds the first place among the other five countries of the Eastern Partnership
on EU integration and convergence (Eastern Partnership Civil Society Forum, 2017).
According to Karatnycky and Motyl (2018), Ukraine has proceeded with reforms,
modernization, privatization and decentralization; oligarchs have been weakened
and the black-market percentage of the economy decreased significantly, while the
country remains democratic, albeit with an imperfect democracy, thus, for that reason
alone, the West should not apply more pressure and in this way put the country’s
stability in danger (Karatnycky and Motyl, 2018). President Poroshenko (2018) goes
one step further by instrumentalizing the reforms and suggesting that Ukraine should
be rewarded by the West for its progress:

The complete integration of Ukraine into the European and transatlantic systems is the
biggest threat to Russian aggression. My ambition, therefore, is to translate Ukraine’s
European aspirations into deeper alliances with the EU, starting with the digital market,
customs cooperation and energy solidarity, and including a commitment from European
capitals to take part in the restoration of cities in the Donbass. Anything less would not
compensate Ukraine for its sacrifices or recognise its commitment to the promotion of
democracy and European values.

Russia’s assertiveness finally brought Ukraine closer to the West. Only when rela-
tions with Russia had deteriorated irrevocably did Ukraine proceed with reforms
beyond cosmetic changes, and also looked for alternatives to decrease its dependence
on Russian energy. Trade between the two countries decreased and Ukraine started
buying gas from Slovakia, Hungary and Poland (Dragneva and Wolczuk, 2016).
182 Handbook on the politics of small states

WHAT DOES THE UKRAINIAN CASE TELL US ABOUT

SMALL BUFFER STATES?

For Ukraine, acting as a buffer has not been an option. Like Georgia and Moldova,
Ukraine found itself facing the challenges of being a small state lodged in between
great powers (Dinesen and Wivel, 2014). Initially, Ukraine chose to adopt neutrality
(Shyrokykh, 2018); however, neutrality and autonomy have since lost much of their
value to small states (Dahl, 1997; Rickli, 2008). Thus, independent Ukraine has
either sought shelter in the West or a multi-vector strategy. And yet, at least until the
‘Revolution of Dignity’, both choices were short-sighted and doomed to fail. Ukraine
has been vulnerable, given its complex relationship with Russia and the West and its
reluctance to pursue domestic and external policies that would strengthen the country
internally and improve its position as an in-between small state.
The ‘seeking shelter in the West’ option could not succeed for four, mutually
reinforcing, reasons. First, Ukraine was vital to Russia and heavily dependent on it
and therefore vulnerable to its pressures. Second, pro-Russian economic and political
elites deterred further integration with the West. Third, Ukraine was not prepared to
proceed with real reforms that would have decreased its dependence on Russia while
meeting Western demands. Fourth, the West has been reluctant towards Ukraine’s
further integration into NATO or the EU. To some Europeans and Americans, it has
even been acceptable for Ukraine to belong squarely to Russia’s sphere of interests.
Yet, the ‘seeking shelter in the West’ strategy was kept alive by Ukraine’s fear of
being totally controlled by Russia and by a powerful pro-Western civil society, that
impeded Ukraine’s bandwagoning with Russia, at least twice.
Hence, the Ukrainian case reveals that, for a ‘seeking shelter’ strategy to succeed,
the small state seeking shelter should be independent and belong to a zone of indif-
ference to any opponent bloc or great power. Thus, by definition, this strategy is less
likely to be a success for buffer states than for other small states. In addition, it should
embrace the values and norms of its aspired shelter. The Ukrainian case shows that
a small state’s shelter seeking can impact upon the relations of great powers or blocks
that are in competition.
Ukraine’s multi-vector foreign policy has been unsuccessful also due to its
dependence on Russia, its unwillingness to proceed with reforms that would
improve its bargaining position as an in-between state, and its powerful civil society.
According to Blank (2010, p. 296) a multi-vector foreign policy is the tendency to
take advantage of the great powers’ “compulsive efforts to enlist [Central Asian
states] to their side against their rivals, in order to extract aid and assistance”. Thus,
it is a way of playing one power against the other and benefit from their competition.
Contessi (2015, p. 301) offers a more sophisticated view by seeing multi-vectorism
as a co-alignment strategy, that “is a particular form of statecraft thanks to which
a smaller state can diversify its providers, thereby preventing a larger power from
establishing itself in a dominant position”. Contessi focuses on the Central Asian
states that are authoritarian, rich in energy resources and proactive in co-alignment
tactics. Ukraine meets none of these three conditions. During the Kuchma and
 Small states in Europe as a buffer between East and West 183

Yanukovych presidencies, Ukraine’s multi-vector foreign policy was meant to turn

the country’s foreign policy closer to Russia, while concurrently Ukraine aspired to
extract gains both from the West and Russia, given the competition between the two.
Thus, Ukraine’s case fits better with Blank’s definition than with Contessi’s. Yet,
such a strategy has its limits. Its success is determined by the goals of competing
powers. Although Ukraine aspired to continue its multi-vector foreign policy, it
had to choose between two, mutually exclusive, integration projects. Moreover, its
dependence on Russia and domestic interests have not allowed Ukraine to pursue
reforms that would enhance its bargaining position with both Russia and the West.
Ukraine has several times miscalculated both its importance to the West and Russia’s
readiness to concede to Ukraine’s ambivalent foreign policy. Ukraine’s civil society
also resisted the country’s turn towards Russia that was attempted by both Kuchma
and Yanukovych.
At the domestic level, high levels of corruption, concentration of economic and
political power in the hands of oligarchs, division between Ukraine’s eastern/south-
ern and western/central parts, use of foreign policy for political survival, as well as
a powerful civil society are Ukraine’s most important domestic characteristics: they
have all impacted upon the country’s external relations.
In sum, the Ukrainian case illustrates that “small state foreign policy is formulated
within a discursive space defined by great power politics” (Wivel, 2016, p. 104).
For small buffer states this space is smaller than for other small states and the con-
sequences of foreign policy failure may be lethal. However, this does not mean that
small buffer states have no action space. The nature of the international system and
the policies of the great powers define the boundaries of small buffer state action
space, but a considerable degree of agency remains with the state and influences its
success or failure (Baldacchino, 2009; Hey, 2003; Katzenstein, 2003; Kouskouvelis,
2015; Thorhallsson, 2012).

CONCLUSION

This chapter has explored small states as buffer states between East and West during
the last two decades. To this end, we investigated the buffer state concept and its
applicability to the post-Cold War international system. We have found that, as
the conditions of cooperation and competition between Russia and the West were
significantly different from those of the past, both of them have not perceived the
small states between them as buffers. For Russia, they belonged to its ‘near abroad’;
while the West has been (to different degrees) interested in promoting and projecting
its values and norms and finally integrating the region within the EU and possibly
NATO. In addition, territorial security is only one component of the complex concept
that security has become, and other forms of threats and hybrid means of warfare
render buffer states of less significance and perhaps, ultimately, even obsolete.
Nudged in between great powers, small states that in the past could have played the
role of buffer, have now become objects of the competition among great powers and
184 Handbook on the politics of small states

their integration projects. Thus, we suggest that the role that small states play for
great powers in the system has evolved, as the conditions in the international system
have changed. However, small states have not become less vulnerable; the new level
of competition between great powers and a new set of hybrid threats make their vul-
nerability more complex and hard to handle both by them and by their allies.
The case of Ukraine shows that small states lying uncomfortably in between great
powers remain vulnerable to pressures from their more powerful neighbours; their
domestic politics and policies and their external relations are invariably influenced
by their geopolitical location. Ukraine responded to challenges arising from its
relative smallness and geophysical position by either seeking shelter in the West
or choosing a multi-vector foreign policy. Both choices have failed. Dependence
on Russia, unwillingness to proceed with reforms, high levels of corruption, and
misjudgements of the intentions of both Russia and the West have weakened Ukraine
further, permitted Russia – and at times the West – to take advantage of Ukraine’s
vulnerability and made the latter appear as a pawn between East and the West.
Hence, in terms of small states’ challenges and choices this chapter suggests that,
although small states have to act within conditions crafted by the great powers in the
international system, their own decisions at home and abroad still matter. It recon-
firms the interplay between external and domestic levels, and how a small state’s
strengths and weaknesses impact upon this interplay. Thus, even under the most pre-
carious conditions, small states are not simply pawns in international power politics.

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12. Small states of the Balkans: after
Yugoslavia and its ‘third way’
Stefano Bianchini

INTRODUCTION

The bloody collapse of Yugoslavia has comprehensively marked its successor states
politically, economically, socially, culturally and psychologically. The legacy of
the 1991–2001 wars continues to affect their bilateral and multilateral relations and
security, despite the inclusion into NATO of all Adriatic coastal states, from Slovenia
to Montenegro, and the establishment of a sort of US-led ‘cordon sanitaire’ around
inland areas of the former socialist federation.
‘The region’ is the name that has locally replaced, almost everywhere, the geo-
political reference to the Yugoslav cultural space. ‘Western Balkans’ is the termi-
nology adopted by the EU and US diplomacy, although it includes Albania, but not
Slovenia. Rarely is Yugoslavia mentioned by any players. When it happens, media
and policy-makers of the post-Yugoslav small states, with minor exceptions, feel the
necessity to blame Tito, the communist dictatorship, and the ‘impossible coexistence
within its multicultural institutions’: suggesting that Yugoslavia was some kind of
historical mistake.
In contrast, a ‘Yugo-nostalgia’ sentiment, although differently perceived in each
successor state, does persist in part of the population, especially among old partisans
(mainly from Slovenia, who habitually visit the Tito Memorial in Belgrade). Old
women often nurture a positive remembrance of the welfare state, while part of the
young, well-educated generation (mostly in search of a job) is fostering a Yugoslav
subculture based on art, music, hang-outs and an iconography that date back to that
period (Kolstø, 2014; Velikonja, 2012).
The memory of the non-aligned policy has substantially vanished, despite the
global admiration for the role that Yugoslavia played between 1950s and 1990s.
Rather, current expectations are mainly related to EU membership and its financial
support. Over time, however, these feelings tend to dissolve. For example, satisfac-
tions for the achieved outcomes in relation to socio-economic development are stable
in Slovenia (+1 per cent), but declining in Croatia (−5 per cent). In the candidate
countries, the majority still supports potential EU membership, although with declin-
ing enthusiasm. The citizens of the Serbian entity of Bosnia-Herzegovina constitute
a significant exception: only 30 per cent of interviewees manifested a positive atti-
tude towards the EU in 2018 (Eurobarometer, 2018). Basically, however, integration
into the ‘Euro-Atlantic’ institutions, a developed market economy, and the accept-
ance of Western democratic values (often more in form than in substance) are usually

189
190 Handbook on the politics of small states

regarded as the viable solution for ‘regional’ security (Ramet and Listaug, 2011;
Ramet, Listaug, and Simkus, 2013; Ramet, Simkus, and Listaug, 2015). Therefore, a
‘third way’ is not contemplated by local agendas. Nevertheless, many political actors
in the region consider alternative affiliations with rivalling great powers. As a result,
the picture is more fluid than the mass media and local politicians would have us
believe.
Baldacchino and Wivel (2020, pp. 7–10, Chapter 1 this volume) identify three
dilemmas of small state politics in the introduction to this volume: (1) the dilemma
between promoting national values and characteristics in order to safeguard national
policy-making at home and promoting cosmopolitan values internationally to secure
a strong international society, curbing and delegitimizing the irredentist pursuit of
national interests by the great powers; (2) the dilemma between securing small com-
munity democratization with strong internal coherence and risking the ‘group-think’
that would follow from too tightly-knit political communities and elites; and (3) the
dilemma between maximizing national autonomy and seeking international influ-
ence, which often means accepting restrictions to that autonomy as a consequence of
international engagement. This chapter explores the meaning and importance of each
of these dilemmas for the small Yugoslav successor states.

THE NATIONALIST/COSMOPOLITAN DILEMMA

Understanding the substance of the nationalist/cosmopolitan dilemma in the

Yugoslav cultural space is intuitively simple. Its dichotomy, in fact, can be summa-
rized by the persistence of nationalist feelings against neighbours versus expectations
of ‘a one-sided EU inclusion’, which is simultaneously seen as the entry into the
global society and the escape from ‘regionalism’. The balance between the two poles
still hangs in favour of nationalism, due to the predominant legacy of the past, the
competitive relations with neighbours in their imagined race for EU membership, the
sense of isolation stemming from the length of the negotiations, and the lack of clear
deadlines for joining the EU bloc.
The legacies of the past play a crucial role. State borders, for example, are unset-
tled. The name of one country (currently North Macedonia) has been questioned
for years and remains a contentious matter. The Serbian-Kosovo dialogue is toiling
along, barely achieving some concrete results; regional economic cooperation and
the building of infrastructures are often contested; the narratives of the Second World
War and the events during Tito’s time, the building of monuments, and the official
remembrances are a regular occasion for bitter political disputes. Under these cir-
cumstances, the stability of the post-Yugoslav small states remains fragile. Even the
broader frameworks of the EU and NATO have little effect when bilateral relations
fray unexpectedly. Their conditionality has so far proved successful in avoiding
new wars but failed to offer effective solutions. Slovenia and Croatia are good
examples: they are both EU and NATO members, and their governments are unable
to find a compromise about borders in Istria, in order to allow Slovenia to access
 Small states of the Balkans: after Yugoslavia and its ‘third way’ 191

international waters. As a result, fishing boats are forced to request the protection of
the respective police patrol boats any time they enter contested waters. The risk of
accidents is, therefore, high, while the nationalist rhetoric on both sides escalates.
On the other hand, the Croatian borders are disputed with Serbia along the Danube
because the course of the river often changes, especially during floods. In contrast,
those between Croatia and Bosnia-Herzegovina were agreed in 1999, but never rati-
fied. These uncertainties have serious implications, even for domestic infrastructures.
Sarajevo, in fact, controls a short coastal area which divides the Croatian territory,
isolating the county of Dubrovnik from the rest of the state. In this context, the
building of a motorway across Bosnian territory to connect Dubrovnik with Zagreb
has become an endless saga. To solve the problem, the Croatian government decided
in July 2018 to build a bridge across the sea, from the Croatian mainland to the
Pelješac peninsula, which also belongs to Croatia. However, the Bosniak component
of the governments in Sarajevo worries about its reverberations on free access to
international waters. Consequently, it sharply contested the opening of the building
yard, but was immediately censured by the Croatian-Bosnian leadership of Mostar.
Therefore, the missed ratification of borders is offering good excuses to revamp
nationalist acrimonies with a double impact: between states, but also within them, as
the Bosniak–Croatian polarization has exemplified.
The border between Bosnia and Montenegro should also be included in this quag-
mire of disputes. It concerns the Sutorina triangle, which would allow Bosnia access
to Kotor Bay, while the adjacent Prevlaka peninsula is claimed by both Croatia and
Montenegro. In contrast, Montenegro has managed to ratify its borders with Kosovo
in March 2018, after a series of harsh parliamentary tensions in Prishtina. However,
the most delicate situation concerns the relations between Serbia and Kosovo, since
Belgrade does not recognize the independence of its former autonomous region,
while both are negotiating a badly defined ‘normalization of relations’ under the
auspices of the EU. All these quarrels might appear of marginal relevance, because
in most cases the contested borders concern few square kilometres. And yet, they are
powerful in keeping alive the confrontational nationalist feelings that led Yugoslavia
to violently fall apart, making reconciliation among the successor small states
a vague possibility.
Under these circumstances, even an apparent diplomatic success can trigger unex-
pected and controversial, far-reaching consequences. Reference here is to Macedonia,
a small post-Yugoslav state formally without territorial disputes. Nonetheless, the
name has been contested by Greece since its declaration of independence in 1991.
Athens has accused Skopje of monopolizing a historical past that belongs to Greece
and to use it for irredentist claims. Therefore, it has requested the name of the state to
be changed. After 27 years of disagreements that hindered Macedonia’s negotiations
with the Euro-Atlantic institutions, a settlement was achieved in 2018. The new
name, North Macedonia, was submitted to a referendum but the turnout was too low.
Nevertheless, the Macedonian Parliament decided to go ahead with the constitutional
changes, against the opinion of the opposition party and the President of the Republic
(Vankovska, 2018).
192 Handbook on the politics of small states

Admittedly, the two leaders, Zaev and Tsipras, showed courage in seeking a com-
promise, which is vividly contested by the publics in both countries. In Greece, the
Orthodox Church is among the most influential sponsors of mass rallies against
the agreement. However, the more problematic situation is in Macedonia, because
different segments of society have different opinions on the agreement (Klekovski,
2011). The ethnic Albanians, in principle, support any decision able to pave the way
to negotiations with EU and NATO, both seen as opportunities for ‘liberalizing’
inter-Albanian relations. Liberalization is the terminology now in use by Albanian
authorities in an effort to assuage South Slav concerns that a Greater Albania will be,
in the end, supported by the US and the EU, leading to new violent reactions in the
‘region’. Macedonians, in contrast, are deeply divided. The President of the Republic,
Gjeorge Ivanov, refused to sign the deal, which was accepted by his successor Stevo
Pendarovski. However, the nationalist opposition held public demonstrations against
the country’s proposed name. Additionally, prominent and independent intellectuals
have expressed their disagreement loudly. Their main argument is related to the lack
of real reconciliation between the parties (which are actually three, rather than two,
since the Albanians of Macedonia are also involved).In their view, the decision has
been achieved to merely comply with the requirements of the EU and NATO, when
Russophobia is on the rise. These intellectuals are sceptical as to whether compliance
with EU and IMF rules will lead to any improvements in the living conditions of the
population. They look critically at the Greek bail-out social results. Furthermore,
they fear that the agreement may inflame intra-Macedonian nationalisms and destabi-
lize the country, if and when the time for the implementation comes. The subsequent
EU decision to postpone the negotiation for membership with North Macedonia
has fueled new tensions in the area, while Bulgaria contested again the Macedonian
language.
In sum, nationalism marks the agenda of the whole ‘region’, which suffers from
the complex implications of the brutal Yugoslav dismemberment. Institutionally, the
country was a federation of six republics and two autonomous regions, both included
in Serbia, but with the status of federal components. De facto, the federation was
set up by eight units. Such an arrangement prevailed with the 1974 constitution,
after years of social and nationalist tensions, in a context characterized by radical
market socialist reforms and a rapid growth in the standard of living. In the 1980s,
however, after Tito’s death, a long economic crisis deeply affected the solidarity
among the federal units. The socialist ideology and the praxis of self-management
soon proved powerless in legitimizing political power. Any federal decision required
the agreement of all eight components of the federation. Over time, this protocol
became increasingly difficult to maintain. The atmosphere rapidly degenerated into
nationalism, either as an easy way to put the blame for the crisis upon other republics
or as a form of re-legitimization of local leaderships, who wanted to appear before the
electorate as the defenders of their ‘nation’. When, finally, Serbian leader Milošević
tried to modify the constitution by force, the exacerbated internal relations precipi-
tated into war (Bianchini, 2003).
 Small states of the Balkans: after Yugoslavia and its ‘third way’ 193

Consistent with this background, military confrontation elevated ethno-nationalism

to the main source of power legitimization. Consequently, if ‘lucky’, minorities were
excluded from access to even basic rights (for example, citizenship). This was the
case of Slovenia, who counted some tens of thousands of ‘erased’ people, removed
from the register of permanent residents (Ristić, 2013). Otherwise, they became
victims of violence, killings, rapes, crimes against humanity and sometimes geno-
cide. The effort of the warlords was, in fact, to redesign the mass sense of belonging
within new borders.
The goal, however, was only partially achieved, because the diplomatic and mili-
tary intervention of the EU and the US elevated the administrative demarcation lines
into international borders. In contrast, the ethnic cleansing was successfully applied
in many areas, to the detriment of the Serbs in Croatia; the Croats and the Bosniaks in
Bosnia-Herzegovina; the Albanians first, and later the Serbs, in Kosovo; apart from
other smaller minorities, including a minor number of Albanians and Macedonians,
who also paid the price of the war.
As a result of ten years of bloodshed, six small ethnic nation-states were estab-
lished in the territory of the Yugoslav federation, plus another one (Kosovo) which
is, however, not recognized by Serbia and Bosnia-Herzegovina. This arrangement
did not put an end to aggressive nationalisms, although killings almost disap-
peared. History textbooks, for example, tell conflicting stories of the recent past.
In Bosnia-Herzegovina, pupils and students of the three ‘constituent nations’ are
studying in separate buildings and learn three different narratives. Generally speak-
ing, victimization is a common feature of such segregated discourses. Each of the
ethno-nations identifies itself as a ‘victim’ according to circumstances. All the more
so when, unlike Germany and Japan – which recognized their defeat in the Second
World War – no one in post-Yugoslavia has shown any such recognition or admis-
sion. Furthermore, the nationalist rhetoric expanded beyond the military dimension,
influencing the language, particularly in the Serbian-Croatian cultural space. By
abolishing various synonyms, or by inventing ‘new expressions’, four ‘new lan-
guages’ have been created. However, this effort was contested by 9,000 citizens, who
signed a ‘Declaration of the common language’ in 2017, suggesting that peoples from
Serbia, Croatia, Bosnia-Herzegovina and Montenegro speak a multi-polar language
with local variants (like English, German, French, Arab or Spanish) (Deklaracija
o zajedničkom jeziku, 2010). Nationalist scholars and policy-makers reacted vehe-
mently against this statement, interpreting this as either a neo-Yugoslav platform or
a declaration that Serbian is the only proper language in the region (Kordić, 2010;
Remetić, 2010). Basically, instead of looking to the future, their political and cultural
elites have tried to reshape the past, and particularly the events of the Second World
War, in an effort to legitimize patriotism with an anti-communist spirit, even at the
cost of forgiving Nazi collaborationists. This is particularly evident in Croatia and
Serbia, where a process of rehabilitation of both the ustaša and the chetnik is under
way. In Croatia, this effort is particularly supported by the Catholic Church, which is
attempting to identify itself with Croatian nationhood.
194 Handbook on the politics of small states

Symbolism plays also a powerful role in nationalist confrontations. For example,

the Croatian government requested the immediate removal of the monument to
Puniša Račić, the Montenegrin member of the royal Parliament who killed the
Croatian peasant leader Stjepan Radić in 1928. The government of Podgorica rec-
ognized the validity of the claim and removed the monument. On the other hand, in
2016, the Montenegrin government sent an official note of protest to Zagreb against
a monument raised in Croatia to a terrorist who killed the Yugoslav ambassador (of
Montenegrin origins) in Stockholm in 1971 and who, for this reason, was sentenced
to life imprisonment in Sweden.
Along similar symbolic lines, the topography of urban areas and villages embod-
ies this historical revisionism ‘under nationalist dressing’. By perpetuating the
memory of controversial personalities, a fascist/partisan polarization and a patriotic/
terrorist dichotomy persist. This attitude undermines the responsibilities for the
Jewish genocide and postpones reconciliation on an indefinite basis. Furthermore,
such policies reveal the intrinsic fragility of these small states’ national identities,
whose ambivalent values unintentionally question the legitimacy of the independ-
ence they achieved during the 1990s. As a result, these attitudes affect the impact
of the manifestations, still intermittent, of ‘good will’ that local authorities extend
to their neighbours, under the pressure of the EU. Among these efforts, it is worth
mentioning the visit of the Serbian Prime Minister Aleksandar Vučić to Srebrenica
in July 2015. Although vigorously contested by part of those present, he honoured
the victims of the genocide (but he did not use this word) and met the Association of
the Mothers. Subsequently, the Prime Minister of Albania Edi Rama paid an official
visit to Belgrade for the first time in 68 years, followed by a similar, official visit of
Vučić to Tirana. Furthermore, the Croatian President recognized, in a 2017 public
statement, the suffering of Serbian families during the military operations of 1995
in the Croatian towns of Krajina. In addition, Vučić’s decision, as newly elected
Serbian President, to appoint a lesbian, Ana Brnabić, as Prime Minister, thereby chal-
lenging the anti-LGBT bias prevalent in the patriarchal culture of his society, was
widely lauded in the West (Bilić and Kajinić, 2016; Bilić and Radoman, 2018). Even
in the dialogue with Kosovo, some relaxations of old positions may be observed: for
example, communication with the new Prime Minister Ramush Haradinaj (whose
governing coalition included an important Serbian representative) took place,
although in ‘neutral camps’, because Haradinaj is wanted as a suspected war criminal
by the Serbian judiciary.
Sudden and unexpected changes can easily blot these efforts out of the public’s
memory because everyday politics, the statements of judges, religious officials and
opposition leaders, media messages, blogs and platforms predominantly propagate
mutual mistrust and the fear of the ‘Other’. As a result, nationalism thrives and
frustrates most attempts at reconciliation tenaciously promoted by NGOs, civil
society associations, alternative media and inter-university cooperation. Under these
circumstances, ‘regional’ politics are too busy with nationalist discourse to deal
with globalization dilemmas and face its challenges. If globalization is understood
as a form of ‘regional cooperation’, this is politically discredited because it is iden-
 Small states of the Balkans: after Yugoslavia and its ‘third way’ 195

tified with attempts at re-establishing Yugoslavia. If globalization means a greater

economic integration with the EU, the goal is to a large extent already achieved,
although the local economies remain more vulnerable to external shocks. If globali-
zation means the inclusion into a broader process of economic, political and cultural
interdependence, some trends are mirrored by the relations with great powers: the
impact of migration flows and brain drain, and the need to attract investors. However,
‘local controversies’ are a matter of such intense disputes as to absorb the interest in
globalization dilemmas. The global, therefore, remains in the distance, at least in the
current perception of the post-Yugoslav small states.

THE DEMOCRATIZATION/GROUP THINK DILEMMA

Since nationalism is the benchmark of the post-Yugoslav small states, the democ-
ratization process was deeply affected by predominantly ethnic dynamics. A partial
exception in this regard is Slovenia, because the war was a short episode, the
ethno-national setup of the country was 90 per cent homogeneous, and there were
no significant territorial pretensions by the conflicting sides (except for the border
in the Savudrija Bay, which poisoned relations with Croatia later). As a result,
Slovenian nationalism was less visible and aggressive, respected the ‘autochthonous
minorities’ (Italians and Hungarians), and manifested its animosity mostly against
the ‘erased’ people mentioned above. Meanwhile, the political confrontations among
the Slovenian parties were moderated either by the proportional electoral law, which
facilitated the establishment of coalitions, or the President of the Republic, who
was often independent of the parliamentary majority. Furthermore, the goal of EU
membership was crucially shared by opposite coalitions, contributing to enhance the
stability of the system. Over time, however, cases of corruption, fraud and social
ineffectiveness strengthened the electorate’s frustration and mistrust towards tradi-
tional parties. Voter turnout at the 2018 elections fell to 52.6 per cent.
Basically, Slovenian democracy presents characteristics similar to those of other
democratic European countries, with some authoritarian trends that have emerged
when Janez Janša, the rightist party leader, seized power (Drčar Murko et al.,
2008). The situation is radically different in the other post-Yugoslav small states,
whose multiparty system is dominated by elites interested in preserving the ethnic
segregation of their society in order to better bargain or block reforms, according
to their interests. The most problematic situation is that of Bosnia-Herzegovina, but
Macedonia and Kosovo also suffer from similar shortcomings.
A strict ethnic criterion is applied in Bosnia-Herzegovina, as a consequence
of the Dayton peace treaty (1995) that also includes, among other provisions, the
constitution. The new state was partitioned administratively in two autonomous
entities: the Serbian one (which was centralized), while a second one took the form
of a federation of Bosniaks and Croats, segmented in ten ethnic cantons all of them
with a constitution, governments and ministers. This arrangement was established,
because the US and the EU diplomatic corps negotiated with local warlords, bypass-
196 Handbook on the politics of small states

ing NGOs and gatherings of associations that were opposing the war and its rationale.
As a result, and paradoxically, the liberal Western mediators legitimized the ethnic
criterion in the state-building process, with far-reaching consequences for the whole
‘region’ (Bieber, 2004; Keil, 2016).
Admittedly, as soon as they realized the potential impact of such a decision, they
introduced some mitigating measures, such as the ombudsman, the respect of human
rights and the right of refugees to return to their home. The latter soon became
a principle applied (at least formally) to all displaced persons and refugees of the
Yugoslav successor wars. However, implementation was mostly poor; sometimes
even counterproductive. For example, returnees were often not welcome and quickly
sold their properties (or what remained of them), before leaving their homeland for
ever. Consequently, ethnic cleansing, violently pursued during the military conflict,
continued in peacetime. Democracy was increasingly understood as the representa-
tion of fragmented ethnic interests in all institutions, from the legislative power to
the judiciary, and from the executive power to education. Consistently, in order to
accommodate the requests of politics and its clients, the costs of the public adminis-
tration multiplied enormously, affecting the state budget while weakening the quality
of the services, frustrating the competencies (particularly of the young generations
often educated abroad), opening room to corruption, with the result of increasing the
disappointment and then the resignation of the population.
This perverse mechanism is still opposed by prominent scholars, persons with
mixed marriages, individuals whose personal beliefs and intellectual freedom are (or
simply felt to be) threatened, NGOs and civil society organizations. They produce
programmes, actions, performances, courses in support of dialogue and transnational
cooperation, mostly with the financial support of the EU. Nonetheless, their inci-
siveness is limited. The access to fundamental social, economic and political rights
persistently depends on ethnic affiliation, while governance shows no improvement.
The most relevant reforms require a constitutional revision, which is fiercely rejected
by ethnic parties. Both the US and the EU recurrently proposed changes in order to
increase the effectiveness and the degree of harmonization of the institutions, but
they have been regularly unsuccessful. Essentially, the Republika Srpska does not
accept any constraint to its autonomy, the Bosniaks would enhance the centraliza-
tion, while the Croatian parties demand, with the support of the Catholic Church, the
establishment of a third entity to feel equal to the other ethnic groups. The outcome
is a dead end.
Similar dynamics that guarantee a strong decisional power to nationalist parties
operate in Macedonia and Kosovo, although with local peculiarities. In Macedonia,
for example, an inflammatory situation marked domestic politics between 2015 and
2017. Frequently, the state was on the brink of civil war. The opposition leader,
Zoran Zaev, began to regularly publish a series of files on corruption and abuses
ascribed to the centre-right government. Mass rallies of protest soon intensified. In
this context, a violent crossfire, with tens of victims, occurred in May 2015 between
the Macedonian police and ‘Albanian terrorists’ (apparently coming from Kosovo)
in Kumanovo. The event was never clarified, but potentially could have triggered
 Small states of the Balkans: after Yugoslavia and its ‘third way’ 197

far-reaching and unpredictable consequences, while the attitude of the government

remained foggy and ambivalent. A long institutional crisis followed. The new elec-
tions did not help, because the centre-right did not achieve a clear majority, but the
three Albanian parties became the balance needle in the Parliament. Under these cir-
cumstances, Zaev was able to attract the support of the Albanians, but the President
of the Republic refused to give him the mandate. In his view, the programme of
Zaev’s allies was agreed in Tirana, with the involvement of a foreign government.
Therefore, he worried about the independence of the country. In the end, under pres-
sure from the EU and US, Zaev received the mandate, but he had to release a written
guarantee that his government will not threaten the territorial integrity of the state.
A more problematic issue is that of Kosovo. Despite strong US support and recog-
nition from a large number of states, it remains outside the United Nations and other
international organizations. The key question at the moment is the implementation
of the Brussels agreement, achieved under EU mediation. The deal establishes the
Community of Serbian Municipalities in the North (with the border along the Ibra
river that flows across Kosovska Mitrovica sharply separating the town). In this
case, the Prime Minister of Kosovo Haradinaj is facing vigorous opposition from
the largest political party Vetëvendosje (the name means ‘self-determination’), who
believes that the deal will jeopardize Kosovo’s sovereignty and legitimize the ethnic
partition of the country, as some international scholars and players are also advocat-
ing. However, postponing the implementation implies a delay in the EU integration
processes, both for Serbia and Kosovo. Meanwhile, the separation of the two com-
munities persists, to the detriment particularly of the Serbian communities who live
dispersed in the areas south of the Ibra river, and who represent the majority of the
Serbian population (Janjić and Hisa, 2011).
In short, the above cases show that ethnic belonging is the most powerful group
factor, forcing even small minorities (like the Jews, Roma, Gorani and Vlasi) to
organize accordingly. Particularly among the largest groups, mistrust is stamping
their relations due to the legacy of war. Therefore, democracy is working as a mere
mechanism of collective representation of national interests, which subjugates
individual rights to group belonging. Under these conditions, there is no room for
inclusive institutional policies. Instead, it is animosities and inequality of treatment
that dominate.
However, ethnicity is not the only collective pushing factor. In Kosovo, old patri-
archal traditions dominate in a large part of the country, despite and against the legal
provisions approved by the legislative body in order to meet the ‘requested Western
standard’. For example, family members deny women the right to inherit property
and land, even if the law clearly protects their right. In a few words, group pressures
are powerful in conditioning individual behaviour, because the impact of traditional
links, patriarchal values and codes still affects social relations within a population
whose majority (62 per cent) lives in rural areas and whose cultural education is
locally based, without an international mobility experience, unless addressed to
migration.
198 Handbook on the politics of small states

The democratization/group think dilemma is more sophisticated in Croatia and

Serbia. In Croatia, the traditional party system based on a centre-right/centre-left
divide has defined political struggles over the past two decades; but, in the last
elections, new movements with an undefined orientation have entered Parliament.
The centre-left is currently suffering from a lack of leadership and its role in society
is overshadowed by division and internal struggles. At the same time, lobby groups
outside Parliament increasingly seek to influence legislation. The Catholic Church
is a powerful conservative institution, rightist oriented (often in support of ustaša
rehabilitations) and mostly critical of the current pope. Its support was crucial for
the rise of the ‘u ime obitelji’ (in the name of the family) movement, which collected
a large number of signatures for a referendum that modified the constitution in
2013 by confining marriage to heterosexuals. Similarly, the Catholic group Narod
Odlučuje (People decide) promoted a new referendum in 2018 against the ratification
of the Istanbul convention. Among their proposals, they wish to limit the right of
votes of minorities’ representatives in Parliament. Although their effort has so far
been unsuccessful, their activities show how influential they are with a relevant part
of the electorate. An additional pressure group is that of the veterans of the Yugoslav
succession war, who were able to improve their benefits and rights under the new
governments, after a long period of protests and mass rallies against the previous,
centre-left coalition. Other associations, for example on environmental protection,
reconciliation efforts or those belonging to the LGBT community, have a less effec-
tive voice in Croatian society (Ramet and Matić, 2007).
In Serbia, the articulation of power is slightly different, because power is struc-
tured in a centralized government, whose headquarters is in Belgrade, and an auton-
omous region (Vojvodina). Vučić’s leadership as PM since 2014 and currently as
President of Serbia is strongly contested by the opposition. They complain that his
authoritarian style and the context of fear, intimidation and intolerance are paralys-
ing the country. Some NGOs and independent journalists have protested, because
they were targeted as ‘mercenaries’ or ‘traitors’ in public statements. These issues
have attracted virtually no interest in the EU, because Vučić has the reputation of
a committed and credible partner in negotiations with Kosovo. Recently, he released
a declaration to the Croatian respected weekly newspaper Globus where he admitted
that all Serbs are aware that Kosovo is lost, although he will do his best to avoid
a situation where Serbia would be the only loser (Udelist, 2018; also Murati, 2012).
As for Vojvodina, the region can rely on a variety of competencies, from spatial
planning to environmental protection, multilingualism, tourism, agriculture, culture
and local infrastructure. Minorities can also rely on the newly established National
Councils, a series of organizations whose establishment has been inspired by the old
Austro-Marxist idea of cultural autonomy.
In addition, a number of very different groups lobby for change in Serbia proper.
Some advocate for European integration, others promote ‘cultural decontamina-
tion’ or more tolerance in inter-ethnic relations, particularly with Albanians. In
contrast, different radical factions well rooted in the political arena claim to be the
‘true defenders’ of Serbian identity. Their main aim is to reject any compromise
 Small states of the Balkans: after Yugoslavia and its ‘third way’ 199

on Kosovo by maintaining intense contacts with people in the municipalities of

Northern Kosovo and Republika Srpska. Others publicize revisionist historical
accounts, advocate a return to the monarchy or express their homophobia violently,
when they have the opportunity.
The smallest state of the ‘region’ is Montenegro, a country where Serbs from
Serbia are often working or spending their vacations, since they consider it the safest
area of the former Yugoslavia. Montenegro is culturally very close to Serbia and
shares a long history of solidarity with Belgrade. However, political orientations have
gradually diverged over the last decades. Currently, Montenegro is a parliamentary
republic, a NATO member, and is negotiating EU membership. All these events con-
tribute to enhance the image of a relatively advanced, democratic, and stable small
state, even though the level of domestic polarization is high. On the one hand, the
local Serbian community is claiming the respect of their language rights (while they
do not consider themselves a minority in Montenegro). In this case, group pressures
find support in Serbia, where the cultural and ethnic boundaries with Montenegro are
often disputed, if not totally denied. On the other hand, Montenegro’s NATO mem-
bership was harshly opposed in the country. Allegedly, members of the opposition
organized a plot to kill the long-serving leader Milo Đukanović during election day
in 2016, with the aim of hindering NATO accession. The plot failed, but two Russian
citizens were arrested, among others. At the end of the investigations, the prosecutors
concluded that Russian institutions were actively involved in the coup (Moscow,
however, has sharply denied this). The trial began in 2017, but the real dynamics of
the event remain hazy, leaving public opinion in doubt.
To sum up, the democratization/group dynamic of the small post-Yugoslav states
severely suffers from deep divisions. A confrontational atmosphere is dominating
their societies and affecting their governance. A plurality of irreconcilable parties,
ethnic, religious, military, and social-cultural groups, with different identification
and transnational ‘regional’ links, marks the general context, jeopardizing the con-
struction of cohesive societies. This is the outcome of the brutal Yugoslav collapse:
its political and individual implications are still to be culturally understood and
mentally assimilated, locally and internationally.

THE INFLUENCE/AUTONOMY DILEMMA

The interdependence of the ‘region’ involves the bilateral relations of the small states
as well as their bonds with external players, increasingly interested in influencing the
peninsula for geopolitical and strategic reasons. This is reminiscent of the ‘Eastern
Questions’ of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, but under new, modern
conditions. As in the past, the influence/autonomy dichotomy is not only a ‘one-way
pattern’ to the advantage of the great powers, but also reflects mutual exploitation of
interests, with small states looking for their own opportunities for agency and action.
To start with, human migration and mobility has been particularly intense in recent
decades. The internal flows from rural to urban areas escalated after the Second
200 Handbook on the politics of small states

World War, particularly expanding the capital cities. Recent data confirms that
between 20 and 30 per cent of these small states’ populations now live in Podgorica,
Belgrade, Skopje and Zagreb; while Ljubljana was less affected and the effect on
Sarajevo is unclear. The 1990s wars multiplied the ‘regional’ flows of displaced
people and refugees, generating new demographic structures, whose implications are
still politically contentious and a factor of frustration, hostility and insecurity. For
example, President Vučić visited the associations of Serbian refugees from Croatia
on 4 August 2018, on the day before the triumphant celebrations in Croatia of the
Krajina takeover in 1995. Commenting on those events, he claimed that Croatia
wanted a state without Serbs, as Hitler wanted a world without Jews. He also added
that the implementation of this decision began on 4 August, precisely because this
was the day when Anne Frank and her family were arrested in the Netherlands in
1944 (B92, 2018). The declaration raised sharp reactions in Croatia, fraying fragile
relations with Belgrade. This is the atmosphere that still rules in the Yugoslav cul-
tural space.
‘Regional’ migration flows spilled over, mainly towards Europe, and par-
tially overseas, to the US and Australia. This process began in the middle of the
1960s and accelerated during and after the wars of the 1990s, while the birth
rate declined sharply. As a result, the populations of particularly Serbia, Croatia,
Bosnia-Herzegovina and Kosovo have declined heavily by some 17–20 per cent in
the last two decades (World Bank, 2018). Most of their rural areas are abandoned;
and the countries suffer from an acute ‘brain drain’. However, stable remittance
transfers help to improve local livelihoods while the decline of available human
resources has helped to boost incomes and employment rates.
There is a third effect of the migration flows outside the region: migrants outside the
region have created ‘national associations’ that, especially in the US and Germany,
lobby in support of their own small state, propagating conflicting narratives. These
associations have influenced public opinion and government policies during the wars
and, later, have leveraged the European Commission to develop strategies for involv-
ing their own country of origin in the EU enlargement process. Similar outcomes
– but with a broader regional orientation – were stimulated by pro-European NGOs
and civil society organizations who nurtured their contacts directly with Brussels,
often mitigating the negative attitude of EU officials or policy-makers towards the
perspective of offering EU membership to all Balkan states.
The EU made a public statement in Thessaloniki in 1993 when the membership
was offered to all Yugoslav successor states. This commitment was followed by
a huge flow of financial support to governments, public administrations, universities
and civil societies. According to recent calculations, the aid per capita between
1990 and 2005 to ‘post-Yugoslavia’ was significantly higher than the Marshall Plan
contribution to Western Europe after the Second World War. However, the Western
post-war financial contribution was highly conditional, requiring not only the
implementation of reforms to harmonize local legislations to the Western neoliberal
approach, but also cooperation with the International Criminal Tribunal for former
Yugoslavia (ICTY), the respect of human rights, and peace accords (Bianchini et
 Small states of the Balkans: after Yugoslavia and its ‘third way’ 201

al., 2007). Nonetheless, the coordination of aid was rather ineffective and lacked
consistency. Clearly depending on domestic public opinion, the donors became
more generous after the Dayton agreement and the war over Kosovo, downgrading
their commitment subsequently, when they (wrongly) assessed that the situation was
stabilizing. Moreover, local authorities tried to take advantage of the new situation
using aid for patronage and consolidating their power positions (Bianchini, 2014).
Over time, this mechanism contributed to postpone relevant reforms aimed at
improving industrial competitiveness and economic development, even when GDP
growth was encouraging, but never high enough to decrease the gaps with EU econ-
omies. The EU and US have suggested creating a ‘regional market’ inspired by the
Benelux or CEFTA. At any one time, the proposal has been positively received by
some players, but rejected by others. The main reason was the fear that Yugoslavia
might be re-established. As a result, the trade balance is predominantly bilateral with
EU member states: up to 58 per cent of imports and 70 per cent of exports (according
to Eurostat data of 2017). Furthermore, the private banking system is dominated by
German, Italian and Austrian, and more recently, Hungarian, actors.
From 2013 to 2017, EU interest in the ‘region’ decreased, mainly because of the
EU’s own internal crisis, but also driven by disappointment in the modest political and
economic progress of the Balkan small states. In contrast, NATO was enlarged with
Croatia, Albania and Montenegro, raising Russian concerns. Realizing its declining
role in the post-Yugoslav space, the EU launched a common strategy for the ‘region’
in 2017, under the umbrella of the Berlin process. This strategy sought to reinforce
the development of infrastructure, while the Commission envisaged, for the first time
in years, potential deadlines for new members. The main reason for such renewed
dynamism is, to a large extent, motivated by the EU alarm about the activism of new
players, mainly Russia, China, Turkey and the Emirates – and more recently the US,
which is seen as a less reliable partner under the Trump administration.
Russia is still seen as the main competitor to the West and the main threat to its
sphere of influence in the Balkans. In a renewed context of geopolitical confrontation
with Moscow, the Western effort is currently aimed at curbing the role of Moscow,
which is seeking to preserve some ‘niches’ of influence in the Balkans (Bechev,
2017). However, Moscow is aware of its limited possibilities. Militarily, after the
inclusion of Montenegro, NATO has achieved solid control of the whole Northern
Mediterranean shore. In addition, it can rely on Camp Bondsteel, the US military base
built in Kosovo immediately after the 1999 war. Macedonia might also be included
in NATO as soon as the name agreement with Greece has been ratified. Moscow has
been critical of all these steps and has adopted a multi-vectoral approach as a response.
For example, Russian officials nurture intense contacts with opposition parties in
Montenegro and Macedonia, and the leadership of Republika Srpska. Recently, Putin
has reinforced relations with Croatia, following the initiative of its President, by
expressing interest in investing in agriculture and energy, in evident competition with
the EU project to build a LNG terminal on the Adriatic island of Krk.
Moscow’s cooperation with Belgrade is particularly intense, albeit not without
some Serbian prudence. On one hand, Gazprom acquired the majority of shares of
202 Handbook on the politics of small states

the Serbian multinational corporation of oil and gas (NIS) in 2009. Joint military
exercises have been organized in Serbia since 2014. Moreover, a centre for assisting
in disaster relief cooperation is operating in the urban centre of Niš, although the
US suspects that the centre is actually hosting a Russian military base. On the other
hand, Serbia joined NATO’s Partnership for Peace Agreement in 2009, and initiated
negotiations for EU membership in 2014. Serbia has accepted EU mediation on the
Kosovo issue, and was promised EU membership by 2025 together with Montenegro.
Still, Serbia has refused to apply sanctions to Russia after the Russian annexation of
Crimea and its products enjoy preferential access to the Russian market, although
Russian trade with Serbia in 2015 reached only 9 per cent against the EU share of
62 per cent of the country’s total (Bieri, 2015; LSEE, 2015). However, Belgrade’s
policy depends, to a large extent, on two main factors: the future of the dialogue with
Kosovo and the real perspective of EU membership (Uvalić, 2012).
The question of Kosovo is the real battleground between local interests and great
powers. The recognition of independence is not only a Serbian matter, but also a
‘regional’ and EU issue. Russia recently expressed support to the idea of a borders
exchange, if Serbia would agree. UK and US scholars have frequently raised similar
proposals, suggesting that the Serbian municipalities of Northern Kosovo should
be given to Serbia in exchange of the Preševo Valley (currently in Serbia, but with
a majority of Albanians) to Kosovo. This hypothesis has been formally rejected by
the EU (Bianchini, 2017, p. 273; Less, 2016; Schindler, 2017; Weber and Bajrami,
2018; Janjić, 2018). The fear is that such an act would open Pandora’s box, with
serious territorial repercussions in Bosnia-Herzegovina, Macedonia and Sanjak
(a strip region with a Bosniak majority population between Serbia and Montenegro).
As a result, the ‘region’ still runs the risk of far-reaching alterations.
Meanwhile, China is penetrating the area with huge investments in infrastructure,
which are increasingly connected to the ambitious project of the twenty-first century
‘Belt and Road Initiative’ (BRI). China concentrates on building bridges, railroads,
harbours and motorways to connect the Eastern Mediterranean to the Danube Basin.
Tourism and food distribution are two other sectors where Beijing has been keen to
invest, especially in Croatia.
Turkey, whose relations with NATO are increasingly problematic, is strengthen-
ing its links with the Muslim areas of the Balkans, for example Macedonia, Sanjak
and the federation of Bosnia-Herzegovina, by encouraging the twinning of munici-
palities, building private universities, and offering scholarships to local and Turkish
students. Moreover, Ankara is investing in infrastructure (such as airports), intensi-
fying air connections, and supporting the restoration of mosques. President Erdoğan
is also developing a regional diplomatic profile, which includes promoting a meeting
in Istanbul with the President of Serbia and the Bosniak leader of Bosnia. His public
statements in support of Belgrade have raised alarm in the West, which is also con-
cerned about the influential role of Erdoğan in elections in Bosnia. Meanwhile, the
Emirates have also expressed interest in investing in the ‘region’, including a new
futuristic urban project of Belgrade along the Sava river.
 Small states of the Balkans: after Yugoslavia and its ‘third way’ 203

CONCLUSION

The small post-Yugoslav states are facing the three dilemmas identified in the intro-
ductory chapter of this volume, but each dilemma unfolds in the ‘regional’ context
of the Balkans. The three dilemmas are deeply interconnected. Nationalism remains
predominant, with few exceptions, in public opinion, collective memory and official
statements. As a result, the role of globalization is hardly debated in the public
sphere, although depopulation, brain drain and the increasingly confrontational role
played by a number of the great powers confirm that the ‘region’ is becoming once
again a key geopolitical global battleground, where local authorities try to maximize
their benefits by juggling among the great power competitors.
Nationalism is deeply influencing the democratization process, even at the cost of
affecting social cohesion. The Yugoslav successor states are severely divided within
and between them. Different interest groups play an influential role in government
policies, even when these policies are detrimental to the interests of the majority of
the population, which is becoming increasingly disillusioned and alienated.
Finally, the influence/autonomy dynamic is retracing historical routes, where the
relationships of local and great power interests are intermixed, mirroring a com-
plicated chessboard, despite the opportunities offered by the European integration
process. Growing divisions and uncertainties among the Yugoslav successor states
open old geopolitical wounds, including interference from the great powers. This
threatens the long-term stability and peace of the so-called Western Balkans and
Europe.

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 PART III

MIDDLE EAST AND AFRICA

13. Mediation by small states: Norway and
Sweden in the Israeli–Palestinian conflict
Jacob Eriksson

The classic image – or caricature – of a mediator is of “a single, usually prestigious

figure travelling between capital and capital with a briefcase full of peace plans,
compromise solutions and face-saving formulae, ready to produce these as soon as he
[sic] confronts the leaders of the parties in conflict, hoping that, by use of ingenious
arguments and the force of his [sic] prestige, one or other of his [sic] schemes will
provide the long-sought-for solution” (Mitchell, 1989, p. 287). As this chapter will
show, however, the reality of mediation can be quite different. It involves a vast array
of contributions from different people at various stages of a peace process, and mobi-
lizing the different components towards a successful outcome requires a combination
of skill, diligence and good fortune.
Whether or not a mediator should be powerful (and what power means) remains
the subject of significant debate (Heemsbergen and Siniver, 2011). Some argue that
a mediator should ideally possess power and influence in order to give them leverage
with which to coerce the conflicting parties (Carnevale, 2002; Touval and Zartman,
1985). However, others argue that less powerful mediators may be preferable (Azar
and Moon, 1986; Burton and Dukes, 1990; Kelman, 1992). Such processes focus on
communication and dialogue to explore the issues in dispute, enhance understanding
of the other side, and thereby help them find their own solutions. Given the com-
plexity of conflict resolution processes, both approaches have undeniable merits at
different stages (Eriksson, 2019), but this chapter is particularly concerned with the
latter approach which tends to be adopted by small states.
After briefly exploring the theory of small state mediation, this chapter examines
mediation efforts in the Israeli–Palestinian conflict undertaken by two such coun-
tries, Norway and Sweden, who American negotiator Aaron Miller has referred to as
the “guardian angels of the peace process” (Interview with Aaron Miller, 4 February
2009). Whether or not these channels and their products have had a positive impact
on the conflict resolution process remains hotly debated, but the fact that they had
a significant impact is undeniable. The chosen case studies illustrate the complex
relationships between the state, non-governmental organizations (NGOs) and indi-
viduals in processes of mediation, which are particularly likely when mediation is
undertaken by small, liberal democratic states. The interplay between these different
actors is central to both the Norwegian and Swedish cases. By harnessing the benefits
of these characteristics, such small states are able to project power and influence
internationally beyond what might otherwise be expected.

207
208 Handbook on the politics of small states

SMALL STATE MEDIATION IN THEORY

Bercovitch (1992, p. 7) defines mediation as “a process of conflict management,

related to but distinct from the parties’ own efforts, where the disputing parties or
their representatives seek the assistance, or accept an offer of help, from an indi-
vidual, group, state or organization to change, affect or influence their perceptions
or behaviour, without resorting to physical force or invoking the authority of the
law”. While there are many other definitions available in the literature, the strength
of this interpretation is that it acknowledges the wide variety of possible mediators
and strategies that they can employ, while making no assumptions as to the goals or
expected results of a mediation attempt. This is particularly important when acknowl-
edging the contributions of small state mediators, which are often more subtle than
more powerful mediators who tend to rely on leverage and coercion. Moreover,
these contributions are often one part of a broader peace process, and therefore not
all instances of mediation are geared towards completely resolving a conflict. As
Bercovitch’s definition notes, the main goal is “to change, affect or influence . . .
[the] perceptions or behaviour” of the parties; not necessarily to seek a complete
resolution in one fell swoop, as this is often extremely demanding and unrealistic.
This definition also identifies multiple types of mediators beyond the representa-
tives of sovereign states, such as individuals and organizations, who are highly rele-
vant to understanding the possible complexity of small state mediation. Obviously,
all mediation is conducted by individuals, and a number of personal characteristics
or skills are desirable, such as knowledge of the conflict, empathy, active listen-
ing, communication skills, stamina, patience, and a sense of humour (Bercovitch
and Jackson, 2009, pp. 35–36). However, one has to distinguish the nature of the
individual’s representation; an individual can represent themselves, an NGO, or an
international organization, and each has different implications for their acceptability
as a mediator, the mediation strategies they can use, and what resources they can
bring to bear on the process.
Individuals who represent themselves can often be former officials with relevant
diplomatic experience, academics with expertise in conflict resolution, or members
of a faith group (such as the Quakers) associated with pacifism and peaceful dia-
logue. Similarly, NGOs who mediate normally have a reputation for expertise in
peace and conflict studies, conflict resolution, or a particular conflict or geographic
region. Since they are normally more informal in their approach, it is sometimes dif-
ficult to clearly distinguish between an individual mediator and a representative of an
NGO, as they can represent both interchangeably or simultaneously. The case studies
considered later in the chapter will illustrate these complex dynamics.
Why do conflicting parties consent to the involvement of a particular mediator?
Conflicting parties will submit to mediation only when they believe that the mediator
can act fairly and recognize the importance of their interests (Bercovitch, 2002, p. 12;
Bercovitch and Gartner, 2009, p. 26). The term ‘neutrality’ is often erroneously used
in conjunction with mediation, as this is an ideal which does not exist. Instead, Young
(1967, p. 81) argues that impartiality is key: “a high score in such areas as impartial-
 Norway and Sweden in the Israeli–Palestinian conflict 209

ity would seem to be at the heart of successful interventions in many situations” (also
Princen, 1992). A mediator should be perceived to be impartial, working for the best
interests of both parties, and it is subjective rather than objective impartiality which is
crucial. A third party can have a reputation for impartiality, perhaps through observed
interaction in other peace efforts or a history of finely tuned diplomatic relationships
which can serve to create such a conception and thereby lead to acceptability.
This is primarily a characteristic of individual mediators and small state mediators.
Small states tend to be invited to mediate because of their generally non-threatening
political posture: they do not normally have the capability to directly threaten the
security of the parties (Aggestam, 2002a, p. 65; Bercovitch, 2002, p. 12; Rubin,
1992, p. 267). Their position within the international system is often a criterion used
to deem them suitable, often characterized by existing reputations for skilled diplo-
macy, impartiality or regional expertise. Norway and Sweden, the two case studies in
this chapter, are prime examples.
Leira (2013, pp. 340–346) argues that the origins of Norwegian foreign policy
are rooted in the desire to have “a foreign policy of peace” as distinct from the great
power politics and realpolitik of late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Europe.
Such idealism was seen as a way to overcome a lack of power by pursuing influence
through value diplomacy (Stokke, 2012, p. 213). Prominent humanitarian initiatives
such as the Nansen International Office for Refugees in the 1920s and the legacy
of this work also inform this international reputation (Stokke, 2012, p. 215). As the
Norwegian Ministry of Foreign Affairs argues, “the lack of an imperial past and great
power ambition, coupled with a long-standing peace tradition, close connections
between the state and humanitarian NGOs, readily available funds and broad domes-
tic political consensus made Norway a particularly suitable country for pursuing
mediation” (Leira, 2013, p. 349; see also Stokke, 2012, p. 218).
Similarly, Sweden also has a long-standing tradition of so-called ‘engagement
politics’ of peace. Neutrality as a cornerstone of Swedish foreign policy was predi-
cated upon freedom from alliances in peacetime to ensure credible neutrality in the
event of war. The Cold War foreign policy of ‘active neutrality’ spearheaded by
Social Democratic Prime Minister Olof Palme made Sweden a vocal proponent of
the UN and the underlying principles of the non-use of force, the peaceful resolution
of disputes, and adherence to international law to ensure international peace and
security (Eriksson, 2015, pp. 56–57). This was explicitly designed to protect small
states like Sweden from the threat of more powerful states. At Palme’s funeral,
future Conservative party leader, Prime Minister and Foreign Minister Carl Bildt
said Palme’s outspoken policy “left a distinctive mark on Sweden’s international
engagement” and “made Sweden bigger” (Åström, 1992, p. 141). Later Swedish
foreign policy, such as the focus on conflict prevention in the 1990s, was rooted in
these ideas, described in policy documents as “a natural development of Sweden’s
traditional policy of promoting peace and solidarity” (Björkdahl, 2007, p. 176).
While impartiality is traditionally associated with mediators and small state medi-
ators in particular, it is not always a defining characteristic. Touval (1982, pp. 11–14)
argues that bias on behalf of a mediator is not necessarily a negative factor, but that
210 Handbook on the politics of small states

such a dynamic can work in a variety of different ways. After all, ‘confidence’ in
a mediator is the key desirable attribute, which can stem from a variety of different
factors. Influencing factors such as “common bonds, history, experiences, values,
and interests”, can “all act to establish a degree of familiarity, rapport, understand-
ing, trust, and acceptability of a mediator” with one of the parties (Bercovitch and
Houston, 2000, p. 181). A mediator with strong links to one side can indeed jeopard-
ize their accountability by appearing biased, but at the same time a close relationship
or a certain degree of influence over one party can also be useful to the other. Each
side must consider the possible utility of having a particular mediator involved.
During the Iranian hostage crisis (1979–81), for example, when Iranian revolutionar-
ies stormed the US embassy in Tehran and held 53 Americans hostage for 444 days,
Algeria played the vital role of intermediary in the efforts to negotiate their release.
Having fought a war of independence themselves not long before, the Algerians had
the necessary revolutionary credentials to make them acceptable to the Iranians, and
they in turn admired the Islamic revolution in Iran. Algerian–American relations
were not directly unfriendly, but were in this case aided by the fact that the Algerians
had never publicly endorsed or condemned the embassy takeover (Carnevale, 2002,
p. 30; Slim, 1992, p. 208).
Mediation is a complex, intensive process, so why would a mediator choose to
mediate? Individuals, whether representing themselves, states or organizations, may
opt to mediate in order to enhance their personal prestige and international profile.
Success on the international scene can translate into important domestic political
capital, or an enhanced reputation can be important for advancement within inter-
national organizations. Officials may be trying to secure a foreign policy success,
a historical legacy, or a Nobel Peace Prize. Involvement in a high-profile peace
process can serve to enhance the image and reputation of the individual but crucially
also of the institution represented, by demonstrating adherence to ideals prized and
respected by the majority of the international community. For states, for example,
mediation can represent a foreign policy strategy to magnify and project power or
increase international status. After its role in the negotiation of the Oslo Agreement,
Norway became synonymous with the peaceful resolution of disputes. Norwegians
representing either the state or NGOs have since been called upon by a multitude
of conflicting parties to help reach negotiated resolutions, such as in Afghanistan,
Bosnia-Herzegovina, Colombia, Guatemala, Libya, the Philippines and Sri Lanka
(Stokke, 2012, p. 208). Beyond foreign policy interests, Leira (2013, p. 339) and
Stokke (2012, p. 210) emphasize the domestic importance of a normative liberal
drive as a key motivator for Norwegian policy, and argue that this is where the policy
originally emerged.
How do small states mediate? There are three commonly identified strategies in
the mediation literature (Beardsley et al., 2006; Bercovitch, 1992, 2002; Bercovitch
and Gartner, 2009; Touval and Zartman, 1985; Wilkenfeld et al., 2003), two of which
are particularly relevant to small states. First, there is the role of ‘facilitator’, where
the mediator serves primarily as a host for communication between the two parties.
A facilitator can communicate messages between them if their relationship makes
 Norway and Sweden in the Israeli–Palestinian conflict 211

direct interaction impossible, arrange interactions between the parties, and give
them a secure space to clearly identify interests, issues and points of contention or
agreement to improve mutual understanding. There is, however, no substantive con-
tribution to the negotiations themselves, and the mediator is not present at the table.
This strategy represents an unintrusive form of mediation also referred to as ‘pure’
mediation (Aggestam, 2002b, p. 73), which Bercovitch (2002, p. 12) has identified
as the role where small states are at their most useful.
Second, similar to the role of facilitator but more involved is the role of ‘formu-
lator’. Here, the mediator exercises a greater degree of control over the meetings in
terms of their frequency, pace, formality, protocol and procedures, and the physical
setting. A formulator thus continues to develop the relationship between the parties,
but can also make some substantive suggestions or proposals if they deem it appro-
priate or requested by the parties.
Third, there is the role of ‘manipulator’. It is a coercive strategy, in that the
mediator often uses material power and leverage to guide the negotiations, by for
example pressuring the parties to be flexible or rewarding concessions by promising
resources. In other words, the mediator offers ‘carrots’ or ‘sticks’ to the parties.
Clearly, there are limits on the choice of strategy imposed by the nature of the
mediator itself. Small states are unlikely to be in a position to exert serious lever-
age on parties to extract concessions or to ensure compliance with an agreement.
Rather, they tend to use tools of moral and intellectual persuasion to their advantage.
However, as a formulator they can affect the negotiations significantly by setting
agendas and guiding them in a particular direction, which may overlap with their own
interests (Smed and Wivel, 2017, p. 82). Alternatively, they may need or want the
acquiescence or tacit backing of great powers to enable their mediation to even take
place, as one of the case studies in this chapter illustrates.
A final element of mediation strategy relates to the distinction between formal
and informal mediation (Aggestam, 2002a, pp. 58–60; Bercovitch, 2002, pp. 10–11).
‘Track II diplomacy’ has become an important element in conflict resolution, and as
this chapter will demonstrate, has been prominent in the Israeli–Palestinian conflict
context. The term comes from the concept of two levels of interaction; one formal,
often publicly acknowledged, known as Track I, while Track II is informal and often
clandestine. While there are many different types of Track II talks (Jones, 2015,
pp. 7–31), this chapter focuses on those which are discussions between unofficial
representatives of conflicting parties looking to explore the options for resolving their
conflict, thereby preparing the ground for official negotiations. Participants should
ideally have a connection to decision-makers on each side in order to make the fruits
of their talks potentially politically meaningful. The informality allows parties to
improve their understanding of the other side’s position and bottom lines, exchange
ideas freely, and explore potentially controversial solutions without commitment
(Agha et al., 2003, p. 1; Jones, 2015, pp. 24–25; Klein and Malki, 2006, p. 113).
212 Handbook on the politics of small states

THE OSLO CHANNEL

It was perhaps fitting that when US President Bill Clinton oversaw the handshake
between Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin and PLO Chairman Yasser Arafat on
the White House lawn on 13 September 1993, the Norwegian mediators who had suc-
cessfully brokered the agreement were not in the limelight. After all, they had created
this breakthrough by providing a secret alternative to the official US-dominated
negotiating process. US Secretary of State James Baker and his peace team worked
hard to put the Madrid Conference of October 1991 together, which was a significant
achievement. However, while American pressure had formally brought selected
representatives together, it was not applied to generate any concessions in the nego-
tiations that ensued in Washington, DC (Kurtzer et al., 2013, pp. 31–33; Rynhold,
2007, p. 424).
These negotiations and the multilateral working groups held in parallel demon-
strated the limits of these official and publicly known channels. They mainly served
as fora for political posturing to sceptical domestic constituencies extremely sensitive
to any concessions or renunciation of principles (Aggestam, 2002a, p. 61; Kurtzer et
al., 2013, p. 33). This prevented any real discussion of the issues, since negotiators
were wary of giving away too much and being personally associated with controver-
sial positions. A “war of microphones was being waged” which, over months of talks,
“degenerated into sour name-calling by both sides” (Corbin, 1994, p. 17).
Another significant weakness was Israel’s refusal to allow official representation
of the PLO, insisting instead on Palestinian representatives from the West Bank
(excluding East Jerusalem). As a result, Palestinian negotiators always had to consult
PLO representatives in Tunis, the real centre of Palestinian political power, who
were reluctant to move at all in a process from which they had been excluded. Terje
Rød-Larsen, head of Norway’s Institute for Applied International Studies (FAFO),
and his wife Mona Juul, a Norwegian diplomat, reached this conclusion during their
involvement in the multilateral working group on refugees in Ottawa (Interview with
Terje Rød-Larsen, 11 February 2009). Juul had previously served at the Norwegian
embassy in Cairo, while Larsen had taken the opportunity to conduct a study on
living conditions in Gaza through FAFO, thus developing expertise on the conflict
and a contact network in Israel and the Palestinian territories.
A number of Israelis and Palestinians shared the belief that secretive communica-
tion facilitation was required in order for Israel and the PLO to communicate directly.
In April 1992, Larsen met Israeli Deputy Foreign Minister Yossi Beilin, who had
been advocating talks with the PLO for years, and they agreed on the need for secret
talks. So too did his academic associates, Yair Hirschfeld and Ron Pundak, who had
engaged in intensive dialogue with the local Palestinian leadership in the West Bank,
including Hanan Ashrawi, Faisal Husseini and Sari Nusseibeh. In these talks, “the
message from the local Palestinians was that, on all issues, if we would like to see
progress, we must speak with the PLO” (Interview with Ron Pundak, 7 May 2009).
Israeli, Norwegian and Palestinian thinking was thus aligned.
 Norway and Sweden in the Israeli–Palestinian conflict 213

The nature of the mediator and the participants, however, remained unclear.
Norwegian Foreign Minister Thorvald Stoltenberg had for many years sought to
develop contacts between Israel and the PLO, and had offered his government’s
services to the parties as a mediator multiple times, without success (Waage, 2002,
pp. 604–607). One such instance was in September 1992, when Deputy Foreign
Minister Jan Egeland, Larsen, and Juul met Beilin and Hirschfeld in Israel to discuss
a possible alternative channel. Waage (2002, p. 609) recounts how Egeland repeat-
edly offered Beilin the services of the Foreign Ministry but that Beilin was reticent,
presumably for fear of being politically connected to such an initiative at such
a preliminary stage. Faisal Husseini had been envisioned as a potential Palestinian
participant, but it later became clear that Arafat had forbidden his participation,
which he feared would undermine the PLO (Interview with Terje Rød-Larsen, 11
February 2009). Hanan Ashrawi instead suggested Abu Ala, a prominent Palestinian
banker heading the Fatah financial institution, Samed, and a PLO member. Through
Juul, Larsen had previously met Abu Ala, and the two had maintained contact.
Larsen presided over a secret meeting between Hirschfeld and Abu Ala in London
in December, and after Larsen travelled with Abu Ala to meet Arafat in Tunis later
that month and get his endorsement, all the pieces were in place (Corbin, 1994, p. 34;
Jones, 1999, p. 112).
The secret talks which began in January 1993 under Larsen’s stewardship,
between Hirschfeld and Pundak on the Israeli side, and Abu Ala, Hassan Asfour, and
Maher al-Kurd on the Palestinian side, can predominantly be characterized as Track
II, despite the fact that Abu Ala was a PLO representative. The Israeli negotiators
were both academics, and the talks were being held in parallel to the Track I talks
in Washington. Larsen was mediating either in an individual personal capacity or as
a representative of FAFO, depending on one’s perspective. Larsen’s personality was
central to the atmosphere, known as the “Oslo spirit”, that characterized the talks
(Waage, 2002, p. 600). FAFO was organizing the logistics, paying the associated
bills, and providing cover for the talks and hence deniability should they be exposed.
The ability to “avoid the reporting and filing routines which civil servants are bound
by” helped further guarantee secrecy (Larsen in Waage, 2008, p. 59).
Note that the Norwegian Ministry of Foreign Affairs was not directly involved
at this stage. As illustrated earlier, Egeland had been assigned to lend support and
prepare the ground for the talks in any way possible. Wary of upsetting the US,
who was their ally and the principal mediator, Juul and Egeland had travelled to
Washington, DC in the summer of 1992 and sounded out the Deputy Assistant
Secretary of State for Near Eastern Affairs at the State Department, Dan Kurtzer,
who advised them to proceed and correctly predicted American indifference to
the idea (Interview with Dan Kurtzer, 13 February 2009; Eriksson, 2015, p. 101).
Moreover, the Norwegian Foreign Ministry gave substantial support and funding
to FAFO and its activities, including the Oslo channel, to the point where Agha et
al. (2003, pp. 49–50) argue that it should not be considered an NGO. Although not
directly involved in the talks, key members of the Ministry like Egeland had exten-
sive personal relationships with Larsen and FAFO. Larsen’s wife Juul was working
214 Handbook on the politics of small states

with Egeland in the Ministry, and they were friends of Stoltenberg. This enabled
informal communication about the channel without arousing suspicion, and helped
further the already strong relationship between state and civil society.
These personal links were further strengthened when Johan Jørgen Holst became
the Norwegian Foreign Minister in April 1993, as he and his wife Marianne (who
was a researcher at FAFO) were close friends with Larsen and Juul. When Larsen
raised the idea of Holst meeting Abu Ala and involving him in the talks, Holst
initially refused on the grounds that he did not think it would succeed (Interview
with Terje Rød-Larsen, 11 February 2009). However, he then joined the enterprise
in May shortly before the Israeli delegation was upgraded and led by Uri Savir
from the Israeli Ministry of Foreign Affairs. At this point, it ceased to be a Track II
exercise and became a secret, official back-channel. Details of a draft Declaration of
Principles were negotiated in July, during which time Holst, Larsen and Juul shuttled
between Tunis, Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, delivering letters and conveying messages
but also encouraging each party that the other was acting in good faith (Eriksson,
2015, p. 106; Waage, 2005, pp. 12–15). An extensive negotiation session to finalize
the agreement was held in Stockholm, where the Norwegian trio sat with Israeli
Foreign Minister Shimon Peres and his team, and Holst passed positions over the
phone to the Palestinians in Tunis. While this was facilitation, Holst later became an
active formulator when negotiating the wording of the mutual recognition between
Israel and the PLO in Paris in early September (Beilin, 1999, p. 127; Interview with
Yossi Beilin, 12 May 2009; Qurie, 2006, pp. 239–240; Waage, 2005, pp. 15–17).
Different scholars place different emphasis on the role of the state and the role
of Larsen and FAFO as the reason for the Oslo channel’s existence. In her analysis,
Waage (2002, p. 601) emphasizes the history of Norwegian policy towards the
parties as “the most crucial element” to Norwegian involvement, citing Arafat’s his-
torical interest in involving Norway as a mediator due to their excellent relations with
Israel. However, Pundak argued that Norway was one option among many and was
not selected on the basis of their historical engagement (Interview with Ron Pundak,
7 May 2009). Rather, Larsen’s commitment and energy, combined with the close
relationship between FAFO and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, were the central
components. Aggestam (2002a) acknowledges the difficulty of separating the formal
(state) and informal (NGO) elements of the Oslo channel, because it was both at
different points. While Waage (2002, 2005) and Eriksson (2015) both acknowledge
the formal and informal roles, they differ in their emphasis, with the latter focusing
on Larsen as the linchpin. Aggestam (2002a, p. 68) argues that the deepened role
Holst eventually played in the negotiation of mutual recognition was made possible
because of the credibility he and Norway accrued through the previous negotiations,
an argument lent credence by the rejection of Stoltenberg and Egeland’s early offers
to mediate.
In 2007, a spokesperson for the Norwegian Foreign Ministry stated that the
Ministry “had a very limited involvement in the secret negotiations. On behalf of
Norway, it was mainly Foreign Minister Holst and Larsen from FAFO who were
involved” (Waage, 2008, p. 60). In a similar vein, Aggestam (2002a) has described
 Norway and Sweden in the Israeli–Palestinian conflict 215

Holst and Larsen as individual mediators. While Larsen’s personal role has been
addressed above and is more complex, it is difficult to conceive of a sitting Foreign
Minister not being affected by this association, whether positively or negatively.
Indeed, when Holst was mediating the mutual recognition and Oslo was no longer
a secret, he felt that not only was his personal prestige on the line, but also his coun-
try’s; his main concern was to “protect the Norwegian peace project and Norway’s
role” (Waage, 2005, p. 16).

THE BEILIN–ABU MAZEN UNDERSTANDINGS1

Far from a fully-fledged peace agreement, the full title of the Oslo Agreement
was “The Declaration of Principles on interim self-government arrangements”,
accompanied by the mutual recognition mediated by Holst. As this suggests, it was
a framework agreement which started the negotiating process and provided for
interim arrangements, but left all of the deeply contentious final status issues (such as
Jerusalem, borders, illegal Israeli settlements, and the Palestinian refugee question)
unresolved. Based on the principle of ‘gradualism’, the idea was that the gradual
implementation of different interim agreements would generate the trust required
to eventually approach the final status issues in good faith (Eriksson, 2015, p. 121).
Beilin, Hirschfeld and Pundak, however, argued that the ‘gradualism’ of Oslo
would fail without a clearer understanding of what a final peace agreement would
look like (Eriksson, 2013, pp. 211–212). In the summer of 1994, they met with two
Palestinian academic counterparts, Hussein Agha and Ahmad Khalidi, both based in
the UK. Together, they developed a joint proposal for a set of Track II talks to draw
up the contours of a final status agreement, effectively seeking to apply the successful
strategy used in Oslo; the progress they made in a Track II setting was then intended
to be used as a basis for future formal Track I negotiations, when the time came
(Agha et al., 2003, pp. 71–72).2 When looking for external sponsors for the initiative,
Agha happened to be at a conference in Stockholm and gave the proposal to members
of the Swedish Ministry of Foreign Affairs who in turn passed it on to the Swedish
Foreign Minister, Margareta af Ugglas, who quickly expressed interest in funding it.
Although the academics were aware of Sweden’s stance as outspoken advocates of
Palestinian statehood and the two-state solution since the days of Olof Palme in 1974,
and Foreign Minister Sten Andersson’s role in brokering the opening of relations
between the US and the PLO in 1988, this did not immediately inform the decision to
approach the Swedes. The Swedish connection was, in other words, simply fortuitous
(Interview with Hussein Agha, 13 September 2010; Interview with Ahmad Khalidi, 9
September 2010; Eriksson, 2015, pp. 122–123).

1
While this is the commonly used name for the document that was produced, the
Palestinian participants prefer to call it “the Stockholm document”.
2
The Declaration of Principles had stipulated that final status talks were to begin no later
than 4 May 1996.
216 Handbook on the politics of small states

While the talks were initially sponsored by the Foreign Ministry, who also
devoted a budget to it, management of the talks was delegated to an NGO, the Olof
Palme International Center (OPIC). Following elections in September 1994, the
Social Democrats (the Labour Party) came to power and the new Foreign Minister,
Lena Hjelm-Wallén, was supportive of the talks but was not an expert on the
Israeli–Palestinian conflict. She deferred the issue to former Foreign Minister Sten
Andersson, who in December became the official government envoy on the peace
process. In November, he had also become the new chairman of OPIC, which had
its roots in the Social Democratic Party. OPIC’s new director, Sven-Eric Söder, had
been involved in Palestinian–Swedish NGO relations since the 1980s and had nomi-
nated Andersson as chairman to further these links. Although Söder was unaware of
the proposed talks, the idea of a possible secret channel similar to Oslo had in fact
been on his mind when suggesting Andersson. Together with Andersson and Söder,
Ann Dismorr from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs completed the main team of facil-
itators (Eriksson, 2015, pp. 125–126).
The eponymous mentors of the talks were Beilin on the Israeli side and Abu Mazen,
otherwise known as Mahmoud Abbas, on the Palestinian side, widely considered to
be the second-most senior figure in the PLO after Arafat. Having been involved in the
secret Oslo channel and as a long-time advocate of a two-state solution, Abu Mazen
was entrusted by Arafat to supervise the talks. Each set of negotiators briefed their
respective mentors, but for purposes of deniability they did not attend the sessions
in Sweden.
Much like the Oslo channel, there were thus both formal and informal elements to
these talks. They were clearly anchored in the Foreign Ministry, as the initiative had
originally been sponsored and funded by them, Andersson was a government envoy,
and Dismorr was a sitting diplomat. In addition to their informal discussions with the
academics, Ministry officials were briefed on the progress of the talks. Moreover,
prior to the handover from the Foreign Ministry to OPIC, Pierre Schori, a Swedish
Social Democrat and diplomat friend of Yossi Beilin’s, had met with Beilin and
promised to protect the talks and ensure that they survived the change of government
(Eriksson, 2015, pp. 126–127). However, Andersson was also simultaneously an
NGO representative and OPIC provided a level of deniability, crucially helping
keep the talks secret by arranging all the necessary logistics, although security was
provided by SÄPO, the Swedish Security Service. Furthermore, the Israeli and
Palestinian participants were academics, which made it a more traditional Track II
activity (Agha et al., 2003, p. 78).
Again, similarly to Oslo, personality played a big part. Agha has praised
Andersson’s involvement in particular, observing that “he never tried to take sides
at all. . . . Privately, he was very reassuring, of course, but he did not interfere in any
of the meetings. Whenever there were arguments, whenever the atmosphere was
heated, he always tried to cool it down without taking sides, and by stepping back
from the substance and trying just to save the moment. And he was very good at that”
(Interview with Hussein Agha, 13 September 2010).
 Norway and Sweden in the Israeli–Palestinian conflict 217

After some 21 meetings throughout 1995, the academics outlined the principles
of a final status agreement, focusing on the core issues of borders, settlements,
refugees, and Jerusalem (Agha et al., 2003, p. 71). A working draft of the document
ready to be presented to Rabin and Arafat bore the date of 1 November 1995, just
over a month after the signing of the Oslo II interim agreement. While Arafat was
happy to use them as the basis for future discussion – in his characteristic manner,
he was happy to pursue multiple avenues without necessarily committing to any one
(Interview with Hussein Agha, 13 September 2010; Interview with Ahmad Khalidi,
9 September 2010) – Israeli adoption of the document was marred by a combination
of circumstance and content. On 4 November 1995, just days before they were due
to be presented to Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, he was assassinated at a peace rally
in Tel Aviv. A week later when Beilin presented them to Rabin’s successor, Shimon
Peres, the new Prime Minister did not endorse them. In the difficult atmosphere
following the assassination, Peres did not want to introduce something which had the
potential to further divide the secular and religious elements of Israeli society. The
Oslo II interim agreement had recently been reached, and Peres wanted to implement
it before moving to the final status issues. Moreover, he had doubts about an Israeli
withdrawal from the Jordan Valley of the West Bank, a concept which the document
endorsed (Eriksson, 2013, p. 217).
Although the document did not become the basis for official negotiations as its cre-
ators had hoped, it nonetheless became a point of reference in future final status nego-
tiations, for example at the failed Camp David summit in 2000. A number of ideas
now widely considered fundamental to a potential two-state solution were presented
there for the first time. First, what is Arab in Jerusalem goes to the Palestinians, and
what is Jewish goes to Israel. Second, the idea of land swaps. Third, the distinction
between the right of return and the actual physical exercising of that right. Fourth, the
idea that the Jordan River can be the security border of Israel, but not the sovereign
border (Agha et al., 2003, pp. 72–75; Eriksson, 2013, p. 222). The document thus had
a profound impact on thinking about the contours of a two-state solution.

CONCLUSION

When it comes to mediation, small states are in a position to offer a number of advan-
tages that other larger, more powerful, or high profile states cannot. As this chapter
has shown, small states are able to more readily provide venues for secret negotia-
tions away from the public eye. This level of secrecy can be crucial when negotiating
sensitive issues, such as those involved in protracted, identity-based conflicts like
the Israeli–Palestinian case. Norway and Sweden each had their own history of
involvement in the conflict which undoubtedly contributed to their mediation roles,
but their broader political identities as small, non-threatening states with reputations
for diplomacy were crucial. All of these different elements helped create the trust
necessary to be accepted as a mediator.
218 Handbook on the politics of small states

As the two case studies demonstrate, there are different ways to view the suita-
bility of Norway and Sweden as mediators in this conflict. Some have emphasized
the relevant historical engagement of the government, others stress the personalities
involved, and some argue that the mediator role was essentially fortuitous. However,
it is also plausible that the political nature and political culture of the two states
was critical to the effectiveness of the mediation. As liberal democracies, they have
vibrant civil societies which also have a relationship with the state; but nonetheless
stand apart from it in important ways. These formal and informal relationships were
central to the establishment and (at least partial) success of the two channels pre-
sented. Alternative political systems would not necessarily have these resources or
structures to draw on.
Consequently, it is difficult to generalize from the Norwegian and Swedish expe-
rience to all small states. Both Norway and Sweden are not only liberal democracies,
but are comparatively secure due to their demography and wealth.3 As a result, they
have the resources available to focus on issues beyond their borders, which many
other small states lack. However, it is important to acknowledge that this security
also stems from and is reinforced by their foreign policy posture based around inter-
national law, conflict prevention and peace, which is deemed a strategic international
interest. The literature on small states emphasizes the interest of small states in
a peaceful and institutionalized international system (Thorhallsson and Steinsson,
2017). This could therefore be a common shared agenda among small states more
widely, depending on how they perceive and understand their own interests.
For analysts of mediation, the mingling of state and non-state actors also generates
tricky questions. To what extent can we separate the state from civil society in these
instances, or the individuals from the organizations they are associated with? How
can we credit the roles that each actor plays in any successful mediation? The com-
plexity of the two cases examined here demonstrates that this is not always possible.
For all of the strengths of small states and NGOs as mediators, one must also
acknowledge their limitations. A more coercive mediator would have a greater
ability to affect the substance of negotiations. The substance of the Oslo agreement
in particular has been the subject of heavy criticism, but Larsen argues that Oslo was
the best that could have been achieved at that point in time (Interview with Terje
Rød-Larsen, 11 February 2009; Eriksson, 2015, p. 111; Rothstein, 2006, p. 343).
As the Oslo process showed, the Norwegians were also unable to ensure compli-
ance with the agreement they helped deliver. The lack of coercive power that made
them attractive was simultaneously a shortcoming when it came to implementation
(Waage, 2005). While this goes beyond the mediation of the agreement itself, more
powerful mediators are often called upon to play this role, which falls under the
definition of a manipulation mediation strategy.

3
One could argue that their peripheral position in northern Europe also contributes
towards this security; although Stokke (2012, p. 213) argues that Norway’s geostrategic loca-
tion in fact adds to this vulnerability.
 Norway and Sweden in the Israeli–Palestinian conflict 219

When considering the Beilin–Abu Mazen Understandings, even though they

affected broader thinking about the outlines of a two-state solution, they were not
used as a framework for final status negotiations and thus failed to accomplish
their goal. Moreover, when the document was leaked to the public in early 1996, it
harmed the Labour leadership in the upcoming Israeli election campaign as the party
more broadly and Peres specifically became associated with the concessions it was
perceived to contain, despite the fact that he did not adopt those positions (Eriksson,
2013, pp. 220–221).
Whether one focuses on the successes or the failures associated with these two
examples, it is undeniable that these instances of small state mediation had a signifi-
cant impact on the conflict, on how the parties related to one another, and on thinking
about a possible peaceful solution. As the late Ron Pundak observed, “if ever peace
will be achieved, the contribution of these two countries is huge” (Interview with Ron
Pundak, 7 May 2009).

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This chapter is based on my 2015 book – Small-state mediation in international

conflicts: diplomacy and negotiation in Israel-Palestine (London: I. B. Tauris) – and
a 2013 book chapter – Israeli Track II diplomacy: the Beilin-Abu Mazen understand-
ings – in C. Jones and T. Petersen (Eds.), Israel’s clandestine diplomacies (London:
Hurst & Co).

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14. Politics and economy in small African
island states: comparing Cabo Verde and
São Tomé and Príncipe
Edalina Rodrigues Sanches and Gerhard Seibert

INTRODUCTION

Small island states are markedly different, in terms of their social, political and
economic landscapes, when compared to larger and non-island states. They claim
to be more culturally homogeneous and cohesive and stand out for being more
democratic, for promoting more direct forms of political participation, and for using
power sharing institutions (Anckar, 2008; Anckar, 2002, 2010, 2018; Prasad, 2008;
Veenendaal and Corbett, 2014). However, the politics of daily life in smaller juris-
dictions is far more complex; the supremacy of personalism and informal linkages
means that formal institutions have less impact in how politics actually plays out,
and this can either hinder or foster democratic politics (Baldacchino, 2012; Corbett
and Veenendaal, 2018). Economically speaking, small island states have inherent
disadvantages – remoteness, isolation and vulnerability to economic shocks – but
some success stories show that effective economic policies can help improve the
living standards of their populations (Baldacchino and Milne, 2000; Briguglio, 1995;
Prasad, 2008; Silve, 2012).
Some of these features are present in the five small African island states with
less than 1.5 million inhabitants: Cabo Verde, São Tomé and Príncipe, Comoros,
Seychelles and Mauritius (see Table 14.1). These five nations gained independence
between 1968 and 1976, when most countries across the continent had already
acquired that status. As much as elsewhere, anti-colonial political movements,
informed by socialist ideological frameworks, played an instrumental role in the
negotiation processes leading up to independence. In the aftermath of independence,
all cases except Mauritius and Comoros adopted socialist single-party constitu-
tions that outlawed opposition political parties: however, in practice, the Comoros
functioned as a single party regime (Clemente-Kersten, 1999; Fleischhacker, 1999;
Poupko, 2017; Thibaut, 1999).
While Mauritius became democratic shortly after independence, and remains one
of the most exemplary democracies in Africa, the other islands experienced regime
change in the early 1990s, during the African democratic wave (Bratton and van de
Walle, 1997). Cabo Verde and São Tomé and Príncipe joined Mauritius in the group
of liberal democracies – that is, ranked ‘free’ by Freedom House – in 1991; but Cabo
Verde managed to stand out in world/regional indices as an exceptional democracy,

222
 Politics and economy in small African island states 223

Table 14.1 Background information on the five small African island states

GDP
IIAG
Former Year of HDI (Africa (current
Country Population (Africa
colonial power independence rank) US$) per
rank)
capita
Cabo Verde Portugal 1975 546,390 0.654 (11) 71.2 (5) 1,772
Comoros France 1975 813,910 0.503 (32) 53.6 (25) 1,068
United
Mauritius 1968 1,264,610 0.790 (2) 84.6 (1) 13,266
Kingdom
São Tomé and
Portugal 1975 197,500 0.589 (17) 64.9 (11) 393
Príncipe
United
Seychelles 1976 95,840 0.797 (1) 83.8 (2) 1,498
Kingdom

Sources: World Bank, Human Development Index (HDI), Ibrahim Index of African Governance (IIAG).
Date relates to 2017.

with stable institutions and good governance performance (Baker, 2006; Meyns,
2002; Sanches, 2018a, 2018b; Seibert, 2002, 2006, 2016). Comoros and Seychelles
are classified as electoral democracies, and still struggle to fortify their institutions.
Comoros is the most fragile regime in this sample, as it has experienced continuous
political instability since independence, with several successive coups taking place
as a result of inter-island rivalry and the reluctance of its elites to share political
power (Baker, 2009; Poupko, 2017). Moreover, Comoros’s fourth island (Maoré or
Mayotte) remains under French control and voted on 29 March 2009 to become a full
overseas department of the former colonial power (Massey and Baker, 2009).
In terms of economic development, the case of Mauritius has been widely praised
as an African success story (Osei-Hwedie, 2000; Sobhee, 2009). However, Seychelles
is also improving on some important social indicators. Both countries are Africa’s
top ranked countries on the Human Development Index (HDI) and on the Ibrahim
Index of African Governance (IIAG). Cabo Verde and São Tomé and Príncipe also
score fairly well on both indices, particularly when compared to resource-rich coun-
tries such as the small-sized Equatorial Guinea or the larger Nigeria and Angola.
Finally, Comoros exhibits the lowest levels of development (ranks 32 out of 54 in
HDI) as well as weak governance performance out of these five small island states
(25 out of 54 in IIAG) (Table 14.1).
The political and economic performance of each of these individual cases is
remarkable. Despite the odds, they managed to transition to at least a minimal form
of democracy and to improve their economic and social indicators, albeit at different
speeds. To better understand the multiparty and economic trajectories of African
small island states, we here carry out a comparative study of Cabo Verde and São
Tomé and Príncipe. These are two relatively homogeneous Creole societies with
a similar colonial experience (Nascimento, 2012; Seibert, 2014). They negotiated
and acquired independence from Portugal and had to organize national elections to
sanction the transfer of power. At independence they installed socialist one-party
224 Handbook on the politics of small states

regimes, which in the late 1980s began to implement liberalization reforms to

counteract economic and political crises. The process culminated in the introduction
of multiparty democracy with a semi-presidential regime in 1990. Despite these
similarities, they differ in the pervasiveness of personalism in politics, the nature of
political parties, government stability, and in the way they have faced their develop-
ment challenges. This chapter’s main goal is precisely to describe and clarify these
political and economic developments.
Following this introductory section, the second section discusses political trends
in both countries, with an emphasis on the functioning of democratic politics: the
nature of party politics, elections and institutional relations between government and
president. The third section examines the presumed vulnerabilities and opportunities
of economic development in Cabo Verde and São Tomé and Príncipe and reflects
on how these states responded to these opportunities and challenges. The conclu-
sion summarizes the main findings of this study and raises implications for further
research.

POLITICS IN SMALL AFRICAN STATES

Cabo Verde and São Tomé and Príncipe are small states with fairly well functioning
democracies, but they each represent different sides of the ‘small is beautiful’ debate.
In the following sections, we explore how and why politics is more consensual in the
former and more conflict-prone in the latter.

Cabo Verde: Building a Stable Party System and Symmetric Intra-Executive

Relations

Cabo Verde comprises 10 islands (net area 4,033 km²) and almost half of its popula-
tion of 546,000 (2017) lives on Santiago, the main island, where the capital, Praia, is
located. After five centuries of colonization, the country became independent from
Portugal on 5 July 1975, under the direction of Partido Africano da Independência da
Guiné e Cabo Verde (PAIGC): a party founded by Amílcar Cabral and other national-
ists in 1956 in Bissau, to struggle for total independence and socialist development of
Guinea-Bissau and Cabo Verde (Andrade, 2002; Foy, 1988; PAIGC, 1974). Thanks
to the PAIGC’s successful armed struggle in its territory, Guinea-Bissau unilaterally
declared independence in 1973. While Cabo Verde experienced no armed conflict,
the PAIGC had to organize elections to legitimize the transfer of power. Following
Constitutional Assembly elections that approved the PAIGC’s lists, independence
was proclaimed and Aristides Pereira and Pedro Pires were designated President
and Prime Minister respectively. The PAIGC subsequently installed a one-party
socialist regime which outlawed opposition parties. The Organic Law of the Political
Organization of the State served as a transitory constitution until 1980, when a new
constitution was adopted following the rupture with Guinea-Bissau and the formation
of the Partido Africano da Independência de Cabo Verde (PAICV) in 1981.
 Politics and economy in small African island states 225

The PAICV remained in power for the following decade, but started reforming the
regime from the mid-1980s onward, as a reaction to political and economic crisis.
Between 1985 and 1987, a series of laws – e.g. electoral law giving more decision
power over the composition of party lists, press law and association law – helped
expand the sphere of political participation (Sanches, 2018b, p. 74). The reforming
strategy continued in the Third Party Congress in November 1988 which embraced
privatization more openly and altered the fundamentals of the social contract
(Koudawo, 2001; Lima, 1992; Silva, 2001). The reforming context propelled the
emergence of the Movimento para a Democracia (MPD) in March 1990. Formed by
regime dissidents, intellectuals and a disaffected state elite, the MPD managed to suc-
cessfully influence the transition agenda, partly because the PAICV underestimated
its potential (Sanches, 2018b, p. 83). Both parties agreed on a semi-presidential
constitution inspired by the Portuguese example (despite divergence on presidential
powers), on a proportional representation system for parliamentary elections and
a two-round system for presidential elections. The first multiparty election took place
in January 1991 and there have since been regular elections for presidency, parlia-
ment and local municipalities. Elections have been largely peaceful, transparent and
fair, and the governments stable and effective.
In the founding elections of 1991, only the PAICV and the MPD competed. The
speed of the transition process, and the strict party laws adopted, impeded two other
political parties that existed at that time – the União dos Povos das Ilhas de Cabo
Verde (UPICV) and the União Cabo-Verdiana Independente e Democrata (UCID)
– to register in time of elections (Sanches, 2017; Semedo, Barros, and Costa, 2007).
The PAICV relied on historical legitimacy and government experience to argue that
there was no time for adventures (Nu ca cré aventura), while the MPD proposed full
political change and criticized the repressive nature of the outgoing regime. In these
elections, the MPD won an unexpected qualified majority of seats (56 out of the
79 parliamentary seats), while the PAICV polled 32 per cent of votes and 23 seats
(see Table 14.2). MPD’s victory was reinforced a month later when its candidate –
António Mascarenhas Monteiro – defeated Aristides Pereira of the PAICV by 73 per
cent to 27 per cent of the votes cast. Both elections were deemed free and fair and
the PAICV nobly accepted the result, despite the hard defeat.The PAICV relied on
historical legitimacy and government experience to argue that there was no time for
adventures (Nu ca cré aventura), while the MPD proposed full political change and
criticized the repressive nature of the outgoing regime. In these elections, the MPD
won an unexpected qualified majority of seats (56 out of the 79 parliamentary seats),
while the PAICV polled 32 per cent of votes and 23 seats (see Table 14.2). MPD’s
victory was reinforced a month later when its candidate – António Mascarenhas
Monteiro – defeated Aristides Pereira of the PAICV by 73 per cent to 27 per cent
of the votes cast. Both elections were deemed free and fair and the PAICV nobly
accepted the result, despite the hard defeat.
The following rounds of parliamentary elections were marked by a healthy com-
petition and alternation between these two parties, with average levels of turnout
hovering at 67 per cent. After winning two systematic qualified majorities in the first
226 Handbook on the politics of small states

Table 14.2 Parliamentary elections in Cabo Verde 1991–2016: votes and seats

1991 1995 2001 2006 2011 2016

32% 28% 48% 52% 53% 38%
PAICV
(23) (21) (40) (41) (38) (29)
63% 59% 39% 44% 42% 54%
MPD
(56) (50) (30) (29) (32) (40)
6% 6% 3% 4% 7%
Other parties
(1) (2) (2) (2) (3)
Turnout 75% 77% 54% 54% 76% 66%

Source: Authors’ elaboration. Rounded percentages with the number of seats in brackets. Data retrieved
from the National Electoral Commission of Cabo Verde, http://​www​​.cne​​.cv/​.

elections of the new democratic regime (in 1991 and 1995), the MPD lost the follow-
ing three elections (2001, 2006, 2011), which were won by the PAICV with broad
parliamentary support (more than 50 per cent of the seats). But, power alternated
again in the 2016 elections: the MPD regained the majority (54 per cent of the seats
and 40 out of 72 seats) while support for the PAICV dropped dramatically to 38 per
cent of the votes and 29 seats. In these 2016 elections, the UCID elected three MPs
in what was its best electoral performance ever.
A persistent feature of Cabo Verde’s politics is that the party that wins the parlia-
mentary elections also manages to elect the president, which provides the basis for
unified government. Antonio Mascarenhas Monteiro, the candidate supported by
the MPD, was in office throughout the MPD incumbency (1991–2001), while Pedro
Pires’s presidency spanned most of the years the PAICV was in power (2001–11).
The only exception happened in 2011 when the PAICV received the most votes for
parliament but the MPD was able to elect its presidential candidate, Jorge Carlos
Fonseca. However, since 2016, ‘normality’ has returned: there is again a situation
of unified government – MPD has a majority in the parliament and its nominee
occupies the presidency. Scenarios of cohabitation often carry a potential for conflict;
but, in the Cabo Verdean case, intra-executive relations remained relatively friendly
(Sanches, 2018a).
The case of Cabo Verde may suggest that small is indeed beautiful; however, the
internal party dynamics presents a more nuanced picture. The MPD has suffered
two schisms since its formation. The first split was under the leadership of Carlos
Veiga, and resulted in the formation of the Partido da Convergência Democrática
(PCD), by a group of dissidents who criticized how the party had handled a corrup-
tion scandal at the Lisbon Embassy that became known in 1993. The second split
originated the Partido da Renovação Democrática (PRD), and had similar political
motivations – alleged clientelism and corruption in the public administration. This
crisis set Jacinto Santos, the then president of the Praia municipality and member of
the MPD’s political committee, against Gualberto do Rosário, the then prime minis-
ter, but the latter saw his legitimacy confirmed in the 2000 convention.
 Politics and economy in small African island states 227

The PAICV has also experienced some instability. In the 2011 presidential
elections, the party split over the selection of its candidate. On one side, Manuel
Inocêncio Sousa was the party’s official candidate; and, on the other side, Aristides
Raimundo Lima, president of the National Assembly, decided to run as an independ-
ent candidate despite lacking the party’s support, dragging with him a considerable
group of supporters. This was promptly criticized by then prime minister and party
leader José Maria Neves and led to internal divisions and cabinet dismissals. A new
crisis emerged in 2014 when José Maria Neves, prime minister since 2001 and party
leader since 2000, announced he was not going to run in the party primaries. Despite
being young and less experienced, Janira Hopfer Almada became the first female
to be elected party leader and to run for prime minister. However, the party never
supported her leadership unanimously and she eventually lost the 2016 elections;
nevertheless, her legitimacy as leader was sanctioned in the 2017 primaries (Sanches,
2018a).
Since 1991, democratic politics in Cabo Verde has been mainly driven by the
PAICV and the MPD, the two main parties in the system. Leadership successions –
both within the parties and in the executive – have become routine, sufficiently insti-
tutionalized, and widely accepted, which reveals the importance of elite behaviour
for democratization. Over time, the MPD has been more vulnerable to personalism
and factionalism than the PAICV, but the little success obtained by splinter groups
reveals that both parties managed to close the space of competition and deter new
party entry. Adding to the stable two-party system the relationship between the
president and the prime minister has been balanced and symmetric whoever is in
leadership. Though politics in small island states is usually marked by informality,
personalism and clientelism (Corbett and Veenendaal, 2018), the Cabo Verdean case
seems to suggest that stable political institutions and political elites’ acceptance of
the ‘rules of the game’ help democracy to prosper.

São Tomé and Príncipe: Party System Instability and Conflicting

Intra-Executive Relations

São Tomé and Príncipe (1,001 km²) is a Creole society with a population of 197,000
(2017). With independence on 12 July 1975, the two-island republic became a social-
ist one-party state governed by the Movimento de Libertação de São Tomé e Príncipe
(MLSTP) with Pinto da Costa as president (1975–90) and Miguel Trovoada as
prime minister. The MLSTP introduced multiparty democracy in 1990, adopting the
Portuguese semi-presidential regime model. Irrespective of the democratic transition,
local political culture has been dominated by personalized politics, neo-patrimonial
relations, clientelistic networks, corruption and rent-seeking, to the detriment of
economic rationality and administrative efficiency; some of these features are
present in other small jurisdictions (Corbett and Veenendaal, 2018). Elections for the
55-member National Assembly are held every four years, and candidates are elected
by proportional representation. The president is elected by a two-round system every
five years by universal suffrage. Administratively, São Tomé (859 km²) is divided
228 Handbook on the politics of small states

into six districts ruled by a district council. Príncipe (142 km²), with a population of
8,300, has been an autonomous region with a seven-member Regional Assembly and
a five-member Regional Government since 1994. The elections for the six district
assemblies and Príncipe’s Regional Assembly are held every three years by propor-
tional representation. Local and regional elections were first held in 1992 and 1995
respectively, but after a long interruption due to various constraints, they were held
thereafter every four years: in 2006, 2010, 2014 and 2018.
In contrast, legislative and presidential elections have always been held regularly
and transparently. This record has been stained by the persistent phenomenon of
vote-buying, another feature of venality in local politics. São Tomé and Príncipe’s
oldest political party is the MLSTP/PSD, founded 1972 as the MLSTP by nine exiled
nationalists in Equatorial Guinea. Soon after independence, cleavages emerged
within the MLSTP regime that in 1979 culminated in the imprisonment of Trovoada.
In 1981 he was allowed to leave for exile in Paris, from where he returned only in
1990. The conflicts within the MLSTP and the rivalry between Pinto da Costa and
Trovoada that passed to the latter’s son Patrice have had a significant impact on
politics under multiparty democracy.
During the democratic transition in 1990, the country’s second political party
appeared, the Partido de Convergência Democrática (PCD), founded by dissidents
of the MLSTP. In the same year, the MLSTP was renamed Partido Social Democrata
(PSD) to emphasize its shift away from Soviet socialism. Since then more than 20
parties have been founded; however, only four have played a prominent role in
local politics: MLSTP/PSD, PCD, the Acção Democrática Independente (ADI) and
Movimento Democrático Força da Mudança (MDFM). The parties do not differ in
terms of ideology, but represent conflicting group interests and rival personalities.
Both ADI and MDFM were founded in 1992 and 2001 respectively by followers
of presidents in office: Miguel Trovoada (1991–2001) and Fradique de Menezes
(2001–11). In fact, ADI emerged as a splinter from PCD when the party leadership
was involved in a power struggle with Trovoada. In turn, the MDFM was created
after Menezes, who had been the ADI’s presidential candidate, dissociated himself
from Trovoada and his party.
Locally, PCD and ADI have been known as the parties of change, since histor-
ically they were opposed to the MLSTP. However, the animosities between ADI,
PCD and MDFM have brought the latter two closer to the MLSTP/PSD. Unlike the
MLSTP/PSD and the PCD that have a history of competitive leadership elections,
the leaderships of ADI and MDFM have been imposed by Trovoada and Menezes.
Consequently, the two parties lack intraparty democracy. When Trovoada left the
presidency in 2001 he imposed his son Patrice Trovoada as leader of ADI. Since
then, Patrice has run the party autocratically as his private business.
Irrespective of vote-buying, multiparty democracy has been marked by consider-
able electoral volatility. Seven times – in 1991, 1994, 2002, 2006, 2010, 2014 and
2018 – legislative elections have resulted in a peaceful transfer of power (see Table
14.3). However, usually a change of government results in an excessive replacement
of senior office holders, since parties reward their followers with government jobs.
 Politics and economy in small African island states 229

All the four major parties have governed, either alone or in varying coalitions. After
having lost the 1991 elections with 30.5 per cent of the votes, the MLSTP/PSD
increased its votes to 46.1 per cent in 1998. However, thereafter the party consecu-
tively lost votes, securing only 23.6 per cent of votes cast in 2014. Thanks to a new
leadership, the party recovered, winning 42.5 per cent of the votes cast in 2018. In
1991, the PCD won the first free elections with 54.4 per cent, but thereafter contin-
uously lost votes in all elections. The downward spiral was only interrupted in 2002
and 2006 when the PCD ran in an electoral alliance with the MDFM.
Since 2008, when the MDFM revoked the alliance with the PCD, the party has
almost disappeared from the scene. In 2017, the MDFM merged with the União
para a Democracia e Desenvolvimento (UDD), another splinter from the ADI. In
the 2018 elections, the MDFM/UDD formed an alliance with the PCD. In 1994 and
1998, during Miguel Trovoada’s presidency, the ADI secured 22.9 per cent and 25.6
per cent of votes cast. After his departure from the presidency, the ADI formed an
electoral alliance with four small parties that obtained only 16.2 per cent in 2002.
Irrespective of his autocratic leadership, Patrice Trovoada increased the ADI votes
from 20.6 per cent in 2006 to 50.5 per cent in 2014. Thanks to this absolute majority,
the ADI government with Patrice Trovoada as prime minister was the first to survive
to the end of the four-year legislature since 1991. However, due to his controversial
authoritarian style of government, in 2018 the ADI won only 25 seats (44.2 per cent
of votes cast), three less than the MLSTP/PSD (23) and the PCD-MDFM/UDD (5)
coalition. Although the ADI remained the biggest party, it lost power to a coalition
government of MLSTP/PSD and PCD-MDFM/UDD (see Table 14.3).
São Tomé’s multiparty democracy was marked by political instability provoked
by frequently changing governments. From 1991 to 2012, the country has had 17
different governments. Until a constitutional revision curbing presidential powers in
favour of parliament in 2006, the president could easily dismiss the prime minister
and dissolve parliament. Altogether, five prime ministers were dismissed by presi-
dents until 2004. Two largely bloodless one-week coups in 1995 and 2003, triggered
by grievances of the military, further aggravated this instability.
Another factor that has contributed to political instability is that most of the time
president and prime minister are from different parties. Presidential elections have
largely been dominated by the rivalry between Pinto da Costa and the Trovoadas. In
1996 Miguel Trovoada, who won his first election in 1991 unopposed, was re-elected
president when he defeated Pinto da Costa in the final ballot. In 2001, Menezes, then
ADI candidate supported by the Trovoadas, won against Pinto da Costa. Menezes
was re-elected in 2006 after having beaten his erstwhile mentor Patrice Trovoada
by a wide margin. In 2011, 20 years after his departure from the presidency, as
independent candidate, Pinto da Costa was elected president after he won the run-off
against ADI candidate Evaristo Carvalho. Finally, in 2016, Carvalho won the final
ballot unopposed after Pinto da Costa had withdrawn his candidature. Only Menezes
and Carvalho ruled two years each with a government of their own party in power.
230 Handbook on the politics of small states

Table 14.3 Parliamentary elections in São Tomé and Príncipe 1991–2018:

votes and seats

1991 1994 1998 2002 2006 2010 2014 2018a

MLSTP/PSD 30.5% 37.1% 46.1% 39.6% 28.9% 32.0% 23.6% 42.5%
(21) (27) (31) (24) (20) (21) (16) (23)
PCD 54.4% 21.4% 14.5% 13.6% 10.4%
(33) (14) (8) (7) (5)
ADI 22.9% 25.6% 16.2%b 20.0% 42.2% 50.5% 44.2%
(14) (16) (8) (11) (26) (33) (25)
MDFM-PCDc 39.7% 37.2%
(23) (23)
MDFM 7.1% 3.3%
(1) (0)
PCD-MDFM/UDDd 10.0%
(5)
Other parties 6.7% 5.8% 4.7% 4.6% 11.4% 2.0% 7.9% 3.6%
(1) (0) (0) (0) (1) (0) (1) (2)
Turnout 76.4% 52.1% 64.7% 66.3% 64.0% 89.0% 74.9% 80.7%

Notes:
a
The results for 2002 and 2018 exclude blank, null and invalid votes.
b
In 1998, the ADI ran together with four small parties in an electoral alliance.
c
In 2002 and 2006, MDFM and PCD ran together on a joint list.
d
In 2018, PCD and MDFM/UDD ran together on a joint list.

DEALING WITH ECONOMIC VULNERABILITY:

OPPORTUNITIES AND CHALLENGES

Cabo Verde and São Tomé and Príncipe are marked by distinct natural environments.
The former has a dry and arid climate, while the latter has fertile volcanic soils and
abundant rains. They face similar inherent development handicaps – e.g. small size,
isolation, insularity, lack of natural resources and diseconomies of scale – but have
managed, to some extent, to improve their social indicators, albeit with significant
differences. This section explores the economic trajectories of both countries, dis-
cussing the main opportunities and challenges they have faced, and how they have
responded to them.

Cabo Verde: From Vulnerability to International Credibility

At independence, Cabo Verde was one of the poorest countries in the world. The
archipelago had experienced droughts since 1968 and consequent erosion of arable
land. “Agriculture suffered from a severely unequal distribution”, the nutritional
situation was extremely poor, and there were high levels of illiteracy and unemploy-
ment (Andrade, 2002, pp. 266–268). Considering the frail economic conditions, the
country functioned with two main programmes funded through emergency food aid
over 1975–7 and 1977–80 (Fialho, 2013, p. 748). These emergency programmes
 Politics and economy in small African island states 231

Source: World Bank.

Figure 14.1 Cabo Verde: GDP growth 1980–2017

were followed by the First (1982–5) and the Second Development Plans (1986–90)
which focused on agrarian reform, health education, rural development, fisheries,
transport and communication (Andrade, 2002; Fialho, 2013). Through the implemen-
tation of these development plans, the newly-formed PAICV government managed
to obtain some relative economic success in the first decade after independence.
Average GDP growth reached 6 per cent between 1982 and 1985 and 4 per cent in the
1986–90 period. The state emerged as the main agent of social regulation, increasing
its infrastructural capacity, human resources and bureaucracy (Silva, 2001). The
mainly assistentialist vocation of the state implied that it deviated from the African
neo-patrimonialist model (Andrade, 2002; Fialho, 2013). The state played a decisive
role in the economy for most of the post-independence era; but political and eco-
nomic reforms introduced in the late 1980s culminated in a multiparty system and an
open-market economy.
Once in power, the MPD-led government implemented major structural reforms
of the economy. The Third and Fourth Development Plans (1992–5; 1997–2000)
brought a paradigm shift, and led to reforms “aimed at macroeconomic stabil-
ity, privatization of state-controlled companies, trade liberalization and renewed
focus on export-oriented production as the engines of economic growth” (African
Development Bank, 2012, p. 9). The economy grew at an annualized 10 per cent
average between 1991 and 2001 underpinned by the privatization of several state
enterprises, growth in private investments and expansion of the tertiary sector. In
the following decade, the economy showed resilience, despite the global economic
turn and the decrease in Official Development Assistance (ODA). The economy
reached 6 per cent annual growth in 2002–11 and averaged just 2 per cent annually
in 2012–2017 (see Figure 14.1).
232 Handbook on the politics of small states

Table 14.4 External financing for Cabo Verde 1980–2017

1980–1985 1986–1994 1995–2000 2001–2006 2007–2012 2013–2017

Migrant remittance 27 57 87 110 152 199
inflows (US$ million)
Net ODA received (%
42.6% 33.8% 22.8% 15.6% 14.2% 10.2%
of GNI)
Foreign direct
investment, net inflows – 0.4% 5.1% 6.0% 8.6% 6.9%
(% of GDP)

Source: World Bank.

Cabo Verde is highly dependent on imported food and energy and on external capital
inflows. Given the weak contribution of the agricultural and industrial sectors,
economic performance is mainly underpinned by the activities of the tertiary sector:
trade, transport, tourism and public services represented more than 74 per cent of
GDP in 2016 (AICEP, 2018). In 2000, tourism represented 7.5 per cent of GDP, but
it now hovers at 21 per cent, generating over 8,000 jobs (AICEP, 2018). The boom
in the tourism industry has brought a major expansion in Foreign Direct Investment
(FDI), one of the most important types of external financing for the economy (see
Table 14.4). This has been facilitated since the mid-1990s when property rights leg-
islation and fiscal incentives were introduced, although it was only in the mid-2000s
that FDI experienced a significant and sustained jump (Resende-Santos, 2013,
p. 717). FDI has mainly concentrated on tourism (43.8 per cent of the total in 2016),
with the most benefited islands being Sal, São Vicente and Santiago. Portugal and the
UK are the main investors, with 29 per cent and 3.6 per cent of FDI in 2016 respec-
tively (AICEP, 2018). Migrant remittances are another important share of external
financing for the Cabo Verdean economy, currently representing some 12.8 per cent
of GDP. The number of Cabo Verdeans living abroad today is estimated to be double
the number of domestic residents. The main recipient countries are the United States
and Portugal (IOM, 2019).
Like Mauritius and Botswana (Silve, 2012; Sobhee, 2009), Cabo Verde is often
depicted as an African success story that performs well on several development
indicators: human development, good governance, political stability, civil liberties
and political rights (Resende-Santos, 2013). In 2007, it became the second African
country – after resource-rich Botswana – to graduate from the group of Least
Developed Countries (LDCs) to the group of middle-income countries. This recogni-
tion rewarded the country’s progress and efforts towards international credibility and
showed that effective policy-making and implementation can countervail inherent
structural vulnerabilities. Nevertheless, Cabo Verdean government structures were
hesitant about the graduation process: they feared the collapse of a development
financing model that was heavily based on international support measures, since the
country was no longer entitled to concessionary loans (Fialho, 2013, p. 771). Indeed:
ODA levels (as percentage of GNI) fell steadily from a 42.6 per cent average in
1980–1985 to a 10.2 per cent average in 2013–17 (see Table 14.4). Small African
 Politics and economy in small African island states 233

states experiencing a similar reduction of ODA include the Comoros, Guinea-Bissau

and Seychelles (ECA, 2015).
Cabo Verde also made enormous progress in achieving several Millennium
Development Goals (MDGs) (ECA, 2015). In 2012, it was a member of the group of
countries that recorded a net compulsory school enrolment rate of over 90 per cent
and met the target of improving sanitation facilities. It also included the narrower
group of countries that reduced the maternal mortality ratio by more than 75 per
cent between 1990 and 2013, hence meeting MDG 5 (Improve maternal health). The
country also recorded an impressive performance in terms of youth literacy which
is today over 95 per cent as in much richer African countries such as Libya, South
Africa, Equatorial Guinea, Botswana, Seychelles and Swaziland (ECA, 2015).
Like other small island developing states (SIDS), one of the greatest challenges for
Cabo Verde is to build an economy capable of overcoming some of its structural vul-
nerabilities; its small domestic market, high transportation costs, reduced fiscal base
and limited economic diversification. Cabo Verde is an archipelago of nine inhabited
islands separated by considerable distances, and it has an inhospitable natural endow-
ment (Resende-Santos, 2013). Adding to this, Cabo Verde is not as resource-rich as
other countries, and is disproportionally exposed to both climate-related risks and
security risks related to organized crime such as drug trafficking (UNDAF, 2018).
Given its heavy reliance on external flows, one of the main challenges Cabo Verde
faces is (mainly external) public debt. A recent IMF Debt Sustainability Analysis
places Cabo Verde in high risk of external debt distress, with total public debt higher
than 120 per cent, and expected to grow (IMF, 2018a; also AICEP, 2018).
However, Cabo Verde comes with clear strengths in its development strategy.
They include: political stability and good governance, macroeconomic stability and
credibility, investments in human capital, international assistance and steady remit-
tance flows (African Development Bank, 2012; Resende-Santos, 2013). The country
has an exceptional record of free and fair elections, alternation in government and
cabinet durability. Through competent and creative management, successive govern-
ments have managed to place Cabo Verde among Africa’s best performing countries
in terms of governance, development indicators and human development. Investment
in education and human capital is illustrative: the country has achieved all MDGs in
the area of education. Cabo Verde is also one of the top recipients of remittances in
sub-Saharan Africa, receiving high inflows relative to other small island economies,
and this constitutes a large share of the country’s external financing (Pop, 2008,
pp. 91–92). Finally, the country has been able to widen its international network,
on several fronts. In terms of trade, Portugal is its largest trade partner and bilateral
donor; but the US, France, Italy and the Netherlands also play an important role.
It is a member of various regional and international organizations: African Union
(AU), the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS), the Permanent
Interstate Committee for Drought Control in the Sahel (CILSS), Community of
Portuguese-speaking Countries (CPLP), and the Macaronesia Summit. In late 2007,
it entered two important and innovative partnerships with the European Union: the
Special Partnership Agreement (SPA) which provides a framework for cooperation
234 Handbook on the politics of small states

in several areas of governance, security, technical know-how and sustainable devel-

opment; and the Mobility Partnership, which will facilitate the movement of people
between their respective territories.

São Tomé and Príncipe: Persistent Aid Dependency

São Tomé and Príncipe is Africa’s smallest economy with a GDP of $392.6 million
(2017) (Figure 14.2). Per capita income has been estimated at $1,847 in 2017, below
the average of other comparable small-island developing economies (IMF, 2018b,
p. 45). Two-thirds of the population lives in poverty. In addition to the legacy of
a plantation economy, its insularity, the small size of its economy, high transportation
costs and excessive dependence on imports have restricted its options for economic
development. Until the 1990s São Tomé and Príncipe was a plantation economy
based on cocoa monoculture. After independence, the MLSTP regime nationalized
the Portuguese-owned cocoa industry. However, due to a lack of adequately quali-
fied personnel and mismanagement cocoa output dropped from 10,000 tons before
independence to 3,400 tons in 1984, but represented more than 90 per cent of exports
of goods. In 1986, the MLSTP regime signed a cocoa rehabilitation programme
financed by the World Bank. Under this programme, foreign companies received
management contracts to run the state-owned plantations with the aim of increasing
cocoa production. However, in the end, cocoa rehabilitation failed since the privately
managed cocoa estates were not able to increase production.
Consequently, the World Bank recommended transforming the plantation economy
into a new agrarian structure dominated by smallholders and medium-sized farmers.
The objective of the agrarian reform was to diversify and increase food and cash crop
production to reduce food imports and increase exports. From 1993 to 2003, a total of
43,522 ha of former plantation lands were distributed to a total of 8,735 small farmers
on a usufruct basis. However, many of the new owners were constrained by several
shortcomings such as lack of training, shortage of tools and credit and poor access
to markets due to insufficient transport. And so, privatization also failed to increase
cocoa production or diversify agricultural exports. Between 2005 and 2017, annual
cocoa exports fluctuated between 2,413 and 3,372 tons, while they still represented
more than 80 per cent of exports in goods. This failure further accelerated rural
migration that had started due to the decline of the plantation economy after inde-
pendence. Consequently, census data confirms that the urban population increased
from 33 per cent in 1991 to 54.5 per cent in 2001 and reached 67 per cent in 2012.
While the agrarian reform was still in progress, oil production emerged as a panacea
to overcome poverty when in 1997 São Tomé signed its first oil exploration contract.
The oil sector comprises the Joint Development Zone (JDZ) with Nigeria, established
in 2001, and the country’s Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ). Under the JDZ agree-
ment, profits and costs are shared at a proportion of 60:40 between Nigeria and São
Tomé. The initial enthusiasm for oil wealth was replaced by frustration when in 2006
exploration drillings in the most promising block failed to discover commercially
viable oil. Subsequent exploration drillings in three other blocks were also negative.
 Politics and economy in small African island states 235

Source: World Bank. No data available prior to 2001.

Figure 14.2 São Tomé and Príncipe: GDP growth 2000–2017

As a result, by 2013, several oil companies, including Chevron, Sinopec and Total,
had abandoned the JDZ, which has largely become moribund. In March 2019, new
hopes for the JDZ were raised when Total signed a production-sharing contract for
three blocks that had never been explored before. From 2001 to 2015, the JDZ gen-
erated revenue of $304.3 million, of which $273.8 million as signature bonuses. Due
to preferential rights conceded to several oil companies, São Tomé’s share in JDZ
revenue was only $51.4 million (PWC, 2017, p. 17). The amount has largely been
used for current budget expenditures, but has not financed any investment projects.
In comparison with the JDZ, the outlook for future oil production in the country’s
EEZ has been more favourable in recent years. From 2011–2019 the National Oil
Agency (ANP) signed production sharing contracts with various oil companies for
nine blocks totalling signature bonuses of $26 million. In 2017, 3D seismic surveys
were conducted in four blocks. However, exploration drillings in the EEZ are not
expected before 2020. Without the drilling results, the existence of commercial oil in
the EEZ cannot be guaranteed.
In the 1990s, tourism surpassed cocoa as the country’s principal revenue source.
Since 2008, foreign companies have made several investments in hotel accommoda-
tion in both islands. Between 1994 and 2005, the number of foreign tourists gradually
increased from 6,150 to 15,746; dwindled from 12,266 in 2006 to 7,963 in 2010;
then recovered from 10,319 in 2011 to 28,500 in 2016 and 2017 (INE, 2017). About
half of the tourists come from Portugal, the only country outside Africa with direct
flights to São Tomé. From 2010 to 2017, the number of hotel units increased from 23
to 54, with currently a total of 1,508 beds. Altogether, in 2017 the sector employed
1,834 people (BEDGTH, 2019). Meanwhile, income generated by tourism is almost
ten times that of cocoa exports: for 2018, the value of cocoa exports was estimated at
236 Handbook on the politics of small states

Table 14.5 External financing for São Tomé and Príncipe 2000–2017

2001–2006 2007–2012 2013–2017

Net ODA received (% of GNI) 34,6 31,0 13,7
Foreign direct investment, net inflows (% of GDP) 9,4 12,9 7,2

Source: World Bank. No data available prior to 2001.

$8.3 million, whereas tourism was expected to generate income of $78.7 million (14
per cent of GDP) (OECD, 2017).
Despite the recent growth in tourism, the country has largely remained dependent
on foreign aid. Together with geographic and historical factors, external assistance
has been the main driver of the country’s foreign relations. São Tomé maintains
embassies in Lisbon, Brussels, Abuja, Luanda, Libreville, Malabo, Praia, Beijing
and a permanent mission at the United Nations in New York. Portugal is the only
European country that maintains a resident ambassador in São Tomé. The other
countries with a local diplomatic mission in São Tomé are Brazil, Angola, Cabo
Verde, Equatorial Guinea, Gabon, Libya, Nigeria, South Africa and China.
From 2000 to 2017, the country received annual development assistance from
OECD countries of between $36 million and $47 million (OECD, 2018) (Table
14.5). As in other developing countries, the international aid industry has been flour-
ishing. São Tomé’s most important bilateral donors are Portugal, Japan, China and
Angola. In 1997 President Miguel Trovoada capitalized on the China–Taiwan divide
and established diplomatic relations with Taiwan in exchange for annual develop-
ment aid of about $15 million. In response, China – having maintained bilateral
relations since 1975 – cut all ties with São Tomé. In December 2016, Prime Minister
Patrice Trovoada re-established relations with Beijing in return for a five-year aid
package of $146 million. At the time, São Tomé was one of three remaining African
countries that recognized Taiwan. Japan provides São Tomé with rice supplies and
development assistance in exchange for the latter’s support at the International
Whaling Commission (IWC).
Angola has always been São Tomé’s most important regional partner. Its state
oil company Sonangol holds a monopoly as fuel supplier and owns 77.6 per cent of
country’s fuel company Empresa Nacional de Combustíveis e Óleos (ENCO). Since
2011 Sonangol has maintained concessions for the management of São Tomé’s sea
port and its international airport. Together with Portugal, Angola is São Tomé´s
principal bilateral creditor. In 2007, IMF and World Bank awarded São Tomé debt
cancellation of $317 million under the Enhanced Highly Indebted Poor Countries
(HIPC) initiative. Nevertheless, in 2017, the country’s total public debt stood again at
$267.6 million, of which $190 million of external debts. According to the IMF’s debt
sustainability analysis, the country was classified at high risk of debt distress (IMF,
2018a). At least for the time being, São Tomé and Príncipe will continue to depend
heavily on foreign assistance; consequently, debts are likely to increase.
 Politics and economy in small African island states 237

CONCLUSION

Cabo Verde and São Tomé and Principe are small African island states with func-
tioning democracies. After a peaceful democratic transition in 1990, both countries
managed to hold regular legislative and presidential elections. However, in compar-
ison, Cabo Verde was more successful in improving the well-being of its population
against a background of structural handicaps. The comparative analysis carried out in
this chapter has revealed that although they share the same semi-presidential regime,
politics in both countries functions in different ways. While Cabo Verde has devel-
oped a stable two-party system, strong institutions, and governance stability, São
Tomé and Príncipe has been more conflict prone: there, excessive personalization,
unbalanced intra-executive relations and clientelism seem to have a higher influence
in how politics actually plays out. Still, despite the higher levels of electoral volatil-
ity, party fragmentation and cabinet instability, democracy has remained resilient in
São Tomé and Príncipe.
When it comes to development trajectories, we can spot some interesting differ-
ences in the opportunities and challenges faced by each country. In Cabo Verde,
good governance, competent management, human resources development, receipts
from tourism, foreign investment and migrant remittances have helped the economy
prosper and nudged the country’s drive towards international credibility. Though at
a considerably slower pace, São Tomé and Príncipe has also managed to improve on
some socio-economic indicators. Political instability provoked by frequently chang-
ing governments has, however, deteriorated already weak institutions that suffer
from a lack of adequately trained personnel. Although in terms of human resources
at independence the country had much more deficiencies than Cabo Verde, it has
invested much less in education. Despite considerable inflows of foreign aid in per
capita terms, São Tomé has not succeeded in either significantly reducing poverty or
in diversifying its exports. The country has also become a showpiece for the failures
of development aid. Possibly, only the discovery of oil can save the country from
persistent aid dependency.
This comparative case study contributes to a better understanding of politics and
governance in small states in at least two ways. First, it contributes to the literature on
the relationship between democracy, smallness and insularity. Cabo Verde is the case
that fits best the description that ‘small is beautiful’, but it is important to note that
the more personalistic and conflictual nature of politics in São Tomé and Príncipe
has not yet developed into more despotic politics. In both countries, as much as in
Mauritius, democracy remains the ‘only game in town’: conflicts are resolved within
the boundaries of democratic institutions. In contrast, the cases of Seychelles, and
particularly of Comoros, tell a different story. Here, as much as in other small island
states, personalism, clientelism, inter-island rivalries and authoritarian behaviour
have created higher hurdles for democratic development. Making sense of this diver-
sity requires surveying both the structural (historical, economic and institutional)
and attitudinal dimensions (values, behaviours and choices) that help foster or hinder
democratization in small states.
238 Handbook on the politics of small states

Second, with regard to economic literature on small states, vulnerability and sus-
tainable development, the study shows that effective policy-making and implementa-
tion can countervail some of the inherent disadvantages small states are presumed to
face. Cabo Verde and Mauritius offer a clear illustration of this: both are consolidated
democracies, with strong institutional capacity, and successful development trajecto-
ries. São Tomé and Príncipe lags behind but it has improved its social indicators as
well; while Seychelles stands out in terms of governance indicators but it still needs
to improve its democratic credentials. Finally, the Comoros couples endemic politi-
cal instability with poor development indicators.
Overall, this study suggests that further comparative research is warranted in two
directions. On the one hand, on the nature and functioning of formal political insti-
tutions in small states, as they seem to be crucial for democratic performance and
development as the cases of Mauritius and Cabo Verde demonstrate. On the other
hand, on how small states build international credibility and international networks
in their quest for development.

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 PART IV

CENTRAL AND SOUTH

AMERICA AND THE
CARIBBEAN
15. Small states in Central America
Tom Long

INTRODUCTION

The seven states of Central America often portray themselves as a bridge: between
North and South America and between the Atlantic and Pacific, which the Central
American isthmus divides with a strip of land that is, at points, only some 50 kilo-
metres wide. Although the region is, in English-language commentary, often used
to invoke poverty, state weakness and external intervention, a closer examination
reveals just how much variation Central America contains. What economic historian
Victor Bulmer-Thomas (1987, p. xiv) wrote three decades ago still holds: “the region
exhibits both conformity and diversity and the problem facing an author is to see the
one without losing sight of the other”.
Central America is a microcosm of the opportunities and challenges of small
states, and its diversity offers a great deal to their study. The region’s states faced
similar pressures – smallness, proximity to an oft-interventionist superpower and
myriad transnational challenges – but their political and economic developments
have followed remarkably different paths. In the most basic terms, the richest Central
American country (Panama) has a per capita income nearly seven times higher
than the poorest (Nicaragua), a disparity that mirrors the divide between Latvia
and Timor-Leste. Divergent paths are reflected in tremendous differences in state
capacity, internal security, human development and international influence. This var-
iation has been affected, but not determined, by great powers. To understand Central
American variation, one must understand both agency and asymmetry.
All seven states in the region – Belize, Costa Rica, El Salvador, Guatemala,
Honduras, Nicaragua and Panama – can be understood as small states under the
definition used in this volume: they are constrained by limited domestic size and
capacities and are shaped by their role as weaker partners in asymmetrical interna-
tional relationships (see Table 15.1). In this chapter, we briefly discuss the historical
context of Central American state formation, political development and international
relations. We then turn to the domestic and international characteristics and chal-
lenges of these states before assessing their abilities to affect domestic developments
and international contexts.

HISTORICAL BACKGROUND

With the exception of Belize, which became a British possession and only gained
independence in 1981, the states of Central America were Spanish colonies. Before
242
 Small states in Central America 243

Table 15.1 The small states of Central America

GDP per
Resident Land area Year of
capita Currencya
Populationa (km2)a independenceb
(US$)b

Belize 360,346 22,806 4,905 Belize dollar 1981

Costa Rica 4,930,258 51,060 11,630 Colón 1821c

El Salvador 6,172,011 20,721 3,889 US dollar 1821c

Guatemala 15,460,732 107,159 4,470 Quetzal 1821c

Honduras 9,038,741 111,890 2,480 Lempira 1821c

Nicaragua 6,025,951 119,990 2,221 Córdoba 1821c

Panama 3,753,142 74,340 15,087 Balboa/US dollar 1903

Notes:
a
Source: CIA World Factbook.
b
Source: World Bank national accounts, current US$.
c
Independence from Spain as Central American Federation; formal independence under current names c.
1838.

colonization, the regions to the north had large and advanced indigenous civiliza-
tions, primarily Mayan. The southern region of the isthmus was home to important
though smaller coastal indigenous communities. Colonization and the slave trade
led to transnational Afro-Caribbean communities that predate nation-state borders.
Social marginalization of both meso-American indigenous and black populations
remains a core social challenge. The region was largely a colonial backwater, despite
scattered mining. However, narrow sections of the isthmus were important entrepôts
and connections for the transport of goods from the Pacific Coast of South America
to the metropole. This created coastal elites in a few places, notably in what would
become Panama.
If the history of colonial control was broadly similar, Central American states
had different patterns of experiences in the immediate post-independence period.
Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua and Costa Rica gained independence
alongside Mexico, and were briefly claimed as part of the new Mexican Empire.
After the fall of the Mexican emperor Agustín Iturbide, those states formed the
Central American Federation centred in Guatemala City. The federation was never
cohesive, but gained international recognition from the British and United States
(Smith, 1963) before effectively dissolving in the late 1830s. As the former colonial
administrative centre and largest province, Guatemala led the federation; Costa Rica
remained most distant (Soto, 1991). Conversely, Panama became part of Simón
Bolívar’s Gran Colombia, and later part of Colombia. It would not gain independence
for another eight decades. Intra-Central American rivalries were common, as were
feuds between Liberals and Conservatives, indigenous and criollos, and landlords
and peasants. Forced plantation labour and press-ganged military and militia service
244 Handbook on the politics of small states

were a common, and resented, form of repression of the indigenous population at

independence and a century afterwards (Dunkerley, 1988, pp. 4–16).
National integration, initially minimal, gradually emerged in the late nineteenth
century, led in part by export-driven coffee plantations under a new market-driven
elite. Mahoney (2001) emphasizes this period as formative, though with different
effects among the Central American republics. The small states’ domestic disputes
invited external meddling, despite minimal resources and scant markets. Central
America was as an important site of US–British contestation, as well as US expan-
sionist tendencies, including armed interventions by privately financed ‘filibusters’
during the mid-nineteenth century, some of whom hoped to bring Central America
into the United States as slave states (Findling, 1987; Leonard, 1991, pp. 15–34).
Less noted is that the states often intervened in one another’s affairs, leading occa-
sionally to war.
The state-to-state Anglo-American contest focused on dreams of an inter-oceanic
canal. An emerging regional parity was marked by the 1850 Clayton-Bulwer Treaty,
in which the US and Britain agreed to the joint construction and control of any future
canal; and signed without Central American backing (Bourne, 1961; Findling, 1987)
However, that treaty soon came under pressure from the US public and nationalist
politicians little disposed to legitimize British power so close to US shores (Sexton,
2011). US economic influence was expanding quickly, notably through Cornelius
Vanderbilt’s and Minor Keith’s railroads and investments (Findling, 1987; Greene,
2009). That later would lead to the long-influential United Fruit Company presence
in the region. Still, British influence persevered, with formal empire in Belize and
a broader coastal protectorate covering parts of Nicaragua and Honduras.
Growing US power and expansionism after the Civil War renewed clashes and by
the 1890s, the British were retrenching and ‘passing the baton’ in Central America to
the assertive United States. US diplomats continued denouncing the Clayton-Bulwer
Treaty while making entreaties to Central Americans for canal rights on their own
terms (Findling, 1987, pp. 36–40; Zeren and Hall, 2016). The British finally acqui-
esced, and the Hay-Pauncefote Treaty of 1900 gave the United States unilateral rights
for canal construction, signalling a definitive shift in power. The effect of the power
transition for Central Americans was ambivalent. Both the British and the Americans
were disdainful of Central American sovereignty when it impinged on their invest-
ments or security concerns. Ultimately, though, the US role would be transformative.
As a proximate power, the US became an arbiter of domestic disputes. This role
was enforced by frequent Marine deployments and several long-lasting occupations,
especially in Nicaragua (McPherson, 2014). But the most enduring exercise of US
power was to support Panamanian independence from Colombia in tacit exchange
for an unequal treaty to build a canal and establish a military and administrative
presence in the heart of the new country (Major, 1993). The US role reshaped
Central American institutions in far-reaching ways: with stated progressive aims,
the United States advocated elections (of questionable fairness) and professional-
ized national militaries to replace militias (Schoultz, 2018). Given the weakness of
counterweights, militaries became crucial powerbrokers in Honduras, Guatemala,
 Small states in Central America 245

Nicaragua, El Salvador and (somewhat later) Panama, independently or in collabora-

tion with economic elites. Only Costa Rica largely avoided the curse of military rule
(Pérez, 2015).
Most of Central America followed the United States into the First World War
with nominal declarations of war (Rinke, 2017). Their links to the US economy
made the Great Depression a punishing experience, but one that spurred urbaniza-
tion and social transformation. The region again followed the United States into the
Second World War despite some authoritarian leaders’ initial fascist sympathies
and important German populations. Proximity and wartime concentration weighed
heavily. The contrast between purported democratic war aims and US-friendly
authoritarian rulers sat uneasily with a nascent urban class. Combined with post-war
economic pressures, anti-dictatorial movements emerged (Bethell and Roxborough,
1997; Leonard, 1984). Most importantly, one movement unseated military rulers in
Guatemala and elected centre-left leaders. For a brief period, these democrats organ-
ized a feared, if somewhat exaggerated, ‘Caribbean Legion’ to topple authoritarians
(Ameringer, 2010; Moulton, 2015). Soon, the rising Cold War tide swamped this
democratic spring. In 1954, Guatemalan President Jacobo Arbenz was ousted in
a CIA-sponsored coup, returning the country to conservative civil-military domi-
nance (Gleijeses, 1991).
The first decades of the Cold War, then, were marked by military rule. This was
dynastic and personalist in Nicaragua, and by civil-military junta in El Salvador,
Honduras and Guatemala. Panama experienced a rotation of populist elected presi-
dents and elite-backed military coups under the shadow of the massive US presence,
until a reformist military dictator took power in 1968. Again, only Costa Rica
escaped, establishing a tradition of pragmatic, democratic centrism after a brief but
bloody civil war in 1948 (Longley, 1997). Some regional cooperation re-emerged,
namely the Central American Common Market during the 1960s, but it was under-
mined by a 1969 war between El Salvador and Honduras. Integration would be
reactivated in the 1990s with greater economic effects (Bulmer-Thomas, 1998).
If relative dictatorial stability marked the first two decades of the Cold War,
the subsequent two decades saw explosive revolutionary and reactionary ferment;
a Cold War frontline seen by Washington as crucial to reversing Soviet-Cuban gains.
This was concentrated in Nicaragua, El Salvador and Guatemala, where civil wars
led to hundreds of thousands of deaths during the 1970s and 1980s (LeoGrande,
1998; Rabe, 2011). In Nicaragua, the armed left gained power in 1979, but faced
a US-backed counterrevolutionary attack (Pastor, 2002). El Salvador experienced
death-squad violence amid shifting, military-dominated governments (Crandall,
2016). An outcast Guatemalan government launched a genocide against its largely
indigenous peasantry despite the dubious threat from the armed left. Honduras
remained under military rule, hosting large US security deployments. Panama’s mili-
tary rule became more reactionary and corrupt with the ascension of Manuel Noriega
(Scranton, 1991). Costa Rica retained its democracy and played an outsized role in
trying to mediate its neighbours’ wars, sometimes putting it at odds with the United
States (Aravena, 1989; Meyer, 1992).
246 Handbook on the politics of small states

The end of the Cold War truncated Soviet and Cuban support and, more impor-
tantly, diminished the force of anti-communism on the right (Brands, 2010; Pastor
and Long, 2010; Rabe, 2011). Later investigations showed that right-wing govern-
ments, militaries, and their shadowy allies were responsible for the vast majority
of killings in Central America during these turbulent decades. Within a matter of
years, intractable conflicts ended, elections were held, and formally democratic
governments came to power in every country in Central America (LeoGrande, 1990).
In most cases, this was accompanied by a programme of economic liberalization
(Lehoucq, 2012); the six Spanish-speaking countries launched the Central American
Integration System (SICA) in 1991, promoting liberalization and intra-regional trade
(Sánchez, 2010).
Democratization was celebrated, but it was clearly inadequate. Deep divisions
remained, both in politics and socio-economically. In macroeconomic terms, “Most
economies of the isthmus have fallen behind since 1980” (Lehoucq, 2012, p. 98).
Greater external openness and some successes in export diversification and attracting
investment have not produced per capita growth in most countries (Condo, Colburn,
and Rivera, 2005, pp. 5–7). There has been little redress of the socio-economic
inequalities that broadened the revolutionary left’s appeal. Many high-level officials
involved in the conflicts’ massive human rights violations have escaped justice,
despite truth commissions and transitional justice frameworks.

DOMESTIC CHARACTERISTICS

Elections and formal democratization have not been a panacea for Central Americans.
The supposed benefits of smallness for democratic communalism – proximity to and
accountability of ruling elites – do not materialize when societies are so unequal
that the majority is marginalized from the democratic process. To a great extent,
that has been the case in Honduras, Guatemala and Nicaragua; in El Salvador,
economic improvements have been offset by skyrocketing crime. Both in terms of
democracy and economic growth, Costa Rica and Panama have performed relatively
well. Elsewhere, as Lehoucq (2012, p. 118) notes, democracy “has fused with some
blatantly autocratic elements in the other republics of the isthmus”. In recent years,
elections have become less clean, particularly in Honduras and Nicaragua, and
the playing field is heavily tilted. In Central America’s poorest and most unequal
states, democratic governance has done little to reduce poverty or improve the lives
of most citizens. Inequality in the region has barely budged since 1980, despite
modest improvements in extreme poverty rates and some social and health indi-
cators (Lehoucq, 2012, pp. 129–131), threatening to undermine satisfaction with
democracy.
Central American states are marked (with important variation) by limited state
capacity (Schneider, 2012). This has been exacerbated by recurrent inter-branch
conflicts, sometimes solved through extra-institutional means (Lehoucq, 2012,
pp. 124–127). Politics are often marked by deep cleavages among the small elite
 Small states in Central America 247

groups, to the extent that high politics at times sparks notable intra-family divisions.
While the smallness of this elite group can be exaggerated – references to the ‘14
families’ in El Salvador remain a common trope – it is the case that Guatemala,
Nicaragua, El Salvador and Honduras are deeply unequal societies where both
political and economic power are restricted to a narrow stratum. Even in wealthier
Panama and Costa Rica, with more effective states, smallness means that elite circles
are notably narrow. This has shaped government policies that “grant particularistic
benefits to narrow groups” with taxation schemes “pocked full of particularistic
holes” (Schneider, 2012, p. 7).
Weak, elite-dominated state and fiscal structures have limited the development
of a positive role for the state in society. With the exception of Costa Rica, Central
American states spend far less on social programmes than their Latin American
counterparts, per capita. For Honduras, Guatemala and Nicaragua, this figure has
usually sat near 25 per cent of the regional average (Lehoucq, 2012, p. 130). This
continued low social spending bucks a post-democratization Latin American trend
of greater expenditures, reduced extreme poverty, and better social outcomes in
many countries (Levy and Schady, 2013). Smallness has meant that external actors
have played outsized roles in shaping domestic policies. The United States and the
Pan American Union, and even private foundations, played major roles shaping
social policy decades ago. Today, international financial institutions, including the
Inter-American Development Bank, compensate for low policy-planning capacity.
However, external involvement has been a poor substitute for elite commitment to
state institutions, with tax revenues as a percentage of GDP staying below the global
average, with the exception of Belize. Outside of Costa Rica, states are “organisa-
tionally primitive” with “bureaucracies of inferior quality” that are highly subject
to partisan vices (Lehoucq, 2012, pp. 146–148). This weakness has exacerbated
a number of the challenges the region’s states face, discussed below.

Domestic Challenges

In domestic policy, the states of Central America share some common challenges,
plus particular ones driven by differentiated levels of economic development. These
include poverty, low human development, inequality, corruption, gender-based dis-
crimination, and violence. Inequality, corruption and violence also pose challenges to
effective democratic governance in El Salvador, Guatemala and Belize. Panama and
Costa Rica face many different challenges from their neighbours, though both still
suffer high inequality exacerbated by rural/urban divisions. Guatemala, Honduras,
Nicaragua and El Salvador have only a fraction of the per capita income as their
richer southern neighbours, while being characterized by similar maldistribution.
These states rank near the bottom of the UN Human Development Index and have
struggled to improve economic performance despite liberal macroeconomic reforms
that pleased international markets. The countries lack major industries and the envi-
ronment for small business is disastrous: high insecurity, including extortion of small
business owners, little certainty regarding rule of law, and weak domestic demand.
248 Handbook on the politics of small states

In addition, Nicaragua and Honduras face problems of democratic breakdown

linked to incumbent authoritarianism. While Honduras democratized at the end of
the Cold War, its elite structure shifted little and its military remained closely tied to
politics (Pérez, 2015, Chapter 3). This became evident in 2009 when civilian elites
and military officials conspired to oust elected President Manuel Zelaya, fearful
of his drift to the left and plans to hold a referendum to remove presidential term
limits. Political uncertainty struck again in 2018, when conservative incumbent Juan
Orlando Hernández, having removed the prohibition on re-election without upsetting
his right-wing allies, faced a closely disputed election against a leftist newcomer.
With the election marked by major irregularities, Hernández closed ranks with the
US government and security forces to thwart the electoral challenge and defy inter-
national pressure. The election and ensuing dispute were marked by deadly violence.
In Nicaragua, former left-wing guerrilla Daniel Ortega returned to power via fair
elections in 2006; but, as President, he has steadily undermined checks and balances
while using quasi-legal tools to decimate the opposition. In 2018, responding to
street protests, initially against social service cuts, his government resorted to state
and para-state violence. Unlike the conservative, pro-US Hernández in Honduras,
Ortega has faced US sanctions. While preserving formal democratic institutions and
conducting elections, both have effectively undermined democracy and weakened
already poor governance.
All the countries under review face problematic levels of corruption and growing
levels of violence; but these problems are much worse in northern Central America.
Violence has tormented Honduras and El Salvador, which have alternately suffered
the world’s highest per capita homicide rate in recent years. Sky-high murder rates,
facilitated by impunity so widespread that virtually no one is prosecuted for murder,
have made northern Central America as deadly as during the civil war period (Arnson
and Olson, 2011). While much lower than Honduras and El Salvador, Guatemala
and Belize have homicide rates several times the global average. Relatively peaceful
Costa Rica and Panama have also seen growing problems of criminality, some of it
with transnational dimensions. The violence is, in part, fuelled by transnational drug
and arms trafficking, though it has deep roots in local problems and state weakness;
and, in many cases, state complicity (Wolf, 2016). Violence and dismal economic
prospects fuel outmigration from northern Central America, which has complicated
relations with their neighbours and the United States (Clemens, 2017; Swanson and
Torres, 2016).
While the roots of this violence are complex, the size of the nations involved has
complicated attempts to address it. Small domestic security institutions lack capacity;
to gain capacity (and funding) they have looked abroad, sometimes in unison. The
Honduran, Guatemalan and Salvadoran presidents launched an intermittent joint
lobbying effort in recent years. While they gained attention in Washington, political
support, and some new resources, what they (and their US counterparts) lacked
was new ideas about how to deal with the problems bedevilling their countries. Nor
is it clear that these leaders had the political will to tackle widespread impunity.
Honduran and Guatemalan political elites have sought to disrupt international
 Small states in Central America 249

anti-corruption agencies (discussed below). Both countries’ leaderships, along with

El Salvador’s, have undermined the rule of law to protect their own governments
and the families of top leadership implicated in corruption. High-income Panama has
also seen expansive corruption scandals, involving both its role as a shady centre for
global tax evasion as evidenced in the Panama Papers, and of its political class; this
has led to the prosecution of former president Ricardo Martinelli in 2018. Costa Rica
has largely remained at the margins of this region-wide epidemic.

INTERNATIONAL CHARACTERISTICS

As noted in the introduction to this volume, small states are gripped by the dilemma
of gaining influence through alignment with great powers versus trying to maintain
maximum autonomy. In the shadow of the United States, Central American states
face an extreme version of this problem. Historically, almost all governments opted
for at least tacit alignment (with notable exceptions like Nicaragua’s Sandinistas)
with Great Britain and then with the United States. Some leaders played the card of
explicit pro-US alignment against their domestic opponents (Clark, 1992); only a few
tried to maintain a delicate balance. Today, despite trends towards global multipolar-
ity, Central America remains closely connected to the US. While those connections
were once largely political, military, and via exports, today they run much deeper.
Central American economies are highly interdependent with the US; their societies
are linked through migration; and their security problems are deeply connected with
transnational, US-tied illicit markets.
Given that context, it is perhaps unsurprising that these countries’ foreign policies
are deeply focused on Washington and profoundly impacted by this asymmetrical
relationship. Central America’s foreign policy concentration on Washington has
rarely been reciprocated during the post-Cold War period. Before that, US attention
was intense but sporadic, driven by a ‘whirlpool’ of US perceptions of crisis and
threat (Pastor, 2001). Furthermore, many of Central Americans’ top concerns with
the United States are seen by US politicians as essentially domestic – notably the
status of large Central American migrant communities.
US-centrism exists economically as well. The economic relationship has been
formalized in a free trade agreement between the region and the United States: the
US-Dominican Republic-Central America Free Trade Agreement (referred to as
CAFTA or CAFTA-DR). However, that trade pact captures only one aspect of eco-
nomic interdependence – perhaps dependence for the northern states – on the United
States. Remittances have been central to bilateral relations: as much as 20 per cent of
El Salvador’s GDP has come from remittances in recent years, almost entirely from
Salvadorans in the United States. This creates a vulnerability unique to small states in
highly asymmetrical relationships. Seemingly minor changes in US domestic policy
– such as the cancellation of certain protected immigration statuses – send economic
and social shockwaves through the smaller country (Rathod et al., 2017b). It adds
to small states’ vulnerability to external economic fluctuations, particularly US
250 Handbook on the politics of small states

recessions, Federal Reserve borrowing rates and the price of oil, for which Central
America is almost entirely dependent on imports.
One often overlooked aspect of this asymmetrical relationship is how it extends
beyond executive branch diplomacy. Because Central America is usually a periph-
eral concern for the White House, individual members of Congress play outsized
roles in the making of Central America policy. On the left, a handful of Congress
members, in conjunction with human rights and labour NGOs, have sought to con-
dition economic and security assistance and trade preferences on improvements in
rights protections. On the right, vestiges of the 1980s anti-communist coalition and
antagonists of Cuba’s communist government denounce anything that resembles
a leftward drift. In 2009, this translated into outspoken support from members
of Congress for the military coup in Honduras (Ruhl, 2010). Powerful Congress
members use their perches to shape consequential bureaucratic politics of the State
Department, Pentagon, and Drug Enforcement Agency.
In one respect, at least, the vision of Central America as single-commodity export-
ers – pejoratively, ‘banana republics’ – is seriously out of date. While coffee, bananas
and other agricultural goods remain important, for much of Central America light
manufacturing is now a greater source of exports and employment. Three-quarters of
El Salvador’s exports are manufactures. For Guatemala, Costa Rica and Honduras,
the figure is nearly half. Central America is linked into global value chains much
more deeply. Traditionally, manufacturing was focused on textiles, though invest-
ment has expanded several other internationalized enclaves of the economy. Costa
Rica has upgraded to higher value-added exports and is known as a hub for computer
giant Intel. Panama focuses on service exports connected to shipping, insurance,
logistics and banking, which have driven one of Latin America’s highest growth rates
and made it one of the region’s wealthiest per capita economies.
The region has at times attempted to rebalance its diplomatic relations to counter-
act the centrality of the northern power. Given its unique role in global trade trans-
port, Panama has been, in many ways, the most globalized and cosmopolitan of the
Central American countries. Costa Rica has also expanded and upgraded its diplo-
matic representation, and it has sought to play niche roles in international diplomacy.
Mexico remains an important player in the north of Central America, particularly as
it tightens controls over migration and illicit flows at its own southern border (Wilson
and Valenzuela, 2014). Regional dynamics of migration have made Mexico both the
major transit country and a destination for Central American migrants.
Central America has occasionally tried to revive aspects of its early
nineteenth-century confederation and to engage in regional and sub-regional organ-
izations. Like two centuries ago, it has done so in ways that place few limits on
state autonomy (Legler, 2013). Central American states have been active in the
Organization of American States, though as Malamud (2015) has argued, the most
important role of this engagement has often been to provide legitimacy for incum-
bents in their domestic contexts. While a logic exists for small states to unite and
improve their bargaining positions vis-à-vis their larger neighbours, that has rarely
occurred in practice. Instead, Central American regionalism has often advanced
 Small states in Central America 251

with the participation or at least encouragement of the United States; such as under
CAFTA. Without external impetus, Central American economies had largely been
too small and concentrated to make integration a consistent priority, but that has
somewhat changed over the past two decades. The revitalized Central American
Common Market has lowered external tariffs and signed several free trade and
investment agreements, including a 2012 association agreement with the European
Union. Like many small states during recent decades, Central Americans have bet
on a strategy of economic openness and integration with the global economy (Booth,
Wade, and Walker, 2014).
The region has occasionally turned to global international organizations in search
of influence and support, and to avoid the heavy hand of the US in bilateral relations.
From 1989–92, UN peacekeeping played an important role in the implementation
of regional accords to end the civil conflicts (Koops, 2014). During the ensuing
transitions to democracy, international election monitoring was a crucial part of
achieving buy-in from formerly warring parties (Farer, 1996). Building on these
experiences, Central Americans turned to international organizations to combat cor-
ruption and impunity. The most innovative effort was the International Commission
against Impunity in Guatemala (Comisión Internacional contra la Impunidad en
Guatemala, or CICIG). Granted unprecedented powers in Guatemala’s legal system,
the commission launched investigations and brought cases against powerful figures
(Gutiérrez, 2016; Krylova, 2018). This made enemies in the political elite, spurring
a clash with President Jimmy Morales. In response to similar problems in Honduras,
public pressure forced the government to accept an OAS-led Support Mission against
Corruption and Impunity in Honduras (Misión de Apoyo contra la Corrupción y la
Impunidad in Honduras, or MACCIH). However, facing stronger and more cohesive
elite opposition, this body never gained CICIG’s powers, and entrenched elites set
out to hobble it from its inception (Call, 2018).
Another important issue – in which smallness has been central – has been the
One China Policy. For decades, Central America was a key reservoir of support for
Taiwan/Republic of China. This was influenced by US pressure, especially from
pro-Taiwan conservatives in Congress, by domestic anti-communist forces, and by
economic statecraft (including now-exposed bribery). However, in 2007, Costa Rica
changed its recognition to the People’s Republic of China, lured by hundreds of mil-
lions of dollars in projects and trade. Central American countries began to re-evaluate
their pro-Taiwanese positions. In 2017, Panama recognized the People’s Republic of
China; in 2018, El Salvador announced it would change its recognition (Tudoroiu,
2017). While Panama’s announcement largely escaped censure, El Salvador was
criticized by some in the US Congress, in particular by Senator Marco Rubio, who
threatened to withhold aid. The US ambassador followed suit (Harris, 2018). Such is
the asymmetry between the US and El Salvador that US officials insist San Salvador
refuse to recognize the world’s second largest economy: 40 years after the United
States changed its own recognition policy!
252 Handbook on the politics of small states

International Challenges

Central American states face a host of international and transnational challenges.

While many are not strictly related to size – larger states like Colombia and Mexico
also face aspects of the same problems – asymmetry shapes the challenges and the
options for response.
Transnational organized crime is the paradigmatic case. The very nature of this
problem is shaped by asymmetry. Most ‘product’, whether cocaine or trafficked
persons, originates in weaker countries, destined for the larger markets of the United
States, Europe and increasingly Asia. The policy paradigm to address these illicit
markets primarily originated in the large, powerful countries – though the elites of
small Central American states have usually embraced militarized responses (Wolf,
2017). The major exception to this pattern regards the arms trade; many weapons
used by illicit actors originate in legal or grey markets in the United States, which
refuses to aggressively address the problem for domestic political reasons. The
problem of illicit actors and violence is not a problem of smallness per se (Panama,
Nicaragua and Costa Rica have been less affected); however, it is certainly a problem
of asymmetries. For Central America, this asymmetry is even more complex; not
only are these states in a weak position vis-à-vis the US, but they suffer the effects of
changing enforcement in Mexico and Colombia. Central America’s role has largely
been as a transhipment point; due to its geography and low state capacity, trafficking
through the region boomed when neighbouring Colombia and Mexico increased
pressure on illicit groups. Some of these groups expanded operations in Central
America to compensate (Dudley, 2011). The history of armed conflicts meant there
were individuals experienced in violence and available, if dated, arms.
Though the image of mega-cartels that rival small states in their financing and
armed force lingers, the reality of transnational organized crime has largely changed.
Under a relentless, if ultimately counterproductive, attack on top leadership, large
organizations have fragmented into smaller, locally oriented groups. While this
largely was the intention of the so-called ‘kingpin’ or ‘decapitation’ policy, the
effects have been disastrous. Local authorities were no better prepared to address
smaller groups, who were often more violent in their competition for market share
(Phillips, 2015). With less access to lucrative transnational shipment of drugs, their
criminal activities have been locally pernicious. New fragments joined existing local
gangs, especially in Honduras and El Salvador. Those gangs, called maras, are them-
selves connected to international asymmetries: founding members were deported
from US cities, and they brought US gang cultures to Central American streets,
where poverty and economic marginalization created large pools of potential recruits
(Wolf, 2017). Transnational connections increased the flow of funds and drugs into
local markets. In some cases, this has increased the ability to corrupt officials; in
many others, state security forces have themselves become key operators in illicit
markets. In extreme cases, police units have acted as murder squads for organized
crime, with high-level involvement.
 Small states in Central America 253

The limited resources of the small Central American states have made them
dependent on external assistance to combat this wave of violence. Since 2008, this
has been linked to the US-funded Central American Regional Security Initiative
(CARSI), which has funnelled hundreds of millions of dollars to Central America.
While meant to balance security and social programmes, most funding has gone to
security. Signs of increased US presence have been notable; most tragically, this
included a May 2012 shootout in which US-assisted Hondurun security forces killed
a group of civilians. The US DEA was faulted in US government reports for poor
practices and covering up its misdeeds.
Not all Central America’s challenges are related to external asymmetries. The
region faces vulnerabilities of environmental precariousness, linked to geographical
smallness. The small countries have long faced difficulties in diversifying agri-
cultural production, developing food self-sufficiency, and (especially in heavily
populated El Salvador) meeting demands for arable land. These problems are
complicated by anthropogenic climate change. Geography, poverty and poor gov-
ernance have made the region susceptible to natural disasters, especially hurricanes,
earthquakes and (in places) volcanic eruptions. Today, rising sea levels and flooding
are near-term challenges, exacerbated by poor land use and conservation, leading to
deadly catastrophes.

CONCLUSION: PAWNS OR POWERS?

The region’s history highlights its vulnerability to external intervention. This shaped
fundamental trajectories of Central American states: the independence of Panama,
three decades of occupation in Nicaragua leading to an authoritarian dynasty, the
overthrow of elected democracy in Guatemala, and the toppling of a dictator in
Panama in 1990 (Rosenberg and Solís, 2012). Smallness made these interventions
feasible for the great power, seemingly reducing the costs of action (though only in
the short term). The feasibility of intervention meant that actors in Central American
states looked to outside powers to resolve disputes or strengthen their hand against
domestic opponents; this had deep, though hard to measure, effects on state-building
projects at home. They also at times armed one another’s domestic opponents and
militarized intra-Central America disputes.
Still, there are important examples of effective action by Central American states.
In some ways, Costa Rica has been nearest the role of the active small state that is
highlighted in the literature. In the midst of Cold War pressures, astute Costa Rican
statesmanship allowed the country to insulate itself from global and regional pres-
sures, pursuing its own successful path (Longley, 1997). It sought out roles as an
international mediator, most notably in the Central American conflicts of the 1980s.
Taking advantage of its history of democratic practice in a region known for the
opposite, Costa Rica has been a pro-democracy voice in the region and further afield.
Likewise, it has drawn on its reputation for ecological tourism to play a more active
role in international conversations around sustainable development. In another signal
254 Handbook on the politics of small states

case, during the 1970s, persistent Panamanian pressure and an astute use of allies
led to the reversion of the Panama Canal under favourable conditions (Long, 2014).
Panama later resisted US pressures to maintain a substantial military presence in
the Canal Zone; after nearly a century, US troops left Panama. Today Panama posi-
tions itself economically as a Central American Singapore, though it faces growing
international pressures over secretive banking practice, tax avoidance and money
laundering.
These instances suggest that international legal recognition, and the recourse
it provided to international institutions, can provide useful tools for small states.
However, it is clearly not sufficient. There are fewer and less notable examples
of successes for the northern Central American countries. International influence
has largely been factional. Honduras, for example, has successfully attracted
resources, both military and humanitarian, from the US, but these have done little
to improve general conditions there. During the 1980s, the Guatemalan government
resisted international pressures; but it did so to carry out a genocide in the name of
anti-communism. Nicaragua shunned US pressures during the 1980s with limited
support from Cuba and the Soviet Union; it has done so again since the 2006 return
of Daniel Ortega, initially with assistance from Venezuela. This has made the country
a pariah, not an influential international actor.
In recent years, Central American leaders have attempted to increase cooperation.
One impetus was economic. Central America gained substantial preferential access
to the US market under the 1982 Caribbean Basin Initiative. However, businesses
in the region wanted additional security for a broader range of exports; a free trade
agreement also would lock in liberalization and secure future market access. The
proposed agreement provoked domestic division, but Central American governments
strongly supported the proposal (Condo et al., 2005). The US responded positively in
2001, but complex US domestic politics on trade, and particularly Democratic oppo-
sition due to poor conditions for organized labour and environmentalists in much
of Central America, delayed Congressional approval for years. Central America’s
“collective power” (Long, 2017b) seemed to bring positive effects under the Obama
administration. Initially hesitant, the administration supported CAFTA in Congress.
The US encouraged joint action from Honduras, Guatemala and El Salvador, hoping
it would lead to reforms that would stem violence and northward migration, particu-
larly of unaccompanied minors.
Cooperation has continued, but the results under the Trump administration have
been less positive. Perhaps the most important case study regards these countries’
diasporas in the US. Hundreds of thousands of Central American migrants lived in
the US under the administrative designation of Temporary Protected Status (TPS).
Despite the name, the status had been extended for decades, allowing migrants to
work legally (and send remittances). Despite intense lobbying and attempts to ingra-
tiate themselves to Trump – Honduras and El Salvador relocated their embassies to
Jerusalem to back the controversial US move – the Trump administration cancelled
TPS, setting up potential mass repatriations to countries ill prepared to reintegrate
citizens (Rathod et al., 2017a, 2017b). This underscores how US–Central American
 Small states in Central America 255

asymmetrical interdependence converts Central America’s most pressing foreign

policy issues into ‘intermestic’ challenges that touch sensitive aspects of US domes-
tic politics. Small size makes gaining US high-level policy attention difficult, while
the issues’ nature often draws in Congressional and bureaucratic opponents (Long,
2017a).
Given their similar histories and external conditions, but variation of social,
political and foreign policy outcomes, Central America should provide a rich area of
study for students of small states in International Relations. The cases may be ideal
for the middle-range theory the editors of this volume advocate (Baldacchino and
Wivel, 2020). However, the region has garnered comparatively little attention from
authors using a small states framework, perhaps due to the history and perception of
US intervention. Certainly, international pressures have constrained foreign policy
options, just as they have shaped the domestic political and economic trajectories
of these countries. But, as this chapter sketches, those pressures have not prevented
diversity from emerging. Central America, then, reinforces the notion that effective
international action requires effective governance at home. However, it shows this
more through intra-regional variation than through generalizations about the region
as a whole. In short, some small states in the region have historically maintained rela-
tively strong state institutions. They have generally managed to pursue their interests
effectively, despite difficult international constraints. However, for states that have
lacked domestic capacity, the combination of smallness and weakness has led to
incoherent international action at best and invitations (at times literal) for external
intervention at worst. Small does not mean weak; however, small and weak almost
certainly do mean vulnerable.

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16. The foreign policy of South American
small powers in regional and international
politics
Leslie E. Wehner

INTRODUCTION

South America is a unipolar region in which there is a regional power (Brazil),

a series of secondary powers (Argentina, Colombia, Venezuela and perhaps Chile)
and a clutch of small powers (Schenoni, 2017). Bolivia, Ecuador, Paraguay, Peru and
Uruguay are states that have limited capacity in their external relationships. South
American small powers move between bilateral relations with neighbouring coun-
tries, membership in regional integration schemes and foreign policies that oscillate
between autonomy and dependency with regards to Brazil as the regional power and
the United States as global hegemon – while also taking note of the growing presence
of China in the region.
This chapter critically reviews the most important contemporary international
relations and characteristics of South America’s five/six small states in relation to
both their region and beyond. It also assesses how the goals, choices and behaviours
of these small states confirm and/or defy assumed expectations on small powers as
international actors (Baldacchino and Wivel, 2020). A role theory approach is used
that sits comfortably with the definition and key characteristics of small powers. This
role approach highlights both the asymmetrical position of a given actor within an
organized group, as well as the type of actor that is within the realm of possibility for
them (Thies, 2010, pp. 2–3).
Small power is a relational master role from which the self and others define
mutual expectations and patterns of behaviour. This master role creates asymmetrical
social relations, and the ensuing interactions can shape the types of auxiliary role
that the small power enacts and plays with respect to other powers in regional and
extra-regional relations (Wehner, 2015). Auxiliary roles can also be conceived of as
the activities of a state that sustain and give overall meaning to the everyday practice
of a master role, such as leader, competitor, rival, faithful ally, follower, mediator
and honest broker (Thies, 2013; Wehner, 2015; also Breuning, 2017; Harnisch, 2011;
Holsti, 1970; Thies, 2010). Moreover, a government’s standing towards economic
globalization, its type of economic development model and its political ideology can
be considered as key drivers of how South American small powers navigate the con-
straints of these asymmetrical relations – and of the type of roles that they perform.

259
260 Handbook on the politics of small states

Thus it is expected that small powers in South America will tend to follow the
leadership of the global hegemon, of the regional power or of those others competing
for regional powerhood. Consequently they will tend to adopt more of an ally and
partner role in their quest to augment their international presence, and/or to reduce
or increase their autonomy from regional and/or global powers (Thies, 2017).
Moreover, political leadership can also explain why some states change their foreign
policies recurrently (Merke, Reynoso, and Schenoni, 2020). Thus, South American
small powers with weak institutional capacity will tend to follow their own and
current set of governmental political, economic and ideological priorities rather than
develop and stick to a long-term and planned foreign policy, as would be expected in
the case of states with strong domestic institutions.
The rest of this chapter assesses the different regional and international foreign
policy behaviours of South American small powers. The subsections appear in
alphabetical order, and the analysis of each small power will touch upon its domestic
conditions and its foreign policy towards neighbours, regional powers, regional
groups and extra-regional actors – mainly the US, as global hegemon. The chapter
concludes with an overview and comparison of the different foreign policies of these
small powers.

THE POLITICS OF SOUTH AMERICAN SMALL POWERS

Bolivia

Bolivian politics in the twenty-first century has been that of Evo Morales (2006–
present), even before he became president of the Plurinational State of Bolivia.
Morales was key in mobilizing indigene and cocalero (coca-leaf producer) groups
against the policies of successive presidents through MAS (the Movement to
Socialism) from 2001 onwards. Bolivia had four presidents between 2001 and
Morales taking power. This high number of short-term presidencies reflects Bolivia’s
political instability. Bolivia, a landlocked state, is one of the poorest in South
America. The government of Gonzalo Sánchez de Losada (1993–1997) introduced
a series of neoliberal reforms, such as the privatization of strategic public companies.
The succeeding government of Hugo Banzer (1997–2001) – who did not complete
his mandate due to terminal cancer – introduced a policy to eradicate coca-leaf
production in order to show its commitment to and cast itself in a partner role with
the US. Subsequent presidencies were marked by political instability, popular mobi-
lizations and a rivalrous relationship with Chile: under Sánchez de Losada’s second
presidency (2002–2003) and then Carlos Mesa (2003–2005), domestic sectors con-
tested the possibility of Bolivia selling gas to Chile without reaching a solution to the
problem of sovereign access to the sea (Crabtree, 2017).
Evo Morales was elected president on the promise to renationalize gas and oil
resources as well as to protect cocaleros (Ceppi, 2014; Mayorga, 2008). Domestically,
Morales and his redistributive economic policies have been relatively successful:
 The foreign policy of South American small powers 261

poverty has fallen and robust economic growth achieved (Crabtree, 2017). Between
2016 and 2019, Bolivia’s gross domestic product grew at an annual rate of over 4
per cent (World Economic Outlook, Bolivia 2019) and the poverty rate fell from 60
per cent in 2007 to 36 per cent in 2017 (World Bank, 2019). Nevertheless, a lack of
economic and political resources tends to hamper Bolivia’s bilateral, regional and
extra-regional relations.
Bolivia has a long-standing rivalry with Chile, but overall cooperative relations
with Argentina, Paraguay, Peru and Brazil; apart from the tensions with the latter
over Bolivia’s renationalization of its oil and gas sector, which affected Brazilian
company Petrobas (Ceppi, 2014; Sá Guimarães and Maitino, 2019). Brazil under Lula
da Silva (2003–11), Argentina under Néstor Kirchner (2003–7) and then Christina
Fernández (2007–15) and especially Venezuela under Hugo Chávez (1998–2013)
sympathized with Bolivia’s claim to sovereign access to the Pacific Ocean through
Chile. Bolivia’s condition of being a landlocked country was a consequence of the
Nitrate War (1879–83), which both Peru and Bolivia lost against Chile. The new
border configuration in which Bolivia lost access to the Pacific was confirmed bilat-
erally between Chile and Peru in 1929. Bolivia and Chile had signed a peace treaty
in 1904; Morales claims that this treaty was imposed on Bolivia by Chile, however.
Overcoming this landlocked condition has become the main goal of Bolivian
foreign policy. Under Morales’s presidency, Bolivia first agreed with Chile to
advance a 13-point bilateral agenda in which the sea access issue was included
(Wehner, 2011a). A lack of progress on regaining sovereign access to the Pacific was
followed by lodging a case against Chile with the International Court of Justice (ICJ),
but the resolution of the court favoured Chile’s position (Crabtree, 2017). In spite of
this, Bolivia persists in its claim and narrative to regain access to the sea.
The policies adopted by Morales made him a close ally of Chávez and his
‘Socialism of the 21st Century’. Morales’s government was one of the direct
beneficiaries of Chavez’s policy of using resources generated by the high price of
oil on the world market (Corrales and Romero, 2015). Thus, Morales adopted the
role of faithful ally and follower of Venezuela. Bolivia used the regional group
created and led by Venezuela in 2004, the Bolivarian Alliance for the People of Our
America (ALBA), to receive support and protection in advancing its new political
and economic model of development (Raby, 2011). In the context of a majority of
governments being centre-left, a phenomenon also known as the pink tide, the South
American Union (UNASUR) established in 2008 and led by Brazil as the regional
power also offered an additional layer of protection to the economic and political
model adopted by Morales. In fact, UNASUR under the interim leadership of Chilean
President Michelle Bachelet (2006–2010 and 2014–2018) acted to solve the govern-
ability crisis affecting Bolivia in 2008. A series of regions within Bolivia mobilized
to achieve autonomy from the central government of Morales, which put at risk the
territorial integrity of the Bolivian state. UNASUR’s action was key to solving the
internal tensions and to sustaining Morales’s leadership (Nolte and Wehner, 2014).
Bolivia’s enactment of the role of faithful ally to Venezuela and its domestic policies
of respecting coca-leaf producers also led to a frosty and uncooperative role relation-
262 Handbook on the politics of small states

ship with the US as global hegemon and its war on drugs policy. In fact, Morales’s
narrative has been one of blaming the US for trying to interfere and change the course
of Bolivian domestic politics (Rochlin, 2017, pp. 1336–1337).
Thus, Bolivia used its role relationship with Venezuela, and the regional platforms
of ALBA and UNASUR, as protective mechanisms to achieve more autonomy from
the US. Bolivia has behaved as a small power, as it enjoys only a limited capacity to
change its asymmetrical relationships with bigger South American powers such as
Chile. Even when locating itself in the faithful ally to Venezuela or friend of Brazil
roles, Bolivia places itself in a subordinate position – while using these sets of rela-
tionships to create distance from the hegemonic role of the US.

Chile

Chile is an in-between case of a country holding master roles of both a secondary and
a small power. Chile’s domestic political and economic system has been recognized
as having strong capacity, as well as being one of the most stable in the whole of
South America. Chile enjoys a high capacity to influence South American affairs,
as it was key to the creation of the PA – Pacific Alliance – (2012) and PROSUR
– Forum for the Progress and Development of South America – (2019) regional
groups. However, Chile’s leadership usually takes the form of a dual or joint venture.
It led the creation of the PA with Peru and PROSUR jointly with Colombia; while
before, within UNASUR, Chile used its bilateral security experience with Argentina
to provide the underlying template and conceptions of security cooperation for South
America within UNASUR’s South American Defence Council (CDS) (Nolte and
Wehner, 2014). However, Chile’s capacity to exert influence beyond South America
diffuses as it takes the stance of a small power in its relationships with the US, China
and the European Union, as well as within the multilateral governance system.
In its bilateral relations with neighbours, Chile still has a distant and rivalrous
relationship with Peru and especially with Bolivia (as noted above), while having
one of mutual trust and friendship with Argentina. Chile and Argentina have estab-
lished a binational operation force called Cruz del Sur, operating under a unified
command for peacekeeping operations (Oelsner, 2016, p. 181). In contrast, Chile
and Bolivia do not have formal diplomatic relations. Due to Bolivia’s proactive
seeking of political support for its claim to sovereign access to the sea, Chile has
experienced a moment of regional isolationism – especially under the government of
Ricardo Lagos (2000–2006). In part, the support from the rest of the subcontinent to
Bolivia was seen by Chile’s foreign policy elite as a reaction to their country’s lack
of commitment to the Southern Common Market (MERCOSUR), to its bilateral FTA
policy beyond Latin America, and to being constantly monitored regarding economic
achievements by the US (Fermandois, 2011; Wehner, 2011a). Chile’s narrative of
success clashed with the expectations of the rest of South America on the need for
the country to show a strong South American regional vocation (Wehner, 2011a).
To make up for this sense of misplacement in South America, Chile acted as the
first interim president of UNASUR in 2008. Chile also became one of the main con-
 The foreign policy of South American small powers 263

tributors to the United Nations peacekeeping operation in Haiti under the leadership
of Brazil (MINUSTAH 2004–2017) (Nolte and Wehner, 2014). However, under
the first presidency of right-wing Sebastian Piñera (2010–2014) Chile appeared to
be more committed to the new PA than to UNASUR. The refusal of then Brazilian
president Dilma Rousseff (2011–2016) to officially visit Chile was interpreted as
a sign of discontent and protest against Chile’s leadership of the PA. Members of the
foreign policy elite in Chile interpreted the PA as potentially detrimental to Brazil’s
role as an emerging regional power. A fragmented region could affect Brazil’s claims
for higher status in the international system (Wehner, 2015). Chile during the second
presidency of Sebastian Piñera (2018–present) also led the creation of the new
regional group PROSUR and has withdrawn its membership from UNASUR along
with Argentina, Brazil, Colombia, Ecuador, Peru and Paraguay. In these bilateral and
regional actions, Chile has had the capacity to influence South American affairs – and
in some cases also play a joint leadership role. In part, this secondary power master
role reflects Chile’s institutional capacity in trade, political and security matters – as
well as its role attributions from key actors in South America, such as Argentina and
Brazil.
Chile is also recognized as a reliable partner and consistent supporter of economic
globalization. Chile’s main international strategy in the 1990s and first decade of
the new century had been to champion the role of global free trader. It secured free
trade agreements (FTAs) with its main trade partners: the US, the EU, Japan, South
Korea and China, mostly during the second half of the first decade of the new millen-
nium (Fuentes, 2006). Chile has been able to use these FTAs to diffuse and reduce
its excessive political and economic dependence on the US by creating links with
other important actors (Wehner, 2011b). Chile is also a member of the APEC forum
(1996), and was recently party to the Trans-Pacific Partnership Agreement that was
signed by all 11 of its members in 2018 (after the US, under President Donald Trump,
withdrew). In its proactive FTA agenda beyond South America, Chile has however
become more of a rule-taker than a rule-maker. Chile’s negotiating capacity vis-à-vis
the US, the EU and China in its FTAs has been rather limited (Wehner, 2011b). Chile
has had moments of contesting the US hegemonic role when it voted against that
country’s decision to invade Iraq in 2003; however, as a non-permanent member of
the UN Security Council, Chile voted in line with key principles of small powerhood,
such as a strong commitment to multilateralism and international law (Fermandois,
2011).
At the same time, Chile could join forces with other countries such as France and
Germany while also receiving support from Brazil, Argentina and Mexico to reduce
pressure from the US (Muñoz, 2005). Even in this case of contesting US hegemony,
Chile acted as a small power as it was able to use the clout and solidarity of other
major international actors to offset the effects of not supporting the US venture.
Indeed, Chile feared that recently concluded FTA negotiations with the US would
not be approved by the US Congress as an act of reprisal; such a blockage did not
ultimately happen, however.
264 Handbook on the politics of small states

Thus, Chile’s master role in international affairs is that of a small state in which
other actors such as the US also attribute this condition to the South American
country. Moreover, Chile also accepts the attribution of a small state role beyond
South America by locating itself in a subordinate position in its asymmetrical social
relationships. This is reflected in the way Chile enacts its role of free trader, in which
it also takes on the role of rule-taker from major and great powers. Chile’s foreign
policy is driven by prioritizing key norms such as democracy and human rights,
and above all playing the roles of a multilateral actor and a faithful respecter of
international law – as ways to reduce the effects of its asymmetrical relations in the
international system. When it comes to Chile’s actions in South America, it adopts
the master role of secondary power – as it has the capacity to articulate key regional
initiatives and lead them with the support of other key regional actors.

Ecuador

In the first two decades of the new century, Ecuador has experienced different
types of development policy. These diverse experiences have arisen from numerous
changes of president and from the low level of institutionalization of policy practices.
The state of Ecuador has a low capacity to articulate a coherent and long-term foreign
policy due to the enduring sense of systemic crisis that the country has experienced
economically and politically for most of the new century (Bonilla, 2006). Ecuador
had the highest per capita debt in Latin America, and its economy contracted by
a staggering 7.3 per cent in 1999 (Hey, 2003). Moreover, it had seven presidents in
11 years: some were impeached, others did not complete their presidential terms due
to economic crises, social pressures or corruption charges (Martín-Mayoral, 2009,
p. 131).
Only with the rise to power of Rafael Correa in 2007 was Ecuador able to project
a sense of political continuity and stability. President Lenin Moreno (2017–present)
– who hails from Alianza País, the same coalition as Correa – has followed a more
liberal economic policy and a more conservative political agenda than Correa: while
the latter identified himself with the pink tide movement and especially with the
government of Chávez, President Moreno has preferred a more pro-US approach.
However, the continuity of a coalition in power for a number of years does not mean
that institutional practices have taken root; politics in Ecuador are still conducted in
a context of caudillismo. Correa, and now Moreno, have been able to stabilize the
economy and reduce poverty; the economy still remains highly dependent on the
extraction of fossil fuels (gas and oil), however, as well as on the export of cash crops
such as bananas.
The systemic economic and political problems of Ecuador and its lack of institu-
tional stability have affected its international actorness. Ecuador is a small state with
few resources that seeks out regional and multilateral approaches to solve its domes-
tic, regional and international problems (Hey, 2003). Ecuador under Correa relied on
UNASUR to mediate and help solve the challenge and mobilization of police forces
against the government in 2010 that was seen as an attempted coup d’état. Under
 The foreign policy of South American small powers 265

Correa’s leadership, Ecuador joined ALBA (Nolte and Wehner, 2014). Ecuador’s
enactment of a faithful ally role vis-à-vis Venezuela was meant to cement an ideolog-
ical alliance, securing support for its state model from peers and more powerful South
American states – as well as to reduce the effects of asymmetrical dependence on
the US. While ALBA represented ideological affinity and the closest ally, Ecuador
also used UNASUR to prevent regional isolationism and receive support in case of
a domestic governance crisis (Weiffen, 2017).
Moreover, UNASUR was seen as the appropriate umbrella institution to deal with
bilateral relations and security challenges, such as that with Colombia and the effects
of Plan Colombia in and for Ecuador (Malamud and García-Calvo, 2009). The latter
was perceived to have porous borders, which the paramilitary group FARC took
advantage of in order to escape Colombian military operations. Tensions escalated
when the Colombian government bombed a FARC camp in Ecuadorian territory in
2008. Venezuela expressed its support for Ecuador and showed a willingness to act
if the conflict were to escalate and if Colombia were to continue eroding Ecuadorian
territorial sovereignty (Herz, Siman, and Telles, 2017).
Ecuador used UNASUR security arrangements and practices to develop its posi-
tion within South America and to reduce its asymmetrical dependence on the US.
Under Correa’s presidency, Ecuador did not renew permission for the US military
base in Manta – which had been used by the North American country since 1999 to
conduct operations within the framework of Plan Colombia and the war on drugs
(Malamud and García-Calvo, 2009). Correa’s words in 2009 to justify his decision
contain references to sovereignty, autonomy and non-interference:

As long as I am president, I will not allow foreign bases in our homeland, I will not allow
interference in our affairs, I will not negotiate our sovereignty and I will not accept guard-
ians of our democracy. (Telesur, 2016)

UNASUR and the support from Brazil and Venezuela were key to Ecuador making
this decision, as US Air Force personnel being based in Manta was seen as a security
threat to these neighbouring countries as well.
Thus, Ecuador was able to contest US hegemony by securing asymmetrical
bilateral ties with Brazil and Venezuela as well as by using the umbrella protection
of two regional groups: ALBA and UNASUR. Yet, recently President Moreno
withdrew Ecuador’s membership of these two regional groups. Ecuador played the
role of Venezuela’s faithful ally during the presidency of Correa. Ecuador promoted
a foreign policy based on the leadership of its president, rather than on rolling out
a long-term foreign policy strategy. Indeed, Moreno has reoriented Ecuador’s foreign
policy towards the US and the new PROSUR group, leaving behind the ally role
with Venezuela. Part of this constant reorientation of the foreign policy of Ecuador
is based on the lack of economic, political and diplomatic institutional capacity at the
domestic level to articulate long-term goals and policies. This lack of institutional
capacity gives Ecuadorian presidents more latitude to leave their personal mark on
the country’s foreign policy.
266 Handbook on the politics of small states

Paraguay

Paraguay’s institutions and bureaucracy have been described as permeated by patri-

monial and clientelistic networks, and its foreign policy based on the sole figure of
the president. Paraguay lacks institutional capacity to form and advance a consistent
and long-term state foreign policy (Mora, 2003). Under the presidents from the
Colorado Party – Juan Carlos Wasmosy (1993–1998), Raúl Cubas Grau (1998–1999)
and Luis González Machi (1999–2003) – the country experienced severe political
and economic crises that prevented a proactive foreign policy being formulated
(Mora, 2003). Attempts by previous president Andrés Rodríguez (1989–1993) – who
had overthrown the authoritarian government of Alfredo Stroessner in 1989 – to set
the foundations for a long-term foreign policy evaporated in favour of improvisation,
ad hoc behaviour and dilettantism within the country’s foreign service (Arce, 2011,
pp. 110–111; Lambert, 2011).
The political instability of Paraguay permeates all sectors of the state apparatus,
which also creates windows of opportunity for different caudillos to destabilize
respective governments. For instance, General Lino Oviedo tried to overthrow the
government of González Machi in a failed coup attempt in 1996 (Mora, 2003);
Congress removed Fernando Lugo (2008–2012) from office in 2012 meanwhile
(Lambert, 2012). After Lugo, and the transitional presidency of Fernando Franco
(2012–2013), Horacio Cartes (2012–2018) completed his mandate in the face of
severe political difficulties and acute civil unrest (Richer, 2012). Thus political crises
have been an integral part of Paraguay’s political landscape over the last 20 years,
despite a respectable economic score sheet: namely, average annual GDP growth
of 4.5 per cent in the period 2004–2017 (World Bank, 2019). Yet, the low levels of
socio-economic development, poor infrastructure and an isolationist orientation have
restricted Paraguay’s options as a foreign policy actor (Lambert, 2011).
Despite these weaknesses of Paraguay as an international actor, there are some
visible patterns in its foreign policy as a small state within South America and in
its relations with the US. Part of Paraguay’s foreign policy is to prevent excessive
dependency on its two powerful neighbours: Brazil as the regional power and
Argentina as the regional competitor of Brazil. Moreover, Paraguay’s foreign policy
has oscillated between dependency and the quest for autonomy from the US. In times
when it has been closer to the US, Paraguay has been distant and sought a foreign
policy of hiding from its South American partners, in fact. However when it has
advanced a foreign policy of autonomy from the US, Paraguay has sought to use
the protective shelter of Brazil and of South American regional integration schemes
(Lambert, 2011, 2016).
In the first years of the presidency of Nicanor Duarte (2003–2008), Paraguay
was able to achieve more stability in crafting its foreign policy (Arce, 2011). It
became closer to MERCOSUR and the leaderships of Lula and Kirchner, as well
as promoted the principles of regional integration and solidarity, non-intervention
and human rights (Lambert, 2011). Economically Paraguay increased its exports to
MERCOSUR member states (Masi, 2008). Along with Uruguay, Paraguay usually
 The foreign policy of South American small powers 267

complained to the two big powers of MERCOSUR about the existing asymmetries
that favoured Brazil and Argentina at the cost of a more cohesive grouping. In 2005,
MERCOSUR approved Structural Development Funds (FOCEM) with the purpose
of reducing existing economic asymmetries among its members (Lambert, 2016).
The pivot towards South America was the cornerstone of the foreign policy of the
following president, Lugo. However he faced some difficult moments, such as the
renegotiation of the Itaipú Treaty with Brazil. The countries share the ownership of
the Itaipú hydroelectric dam, but while both are entitled to 50 per cent of the energy
produced by it, Paraguay uses less than 20 per cent of its share. Rather than selling
its unused energy to third parties at market prices, Paraguay must cede the surplus
to Electrobas, the Brazilian state electricity company – at cost rather than at market
price. Yet Electrobas itself can resell this unused energy to domestic actors, making
huge profits in the process. The Itaipú Treaty shows the asymmetry and weak power
position of Paraguay in its relationship with the regional power. Presidents Lula
and Lugo renegotiated the terms of this agreement in 2009 due to Brazil’s need to
minimize the potential negative impact on its master role as regional power and aux-
iliary role as leader of South America, in tandem with its aspirations to be a global
power (Lambert, 2016; Masi, 2014). The Itaipú Treaty comes to an end in 2023,
and right-wing presidents Jair Bolsonaro of Brazil (2019–present) and Mario Abdo
Benítez of Paraguay (2018–present) have already met to renegotiate its terms.
During the two previous presidencies of Duarte and Lugo, Paraguay was able to
demonstrate a more coherent foreign policy that combined elements of pragmatism
with ideology. During these two presidencies, Paraguay showed a strong vocation
towards South America and a distant but pragmatic approach to the US (Masi, 2014).
Once Lugo was removed from office, Paraguay was suspended from MERCOSUR
and UNASUR under the interim presidency of Franco. As Paraguay needed to be
re-accepted into the South American concert, the new presidency of Cartes imple-
mented a foreign policy of followership to Brazil. Paraguay has traded the values of
sovereignty and independence that were promoted by Duarte – and later, more con-
cretely, by Lugo – for effective submission to Brazil (Lambert, 2016). In this period
(2013–2018), Paraguay also followed Brazil’s leadership in UNASUR. Paraguay’s
role in UNASUR, and especially in the CDS, was that of rule-taker. Moreover, it
distanced itself from Venezuela’s revolutionary role. Yet, under Benítez’s leader-
ship, Paraguay has followed the rest of the right-wing governments in the region,
withdrawing from UNASUR and supporting the creation of PROSUR. In addition,
Benítez has also sought to establish closer links with the PA – although membership
in this group is based on the fact that member states should have FTAs with each
other.
Paraguay’s foreign policy towards the US in the last 20 years has, as noted, oscil-
lated between dependency and the quest for autonomy. During the first years of the
presidency of Duarte, Paraguay’s foreign policy was more in line with the values of
governments from the pink tide in South America – which created a more distant yet
pragmatic relationship with the US (Masi, 2014). For instance, Paraguay opposed
the US military intervention in Iraq and even voiced its opposition to US agricultural
268 Handbook on the politics of small states

subsidies during the negotiation of the Free Trade Association of the Americas
(FTAA), rather than hiding behind the negotiating clout of Brazil as regional power.
However, as Paraguay experienced some setbacks and a lack of substantial material
gains within MERCOSUR, it decided to re-approach the US. Duarte was the first
Paraguayan president to be received at the White House, and the two states signed
agreements on trade and aid for Paraguay (Lambert, 2011). Under Lugo’s presidency,
meanwhile, Paraguay revoked plans for US troops to hold joint military exercises, yet
at the same time he reassured the US about Paraguay’s willingness and commitment
to cooperate in the war on drugs with the Drug Enforcement Administration. While
ideologically adopting a narrative of regionalism and regional solidarity, Lugo still
pursued a foreign policy of pragmatism towards the US (Lambert, 2011).
However, President Cartes realigned the country’s foreign policy priorities
and adopted a role of followership and non-contestation towards the US. Cartes
even decided to follow Trump’s initiative and move Paraguay’s embassy in Israel
to Jerusalem (Churm, 2018), although incoming president Benítez relocated the
embassy back to Tel Aviv a few months later (Sawafta and Desantis, 2018). Despite
this impasse, Paraguay has tried to show itself as supportive of US initiatives in South
America and as a follower of the North American country (rather than of its current
president, Trump, per se) – especially with regards to the crisis in Venezuela under
the presidency of Nicolás Maduro (2013–present).
Thus, Paraguay’s master role as a small power and its subordinate position within
asymmetrical social relations are amplified by recurrent domestic political crises
and political volatility that undermine its capacity to articulate and pursue long-term
foreign policy goals and actions. Paraguay has overall played the role of rule-taker
within regional integration schemes in South America, and has adopted a follower
role vis-à-vis the leadership of Brazil. However, these key roles being played by
Paraguay do not preclude this actor from sometimes seeking more favourable terms
by contesting its role relationships with Brazil and the US. Paraguay’s foreign policy
actions have traditionally oscillated between dependency and autonomy and have
involved it taking an isolationist role away from regional powers, regional groups
and the US as global hegemon.

Peru

Since the early years of the new century, all presidents of Peru have stuck to the
model of export promotion and macroeconomic stability first adopted in the 1990s
– with some putting more emphasis on a broader set of redistributive policies than
others. Despite Peru’s macroeconomic stability and economic growth in the first
years of the new millennium, the country still experiences some systemic problems
– as a high proportion of its economy is informal in nature. Peru is a country of high
political volatility; this has affected different governments that start with a high level
of popular support and end with low levels of voter approval. Party affiliation is
not strong, so voters are more likely to vote for leaders than parties or policy plat-
forms. Peru has had five presidents since 2001 from different parties and political
 The foreign policy of South American small powers 269

movements: Alejandro Toledo (2001–2006), Alan García (2006–2011), Ollanta

Humala (2011–2016), Pedro Pablo Kuczynski (2016–2018), who stepped down
due to accusations of corruption, and Martín Vizcarra (2018–present). Despite this
electoral volatility, Peru’s leaders tend to enjoy the possibility of implementing and
advancing a consistent foreign policy; Peru’s has been consistently pragmatic and
conducted independent of who is currently in power (St. John, 2011). One key feature
of Peru since 2005 has been its proactive FTA agenda: it has signed 19 FTAs, and
has also been an active member of the APEC forum since 1998. The FTA agenda has
not budged with changes in political leadership (World Trade Organization, 2013).
Thus, Peru has been able to implement enduring goals and principles in its foreign
policy by living up to its roles as a free trader, multilateral state, regional partner, and
partner of the US in South America.
Bilaterally, Peru was able to put behind it the rivalry role with Ecuador. Peru and
Ecuador had a military conflict in 1995, the Cenepa War. Since then, both actors
have built a high level of trust and a role relationship of friendship. It was under
the presidency of Toledo and his confirmation of the 1998 Brasilia Accords that
peace between the two countries was sealed (Toche, 2011). Even when President
Correa was aligned with Venezuela’s project of Socialism of the 21st Century while
Peruvian presidents themselves were rather distant from it, both countries were still
able to maintain a constructive bilateral relationship. Ecuador even adopted a neutral
role and abstained from supporting Chile in Peru’s maritime dispute that ended with
a favourable resolution for Peru at the ICJ (St. John, 2011, p. 131).
Peru and Chile have a role relationship of rivalry meanwhile, in which Peru is
depicted as the weaker party. Peru blames Chile for a possible arms race as the latter
invests in its defence systems more assiduously than the rest of South America.
Despite the rivalry role between the actors, cooperation has also advanced. Peru
has nevertheless adopted a pragmatic stance in its relations with Chile, and com-
partmentalized and separated trade issues from the security realm (Toche, 2011).
For example, Peru and Chile signed an FTA under Toledo’s administration, despite
tensions over the maritime border issue. Moreover, Peru under García – along
with Chile, Colombia and Mexico – created the PA, despite Chile and Peru then
still having the maritime dispute case being heard at the ICJ. Thus, this bilateral
relationship of Peru has been handled with a strong dose of pragmatism and relies
on the skills of Peru’s diplomatic corps to separate the security border affairs from
commercial ones (Vidarte, 2016a).
The relationship with Bolivia has been difficult for Peru since Morales took
power. As Peru has followed the premises of economic globalization and export
promotion, this has clashed with Bolivia’s advocacy of socialism and its ally role
towards Venezuela (Novak and Namihas, 2013; Vidarte, 2016a). As leader of the
Andean Community (CAN) – first set up as the Andean Pact in 1969 – Peru had to
witness the group’s fragmentation and decline into irrelevance due to disagreements
on economic globalization and socio-political models. Venezuela withdrew from
CAN in 2006. Bolivia has blocked CAN from negotiating an FTA with the EU. As
Venezuela’s economic crisis worsens, and South America has shifted to the right,
270 Handbook on the politics of small states

Peru’s approach to Bolivia under the last two presidents Kuczynski and Vizcarra has
been one of neglect – increasing Bolivia’s sense of being an isolated state in South
America, despite both states sticking to their bilateral ministerial meetings (Vidarte,
2018). Conversely, Peru’s relationship with Colombia has been cooperative on issues
of terrorism and drug trafficking as well as on implementing plans of economic
development along their land border. Moreover, both countries have been critics
of Venezuela under both Chávez and Maduro. Both have adopted a proactive role
within the PA, and in launching – along with Chile – the new PROSUR. Finally,
Peru’s bilateral relationship with Brazil as the regional power has also been driven
by a pragmatic stance and focused on bilateral integration. Moreover, Brazil used to
altercast Peru as a good ally and follower within UNASUR.
Peru’s commitment to UNASUR was strong: it offered the country a useful forum
and arena in which to discuss and settle regional security problems and develop
mutual trust mechanisms with Chile, within the CDS. Peru has been a key force in
keeping CAN alive, despite the diversity of economic models of development during
the pink tide period in South America. Paradoxically, CAN rules have prevented
Peru from advancing its own trade agenda. Instead, Peru decided to pursue its own
bilateral FTA with the US. This entered into force in 2009, while one with the EU
was signed in 2012. Clinching an FTA with the US obliged Peru to modify rules
and procedures within CAN, while the initiation of bilateral FTA talks with the EU
in 2009 meant leaving behind ambitions of a CAN–EU trade partnership (St. John,
2011). These actions by Peru in line with its model of economic development have
simultaneously further undermined the CAN project.
Peru’s foreign policy follows the precepts of international law and multilateralism.
Peru’s actions within the global governance system are that of a rule-taker. It has
traditionally adopted a pragmatic approach towards the US, nurturing a close rela-
tionship therewith in recent years. President Toledo advanced a narrative of partner
of the US in South America, despite some frictions over the invasion of Iraq in 2003.
The US agreed to talks with Peru over an FTA that was eventually signed during the
presidency of García (St. John, 2017). The latter also cultivated a close relationship
with the US, one characterized by enacting the roles of follower and aligned state
when it came to commercial issues and the war on drugs (Vidarte, 2016a). This
was a policy stance maintained during subsequent presidencies too, including that
of Humala. The latter was critical of US policies in South America as presidential
candidate. However, once in power, Humala took up the role relationship for Peru
of close partner to the US (St. John, 2017; Vidarte 2016b). President Kuczynski
was able to keep up the close relationship with the US even with President Trump
showing little interest in Latin America beyond Venezuela’s crisis and stemming
migration from Mexico. Peru has also advanced its commercial agenda with China
in order to increase foreign direct investment therefrom: President Xi Jinping visited
Peru in 2017 on a state visit, first attending an APEC summit in Lima. Peru has
made clear that the relationship with China is commercial in nature and that its main
partner in political, security and commercial issues is the US as global hegemon
(Vidarte, 2018).
 The foreign policy of South American small powers 271

Thus, Peru’s foreign policy can be characterized as pragmatic and state (rather
than government) driven. This can be seen in the roles that Peru plays, especially
those as global free trader and partner of the US. In addition, Peru’s relations with
its neighbour Chile were strategically cast to improve security and border issues.
Despite scepticism, Chile and Peru have been able to prioritize their trade agenda and
advance regional cooperation schemes – as the PA shows. Peru has also displayed
diplomatic prowess in keeping up good relations with Brazil as the regional power,
although the US is its main partner. Moreover, Peru was able to substantially improve
its relationship with Ecuador, and stay on good terms with Colombia. It is its relation-
ship with Bolivia under Morales that has been Peru’s most distant and difficult one.
Hence, Peru’s domestic political volatility has not affected the institution of foreign
policy-making – with which it has been able to consolidate and advance a long-term
agenda and strategy in both South America and beyond.

Uruguay

Uruguay can be characterized as a state with a politically stable political system that
has developed a limited but notable institutional capacity to articulate its foreign
policy as a small power in South America. This characterization does not mean
that there is an overall consensus on the type of foreign policy that Uruguay should
follow: constant role contestation on what role and strategy Uruguay should prior-
itize in its regional and extra-regional relations prevails. This contestation takes place
in Congress, and between the government and opposition parties (Chasquetti, 2007;
López Burian, 2014). Nevertheless, Uruguay has been able to establish traditional
principles of foreign policy that take form of role conceptions that are part of the
constitutive fabric of the state, rather than representative of a particular government.
Uruguay has traditionally conceived of itself as the holder of a non-aligned role that
serves the purpose of promoting principles of international solidarity. It has also
advocated for multilateralism, and is a strong promoter of human rights standards
within the international system (Clérico, 2006).
Uruguay’s regional relationships have been dominated by its quest to reduce
its asymmetric dependence on Argentina and Brazil within MERCOSUR. Under
President Jorge Battle (2000–2005), the country tried to advance its foreign eco-
nomic policy of export promotion and integration into global markets. MERCOSUR
was seen as the vehicle offering this opportunity for Uruguay. However, the country
also experienced the negative consequences of market openness and of economic
dependence on Brazil and Argentina: Uruguay suffered an economic crisis in 2002,
due to the currency devaluations in Brazil in 1999 and in Argentina in 2001. As
a consequence of these crises, and because of the perception that Uruguay had
become excessively dependent economically on these two big MERCOSUR powers,
the country redirected its foreign policy towards seeking a closer relationship with
the US – to the extent that the South American nation broke off relations with Cuba
and dropped its non-aligned role altogether (Fernández Luzuriaga, 2003). The
International Monetary Fund approval of a financial aid and rescue package was
272 Handbook on the politics of small states

seen by the political elite of this small country as a confirmation of the US being
Uruguay’s new faithful ally (Clérico, 2006).
The subsequent presidencies of Tabaré Vázquez (2005–2010), José ‘Pepe’ Mujica
(2010–2015) and of Vázquez again (2015–present), both individuals being from the
left-wing coalition Frente Amplio, became icons of the pink tide in South America.
However their policies would be rather moderate, both domestically and internation-
ally, and differ from those of Venezuela under Chávez. Yet, they still made some
changes to the foreign policy thrust of their predecessor Battle. For instance, Vázquez
rekindled Uruguay’s vocation for South America and MERCOSUR rather than the
US. Uruguay did not totally annul its relationship with the US, but it was certainly
not playing the expected role of faithful ally. At the same time, both Vázquez and
Mujica advocated for a type of regionalism that was not just trade driven but that
incorporated more substantial political and social issues too. In this sense, both actors
supported a more social and political MERCOSUR and UNASUR (Caetano, López,
and Luján, 2016, p. 284; Riggirozzi and Tussie, 2012). Uruguay has been reluctant
to fully support the new PROSUR regional group, wherein it has adopted observer
status while the country has not withdrawn its UNASUR membership either; Bolivia,
Uruguay and Venezuela are currently the only members thereof.
Within Uruguay’s membership in MERCOSUR, then president Mujica prioritized
relations with Brazil. This decision to adopt a follower role to the latter was in part
a consequence of the dispute with Argentina over the cellulose plants that Uruguay
had allowed to be built on its territory but within the space of the binational Uruguay
River. The impasse between these two countries was only partially resolved in
2010 (Lamas, 2018). This conflict re-emerged in Uruguay’s bilateral relations with
Argentina when President Mujica authorized Fray Bentos to increase cellulose pro-
duction at its plant by 10 per cent more per year. Under the Frente Amplio, Uruguay
took up once more its non-aligned role beyond South America and distanced
itself from the US by re-establishing diplomatic relations with Cuba (Fernández
Luzuriaga, 2009). Moreover, it advocated for Venezuela to become a member of
MERCOSUR – something that was approved in 2012. MERCOSUR and UNASUR
regional institutions have become umbrella protection mechanisms for Uruguay as
a foreign policy actor. However, most of Uruguay’s partners in South America –
including Brazil and Argentina – have experienced a political shift to the right. This
has led President Vázquez in his second presidency to emphasize the maintaining
of solid state relations, rather than ones driven by governmental and ideological
short-term interests. This change in Vázquez’s rhetoric is to prevent Uruguay from
falling into an isolationist role within South America, and especially in relation to
Brazil and Argentina.
Thus Uruguay has prioritized a non-aligned role beyond South America, with
sporadic alignment to the US in the twenty-first century. Uruguay has advanced its
regional relationships through membership in regional integration groups. It first
pushed for a model of open regionalism, indicating its followership of systemic
cues such as economic globalization; but, later on it has adopted a more political
and social membership in these regional schemes – though without giving up on the
 The foreign policy of South American small powers 273

trade component of MERCOSUR. Its foreign policy dependency on the latter has
made Uruguay adopt the role of faithful ally to Brazil at the expense of Argentina
because of trade frictions between these countries and because of Argentina’s sys-
tematic decline as a competitor for a master role as regional power in South America.
Nevertheless Uruguay’s faithful ally role vis-à-vis Brazil has not resulted in a neglect
of Argentina, with which it still seeks a close and pragmatic relationship.

CONCLUSION

The chapter has assessed the different patterns of behaviour demonstrated by small
powers in South America by utilizing the analytical benefits and descriptive value
of role theory. Moreover, it has followed the conceptualization and characterization
of small powers advanced in the introduction to this handbook. The analysis of the
different cases of small powerhood in South America tends to confirm that the politi-
cal, economic and administrative systems of these actors enjoy only limited capacity
and that they are generally the weaker parties within asymmetrical relationships
(Baldacchino and Wivel, 2020, Chapter 1 this volume).
South American small powers can and indeed have changed their type of foreign
policy role relationships with regional powers and regional competitors, as well as
with the US as global hegemon. They have done this in ways that see them locate
their roles on the weaker side of the role relationship. Most of the small powers in
South America have in the last 20 years enacted the faithful ally, partner and follower
roles in their relationship with Brazil as the regional power, or with Venezuela under
Chávez as a regional competitor of Brazil, or with the US. However, when they prior-
itize one of these relationships, what they are seeking is to offset or erase an existing
asymmetrical dependence on one of the other, bigger powers. Brazil, Venezuela
under Chávez and the US would all project themselves as leaders, which means being
in need of followers – and, ideally, faithful ones.
These types of dyadic role relationship denote above all social asymmetries, and
thus dependence on a bigger and more powerful party. South American small powers
are in a constant quest and dilemma as to which relationship to prioritize and with
whom to craft asymmetric relationships in order to reduce dependency on other
powerful states. As analysed in this chapter, most of the asymmetric relationships
of small powers not only happen at the bilateral level but also within the different
regional groups that have waxed and waned in South America over the last 30 years.
Regional groups are mobilized by small powers to create or reduce asymmetries with
bigger local powers, and/or to reduce the systemic pressure emanating from the US
as global hegemon. Moreover, these regional groups have also been used to mediate
and provide security to the different incumbent governments when facing domestic
crises too.
Not all small powers are the same; they differ when it comes to the nature and
level of their asymmetrical dependency on powerful actors. Some have been able to
transcend their master role as a small power in South American affairs, as the case
274 Handbook on the politics of small states

of Chile illustrates. Peru’s recent economic development and stable foreign policy
pillars may eventually elevate it to the same master role as Chile if it continues
accumulating both material and social power within South America. However, these
two actors enact the small power role as followers and rule-takers when it comes to
their relationships beyond the South American sphere. In addition, despite being one
of the smallest states within the small power category in South America, Uruguay
has managed to promote a sense of foreign policy tradition and continuous strategy
therein. Unlike Chile, Peru and Uruguay, the rest of the small powers – Bolivia,
Ecuador and Paraguay – have experienced political volatility and economic crises
throughout the last 20 years, while their respective state apparatuses lack the capacity
to set durable foundations for active and long-term foreign policy stances. Domestic
factors and recurrent changes of president have brought about different trajectories
of economic and socio-political development for them; these hamper such actors’
international footing as small states both within their South American region and
within the international system.

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17. Island versus region: the politics of small
states in the Caribbean
Godfrey Baldacchino

INTRODUCTION

The Caribbean is the basin with the largest concentration of small states and territo-
ries in the world. In a relatively small area – about the same size as the Mediterranean
Sea – we find today 13 sovereign states (and an almost equal amount of subnational
jurisdictions) all of which are islands or archipelagos. To provide a sense of how
small the states in this region are, note that the largest state in the Caribbean, by
both land area and resident population, is Cuba, with 11.5 million residents (about
the same population as either Belgium or Greece), followed closely by Haiti and
the Dominican Republic (DR). The largest subnational jurisdiction would be Puerto
Rico (PR), an unincorporated territory of the United States, with a population close
to 4 million. In this chapter, and for the sake of inclusiveness, the Bahamas – geo-
graphically, an archipelagic state just outside the region, and which does not typically
consider itself a Caribbean country – is included in the review.
Lying off the coast of Central America, this region was probably the last part of the
American continent to be settled by humans, crossing over a land bridge from East
Asia: many of the Caribbean islands appear to have sustained the presence of human
visitation, exploration and perhaps settlement from about 5000 BC (Siegel, 2018).
In contrast – and apart from any temporary homes that the Basques and the Vikings
may have established in North America during the Dark and Middle Ages – these
same small Caribbean islands were then the first to be ‘discovered’ and occupied
by Europeans. Thus, they unwittingly became amongst the first territories outside
the ‘Old World’ to be thrust violently and deeply into a global circulation of money,
gold, slavery and other exchanges associated with colonialism (Grove, 1996). Most
of the three largest islands in the Caribbean – Cuba, most of Hispaniola and Puerto
Rico – were consolidated as parts of Spain’s overseas empire; and moved to inde-
pendence (Cuba, DR) or US suzerainty (PR); while the Western third of Hispaniola
saw the world’s first successful slave rebellion in the Western hemisphere, and the
establishment of Haiti, the first independent state in Latin America, as early as 1804.
Haiti remains the most impoverished country in the Caribbean to date, and the only
one to qualify as a least developed state there (Lundahl, 2015).
In contrast, most of the rest of the (much smaller) islands emerged as independent
countries, starting with the largest, Jamaica and then Trinidad & Tobago, in 1962;
later followed to independence by Barbados (1966), Bahamas (1973), Grenada
(1974), Dominica (1978), St Lucia (1979), St Vincent and the Grenadines (1979),

278
 Island versus region: the politics of small states in the Caribbean 279

Antigua and Barbuda (1981) and St Kitts-Nevis (1983). This happened after
a short-lived attempt at a consolidated, federated state which would still have had
a total population of less than 5 million. The logic of scale drove the attempt by the
United Kingdom to shepherd its former Caribbean colonies into sovereignty as one
entity (Lewis, 1965). But the West Indies Federation (1958–1962) fell victim to
island pique and nationalism. The University of the West Indies is the most signifi-
cant survival of that epoch; although it too must contend and compete with national
institutions of higher education (Payne, 1980a). One could say that much of con-
temporary Caribbean politics continues to grapple with the benefits and limitations
that come with doing things alone rather than doing things together (Girvan, 2010).
Summative statistics on the Caribbean states are provided in Table 17.1.
This chapter looks at the key political tensions that have held sway in the broader
Caribbean in recent decades, examining them from the vantage point of an episte-
mology sensitive to the issues and implications of small country size (Baldacchino
and Wivel, 2020): a literary tradition that has also been pursued, in fits and starts,
by scholars in the region (e.g. Lewis, 1976; Lewis, 2002). It examines domestic
politics, including the flirtation with socialism, and the towering influence of heroic
individuals and dynastic families. It also assesses the state of international relations,
reviewing the evolution of institutions for Caribbean economic integration; and the
relationships with the US, the regional hegemon (but also Venezuela, an oil producer;
and China, as aspiring regional power). Most Caribbean small states have developed
a strong brand as all-year-round tourism destinations; all (except Haiti) are consid-
ered upper-middle-income countries, with high levels of public health and literacy,
and enjoying a decent quality of life. Concurrently, they have had to deal with the
fallout of undocumented migration, drug trafficking and money laundering; while
their financial services industry has been the target of a shaming campaign by the
larger powers, anxious to protect their tax revenue (Bailes, Rickli, and Thorhallsson,
2014); as well as discriminatory practices by the US (WTO, 2019).

ECONOMIC PROFILES

The independent states of the Caribbean fall within three linguistic groups. The three
Spanish- and French-speaking countries – Haiti, Cuba, Dominican Republic – are
amongst the oldest sovereign states in the region. They are large enough to have
a fairly diversified economy and maintain niche export products (including vetiver
oil from Haiti; gold from the DR; cigars from Cuba); competitive agricultural indus-
tries (including coffee, cocoa and tobacco) organized on an industrial scale; as well
as various forms of artisanal and subsistence farming. While also branching into
tourism, this activity has not assumed a dominant position, and therefore does not
drive national economic policy. Cuba has also made advances in its biotechnology
and pharmaceutical industries; while its health services, including Cuban and Cuban
trained doctors, are arguably its strongest diplomatic export (Kirk, 2015). One
major media coup was Cuba’s offer to fly in trained medial teams to New Orleans
 280

Table 17.1 Small states of the Caribbean (including Bahamas), in order of population size

CUBA HAITI DR JAM T&T BAH BAR STL GRE SVG A&B DOM SKN
Land area
109,820 27,560 48,320 10,831 5,128 13,878 430 606 344 389 442 751 261
(km2)
Population 11,116,390 10,788,400 10,298,750 2,812,090 1,215,520 332,630 293,130 165,510 112,200 101,840 95,880 74,020 53,090
Year of
1902 1804 1844 1962 1962 1973 1966 1979 1974 1979 1981 1978 1983
independence
Handbook on the politics of small states

Former
United United United United United United United United United United
colonial Spain France Spain
Kingdom Kingdom Kingdom Kingdom Kingdom Kingdom Kingdom Kingdom Kingdom Kingdom
power

Legend: DR = Dominican Republic; JAM = Jamaica; T&T = Trinidad & Tobago; A&B = Antigua & Barbuda; SKN = St. Kitts & Nevis; DOM = Dominica; STL
= St Lucia; GRE = Grenada; BAH = Bahamas; BAR = Barbados; SVG = St Vincent and the Grenadines.

Source: CIA (July 2018).

 Island versus region: the politics of small states in the Caribbean 281

(Louisiana, USA) in 2005, in the wake of the havoc caused by Hurricane Katrina: the
US Bush administration declined the offer (Murray, 2005).
The story is very different in the smaller, English-speaking Caribbean. Here, only
Trinidad & Tobago – and, to a lesser extent, Jamaica – maintain a thriving manufac-
turing sector that services the region. Other than some niche crops (as with nutmeg,
clove and mace in Grenada), the rest of these independent island states depend
largely on two types of export-oriented services for economic survival: (1) tourism
and its ancillary industries (such as transport, hospitality, music and construction);
and (2) financial services. Such a dependency on exogenous capital obliges a neo-
liberal economic model with open markets and generous terms of investment. Small
state foreign policy and diplomacy in the region has largely sought to support this
economic development model.
Such an economic disposition has grown even stronger after the collapse of the
banana regime in especially four countries: Dominica, Grenada, St Lucia and St
Vincent & the Grenadines (Myers, 2004). Through a complex system of quotas,
licences and tariffs, the European Commission had been providing incentives for
traders and retailers in Europe to import bananas from the Caribbean, as well as
African and Pacific countries, rather than from their lower-cost competitors (largely
in Latin America). This regime was successfully challenged, and subsequently
dismantled, since it did not conform to the rules of the World Trade Organization
(WTO). Feverish diplomatic appeals by the four affected small states could only
postpone the inevitable (Sutton, 1997). Elsewhere, a long dependence on sugarcane,
profitable to the European plantocracy in the Caribbean during slavery, has also been
eclipsed by changes in consumer behaviour and rising labour costs. In Barbados,
sugar now accounts for only 0.2 per cent of foreign-exchange revenues (down from
55 per cent in 1946); St Kitts-Nevis closed its last sugar factory in 2005; Trinidad and
Tobago shut its last factory two years later.
With some exceptions – St Vincent and the Grenadines has become the largest
marijuana producer in the Eastern Caribbean (Myers et al., 2011) – tourism has taken
up most of the slack (Clegg, 2015). The Caribbean is the world’s best known and
branded tourism playground (Duval, 2014). The favourable all-year-round climate,
the availability of long stretches of sandy beaches, the relative safety of these places
and the locals’ familiarity with the languages of most visitors, has transformed most
of these small states into tourism driven economies. The finite nature of land and
foreshore, and the relatively high population density of most of these states, conspire
to make the controversy between (tourism) development and environmental pro-
tection and sustainability a key aspect of domestic politics (Spencer, 2018). Mega
resorts, such as Silversands in Grenada and Atlantis in the Bahamas, transform prime
real estate into playing grounds for the rich (Rolle, 2016); while projects like the
2,200-bed Baha Mar, also in the Bahamas, have filed for bankruptcy (Lippert and
McCarty, 2016). Already in the mid-1980s, in certain places, such as Barbados, locals
launched a campaign in favour of ‘windows to the sea’, such that locals continue to
afford glimpses, at least, if not access, of ‘their’ sandy shore (Archer, 1985). The
respective island governments are keen to emphasize their attractiveness to potential
282 Handbook on the politics of small states

visitors: reputation management is part of their political agenda. Occasional acci-

dents involving tourists can scare off visitors, and major storms can destroy tourism
infrastructure: tourism remains a fickle industry. Multiple storms during the 2018
hurricane season ravaged many states and territories in the Caribbean, in some cases
causing significant destruction to road networks, ports, restaurants, hotels and other
facilities (Seraphin, 2019). The island of Barbuda had to be completly evacuated after
the ravage caused by Hurricane Irma (Look, Friedman, and Godbout, 2019).
Appeals have been made by small states in the region for bilateral and multilateral
aid, to enable them to reopen quickly for business (Hewitt, 2017). However, the good
economic standing of most Caribbean small states disqualifies them from most inter-
national aid. Indeed, the world’s 38 small island developing states – which include
all 13 Caribbean small states – have been seeking to advance a more sympathetic
understanding of their predicament through the United Nations. They have their own
10-yearly global summit since 1994 (the first having been held in Barbados); and
they have promoted the idea of an ‘economic vulnerability index’ to explain how
their trade openness, along with their small size and export orientation, makes their
economies more fragile than the usual economic indicators might suggest (Briguglio,
1995). The idea, however, has been criticized (Baldacchino and Bertram, 2009);
it has tended to portray small states as structurally unable to develop; and there is
indeed now a greater emphasis on resilience to attract foreign investment (Cooper
and Shaw, 2009). The appeal by small states for special funding treatment because
of structural vulnerability has been met with much sympathy and acknowledgement,
but no formal recognition or adoption by such agencies as the World Bank and the
International Monetary Fund.
For all its controversial character, the ‘sale of passports’ has also developed as
a niche economic activity in the Caribbean, pioneered by St Kitts-Nevis (SKN)
in 1984. With its ‘immigrant investor program’, a family of four can obtain SKN
citizenship and passports for US$150,000, allowing visa-free travel to 152 countries
(at the time of writing), with no requirement to live in or even visit the country.
There is limited disclosure of financial information, and both income and capital
gains are tax-free. Dominica has followed suit. Given the degree of discretion that
governments exercise when deciding upon naturalization, citizenship by investment
schemes have “raised numerous contentious questions, including those related to tax
evasion, extradition and corruption” (Dzankic, 2012, p. 2; Shachar, 2017).
Other financial services, including low tax regimes, in these jurisdictions – and
including the non-independent territories of the Caribbean, such as Curaçao and the
Cayman Islands – have also come under attack from developed countries, spear-
headed by the US and the OECD (Persaud, 2001). Citing money laundering practices
as pretext, a Financial Action Task Force was established, and this in turn devel-
oped 40 recommendations as guidelines for states to criminalize money laundering
(Nance, 2018). A Non-Cooperative Countries or Territories (NCCT) list followed
in 2000, unilaterally identifying and naming jurisdictions that had not met the 40
recommendations and adopted them as their standard for anti-money laundering
legislation and enforcement (FATF, 2000). The list was effectively being used as a
 Island versus region: the politics of small states in the Caribbean 283

‘blacklist’: small states scrambled to rewrite existing laws or draft new ones to escape
the list and the international shaming that came with it. More recently, pressure for
political action has again been simmering after the release of the ‘Paradise Papers’
by the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists (Palan, 2017): 53 juris-
dictions – including most of the Caribbean states and territories – were given advance
notice by the European Commission that they will be blacklisted unless they pledged
to change their tax rules (Toplensky, 2017). All along, such and similar small states
have cried foul. Their small size allows them to be tax competitive: indeed, this is
one of the few viable economic activities where their small size offers a clear com-
petitive advantage, allowing them to expand tax revenues while reducing tax rates.
But: this is a zero-sum game: their gain is other countries’ loss of tax revenue. Small
states have also dubbed such ‘attacks’ as illegitimate, since they attempt to intervene
in the domestic affairs of other (albeit smaller) sovereign states. They have also
exposed an implicit hypocrisy when the European Union, the FATF and the OECD
have members who have not fully implemented the peddled international standards
themselves (Baldacchino, 2010, p. 195; Vlcek, 2008).
Readers must not misread these arguments to suggest that small states survive
invariably as rule benders, or even rule breakers, in the international system. Nor
do they necessarily gang together, collectively, in order to take on big powers. The
‘Antigua versus United States’ Internet gambling case suggests that matters can
work out differently. Antigua (and Barbuda) had opportunistically branched out
into electronic commerce and offered its online gam(bl)ing servers to international
clients. But, citing moral grounds, the US hit out and prohibited its citizens from
accessing such servers (and eventually targeting game providers who provided such
Internet-based services). Antigua registered a formal complaint against the US with
the WTO, citing that the US action constituted a barrier to free trade. Antigua –
a country of 100,000 people – eventually won the case; as well as the appeal. In spite
of the legal victory, however, the settlement did neither offer Antigua a ‘payout’,
nor the removal of the prohibition on the access to the US market. The WTO dispute
resolution mechanism could not oblige the US to change its legal regime; and the US
remained “unabashedly uncompliant” (Samuelson, 2017). What Antigua received
was approval for cross-retaliation at up to US$21 million of intellectual property
rights held by US firms per year. But not even such a compensation was sanctioned
by the US, following heavy lobbying in Washington DC by the motion picture and
media industry (Miles, 2018; WTO, 2019).
All in all, this has been a lesson in how a small state can ‘punch above its weight’
and take on a superpower and beat it fairly, according to the rule-based terms of the
international system (Jackson, 2012). But, rules are not everything; and Antigua
lacks the heft and reach of powerful commercial interests which hold considerable
influence in Washington DC (Cooper, 2011).
284 Handbook on the politics of small states

GRENADA, CUBA, VENEZUELA

The ‘power over rules’ approach by the US with regards to small states in the
Caribbean extends into other forms of ‘gunboat diplomacy’. Already in 1983, the US
had invaded Grenada, ostensibly to secure the safety of US medical students stud-
ying in the country, but also to thwart a Marxist regime that had taken power after
a bloodless coup in 1979. Prime Minister Maurice Bishop’s alignment with Cuba
and the Soviet Union created what the US Reagan administration had defined as a
‘security threat’ to the United States and its Caribbean allies (Dunn, 2019). A power
struggle with Deputy Prime Minister Bernard Coard resulted in an internal coup,
during which Prime Minister Bishop was executed (Cody, 1983).
Cuba, meanwhile, had been taken over by communist-inspired militia in 1959;
and the US’ attempts to recover that island to capitalism were summarily thwarted
by the ‘Bay of Pigs’ invasion fiasco. A commercial and trade embargo, which had
eased under US President Obama (2008–2016), has been tightened again under US
President Trump. Contemporary Cuba is credited as the world’s most sustainable and
self-sufficient island state, perhaps not so much out of policy choice but necessity
(Sierra Club, 2014). In 2006, Cuba was the only country in the world to meet the
World Wildlife Fund for Nature’s sustainable development standards; and it has
become a champion of organic urban gardening (Radio Havana Cuba, 2016).
More recently, Venezuela under President Hugo Chávez also exported its brand
of socialism to the Caribbean, supported by relatively cheap oil. The country’s dip-
lomatic clout in the region has, however, been severely debilitated of late: Chavismo
populism has ruined the country (Hawkins, 2016). The US has imposed a punishing
embargo, looking for regime change (Koerner and Vaz, 2019).

US HEGEMONY AND CHINA

Overall, many Caribbean leaders may perceive that “the United States has neglected
the region while China has embraced it” (Campbell, 2014). Judging from the number
and frequency of visits by its senior administrators, the US comes across of late as
practising a benignly neglectful hegemony in the Caribbean; meanwhile, a rising
China plays an increasingly active role there. Although not part of the ‘Belt and
Road Initiative’, the People’s Republic of China has been practising ‘chequebook
diplomacy’ in the region, financing projects with grants and loans – but often tied to
the use of Chinese labour and materials – in most of the island Caribbean, particularly
with those countries that recognize it (Bernal, 2015; Wenner and Clarke, 2016, p. 9).
Significant Caribbean projects in which Beijing has been involved include: a national
sport stadium in Antigua & Barbuda; the Baha Mar Hotel Resort (started in 2011,
and in receivership by 2015); the renovation of Sam Lord’s Castle hotel in Barbados;
the Punta Perla resort, a primary school and the State College in Dominica; highway
upgrades in Trinidad & Tobago; a sugar processing plant in St Kitts-Nevis; and
a convention centre in Jamaica (Wenner and Clarke, 2016, p. 11). Recipient states
 Island versus region: the politics of small states in the Caribbean 285

would threaten to switch recognition between the two Chinas in order to extract more
aid, thereby exploiting the rivalry between PRC and ROC/Taiwan (McElroy and Bai,
2008). Just 14 states out of 193 in the world recognize the Republic of China/Taiwan
and its government as the legitimate representative of China at the time of writing.
These include four Caribbean states: Haiti (since 1956); St Kitts and Nevis (since
1983); St Lucia (between 1984 and 1997, and then again since 2007); and St Vincent
and the Grenadines (since 1981).

SMALL STATES WORKING TOGETHER

The fragmentation of sovereign states in the Caribbean suggests a highly individual-

istic pursuit of self-interest, with small countries competing amongst themselves for
tourism revenue or Chinese investment. However, a vestige of the rationale of col-
laboration based on synergies of cooperation has led to the Organisation of Eastern
Caribbean States (OECS), perhaps the world’s currently most advanced federative
project after the European Union (Barrett, 1986). Initially a cooperation agreement
in 1981, it matured into an economic union in 2010. The OECS has since operated
as a single financial and economic space, within which goods, people and capital can
circulate freely; fiscal incentives vis-à-vis foreign companies are harmonized; and
member states adopt a common approach to trade, health, education and environmen-
tal policy. The member states share a common central bank and a common currency:
the Eastern Caribbean dollar. Other notable instances of functional OECS regional
cooperation include the Aviation Authority, the Telecommunications Regulatory
Authority and the Pharmaceutical Procurement System (Girvan, 2010, p. 11). The
admission of Martinique and Guadeloupe (which are Caribbean islands but part
of France) to the OECS, as associate members, in 2016 and 2019 respectively,
signals the organization’s readiness to engage with non-sovereign but neighbouring
Caribbean jurisdictions (Byron, 2017). Two other, non-sovereign, subnational island
jurisdictions (SNIJs) – Anguilla and the British Virgin Islands – are also associate
members of the OECS; but Montserrat, itself a SNIJ, is a full member.
CARICOM, originally the Caribbean Community and Common Market, took
effect in 1973. Its first signatories included Barbados, Jamaica and Trinidad &
Tobago. CARICOM has 15 full member states, 5 associate members and 8 observers;
the most notable exclusion is Cuba, for its lack of democratic credentials. Since 2013,
the CARICOM bloc and the Dominican Republic have been part of an Economic
Partnership Agreement with the EU (known as CARIFORUM). CARICOM states
have developed a number of common institutions, including the University of the
West Indies, a news agency, a meteorological association, a court of justice and
a free-trade zone (Paul, 2000).
The Association of Caribbean States (ACS), which includes all CARICOM
member states, was launched in 1994 with the expectation that the grouping would
establish a free trade or preferential trading area. This did not happen; and so, the
ACS limits itself to promoting functional cooperation around subjects of common
286 Handbook on the politics of small states

interest. The Alianza Bolivariana Para Los Pueblos de Nuestra America (ALBA)
was founded by Cuba and Venezuela in 2004; it has attracted seven Caribbean states
to its membership as a grouping based on solidarity and addressing socio-economic
inequalities.

AND SMALL STATES FALLING APART

Single islands make unitary states almost as an act of nature: only ten of the world’s
populated islands – of which two, Hispaniola and St Martin, are in the Caribbean –
are shared between more than one country (Baldacchino, 2013). But, when a small
state consists of a minimal archipelago, with two or three populated islands, an
island specific nationalism can take root; and island specific political parties and
movements can clamour for secession (Dodds and Royle, 2003). Evidence suggests
that any island, though part of an already small state, is never too small to advance
or aspire to independence in its own right. In the Caribbean, the names of various
island states bear testimony to attempts at a (sometimes awkward) reconciliation of
internal difference.
Consider the intended tri-island country of St Kitts-Nevis-Anguilla. Until 1967,
this was a British colony. With independence in the air, Anguilla (population: around
5,000) proceeded to disrupt the ongoing attempts at state-building: Anguillans pre-
ferred remaining a colony of the United Kingdom, rather than becoming a colony of
St Kitts. The Kittitian police force was evicted from the island; a secession referen-
dum was passed (1,813 votes in favour; 5 against); and a declaration of independence
was drafted and read. Anguilla eventually became its own UK overseas territory,
which is its current status; while St-Kitts-Nevis proceeded to become a two-island
sovereign state (Olwig and Dyde, 2009; Westlake, 1972, pp. 78–79).
More drama was in store: Nevis joined St Kitts into independence in 1983, but
only after having secured an ‘exit clause’ in the new country’s constitution. Thus, it
could secede, subject to approval by a two-thirds majority of voters via referendum.
The threshold looks insurmountable; but Nevis (population: 12,000) failed only by
a few votes to pass a referendum in 1998 that would have seen it secede from St Kitts
(population: 32,000) (Premdas, 2000).
The next case to review is Antigua and Barbuda. With an eye on the Anguilla
episode, Barbudan leaders sought, in 1981, to convince the British government to
sever their island from an independent Antigua and maintain its status as a distinct
British territory (Lowenthal and Clarke, 1980). A compromise was only secured
by allocating significant autonomy to a local Barbuda Council (Minahan, 2002).
A Barbuda People’s Movement continues to advance the protection of a unique
communal land ownership system and the notion of sovereignty for the island
(Barbudaful, 2019). The recent repeal of the 2007 Barbuda Land Act, and which
looks like an opportunist ‘land grab’ by Antigua in the name of development, has the
local Barbudan population (1,600) once again threatening secession and independ-
ence (The Daily Observer, 2016; Gould and Lewis, 2018).
 Island versus region: the politics of small states in the Caribbean 287

There are also separatist tendencies in Tobago, which is part of the twin island
state of Trinidad & Tobago. The quest for self-determination has been asserted at
various times; it comes and goes as (mainly Afro-Caribbean) Tobagonians, who
generally regard themselves as different from (mainly Indo-Caribbean) Trinidadians,
react to events that reverberate adversely on their lives, often accusing Port of Spain
of discrimination and neglect (Premdas and Williams, 1992). Since 1996, the island
of Tobago (population: 60,000) has its own, 12-member House of Assembly, respon-
sible for the management of various internal affairs, including sports and culture,
fishery, state land, food production and agriculture, tourism and health services
(Tobago House of Assembly, 2019). These provisions may have been meant to
assuage Tobago’s quest for more autonomy. However, there has been a passionate
call for internal self-government by the people of Tobago, who opine that “Tobago
needs to stand side-by-side with Trinidad and not be an appendage or a ward of
Trinidad” (Roberts, 2016).

FAMILIES AND DYNASTIES

Cuba spent almost six decades run by brothers Fidel and then Raúl Castro; the
Dominican Republic has had various elected governments alternate in power since
the assassination of strongman and dictator Rafael Trujillo in 1961. Nicknamed, ‘the
boss’ (el jefe), Trujillo had been in power since 1930; for part of that time, his brother
Héctor was president of the DR and served as Rafael’s puppet (Turits, 2003). Haiti
spent many years under the family dictatorship of, first, the increasingly despotic
rule of strongman François ‘Papa Doc’ Duvalier (1957–1971) and then his successor
son, ‘Baby Doc’ Jean-Claude (1971–1986). A series of coups occurred during the
presidencies of the Catholic priest Jean-Bertrand Aristide (1990–1991; 2001–2004),
during which the US military also intervened. Haiti’s poverty has been compounded
by a massive magnitude 7.0 earthquake in 2010, which left at least 200,000 dead; and
then a cholera outbreak.
The ten former British colonies in the Caribbean transitioned into political
independence with a Whitehall-Westminster political system. Queen Elizabeth II
remains head of state in all ten, except two: Dominica and Trinidad & Tobago.
This is an indirect reflection of the long and deep experience of colonialism in
these countries, and where sympathy with the British monarch is high (Matthews,
2011). Competitive elections are held regularly, and members are elected from
constituencies using a ‘first past the post’ system. This mechanism has not prevented
larger-than-life politicians to lead political parties to parliamentary majorities in
almost-pure, two-party systems across the Caribbean. “Politics is a perpetual game
of alternating ‘ins’ and ‘outs’ and ‘winner takes all’” (Girvan, 2015, p. 100). Elected
politicians thus assumed and wielded considerable political power, typically with the
support of other civil society organizations, including labour unions and nationalist
associations. Many such politicians have secured various back-to-back electoral
victories; and some have handed over their aura of authority and control of the
288 Handbook on the politics of small states

party base to either a spouse, sibling or one of their children. Except for a five-year
hiatus (1971–1976), Vere Bird was the Chief Minister and then Prime Minister of
Antigua and Barbuda, from 1967 to 1994; the mantle then passing to his son Lester,
who served as prime minister for another decade (2004–2014). Ralph Gonzales,
prime minister of St Vincent & the Grenadines, has represented his constituency in
Parliament since 1994 and has been in office since 2001. His son Camillo is also
in politics and has served as Minister of Finance in his father’s government (WIC
News, 2017). Lynden Pindling was first chief minister and then prime minister of an
independent Bahamas, from 1969 to 1992. Denzil Douglas was prime minister of St
Kitts-Nevis uninterruptedly for almost 20 years (1995–2015). John Compton served
three stints as prime minister of St Lucia, with some 15 years accumulated in office.
Errol Barrow served around 15 years as prime minister of Barbados, also over three
stints; Nita, his older sister, served as the country’s Governor-General (1990–1995).
Apart from these men, Eugenia Charles was prime minister of Dominica for 15 years
(1980–1995). Eric Gairy, flamboyant prime minister of Grenada (1967–1979), was
the subject of anthropological inquiry, particularly in his ability to ‘work the crowd’
(Singham, 1968).
Long-serving and unassailable, typically male, political leaders can usher in a cult
of followership and “unitarist power dynamics” (Baldacchino, 2012, p. 114) where
expressing dissent and criticism may be sanctioned; or at least seen to be so. The
power of a long incumbency can mute hostility and oblige opponents to leave and
live in exile (Richards, 1982). This is the dark reality of various small polities and
which can easily appear, to the untrained eye, as an expression of harmonious politi-
cal systems and democratic values (Srebrnik, 2004).

CONCLUSION
The Caribbean frame of reference has oscillated between ‘the island’ and ‘the
region’; the region’s history and politics is consumed by the lingering doubt and
episodic opportunism regarding which of the two frames is the better unit for political
and economic action (Payne, 1980b, pp. 1–2).
The domestic politics and international relations of small states are often sidelined
or obscured by the antics and statements of the great powers; the latter, after all,
are the countries on which scholars have traditionally trained their sights. And yet,
various small states have proffered creative, à la carte development strategies in
a current climate where the international system presents even its notionally small-
est and weakest members “with choices rather than imperatives” (Sharman, 2017,
p. 559). The Caribbean has lived up to these expectations. The density of independent
states and territories in the region, the long history of inter-island trade and migra-
tion, the linguistic and colonial connections of these states, plus their obvious small
size, makes them liable to consider selected policy fields – such as drug trafficking,
climate change, food security, rights of appeal and negotiation with external donors
– as subjects for shared sovereignty (Girvan, 2015, p. 105). Concurrently, these
 Island versus region: the politics of small states in the Caribbean 289

small states must manoeuvre around the obstacles that larger states have concocted,
persevering as reputable ‘brands’ open for business, while they welcome tourism,
sell sovereignty and offer competitive financial services.

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 PART V

ASIA AND THE PACIFIC

18. Small states in post-Soviet Central Asia:
navigating between two great power
neighbours
Flemming Splidsboel Hansen

INTRODUCTION

This chapter focuses on the politics of the five small states of post-Soviet Central
Asia: Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan. I start
by briefly introducing the five states and their Soviet past. Following this, I turn
to the organizational setting covering the region. This setting is relatively dense
yet shallow, and the states pick and choose from the menus offered by Russia and,
increasingly so, by China. Next, I describe a mostly authoritarian region, where
leaders in general stay in office for decades, for which a skilful manipulation of
international and domestic environments is required. I then turn to the relations of
these five states with Russia and China, the two great power neighbours, focusing on
voting patterns in the United Nations (UN) General Assembly and on trade. Both data
sets show that the Central Asian states are slowly drifting away from Russia, instead
partly reorientating themselves towards China. Finally, I offer perspectives on the
action space enjoyed by these five small states situated by two great powers.
Often grouped together, quite misleadingly so, as simply the ‘Stans’ (The
Guardian, 2015a), the five post-Soviet Central Asian states share many similarities,
but they also differ from each other in many respects.1 While all qualify as ‘small’
as defined in the introductory chapter to this volume, i.e. as the weaker part in an
asymmetric relationship they are unable to change on their own (Baldacchino and
Wivel, 2020), they show great variety. A few numbers will illustrate this. Table 18.1
presents a few key figures.
The five states share a Soviet, colonial, past. The Soviet Union was an empire,
a “hierarchically organised political system with a hub-like structure – a ‘rimless
wheel’ – within which a core elite and state dominate peripheral elites and societies
by serving as intermediaries for their significant interactions and by channeling
resource flows from the periphery to the core and back to the periphery” (Motul,
2006, p. 249, n75). Another image is that of a wheel with spokes, the latter represent-

1
Afghanistan and Pakistan – also ‘Stans’ – may be viewed as part of a wider Central
Asian region defined in dynamic terms instead of the more static notion associated with simply
being ‘post-Soviet’; Iran and the western Chinese region of Xinjiang may also be included in
this wider definition (on the definition of regions, see Buzan, 1991, pp. 186–229).
294
 Small states in post-Soviet Central Asia 295

Table 18.1 Key figures of the Central Asian states (2017)

KAZ KYR TAJ TUR UZB

Territory (km²) 2,724,900 199,951 144,100 488,100 447,400
Population (m) 18.6 5.8 8.5 5.3 29.7
GDP (ppp, bn US$) 477.6 22.97 28.38 103.5 222.6
GDP pc (ppp, US$) 26,300 3,700 3,200 18,100 6,900
Defence forces 39,000 10,900 8,800 36,500 48,000
Defence budget 2016 (m US$) 1.281 228 N/A N/A N/A

Sources: CIA (2018), International Institute for Strategic Studies (2017) and Stockholm International
Peace Research Institute (2018). Defence budgets are surrounded by a high degree of uncertainty.

ing the colonies. These do not enjoy mutual relations but interact through the core
alone. This past left the five states with the challenge of defining and implementing
independent foreign policies, when the Soviet Union collapsed in December 1991,
as well as going through (at least) quadruple transitions: the establishment of state-
hood, the development of nationhood and political and economic reforms (Orenstein,
Bloom, and Lindström, 2008).
As former colonies, they have had to manage the separation from the centre of the
empire. At the time of the collapse of the Soviet Union, a strong political narrative in
Russia insisted that the Soviet Republic of Russia had been subjugated by the Soviet
Union and that it was also in essence a colony (Duncan, 1992). However, in recog-
nition of its dominating status within the Soviet Union, Russia in December 1991
gradually emerged as the official continuator state of the latter, taking for instance
the permanent seat of the Soviet Union in the UN Security Council (Bühler, 2001,
pp. 151–154). And early into 1992, the term ‘near abroad’ emerged as a political
concept in Russia, its use indicating that the other 14 former Soviet republics were
not seen as fully sovereign, and that Russia enjoyed special rights and had to accept
a special responsibility in its dealings with these states, including the five Central
Asian ones (New York Times, 1994; Porter and Saivetz, 1994). The centre of the
former empire clearly found the break-up difficult to handle emotionally. Most
famously, perhaps, Russian president Vladimir Putin characterized the collapse of
the Soviet Union as “a major geopolitical disaster” (Putin, 2005) and later assured his
voters that he would reverse the collapse if he could (Reuters, 2018).

THE ORGANIZATIONAL SETTING:

INTERGOVERNMENTALISM AND POWER POLITICS AT
HOME AND ABROAD

Small states are typically proponents of international organizations, because they

level the playing ground in international affairs through common rules and sanctions
for all member states and provide small states with voice opportunities that they
would not otherwise enjoy (Neumann and Gstöhl, 2006). The post-Soviet space
296 Handbook on the politics of small states

Table 18.2 The organizational network (2018)

CIS EAEU CSTO SCO

ARM ARM ARM CHI
AZE BLR BLR IND
BLR KAZ KAZ KAZ
KAZ KYR KYR KYR
KYR RUS RUS PAK
MOL TAJ RUS

RUS TAJ

TAJ UZB

UZB

TUR*

UKR**

Notes:
* Associated member.
** Unclear status.

is home to a relatively dense, yet somewhat shallow, organizational network. The

Central Asian states take part in this, albeit with different levels of enthusiasm and
inclusion. Table 18.2 offers an overview of the most important and relevant organi-
zations and their members.
The umbrella organization is the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS),
which was established in December 1991 to manage the dissolution of the Soviet
Union and, to some at least, to provide a new framework for still wider and
deeper integration (Kosov and Toropygin, 2009, pp. 19–21). The then leaders of
Belarus, Russia and Ukraine signed the founding Agreement on 8 December 1991,
announcing that the Soviet Union would cease to exist by the end of the year and
that a new struc­ture for cooperation between sovereign states was now being set up
instead (CIS, 1991a). Faced with this fait accompli and fearful of a highly uncertain
future, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan together
with Armenia, Azerbaijan and Moldova quickly accepted the invitation to join the
new Commonwealth, which they all did by signing the Alma-Ata Protocol on 21
December 1991 (CIS, 1991b; Gleason, 1992).2
Turkmenistan, however, has never ratified the Charter and since 2005 has even
referred to itself as an associated member state only, arguing that only this would be
consistent with the country’s status as permanently neutral (Radio Free Europe/Radio
Liberty [RFE/RL], 2005; Constitution of Turkmenistan, I/1). The associated member
status is defined by article 8 of the CIS Charter according to which it is for those

2
Georgia joined the CIS in 1993 but left again in 2009 following the 2008 Georgian–
Russian war.
 Small states in post-Soviet Central Asia 297

wanting “to take part in isolated activities” of the organization (CIS, 1993). Associated
membership carries unclear rights and obligations and it seems to be of a mainly sym-
bolic nature as even full members also pick and choose from the CIS menu.
The CIS has proved unable to move any of its decision-making procedures to
the supranational level. There is no delegation or even pooling of authority – only
unanimity among equal member states. Otherwise well-tested and oft-used theories
(Mattli, 1999) about the demand for and supply of integration need to be applied
with care to the CIS. Generally, the weight of voters’ preferences is simply too
light, the influence of non-competitive yet state-protected industries too great and
the spill-over of positive lessons from the CIS structures to the domestic arenas too
obstructed by closed and unreformed bureaucracies. This is very much the case in
Central Asia, where we find some of the most repressive, corrupt and closed regimes
within the CIS (Freedom House, 2018a; Transparency International, 2018).
The CIS may not be dead quite yet, but it is clearly dying. The strongest indication
of this was the introduction, on 1 January 2015, of the EurAsian Economic Union
(EAEU). Designed to offer a venue for the more willing CIS member states to meet
on the basis of a new agenda, Russian president Vladimir Putin described the EAEU
as “a model for a powerful supranational association with the potential of becoming
one of the poles of the current world and, as such, of playing the role of an effective
‘hub’ between Europe and the dynamic Asia-Pacific region” (Putin, 2011). In Putin’s
vision for the EAEU, the Central Asian states were part of the hub linking Asia and
Europe and therefore also members of the emerging pole. Kazakhstan eventually went
on to help found the EAEU and Kyrgyzstan followed its neighbour into the Union in
August 2015. The remaining Central Asian states either do not aspire to or qualify for
membership of the EAEU and are left in the (even more) dysfunctional CIS.3
The fanfare surrounding the launch of the EAEU has since disappeared and there
is relatively little talk about the Union in the Russian media and in academia. Even
Putin makes relatively few references to the EAEU, e.g. in his annual speeches to the
Russian Federal Assembly. This indicates a loss of momentum for the organization.
A Chatham House report in mid-2017 concluded that “with tailored individual deals
between Russia and other member states, the lacklustre commitment of its members,
and weak institutions, there is little to inspire confidence that the Eurasian project is
capable of delivering on its grand promises” (Dragneva and Wolczuk, 2017, p. 24).
As with the CIS, there are several possible reasons as to why the member states,
including Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan, are unable or unwilling to deliver. These will
be further explored below.
The CIS space is also home to a military alliance, the Collective Security Treaty
Organization (CSTO). The alliance was set up in May 1992 when representatives
of Russia, Armenia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and Uzbekistan signed

3
In Tajikistan, I have been confronted with the political narrative that Tajikistan is still
undecided about whether it intends to join the EAEU, when the reality is rather that it does not
have the institutional capacity to join and therefore has not yet received an invitation.
298 Handbook on the politics of small states

the Collective Security Treaty (CST), also referred to as the Tashkent Treaty as the
Uzbek capital was the scene of the signing. The new alliance, basically a Russian–
Central Asian defence agreement with the inclusion of then war-fighting Armenia
(against Azerbaijan), was mainly concerned with developments within the greater
Central Asian region.
Most disturbingly perhaps for both Russia and the Central Asian states, political
tension in Tajikistan in the spring of 1992 escalated into a high-intensity civil war.
The civil war claimed as many as 60,000 casualties and threatened to alter the
political reality in Central Asia by bringing to power a new government coalition of
Islamists and democrats (Kasymov, 2013). Adding to this feeling of unease among
the later CST signatory states, in neighbouring Afghanistan the administration of
Mohammad Najibullah, the former head of the Communist Revolutionary Council,
in April 1992 was forced to resign and to seek refuge inside the UN compound
in Kabul. While the extreme Islamization now associated with the Taliban would
only make itself felt – and enter global public consciousness – a few years later,
the intro­duction of the conservative and repressive “Mujahideen rule” in the wake
of Najibullah’s resig­nation clearly suggested that the country was facing a highly
uncertain future (Wahab and Youngerman, 2007).
While Turkmenistan has never joined the alliance, Uzbekistan hosted the founding
event, only to leave in 1999, when the treaty was up for renewal. Uzbekistan rejoined
in 2006 but then, as a sign of a somewhat mercurial foreign policy, left again in 2012.
Relieved of some of the more foot-dragging member states – Uzbekistan, Azerbaijan
and Georgia – the remaining member states proceeded to further institutionalize their
cooperation, introducing the CSTO in 2003.
Following the 2010 revolution in Kyrgyzstan, which saw widespread political and
ethnic tension, ‘stability’ has guided the policies of the organization. This mission
reflects a Russian government preference for a more active and assertive role for
the alliance in the handling of possible unrest in Central Asia in particular. Fearful
of a democratization or – possibly even worse – an Islamization of the region,
Russia seems ready to go to great lengths to preserve the status quo in the region. To
illustrate, in the aftermath of the 2010 ousting of then Kyrgyz president Kurmanbek
Bakiyev, then Russian president Dmitry Medvedev even suggested to prepare the
CSTO to intervene in domestic conflicts if the regime of one of the member states is
facing collapse (Hansen, 2013). This would have been akin to a ‘Brezhnev Doctrine’
for the CSTO.
Finally, the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation (SCO) extends beyond the CIS
space. Based on the Shanghai Five, which in turn was set up in 1996 by China,
Russia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan to help support confidence-building
measures in the border areas between China and the former Soviet member states, the
SCO in 2001 was established as an institutionalized expression of the achieve­ments
already made and of the ambitions found within the membership circle (Hansen,
2008). At the founding meeting of the SCO, Uzbekistan joined the five others, bring-
ing the number of members to six. More recently, in 2017, India and Pakistan were
given full member status. Afghanistan, Iran, Mongolia and Belarus are all observers.
 Small states in post-Soviet Central Asia 299

Originally led by China and Russia, the SCO has since included regional heavy-
weights India and Pakistan (the Indian economy is more than 1.6 times bigger than
the combined economies of Russia, Pakistan, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan
and Kyrgyzstan; CIA, 2018), but it seems to have retained its focus: to bring closer
together the wider Central Asian region, with its core in post-Soviet Central Asia,
situated between China and Russia. Only Turkmenistan is absent from the list of
post-Soviet Central Asian member states and observer states.
The SCO charter identifies three main threats – or “evils” – which the organization
has to combat: terrorism, separatism and extremism (SCO Charter, 2002, Article 1).
Fully legitimate concerns for any state, this list may also provide individual leaders
or regimes, who worry about political challenges and challengers, with a convenient
reference point when seeking to legitimize the suppression of almost any type of
domestic opposition.
To illustrate, shortly after the May 2005 massacre in Andijan in Uzbekistan, which
saw the authorities kill more than 1,000 demonstrators (The Guardian, 2015b), the
heads of state of the SCO member states declared that “the SCO member states will
suppress in their territories efforts to prepare and carry out acts of terrorism, includ-
ing those directed against the interests of other states, they will not grant asylum to
persons accused or suspected of conducting terrorist, separatist or extremist activi-
ties, and extradite such persons if so requested by another SCO state, in strict com-
pliance with the effective legislation of the member states” (SCO Declaration, 2005,
III). For then Uzbek president Islam Karimov this declaration – and his meeting with
the other SCO member state presidents – must have been a welcome relief from the
international criticism otherwise directed at him following the Andijan massacre.

THE REGIMES: RESISTING DEMOCRATIZATION

One of the most striking features of political life in Central Asia is the longevity
of the rule of its leaders. Nursultan Nazerbayev ruled Kazakhstan from 1989 until
2019, when he resigned and was replaced by Kasym-Zhomart Tokayev. Tajik pres-
ident Emomali Rakhmon entered office in 1992. Relative newcomers Gurbanguly
Berdymuhamedov (Turkmen president since 2006) and Shavkat Mirzijyoev (Uzbek
president since 2016) succeeded Saparmurat Niyazov (1985–2006) and Karimov
(1989–2016), respectively, and both may be expected to hold firmly on to power for
a long time, if not until death. Berdymuhamedov in fact changed the constitution of
Turkmenistan in 2016 to this effect, abolishing the upper age limit otherwise in place
for presidential candidates (Reuters, 2016).
Kyrgyzstan is the only exception to this pattern. Colloquially referred to as “the
Switzerland of Central Asia”, Kyrgyzstan is a relatively democratic and liberal
state in a region otherwise characterized by strictly authoritarian or even totalitarian
regimes. In March 2005 then Kyrgyz president Askar Akayev, who had ruled since
1990, was ousted in the ‘Tulip Revolution’, the third so-called colour revolution in
300 Handbook on the politics of small states

the CIS space following the 2003 Rose Revolution in Georgia and the 2004 Orange
Revolution in Ukraine (Ó Beacháin and Polese, 2012).
Akayev, who fled Kyrgyzstan when protesters forced him out of the presidential
office, was succeeded by Bakiyev, who in turn fled the country in 2010. Bakiyev was
succeeded by Rosa Otunbayeva, the first woman to serve as head-of-state in Central
Asia and the first president in the region to voluntarily transfer power to a democrat-
ically elected successor. This successor, elected in 2011, was Almazbek Atambayev,
who served until 2017, when Sooronbai Zheenbekov won the presidential election.
This means, to sum up, that at the time of writing, Kyrgyzstan has had five different
presidents, while the other Central Asian states have had just one or two, since the
collapse of the Soviet Union.
The US think tank Freedom House (2018a) in 2018 awarded Kyrgyzstan a score
of 5/5 on its political rights and civil liberties on a scale from 1 (most free) to 7
(least free). This placed the country in the ‘partly free’ category. The other four
Central Asian states are all ‘not free’ with scores ranging from 7/5 (Kazakhstan) over
7/6 (Tajikistan) to a full 7/7 (both Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan). The region has
become less democratic and more illiberal since the early 1990s. In 1992 Kyrgyzstan
recorded a score of 4/2, while Kazakhstan stood at 5/5, Tajikistan and Uzbekistan
both at 6/6 and Turkmenistan already at 7/6 (Freedom House, 2018b).
These characteristics of the region make it reasonable to hypothesize that politics,
played out on both domestic and international stages, is very much about regime
survival and continuity. In this perspective, the regimes are rational, instrumental and
utility-maximizing actors seeking to optimize their outcome from doing politics. The
political logic is one of consequentiality rather than one of appropriateness; actors
assess the situation facing them, evaluate the alternative courses of action and choose
whichever promises to deliver the highest political dividends (March and Olsen,
1989). Central Asian states act on the basis of opportunity rather than principles, and
their policies are shaped by this.
Consequently, the theory of omnibalancing is a promising starting point for under-
standing the policies of the individual states in Central Asia. This theory argues that
“the most powerful determinant of alignment is the drive of [non-democratic] leaders
to ensure their political and physical survival” (David, 1991, p. 236). The theory has
been developed to explain anomalies in patterns of international alignment, but it
may also be applied to situations where non-democratic leaders decide to forgo other-
wise seemingly rational opportunities of integration; it could for instance be because
of the fear of harming vested interests of the regime, the bureaucracy or even a part of
the electorate, or the fear of losing influence by empowering domestic rivals in what
is typically a highly dichotomized ‘winner takes all’ political system.
As mentioned earlier, we find in Central Asia some of the most “repressive,
corrupt and closed” regimes within the CIS. The distance between demand for and
supply of integration (Mattli, 1999) may therefore be quite short. If the regime finds
that further integration will bring net gains without unacceptable costs, it may simply
pursue this further. Conversely, absent any willingness to supply integration, demand
for integration will most likely remain unanswered. What is good for the country, for
 Small states in post-Soviet Central Asia 301

instance a freer flow of labour across borders, is not necessarily good for the regime
(David, 1991).
This point is illustrated by Uzbek alliance policies. Maximizing gains for the
regime rather than the country was decisive for Karimov’s decision in 1999 to leave
the CSTO, as well as his decision to re-enter the alliance in 2006 before leaving again
in 2012 (Hansen, 2013). When Uzbekistan left the CSTO in 1999, Karimov had been
drawing closer to especially the United States, a development which culminated in
an invitation to the White House in 2002. However, as critics in the West started
questioning cooperation with Uzbekistan – infamous because of its handling of the
unrest in Andijan specifically and its political opposition more generally (Daily Mail,
2004) – Karimov sought refuge with newly discovered (or rediscovered) regional
allies, including in the CSTO.

FOREIGN POLICY BEHAVIOUR: MOVING AWAY FROM

RUSSIA AND TOWARDS CHINA?

One way to assess the actual foreign policy behaviour of one or more states – in this
case a group of five states – is to examine their voting records in the UN General
Assembly (see General Assembly of the United Nations, 2018). The use of quantita-
tive data from the UN General Assembly as a proxy for foreign policy ‘interests’ or
‘preferences’ (Voeten, 2013) is a favourite approach among many students of inter-
national politics. It is particularly useful in providing us with ‘the bigger picture’,
while it has less to say about the details of particular policy actions.
The methodology of analysing the voting records has been described elsewhere
(Hansen, 2014). Suffice it to note that the picture presented below is based on entire
resolutions passed and that, from this data set, only roll call (recorded) votes are
included. When combined these two principles leave us with a pool of typically some
65–85 resolutions per UN session. On each of these resolutions, the member state had
the choice of voting ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or abstaining or to be absent, i.e. not take part in the
voting altogether. As a third principle, I regard absenteeism as abstention and assign
a middle position to the state (on the range yes–abstention–no).
As the CIS space provides an important – arguably the most important – organi-
zational setting for the Central Asian states, even for neutral Turkmenistan, I start by
looking at the CIS mean or ‘average’ voting record and calculate the distance of the
individual member state from this (Hansen, 2014). I cover every second session in
the years 2004–2005 to 2016–2017. The combined total is presented as a share (in
percentages) of the total number of recorded votes in a given session. This means
that if a member state is completely on the mean (always voting with the majority), it
receives a distance score of 0; if it is as far away from the mean as is possible (always
voting against the majority in three-way splits), it receives a distance score of 100
(Luif, 2003, p. 28). The result is presented in Table 18.3 (0 = minimum distance; 100
= maximum distance).
302 Handbook on the politics of small states

Table 18.3 The distance of member states from the CIS mean (sessions 59–71;
2004–2017)

59 61 63 65 67 69 71
ARM 8 6 6 5 6 7 5
AZE 1 6 1 3 6 3 4
BLR 6 3 5 2 3 4 5
GEO 20 19 19 20 21 17 17
KAZ 3 3 0 5 4 4 2
KYR 6 2 1 8 2 4 6
MOL 18 23 20 20 22 21 17
RUS 6 6 8 7 15 14 15
TAJ 4 4 1 5 2 3 2
TUR 11 13 11 9 6 9 7
UKR 13 20 20 18 20 20 18
UZB 13 8 4 5 3 6 4

The CIS foreign policy line has been epitomized most strongly by Kazakhstan and
Tajikistan. With an average distance of 3.0 in seven sessions, these two states are
closer to the average position than any other member state. Within the Central Asian
region, they are followed closely by Kyrgyzstan (within an average score of 4.1)
and by Uzbekistan (average score of 6.1) and Turkmenistan (9.4). It should be noted
how Uzbekistan has developed from being a relatively strong outlier (with a distance
score of 13 in session 59) to being much more in conformity with the average voting
pattern (with a distance score of 4 in session 71). This reflects a stronger reorientation
on part of Uzbekistan towards the CIS space, including the CSTO, as well as the SCO
as Western criticism of the Karimov rule gathered momentum.
Table 18.4 shows the distance of the five Central Asian states from Russia, the
centre of the former empire and the engine of integration in the CIS space. With an
economy more than eight times larger than that of the second-largest economy, that
of Kazakhstan, Russia still enjoys a position of overwhelming dominance in the CIS
(CIA, 2018), and it is of interest to see the extent to which the Central Asian states
accept or resist its heavy gravitational pull.
I calculate the distance of each member state from Russia by employing the same
methodology which was used to calculate the distance from the CIS mean. The result
is again presented as a share (in percentages) of the total number of (Russian) votes
in a given session. This means that if a member state always votes with Russia, it
receives a distance score of 0; if it puts itself in maximum opposition to Russia, it
receives a distance score of 100.
Table 18.4 shows a growing and relatively large distance between the Central
Asian states and Russia. A distance score of 23, to illustrate, indicates that the state in
question votes in total opposition to Russia (one votes ‘yes’, the other votes ‘no’) on
nearly every fourth vote. Most votes are less conflictual (one votes ‘yes’ or ‘no’ and
the other abstains), but the record shows a number of votes with maximum disagree-
ment. Kazakhstan has more of these (13) than any of the other states, which suggests
 Small states in post-Soviet Central Asia 303

Table 18.4 Distance from Russia (sessions 59–71; 2004–2017)

59 61 63 65 67 69 71
KAZ 8 10 11 13 20 21 27
KYR 12 9 9 14 18 21 25
TAJ 11 12 14 14 19 19 27
TUR 18 20 20 19 22 23 29
UZB 18 13 9 15 15 17 23

Table 18.5 Distance from China (sessions 59–71; 2004–2017)

59 61 63 65 67 69 71
KAZ 8 11 11 8 14 8 15
KYR 10 10 9 14 13 9 14
RUS 13 8 9 12 14 18 19
TAJ 13 12 9 11 9 10 15
TUR 10 14 18 14 12 16 17
UZB 23 13 9 11 10 13 16

a relatively strong disagreement with Russia over a number of issues. These latter
include mainly disarmament resolutions, e.g. on nuclear and chemical weapons.
The development observed in Table 18.4 has been caused mainly by a change in
the Russian voting pattern (Hansen, 2016). Significant policy changes were seen,
such as on issues of security and disarmament (with Russia voting against nuclear
disarmament and stricter interpretations of the legality of the use of nuclear weapons)
and on human rights (with Russia increasingly voting to protect alleged human rights
abusers from criticism). Russia, in other words, has moved away from the Central
Asian states (and, as seen in Table 18.3, it has moved away from the CIS mean
more generally). Note that the Central Asian states have not followed Russia; it
would seem reasonable to expect that wherever Russia goes – also in its UN General
Assembly voting pattern – the weaker Central Asian states would follow. This,
however, has not happened.
Table 18.5 shows the distance between the Central Asian states (and Russia) from
China. The distance is calculated according to the methodology used to calculate the
distance from Russia. This means that if a state always votes with China, it receives
a distance score of 0; if it puts itself in maximum opposition to China, it receives
a distance score of 100. What is immediately noticeable is the fact that since session
61 (2006–2007), all Central Asian states have been at least as close to China in their
voting pattern as they have been to Russia; and that from session 67 and onwards
(2012–2013) they have all been closer to China than to Russia. When viewed over
sessions 59–71 the distance from China has increased slightly – but much less dra-
matically than the distance from Russia – indicating that these states do not uncrit-
ically follow China’s lead. However, it is a remarkable shift, which seems to have
gone largely unnoticed.
304 Handbook on the politics of small states

So has the fact that China has gradually overtaken Russia on the list of top trading
partners for three of the Central Asian states (all in European Commission, 2018).
It should be kept in mind that until 1991 the Soviet Union constituted one single
domestic market and that interdependencies among the Soviet republics were very
high; economic relations were concentrated on direct relations between Moscow (the
centre of the empire) and the republic capitals (the spokes). The economic transition
in the five states – mainly from a command economy to a (semi-) market economy
but also from strong economic dependence on Russia to greater economic autonomy
– has been difficult (Åslund, 2013).
Russia still accounts for 32.5 per cent of total Tajik trade, with China a distant
third with 10.7 per cent (below Kazakhstan at 15.3 per cent), and 20.4 per cent of
total Kazakh trade, where it weighs heavier than China (13.5 per cent) but trails the
European Union (EU) considerably (38.7 per cent). However, for Turkmenistan
(55.2 per cent; natural gas exports), Uzbekistan (20.2 per cent) and Kyrgyzstan (20.1
per cent) China is a bigger trading partner than is Russia. The value of the trade, for
all five states combined, is 20.7 bn Euro with China and 20.0 bn Euro with Russia
and these figures together represent approximately 37 per cent of the total trade of the
Central Asian states (all in European Commission, 2018).

ACTION SPACES BETWEEN RUSSIA AND CHINA

A picture emerges of a region of small states situated between two great and rising
powers. The centre of the former empire, Russia has enjoyed and is still enjoying
obvious benefits – politically, economically, culturally etc. – but it is finding it harder
to maintain the influence otherwise stated as an objective in its near abroad thinking
(Tolstrup, 2009; Trenin, 2009). The 2017 announcement by Nazarbayev that the
alphabet of the Kazakh language will change from Cyrillic to (a modified) Latin
script by 2025 is a small but also highly symbolic sign of this (BBC, 2017). More
importantly, the Russian-led integration projects in Central Asia enjoy only limited
success, and, as demonstrated by the examples of UN voting and trade patterns, the
states may be drifting slowly towards China instead.
China’s Belt and Road Initiative only promises to draw the five states closer to
China (Belt and Road Portal, 2018a). All land-locked (Uzbekistan even doubly
land-locked), the Central Asian states welcome the infrastructure projects which
will ease access to and from both intra- and extra-regional markets by reducing high
transaction costs. The ‘Modern Silk Road’ concept resonates well along the old Silk
Road. If members of the public of these states were to access the official Chinese Belt
and Road Portal (2018b), they will be confronted with a large table showing China’s
impressive GDP and GDP growth. The economy of China is nearly six times larger
than that of Russia, and it routinely demonstrates growth rates more than four times
higher (Bank of Finland, 2018; CIA, 2018). China is the world’s largest economy, it
is just around the corner and it is apparently being offered to the Central Asian states
to benefit from.
 Small states in post-Soviet Central Asia 305

There may, however, be a political price to pay. While the Chinese authorities
insist that the Belt and Road initiative will unfold within a plus-sum logic, and every-
one will be a winner, the project is still very much interpreted as a tool for maximiz-
ing Chinese influence (Sági and Engelberth, 2018). The Central Asian markets are
small and, except for oil and natural gas, are of little importance to China. Stability
in the neighbouring region is important, however, as the Chinese authorities look
to exercise full control over Xinjiang, whose native Uighur population share close
ties with the Turkic-speaking peoples of Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan and
Turkmenistan (Purbrick, 2017). Support for the Chinese policy in Xinjiang – and
support for the Chinese policy towards the Uighur minority group even within the
Central Asian region itself – may be a price which will have to be paid for full access
to the Belt and Road Initiative (Financial Times, 2018; RFE/RL, 2015). Future
studies of voting records in the UN General Assembly may show that there is a more
global price to pay also as China exercises ‘dollar diplomacy’ and attaches political
strings to its economic support (The Guardian, 2018).
By accepting closer economic cooperation with China, Central Asia will also
be exposed to Chinese competitiveness. According to The Global Competitiveness
Report (World Economic Forum, 2018, p. ix), China has the 27th most compet-
itive economy in the world, whereas Kazakhstan is in 57th place, Tajikistan in
79th place and Kyrgyzstan in 102nd place (no data is available for Turkmenistan
and Uzbekistan). There is a real risk that these economies will find it difficult to
withstand pressure from the much larger and more competitive Chinese economy.
With unemployment figures (Heritage Foundation, 2018) ranging from 5.2 per cent
(Kazakhstan) to 10.8 per cent (Tajikistan) there may already be little political room
only for increased competition from China. Remittances as a share of GDP for
Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan amount to a full 32.9 per cent and 31.6 per cent, respec-
tively, and this is a sign of a lack of (adequate) opportunities on the domestic labour
market (World Bank, 2018). So far, the vast majority of these migrant workers work
in Russia. Very few look for opportunities in China, where wages are lower and
language barriers make entry into the labour market more difficult.
These figures suggest that the Central Asian states may view integration with
China, at least within the economic sphere, with some degree of scepticism. The
history of regional integration suggests that uneven growth rates is one of the causes
which may propel the more laggard economies to seek to tap into the more successful
ones (Mattli, 1999, p. 15). If the costs of integration are considered acceptable by
the electorate, a demand will develop, and it will be supplied by politicians seeking
re-election in democratic elections. The situation in Central Asia, however, in general
is different. The transmission belt bringing voters’ preferences to the political scene
is largely defunct although not fully non-existent. If the main concern of the ruling
elites in several or perhaps even most of the Central Asian states is to ensure their
political and physical survival, integration with China – and with Russia within the
CIS and the EAEU for that matter – may be unacceptable.
Several of these states – in particular Tajikistan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan –
have largely unreformed economies (Heritage Foundation, 2018). The relative lack
306 Handbook on the politics of small states

of structural reforms has several explanations. The protection of vested interests

(through rent-seeking) within elite groups is an important one, but so is the fear of
a political backlash caused by these same reforms and by increased competition
through greater openness to goods, labour, services and capital from other states. The
transmission belt bringing voters’ preferences to the political scene may be largely
defunct, but the concerns just described indicate that politicians, even those of the
most authoritarian or even totalitarian bent, cannot afford to completely disregard
the well-being of their respective populations. Using the history of CIS integration as
a yardstick, the Central Asian regimes are likely to travel only as far along the road
of integration as their own interests allow.
Russia and China are the key external actors for the five central Asian states.
Turkey holds some attraction for the Turkic-speaking states (Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan,
Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan) as does Iran for Farsi-speaking Tajikistan (Tajik and
Farsi are highly similar languages). All secular states, they are, however, also put
off by the public role of Islam in Turkey and Iran, respectively, and trade figures
also indicate a more limited role for these two states: The share of trade with
Turkey ranges from 12.4 per cent (in Turkmenistan) to 2.4 per cent of total trade
(in Kazakhstan). Iran is recorded among the top trading partners only in Tajikistan,
where its share of total Tajik trade stands at 5 per cent. To add to this picture, as men-
tioned earlier, the EU accounts for 38.7 per cent of total Kazakh trade, and the figures
for the four others range from 11.2 per cent (Turkmenistan) to 7.1 (Tajikistan). Trade
with the USA stands at a mere 2.6 per cent (Turkmenistan) or even lower (European
Commission, 2018).
The action space (Wivel, 2017) available seems both wide and narrow at the same
time. On the one hand, two great and neighbouring powers are viewing the region
with interest (or possibly concern) and both have offered more or less structured
frameworks for closer integration. Additionally, other actors such as Turkey, Iran
and even the EU and the USA are watching from the sidelines. They may be playing
secondary roles, but they do offer yet a (smaller) set of alternatives. As suggested
by the voting and trade patterns – and by the problem-ridden record of Russian-led
integration in the CIS space – the Central Asian states in general have felt at least
the freedom of action to decline or even escape the Russian embrace. Russia has not
been strong enough to simply impose its will on these states, nor has it been attractive
enough to be able to seduce them (Hansen, 2013, p. 145). The policy of Uzbekistan,
seemingly joining and leaving at will, is an example of this.
The trade figures indicate that the Central Asian states as a whole have made a turn
towards China, whereas the voting pattern suggests that they do not uncritically
follow China’s lead. A closer look at the UN General Assembly resolutions shows,
for instance, that even on sensitive issues such as criticism of the human rights sit-
uation in North Korea and Myanmar or the continued use of the death penalty, the
Central Asian states in general vote differently than does China (General Assembly
of the United Nations, 2018). Subsequent studies may show whether a heavier
Chinese economic presence in the region will translate into closer political coordina-
tion, explicit or tacit, with Beijing.
 Small states in post-Soviet Central Asia 307

On the other hand, given the location between rising great powers Russia and China
as well as the land-locked character of the Central Asian states, they are vulnerable to
pressure and may feel restrictions as regards their respective action spaces. To illus-
trate, given the heavy dependence of both Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan on remittances
from the Russian labour market, restrictions imposed by the Russian authorities
against migrant workers could easily cause an economic free-fall and chaos in these
two states. Some of Russia’s more controversial CIS policies – the take-over and
subsequent annexation of Crimea as well as the support for secessionist movements
in Moldova, Georgia and Ukraine – serve as extreme reminders of how Russia may
weaponize its influence within the CIS space. Secessionism, so it will be recalled, is
unacceptable from an SCO perspective, and the Central Asian states, leaning against
China on this matter, have actually felt the freedom not to meet Russia’s expectations
that they recognize Georgian regions Abkhazia and South Ossetia as sovereign states.

CONCLUSION

A basic assumption of this study, the notion that regime survival is a main priority
may serve as further and self-imposed restriction on the action space. It may, for
instance, act as a cognitive filter, informing decision-making (Wivel, 2017), or as an
instrumentalized narrative supporting regime survival itself, making the undoing of
this narrative politically costly. And it may simply define the parameters for what is
acceptable from a regime perspective. The longevity of the rule of several Central
Asian leaders illustrates that they have managed to manipulate their international and
domestic environments quite skilfully. Closer studies may demonstrate the extent to
which leaders have also compromised wider state interests to pursue more narrow
self-interest. This may be, for instance, to accept direct costs or indirect opportunity
costs associated with alignment as not doing so would weaken regime power. The
above analysis suggests that maximizing regime interests continues as a guiding
principle in the future of Central Asian politics as it has been in the past.
The ‘small state’ records of the five states are mixed. This is true both individually
and collectively. On the one hand, the region as a whole is less democratic and less
liberal than at the time of the collapse of the Soviet Union. It is tempting to see this as
simply a function of the fact that they border on Russia and China, both of which are
authoritarian. However, it may very well be that this is simply an enabling condition,
meaning that Central Asian leaders are relieved of pressure from more powerful
neighbours to reform. Kyrgyzstan is, after all, considered ‘partly free’ by Freedom
House (2018), and the country, although weak and vulnerable, has managed to insist
on its own political development course. Medvedev’s suggestion, when still serving
as president of Russia, that the CSTO could intervene to save a collapsing regime in
one of the member states, provides us with an indication that Russia at least is willing
to accept only so much transformation and rejection of the status quo. A possible
intervention, led by the centre of the former empire, would be extremely controver-
308 Handbook on the politics of small states

sial and possibly very damaging for Russia’s standing in the region. While these are
small states, the five Central Asian states all guard their sovereignty quite jealously.
On the other hand, the overall impression is that, although small and neighbouring
two great powers, the Central Asian states have managed to establish individual
action spaces large enough to offer a number of alternative courses of action. The
post-1991 history of the region is replete with examples of non-conformity with espe-
cially Russia’s position on a given issue. The opt-outs from the various Russian-led
integration projects provide one example, while the increasing distance from the
Russian voting record in the UN General Assembly provides a second. At the same
time, there is no automatic embrace of China. The latter, however, will undoubtedly
attempt to further increase its power in the region and it will be interesting to see
how the poorer states will handle Chinese offers of economic cooperation. There
is a shared understanding in the region that the Chinese authorities expect political
concessions in return for investment or aid. This will reduce space for future action.

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becoming intermediary for diplomacy,
transportation and information
Alan Chong

INTRODUCTION

Singapore as a small state provides an interesting theoretical contribution to global

politics and international diplomacy by its deliberate strategy to ‘enlarge’ its presence
virtually, e.g. via place branding and active use of political economy and diplomacy.
The idea of virtual enlargement treats the small state as a politico-technological
entity qua medium, not unlike the mass media and social media as extensions of
their human users (Chong, 2010). The medium is both the message and means for the
reinvention of an original entity that thrives within it (McLuhan, 1974): it is a frame
that contains tremendous capabilities for extending its inhabitants’ reach, needs,
reputation, value and even pleasures.
Small states are typically defined ambiguously as “materially deficient” vis-à-vis
large states, or as units that are negligible in their impact on the international system
of states (Maass, 2017, p. 26; Maass, 2009). They tend to suffer the consequences
of the limited capacity of their political, economic and administrative systems;
consequently, they typically find themselves as the weaker party in asymmetric rela-
tionships that they are unable to change on their own (Baldacchino and Wivel, 2020).
However, as this chapter will show, small states can also take advantage of these
alleged weaknesses to ‘enlarge’ their international presence and influence.

UNDERSTANDING SINGAPORE’S FOREIGN POLICY

Singapore’s first 20 years of independence (1965–85) have typically been analysed

in the context of survival, understood instrumentally as the preservation of the ter-
ritorial and demographic integrity of the island state over time (Buszynski, 1985).
Singapore, a small state with a land area (partly reclaimed from the sea) of around
600 km2, located at the southern tip of the Malay Peninsula, was unceremoniously
ejected from the Malaysian Federation within which it stayed for a tumultuous two
years. A large part of the strategic and security reasons for Singapore’s separation
from Malaysia concerned the assumed geopolitical ‘pincer’ movement exercised
by post-colonial modernizing Islamic leaderships in Malaysia and Indonesia (Chan,
1971; Leifer, 1989). Singapore’s multiracial population of Chinese, Malays, Indians

311
312 Handbook on the politics of small states

and others, with the Chinese consistently forming close to 76 per cent of the whole,
live and work in close geographical proximity to the predominantly Malay-Muslim
populations of Indonesia and Malaysia. The leaders of these states have frequently
called for further decolonization of political control and economic ownership, by
reducing Chinese and Indian domination of the managerial positions and business
levers of the economy (Lau, 1969). Permissive immigration from China and India
into Singapore and the rest of Southeast Asia was directly encouraged directly by
a colonial policy pursued by the British, Dutch, French and Spaniards since the
1600s. To further complicate matters of national delineation, the same colonial
powers drew boundaries around their erstwhile colonies according to political expe-
diency dictated from Europe or local European settlers. The post-colonial inheritance
for Indonesia, Malaysia and Singapore therefore included the multifaceted problem
of reconciling nations that were either not homogeneous or had to be fashioned out
of a motley collection of ethnicities introduced by colonial legacies. In addition, these
nations had to fit within borders drawn by European map-making in the previous
century. Singapore was geographically a minuscule island state compared to the
newly independent, archipelagic Republic of Indonesia, and the mostly peninsular
and island-bound Federation of Malaysia. Analysing a tolerant and peace-abiding
national interest amongst the various governments quickly assumed a realist com-
plexion according to most analysts of Singapore’s foreign policy (Buszynski, 1985;
Chan, 1971; Singh, 1988).
This thread of survival frameworks focuses on Singapore’s vulnerability to phys-
ical military invasion by its immediate neighbours and typically takes the form of
conventional security studies of the island’s defence policies. When seen in this light,
Singapore’s foreign policy is reduced to an analogy with Israel or Taiwan, despite
significant differences between all three ‘small states’ (Leifer, 1989, p. 969; Wu,
2016). However, Singapore has maximized its diplomatic space consistently over 50
years without triggering military reactions from its neighbours or the great powers
in Asia. Diplomatic accommodation and discursive fencing have been the dominant
modes of interactions with neighbours and regional powers (Ganesan, 2005; Leifer,
2000).
Consequently, a second thread of analyses focuses instead on defining the character
of Singapore as an active international actor. As early as 1965, in the year of its inde-
pendence, Peter Boyce explained Singapore’s ‘external affairs power’ whilst acting
within the Federation of Malaysia (1963–1965) as ‘policy without authority’ (Boyce,
1965). Boyce argued that Singaporean leaders contributed to mounting frictions
with the central government in Kuala Lumpur as they strove to improve Malaysia’s
legitimacy and trade connections abroad through assorted diplomatic missions across
the Afro-Asian world. Boyce pointed out that the elected leaders of the People’s
Action Party (PAP) – principally, premier Lee Kuan Yew, his culture minister and
subsequently foreign minister, S. Rajaratnam, and Minister of Finance and National
Development Goh Keng Swee – were intimately networked with important leaders in
Algeria, Australia, then-Burma, then-Ceylon, Egypt, India, Indonesia, New Zealand,
the United Kingdom, Yugoslavia and sub-Saharan Africa. This was enabled in no
 Enlarging Singapore’s foreign policy 313

small part by their fraternization with the budding student nationalists from Africa,
Asia and throughout the Commonwealth whom they met while studying in Britain
in the 1930s and 1940s (Lee, 1998, pp. 99–133; Rajaratnam, 1987b). Moreover,
Boyce pointed out that the PAP had cultivated through its propagandistic public
fora and cross-party dialogues “a highly articulate population led by a party opposed
to the central government (in Kuala Lumpur)” (Boyce, 1965, p. 88). It enjoyed
the status of de facto economic independence vis-à-vis the rest of the Federation,
while also capitalizing on the fact that most foreign governments had stationed their
diplomatic corps in Singapore long before it entered the Federation (Boyce, 1965,
p. 88). Additionally, until 1975, Britain maintained a sizeable air and naval base in
Singapore. As a result, whenever leading lights of the PAP travelled abroad on both
official and unofficial missions in Malaysia’s name, they were virtually treated as
spokespersons of ‘Singapore, Malaysia’ (Boyce, 1965, pp. 99–102). The PAP felt
that Malaysia’s future security and prosperity were best furthered when anchored to
the currents of Third World non-alignment as opposed to either a stark pro-Western
or pro-communist orientation. This might be said to have laid the foundation of
a chameleonic stance, characteristic of independent Singapore’s foreign policy later.
By the late 1990s, many observers were realizing that the ‘small state as vul-
nerable’ paradigm needed to be revised in relation to the Republic’s formidable
accumulation of wealth through years of sustained growth, notwithstanding the
‘oil shocks’ of 1973–1975, the worldwide recession of 1983–1985, and the Asian
Financial Crisis of 1997–1998. Jean-Louis Margolin, for instance, argued that the
island state’s policy-makers had begun to appraise the post-Cold War order to be one
of fluidity and strategic overlap of agendas, and hence of opportunity for small states
to pursue niche ideological, normative and economic agendas (Margolin, 1998).
Margolin hailed Singapore’s assertive leadership as the “marching wing” of ASEAN
and its loudest promoter of economic integration while performing an outsized role
in speaking up for particularism in the so-called ‘Asian Values’ debate of the 1990s
(Margolin, 1998, pp. 326–330). Singapore’s Western-educated population, and
globally integrated finance and infrastructure rendered it an ideal interface between
the emerging East–West dialogue at the end of the Cold War. Singapore’s foreign
policy defied the stereotype of the small state, because of its cumulative soft political
capital, infrastructural achievements, skill in navigating global neoliberal economics,
invitations to join international coalitions, and overall wealth (Chong, 1998; Leifer,
2000).
Singapore is a case study for building the international security taxonomy of
‘economic security’. Singapore’s economy delivered growth for its people and ful-
filled vital functions for global capitalism due to its mastery of various ‘securities’:
supply, market access, finance-credit, techno-industrial capability, socio-economic
paradigm, trans-border community, systemic and alliance (Dent, 2001, pp. 7–8).
Singapore was viewed as a ‘realist cum trading state’, strategizing economic assur-
ance à la neo-mercantilist style, in the ‘game’ of capitalist globalization, and incred-
ibly ‘trading in paranoia’ by forcibly linking realist calculations to a liberal foreign
economic policy (Chong, 2007; Dent, 2002; Ganesan, 1998, 2005; Magcamit,
314 Handbook on the politics of small states

2015). This ‘abridged realism’ (Chong, 2006) was aptly captured in a PAP
government-sanctioned tract for public education for foreign affairs as early as 1966:

As a nation of shopkeepers, to use the phrase first applied to Britain, and as collectively the
emporium or departmental store, which Raffles called Singapore on its first establishment
as a Settlement, we have been and must continue to be extrovert. The widening world of
the growing number of our customers is literally and metaphorically our business. Living
in the contemporary world, we must know the world of the present in order to survive into
the world of the future.
[Following the lengthy evolution of international political history,] the Old Adam [of
Realist Man] was, however, to reassert itself and the continued anarchy of international
sovereignty could not be papered over by speeches and committee resolutions by the placid
blue of Lake Geneva, and erupted in the Second World War. The United Nations, is again,
with the Age of Western Empire past, seeking to express again, more realistically and
power consciously in idea and institution and initiative the sense of ‘One World’, and to
encourage among nations habits of mind and action more appropriate to the ‘One World’,
no longer a concept, but a fact the ineluctable logic of which must be worked out in idea,
and lived out in fact. (Thompson, 1966, pp. 1, 5)

Leaving aside the verbosity typical of International Relations writing in the 1960s,
note the creative inversion of Napoleon Bonaparte’s derisive labelling of Great
Britain three centuries ago, along with the concession that realism does not singularly
rule the ‘One World’ that emerged after the Second World War. It is this idea of
psychological and geographical reinvention that lies at the heart of the enlargement
thesis invoked at the start of this meditation on Singapore’s foreign policy. The rest
of this chapter will explain how enlargement is practised through the Republic’s
intermediary functions for the international community of states in the areas of
(a) diplomacy, (b) maritime and air transportation, and (c) information flows.
Throughout this exegesis, it will strike the reader that Singapore will always run the
risk that its ambition may exceed its grasp.

SINGAPORE’S OMNIDIRECTIONAL DIPLOMACY

No consolidated official statement of Singapore’s diplomatic approach exists. Much

of what can be identified as the Government of Singapore’s operationalization of
diplomacy, defined as “the ordered conduct of relations between one group of human
beings and another group alien to themselves” or “the application of intelligence
and tact to the conduct of official relations between the governments of independ-
ent states” (Nicolson, 1969, pp. 5, 24) is cumulative in nature. Official statements
by Singaporean diplomats about the origins of Singapore’s foreign policy include
some version of the survival discourse, and an anecdote about how the first foreign
minister S. Rajaratnam was told by Prime Minister Lee to improvise a foreign policy
after putting on a lounge suit and a tie, and then articulating what is rational and
reasonable from the top of one’s head! (Liu, 2005, p. 21). But there is a method to
 Enlarging Singapore’s foreign policy 315

the happenstance and appearance of improvisation that threads its way back to the
official independence of the island Republic on 9 August 1965.

Peaceful Negotiations with all Parties

Nevertheless, two enduring characteristics of Singapore’s foreign policy and diplo-

matic practice can be identified. First is the preference for communicating positively
to other states primarily through the softer, peaceable end of the spectrum of foreign
policy instruments. On the occasion of Singapore’s formal admission to the United
Nations (UN) on 21 September 1965, S. Rajaratnam emphasized that his country’s
diplomacy can only operate on the premises of peaceful negotiations between all
parties (Rajaratnam, 2005). Rajaratnam made it a point to emphasize repeatedly that
he represented the diplomacy of a trading community, and thus by extension, it cannot
afford any arms racing. The only ‘war’ Singapore sought to wage would be “against
poverty, ignorance, disease, bad housing, unemployment and against anything and
everything which deny dignity and freedom to our fellow men” (Rajaratnam, 2005,
p. 37). This can be seen in the growth of Singapore’s consistency in upholding and
supporting UN initiatives in peace-building, mediation, peacekeeping, protection of
the rights of women and children, and disarmament. The only exception to this record
is Singapore’s rejection of UNESCO since the mid-1980s when it sided with the US
and UK in blaming that agency for its fiscal profligacy and superfluous activities.
It has yet to rejoin UNESCO. More importantly, this equivalent of a ‘debutante
statement’ of principles at the UN by Singapore’s foreign minister ushered in several
spokes of its diplomacy that subsequently emphasized embracing non-alignment,
showcasing its multicultural population as a microcosm of international coexistence,
and collaborating with states of all ideologies on developmental and global govern-
ance issues through the Singapore Cooperation (SCP) and Third Country Training
Programmes (TCTP). The latter two constitute Singapore’s soft aid whereby
Singaporean experts from both public and private sectors ‘train the trainers’ through
a series of seminars run out of the Civil Service College, the Monetary Authority of
Singapore, the Singapore Aviation Academy, the Lee Kuan Yew School of Public
Policy, the National University of Singapore, the Nanyang Technological University
and the S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies. Occasionally, SCP and TCTP
programmes are operated abroad in the territory of the recipient state. The steady but
quiet demand for Singapore’s ‘aid diplomacy’ has evolved to the point where the
Ministry of Trade and Industry set up the Singapore Cooperation Enterprise (SCE)
to pursue specific tailor-made programmes in consultation with foreign government
agencies. The stated aim is to cultivate long term development-minded partnerships
with any foreign government.
In this way, Singapore contributes to global governance and the UN’s Sustainable
Development Goals in a deliberately understated way. Although small states of the
likes of Botswana, Brunei, Nepal, Cambodia, and even Vietnam, have acclaimed
Singapore’s training aid, it remains to be seen if larger aid recipients are willing to
publicly admit that minuscule Singapore has something positive to instruct them.
316 Handbook on the politics of small states

Some rare exceptions include Deng Xiaoping publicly encouraging Communist

Party cadres to learn from Singapore in preserving political and social stability while
pursuing economic modernization, and London’s former Mayor Ken Livingstone
lauding Singapore as the model for traffic management in urban centres through
imposing ‘congestion charges’ (Chong, 2009). More recently, ruling parties in
Iceland, Britain and Malta, encountering very different politico-economic crises,
used Singapore as an example of an integrated global economic hub that thrives
without any sovereign reliance upon a hinterland. Scotland’s secessionists commis-
sioned a study suggesting that Singapore might be a model for a sovereign Scottish
state (Neal, 2017). Meanwhile, Prime Minister Theresa May’s advisers openly
discussed the prospect of a post-Brexit Britain sustaining its prosperity by blending
a Singapore model of a transport and business hub open to the world while retaining
Canadian-style free trading arrangements that were anchored bilaterally and multilat-
erally without a formalized regional political pact. This was dubbed the ‘Canapore’
option (Castle, 2017). There has yet to be a comprehensive evaluation of whether
the Singapore Model of Development can fit all contexts and territorial sizes, but the
Singaporean Ministry of Foreign Affairs happily prefers to retain this existential state
of aid related ‘soft power’ (Chong, 2009).

Comparing Words and Deeds

The second characteristic of Singaporean omnidirectional diplomacy is trying

earnestly to read optimistic prospects into its partners’ behaviour by comparing
words and deeds, as laid out in another speech to the Parliament of Singapore in
1965 by foreign minister Rajaratnam. He took the view that words uttered by the
principal political leaders of states within the international system embodied their
countries’ foreign policies in terms of principles and objectives. These are usually
cloaked in noble reassuring language and moral overtones. However, when any
country’s foreign policy is assessed according to deeds, it is often the case that
actions do not always conform to the stated principles and objectives. Rajaratnam
opined that the foreign policy of deeds is the better bellwether for assessing the
intentions of Singapore’s diplomatic interlocutors within “the jungle of international
politics” in order to devise a “sound and realistic” foreign policy (Rajaratnam,
1987a, pp. 279–280). Therefore, there are three categories of foreign policy tests for
Singapore’s diplomacy. Firstly, the words and deeds of states ‘closest’ to Singapore
will ensure that their principles and behaviour are fully consistent in manifesting
friendly relations with Singapore. Disagreements and temporary disputes are bound
to occur between the closest of friends but these can be managed in the spirit of deep,
underlying amity. The second category of states would be “those which may have to
be unfriendly with us in theory (for ideological reasons or because of the exigencies
of domestic politics) while developing friendly and normal relations with us in prac-
tice” (Rajaratnam, 1987a, p. 280). Such diplomatic dealing is not uncommon: deeds
override words under all circumstances and Singapore’s diplomats are committed to
upholding mutually beneficial interactions with these states, regardless of the official
 Enlarging Singapore’s foreign policy 317

rhetoric from the other side. There will be, however, some degree of circumspection
practised between Singapore and these states, until such time that they are willing
to reconcile words and deeds into a comprehensively amicable relationship. In this
regard, Rajaratnam opined, Singapore’s diplomacy should never operate on the basis
that it faced “permanent enemies”. Instead “ours will be the more positive approach
of cultivating as many permanent friends as we can . . . patience backed by some
understanding of why they have to say the things that they say, might pay dividends
and it could prevent their drifting into the third category of nations” (Rajaratnam,
1987a, p. 281). The third category is the extreme where certain states’ diplomatic
words and deeds are consistently hostile to Singapore. Rajaratnam noted that in 1965,
no state had been categorized by Singaporean diplomacy in this category.
Rajaratnam’s precepts remain the touchstone of Singapore’s foreign policy:
various iterations of his three categories of states have been referred to both directly
and indirectly in assorted policy pronouncements by Singaporean diplomats (Liu,
2005, pp. 159–179). One ongoing measure of the Republic’s ‘success’ in employing
omnidirectional diplomacy to enhance Singapore’s relevance to the international
community lies in its role as the unofficial diplomatic intermediary between Taiwan
and China in Cross-Strait relations. In this regard, it should be noted that despite the
Cold War anti-communism espoused by the PAP government of Premier Lee Kuan
Yew between 1963 and 1990, Singapore’s foreign policy towards Beijing rejected
closer political alignment while quietly fostering ever increasing volume in bilateral
trade. Even amidst tensions with Kuala Lumpur during Singapore’s brief period in
Federation (1963–1965), Premier Lee allowed the Beijing-controlled Bank of China
to retain its branch operations in Singapore unimpeded by security concerns about
subversion. Indeed, right up till 1979, Beijing had funded the Communist Party of
Malaya’s revolutionary radio broadcasts inciting the overthrow of the elected gov-
ernments of both Singapore and Malaysia. Additionally, Mao had openly suggested
that ‘overseas Chinese’ ought to owe loyalty to the People’s Republic of China on the
mainland, as opposed to the ‘illegitimate’ Republic of China on Taiwan. Chairman
Mao Zedong had never been a fan of Singapore’s non-communist road to independ-
ence but nonetheless entertained the first visit by Premier Lee to China in 1976. The
real thaw began after Mao’s passing. Senior Vice-Premier Deng Xiaoping’s visit to
Singapore in 1978 allowed a major opening for both sides. Deng, being the chief
pragmatist within the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), admired Singapore’s eco-
nomic and social progress under the PAP under capitalist conditions, and with a soft
authoritarian dominant party democracy in place. Within three years, Singapore’s
government-linked firms and private businesses were openly invited to partake in
China’s economic modernization programme. The goodwill kept up by both sides
through economic channels since the early 1960s now began to translate into political
dividend as Deng openly exhorted CCP officials to emulate Singapore’s philosophy
of governing for social and political stability.
Across the Straits of Taiwan, the Kuomintang (KMT) governments from Chiang
Kai-shek onwards maintained comparable ties with Singapore for both economic
benefit and political solidarity. The latter was sustained on the basis of both gov-
318 Handbook on the politics of small states

ernments’ direct experiences and fear of communist subversion. Furthermore, the

KMT governments reliably offered to host military training for the Singapore Armed
Forces (SAF) in land, air and naval dimensions. In exchange, Singapore’s leaders,
specifically, Premier Lee Kuan Yew himself, kept up a large trade volume with
Taiwan and briefed the KMT leaders regularly on both events in China as well as
the around the world. Premier Lee Kuan Yew quickly became a close confidant of
President China Kai-shek’s son, Premier Chiang Ching-kuo. Chiang Jr subsequently
assumed the presidency following his father’s death and consolidated Taiwan’s
economic miracle and democratization. Since then, virtually every President of
Taiwan has designated either the late Lee Kuan Yew himself, or the successive prime
ministers of Singapore, as special friends of Taiwan requiring exceptional hospitality
and diplomatic priority. Under Deng’s post-Mao leadership, Singapore’s leaders
sought and obtained a ‘special exemption’ from Beijing to retain these unusually
close ties on both sides of the Taiwan Straits while officially paying lip service to
Beijing’s preferred refrain on a ‘One China Policy’. Lee Kuan Yew’s own memoirs
have admitted that both Taipei and Beijing had not only regarded Singapore as an
acceptable mutual friend, above the ideological fray, but also an unofficial member
of the Chinese international ‘fraternity’ (Lee, 2000, pp. 620–634).
Lee Kuan Yew disclosed in his memoirs what many observers had suspected
since 1965. Premier Lee had served as an unofficial messenger between Taipei and
Beijing during moments of tension and dormancy in their bilateral relations, which
can at best be described as an unfinished Cold War. Taipei and Beijing have consist-
ently regarded each other as rivals, with Beijing often upping the ante by forcing its
diplomatic partners, with the rare exceptions of Singapore, and partially the US, to
choose sides by downgrading relations with Taipei. Singapore’s quietly accumulated
diplomatic capital with both sides finally produced the first ever direct Cross-Straits
meeting between Taipei’s quasi-official Straits Exchange Foundation and Beijing’s
nominated think tank, the Association for Relations Across the Taiwan Straits, in
Singapore in 1993 to discuss transactional protocols relating to mail handling and
verification of documents used by travellers from both sides. These talks ushered in
a series of off-and-on discussions over two decades subject to the whims of political
changes in Taipei and Beijing.
In 1996, Beijing staged missile drills off Taiwan’s coast to demonstrate its dis-
pleasure at President Lee Teng-hui’s visit to the US where he referred to the need
to establish ‘state to state’ relations between mainland China and the ‘Republic of
China on Taiwan’. In his semi-retired capacity as Senior Minister, Lee Kuan Yew
shuttled between Taipei and Beijing and declared that as old friends of both sides,
Singapore wished that both would find an amicable way to reduce their animosities
for Singapore would suffer ‘doubled’ losses (Lee, 2000, p. 631). Beijing replied that
while it esteemed Lee Kuan Yew’s role, this confrontation was an ‘internal matter’ for
Taipei and Beijing, and Singapore was not family in this regard. The situation finally
eased after the US dispatched two aircraft carriers to the vicinity of the Taiwan Straits
as a signal to Beijing to cool its hostility. This might be read as an indicator of the
ineffectual nature of Singaporean diplomacy when a determined great power wanted
 Enlarging Singapore’s foreign policy 319

to act unilaterally without heeding even well-intentioned advice from a politically

acceptable intermediary. That said, Singapore’s relentlessly optimistic good offices
facilitated the first ever direct meeting between President Ma Ying-jeou of Taiwan
and President Xi Jinping of China in 2015. On that occasion, President Xi spoke of
flesh and blood relations within a common cultural family while President Ma called
for intensifying cross-Strait interactions in investment, business and education.
Singapore’s omnidirectional diplomacy in the China–Taiwan situation was a com-
bination of both Singapore’s push to be friendly with both sides, and the pull of
attraction of its even-handedness. This intermediation did not resolve the estrange-
ment between Taipei and Beijing but it did enlarge Singapore’s international
reputation and bolster its credentials as an omnidirectional diplomatic partner. This
positioning was demonstrated once again in June 2018, when North Korea and the
US sought a neutral venue for their first ever bilateral summit. Singapore was chosen
for its diplomatic familiarity with both Washington and Pyongyang. It also offered
both security-paranoid leaders a sense of impregnable security given its relatively
unsullied reputation for hosting assorted summits for ASEAN, the ASEAN Regional
Forum, the East Asia Summit and the Asia Pacific Economic Cooperation forum. For
Chairman Kim Jong-un, Singapore was a quiet friend with whom his country enjoyed
understated trade relations and a shared anti-colonial spirit since the 1960s. For the
Trump Administration, Singapore avoided the political pitfalls that would arise from
rival locations such as US territory, South Korea, Mongolia, China, Japan and Russia
(Watkins, 2018). It was widely rumoured that Chairman Kim Jong-un of North Korea
preferred an international location that would be within range of his official aircraft,
an ageing Ilyushin IL76 twin engine jet. Even historic neutral sites in Europe such
as Sweden and Switzerland were considered less attractive for a meeting since Kim
would have had to ‘borrow’ another country’s aircraft or make several refuelling
stops before arriving (Watkins, 2018). On the occasion of the 12 June 2018 summit,
a Commentary approved by Singapore’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs added one more
supplementary label to the country’s diplomatic suaveness – ‘fair-minded rationality’
– which was elaborated in these carefully scripted words:

Given Singapore’s long-standing ties with the United States – since 1836 in fact – its offi-
cials will in all likelihood offer steady, constructive praise for President Donald Trump’s
bold diplomatic gamble in meeting with the once reviled ‘rogue state’.
Washington has also conveniently reciprocated since the Cold War by avoiding the
phrase ‘major non-NATO ally’ in describing its warm relations with Singapore notwith-
standing severe frictions with the latter over human rights issues in the 1990s.
Likewise, Singaporean diplomatic rationality manifests in a foreign policy of measuring
words against deeds in maximising friends and minimising enemies. This has enabled
Singapore to act as a non-judgmental trading partner with North Korea since 1975 when
diplomatic recognition was accorded.
Singapore has mostly adopted an equidistant approach to Korean unification, rarely con-
demning Pyongyang’s behaviour in jingoistic tones. Singapore also imposed UN-mandated
sanctions against North Korean efforts to procure goods with military potential. In fact,
Singapore joined up – as several other ASEAN countries have – in the international
economic sanctions effort against North Korea last year and there was no apparent dint
320 Handbook on the politics of small states

in standing relations to be felt. Overall, at no point did Singapore sever relations with
Pyongyang nor sanctioned North Korean officials. Pyongyang retains a full-fledged
embassy in Singapore all these years. (Chong and Ong, 2018)

In sum, Singaporean omnidirectional diplomacy is a chameleonic tool, operation-

alized within a fairly elastic band of momentary meanings capturing a deliberately
ill-defined set of qualities ranging from equidistance, to neutrality, to constructive
discourse to vague ‘old friendships’. Such discursive diplomacy does not need to
be precise, it merely needs to expand the small state’s diplomatic space through
augmenting its reputation.

MARITIME AND AIR TRANSPORTATION HUBBING

Singapore’s enlargement in a virtual sense is firmly anchored by its geographical

location. The island was already coveted by rival Malay and Siamese kingdoms
prior to the arrival of the Europeans for its highly valued position (Borschberg, 2010,
2017). Singapore was envisaged as the port cum fortress, guarding approaches to the
Tebrau and Johor rivers at the southern tip of the Malay Peninsula and its adjacent
straits. The many bays, coves and inlets that dotted the shores of the island rendered
it an attractive landing location for ships crossing from West to East and vice versa
(Borschberg, 2017, pp. 374–378). On these stops, food and fresh water could be
replenished by entering into commercial relations with the population onshore and its
controlling authorities. Once the Portuguese and Spaniards entered the trading scene,
Singapore was also conjectured as a possible naval fortress for securing maritime
empires vis-à-vis both local kingdoms and the Dutch in the nearby East Indies. Each
hostile power attempted to destroy or appropriate the built infrastructure of their
rivals on the island (Borschberg, 2017, pp. 381–383).
The British colonial power consolidated the port of Singapore by enhancing its
natural geographical advantages with the privileges of connecting the island’s trade
to Her Majesty’s commercially networked empire. The founding of Singapore as
an entrepôt centre and a free port by East India Company official Thomas Stamford
Raffles, was consistent with the culture of British imperialism (Raffles, 1973). The
latter sought to acquire local toeholds in commerce and profit-making networks
through minimum bloodshed and maximum co-optation of local elites and popu-
lations into British schemes (Goh, 2013, pp. 28–29). Singapore’s status as a com-
mercial hub was ‘amplified’ through British policies embracing free trade, initially
fostering immigration of assorted Asian races, and the provision of infrastructure,
law and order and sufficient education for the local population to enable them to
man the infrastructure of the colonial economy. The British encouraged Europeans,
especially British nationals, to establish the merchant and managing-agency firms
that both set up factories and spread the risk of investing in far flung colonies devoid
of the relevant business expertise and accounting skills that were a standard fixture in
industrialized British cities such as Liverpool, Manchester and Glasgow (Goh, 2013,
 Enlarging Singapore’s foreign policy 321

pp. 36–37). This introduced a pecking order in which Asians serviced the middle tier
of the economy in their capacities as goods distributors, and providers of small loans
and manpower for hauling and transporting physical goods. The Port of Singapore
kept up with the steam power revolution across the Empire by delivering the fastest
turnaround time for replenishing coal for steamships by employing organized teams
of lowly paid Chinese coolies from the late 1800s. In tandem with coaling efficiency,
Singapore’s location was fortuitous as a stopover for ships travelling from Europe to
the rest of East Asia as well as a junction for the newly emerging electric telegraph
network. The latter ensured that Singapore would emerge as a nerve centre for
distributing economic and political news and consequently the logistical choice for
setting up banks, insurance companies and shipping agents that oversaw shipping
lines traversing virtually all of Southeast Asia (Goh, 2013, pp. 67–97).
As a result, upon attaining independence in 1965, the Republic of Singapore
virtually inherited the ready infrastructure of the former British imperial network
in Southeast Asia. This was in turn intimately connected through the local stock
exchange that traded internationally. This was abetted by the retention of British
firms in the local economy (Cheng, 1991, pp. 183–184). Economic nationalism was
relatively restrained under a PAP government who sought instead to reassure both
local and foreign investors that they were pro-business, notwithstanding their party’s
‘democratic socialist’ credentials. Indeed, the international image of Singapore
Incorporated was assiduously cultivated by the PAP openly inviting experts from the
Colombo Plan, the World Bank and the UN to advise the new government on how
best to sustain an economic growth rate that could eliminate rising unemployment by
keeping the world trading and investing in Singapore (Cheng, 1991, pp. 187–189).
By 1961, an Economic Development Board (EDB) was set up to attract investments
to the island by serving as investors’ guides and sharing the risk in their pioneering
ventures. The EDB planned entire industrial zones in Singapore for co-locating man-
ufacturers, raw material suppliers and processing firms. These policies are crucial in
illuminating the soft foundations of Singapore’s maritime and air hub status today.
If investors are assured of systemic reliability and the appeal of industrial proximity
services, or industrial agglomeration benefits, they will want to utilize maritime and
air connectivity. While the EDB continues its mission of attracting overseas compa-
nies to Singapore, the parallel statutory board Enterprise Singapore has been tasked
to encourage the expansion of Singapore firms overseas while also serving as the
body for approving national standards and accreditation for both local and foreign
firms (Enterprise Singapore, 2018).
The Port of Singapore Authority (PSA) was established in 1964 as a statutory
board that served as harbour operator, maritime regulator and container terminal
operator. By 1990, PSA operated five maritime entry points on Singapore island
and had garnered worldwide accolades within the shipping industry for being one
of the world’s most efficient and busiest port operators (National Library Board –
Singapore Infopedia, n.d.). It had in the meantime been directed by the government
to diversify into convention tourism and coordinated ferry links with the tourist
mega-project known as Sentosa Island. These ancillary activities significantly
322 Handbook on the politics of small states

augmented the commercial appeal of Singapore as a convenient port-of-call within

Asia, second only to Hong Kong. With the re-entry of China into the global economy
following the Deng Xiaoping reforms and the rising economic nationalism across
Southeast Asia in the late 1980s, the lustre of PSA came under threat as Malaysian,
Indonesian, Thai and especially Chinese ports threatened to eliminate Singapore’s
market share by promoting their own connectivity and cost-efficient services. By
1995, the PAP government decided that corporatization was the next best strategy to
retain Singapore’s maritime hub status. The supervisory and regulatory functions of
PSA were reconstituted under a new statutory board, the Maritime and Port Authority
of Singapore (MPA). PSA Corporation became a government-linked company
owned largely by the Government of Singapore with civil servants and ministers
sitting in its Board of Governors and controlling shares held by a holding company
named Temasek Holdings. The remaining shares were sold to private investors on
the stock market.
PSA Corporation adopted a new strategy whereby it not only automated and
computerized much of its container operations in Singapore, it also marketed its
port operation expertise abroad especially in container handling. For instance, PSA
International has been contracted to operate the Voltri-Pra and Southern European
Container Hub in the historic port city of Genoa under a joint venture. It is the same
with the Port of Venice. Comparable PSA joint ventures can be found in the PSA
Panama International Terminal and the Exolgan Container Terminal in Buenos
Aires, as well as the King Abdul Aziz Port in Dammam, Saudi Arabia, along with
a string of key container terminals in Incheon and Busan in South Korea, Dalian
in China and Kitakyushu in Japan (PSA International, 2018). In other words, PSA
Corporation operates in tandem with Singapore’s foreign policy through the national
association with ‘Singapore Incorporated’ by partnering with rival ports overseas.
This grows the image of a Singaporean ‘win-win’ strategy towards erstwhile eco-
nomic partners and rivals. Within Singapore, PSA Corporation has even designated
sections of its container terminals as unique ‘boutique’ partnerships with China’s
COSCO and Japan’s NYK shipping lines for exclusive storage and landing of not
only containers but also cars and other irregular sized cargoes from these shipping
lines. By 2017, PSA Corporation’s local branch, rebranded as ‘PSA Singapore’,
achieved an unprecedented global status “accounting for almost one-seventh of the
world’s total container transhipment throughput and more than 4% of global con-
tainer throughput” while touting the fact that the company and its Singapore based
operations “connected to 600 ports, with daily sailings to every major port in the
world” (PSA Singapore, 2018).
The story of Singapore’s global aviation hub status tracks that of the port while
enjoying less of a colonial inheritance. Following independence, the PAP govern-
ment regarded commercial aviation in much the same light as the maritime port: it
could grow Singapore’s economy and create jobs and new industries such as tourism
and air cargo shipments. By 1975, the decision was made to build a futuristic airport
near the original Royal Air Force base in Changi at the south-eastern coastal strip of
the island. Opened since 1981, Changi Airport outperformed even the government’s
 Enlarging Singapore’s foreign policy 323

expectations as it grew in tandem with the overall ascent in business optimism within
Asia and the boom in tourism and air cargo worldwide, notwithstanding several
recessions in the 1980s and early 2000s. Moreover, it helped that Britain’s deliberate
cultivation of Singapore as the controller of the Flight Information Region (FIR)
was retained mostly unchanged as the sovereign state of Singapore succeeded com-
petently to the role of regional air traffic controller, covering airspace over half the
Straits of Malacca, parts of Sumatra and a huge southern portion of the South China
Sea. Although Malaysia had amicably requested Singapore to manage parts of its
own FIR in recognition of the latter’s proven track record and constantly upgraded
radar facilities, the scope of Singapore’s FIR remains a latent source of tension with
Kuala Lumpur and Jakarta. That said, unofficial sources have informed this author
that Singapore’s air traffic management was resoundingly supported by the major-
ity of airlines since Changi Airport does not charge for air traffic control services,
hence lowering their overheads in transiting through Singaporean managed civilian
airspace.
Changi Airport was corporatized in 2009 in the same pattern as PSA. The Civil
Aviation Authority of Singapore retains the regulatory functions (Civil Aviation
Authority of Singapore, 2018). Today the Changi Airport Group (CAG) also markets
its management expertise on a fee-based and profit-sharing arrangement worldwide.
Since 2010, CAG has been contracted to manage airports in Beijing, Chengdu,
Chongqing, Mumbai, Nagpur, Doha, Abu Dhabi, Seychelles, Kigali, Auckland,
Rome, Brasilia, Rio de Janeiro, Moscow and Sochi (Changi Airports International,
2018). The last was regarded as a particular coup for CAG since it meant associating
the Singapore brand name with the Winter Olympics hosted by Russia in that city
in 2014. Working in tandem, the state-owned but commercially operated Singapore
Airlines (SIA) has also helped ‘globalize’ the Singapore Incorporated ‘brand’ of
service excellence and attracted travellers to the island for business and leisure. In
the exercise of proxy diplomacy, it is often the case that if CAG operates an airport
in a major city within Singapore’s diplomatic partners, it is also very likely that SIA
operates regular scheduled services to one or more major cities in that same country.
Changi Airport and SIA have individually been serial winners of the aviation
industry’s prestigious SKYTRAX awards for ‘best service’ categories. In this sense,
CAG and SIA have expanded Singapore’s positive diplomatic energy through their
commercial brand names (Ramchandani, 2018).

INFORMATION FLOWS

The idea of virtual enlargement depends heavily on the psychological and rep-
resentational generation of a much bigger presence than physical geography depicts
(Chong, 2010). Put in another way, there are ways in which economic and political
geographies can transcend the limitations of physical geography since the former
two are informational devices. The idea of information is in fact intrinsic to the idea
of Singapore as a trading hub. To import, export and tranship goods coterminously
324 Handbook on the politics of small states

requires that the intermediaries making the transactions be dexterous with commu-
nication across cultural boundaries. Since the mid-1800s, the Colony of Singapore
has witnessed conflicting information discourses over articulating the appropriate
nationalisms relating to India, China and the Malay world, corresponding to the three
main contributing sources for the island’s multi-ethnic population. Additionally, the
European mercantile community embodied a force for democratic public opinion
long before Singapore progressed definitively towards self-government (Gillis,
2005). Newsmaking and news reporting therefore came into their own as integral
parts of the Singapore polity and economy. In fact, it might be argued that news rep-
resentations, along with the interplay of subtle propaganda and official statements,
decided the great turning points of Singapore’s political evolution such as the 1962
Referendum for Merger, the ‘battle against the Communists’ within and without
the PAP, and the political communication from the PAP to the masses to sacrifice
untrammelled political liberties for economic upliftment (Chan, 1971; Chew, 1991;
Quah, 1991; Singh, 2015).
In the twenty-first century, the PAP government’s steering of the political
economy of Singapore’s foreign policy has embraced the possibilities of the informa-
tion technology revolution. The latter is often known in local discourse as the digital
revolution, implying a whole ‘game changing’ acceleration in Singapore’s economic
prosperity if engineered correctly in strategic industrial policy. As early as 1985,
the computerization of businesses and the institution of computer-assisted learning
in schools was already official policy. The PAP government planned to wire every
home and office for the era of the Internet with visions such as the IT2000 masterplan
and the 2015 Smart Nation initiative. This was not merely a technical strategy. Since
the early 1990s, the PAP government aimed for building and strengthening creative
industries. Not only were the Arts officially supported with government funding,
entire schools were founded to produce graduates in advertising, communications,
drama, dance, media design and journalism. Foreign broadcasters such as CNBC
Asia, Bloomberg, NHK, Phoenix TV, Reuters, the New York Times, Asahi Shimbun,
and even the BBC, were all encouraged to set up bureaux and station regional corre-
spondents on the island. These were not censored, and mostly left alone to perform
their reporting, as long as they did not attempt to comment on local politics in
a manner unacceptable to the government. Today the PAP government has tasked its
investment attraction agencies to actively solicit investments from firms of the likes
of Microsoft, Industrial Light and Magic, and Home Box Office Asia, all of which
have set up operations on the island as either joint ventures with home-grown compa-
nies or wholly new subsidiaries putting Singapore on the world investment map as an
economy hospitable to digital capitalism. Today, the twenty-first century Singapore
Media Hub is assuming shape with the Infocomm and Media Development Authority
striking a balanced corporatist tone in its message to media investors and citizens
alike:

Recognising the dynamic nature of the sectors, IMDA regularly reviews its policies and
regulations to keep pace with technological developments as well as evolving social norms
 Enlarging Singapore’s foreign policy 325

and values. The opinions, concerns and expertise of stakeholders are important, as IMDA
continually engages and consults the industry and consumers when formulating new poli-
cies or reviewing existing ones.
IMDA also performs the role of a trusted steward of public values by putting in place
content classification standards to help consumers make more informed media choices and
to have wider access to content, while reflecting community standards, values and mores.
IMDA encourages innovation and experimentation, and believes in fostering a vibrant
and competitor competitive infocomm and media industry that ultimately enhances choice,
access and value to consumers and businesses. (IMDA, 2018)

Considering the healthy range of media and digital companies invested in the island
republic today, and its plug into the major Western markets of news production, film
post-production and digital advertising, this is a clear statement of how Singapore
Incorporated has gone global.

CONCLUSION

From its earliest days of independence, Singapore has taken advantage of colonial and
historical legacies. The island’s statesmen and diplomats have deliberately pursued
an ‘abridged realism’ as a guide for navigating international relations (Chong, 2006).
This has allowed the Republic’s leaders to avoid policy paralysis in meeting unfore-
seen challenges over the horizon. The island state’s willingness to experiment with
marketing its managerial expertise instead of confining its calculations to the deficits
in tangible resources such as land, labour and natural minerals has been key in this
effort. In addition, Singapore’s soft authoritarian democracy has played an important
role. Public opinion is mostly quiescent, and there is no input from sectors outside the
government. Even the legitimately elected opposition political parties have mostly
refrained from politicizing foreign policy. Foreign policy managed by a consensually
driven elite can afford to practise almost perfect diplomatic equidistance from, or
equal proximity to, the majority of the great powers. This sort of unitary actor model
of foreign policy-making can be beneficial to the island state insofar as it sustains
the recruitment of consistently wise leaders within a dominant party democracy.
The existential worry is that once the island is helmed by successor elites of lower
intellectual calibre foreign policy can go disastrously awry without a public willing
to perform a ‘check and balance’ role.
Finally, words carry strategic weight for guiding thought, legitimizing a nebulous
foreign policy that requires utmost built-in flexibility, and finally to enact a ritual
of self-affirmation that enlargement is desirable. Hence, catchphrases, even if
self-deprecating in tone, such as a Singaporean ‘nation of shopkeepers’ needing
to be extroverted, speculating about a foreign policy of words and deeds, acting as
a concerned external relative of China and Taiwan, practising equidistance between
North Korea and the US, or the plugging of Singapore into a global digital infor-
mation economy by sounding attentive both to the needs of external stakeholders
and authentic national values, is an art of performing the enlargement of Singapore.
326 Handbook on the politics of small states

In fact, Singapore’s foreign policy of enlargement can also be summed up with yet
another buzzword, should policy-makers wish to consider one more in their ‘creative
arsenal’ of flexi-talk: becoming a global chameleon.

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20. Small states, China and the South China Sea
Leszek Buszynski

INTRODUCTION

The aim of this chapter is to explore the relationship between state size and external
behaviour in Southeast Asia. It focuses specifically on the small states in the region
that have been involved in, or have been affected by, the maritime disputes in the
South China Sea. To what extent has the small size of these states affected their posi-
tion on the nature of the conflict and the behaviour of China, and how has the conflict
affected alignments and security relationships?
The starting point of this volume is that small states are characterized by the
limited capacity of their political, economic and administrative systems; they
typically find themselves as the weaker part in asymmetric relationships that they
are unable to change on their own (Baldacchino and Wivel, 2020). This pragmatic
working definition of small states highlights the vulnerability and dependence of
small states, as well as their limitations in state capacity and national capabilities,
which is important in Southeast Asia and emphasized more broadly in the literature
on small states (Archer, Bailes, and Wivel, 2014; Atkinson and Coleman, 1989;
Bräutigam and Woolcock, 2001; Briguglio et al., 2010; Jackson and Rosberg, 1982;
Keohane, 1969; Patrick, 2006; Rothstein, 1968; Thorhallsson, 2018).
From this starting point, Singapore, Brunei, Laos and Cambodia in the first
instance can clearly be characterized as small states. The Philippines will be included
as an example of a weak state with poor institutional capacity and high security
dependence, giving it the characteristics of a small state in its external behaviour (in
spite of a resident population of over 100 million). Malaysia, with a population of 32
million, may be considered a middle power because of its size and security autonomy
as a non-aligned state. Other Southeast Asian states such as Thailand and Myanmar
are not involved in the South China Sea dispute. Vietnam and Indonesia are not
viewed as small states here. They do not have the same limitations in their capacity
and capabilities and most importantly they are not stuck as the weak part in asymmet-
ric relationships like the other states. In contrast, both countries have a foreign policy
tradition of security autonomy and self-reliance that sets them apart from the others.

SMALL STATES AROUND THE SOUTH CHINA SEA

China has deliberately targeted the small states of ASEAN in seeking to impose its
view of the South China Sea. ASEAN is important for China as its endorsement of
the Chinese claim to the South China Sea would counter the ruling of the Arbitration
329
330 Handbook on the politics of small states

Tribunal of the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS), which in July 2016 decided that China
had no legal basis for its claim for sovereignty over the entire area. The tribunal ruled
that the nine (and now ten) dash line, which in 2016 ruled that China’s nine dash line
which is the basis of its claim had no legal basis and that any claim to historical rights
was extinguished when China joined UNCLOS, and ratified the convention in 1996
(Permanent Court of Arbitration, 2016). Beijing vehemently rejected the ruling and
continued to engage in the construction of military facilities and airfields on seven of
the reefs it has occupied in the Spratly area. Four ASEAN states have claims, which
contest those of China: Vietnam, the Philippines, Malaysia and Brunei. Vietnam and
the Philippines have attempted to obtain ASEAN support for their positions against
China; but the regional organization remains divided. China has reached out to its
allies in the organization, in particular Cambodia and Laos, to prevent an ASEAN
consensus forming against it and to prevent ASEAN from involving the US or Japan
more closely in the dispute. In addition, China has attempted to influence the position
of small states in the region through trade and finance for infrastructure projects
under the Belt and Road Initiative (Hong, 2017).

Cambodia: Ally of China

Cambodia and Laos have authoritarian political systems, and the values of the ruling
elites are traditional, hierarchical and, for the most part, not conducive to liberalism
and democracy (Gainsborough, 2012). Both countries have one party rule, resem-
bling the Chinese political system in which the Communist Party rules. Thus, the
ruling Cambodian People’s Party was once the Kampuchean People’s Revolutionary
Party (KPRP), which changed its name in 1991, but not its organization. In Laos, the
communist-based Lao People’s Revolutionary Party (LPRP) has ruled continuously
since 1975. Consequently, the ruling elites in these countries are comfortable with
China’s authoritarian system, which supports the existing social structures in the
countries and underpins their resistance to Western notions of democracy and human
rights. Both countries have a long history of interaction with China over the past
centuries. In contrast, their exposure to influences from the West is much more recent
and unsettling for domestic elites.
Both Cambodia and Laos have benefited from their economic relationship with
China and Chinese financing of infrastructure projects under the Belt and Road
initiative. Cambodia has forged a close alignment with China and has been accused
by its critics in ASEAN of acting as a Chinese ‘proxy’. Laos, on the other hand,
has attempted to balance between China and Vietnam, with which it also has close
relations. Thus, one major difference between Cambodia and Laos is the attitude
of the leadership towards Vietnam, a neighbouring country of both states. When
Cambodia was known as Angkor, from the fourteenth century onward it steadily lost
its territories in the East including the Mekong Delta to an expansionist Vietnam.
Cambodians still accuse Vietnam of seizing territory along the border and continue to
view Vietnam as a predatory state. Thus, Cambodia’s outreach to China is a matter of
seeking security shelter against Vietnam in order to ensure regime survival.
 Small states, China and the South China Sea 331

Cambodia reveals the characteristics of small statehood in its dependence on

an external patron, China, with which it has a marked asymmetric relationship.
Cambodia’s turn to China for support is related to the very survival of the country,
which almost disappeared in the nineteenth century, when the Thai kingdom steadily
invaded from the West and Vietnam intruded from the East. Cambodia was saved
when it was made a French protectorate in 1867, which continued until independence
in 1953 (Chandler, 2008). The perceived threat of stronger neighbours continues
to influence the behaviour of the Cambodian leadership, and when North Vietnam
began to take over Cambodian territory in the East to promote the war in South
Vietnam, Cambodia’s ruler Prince Sihanouk sought Chinese support in the expec-
tation that China would restrain Vietnamese ambitions. The Chinese, for their part,
allied with and armed the notorious Khmer Rouge regime against Vietnam which
later triggered the Vietnamese occupation of Cambodia over 1978–1989. Vietnam
put the current Cambodian leader Hun Sen in place in 1985 and continues to retain
a presence in the country.
As a small state with a population of 16 million in 2017, Cambodia lost some 2
million citizens during the killing fields of the Khmer Rouge period (1975–1978).
Cambodia was under Vietnamese occupation until the UN transitional authority
(UNTAC) stepped in under the Paris agreements of 1991. From 1992–1993,
UNTAC took over the administration of the country, leaving it with the framework
of a democratic political system with regular elections and competing political
parties. Elections were held in 1993 under UNTAC supervision, following which
Prince Ranariddh was elected prime minister. However, Hun Sen, who had ruled the
country since his instalment by the Vietnamese in 1985, continued to exercise control
over the national security apparatus. To deal with this situation, the head of UNTAC
Yasushi Akashi devised a solution to keep the peace, designating Prince Ranariddh
as First Prime Minister and Hun Sen as Second Prime Minister. The UN’s attempt to
bring a democratic political system to Cambodia did not last, however: the man with
power, Hun Sen, quickly disposed of the man with popularity but without power.
In 1997, Ranariddh was forced to flee the country and Hun Sen assumed control.
Subsequently, regular elections have been held in Cambodia, but they have been
accompanied with political violence and killings as Hun Sen has clamped down on
the opposition parties and opinion leaders.
Hun Sen has reacted strongly against Western pressure and NGO demands for
greater freedom and respect for human rights by turning a government-controlled
judiciary against his critics. He was forced to tolerate opposition political parties
and opinion leaders as a condition of Western aid but that tolerance has been much
reduced as he increasingly turned to China for support. China, indeed, has become
Hun Sen’s major supporter and its authoritarian system serves as his role model,
strengthening the regime’s self-confidence and justifying the suppression of the
opposition that has intensified in recent years. Hun Sen’s hostility to the US and
Western aid donors has deepened accordingly as his regime is vulnerable to criticism
of its human rights record but sheltered from the consequences of this criticism by
Chinese support.
332 Handbook on the politics of small states

Chinese economic support for the Cambodian regime has been significant since
the mid-1990s. From 1994 to 2001, China was the country’s top investor, with an
accumulated total of US$9 billion, double South Korea’s investment at US$4 billion
(Council for the Development of Cambodia, 2017). China has mainly invested in
natural resources, large-scale infrastructure projects, agriculture, tourism, telecom-
munications and construction (Heng, 2012). When Xi Jinping visited Phnom Penh in
2015 he agreed to US$238 million in soft loans, US$89 million in debt forgiveness
and US$15 million in military aid (Maza, 2016). Chinese property developers are
engaged in massive construction projects in Phnom Penh, building condominiums
and shopping malls, which have transformed the capital’s skyline. The seaside resort
of Sihanoukville has become a casino city popular for Chinese gamblers and Chinese
economic zone and enclave (Vannarith, 2017).
In the Cambodian case, dependence upon external aid and assistance has been
a consequence of small state vulnerability. The country was devastated by war and
required budget support from international donors. From 2000 to 2009, it received
US$593 million in external aid which increased over the 2010–2016 period to
US$693 million (OECD, 2018). The connection between the Chinese economic
presence, financial support and the regime’s turn towards authoritarianism has drawn
criticism from the Cambodian opposition. Opposition leader Sam Rainsy, who was
head of the Cambodian National Rescue Party (CNRP), argued that China condoned
human rights abuses and encouraged corruption (Maza, 2016) As Hun Se resorted to
authoritarian methods to retain power, his ruling Cambodian People’s Party (CPP)
steadily lost ground to the opposition in the national elections. The percentage vote
for the CPP dropped from 58 per cent in 2008 to 48 per cent in 2013, while for the
opposition it increased from 26 per cent to 44 per cent, prompting the regime to
resort to even more drastic measures to retain power. Sam Rainsy was forced to flee
into exile in 2015 to escape criminal defamation charges that Hun Sen’s government
had prepared. In November 2017, the Supreme Court of Cambodia dissolved the
CNRP, alleging that it was attempting to overthrow the government aided by the
United States (Sokhean, Dara, and Baliga, 2017). Sam Rainsy’s successor as leader
of the CNRP was Kem Sokha, who was arrested on charges of treason in November
2017 and jailed, while the free press was silenced. With the main opposition party
eliminated, Hun Sen’s CPP won 76 per cent of the vote in July 2018 in an election
described as a “sham” (Thompson, 2018). Before the election, China extended
a US$259 million loan to Cambodia to build a new road in Phnom Penh to ensure
that China’s contribution would be visible to urban voters and attract support for the
ruling party (Thul, 2018).
Cambodia has been useful to China by serving as China’s proxy within ASEAN
and furthering its strategic goal for a stronger presence in Southeast Asia. It exercises
a veto against any ASEAN resolution critical of Beijing, particularly in relation to the
South China Sea. Cambodia’s position can swing the balance in ASEAN away from
any condemnation of Chinese actions as demanded by Vietnam and the Philippines,
because other members of the regional organization – such as Thailand, Myanmar
and Malaysia – are indifferent to the issue and reluctant to anger Beijing. When
 Small states, China and the South China Sea 333

Cambodia was ASEAN chair in 2012, it used its authority to prevent the Philippines
from obtaining ASEAN support against China in the South China Sea during the
regional summit of March 2012. Moreover, when ASEAN foreign ministers met later
in July, there was no agreement over the South China Sea and for the first time in
the regional organization’s history, no communiqué was issued. Cambodia endorsed
China’s rejection of the Arbitration Tribunal’s ruling and Hun Sen insisted that
this was not an issue for ASEAN. In subsequent ASEAN meetings, Cambodia has
consistently diluted the language of the communiqués to ensure that they would not
create difficulty with Beijing.
Is Cambodia’s close relationship with China necessary for the survival of the small
state, or a matter of survival for the authoritarian regime of Hun Sen? Judging from
the statements of leading politicians of the opposition, Cambodia is likely to continue
to seek shelter from China even after a regime change. Opposition leaders have often
invoked the national fear that Vietnam would encroach upon Cambodia and annex the
country. There is widespread alarm in the country in regard to so called clandestine
Vietnamese immigrants, which the government is unable or unwilling to stop. Hun
Sen’s government is accused of allowing the Vietnamese to encroach on Cambodia’s
border regions and occupy territory there. In an electoral rally, Sam Rainsy declared
that China would protect Cambodia against Vietnam over these issues (Sothanarith,
2014). A new government is likely to turn to China for support against Vietnam but it
would improve relations with the West in addition . But Cambodia would be unlikely
to serve as China’s proxy in ASEAN after regime change.

Laos: Balancing China

Laos is a land-locked country and the poorest in ASEAN with a population of

seven million, the highest poverty rate (23 per cent), with a high infant mortal-
ity rate, and a lower literacy rate than other states in the Southeast Asian region
(UNICEF, n.d.). Malnutrition is widespread particularly amongst the ethnic minori-
ties. The World Bank estimates that child under-nutrition is high, with 44 per cent of
under-five-year-olds being stunted (World Bank, 2018). The World Bank also iden-
tifies what is a fragile state with weak governance and macroeconomics, high risk
of debt distress, weak enforcement of policies and low institutional capacity (World
Bank, 2017). The impact of the Indochina Wars on Laos has been very marked. The
country has the world’s highest per capita stock of unexploded ordinance, and during
the wars, it lost much of its entrepreneurial class and its tertiary educated population
(Bird and Hill, 2010). Laos has been ruled by a single party since 1975: originally
the Laotian Communist Party, which later morphed into the People’s Revolutionary
Party (PRP). The political system has been described as rigid and elitist and the
leadership has made “poor economic decisions” in the effort to retain political power
(Bruce St John, 2006). The inertia of the Lao political system and the seeming
unwillingness to reform has resulted in corruption and a continuing dependency on
foreign aid, compounded by the inability of the political elite and society at large to
effectively utilize the aid received (Bruce St John, 2006).
334 Handbook on the politics of small states

Laos has looked to Vietnam for security support and Vietnam has had a strong
presence in the country. Under the 25-year treaty of friendship of 1977, the
Vietnamese stationed military units in the country until they were withdrawn in the
1980s. Siam was historically the main enemy of Laos and continued as a threat until
the French Protectorate was established in 1893. Laos continues to have a troubled
relationship with Thailand, despite ethnic and linguistic affinity with the Thai. The
Laotian leadership has strong ties with Vietnam and has adopted a balancing strategy
between Vietnam and China. However, the Chinese presence has increased over the
years since Chinese President Jiang Zemin’s visit in November 2000, resulting in
Chinese aid and assistance for various infrastructure projects. Three new roads were
built linking the capital Vientiane with China’s Yunnan province (Bruce St John,
2006).
A partnership with Laos is important for China’s ability to control its border and in
particular narcotics trafficking and opium production by the Hmong ethnic minority
in the highlands. For China’s southern and western provinces, Laos is a communi-
cations gateway to the south and a means to connect farther afield to Thailand and
Singapore. In 2006, China initiated a high speed rail project at a cost of US$5.8
billion to connect Kunming, the capital of Yunnan province, to Vientiane and then
to Singapore. Laotian Prime Minister Thongloun Sisoulith declared that the rail
project would help to overcome Laos’s isolation, converting it from a land-locked to
a land-linked country. He added that the project will help Laos graduate from least
developed status by 2020. IMF head Christine Lagarde in April 2018 warned that
this project could trap Laos in unsustainable debt (Tani, 2018). The IMF warned that
Laos’s ratio of public and public guaranteed debt to GDP in 2017 was above 60 per
cent and will continue to rise. For the IMF, the sustainable debt level was around 40
per cent. The Prime Minister, however, is not worried, arguing that this project will
provide access to the sea for the export of Laos’s natural resources and will encour-
age investment in the country (Kawase, 2018; Tani, 2018). Laos’s hope is that the
debt will be repaid by the revenue generated by the project but its success depends
on a number of factors, including the cost of freight and prices for natural resources,
which may not offset project costs. Chinese investment has also funded hydroelectric
dam construction on the Mekong River and its tributaries in line with the Laotian
government’s plan to become the “battery of ASEAN” (International Rivers.org,
n.d.). At present, 12 such dams are under construction and the plan is to construct 72
new large dams, nine of which will be constructed on the lower Mekong Mainstream
(Mekong Mainstream Dams, 2018). Laos exports electricity to China and expects
to sell electricity to Thailand, Vietnam, Myanmar and also Singapore and Malaysia
by 2020 (Phomnuny, 2017). The impact of this dam construction on water flows to
downstream communities in Cambodia and Vietnam will become a serious issue on
the future.
Despite China’s growing presence in Laos and the importance of the infrastructure
projects funded by China for Laos’s development plans, the country has avoided
getting as close to China as Cambodia. The political leadership has ensured that the
relationship with China would not damage relations with Hanoi, it has attempted
 Small states, China and the South China Sea 335

to hedge its security bets by balancing Chinese and Vietnamese influence in the
country. Laos’s ties with Vietnam were forged during the Indochina Wars and the
party leadership was educated in Vietnam. These party leaders recall China’s efforts
to bring down the pro-Vietnamese party leadership from 1979 to 1985 by supporting
an uprising from the hill tribes in Laos. In May 2014, an air crash eliminated four
of the 15 politburo members, who were regarded as the core of the pro-Vietnam
group in the leadership (Kingsbury, 2017, pp. 42–52), Nonetheless, at the tenth party
congress in 2016, the pro-Beijing deputy Prime Minister Somsavat Lengsavad was
removed (McBeth, 2018). The congress also removed Choummaly Sayasone as
Party General Secretary. Both Somsavat and Choummaly had negotiated economic
concessions to Chinese companies, including the Lao–China railway project, pro-
voking criticism that Laos was tilting too close to Beijing (Radio Free Asia, 2016).
Laos adopted a softer position at the ASEAN Foreign Ministers Meeting of July 2016
when Vietnam wanted ASEAN support for the Arbitration Tribunal’s ruling on the
South China Sea issue. Reflecting the Chinese view, Cambodia was strongly opposed
and prevented mention of the ruling in the communiqué from the meeting. Laos,
however, was passive and simply avoided all controversy.

Brunei: Caught between Formal Claims and the Need of Investment

Brunei is a small state by any measure. With a population of 425,000, the World
Bank would classify it as a microstate (World Bank, 2006). Brunei is ruled by
a hereditary Islamic sultanate, which traces its origins to the great Brunei sultanate of
the sixteenth century. Brunei remained a conservative and isolated outpost of Islamic
rule even after it became a British Protectorate in 1888. A major event in the recent
history of Brunei was the Indonesian-instigated Azahari revolt against the Sultan
in 1962. The revolt was suppressed by the Ghurkha forces engaged by the British;
but it revealed Brunei’s vulnerability as a small state to external intervention. It also
affirmed the importance of British protection and the continuing presence of two
Ghurkha battalions in the country (Turnbull, 1989). The revolt turned the Sultan of
the time against a representative assembly and fearful of a populist uprising. Brunei
is ruled by Sultan Hassanal Bolkiah, who is Prime Minister, Finance Minister and
Home Minister and rules through his ministries without a representative or legislative
assembly. Like the traditional Islamic monarchies in the United Arab Emirates, the
Sultan invokes Islam as a basis for legitimacy, banning alcohol and decreeing midday
prayers when shops and business must close. Religion is supported by a generous
welfare programme in which housing is subsidized for government employees, who
pay no income or sales tax (Talib, 2013).
Brunei’s economy is based on oil and natural gas revenues, which account for
almost 95 per cent of exports and 90 per cent of government revenue, allowing the
Sultanate to fund the Islamic welfare state. Brunei’s GDP per capita is the second
highest in Southeast Asia after Singapore, and according to the World Bank stood at
US$36,000 in 2012 but declined to US$28,000 in 2017 as the price of oil dropped.
Brunei’s finances have moved into deficit at 16 per cent of GDP, which has prompted
336 Handbook on the politics of small states

the government to search for ways of reducing its dependence on oil and gas exports,
the reserves of which will be depleted in 20–30 years’ time (Chan, 2018). External
consultants have advised Brunei to establish special economic zones for manufac-
turing exports such as garments with imported labour, mainly from the Philippines
(Interview sources Bandar Seri Begawan, November 2016). However, the local
Brunei Malay population is unprepared for employment in manufacturing and
imported labour on the scale proposed would create difficulties for the Sultanate’s
reliance on Islam and Sharia law. Already, foreign (and mainly Christian) workers
from the Philippines dominate the construction, retail, hotel and hospitality sectors
and exceed the number of local workers. Brunei’s Economic Development Board has
formulated ‘Vision 2035’ according to which Brunei will develop a business develop-
ment strategy for local small and medium-sized enterprises enabling Brunei Malays
to develop greater competitive strength (Prime Minister’s Office Brunei, September
2018). If oil prices drop, welfare entitlements will be reduced, most likely provoking
resistance from the local population that has known no other lifestyle. Moreover, the
Sultan’s concessions to his Islamic supporters (including midday prayer) go against
the efficiencies required to ensure competitiveness in the manufacturing industries,
creating an unattractive environment for external investors.
For economic reasons, Brunei has turned to China and has joined China’s Belt
and Road Initiative as a way out of its predicament. China is interested in tapping
Brunei’s oil fields and has become Brunei’s largest foreign investor with an accumu-
lated total of US$4.1 billion. International banks such as HSBC and Citibank have
withdrawn from Brunei in view of declining oil prices but have been replaced by the
Bank of China (Bowie, 2018). China is building the Muara Besar refinery and pet-
rochemical complex with a bridge connecting it to the capital, Bandar Seri Begawan
(Straits Times, 2018). This is the largest construction project in Brunei’s history, but
Chinese workers are involved in construction and may be required for its running and
local employment is likely to be minimal.
As a small state, Brunei faces an acute dilemma in dealing with a country the size
of China. On the one hand, it increasingly depends on Chinese investment. On the
other hand, Brunei claims an exclusive economic zone (EEZ) in the South China Sea
320 km from its coastline, which overlaps with China’s claim to the entire area, one
which has not been defined as yet. Brunei’s rights to the resources in its own EEZ
were affirmed by the Arbitration Tribunal’s ruling so that any joint development
would mean that the Chinese would be investing in a Brunei project and Brunei law
would apply. However, the Chinese government insists on recognition of China’s
sovereignty over the area, while Brunei remains silent on the issue. The govern-
ment fears that publicly affirming the Tribunal’s ruling could jeopardize Chinese
investment (Hart, 2018). Conceding Brunei’s rights to China would reduce it to
a supplicant in Chinese eyes and would also weaken the claims of the other claimants
in ASEAN, Malaysia, Vietnam, and the Philippines.
 Small states, China and the South China Sea 337

Singapore: Keeping Its Distance from Beijing

Singapore has a population of 5.7 million, and is highly dependent upon international
trade as an entrepôt for the region. Singapore is a multi-ethnic state: 74 per cent of
the population are Chinese, 11 per cent Malay and 9 per cent Indian. Singapore’s
population base is unusual. The citizens of the state only constitute 60 per cent of
the population at 3.4 million. Some 40 per cent are permanent residents or foreign
residents who are employed locally as a consequence of Singapore’s policy of attract-
ing talent from abroad. Under Lee Kuan Yew, Prime Minister from independence
in 1959 to 1990, and then mentor Minister in Cabinet until 2011, Singapore was
a highly successful developmental state (Calder, 2016). Governed by the People’s
Action Party (PAP) in a hegemonic party system, free speech and democratic free-
doms were curbed but minority parties were tolerated. Regular elections were held to
sharpen the PAP’s performance. Singapore has changed from authoritarian practices
when Lee Kuan Yew was in command, and has become more responsive to people’s
concerns under his son Lee Hsien Loong. The opposition parties fared well in the
2011 election, exploiting the resentment against the PAP’s authoritarianism. The
PAP vote fell to 60 per cent and Foreign Minister George Yeo lost his seat. In the
2015 elections, the PAP vote bounced back to 70 per cent, boosted by a sympathy
vote after Lee Kuan Yew’s death in March that year (Rodan, 2018).
As a vulnerable city state, Singapore is strongly dependent on external support.
Lee Kuan Yew was only too well aware that small states in history have been
defenceless against larger predatory powers, eventually suffering annexation. In
the past, Singaporean leaders were apprehensive of what they regarded as possible
threats from their immediate neighbours Malaysia and Indonesia and fearful that
communal violence against the local Chinese in these countries would spill over into
attacks on Singapore. Ethnicity plays a role in Singapore’s attempts to keep a dip-
lomatic distance from Beijing and to avoid being cast in the role of Beijing’s proxy.
Singapore was the last country in ASEAN to establish diplomatic relations with
China and it reached out to the US as a source of external support without seeking
a formal alliance, which would have alienated its non-aligned Malay neighbours.
The American regional presence underpins a stable regional order, which Singapore
regards as essential for international trade and the continuation of its prosperity.
Singapore is not a claimant in the South China Sea and avoids taking sides in this
dispute. It supports and works for an ASEAN consensus, which in recent years has
been difficult to achieve.
Despite attempts to keep a distance, China’s presence in Singapore is increasing,
giving rise to concerns that the balance it seeks to maintain in foreign policy may be
compromised. Beijing has been keenly interested in Singapore’s success since Deng
Xiaoping visited the island in 1978 and has sent officials there to learn more about its
Housing Development Board, its monetary system, and its control of corruption. Xi
Jinping’s anti-corruption drive in China was influenced by Singapore’s merit-based
public service system (Ortmann and Thompson, 2016). At the same time, Xi
Jinping has called upon Chinese abroad to contribute to the development of their
338 Handbook on the politics of small states

ancestral homeland posing a challenge to their loyalty to their host countries such
as Singapore, which has put much effort into developing a Singaporean multi-ethnic
identity for local Chinese. These local Chinese have for the most part rejected the
designation Beijing applies to them as ‘overseas Chinese’. Singapore’s sensitivity on
this issue was revealed in August 2017, when it expelled an ethnic Chinese professor
(with US citizenship), Huang Jing, for acting as “an agent of influence of a foreign
country” (Channel News Asia, 2017).

The Philippines: The US Ally

With a population of 103 million, the Philippines may not be regarded as small.
However, it can be understood as a weak state with the characteristics of a small
state. The country reveals a very high dependence on external support, and this
has socialized the ruling elite into a dependent mentality. The Philippines has been
democratically governed since independence in 1946, but institutional capacity has
remained poor and graft and corruption is a common problem. The Philippines has
been described as a patrimonial oligarchic state where government is controlled
by a rapacious elite which exploits public offices for its own benefit (Case, 2002,
p. 214; Hutchcroft and Rocamora, 2003). The Philippines inherited a dysfunctional
presidential system based on the separation of powers from its US colonizers. A loose
party system and an autonomous Congress has been the source of much graft. The
president may control the central administration in Manila, but the outlying prov-
inces are controlled by local oligarchic families who ensure that elections confirm
their appointments to local administration (Kingsbury, 2017 p. 127). In some areas,
the central government has struggled to assert control over territory, particularly
against rebellions stimulated by local corruption but called communist, such as the
Hukbalahap Rebellion in the early 1950s and the New People’s Army which contin-
ues to this day (Case, 2002, p. 212). The Southern province of Mindanao has seen
Muslim revolts against the majority Christians by the Moro Liberation Fronts and the
Abu Sayyaf group, which has resorted to piracy, kidnappings and extortion.
Institutional and governance weakness is an important factor in the Philippines
ruling elite’s strong reliance on external support. The Philippines has been tied to
the US by colonial history, migration flows and the Mutual Security Treaty of 1951.
So close was this identification that Filipinos once campaigned to be recognized as
the 51st state of the US (Gee, 1984). This dependency syndrome may have stunted
the development of self-confidence and has resulted in the perseverance of colonial
subservience to external powers, particularly the US (Constantino, 1976). It meant
that the ruling oligarchical families did not develop a sense of responsibility in gov-
ernance since they felt answerable only to their families and not the nation, the idea
of which was underdeveloped and inchoate. It also meant that the Philippines relied
on the US for external security and failed to develop a military or maritime capability
to defend their sprawling archipelago. Recognizing the country’s weakness, China
encroached on the Philippine claim in the South China Sea and occupied Mischief
Reef in 1994. In 2012, Chinese patrol boats forced the Philippines from Scarborough
 Small states, China and the South China Sea 339

Shoal, claiming that it lay in the Chinese claim area. Successive presidents attempted
to counter China by invoking American support. Joseph Estrada concluded a Visiting
Forces Agreement (VFA) with the US in 1998, which allowed US forces to visit
Philippine bases on rotation. Benigno Aquino concluded an Enhanced Defence
Cooperation Agreement (EDCA) with President Obama in 2014 which allowed
US forces greater access to Philippine facilities for joint training exercises and to
enhance interoperability with Philippine forces. No permanent military presence or
base in the Philippines was envisaged (Department of Foreign Affairs, 2014). Aquino
also appealed to the Arbitration Tribunal of the Law of the Sea to rule on China’s
claim to the South China Sea. In July 2016, the tribunal ruled that China’s claim as
based on the nine dash line and historical rights had no legal basis.
The Philippines’ reliance on the US changed in an unexpected way with the
election of Rodrigo Duterte as President in June 2016. Duterte shifted his attention
to China, hoping that protestations of friendship would restrain China in the South
China Sea. The switch illustrated the dependency syndrome of a weak state: the
President attempted to substitute the reliance on one external protector with another.
From an early age, Duterte nurtured anger at the support the US gave to the corrupt
politico-economic elite that has ruled the Philippines. Later, as Mayor of Davao city
in Mindanao, he presided over a campaign of extra-judicial killings of drug dealers
and offenders; this provoked much criticism from the US and Philippine human
rights groups. Duterte’s move to improve relations with China was construed as
appeasement by his critics (De Castro, 2018). He ignored the Arbitration Tribunal’s
ruling and argued that more friendly relations with China would result in Chinese
investment for major infrastructure projects. When Duterte visited Beijing in October
2016, China promised a US$24 billion investment package for the Philippines over
a range of projects in various sectors. However, little of that investment has so far
materialized (Koutsoukis and Yap, 2018). The Chinese are reluctant to pursue a rela-
tionship with a country that has strong ties with the US and want to see more than
just talk. However, talk is all that Duterte can offer. Duterte cannot break with the US
while the country and its defence establishment have strong institutional ties with the
US. A post-Duterte Philippines is likely to revert to the alliance with the US.

CONCLUSION

This chapter has examined four small states, and one weak state that acts like a small
state, in East Asia. All the examined states are involved in disputes with China over
the South China Sea. The behaviour of these small states can be placed on a contin-
uum, from bandwagoning with China (Cambodia) to light balancing (Laos, Brunei,
Singapore) to balancing China (the Philippines). This external behaviour is driven by
both domestic and international factors, most importantly the interests of the ruling
elites in the small state, historical relationships with neighbouring states, and the
interests of China and the United States in influencing domestic elites. Cambodia
stands out as one small state that has bandwagoned with China, but it has done so not
340 Handbook on the politics of small states

to avert a Chinese threat but to counter the historical threats posed by its neighbours,
Vietnam and Thailand. In contrast, Laos has adopted a policy of hedging its security
bets by balancing between China and Vietnam with which it has strong party ties.
Brunei is drawn to China by economic need as its oil based economy shows signs of
decline, though it has been careful not to surrender its claim in the South China Sea
to China. As a Chinese majority city state, Singapore may be expected to bandwagon
with China on the basis of common ethnicity; but Singapore has kept its distance:
it depends on the stability of a regional order supported by the US and other great
powers in order to restrain China. The Philippines is understood as a weak state,
given that state’s dependence on external security support, though it has attempted to
shift that dependence from the US to China under President Duterte.
In conclusion, the vulnerabilities of these states ensuing from their small size have
played an important role in defining the challenges that they face. The answers to
these challenges are the result of a complex mix of elite interests, history, ethnicity,
power and even the personality of political leaders.

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21. Small states in the Pacific
Jack Corbett and John Connell

INTRODUCTION: DOMESTIC CHARACTERISTICS OF

PACIFIC SMALL STATES

A defining characteristic of small states in the Pacific is that they were colonized
relatively late by Europeans. Archaeologists and linguists believe that the first
wave of settlers arrived on the island of New Guinea 40–50,000 years ago. The vast
Austronesian migration from west to east across the Pacific Ocean began between
2000 and 1000 BC, with New Zealand settled as recently as AD 1200–1300.
Portuguese and Spanish explorers first navigated the Pacific Ocean in the 1500s
while Britain’s James Cook undertook the first of his three voyages in 1768. Spaniard
Álvaro de Mendaña made an ill-fated attempt to establish a settlement on Santa Cruz,
Solomon Islands in the 1590s and Guam was colonized in the 1600s (Thomas, 2010).
But, for much of the region, colonization did not begin in earnest until the 1800s,
while Niue was colonized as late as 1900. And so, while it persists in some islands,
for most colonialism lasted little more than a century. Moreover, in most cases,
colonial rule had little influence beyond administrative capitals, in part because of
the archipelagic nature of many Pacific states, the distance from the colonial powers
and the limited wealth apparently available in the islands (Firth, 1997). Indicative of
the small size, isolation and limited socio-economic development, are that several
Pacific territories remain on the UN’s decolonization list, including: American
Samoa (US); French Polynesia and New Caledonia (France); Guam (US); Pitcairn
(UK); and Tokelau (New Zealand). This relatively late and, compared to regions
like the Caribbean, thin veneer of colonialism has shaped an academic and policy
discussion dominated by questions about ‘modernity’, including assessment of its
penetration and reach. From this perspective, the key characteristic of the region
is the persistence of ‘pre-modern’ cultures and traditions, like chiefs, for example.
Anthropologist Marshall Sahlins (1992, p. 24) points to the academic fascination
with this question in his seminal essay ‘The economics of develop-man in the
Pacific’ in which he argues that:

To “modernise,” the people must first learn to hate what they already have, what they have
always considered their well-being. Beyond that, they have to despise what they are, to
hold their own existence in contempt and want, then, to be someone else.

Sahlins celebrates the way Pacific Islanders have resisted modernization; but others,
including international organizations, the aid industry and many Pacific small state
governments, have embraced modernity: defined as a liberal, legal-rational and

343
344 Handbook on the politics of small states

secular order. Previously, this trio was advanced by colonial administrators and
Christian missionaries. Benefits or ‘development’, in this view, derive from higher
levels of GDP per capita than the current status of most Pacific small states which
are classified as lower middle-income countries (greater than US$10,000 GDP per
capita). Around independence, mainly in the 1970s, urbanization was seen as poten-
tially a ‘crucible of nationhood’ rather than creating sites for cultural decline. More
recently, urbanization is said to confirm the modernist prognosis that persistent or
bastardized culture or tradition, and in particular the persistence of chiefly and hered-
itary leadership, notably in Polynesia, but also relatively recent introductions such as
Christianity, patronage-based politics, and weak state capacity, are all characteristics
of social and political life that hold the region back (e.g. Morgan, 2005; Wainwright,
2003). Indeed, for much of the past two decades, parts of the region became known
as the ‘arc of instability’ (Dibb, Hale, and Pince, 1999) due to anxiety that failed or
failing states, notably Nauru and the Solomon Islands, would become safe havens for
terrorists and criminals, and thus threaten the safety of larger neighbours and that of
the international system (Connell, 2006; Wainwright, 2003).
In this reading, the region is defined by its deficits (e.g. Cole, 1993), with outsid-
ers encouraged to take control of Islander futures for their own good. As the High
Commissioner for the Western Pacific said of the Solomon Islands in 1928: “The
suppression of intertribal warfare, vendettas and retaliatory homicide and the estab-
lishment of law and order are obligatory on all Governments” (cited in Firth, 1997,
p. 253). Christianity, which is widely practised across the region and has unequiv-
ocally been a much more successful ‘transfer’ than the bureaucratic state, has long
traded on similar notions of a civilizing mission (Ernst, 2006). Plantation economies
would bring a valuable and productive regime. The most prominent contemporary
example of intervention in favour of a modern order was the Australian-led Regional
Assistance Mission to Solomon Islands (RAMSI) which from 2003–2017 sought
to restore law and order in the aftermath of a low level civil conflict known as ‘the
Tensions’ (Fraenkel, 2004).
The common counterpoint to the deficit view of the Pacific has been advanced
by scholars arguing that the ‘fatal impact’ of modernity wreaked untold violence
on Pacific cultures and peoples whose small-scale cultures and livelihoods saw
them exploited by the much larger colonial enterprise. From this perspective,
modernity is the sickness not the cure, and ultimately responsible for contemporary
social and political ills facing the region, from infectious diseases and corruption
to non-communicable diseases, climate change, and long-distance trade rather than
local exchange. The notion of modernity also implied that the region remained irrel-
evant and dependent. The seminal text in this genre of Pacific thought has been Epeli
Hau’ofa’s (1994) essay ‘Our Sea of Islands’ in which he reflected on (and ultimately
sought to reject) his own role in the ongoing belittlement of the region and its people:

Do people in most of Oceania live in tiny confined spaces? The answer is ‘yes’ if one
believes in what certain social scientists are saying. But the idea of smallness is relative;
it depends on what is included and excluded in any calculation of size . . . There is a gulf
 Small states in the Pacific 345

of difference between viewing the Pacific as ‘islands in a far sea’ and as ‘a sea of islands’
. . . The difference between the two perspectives is reflected in the two terms used for our
region: Pacific Islands and Oceania. The first term, ‘Pacific Islands’, is the prevailing one
used everywhere; it connotes small areas of land surfaces sitting atop submerged reefs or
seamounts. Hardly any Anglophone economists, consultancy expert government planner or
development banker in the region uses the term ‘Oceania’, perhaps because it sounds grand
and somewhat romantic, and may connote something so vast that it would compel them to
a drastic review of their perspectives and policies. (Hau’ofa, 1994, pp. 6–8)

From this standpoint, the primary characteristic of Pacific states is that they need to
be rescued from the modernist attempt to belittle Pacific lives and futures.
As alluded to by Hau’ofa, a slightly different approach to this theme is the idea
that small scale, isolation and poor infrastructure, rather than pre-modern ‘culture’,
is the key barrier to modernist development in the region. For the smaller states,
Bertram and Watters (1985) offered a MIRAB model (Migration, Remittances, Aid
and Bureaucracy), where remittances and aid were as or more important that income
generated within the states. That implied that small states should recognize, rather
than seek to deny or overcome, smallness, and so take the only viable economic
future available to them: (re)integrating their economies with those of Australia and
New Zealand, thus overcoming their (lack of) economies of scale. That perspective
was driven by a desire to:

Challenge the thinking behind the strenuous efforts of aid donors and international agen-
cies, both then and now, to drive small island economies away from what seems to be their
natural and preferred pattern of resource allocation under the international conditions of
the late twentieth century, and to force them into a development model transferred from
mainland Asia (and before that, from the writings of the classical economists). (Bertram,
1999, p. 105)

In this view, Pacific Islanders could manage the modernization process to their own
advantage by exploiting economic niches and loopholes, but also migration opportu-
nities and subsequent remittances. Evidence deployed to support this thesis was that
non-independent Pacific territories have tended to be better in terms of social devel-
opment than their sovereign neighbours (e.g. Taylor, Bampton, and Lopez, 2005).
These three perspectives on modernity – civilizing, fatal impact and pragmatic
management – are, in many respects, overly-stylized. And yet, they are a useful
heuristic for teasing out ongoing conjecture over the central characteristics of small
Pacific states. Despite differences in explaining the cause, consequence and desir-
ability of modernist development, these ideas remain the dominant frame through
which to view small Pacific island states and their people.
The main alternative to the above three framings is to exoticize (and eroticize) the
region and its people. This version of the Pacific, replete with sun, sand and coconut
trees, is the image presented on tourist brochures. The idyllic landscape is generally
mirrored by an image of Pacific Islanders as friendly, hospitable, relaxed and care-
free. Following the success of ‘Aloha’ in Hawaii, Fiji has recently taken to promoting
itself as home to the ‘Bula spirit’, an explicit attempt to commodify these virtues.
346 Handbook on the politics of small states

These connotations also have a long history, the strands of which can be found in
Paul Gauguin’s paintings of Tahitian women and Margaret Mead’s (1943) Coming
of age in Samoa. Before that, Tonga was known as the ‘Friendly Islands’, allegedly
because of the reception afforded to James Cook. Contemporary examples of Pacific
exoticism include the hit TV show Survivor, which trades on the ‘lost in paradise’
motif, or Disney’s animated children’s film Moana, which has attracted criticism for
its representation of a spirited but sexually naive island girl (Tamaira et al., 2018; cf.
Connell, 2003; Kahn, 2011).
This image of exotic simplicity and vulnerability, more recently characterized by
sinking islands, has also proved incredibly powerful for small Pacific states in global
climate change discussions. By portraying themselves as the proverbial canaries in
the global climate coal mine they have attracted considerable attention (and sympa-
thy) from parts of the world who would otherwise have little interest in their affairs
(Connell, 2013). Reflecting how different aspects of this frame have been employed
in these discussions, The Fiji Times declared that Fiji’s presidency of CoP23 would
infuse it “with the Fijian ‘Bula spirit’ of inclusiveness, friendliness and solidarity”
(Susu, 2017). This image of exotic vulnerability has always been more contentious at
home than it has been abroad. Taneti Maamau, President of Kiribati, stated in 2017
that: “We are telling the world that climate change impacts Kiribati, it’s really hap-
pening . . . But we are not telling people to leave” (Walker, 2017). This was a marked
shift from his predecessor and self-styled realist, Anote Tong, who in 2014 purchased
6,000 acres of land in Fiji, allegedly for the permanent resettlement of Kiribati’s
population, and proclaimed the notion of ‘migration with dignity’.
Seemingly paradoxically, a characteristic of small Pacific states that has con-
founded scholars interested in the penetration and reach of modernity is the stubborn
persistence of democratic institutions ostensibly designed for large states. Indeed, the
Pacific has been called an ‘ocean of democracy’ because of the resilience of these
institutions (Reilly, 2002). Reflecting their British colonial heritage, most states
adopted, or were encouraged to adopt, a version of the Westminster democratic
model (Larmour, 2005). The exceptions have either followed their US colonial
heritage, or adapted hybrids of the two systems. Regional examples of democratic
‘deconsolidation’ have occurred in Fiji, and to a lesser extent in Nauru and the
Solomon Islands; but elections have returned after interruptions.
Modernists have either ignored this democratic tradition or claimed that these
states are not ‘real’ democracies because the way politics is practised does not
conform to large state orthodoxy. The absence of political parties and institutional-
ized party systems (Rich, Hambly, and Morgan, 2008), the weakness of civil society
and an independent press (Robie, 2004), the small number of women elected to
Pacific legislatures (Baker, 2018; Spark, Cox, and Corbett, 2018), and the highly per-
sonalized and patronage-based nature of political representation (Steeves, 1996), are
the main characteristics used to support these claims. Thus, democracy is a ‘façade’
(Ravuvu, 1991) or ‘foreign flower’ (Larmour, 2005) unsuited for Pacific soil. The
argument against this perspective, in addition to its continued success, is that despite
their divergence from large state orthodoxy there are marked similarities, both in the
 Small states in the Pacific 347

persistence of democracy and the way it is practised, between the Pacific and other
small states around the world (see Corbett and Veenendaal, 2018). Inevitably this is
complicated by the manner in which social, economic and political systems are char-
acterized by what some scholars call ‘hybridity’ (Wallis, Jeffery, and Kent, 2016),
where local values are inextricably linked to modern practices.
The domestic characteristics of Pacific small states thus present numerous para-
doxes: the region is both too modern and not modern enough; underdeveloped and
paradise lost; an ‘ocean of democracy’ and an ‘arc of instability’; a progressive
champion of climate change and a conservative bastion of patriarchy. Examples
can be found for each argument. In part this is because the region is diverse, includ-
ing 11 UN member states and another two – Cook Islands and Niue – which are
self-governed in free association with New Zealand. Economies and geographies are
diverse, from sole islands to complex archipelagos; size varies and states have sepa-
rate and distinct cultural heritages. But it is also because there is incredible variation
within each state. Perspectives vary, depending on whether the focus is on an urban
centre or an outer island, a tourist hub or a remote village, islanders with a cash job or
meagre self-employment, who drive a car or paddle a canoe, are old or young, born
a man or a woman. Each characteristic intersects with ‘modernity’ at different points
and in different ways. Traditions are fashioned out of these everyday practices. This
decentred view is not popular in academic or policy discourse because it is messy
and complex; it provides few clear-cut solutions but instead presents life as a series
of trade-offs and compromises that are contingent on the initial problem framing as
outlined above.

INTERNATIONAL CHARACTERISTICS OF PACIFIC

SMALL STATES
A common assumption is that Pacific island states have been victims of successive
international orders. Colonialism and empire are synonymous with fatal impact. The
Pacific was a key theatre in the Second World War but islanders were rarely com-
batants. Small and independent states were largely deemed irrelevant in the post-war
Bretton Woods order dominated by ‘great powers’ and increasingly by global institu-
tions such as the United Nations (Corbett and Connell, 2015). Most recently climate
change has been thrust upon, rather than caused by, Pacific countries. In this view,
they are passive members of the international system; international politics is not
something they are a part of; it just happens to them.
Contemporary history is increasingly problematic. Since independence, and
to some extent before it, Pacific island countries have been heavily involved in
regional politics, through institutions like the South Pacific Commission (later the
Secretariat of the Pacific Community, after one image of the region crumbled) and
the Pacific Islands Forum Secretariat (PIFS). Regionalism has long been heralded as
a panacea to the problem of small scale for Pacific states. By working together they
348 Handbook on the politics of small states

are supposed to be able to overcome scalar deficiencies. The Pacific Plan Review,
for example, argued that:

So there is an inherently compelling argument for regionalism: these [mostly] tiny econ-
omies, with small populations and tax bases on which to draw, need to do all they can to
leverage voice, influence and competitiveness, and to overcome their inherent geographical
and demographic disadvantages. (Pacific Islands Forum Secretariat, 2013, p. 49)

Regionalism is thus often seen as the solution to the development problems of small
island states. But this tendency to see a wider region of many states as empowering
and integrative is also present in the vision of more evidently cultural ties in a vast
and interconnected ‘sea of islands’ (Hau’ofa 1994, 1998). Rather than stress inherent
economic disadvantage, this form of empowerment is said to subvert the discursive
hegemony of both the colonial and development projects that stand accused of belit-
tling the region and its people.
However, Pacific regionalism in either mode has been underwhelming. Certainly,
there is nothing like the type of integration in the Pacific that can be found in the
Caribbean, for example. There are numerous reasons for this, with roots in geog-
raphy, culture and history. Various solutions have been trialled to resolve this
‘problem’ of regionalism, from the technocratic Pacific Plan, funded and developed
by Australia, to the current move towards inclusive ‘politics’. Secretary General of
the PIFS, Dame Meg Taylor, argued in 2016 that:

Pacific Island Leaders have nonetheless recognised the need for a new inclusive and game
changing approach to Pacific regionalism . . . At the heart of this new approach is an
emphasis on inclusive policy development and implementation, as well as a recognition of
the political dimension for ensuring development outcomes for the Pacific. (Pacific Islands
Forum Secretariat, 2016)

In doing so, she made a pointed reference to Australia and its role as a regional leader:

the Framework for Pacific regionalism also presents some challenges for Australian
foreign policy. The emphasis on inclusive public policy processes under the Framework
means that voices of civil society organisations will also help shape regional priorities.
So far, these voices have spoken loud and clear on human rights issues facing the region,
including the situation in West Papua, refugee detention centres and a range of indigenous
issues. Therefore questions may emerge regarding Australia’s future foreign policy, with
the primary question of course being how will Australia see its engagement with the
Pacific? (Pacific Islands Forum Secretariat, 2016)

The overall goal was to enable greater levels of ‘ownership’ by Pacific leaders
(Leslie and Wild, 2018). However the previous limitations of regionalism have given
rise to sub-regional movements. Colonizers categorized the region by racial groups –
Melanesia (black islands); Polynesia (many islands); and Micronesia (small islands)
– and these labels have largely stuck and been taken over by indigenous institutions.
 Small states in the Pacific 349

Political turbulence in Fiji, with military coups, led to sanctions from regional
powers Australia and New Zealand and suspension from the Pacific Islands Forum.
In response Fiji poured increasing effort into the Melanesian Spearhead Group
(MSG), first established in the 1980s (Lawson, 2016). It also established the Pacific
Island Development Forum in 2013 as an alternative to PIFS, excluding Australia
and New Zealand from membership. Reflecting the history of the US Trust Territory,
Micronesian leaders meet under the auspices of the Micronesian Presidents’ Summit
and the Micronesian Chief Executives’ Summit. Most recently, the Polynesian
Leaders Group has been created to counterbalance the MSG. Each grouping is said to
further detract from the goals and aims of the Forum, and wider regionalism, despite
representing substantial geographical and cultural groups.
One reason why PIFS is contentious stemmed from the influence and member-
ship of Australia and New Zealand. From the outset, inaugural President of Nauru,
Hammer de Roburt, then leading a country with one of the highest GDP per capita
ratios on earth, sought to exclude them from the regional project on the grounds that
they were not sufficiently attuned to Pacific values and ideals. He was overruled by
then Prime Minister of Fiji and the region’s first great statesman, Ratu Sir Kamisese
Mara, who argued for the inclusion of Australia and New Zealand on the grounds
that small countries required their strength (Fry, 1980). The trade-offs entailed in this
decision have remained central to power relations in the region ever since. Australia
is the largest aid donor but its ‘interventionism’ is increasingly seen as a paternalistic
and unhelpful presence (Fry and Kabutaulaka, 2008; Hameiri, 2009). This perception
reflects both the changing nature of Australian financial assistance, which is increas-
ingly tied to governance, anti-corruption and gender issues, but also its role leading
interventions like RAMSI, designed to restore law and order after ‘the tensions’, and
its imposition of sanctions levelled against Fiji. Pacific island states and Australia
have also been at odds over climate change issues. New Zealand is commonly per-
ceived as a more culturally attuned ‘development partner’, but it also provides sig-
nificantly less aid money, mostly channelled to Polynesian countries. New Zealand
hosts a larger Pacific migrant population which has a greater influence in domestic
politics due to both its proportional size, and location in a few key constituencies.
In the north Pacific, the US remains the key international influence, although
Japanese aid is also important as, reflecting the history of Japanese colonization,
many families have strong ties with Japan. Palau, FSM and Marshall Islands all
have formal Compact of Free Association arrangements with the US that underwrite
their national budgets and enable their viability. It also allows for the free movement
of citizens of these states to the US, resulting in large Micronesian populations in
Hawai’i and Guam. The US also rents a portion of Kwajalein Atoll in the Marshall
Islands for military purposes. Nauru has a similar arrangement with Australia which
uses the centre of the island to house a regional asylum seeker processing centre.
The detention facility, like the Kwajalein base, has brought considerable economic
benefit to some islanders, but has also generated considerable criticism from the UN
and human rights NGOs for the treatment of the refugees housed there. Australia’s
presence has also had a negative impact on Nauruan democracy (Firth, 2016).
350 Handbook on the politics of small states

Australia, New Zealand and the US are the traditional ‘powers’ in the Pacific but
in recent decades China and Taiwan have become increasingly active (Crocombe,
2007; Zhang, 2017). Both provide considerable development assistance. In return,
they seek recognition from Pacific island governments in international forums of one,
but not the other, country. The presence of the two Chinas has allowed Pacific island
governments to ‘donor-shop’, playing ‘traditional’ and ‘new’ donors off against
each other (Van Fossen, 2007). This has resulted in increased anxiety in Australia in
particular about the rising influence of China (rather than Taiwan) and its own dimin-
ishing authority in the region. The Pacific states are also concerned about a growing
Chinese commercial and military presence. In 2018, Concetta Fierravanti-Wells,
Australia’s Development Minister, attracted criticism for claiming that Chinese
lending to the Pacific was done under unfavourable terms, whereby loans had to
be repaid, and that Chinese aid was being used to construct “useless buildings” and
“roads to nowhere” (‘Chinese aid comments insulting’, 2016). Australian anxiety
about the influence of other powers is not unprecedented, as in 1985 when Ieremia
Tabai, President of Kiribati, controversially turned his back on the US and signed
a fishing agreement with the Soviet Union (Van Trease, 1993), but it has heightened
in recent years.
Each of these developments still largely conforms to the image of Pacific states as
passive, albeit increasingly strategic, players on the world stage. Beyond regional and
bilateral politics, however, a very different story has emerged within the multilateral
sphere. Pacific states and their leaders have rarely been active players in the multilat-
eral sphere, with the inaugural Prime Minister of Fiji, Ratu Mara, the main exception
(Corbett and Connell, 2014). Reasons include the traditional dominance of major
international organizations by ‘great powers’, a lack of interest by Pacific states in
multilateral affairs, and capacity deficits that make it too expensive and logistically
complex for officials from the region to participate in global affairs (Corbett and
Connell, 2015).
Climate change and the erosion of the old ‘club model’ in international organi-
zations have altered this pattern. In coalition with other members of the Alliance of
Small Island States (AOSIS), Pacific states have been leaders in global climate nego-
tiations. They have drawn support from progressive NGOs and technical experts; but
their advocacy has been critical in its own right. Indeed, both Anote Tong, the former
President of Kiribati, and Tony de Brum, the former Foreign Minister of Marshall
Islands, have been nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize in recognition of their con-
tribution to global climate negotiations. More recently, Fiji was President of CoP23.
This is a marked shift in the way Pacific small states act in the world. Remarkably
they have become players on the world stage because of, not despite, their smallness:
no longer vocal or powerless (cf. Levine, 2012). By drawing attention to their unique
condition as small island developing states (SIDS), Pacific countries, in coalition
with other small states from around the globe, have become a recognized grouping
in the multilateral sphere.
Climate change also threatens to further erode Australia’s influence in the region.
Coal is Australia’s largest export and as a result the country has little incentive to
 Small states in the Pacific 351

reduce its carbon footprint. This has placed it at odds with the region. In response
to the above comments by the Australian Minister about China’s influence,
Tuilaepa Sailele Malielegaoi, Prime Minister of Samoa, one of the region’s senior
statesmen, remarked that the comments were “insulting” and had the capacity to
“destroy” Australia’s relationship in the region (Hill, 2018). Australia’s influence has
been further eroded by its stance towards Nauru. Whereas previously Australia has
sought to champion democracy in the region, whether through RAMSI or post-coup
sanctions against Fiji, in Nauru it has been willing to turn a blind eye to a patent
usurping of democracy and the legal system. This apparent hypocrisy has not gone
unnoticed by Pacific leaders.

SMALL STATES: CONFIRMING OR DEFYING

EXPECTATIONS?

The successful activism of small Pacific states in relation to climate change is one of
the most prominent recent examples of Pacific countries defying expectations. What
is especially interesting about this is that, rather than gaining influence by adopting or
mirroring the conventions of modern statehood, they have done so by drawing atten-
tion to their vulnerability (Corbett et al., 2019). In doing so their weight in numbers
has facilitated the creation of groupings (SIDS at the UN, Small and Vulnerable
Economies at the WTO, etc.) dedicated to small states in international organizations.
The emergence of these groupings is preliminary evidence of their influence. In an
international order apparently defined by hierarchy, including that large is stronger
than small, this is an astonishing move that defies many of the most well-worn theo-
ries of international relationships.
The second way that small Pacific states defy expectations is the resilience and
practice of their democratic institutions (Veenendaal and Corbett, 2015). As noted
above, the absence of political parties and party system institutionalization in Pacific
states is remarkable given that many have electoral systems that should encourage the
types of party systems found in both large states and in small states in such regions
as the Caribbean Sea and the Indian Ocean (Fraenkel, 2010). One possible reason for
the difference from the Caribbean is that trade unionism has been relatively weak in
the Pacific, as have philosophical and practical distinctions over policy directions
(Bishop et al., 2020). The one exception is Fiji, which, incidentally, also happens to
have had a strong Labour Party and a vibrant trade union organization. The absence
of party system institutionalization has meant that Pacific politics is often character-
ized as unstable or ‘unbounded’ (Steeves, 1996), leading many scholars and pundits
to predict a crisis of democracy. In Vanuatu, some 14 politicians, a quarter of the par-
liament, were convicted of bribery in 2015, leading to their ejection from Parliament
and jail terms (Forsyth and Batley, 2016). The courts had thwarted corruption. By
and large these ‘doomsday’ predictions (Callick, 1993; Reilly, 2000) have not come
to fruition. Democratic politics in the Pacific may look different to that in neighbour-
ing large states; but it has proven remarkably resilient. Governments often rise and
352 Handbook on the politics of small states

fall at an alarming rate, with Nauru having 17 changes of government between 1989
and 2003; persistent votes of no-confidence have been destabilizing, but elections are
held and protocols of compromise and conciliation are largely maintained.
One possible reason for the resilience of democracy is that, while democratic pol-
itics in the Pacific is different to large states it is, with the exception of its fluid party
systems, actually quite similar to that of other small states. Nominal parties gravitate
around leaders (and pork barrels) rather than policies. Contrary to arguments based
on cultural exceptionalism, democratic politics in the Pacific is thus highly personal-
ized (see Corbett and Veenendaal, 2017). As in other small states, this has advantages
(i.e. more organic forms of representation and public participation in politics) and
disadvantages (i.e. executive domination, patronage and nepotism) for democratic
politics. Indeed, like many small states from different world regions, Pacific politics
tends to combine majoritarian democratic institutions with illiberal practices.
Scalar problems of development in the Pacific – the vast size, and distance
between islands, in several countries especially Kiribati and the Federated States on
Micronesia (FSM), even with small populations of around 100,000 – have meant
that the larger states have sought to develop provincial governments. Shortages of
finance, scarce human resources for management, and uncertainty over their role
vis-à-vis national governments, have meant that few have functioned effectively.
Similar problems have affected attempts to establish urban governments, where con-
flicts between modern management and customary land rights and values are most
severe (Mecartney and Connell, 2017). Scale and cultural distinctiveness have also
resulted in intermittent secessionist movements – such as Chuuk seeking to leave the
FSM, Rotuma separating from Fiji and the Western Province departing the Solomon
Islands. While none have seceded from a sovereign state, regional tensions are rarely
far away from political development despite the small population size of these states.
Indeed, for similar reasons, Bougainville may choose to secede from Papua New
Guinea and become a separate Pacific state, in a referendum scheduled for 2019.
Where, as in Kiribati and FSM especially, it is almost impossible to travel to some
parts of the country without first leaving it, it is perhaps surprising that differences
have not been more acute.
The other way in which Pacific states largely conform to expectations is their
limited economic development, as agriculture has declined in significance, while
fisheries provide income but little employment. As captured in the MIRAB model,
the smallest tend to rely heavily on remittances, aid and oversized bureaucracies to
sustain their lower-middle income economies. In extreme form, Niue is a ‘govern-
ment island’, dependent on aid from New Zealand, with the government providing
almost all employment and all households of working age having at least one gov-
ernment employee. In several Polynesian states, notably Samoa, Tonga and the Cook
Islands, the demographic balance is shifting outwards, with more islanders overseas
than at home. Tourism has proved lucrative for some Pacific states, specifically Fiji,
Vanuatu, Palau, Cook Islands and to a lesser extent Samoa and Tonga. Others have
exploited niches (e.g. passport sales, flags of convenience, philately), flirted with
financial services (Cook Islands, Vanuatu and to a lesser extent Nauru) and forms of
 Small states in the Pacific 353

deterritorialization (e.g. the Marshall Islands is the third largest shipping nation in the
world, through providing flags of convenience, and generates rentier income from its
missile base on Kwajalein). None of these strategies has yet created levels of GDP
per capita comparable to more prosperous small states in the Caribbean, Europe or
the Indian Ocean. Meanwhile independent Pacific states have tended to lag behind
non-sovereign Pacific territories in terms of economic development.
Potential influences on economic and political change include increased temporary
or permanent labour mobility, deep sea mineral extraction, more beneficial fishing
agreements, but also more critical environmental hazards. Aid fatigue may also have
a negative impact. Palau, FSM and Marshall Islands have open labour market access
to the United States. New Zealand’s Free Association arrangement with Cook Islands
and Niue, along with bilateral agreements with Fiji, Samoa and Tonga, has provided
similarly high levels of access. Australia has historically been more closed, although
a recent Seasonal Worker Programme is changing that. However, labour mobility
is unevenly spread across the region, with the low-lying atoll states of Kiribati
and Tuvalu, along with the Melanesian states of Solomon Islands and Vanuatu,
the most disadvantaged (Curtain et al., 2016). The potential for deep sea mining is
considerable since Pacific states have enormous Economic Exclusion Zones (EEZs)
that stretch across hundreds of thousands of square kilometres of ocean. However,
uncertainty over resource availability and technical constraints means that this huge
natural resource remains a theoretical economic opportunity. The Parties to the
Nauru Agreement, a consortium of ten of the Pacific states, have been much more
successful in restricting fishing access in their EEZs which has, in turn, brought
considerable economic benefits to its members. In contrast, between 2015 and
2018, a trio of cyclones – Pam, Winston and Gita – severely shook the economies of
Vanuatu, Fiji and Tonga.
Deep sea mining and fisheries are increasingly seen as key components in an
emerging ‘blue economy’ which, reflecting the greater presence of SIDS in inter-
national organizations, has gained popularity in donor circles in recent years (Keen,
Schwarz, and Wini-Simeon, 2018). At the 48th Pacific Island Forum in 2017 leaders
launched The Blue Pacific “as a new narrative that calls for inspired leadership and
a long-term Forum foreign policy commitment to act as one ‘Blue Continent’”.
Echoing Hau’ofa, the communiqué referenced the shared stewardship of “our
ocean of islands” as the catalyst for deeper Pacific regionalism. In launching it,
Tuilaepa Sailele Malielegaoi, Prime Minister of Samoa, stated:

In this sea of islands, where the ocean exceeds land masses by an average factor of 300
to 1, the Pacific peoples have developed a unique relation with the ocean that has shaped
their sense of place, their economies, and their culture. For us, the ocean is both a shared
resource and a source of isolation. It helps define the ways communities communicate and
are governed, and it continues to be a source of cultural significance and inspiration. It has
been the source of enduring sustenance for our Pacific peoples, but it has also daunted us
on many occasions with its devastating and overwhelming power.
354 Handbook on the politics of small states

This juxtaposition of the ocean as both sustenance and destroyer of life, made all the
more poignant in the aftermath of the devastating 2009 tsunami in Samoa, highlights
the extent to which practical questions about how The Blue Pacific will be translated
into tangible economic gains remain largely unanswered.

CHALLENGES FACING PACIFIC SMALL STATES

For the smallest Pacific states, the greatest challenge is viability. Most obviously,
low-lying atoll countries such as Kiribati, Marshall Islands and Tuvalu face a poten-
tially existential threat in the form of climate change, be it from sea level rise, more
intense cyclones or droughts. The most pessimistic assessments predict that these
countries will be uninhabitable within decades as rising seas increase the salinity of
water supplies. Extreme solutions such as ‘floating islands’ are being considered;
but the availability of affordable, clean water remains a significant obstacle. A con-
sequent challenge, should entire populations be forced to migrate, is the legal status
of each country’s EEZ given existing fishing revenues and potential mineral wealth.
Climate change is not the only threat to the viability of the smallest Pacific states.
Should Australia decide, once again, to close the regional processing (also known as
detention) centre on Nauru – which employs 500 local staff and generates consider-
able local contractor revenue (ILO, 2015, p. 14) – the nation faces a bleak economic
future. US compact funding to the Marshall Islands, Palau and FSM is dwindling
and in the absence of other revenue streams they may face future cuts to government
services. The lack of economic opportunity encourages migration. Niue, the smallest
self-governing Pacific state, has been struggling with depopulation for some time.
Irrespective of climate change, the atoll states of Kiribati and Tuvalu have excep-
tionally narrow economies, and no compact or free association arrangements, hence
they are among the poorest in the region. In each of these states, migration is likely
to become even more important in the future.
For larger Pacific states, the key challenge is creating sustainable prosperity. Fiji
and Solomon Islands have the greatest potential to generate revenue from extractive
industries and agriculture. The former also has the most established tourism sector.
But both have experienced political turbulence over the last two decades that has
stymied economic growth. Vanuatu, Cook Islands, Samoa and Tonga have few
natural resources and so rely heavily on a mix of tourism, remittances and niche eco-
nomic activities. The former two countries experimented with financial services with
limited success. The larger states have experienced rapid and unsustainable urban-
ization, with significant proportions of the urban population living in settlements,
where access to services is inadequate and unemployment and poverty considerable.
At times, deprived urban residents have staged violent demonstrations against the
unequal status quo.
While somewhat different, all Pacific states appear to face an ‘underdevelopment
trap’ that is symptomatic of their size. They are highly dependent on external finance,
yet have limited access to it. Moreover, while GDP per capita has risen over time in
 Small states in the Pacific 355

some states, growth has generally been slow, and attempts to diversify mono-industry
economies have been disappointing, with income poorly distributed, and intensifying
poverty and inequality, especially marked in growing urban areas (Connell, 2013).
This ‘underdevelopment’ trap is similar to that of small states in the Caribbean but
is exacerbated by the relative isolation of Pacific states, from each other and from
the rest of the world. Development aid fills the void to some extent – the region
has long received high levels of per capita ODA – but has not resulted in the types
of economic ‘miracles’ witnessed in Southeast Asia or among the BRICS. In such
circumstances, concern with corruption and maladministration as an explanation for
stagnant growth has risen (Larmour, 2012).

COPING STRATEGIES AND POLICY SOLUTIONS

Coping strategies vary according to the unit of analysis. Governments of the smallest
states have had considerable success raising awareness of their unique environmental
circumstances among international organizations and donors, especially in relation to
climate change. The ability to ‘donor shop’ has provided small states with diplomatic
leverage they had not previously enjoyed. Globalization has also opened up niche
revenue streams related to hosting reality TV shows and Internet domain names.
But it has led to a decrease in others, like philately. The nascent financial services
industry has also suffered due to concerns about terrorism and money laundering in
particular (Sharman, 2005). In sum, the ability of governments to find policy solu-
tions to these challenges appears mixed at best, leading to considered frustration with
elected officials (Corbett, 2015).
Two regional agreements, the Pacific Island Countries Trade Agreement (PICTA)
and the Pacific Agreement on Closer Economic Relations (PACER) have attempted
to use economic integration to overcome systematic challenges. PICTA provided for
trade liberalization between Pacific states, while PACER provided for subsequent
negotiations with New Zealand and Australia. More recently, Pacific states refused
to accept PACER Plus because it did not include provisions for increased labour
mobility. The economic benefits of integration have also been behind Tonga, Samoa
and Vanuatu’s recent accession to the WTO (Fiji and Solomon Islands were founder
members). The assumption is that Pacific countries can or will produce tradable
goods of value elsewhere, and that this will outweigh the costs in terms of sovereign
control over economic affairs. That has yet to be demonstrated.
The emphasis on labour mobility in PACER Plus negotiations recognizes that
individuals and families appear to have more options for overcoming systematic
development challenges than nation states, as they create small-scale “transnational
corporations of kin”. Demand from both island governments and local people for
short-term labour migration to Australia and New Zealand far exceeds opportunities,
despite the social costs (Petrou and Connell, 2018). Connell and Corbett (2016,
p. 599) argue that:
356 Handbook on the politics of small states

Over time, a “culture of migration” has developed, where migration is normative and
expected, emphasising the primacy of migration and remittances as both household and
national livelihood and development strategies. PICs [Pacific Islands countries] thus
increasingly exemplify the notion that “migration should be seen as the norm rather than
the rule, as an integral part of societies rather than as a sign of rupture: an essential element
of people’s livelihoods, whether rich or poor”, as many other peoples, countries and regions
have done in recent centuries.

In this view, development in the Pacific has become transnational despite the fact
that for those who spearheaded independence movements only decades earlier, this
appears to be a second-best solution. The alternative interpretation, which again
fits with Hau’ofa’s expanded vision for Oceania and his invocation of a relatively
‘unbounded’ relationship with the sea that reflects and embodies a history of migra-
tion that has unfolded across thousands of years, is that migration is a continuation
of a past mode of practice rather than a second-best solution. Jet planes are simply
faster, more effective and travel greater distances than voyaging canoes.

CONCLUSION

The apparent absence of modernist development has long been the defining char-
acteristic of Pacific small states. A key question has thus become: what is holding
the region back and how might this be remedied? Smallness has been central to this
discussion: can smallness be transcended to enable modernist development or must
Pacific Island states be defined by their deficits? For some economists, smallness
can be overcome by integration. In this view, pooled sovereignty and regionalism
are favoured solutions to the problems of scale. Even critics of the way the Pacific is
‘belittled’ accommodated this narrative, arguing that, while their islands are small,
the Ocean was vast, thus enlarging the world that Oceanic peoples inhabited. Indeed,
the Pacific covers a third of the world’s surface. This rhetoric has recently been given
new meaning by the notion of a ‘Blue Pacific’ and the global narrative around the
‘blue economy’. Such narratives seek to empower Pacific Islanders by providing
a vision for how they might overcome structural challenges. They nevertheless
implicitly rely on, and even tacitly reinforce, arguments about the endogenous limi-
tations of smallness.
In contrast, arguments that Pacific states should embrace their smallness and the
advantages it offers, and in doing so pragmatically manage modernity, have been
much less fashionable. We have canvassed two examples: migration and the forma-
tion of the SIDS grouping in international climate negotiations. In the former, Pacific
Islanders have pursued individualized or familial development strategies, sometimes
at the encouragement of nation-states. From a state-centric perspective, these strate-
gies of deterritorialization are often seen as a second-best solution, especially in light
of relatively recent decolonization. The SIDS grouping in international climate nego-
tiations has had extraordinary success by drawing attention to, rather than denying
or seeking to overcome, the small and vulnerable nature of Pacific states. Turning
 Small states in the Pacific 357

weakness into a strength has brought functional benefits in terms of international

profile and adaptation funds.
One consequence of these competing views about whether smallness can be
overcome is that the region presents us with a series of paradoxes: too modern and
not modern enough; underdeveloped and paradise lost; an ‘ocean of democracy’ and
an ‘arc of instability’; a progressive champion of climate change and a conservative
bastion of patriarchy. Examples can be found for each position, although, in prac-
tice, hybridity is not at all unusual. In part this is because the region is diverse, but
also because even though they are small, there is incredible variation within states.
Perspectives thus vary depending on the unit of analysis: an individual or a state;
a country or a region; an urban centre or an outer island. Each characteristic intersects
with ‘modernity’ at different points and implies different understandings of small-
ness. This decentred view is unpopular in academic or policy discourse because it is
messy and complex: it provides few clear-cut solutions for small states. But it does
imply a series of pathways that can help navigate, if not fully solve, the paradoxes of
small state development.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The authors thank the Australian Research Council, project number DP160100897.
The usual disclaimers also apply. Sections of this chapter have been adapted with
permission from Veenendaal, Wouter, and Jack Corbett. (2020). Clientelism in small
states: how smallness influences patron–client networks in the Caribbean and the
Pacific. Democratization 27.1: 61-80; Bishop, Matthew Louis, Jack Corbett, and
Wouter Veenendaal. (2020). Labor movements and party system development: Why
does the Caribbean have stable two-party systems, but the Pacific does not? World
Development 126: 104719; and Corbett, Jack, Yi-chong Xu, and Patrick Weller.
(2019). Norm entrepreneurship and diffusion ‘from below’ in international organisa-
tions: How the competent performance of vulnerability generates benefits for small
states. Review of International Studies 45(4): 647–688.

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Security Challenges 13 (2), 32–53.
 PART VI

BEYOND SOVEREIGNTY?
SEMI/NON-SOVEREIGN
SMALL STATES AND
TERRITORIES
22. Small, subnational jurisdictions
Gerard Prinsen

INTRODUCTION

This book takes “legally sovereign states as its point of departure and primary object
of study” (Baldacchino and Wivel, 2020, p. 6, this volume). Introducing a chapter on
small subnational jurisdictions – i.e. non-sovereign polities – requires, therefore, an
explanation. The explanation rests on two arguments; one is based on political praxis
and the other one on analytical exploration. First, it seems to be clear what ‘legally
sovereign states’ are: the recognition by peers in an admission as a UN member.
Yet, it is also clear, as pointed out by Baldacchino and Wivel (2020), that the actual
autonomy of small sovereign states to determine their international and domestic
policies varies. Much of this variation depends on asymmetric relationships with
a larger state.
This chapter offers examples that suggest patterns of how small subnational
jurisdictions can acquire an autonomy in political praxis that is sometimes even
greater than that enjoyed by small sovereign states, precisely because they – very
consciously, as we will see – decide not to pursue formal sovereignty from the larger
state to which they are bound. If we associate a polity’s sovereignty with that polity’s
autonomy, then this book needs to include a chapter outlining how some small sub-
national jurisdictions – mostly islands – appear to possess an autonomy equalling, or
even exceeding, the autonomy displayed by small sovereign states.
A second argument for the inclusion of a chapter on small subnational jurisdictions
builds on the observation by Baldacchino and Wivel (2020) that the borderlines
between ‘microstate’ and ‘small state’ are blurred and arbitrary, but that such defi-
nitional ambiguity about a state’s size can be a fruitful environment for an eclectic
analysis of real-world implications of size. In that spirit, this chapter analyses some
implications of the emerging definitional ambiguity about sovereignty. Specifically,
if small subnational jurisdictions can exert as much or more autonomy as small
sovereign states, then perhaps we need to conclude that the borderline between sov-
ereign and non-sovereign polities is not the crystal-clear line in international law of
membership of the UN General Assembly.
To contextualize the political praxis of small subnational jurisdictions, this chapter
opens by reflecting on lists of subnational jurisdictions to clarify what these stand for,
and particularly in contradistinction to small sovereign states. In the ensuing sections,
this chapter takes an inductive approach by using examples to suggest typical pat-
terns or essential characteristics. In structure, this chapter follows the four questions
outlined in the book’s introduction. What are small subnational jurisdictions’ inter-
national characteristics? What are important domestic characteristics? How do they
362
 Small, subnational jurisdictions 363

confirm or defy expectations related to their small size? What are their challenges
and how do they respond? This chapter’s conclusions explore lessons from small
subnational jurisdictions for small sovereign states.

LISTING SMALL SUBNATIONAL JURISDICTIONS

Unsurprisingly, listing small subnational jurisdictions is hobbled by the dearth of

clear definitions: not only of size, but also of what constitutes ‘subnational’. When
searching for definitional agreements in the political mainstream, UN agreements
would generally reflect common ground across the globe. Unfortunately, in this case
they do not. For example, the latest major UN agreement – the UN’s Sustainable
Development Goals of 2015 – provides explicit guidelines for drafting national
sustainable development strategies for what are labelled as “subnational territories”.
However, it defines these jurisdictions in a way that is rather unspecific and poten-
tially includes thousands of entities:

Subnational territories can be referred to as federal states, counties, governorates, provinces

or districts, amongst other terms. (Paris21, 2017)

Scholarly sources also struggle in defining and listing small subnational jurisdictions.
One of the largest data collection programmes on states and governance includes
“subnational democracy” as a distinct aspect of its research project (V-Dem Institute,
2018). It is more helpful than the above UN guidelines because it differentiates sub-
national entities into two types: one just below the national government and another
one comprising all entities further down the hierarchy. Arguably, the subnational
territory positioned just below the national government is in a better position to
negotiate its autonomy than a municipality at the bottom of the state’s administrative
structure. Even so, its finding that 68 per cent of the 201 countries in its database have
elected subnational governments of the first type, leaves us to conclude that there
must be many hundreds, if not several thousand, subnational jurisdictions (McMann,
2016, p. 17). Moreover, this categorization does not differentiate by size, lumping
California with 40 million people in the same group as the Pitcairn Islands with 50
people.
Stuart (2009) focuses on islands as small subnational jurisdictions, listing 116
jurisdictions. Her list includes jurisdictions with millions of inhabitants next to
reserves managed by a few scientists, as well as placing municipalities next to freely
associated self-governing states. The list of 118 subnational island jurisdictions
offered by Baldacchino (2010) is related to Stuart’s. Others have argued for a more
restricted list of small subnational island jurisdictions, not so much by looking at
islands’ population size, but by historicizing the geographical and cultural separation
(as an expression of colonialism) between island jurisdictions and their metropolitan,
national governments. This results in a list of 42 subnational island jurisdictions
(Prinsen and Blaise, 2017). For this chapter’s focus on subnational jurisdictions
364 Handbook on the politics of small states

that are ‘small’ in relationship to a powerful larger state, it seems that the Stuart and
Baldacchino lists are the most useful starting point, particularly if we focus on the
one hundred or so islands with a resident population of less than 500,000 people. This
cut-off mark would make this group of small subnational island jurisdictions very
comparable in population size to the group of small sovereign island states; a listing
of the latter shows a clear gap between the Solomon Islands with 523,000 and the
Comoros with 785,000 inhabitants (Wikipedia contributors, 2018). In addition,
Anckar’s review of political science research on small jurisdictions also specifically
advocates “the half a million threshold” (Anckar, 2010, p. 8).
To expand the list with small subnational jurisdictions that are not islands –
“semi-sovereign jurisdictions” as proposed by the Variety-of-Democracies project
(Coppedge et al., 2018, p. 358) – a cross-check can be done against three other
lists. First, Rezvani’s research into “partially independent jurisdictions” with “small
populations . . . small economies” lists 47 present-day subnational units (2014,
pp. 310, 300). Of these, 18 are small continental subnational jurisdictions. A second
list comprises the 17 jurisdictions that wait, in what seems to be an “infinite pause”
(Connell, 1994, p. 104), to be decolonized, as recorded by the UN Special Committee
on Decolonisation (UN, 2017). With two exceptions, however, these jurisdictions are
islands and already included in the lists presented so far. The third list comes from
the CIA World Factbook, enumerating 267 “world entities”, of which 195 are defined
as “independent states” – being the 193 that are UN members, plus the Holy See and
Kosovo – and 58 are described as “areas of special sovereignty . . . a broad category
of political entities that are associated in some way with an independent state” (CIA,
2017). Interestingly, virtually all these jurisdictions are also already included in the
other lists.
Two commonly shared features in these lists need highlighting. First, almost all
zoom in on jurisdictions governed just one level below the national government and
in direct and asymmetrical engagement with that national level. This excludes all
local government bodies that are subordinated to intermediate governing structures
such as provinces or regions as well as federative arrangements where both parties
negotiate on an equal footing as constituent units. Second, most authors of these lists
acknowledge that the subnational jurisdictions they list possess a sovereignty related
to the inhabitants and their place. For example, Rezvani’s opening statement outlines
that his research deals with subnational jurisdictions that “share sovereign powers
with a core state”, clearly implying these jurisdictions possess sovereignty; otherwise
it could not be shared (2014, p. 3). Sixty years on, this analytical approach to subna-
tional jurisdictions still echoes the political statement that triggered decolonization:
“All peoples have an inalienable right to . . . their sovereignty and the integrity of
their national territory” (United Nations General Assembly, 1960a). Adding the
feature of an ‘inalienable sovereignty’ into a listing of subnational jurisdictions for
this chapter is helpful because it excludes those subnational jurisdictions that have
been created by national governments; as opposed to demanded by people of a sub-
national territory.
 Small, subnational jurisdictions 365

Caveats

Yet, at least three cautionary notes regarding this classic Westphalian concept of
sovereignty are in order. First, the concept of sovereignty is debated. In international
law, the concept is not as clear as often assumed: “It has a long a troubled history
and a variety of meanings” (Crawford, 2006, p. 26). Beyond law, it has been subject
to diverging critiques, including Marxism, post-colonialism and feminist theory.
Second, the actual praxis of state sovereignty has also been questioned since the
accelerating globalization of trade and politics of the 1990s. Many sovereign states
– even or perhaps particularly the larger states – increasingly seem to struggle to
regulate what happens within their borders (Jotia, 2011; Lowi, 2011). Third, where
large sovereign states struggle with an apparent loss of sovereignty, small polities
– whether subnational jurisdictions or small sovereign states – seem to be actively
seeking to blur the boundaries of what constitutes sovereignty. For many small sub-
national jurisdictions, autonomy derives precisely from a continuously renegotiated
asymmetrical relationship with a larger sovereign state or metropole. Grydehøj
(2016, p. 102) describes this as “navigating the binaries of . . . independence and
dependence”.
With the above caveats, when looking to list small subnational jurisdictions that
approximate small sovereign states – i.e. jurisdictions bound in an asymmetrical
relationship to a national government, with populations of less than half a million that
have a historical claim to local sovereignty – the above literature scan suggests that
there are about 120 small subnational jurisdictions, of which about 100 are islands
(combining data from Baldacchino, 2010; Rezcani, 2014; Stuart, 2009). It is with this
list of small subnational jurisdictions that we now turn to the first of four questions
guiding analysis in this book.

INTERNATIONAL CHARACTERISTICS OF SMALL

SUBNATIONAL JURISDICTIONS

Discussing the key international characteristics of these 120 small subnational

jurisdictions requires a nuanced approach. First, most of these jurisdictions display
a remarkable ability to appear on the international stage and engage on an equal
footing with sovereign states. This is often described as displaying acts of ‘paradi-
plomacy’ (Aldecoa and Keating, 2013) defined by Bartmann (2006, p. 544) as “the
outreach of non-sovereign jurisdictions to actors beyond their own borders and the
frontiers of their metropolitan relationships”. Acts of paradiplomacy are generally
not directed by national governments: quite the contrary. Cornago (2010, p. 34) finds
that national governments accept it “reluctantly” as a “deviant practice by a sub-state
government”. Paradiplomacy by small subnational jurisdictions often evolves in
successive steps, not unlike the steps by which jurisdictions ultimately become
sovereign states.
366 Handbook on the politics of small states

Flags

A first step is generally the raising of a flag of the territory next to the flag of the larger
nation. Most subnational jurisdictions such as provinces, regions and cities have flags
as an expression of identity. However, the raising of a subnational territory’s flag
next to the national flag easily becomes an expression of sovereignty; perhaps less so
by the intentions of those raising the subnational flag but more so by the response of
third parties. For example, Denmark and the USA have had defence agreements over
an American military presence in Greenland/Kalallit Nunaat since 1951 and flown
their two flags over the Thule Air Base. The increasing autonomy of Greenland’s
Home Rule Government ultimately led to a review of the agreement in 2004, which
now has three signatories and three flags flying at the same height over the air base
(ISEE, 2015, p. 407). National governments can also vehemently object to the raising
of a subnational flag. Indonesia has conceded “special autonomy status” to Aceh
Province and West Papua Province, which gives these subnational governments
more autonomy than any of the other 34 provinces. However, Indonesia’s national
government responded with repressive measures when West Papua’s Morning Star
(WPMA, 2013) and Aceh’s flag (Jones, 2013) were raised by or near official build-
ings, arguing they represented separatism.

Overseas Representation

One step up in paradiplomacy by small subnational jurisdictions is installing diplo-

matic representatives in capitals of neighbouring sovereign countries. The pattern
seems to be that this is a graduated process that starts with a subnational territory
obtaining ‘observer status’ or ‘associate membership’ in a multilateral regional or
global body. An easy and non-controversial entry point is often becoming a member
of a regional sports federation and acquiring membership of a regional intergov-
ernmental body is at the high-level end of the spectrum. For example, the French
subnational territory of New Caledonia obtained observer status to the region’s
intergovernmental body – the Pacific Islands Forum – in 1999 and immediately
began lobbying for an upgrade to associate member, which it acquired in 2006. Its
lobbying for full membership generated opposition as well as support on the island,
in Paris, and in the region. It was ultimately successful in 2016 (Leslie and Prinsen,
2018). As another example, the Danish subnational territory of the Faroe Islands has
an official consulate at the EU in Brussels, as well as international diplomatic offices
in five sovereign states. “The Faroese flag flies outside these ‘embassy’ buildings”
(Karlsson, 2009, p. 149). In response to this visibility and effort, 13 sovereign states
have opened official consulates in the Faroe Islands’ capital.

Signing International Treaties

A third, successive, step in paradiplomacy is a subnational territory signing inter-

national treaties. By UN standards, this constitutes “evidence that the international
 Small, subnational jurisdictions 367

community had accepted the [signing territory] as a ‘state’ under international law”
(UN, 1994, p. 10). Inevitably, at this level, there will be clashes of competencies
between national governments and small subnational units, particularly when the
latter sign treaties that go against the political interests or diplomatic practices of their
national government. The Faroe Islands, for example, signed a free-trade agreement
with Russia, contrary to Denmark’s views on the matter (Government of the Faroe
Islands, 2013). As the flipside to signing international agreements, there is also
a growing number of examples of small subnational jurisdictions withdrawing from
international agreements signed by their national governments. The small French
subnational territory of Saint Barthélemy (9,000 people, in the Caribbean) negotiated
its withdrawal from the EU in 2012. “The second member state territory to have ever
become separated from the EU after Greenland” (Athanassiou and Shaelou, 2014,
p. 37).

A Plethora of Ever-Evolving Arrangements

These international characteristics of small subnational jurisdictions are predicated

on, and propelled by, intra-national negotiations about their constitutional arrange-
ments with their national governments. Many have a special administrative or con-
stitutional arrangement with the national government that sets them apart from the
nation’s any other subnational entities. One common feature of these special arrange-
ments is that they are never settled, particularly for small subnational jurisdictions
that are remnants of a colonial history (see Prinsen and Blaise, 2017). For example,
there are 14 British Overseas Territories and details of the arrangements with 13 of
them have been renegotiated since 2001 (Ledgister, 2014, p. 163). A review of the 11
French overseas subnational jurisdictions concludes in the same spirit. “Today there
are as many statuses as there are overseas jurisdictions” (Mrgudovic, 2012, p. 95).
The six overseas jurisdictions of the Netherlands have had four different constitu-
tional arrangements with their metropole since 1954. The latest overhaul of 2010
resulted in three “constituent countries” and the three “special municipalities” of the
Netherlands (Oostindie and Klinkers, 2012). Comparable dynamics are visible in
the arrangements around other subnational jurisdictions. Note that small subnational
jurisdictions generally initiate these negotiations, seldom the national governments.
The feelings of the national governments’ side are revealed in the exasperated com-
plaint of a British foreign secretary: “I didn’t realise that I would have to spend so
much time on the bloody Turks and Caicos Islands!” (Ledgister, 2014, p. 167).

DOMESTIC CHARACTERISTICS OF SMALL

SUBNATIONAL JURISDICTIONS

After these international characteristics of small subnational jurisdictions, this

section takes a closer look at their domestic characteristics, particularly if and where
these differ from small sovereign states. In this light, two matters deserve a closer
368 Handbook on the politics of small states

look. First, there is the question how political and governance practices of small
subnational jurisdictions compare to those in small sovereign states. Second, it is
relevant to explore how diverse local identities and centre–periphery challenges can
lead to administrative fragmentation.

Politics Is Personal

Some researchers argue “an abundance of findings” suggests that “small states
are more likely to be democratic than large states” (Anckar, 2010, p. 1). However,
while most researchers agree that domestic politics and governance in small states
is more informal and personalized where direct personal connections between
politicians, civil servants and citizens can support democracy’s credentials as high
voter responsiveness and participation, there are also researchers who conclude this
situation is a mixed blessing. “Hyper-personalistic politics” can not only underpin
opportunities for democracy, it can also spawn patronage and ineffective institutional
check-and-balances (Corbett and Veenendaal, 2018, p. 10). Yet, others underscore
that small states’ limited size and personalized politics can also be the conditions
underpinning ‘big man’ rule and a repressive expectation of conformity (Baldacchino,
2012). Aside from agreeing that politics in small sovereign states is very personal, all
three schools of thought also concur that domestic political dynamics in small states
have been rather overlooked and that more research is called for. Arguably, this also
applies for the domestic politics of small subnational jurisdictions.
At first sight, it seems likely that most of the findings about domestic politics and
governance in small sovereign states would also apply to small subnational jurisdic-
tions. However, it needs to be noted there is one major factor that differentiates the
two: the metropolitan authority. The agency, interests and resources of metropolitan
authorities, as well as the continuously renegotiated relationship between the subna-
tional unit and the metropole, significantly influence domestic politics in the former.
Taking this into account, it becomes less likely that the findings about the charac-
teristics of domestic politics in small states are mutatis mutandis applicable to small
subnational jurisdictions. Of course, issues around the informal and personalized
domestic politics remain. However, subnational jurisdictions are to varying degrees
subject to institutional checks-and-balances deriving from a metropole – unlike small
sovereign states.
Authorities in small subnational jurisdictions can be very successful in evading
metropolitan controls. Prinsen and Blaise (2017, p. 65) argue that the ability to “get
away with bending their metropoles’ laws or regulations” is one of the essential fea-
tures of governance in small subnational island jurisdictions. However, metropolitan
authorities can, and do, impose upon or overrule subnational jurisdictions when they
deem the stakes high enough. Paris intervened in 2014 to see a leading politician in
French Polynesia convicted and removed from office for corruption. In 2017, The
Hague forced the resignation of the prime minister of Sint Maarten for his refusal
to take certain anti-corruption measures. This always present risk of metropoles’
forceful enforcement of compliance – the “nuclear option” (Vlcek, 2013, p. 352)
 Small, subnational jurisdictions 369

– surely co-creates small subnational jurisdictions’ domestic political practices.

However, beyond a few case studies, there is indeed little comparative research on
domestic governance in small subnational jurisdictions. As such research grows, the
challenges around researchers’ positionality will be critical. Will metropolitan per-
spectives prevail, or will the perspective and voice of small subnational jurisdictions
prove assertive enough?

Fragmentation

Most of the about 120 small subnational jurisdictions at the heart of this chapter
are island jurisdictions and archipelagos. The archipelagos that have been clustered
together by colonial metropolitan administrative convenience tend to face particular
challenges of political and administrative fragmentation. Several of these colonial
clusters fell apart when decolonization and independence offered an opportunity to
islanders to go their own way. For example, in the Caribbean, the 12 jurisdictions
of the West Indian Federation gradually fell apart in the 1960s (Killingray, 2000);
and, in the Pacific, the unitary colonial jurisdiction of the Gilbert and Ellice Islands
became the separate sovereign states of Kiribati and Tuvalu (McIntyre, 2012).
Looking around in the era of decolonization, Lewis (1974, p. 136) noted, “In an
archipelago, the temptation is always great, at worst, to secede, and at best to disre-
gard the political jurisdiction of the centre”.
However, at this point in time, history suggests that, once an archipelago becomes
a sovereign state, fragmentation into smaller sovereign states is much less likely
than it is for islands clustered into a single subnational jurisdiction. Especially since
the mid-2000s, several subnational jurisdictions fractured, dissolved into smaller
jurisdictions, each acquiring their own status and direct connection to the metropole.
For example, the island groups of Guadeloupe, St Martin and St Barthélemy formed
a single subnational French jurisdiction until 2007 when – after a referendum – the
latter two split off from the much larger Guadeloupe and become subnational juris-
dictions in their own right (Mrgudovic, 2012, p. 92). Much of the rivalry in archi-
pelagos seems to be fuelled by two factors. First, “each island, however small, tends
to have a distinct history, certain unique cultural characteristics” (Hamilton-Jones,
1992, p. 200) – more so than, probably, small continental subnational jurisdictions.
Second, the rivalry is often exacerbated by a hub-and-spoke model of communication
and distribution (Baldacchino and Ferreira, 2013; Lewis, 1974). People at the end
of the spokes, in the periphery, can feel short-changed, ignored or disempowered.
For people living on peripheral islands of a sovereign archipelago, independence is
unlikely to resolve their problem of dependency on the larger neighbour. However,
people in islands in a subnational jurisdiction can – and increasingly do – make
a different calculation and negotiate a direct connection to the metropole, bypassing
the nearby hub of the larger island.
370 Handbook on the politics of small states

SMALL SUBNATIONAL JURISDICTIONS EXCEEDING

EXPECTATIONS ASSOCIATED WITH SMALL STATES

For much of the second half of the twentieth century, the ‘smallness’ of a state has
been associated with vulnerability to external forces and poor domestic capabilities
to deal with external forces and pursue prosperity. Robertson (1988, p. 617) con-
cluded that “Smallness, insufficient resources and infrastructure . . . haunt the island
states” and would apply to small states in general: a fairly typical comment for his
time. However, the end of the Cold War and globalization since the 1990s have given
room for more optimist expectations, seeing small sovereign states in better positions
than larger states to respond flexibly and nimbly to the opportunities that emerge,
even though they remain vulnerable to large external shocks such as natural disasters,
financial crises, economic calamities, or pandemics (Thorhallsson, 2018). However,
when it comes to prosperity, on balance, “Citizens of small states do not tend to
be poor” (Baldacchino, 2018b, p. 5). The question then arises if small subnational
jurisdictions differ from these generic expectations regarding small sovereign states,
and if so in what respect. The answer given here comprises three elements that seem
to be central to expectations of small states: prosperity, flexibility and vulnerability.

Prosperity

First, if citizens of small states do not tend to be poor, then several comparative
studies seem to concur that inhabitants of small subnational jurisdictions tend to do
even better. Rezvani (2014, p. 254) compares per capita GDP of 38 small sovereign
states and 36 small subnational jurisdictions: comparisons on a regional basis show
that small subnational jurisdictions have a GDP per capita that is two to seven times
better. McElroy and Parry (2012, p. 415) compared 30 small sovereign islands with
25 small islands that are subnational jurisdictions. They too calculated that per capita
income in the latter was more than double and found small subnational jurisdictions
also rank better on other development indicators: for example, their infant mortality
rate was roughly half. Other comparative studies find similar patterns between sover-
eign and subnational polities, particularly when it comes to islands (e.g. Baldacchino
and Milne, 2009; Dunn, 2011). It is clear that people in small subnational jurisdictions
are more prosperous than those in small sovereign states. It is equally clear that most
people in small subnational jurisdictions do not believe sovereignty is a path towards
more prosperity. In 21 of the 120 small subnational jurisdictions listed, people voted
in referenda on independence and rejected it with majorities that generally exceeded
90 per cent of the votes (Prinsen, 2018, p. 146).

Flexibility

A second element to consider is whether small subnational jurisdictions can be as

flexible and nimble as small sovereign states when it comes to responding to opportu-
nities. It could be argued the oversight of the national government somehow curtails
 Small, subnational jurisdictions 371

or muzzles the flexibility of small subnational jurisdictions. The response would be

that there are indeed examples of national governments or metropolitan authorities
intervening – if need be heavy-handedly – to force a small subnational territory into
abandoning a ‘flexible’ response to an emerging opportunity. For example, New
Caledonia has been able to respond flexibly to opportunities that sit uncomfortably
with Paris. New Caledonia’s nickel mining was controlled by French corporations
until 2012. Since then, however, local authorities have found that dealing with
non-French corporations, including state-owned Chinese corporations, was more
profitable. The business sector in Paris and France’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs
expressed grave concerns, but the deals went ahead (Kowasch and Lindenmann,
2014). As a pattern, it seems that small subnational jurisdictions can often respond
as flexibly as small sovereign states to opportunities, even if they face metropolitan
resistance.

Vulnerability

The last element to consider is how small subnational jurisdictions compare to small
sovereign states in terms of their vulnerability to external shocks. Small subnational
jurisdictions seem to do better, in two specific aspects. First, many governing bodies
in small subnational jurisdictions receive significant structural budget support to
cover recurrent public expenditure that local taxation is unlikely to sustain, or to
recover from local revenue shocks. A series of eight case studies covering juris-
dictions connected to New Zealand, France, the Netherlands, the UK and the USA
suggests metropolitan budget support ranges from US$800 to US$11,800 per capita
per year (Prinsen, 2018, p. 151). Second, small subnational jurisdictions can appeal
to metropolitan assistance when disaster strikes or major investments are needed.
For example, when Hurricane Irma devastated the Caribbean, the Dutch government
created a special US$634 million recovery fund for Sint Maarten (Vora, 2018) and
the UK government offered a US$119 million emergency package for its overseas
jurisdictions in the region (DFID, 2017). In contrast, the Caribbean’s small sovereign
states’ only had access to multilateral disaster relief funds, such as from the UN (UN
News, 2017).

CHALLENGES FACING SMALL SUBNATIONAL

JURISDICTIONS AND SOME RESPONSES

The one thing that makes small subnational jurisdictions stand out from other small
states is their historical and constitutional relationship with the national government
of a larger state of which they form part. Their challenges are not associated with
forging a path towards Westphalian sovereignty and securing a sustainable independ-
ence. A significant majority of small subnational jurisdictions are islands and very
few, if any, seek such a sovereignty. In fact, in the last three or four decades, these
jurisdictions have been very effectively expanding their international agency as well
372 Handbook on the politics of small states

as their control over domestic affairs and doing so within ever-evolving arrangements
with a larger state in what is becoming a concept in its own right: ‘autonomy plus’
(Baldacchino, 2018a) or ‘islandian sovereignty’ (Prinsen and Blaise, 2017). Against
this backdrop, it is worth considering two growing challenges at the two ends of the
scale; one affecting individual livelihoods and the other affecting local governments’
strategic positioning.

Migration, Mobility, Citizenship

Migration and mobility are critical aspects of the livelihoods of people in small
subnational jurisdictions, particularly in islands. Being able to travel back and
forth between territory and metropole for study, work, business, medical care or
indefinite settlement in the metropole is a foundational aspect of livelihoods and
family networks in small subnational jurisdictions. The remittances that result from
these networks constitute an important part of economic life in these jurisdictions.
As illustrations: there are about 57,000 Cook Islanders living in New Zealand,
leaving 13,000 in the Cook Islands (Fraenkel, 2012) and about 140,000 people from
the Dutch subnational jurisdictions reside in the Netherlands, compared to about
360,000 in the Caribbean (CGM, 2010). This mobility to the metropole – and beyond
– is made possible because people in small subnational jurisdictions are citizens of
a much larger sovereign state. It seems fair to argue that the risk of losing this pass-
port and the associated mobility is a – if not the – principal reason why voters ticked
‘no’ in independence referenda.
However, there have been repeated attempts in most metropoles to curtail citi-
zenship rights of people in subnational jurisdictions. The 2018 row in the UK about
the citizenship status of people born in its overseas jurisdictions – the so-called
‘Windrush Generation’ – is neither a new nor a uniquely British affair. Already in
1981, the introduction of the British Nationality Act limited citizenship rights of
people in its overseas jurisdictions to those whose parents or grandparents were
born in the UK; it “effectively designed citizenship so as to exclude black and Asian
populations” (Tyler, 2010, p. 63) and Wray’s (2018) long-term review of the legal
changes in British citizenship speaks of “the erosion of rights”. In the Netherlands,
ethno-nationalist MPs have proposed – and hitherto failed – to introduce a specific
passport with limited rights for citizens of Dutch subnational jurisdictions in 2005,
in 2010 and, most recently, in 2016 (Karapetian, 2016). In the USA, people from
American Samoa hold a US passport with a peculiar imprint: “The bearer is a United
States national and not a United States citizen” (Aleinikoff, 2000, p. 201). This dis-
tinction has created a “second-class status” (Morrison, 2013, p. 1). With emerging
ethno-nationalism, it seems likely that maintaining and ensuring equal citizenship
rights may become a major challenge in the years ahead.
 Small, subnational jurisdictions 373

Strategic Partnerships

A second challenge in the upcoming years is for governments of small subnational

jurisdictions to fine-tune their strategic positioning vis-à-vis their metropolitan gov-
ernments. So far, that stance has been a mostly adversarial one, seeking to maximize
autonomy without independence. The dust now seems to have settled and metropol-
itan players across the globe have agreed to the new status quo, either “enthusiasti-
cally” or “begrudgingly” (Baldacchino, 2018b, p. 8). There is opportunity now for
small subnational jurisdictions to expand the relationship by considering what they
can offer their national governments and use that, in turn, to their own advantage
too. One of the strategic metropolitan interests may lie in the fact that their often
far-flung subnational jurisdictions are an opportunity to present themselves with
a physical-legal presence across the globe, making them bigger than they would
otherwise have been.
French diplomats, for example, are increasingly open in their desire to leverage
their relationships with their small subnational jurisdictions to project France as
a global power. A French ambassador in the Pacific commented that the subnational
jurisdictions are “neither fully integrated in the Pacific region, nor fully excluded”
and explained that Paris sees strategic geopolitical benefits in its collaboration
with each of the jurisdictions, describing it as “bi-multilateralism” (Lechervy,
2015, pp. 105, 108). Greenland/Kallalit Nunaat remains a territory associated with
Denmark, giving Denmark as a small country next to neighbouring Germany and
Sweden what it would otherwise not have had: “an important voice and significant
power in Arctic security, scientific research, shipping . . . [and enables it] to project
power over the surrounding oceans” (Grydehøj, 2016, p. 108). The same goes for the
Dutch Caribbean jurisdictions. And the three “countries within the Realm of New
Zealand” give New Zealand a very large Pacific footprint (Foreign Affairs Defence
and Trade Committee, 2010, p. 5).

CONCLUSIONS

There are about 120 small subnational jurisdictions with a potential claim to sov-
ereignty, but few, if any, pursue sovereignty by seeking a seat in the UN General
Assembly. Nonetheless, to varying degrees many display an ability to act on the
international stage as if they were sovereign: with resigned acceptance or enthusi-
astic support of their metropolitan, national, governments. Many small subnational
jurisdictions also continuously and quite successfully negotiate with their metropoles
a growing autonomy in domestic policy-making. That domestic governance is gen-
erally of a personalistic character, and only occasionally do national institutional
frameworks intervene in small subnational jurisdictions’ domestic politics. However,
if they do, it is mostly forceful and adversarial.
The complex, ever-evolving arrangements between small subnational jurisdictions
and metropolitan authorities generally leave these subnational units in a more pros-
374 Handbook on the politics of small states

perous and less vulnerable position than comparable small sovereign states, without
significantly compromising the flexibility that comes with sovereignty. As a chal-
lenge, the rising ethno-nationalism in metropoles is likely to see small subnational
jurisdictions facing pressure on their citizenship rights with regard to migration to
the metropole. On the positive side, metropolitan nationalism also gives small sub-
national jurisdictions the opportunity to offer their often far-flung locations and local
networks as a bargaining lever for the geopolitical ambitions of their metropoles.
The experiences of small subnational jurisdictions reveal significant domestic
benefits of a formal bond with a much larger state, even if it comes at the cost of not
being entirely free in determining international policies. However, as Veenendaal’s
analysis of the foreign policies of small sovereign states concludes: they also find
themselves often in an “international patron-client model” with a larger state in
which they “cannot freely and independently devise their own preferred foreign
policy” (2017, p. 574). On the balance of the domestic benefits, then, people in small
subnational jurisdictions are arguably better off than small sovereign states. Overton
et al. (2018, p. 285) review domestic and international sovereignty practices among
small sovereign and non-sovereign Pacific islands, concluding:

it is possible to identify a ‘sweet spot’ of sovereignty, the location of which will vary
according to the political history and socio-economic context . . . a space where some
degrees of close association are maintained with a metropolitan power.

That putative sweet spot of sovereignty is a point that most small subnational juris-
dictions have found because their non-dissolvable bond with a larger state offers
them a solid basis to negotiate expanding, shifting, or modifying the sweet spot’s
location as their perceived needs and interests change. Can small sovereign states
benefit from the experiences of small subnational jurisdictions? Small sovereign
states do not have a non-dissolvable bond with a large state; their patron–client
relationships are more transactional. Moreover, once a small state has chosen sover-
eignty, that sovereignty cannot be voluntarily extinguished. Or can it? What would
replace it? Perhaps, now that decolonization of the twentieth century empires has
come to a standstill, it is worth revisiting the UN General Assembly Resolutions that
guided that decolonization process.
Resolution 1541 of 1960 (United Nations General Assembly, 1960b) outlined the
principles of decolonization and Principle VI stated as the first option the “emergence
as a sovereign independent state”. However, “free association with an independent
state” was a second option. At the time, these were deemed exclusionary options and
the second option was added by metropolitan states reluctant to decolonize, perhaps
hoping to turn associated statehood into the twentieth-century version of vassal states
or protectorates. However, in the ensuing political praxis, a few to-be-decolonized
territories (e.g. Cook Islands, Federated States of Micronesia) avoided the first option
and chose to elaborate the second. They quite successfully negotiated arrangements to
their own interests and “the status of associated statehood . . . progressed far beyond
what was originally imagined” (Igarashi, 2002, p. 300). Looking forward, Crawford
 Small, subnational jurisdictions 375

(2006, p. 626) concludes “Association represents one of the more significant pos-
sibilities of self-government for communities (especially island communities) that
are too small”; while Igarashi (2002, p. 298) advocates re-examining “the question
of possible dual status”. For small sovereign states seeking a less transactional rela-
tionship with a larger state, there may be useful ideas in the old UN resolutions for
decolonization.

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23. Exploring de facto state agency:
negotiation power, international
engagement and patronage
Eiki Berg and Kristel Vits

INTRODUCTION

This book on small states explores de iure sovereign entities, so the inclusion of de
facto states in the compilation may appear controversial. Nor does our treatment
of these entities provide any direct or indirect recognition of their claims, and their
international legal statuses are not likely to change in the foreseeable future. Yet, de
facto states can still be considered intrinsically as actors in international relations
(Comai, 2017; Frear, 2014). They can be seen as a natural laboratory for exploring
“the effects of limited political capacity on state development” and “the interplay of
power asymmetries”, where the capability gap is bridged by a powerful patron state
(Baldacchino and Wivel, 2020).
However, there are also important differences that would allow de facto states to
be placed into a separate category, next to that of traditional small states. To name
a few, their pariah status, constant security deficit and embryonic institutions create
a perception of ‘states in the making’, perpetually striving for sheer survival. Their
minimal goal is to maintain the status quo; their maximal goal is to gain widespread
international recognition, which would allow them to decide over their final status,
whether it be remaining a separate state (Kosovo, Taiwan, Abkhazia, Somaliland),
becoming a part of their patron (South Ossetia, Nagorno-Karabakh, Transnistria), or
even rejoining the parent state in a (con)federalist arrangement (Northern Cyprus).
On the road to achieving these goals, de facto states often rely on the support of exter-
nal patrons to alleviate their acute security problems and expedite state-building.
Yet, the crux of contested existence of de facto states lies in this matter of external
support. We have many cases where considerable reliance on external supporters
is considered normal, even desirable, for small recognized states such as European
microstates or small island jurisdictions (Baldacchino and Hepburn, 2012; Comai,
2018). They also tend to vote in alliance with their patrons in international organi-
zations (Veenendaal, 2017), without compromising their external legal sovereignty.
And yet, when dealing with de facto states, their reliance on a patron is considered as
proof that they would not be viable states anyway, that the only reason they exist is
because they are needed as pawns in the regional power games of larger states. They
are considered to be just puppets of their patrons (Caspersen, 2009, pp. 47–48), and
thus incapable of having independent agency.

379
380 Handbook on the politics of small states

The concept of agency remains underdeveloped in International Relations theory:

“Rarely is it clear what agency is, what it means to exercise agency, or who and what
might do so” (Wight, 2006, p. 178). Yet, the construction of the state as agent, as if
it were an individual capable of independent volition and action, seems appropriate
in conceiving the functions of governments. Basically, this agency entails ‘the state
of acting’ and that in order to ‘act’, a state must have the ‘freedom of choice’ to do
so: that is, it must possess enough deliberate will for independent action, despite the
existing international structural constraints (Buzan, Jones, and Little, 1993, p. 103).
The ‘capacity to do’ is centred around the interactions of states, and is most often tied
to the external juridical dimension of sovereignty: that is, only those entities which
have succeeded in acquiring recognition are seen as states and hence, as agents.
However, it is a state’s actual “exerting of power” (Hill, 2003, p. 26) and its ability to
govern, that demonstrates if and whether its actions are having any effect. ‘Exerting
of power’ is not necessarily linked to an entity’s sovereign status; yet, it is an impor-
tant element of agency.
A focus on agency allows us to ask how far and in what ways these unrecognized
entities have been able to act on and in the international system. The idea of agency
as “doing something” (Wight, 2006, p. 212) can be seen in the form of participation
in conflict management. How much subjective freedom of action is being exercised
and how has this been used during negotiation phases? ‘Being an agent of something’
(secessionist cause) as ‘bearers’ of the context from which they originate (collision
of facts and norms) points to the agents’ capabilities to enter into international
relations. Finally, agents’ role positions, which either empower or constrain their
choices (Brown, 2012, p. 1895), may describe de facto states’ relationships with their
external supporters.
In the context of de facto states, agency refers to their capacity to do something
regarding their own circumstances, something that most of the international commu-
nity wants to believe they do not have, but which in reality exists to different degrees.
At the same time, due to their geographical location and the stakes involved, these
territories hold considerable power as custodians of geopolitical fault lines: they have
the potential to disrupt the strategic balance of the international system. We aim to
show here that, despite their limited capacity, de facto states do display some agency,
and they are sometimes not remarkably different from other small or microstates.
Of course, it is somewhat difficult to generalize as, despite their small number, de
facto states are shaped by their individual circumstances; however, by drawing out
some of the extremes and some of the commonalities, we aim to shed some light onto
this relatively unexplored field of international politics. While we acknowledge that
states are abstractions, and thus their agency lies in human decision-makers (Hudson,
2005, p. 2), we will, for the sake of brevity, still mostly refer to the states in general
as the ones doing the acting and exerting the power.
Understanding agency as ‘capacity to do’ and ‘exerting the power’, we explore
whether de facto states may be seen as agents in their own right through (1) their
role in the conflict management and conflict resolution processes; (2) their capability
to enter into international relations; and (3) their capability to counter the patron.
 Exploring de facto state agency 381

Table 23.1 De facto states in the international system

De facto state Population Land area (km2) Status Patron state Parent state

Nagorno-Karabakh 151,000 11,460 not recognized Armenia Azerbaijan

South Ossetia 54,000 3,900 recognized by 5 countries Russia Georgia

Abkhazia 240,000 8,700 recognized by 5 countries Russia Georgia
Transnistria 476,000 4,160 not recognized Russia Moldova
Turkish Republic of
313,000 3,360 recognized by 1 country Turkey Cyprus
Northern Cyprus
recognized by 114
Kosovo 1,920,000 10,900 USA Serbia
countries
recognized by 15
Taiwan 23,570,000 36,200 USA China
countries
Somaliland 3,500,000 176,100 not recognized none Somalia

Notes: Kosovo’s number of recognitions is a matter of contention, as Serbia claims at least 15 countries
have withdrawn their recognition, while Kosovo has tried to refute such claims (Ker-Lindsay, 2019).

To do so, we draw on eight examples – those of Nagorno-Karabakh, South Ossetia,

Abkhazia, Transnistria, Somaliland, Northern Cyprus, Kosovo and Taiwan – as
the least contested set of de facto states (see Table 23.1). We aim to highlight how
the grey areas of the international system empower and enable de facto states to
persevere, and how they can use overwhelming uncertainties to expand on their
actorness. The questions of how much ‘capacity to do’ they actually exhibit, and how
constrained they are in their exertion of power by external patrons, seem to be central
in their attempts to increase their levels of international engagement.

PARTICIPATION IN CONFLICT MANAGEMENT AND

CONFLICT RESOLUTION

A telling aspect of the level of agency enjoyed by de facto states relates to if and
how these entities are able to participate in the processes related to the management
or resolution of the conflict, which in most cases they see as leading to independent
statehood or bolstering the status quo. Are these processes unfolding with their direct
participation, or are they completely sidelined? The practice differs from one de facto
state to the other, with some of them having a seat at the table (Kosovo, Taiwan,
Northern Cyprus, Somaliland, Transnistria, Abkhazia, South Ossetia), and one of
them being dismissed as discussions continue between the respective parent and
patron states (Nagorno-Karabakh). Common to all these different negotiation cases
is a tendency that ‘doing something’ does not necessarily bring them closer to inter-
national recognition; however, the chance of ‘being an agent of something’ increases.
Negotiations give de facto states some opportunities to assert their agency: the
costliest option would be to refuse to participate, or to threaten leaving the talks,
to showcase that they simply hold the power to do so. For example, in Somaliland,
382 Handbook on the politics of small states

the law prohibited representatives of the government or private citizens to attend

conferences on Somalia in 2000–2012, declaring attendance “a treasonable offense”
(Shinn, 2002, p. 2). Or they might participate for so-called ‘devious objectives’
(Richmond, 1998): for indirect benefits such as time for reorganization, military
build-up, internal development, ally-seeking, legitimizing their current status, and,
above all, for avoiding concessions which might undermine their position of at least
maintaining the status quo. Yet, often de facto states are eager to participate in nego-
tiations for the air of acknowledgement this creates, and in the hope that, by showing
themselves as willing and somewhat constructive participants, they will be rewarded
with increased international support and – even better – recognition.
In some cases, it is exactly the international pressure which binds the parties to
a negotiation process. This can be most directly observed in the case of Kosovo and
Serbia, which have been forced into direct talks by the international community,
most notably by the EU. The technical dialogue has been progressing slowly, and
not without tensions both between, and within, the Kosovo Albanian and Serbian
communities. Yet the fact that the EU has made future accession conditional on the
normalization of relations (Lehne, 2012) keeps the two sides locked in the process,
showcasing how external supporters can bolster the claims of the de facto state,
thus increasing the leverage of their ‘being an agent of a secessionist cause’. As
long as Serbia wants to gain access to the EU, it is forced to continue this dialogue,
even though it opposes Kosovo’s insistence that the only outcome in this process
can be full recognition by Serbia. Kosovo, in turn, feels confident enough with the
international community to believe that it does not need to compromise on its final
objective, and can drag out the negotiation process if needed.
The same international pressure could be observed in the case of the Cyprus con-
flict, which has gone through several internationally led negotiation cycles, including
conflict resolution proposals developed by international actors, most notably the
1992 Ghali Set of Ideas, and the 2004 Annan Plan. However, after the failure of the
Annan Plan, a lot of emphasis was put on the notion that the next peace talks, begin-
ning in 2008, would have to be ‘Cypriot owned, Cypriot led’ – a direct break from
earlier attempts to propose a solution from outside. Although the most recent talks
in 2017 led to nowhere, the process demonstrated that Northern Cyprus can be seen
as the ‘state’ of acting independently (no less so as the internationally recognized
Republic of Cyprus) in negotiating issues ranging from territorial adjustments and
security guarantees to constitutional arrangements of the new state. Yet, these nego-
tiations also showed that, even if reconciliation is sought, the de facto state may have
its own ‘exerting of power’ to avoid deals at any cost.
Another de facto state in direct relations with its self-proclaimed parent, albeit
without direct international interference, is Taiwan. The People’s Republic of China
views Taiwan (or the Republic of China) as one of its renegade provinces setting
obstacles to the fruition of President Xi’s ‘Chinese Dream’. For a short while,
connections between the ‘free area’ and ‘mainland area’ – as they are referred to in
Taiwan – flourished, encompassing, for example, economic cooperation and tourism.
Taiwan’s ‘capacity to act’ was especially significant during the rule of Taiwanese
 Exploring de facto state agency 383

president Ma Ying-jeou (2008–2016), when several agreements were signed; and

the leaders of China and Taiwan even met in person for the first time over the last
60 years in November 2015 (BBC News, 2015). Although Ma’s ‘freedom of choice’
can be summarized with his Three No’s – ‘no independence, no unification, no use
of force’ – to be followed in relations with Beijing, the hope that creating as many
communication channels as possible to expose more Mainlanders to their demo-
cratic system and through this erode popular support for any military operation to
force unity, has not proved entirely justified. The renewed tensions are due to the
China-orchestrated campaign of pressuring Taiwan – governed by pro-independence
forces since 2016 – to concede, using a combination of political, military and eco-
nomic means (Hsiao, 2018). Most notably, China is using its increasing political and
economic clout to get states still officially recognizing Taiwan to switch their recog-
nition to the People’s Republic, and thus eliminating the rivalling agent’s capabilities
to enter into fully-fledged international relations.
Somaliland’s ‘capacity to act’ is directly driven from the manifest dysfunctionality
of its parent state – Somalia. Whereas Somaliland has achieved all the qualities of an
independent state (Pegg and Kolstø, 2015, p. 199), the Somali Federal Government
“has yet to develop even a modest capacity to exercise its authority over territory
or deliver basic security and social services” and it “has been able to remain in
Mogadishu mainly because of the protection it receives from African Union peace-
keepers” (Menkhaus, 2014, p. 163). At the same time, Somalia’s manifest failure to
establish a viable state has not hindered its ability to act internationally: it has been
successfully denying sovereignty to Somaliland and preventing it from engaging
with international community. Due to the parent state’s incapability to exert power
and the absence of a patron state for Somaliland to rely on, there is no push to shift
this delicate balance in either direction. Somalia and Somaliland were engaged
in a series of Turkey-brokered talks in 2012–2014 without challenging Somalia’s
legalistic claim on Somaliland and Somaliland’s capacity to voice support for its
independent agency.
Post-Soviet de facto states differ in their ‘capacity to act’ and their actions related
to status negotiations have not been equally effective. Transnistria has a privileged
seat at the negotiation table, in the so-called ‘5+2’ talks. The process is aimed at
finding a solution which would keep Transnistria as part of Moldova, with the talks
progressing with fits and starts (Pieńkowski, 2017; Socor, 2012); partly because
Transnistria is, simultaneously and persistently, advocating unification with the
Russian Federation. While some headway regarding the Moldovan–Transnistrian
relations has been made recently, this is mostly on minor socio-economic issues that
pertain to the everyday matters of the inhabitants of Transnistria and Moldova. The
involvement of Abkhazia and South Ossetia in the multilateral ‘Geneva International
Discussions’ is in a more limited capacity. Georgia refuses to acknowledge Abkhazia
and South Ossetia as direct parties to the conflict, arguing that these territories are
under Russian occupation and therefore implying that any resolution should first
and foremost be negotiated between Georgia and Russia. As a result, the talks are
being held in an informal setting, and in two Working Groups, the first of which
384 Handbook on the politics of small states

is concerned with the issues of security and non-use of force; and the second of
which discusses matters related to internally displaced people and refugees. From
the other end of the continuum, Nagorno-Karabakh has been completely excluded
from the multilateral ‘Minsk Group’ talks, and relations with Azerbaijan are virtually
non-existent. Experts in Armenia have somewhat diverging opinions regarding how
involved are the Nagorno-Karabakh officials in shaping the Armenian agenda (from
the interviews, 2017). This highlights how de facto state agency is constrained not
only by the parent, but also by the patron state.
What these accounts reveal is that the involvement of de facto states in direct
talks, while contentious, is possible. At the same time, all the ongoing negotiation
formats seem to be stuck on questions related to the status of the participants, and on
who and how they should be involved in the talks in the first place. When progress
is made, it is usually limited to smaller issues, mostly involving social, economic or
cultural matters; while the spill-over towards bigger, more fundamental political and
diplomatic issues is slow or even non-existent. Negotiations present the parent states
with serious dilemmas: in order to have negotiations, one needs to acknowledge the
existence of the other side, and the validity of their claims. As the negotiation posi-
tions are diametrically opposing, with one side oriented towards reintegration and
the other towards secession, the process develops a zero-sum character for both. In
this case, keeping the communication channels open becomes even more important
than achieving a specific end result, which explains why small agreements on tech-
nical issues can be hailed as significant progress, and reveals the logic of continuing
(international) pressure for talks even when previous rounds have ended in failure.
Here, de facto states have more to win than lose: prolonged negotiations give time
to adopt constitutions, build state institutions and consolidate internal legitimacy.
Consequently, their agency increases and their positions in the negotiation process
will harden (Mazur, 2014).

CAPABILITY TO ENTER INTO INTERNATIONAL

RELATIONS

Most often, de facto states are constrained in the international arena through the
denial of the right to forge direct, government-level relations with other states or to
join international organizations. As this usually reflects larger power plays between
other states, de facto states have difficulties in displaying agency, and are unable to
exert power to a large degree. In this matter, our cases could be imagined on a contin-
uum, on one end of which are Somaliland (unrecognized and without a patron state),
Nagorno-Karabakh and Transnistria (unrecognized even by their own patron states);
while, at the other end are Taiwan (at the time of writing, recognized by 15 countries,
but not by its patron, the USA) and Kosovo (at the time of writing, recognized by 114
countries, including its patron, the USA).
The failure to gain external recognition does not mean that the one seeking it lacks
agency, or does not have any ‘capacity to act’ independently. Coggins (2014) has
 Exploring de facto state agency 385

argued that the most important determinant of recognition is great power support.
Nevertheless, the comparison of the cases of Kosovo and Abkhazia/South Ossetia
shows that one needs the right kinds of friends: Kosovo’s independence was mostly
spearheaded by the United States, and thus over 50 states followed with recognition
within the first year (Kosovo Thanks You, 2018), empowered by arguments of
remedial secession and earned sovereignty. And while opposition from China and
Russia will keep Kosovo from the United Nations for the time being, the snowball
and time effects will probably allow it to obtain more recognitions. At the same time,
despite Russia’s attempts to use similar arguments in their recognition of Abkhazia
and South Ossetia, only a handful of states have followed suit, and these recognitions
have usually come with indications of the use of chequebook diplomacy by Russia
(Brooks, 2013). Syria’s recognition from May 2018 follows this trend (BBC News,
2018).
Another interesting example to consider in terms of states’ ability to control their
own international recognition is Taiwan. The Republic of China represents the
government-in-exile which fled to Taipei at the advance of the Chinese communists
in 1949. As the Cold War situation dictated, Western countries sided with Taiwan,
backing it for decades, until US strategic calculations of keeping the People’s
Republic of China away from Soviet Union caused a change of recognition in 1979.
As Tucker (2009, p. 100) notes, “Taipei had enough support in the [US] Congress
to protect it against abandonment, but not enough to stand in the way of diplomatic
relations with China”; after the US switch, other countries followed. While Taiwan
was able to capitalize both on rapid economic growth in 1970s, and internal democ-
ratization at the end of 1980s – referred to as the ‘Taiwan Miracle’ – the inevitable
rise of China’s economic and political clout has brought along a renewed pressure to
bring Taiwan into the PRC fold once and for all (Hsiao, 2018).
International organizations often raise similar barriers for new entries. Kosovo,
with significant international support and recognition, has been able to join some
international organizations (such as the IMF, World Bank, EBRD), but is a long way
from joining the UN, its specialized agencies – their bid to join UNESCO failed by
three votes – the OSCE, or the EU, five member states of which still do not recognize
Kosovo’s independence (Krasniqi, 2016). The exclusion of secessionist territories
is especially telling when it comes to international standardization organizations,
which are in charge of issuing telephone codes, postal codes, Internet domain names,
proscribe formats for documents, etc. – official inclusion in these organizations is
considered tantamount to recognition. Without the ability to join such organizations,
de facto states will still have to rely on their parent states for international connec-
tions (like Kosovo, which has post rerouted through Serbia), or on their patron states
(like Northern Cyprus, which has post rerouted through Turkey). These schemes,
however, raise participation costs for de facto states, making delivery of services
slow and patchy, and create problems for their citizens abroad when their documents
are not accepted.
These examples show that, despite references to international legal principles,
state recognition – and acceptance – is ultimately a political process, and whether
386 Handbook on the politics of small states

a secessionist entity is recognized, not recognized, discouraged or supported depends

on the geopolitical context, and not so much on the specific agency of any given
state or secessionist entity. While there is not much de facto states can do to affect
the goings-on at the highest political level, they are not completely agentless when
one expands the notion of international engagement in a transactionalist manner,
thus including various types of cross-border engagements. De facto states imitate
the institutional set-up of recognized countries: all of the cases mentioned here
have developed their own ministries of foreign affairs, and appointed special repre-
sentatives, honorary consuls, etc. As noted by Newman and Visoka (2016, p. 378),
“lack of recognition does not signify the absence of formal or informal diplomatic
communication between governments, and often this space for interactions is utilized
tactically by aspiring states”. Thus, it is easier for de facto states with at least partial
recognition, as they are able to open embassies and enter into bilateral agreements
with the states recognizing them; however, even the ones on the lower end of the
continuum have managed to practise paradiplomacy: opening representation offices,
cultural centres or trade offices in a variety of countries (Berg and Vits, 2018).
The placement of these institutions is usually more dependent on historical ties, the
participation of a country in the de facto state’s conflict resolution process, the exist-
ence of a diaspora, or merely the enthusiasm of people sympathetic to the cause of
the de facto state than mere political recognition. Despite often having embassy-like
functions, these offices are usually registered as non-profit and/or cultural organ-
izations, avoiding names that would highlight their political role. For example,
Taiwan establishes Taipei Economic and Cultural Representation Offices in states
that have officially recognized the PRC, to avoid political confrontation. Taiwan is
also a case where, despite non-recognition, some countries have opened their own
quasi-embassies. The American Institute in Taiwan, which is run as a non-profit, but
also processes visas and provides consular services for Americans in Taiwan, serves
as a good example of this.
The aim of all of these institutions is to raise awareness of the de facto state, to keep
the host state communities interested in their cause (especially if the host state also
has a significant diaspora presence), raise funds for the de facto entity, and advocate
for bottom-up recognition through grassroots engagement. Nagorno-Karabakh is a de
facto entity which, thanks to the relatively large and widespread Armenian diaspora,
has been able to utilize these connections to raise funds for infrastructural develop-
ments, and to lobby for sub-state recognitions (Berg and Vits, 2018). In Somaliland,
the value of remittances received from diaspora exceeds the value of exports –
financing largely the country’s import bill and supplying much-needed assistance for
schools, universities and hospitals (Huliaras, 2002, p. 162). Occasionally, de facto
state officials have been able to meet with high-ranking politicians in states that do
not officially recognize them. And when de facto state officials meet each other, they
do so with all the pomp and circumstance of official state visits.
When it comes to institution-building, de facto states have struggled considerably:
with the exception of Taiwan, which enjoyed a confirmed state status before 1979.
As they are usually born through conflict and war, and have not had extensive previ-
 Exploring de facto state agency 387

ous governance experience, they have had to build their capacity from scratch, with
limited access to the requisite know-how, making them more dependent on whichever
external patron is willing to provide help. Kosovo, for example, declared achieving
as many recognitions as possible as one of its first foreign policy goals after declaring
independence in 2008, yet initially failed to develop a clear strategy of its own, and
preferred to rely on the help of its international sponsors (Krasniqi, 2016). It was
only in 2011 that the Government of Kosovo launched a comprehensive strategy for
achieving full international recognition, detailing both the main obstacles to gaining
recognition from individual countries, as well as devising main directions of their
actions – a combination of targeting individual states, multilateral mechanisms as
well as internationally distinguished individuals; and building the bureaucratic and
diplomatic structures to support such activities continuously (Newman and Visoka,
2016, pp. 376–377).
Abkhazia and Nagorno-Karabakh rely on their patron states to train their diplo-
mats and public servants, and in the cases of Nagorno-Karabakh and South Ossetia,
officials are seconded from the respective patron states (Berg and Vits, 2018). Yet
it has taken decades for de facto states to slowly build up their capabilities and
resources to a degree where their international presence might become more notice-
able. Most often, increases in their international visibility still occur during times of
renewed tensions, as was shown during the August 2008 war between Georgia and
Russia, as well as during the April 2016 war between Armenia/Nagorno-Karabakh
and Azerbaijan, which usually create negative associations with de facto states. On
a positive side, the world has not left unnoticed Somaliland’s attempts to contain
piracy and international terrorism in the Horn of Africa.
Another important aspect of international involvement concerns economic inte-
gration. While trading with de facto states is often limited and cumbersome, it is
not entirely impossible, and represents another way that de facto states can display
their ‘capacity to do’. Taiwan belongs to the top 30 largest economies in the world.
Kosovo, whose economy is still rather weak, nevertheless has an extensive list
of trade partners, but is in total trading the most with its neighbours (including
Serbia), as well as with EU countries (Kosovo Agency of Statistics, 2017, pp. 26,
28). Transnistria is able to export its goods to the EU through Moldova’s Deep and
Comprehensive Free Trade Agreement, as long as its businesses are registered in
Moldova, and there is quite a high dependence on these channels, with about half
of Transnistria’s exports going to Moldova, and about a third to the EU (Giucci,
2017). Nagorno-Karabakh, Abkhazia and South Ossetia are able to trade through
their patron states, while also relying on the shadow economy, with informal trade
increasing both between Georgia and the secessionist territories, as well as between
Abkhazia and other states in the region (ICG, 2018). Northern Cyprus also conducts
most of its foreign trade through Turkey because Green Line Regulations have not
brought expected results due to the bureaucratic restrictions imposed by the Greek
Cypriot authorities. Somaliland has been able to secure access to the rest of the world
by signing agreements on trade, transportation and communications with land-locked
388 Handbook on the politics of small states

Ethiopia for whom this creates access to the sea through Somaliland’s seaport of
Berbera.
In instances like these, much depends on the activeness and even willingness of de
facto state representatives to seek opportunities for setting up different meetings and
events, and for devising strategies to get information about themselves out into the
world. All de facto states try to be proactive in contacting other states: note the case
of US President Donald Trump answering a congratulatory call from Taiwan’s Tsai
Ing-wen, one of his first phone calls after being sworn into office as the president of
the USA, showing how such perseverance can sometimes yield unexpected results
and responses. Global technological progress has evened the playing field between
larger and smaller actors a little: while larger states still have more monetary means
to dedicate to state and nation branding, cultural diplomacy and soft power, and have
more people-to-people contacts at all levels, the advancement of the Internet has
reduced the traditional leverages of control which states have by multiplying and
amplifying voices on the international arena, making the dissemination of informa-
tion quicker and also harder to control, and delivering services in a faster and more
cost-effective way (Westcott, 2008, p. 2). Even if de facto states themselves might
not have the capability to use the Internet to its full advantage, and their sites might be
hard to find because they cannot use their own country domain names, they can still
display agency by encouraging tourism to ‘places that do not exist’.

RELATIONSHIP WITH THE EXTERNAL SUPPORTERS

As discussed above, de facto states’ agency is constrained by the international com-

munity, by the parent state, but also by the patron state. The relationship with the
patron state – if there is one – is probably the most critical one for de facto states, but
also the main reason why parent states try to paint the picture of contested territories
as not really viable without the direct support of the patron, which extends to direct
control of these entities. Somaliland is unique among other cases in lacking the
support of a patron state.
All de facto states mentioned here have managed to build up their own institutions
of governance, and have a degree of competitive democracy (the post-Soviet de facto
states not being worse off than some recognized states in the same regions). But build-
ing quasi-state institutions, especially after a war while under international boycott,
with limited experience of previous self-governance, and with meagre resources,
is extremely difficult. As stated in the introductory chapter of this volume, small
states often face the situation where their diplomatic and administrative resources
are stretched thin. And this is especially true for de facto states. As seen through the
eyes of Mohamed Duale and Saeed Ahmed “[Somaliland] lacks a committed team of
mid-level officers who can track changes in the international environment, maintain
regular contact with important allies, and provide strategic input. The ministry also
lacks the capacity and will to mobilize and engage with civil society, the academic
community, domestic officials, traditional leaders and the diaspora to create unified
 Exploring de facto state agency 389

and widespread political momentum in support of foreign policy campaigning and

execution. In addition, the budget allocated to the ministry is very meagre, not nearly
sufficient enough to attract knowledgeable diplomats as well as efficiently finance
Somaliland’s missions abroad” (Somaliland Press, 2018). Any external help they
receive is therefore incredibly valuable for de facto states themselves, but also opens
the way for criticism that the patron will also control the domestic politics of the de
facto state.
While this is certainly true to some extent, again, the real picture is far more
nuanced, and the ways de facto states relate to the patron, and how much they are
able to advance their own specific interests with respect to the patron state, need to
be scrutinized in more detail. For example, when it comes to Taiwan, the US has
provided military security in the form of weapons sales (Albert, 2018), yet this only
to a degree that allows Taiwan to remain more-or-less on par with China, but not
to overpower it. But the US has little involvement with the day-to-day politics in
Taiwan, and detailed analysis of the history of Taiwan–US relations reveals that what
influence there is, is often also the result of wishful thinking and self-constraint of the
Taiwanese leadership, driven by the hopes that by being compliant and considerate,
the US will keep extending its protection (Tucker, 2009). Kosovo has experienced
far more direct and varied US involvement, not only political and military, but also
economic, in the form of US donor money poured into the country after 1999. While
the direct role of the US has decreased over time, and the EU has mainly stepped in
as a direct contributor to the development of Kosovo, there is still a lot of kowtowing
to international donors and organizations evident in Kosovar politics, with legislation
often demonstrably influenced by the language of international norms and rights.
The direct influence of the patron is far more observable in the cases of Northern
Cyprus, and especially so in the cases of the post-Soviet de facto states. The latter
have even been seen as outsourcing their independence due to the extent of their reli-
ance on Russia (Popescu, 2006). In these places, the everyday lives of de facto state
inhabitants are intertwined with that of the patron states: many people have the patron
state’s citizenship (if only for pragmatic reasons, such as ease of travelling and gaining
social benefits), the patron funds the development of local infrastructure, offers secu-
rity, and ways to connect to the wider world. In the case of Northern Cyprus, there
is also a continued influx of patron state settlers to the de facto state, bolstering the
numbers of Turkish people in Cyprus. In return for its support, the patron expects
a combination of assets such as “ideological convergence, international solidarity,
and strategic advantage” (Shoemaker and Spanier, 1984, pp. 17–20). But does that
mean the patron state controls the de facto state’s decision-making?
In all de facto states, the reliance on the patron is something that no political parties
dare to question, and they often aim to demonstrate that they are in good standing
with the patron state. Policy-making in this sense does become restricted, as the
search for potential alternative support channels always goes hand-in-hand with the
question of how this would affect relations with the patron. For example, Taiwan has,
in the past, decided against buying weapons from other countries for fear it might
harm its relations with the US in the longer run (Tucker, 2009). Similarly, when
390 Handbook on the politics of small states

Abkhazia tried to move towards a multi-vector foreign policy in the early 2000s, the
policy line created confusion among local politicians, some of whom feared it would
mean withdrawal from its alliance with Russia (Kvarchelia, 2013), even though the
Russian MFA issued statements welcoming such an approach (Shariya, 2013). At the
same time, candidates endorsed by the patron have (somewhat surprisingly) failed
to win past presidential elections in Abkhazia (2004), Transnistria (2011) and South
Ossetia (annulled elections in November 2011). In Northern Cyprus, parties more
inclined to focus on maintaining good connections with Turkey over working on the
reunification of the island, such as the National Unity Party, have also had varying
electoral success over the years. This points to the internal complexity of de facto
states’ politics, and their eternal struggles of building a state under constant fear of
being overtaken, overruled or overwhelmed (Blakkisrud and Kolstø, 2012; Kolstø
and Blakkisrud, 2008; Ó Beacháin, 2015).
Abkhazia and South Ossetia especially seem to be moving in a direction where,
after being recognized by Russia in 2008, they are increasingly locked into coop-
eration agreements which allow Russia to exert more control over their everyday
domestic affairs. For example, Russia has used the delaying of payments to Abkhazia
to pressure its government to comply with its wishes; and Abkhazia was notably
the only state to join Russian sanctions against Turkey in 2016; a decision that
unnecessarily harmed the relations between Abkhazia and its second-largest trading
partner (Caucasus Times, 2016). However, Abkhazia has still not actually alleviated
its restrictions on selling land to foreigners, which aggravates Russians’ intent to
procure land in the region, and the opposition is quite vocal in its demands not to let
Russian interests trump local ones.
Yet another perspective is offered by the case of Nagorno-Karabakh, which
for a long while has been considered to unofficially run its patron state, Armenia.
The so-called ‘Karabakh clan’ included two former presidents of Armenia, Robert
Kocharian and Serzh Sargsyan, as well as other members of its governing and
business elites. The direct influence of this group has been waning over the last few
years; yet, the issue of Nagorno-Karabakh is still so integral to the Armenian politics,
the victory over Azerbaijan in 1994 still so important to the collective psyche, that
no politician would dare to offer a compromise with Azerbaijan in the negotiation
process, even if this means the continued regional isolation of Armenia.

CONCLUSION

Agency remains an elusive concept in the context of de facto states, making it dif-
ficult to pinpoint its specific characteristics. In some ways, de facto states become
agents of change simply by being there, preventing parent states from exercising their
political will across their whole de jure territory, and forcing them to either live with
the conflict, or attempt to compromise. Still, de facto states are marginal players on
the fringes of the international system: their agency is constrained by various actors
and most of them are small both in physical as well as economic terms.
 Exploring de facto state agency 391

The above accounts help to highlight the challenges of de facto states: how they
might find small opportunities to advance their own agendas of survival and rec-
ognition, and the right to make their own decisions. De facto states have displayed
surprising amounts of resilience despite constant attempts to curtail their activi-
ties: from Kosovo or Northern Cyprus – being able to participate in negotiations
almost as equals with considerable backing from the international community – to
Nagorno-Karabakh, which is fully dependent on Armenia for protecting its interests
at the negotiation table and has only obtained unofficial support. All de facto states
have a variety of ways to ‘be an agent of something’ by taking an active stance in
forging new relations and economic cooperation, trying to open up representation
offices, or simplifying access for tourists, something they have done to different
degrees over the years. Some of the factors influencing the extent of their activities
are familiar to all small states: they simply lack the people-power and monetary
resources to build up large-scale bureaucracies. Other factors, however, are more
specific to de facto states, such as being born out of conflict situations and having
international boycotts placed on them, which limit their ‘capacity to do’.
By arguing that de facto states themselves do not have agency and real sovereignty
– except to the extent that the patron state allows them to develop an illusion of
sovereignty – they are dismissed as entities that cannot be taken seriously. However,
demanding full sovereignty and agency from de facto states at the age where no state
can actually claim to fully have it, points to hypocrisy. All the more so when the
European microstates of Andorra, Liechtenstein and Monaco have each developed
arrangements with their neighbouring states over the last few centuries, which give
their neighbours some degree of control over their affairs, limiting directly their
‘freedom of choice’. Yet all of them are able to interact with other states on an equal
basis; and all are now members of the UN. Maintaining some sort of patronage has
been especially commonplace in the context of decolonization, where former colo-
nizers not only continued offering support, but often also maintained their military
presence and interfered with internal politics when deemed necessary. USA has also
forced its military presence or its international relations stance on a number of small
states, having made state aid and loans contingent on compliance, and tying these
states – such as the “hybrid jurisdictions” (Levine and Roberts, 2005, p. 279) of
Palau, Marshall Islands and the Federated States of Micronesia – into a relationship
of dependence where much relies on the goodwill of the more powerful partner. And
yet, even these three states are members of the UN. In order to safeguard themselves,
small states are considered special beneficiaries of joining international organiza-
tions, as they supposedly lock states into specific sets of rules, thereby increasing the
predictability of world politics.
These examples offer insights into how all states can have their ‘capacity to do’
undermined by different arrangements and considerations. But, once a state has
gained international recognition, the limitations placed on its agency are paradoxi-
cally considered another part of their ‘right to do’: a recognized state has full agency
to enter into relations that constrain its ability to act as it wishes, to the point of
392 Handbook on the politics of small states

entering into unions with other states. In sharing this predicament, de facto states and
their ‘capacity to do’ deserve scrutiny.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

This work was supported by institutional research funding (IUT20-39) of the

Estonian Ministry of Education and Research, and the EU Horizon 2020 research and
innovation programme (Grant Agreement No. 691818).

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24. Protodiplomacy: sub-state diplomacy and
wannabe states
David Criekemans

INTRODUCTION

In today’s world, states are not the only actors in international relations. Next to
multinational corporations and non-state actors, there exists also another type of
territorially embedded actors that conduct foreign policy: sub-state entities. Some
sub-state entities can be considered under the label ‘city diplomacy’ (van der Pluijm
and Melissen, 2007), with New York being one of the more emblematic examples
in the domains of counterterrorism and climate change (Ljungkvist, 2015). Others
with more encompassing competencies are often placed under the label ‘regional
sub-state diplomacy’ (Criekemans, 2010b). The term ‘paradiplomacy’ was intro-
duced into academia by Panayotis Soldatos (Soldatos, 1990), who coined the term as
an abbreviation of ‘parallel diplomacy’. One could define this as the foreign policy
and diplomatic activities of non-central governments (Aldecoa and Keating, 1999,
pp. 1–16). The concept found its way into the academic literature via the writings of
Ivo Duchacek, who initially preferred the term ‘micro-diplomacy’ (Duchacek, 1990).
Other scholars, such as Brian Hocking, are not fond of the term ‘paradiplomacy’
because it suggests an element of conflict between the national and subnational
policy-level, and implicitly presumes “incompatible interests” (Hocking, 1993).
Diplomacy should not be approached as a segmented process of the different actors
within a state, but rather as a system in which the different actors within a state are
entangled, both inside and outside their national settings, to embrace a diversity of
interests; a multi-layered diplomacy. Perhaps the day has come to also lay the term
‘paradiplomacy’ to rest, and henceforth utilize the more neutral term ‘sub-state
diplomacy’.
Since the days of Soldatos, Duchacek and Hocking, the world of ‘paradiplomacy’
has changed dramatically. One could even argue that a third wave is developing
in sub-state diplomacy, especially in Europe (Criekemans, 2010b). The first wave
manifested itself from the 1980s onwards: a growing number of non-central gov-
ernments tried to attract foreign direct investment through their own initiatives (e.g.
Catalonia’s early efforts in Japan) or to use culture and identity as a lever to place
themselves on the international map. Such initiatives were often spontaneous; there
was only a minor integration of all the external activities that were generated. The
second wave in the 1990s was driven by the creation, within the sub-state entities
of certain (European) countries, of a judicially grounded set of instruments for their
own (parallel as well as complementary) diplomatic activities (e.g. the Belgian state

395
396 Handbook on the politics of small states

reform in 1993, which awarded formal ius tractandi and ius legationis to the Regions
and Communities within the country based upon the principle in foro interno, in
foro externo). These instruments were supplemented by the gradual development of
a ‘separate’, foreign policy apparatus (administration or policy body) which started
to horizontally coordinate the external activities of the different administrations in
certain regions. The current third wave is characterized by steps towards a ‘verti-
calization’ of the organizational structure of the administration or department of
external/foreign affairs, a strategic reorientation of the geopolitical and functional
priorities, and attempts to integrate the external instruments of a sub-state foreign
policy into a well-performing whole. An intriguing question is whether this third
wave is currently leading to a fourth wave in Belgium (Criekemans, 2018a); a mul-
tilevel diplomacy consisting of coordinated external activities between the central
and regional policy levels. Belgium could be seen as a front runner in this regard.
On the one hand a degree of institutionalization of the intergovernmental relations
within a country has been achieved. Next to the formal, one also needs the informal:
good contacts and working relationships between key people at the central and
regional policy level, with a good understanding of the goals to be achieved in their
respective foreign policies. Hence, one can speak of a form of multilevel diplomacy
(Criekemans, 2018b).
But: this phenomenon of increased cooperation between policy levels in some
states constitutes only one side of the coin. Recent years have also seen clear cases
of sub-state entities wishing to emulate states as fully-fledged actors in international
relations. It is as if they did not feel the sub-state route was offering them enough
in terms of political, socio-economic and cultural benefits. They – or, to be more
correct: the political parties leading them – want to be respected by the international
diplomatic pecking order, which is still comprised of states (Pouliot, 2016). In the
past, Duchacek (1990, pp. 15–27) used the term ‘protodiplomacy’ to identify such
diplomatic activities, which he defined as “actions conducted by sub-state govern-
ments to gain international support in their separatist or independence objectives”.
Lecours and Moreno (2003) rightly stress that some forms of sub-state diplomacy are
also a projection of governments seeking greater autonomy or recognition of their
cultural distinctiveness, both nationally and internationally: hence, they operate more
within a conflictual model.
Guibernau (1999) identifies the tension that exists between ‘nations’ and ‘states’.
From an international-legal point of view, one can speak of a ‘state’ if five conditions
are met: (1) an identifiable territory can be located; (2) there is a permanent popu-
lation based on this territory; (3) a sovereign government exists there; (4) the gov-
ernment in question wields the (exclusive) right of violence, both internally (police)
and externally (defence) – through this legitimate monopoly on violence, order and
structure is created – otherwise one can speak of a ‘failed state’; and (5) there is an
international recognition by the international family of states of the sovereignty of
this entity. A nation is something different. Guibernau (1999, pp. 13–14) defines it
as “a human group conscious of forming community, sharing a clearly demarcated
territory, having a common past and a common project for the future and claiming the
 Protodiplomacy: sub-state diplomacy and wannabe states 397

right to rule itself”. This definition attributes five different dimensions to the nation:
psychological (consciousness of forming a group), cultural, territorial, political and
historical. From the 1970s onwards, the French Hérodote-school of geopolitics often
referred to the tensions between ‘nations’ and ‘states’ as prime causes for interna-
tional friction (Criekemans, 2009).
This chapter is of an explorative nature. It seeks to better understand two overarch-
ing questions. First, under which conditions does the diplomacy of sub-state entities
morph into a protodiplomacy? Second, why do so many of these efforts end in
failure, whereby the sub-state entity does not achieve its goal of becoming a wannabe
state, or even suffers rejection? In order to do this, we explore three cases: one of
success, one of failure and one ‘in between’, all drawn from the recent past. In doing
so, we can also learn about another aspect of the politics of small states, the topic of
this volume: how wannabe states struggle, persist, succeed or fail in the international
pecking order of state entities.
In terms of ‘success’, the case to be explored is that of Slovenia in the 1990s:
a region in former Yugoslavia that managed to receive recognition from Germany
and other European states, and later also joined the EU. In terms of ‘failure’, we
explore the case of Catalonia, which proclaimed a route to independence on 27
October 2017, but was immediately confronted by Madrid, invoking article 155 of
the Spanish Constitution: in effect taking away all regional autonomy and stripping
the Generalitat from its own diplomatic apparatus. In terms of an ‘in between’ case,
we will consider the autonomous region of Kurdistan in Iraq, where an independence
referendum was held on 25 September 2017, but which never materialized into a
‘state’. In the first case the dream was realized; in the second, the dream became
a nightmare and led to severe societal division. In the third and last case, an ambig-
uous situation persists. What can we learn from a brief comparison of these cases?

DIFFERENCES AND SIMILARITIES BETWEEN SUB-STATE

AND SMALL STATE DIPLOMACY

Before we engage our analysis, let us briefly review the similarities and differences
between sub-state and small state diplomacy (Criekemans, 2016; Criekemans and
Duran, 2010).
Both small states and sub-state entities suffer from limited capacity and a depend-
ency on stronger actors, albeit in different ways. Small states are able to engage with
their larger counterparts. They will do so either via bandwagoning (for instance in
security matters) or in creating alliances (whereby limited capacity is pooled together).
Typically, small states develop a type of niche diplomacy, in which they continue to
focus on and develop a specific topic or know-how. In doing this in a consistent way,
sometimes over several decades, they are gradually able to get recognition by their
larger counterparts and are even allowed by their stronger ‘equals’ to play delicate
roles in diplomacy or mediation. Sub-state entities, on the other hand, suffer from the
problem that the asymmetry in their relations towards stronger international actors
398 Handbook on the politics of small states

is even more pronounced and often crashes into key institutional barriers. They will
never be allowed to play along in key multilateral dossiers for instance, although
they still can develop certain niches and expertise over time. Sub-state entities have
to invest more in building up their international-legal recognition, either via formal
treaties if they have the power (as in the Belgian cases), or in structurally providing
subsidies to multilateral agencies, often of a more technical nature. While doing
so, they often need to renegotiate their relationship towards their respective central
governments in order not to be blocked. If and when the trust between the political
representatives of the regional and state capital becomes undermined, a political and/
or societal crisis may develop over time in the region, feeding further into the desire
by some to enter the international scene on their own merits.
In terms of similarities, a blurring has occurred over recent decades in terms
of the diplomatic instruments employed by sub-state entities, compared to states.
Several sub-state entities have over time defined their ‘foreign policy’ in a much
more all-encompassing way, sometimes even emulating the activities of central
governments and becoming ever more sophisticated over time. The case of Flanders
in Belgium is an excellent example, having strengthened its own apparatus over
recent years with a now fully-fledged ‘Ministry’ or Department of Foreign Affairs.
In terms of the diplomatic instruments which are utilized, the sub-state picture has
become quite diverse and lively: extra (political and other) representations abroad
are opened and planned; even more cooperation agreements with third parties are
concluded; and the domain of multilateral policy is no longer the monopoly of central
governments. However, in contrast to the situation with small states, international
institutions are not always the best friends of regions: at a policy level, they might
accept the input of the regions (financial contributions, policy-relevant know-how);
but, at the political level, only states are accepted as fully-fledged members. One also
notices that regions are very active in developing formal and informal networks that
try to tackle specific needs/problems in very diverse policy areas. Moreover, it seems
that they are more eager to invest in additional, new forms of diplomacy, such as in
public diplomacy. Sub-state diplomacy and small state diplomacy have become more
difficult to distinguish from each other at the level of the utilized instruments. The
third dimension is the character of the representations. One notices that the external
projection of many regions with legislative power has many facets: political, eco-
nomic, cultural, educational and even such ‘hard dossiers’ as immigration. Although
the foreign networks of regions are still very modest in comparison to their respective
central governments, they nevertheless do engage in vital work to further expand
and deepen any existing cooperation with third parties beyond the level of classical
diplomatic relations.
In terms of differences, sub-state diplomacy is daily reminded that this world
remains one where states are at the centre of the international pecking order.
Multilateral organizations that deal with the many transnational problems of today
(climate, energy, economy, migration, etc.) are still mostly a club of central gov-
ernments. Although sub-state entities might have much expertise in each of these
domains, they might feel that their contribution is being thwarted by central govern-
 Protodiplomacy: sub-state diplomacy and wannabe states 399

ment(s), or that they cannot get enough access to the reservoir of policy expertise that
exists within these institutions. The extant international trade regime and security
arrangements are often arranged via bilateral or multilateral treaties. The contribu-
tion of sub-state entities then becomes an afterthought, which later down the road
sometimes causes problems in terms of implementation because central governments
can ignore or dismiss the specific problems with which the regions are confronted
(e.g. in environmental matters). Sub-state diplomacy is faced with serious restric-
tions in harder policy domains such as intelligence gathering and security, migra-
tion (although Québec constitutes an exception here) and trade. For some parties
wielding power within these sub-state entities, it then almost becomes a matter of
being respected on the world political scene. Their politicians will refer to the unique
identity and/or economic make-up of their region, or/and to their specific geopolitical
situation so as to make a claim that life for their populations would be better if they
could contribute to world politics on their own merits. But the chances for success
appear slim. Let us explore a few cases so as to achieve a better understanding of
protodiplomacy and its reception by the international community.

SUCCESS: HOW THE REGION OF SLOVENIA BECAME

A STATE

Slovenia had always been the most prosperous region in the Yugoslav Republic.
The death of strongman Tito in 1980 created a power vacuum. Of all the Yugoslav
regions, the developments in Slovenia went the fastest. In 1988, several opposition
movements were formed. Milan Kucan, the leader of the Communist Party of
Slovenia, even stimulated this process. He stated in January 1989 that the party must
give up its monopolistic position. In 1989, Slobodan Milošević, Chairman of the
Central Committee of the League of Communists of Serbia since 1986, became pres-
ident of Serbia. His republic was the largest and most populous of the six Yugoslav
republics. Milošević consolidated power by centralizing the state. The governments
of the other republics, however, sought to loosen the central grip on power by devolv-
ing as much constitutional power as possible to each of the republics and autonomous
provinces (Bianchini, 2020).
In September 1989 the Slovene parliament, still filled with communists, voted
under pressure of public opinion a ‘Declaration on Sovereignty’ which placed
Slovene laws above those of the Yugoslav Republic. In December 1989, the
supporters of Milošević attempted to organize a ‘Rally of Truth’ in Ljubljana. In
‘Action North’, Slovene police forces blocked this rally with the help of Croatian
police forces. This action is widely considered to be the first Slovene defence action,
leading to Slovenia’s independence.
On 7 March 1990, the name ‘Socialist Republic of Slovenia’ was changed to
‘Republic of Slovenia’. In the elections of April 1990, Demos – a coalition of newly
formed democratic parties – received 55 per cent of the votes cast; the communists
only 17 per cent. Nevertheless, Kucan was chosen as president of the new Slovene
400 Handbook on the politics of small states

Republic. In December 1990 a referendum was organized in which 95 per cent of

the voters chose independence unless the six republics could find an agreement to
reform the Yugoslav Republic within six months (Wijnaendts, 1993, pp. 52–53). On
25 June 1991, the Slovene Assembly passed the Basic Constitutional Charter and the
Declaration of Independence, declaring Slovenia an independent country. Croatia
followed a similar route.
This process started the so-called Ten Day War. It was fought between the
Slovene Territorial Defence and the Yugoslav People’s Army (JNA). Immediately
after the Slovene elections, the JNA announced a new defence doctrine that would
apply across the country. The Tito-era doctrine of ‘General People’s Defence’, in
which each republic maintained a Territorial Defence Force, was to be replaced by
a centrally directed system of defence. The republics would lose their role in defence
matters, and their Territorial Defences would be disarmed and subordinated to JNA
headquarters in Belgrade. The Slovene government made sure that the equipment of
Slovene Territorial Defence did not pass to the JNA. Hence, the Yugoslav Republic
did not have a monopoly on violence.
The Ten Day War lasted from 27 June to 7 July 1991. It marked the beginning of
the Yugoslav Wars. Instead of a large-scale military operation to remove the Slovene
government, Belgrade opted for a more cautious approach: essentially, an intimidat-
ing show of force that would convince the Slovene government to back down on its
declaration of independence.
Meanwhile, Europe tried to grapple with the situation. Observers were sent on
a mission to uphold a ceasefire. An agreement had been struck for Slovenia to halt
its intention to become independent, something which was rather difficult to monitor
(Wijnaendts, 1993, p. 56). Slovenia and Croatia could only accept a loose confederal
structure in the future, while the Yugoslav federal government and Serbia continued
to believe in what proved to be a federal illusion. Meanwhile, the Croats under
President Tudjman collided in a stronger way against the Serbs. Tudjman wanted
talks with Milošević, guided by the European Economic Community (EEC), but
Milošević was not interested (Wijnaendts, 1993, pp. 57–64). Slovene forces mean-
while conducted offensive operations against the JNA which, on its part, failed to
bring in reinforcements from Serbia.
This conflict ended with the Brioni Accord of 7 July 1991, signed on the Brijuni
Islands by representatives of Slovenia, Croatia and the Socialist Federal Republic
of Yugoslavia, under the political sponsorship of the EEC. The agreement sought
to create an environment in which further negotiations on the future of Yugoslavia
could take place. The Dutch minister of Foreign Affairs Hans Van den Broek played
a key role in this process. However, the 12 European Community (EC) countries of
the time asked the European Commission to explore the possibility of economic and
financial sanctions against parties that did not wish to open negotiations on the future
of the Yugoslav Republic (Wijnaendts, 1993, p. 76). In practice this was against
Serbia, which appeared to resist the ceasefire.
The German Minister of Foreign Affairs, Hans Dietrich Genscher, suggested that
Germany could recognize Slovenia and Croatia if the Yugoslav army did not stop its
 Protodiplomacy: sub-state diplomacy and wannabe states 401

acts of violence (Wijnaendts, 1993, p. 56). This led to tensions with Hans van den
Broek: if some EEC member states recognized Slovenia and Croatia, would these
entities not feel emboldened? And who would defend their independence? Van den
Broek stressed the importance of enforcing the ceasefire and of conducting serious
negotiations in the framework of a peace conference. However, the German pressure
within the ‘Twelve’ continued, eventually leading to the European Community
recognizing Slovene and Croat independence (Wijnaendts, 1993, p. 108). This had
far-reaching consequences, emboldening especially Croatia. President Tudjman not
only wanted all troops to go back to their barracks, but also all Yugoslav forces to
leave the territory of his new country. Tudjman also refused to renew the Brioni
Accord, which ended on 7 October 1991 (Wijnaendts, 1993, p. 111). Slovenia, geo-
graphically in a safer location, now considered itself to be independent. Finally, on 15
January 1992, the European Community officially recognized Slovene independence.
Even before independence, ‘Slovenia’ had been quite active in the international
arena. Until the end of the First World War, ‘Slovene’ diplomats were active in the
Habsburg, Austrian-Hungarian diplomacy. From 1918 until the Second World War,
‘Slovene’ diplomats had prominent positions within the diplomatic corps of the
first Yugoslav Republic. Finally, from 1945, several ‘Slovene’ diplomats fulfilled
prominent roles within the second Yugoslav Republic. Although they comprised
just between 3 and 5 per cent of all Yugoslav diplomats, 70 Slovenes were able
to be promoted to the level of Ambassador during this period, while 50 became
Consul-General between 1945 and 1991. In this period, Slovenes were involved in
almost all important bilateral and multilateral negotiations involving the Yugoslav
Republic. ‘Slovene’ diplomats were known for their expertise, level of education and
knowledge of foreign languages (Duran and Criekemans, 2009; Jazbec, 2001).
From the 1970s onwards, Slovenia started to position itself as an active subna-
tional player. Stane Kavcic, President of the Slovene Executive, visited Bavaria
in 1972, much to the dislike of the central Yugoslav government. More important
was the Slovene entry into the working community of the Eastern Alpine Region.
This had been created in 1978 by the Italian autonomous region of Friuli-Venezia
Giulia, the Austrian provinces of Carinthia, Styria and Upper Austria, Slovenia and
Croatia, and had various observers. It morphed into an organization in which East
and West met. Despite being part of the Yugoslav state, Slovenia undertook sub-state
paradiplomatic action as a result of which a domestic, professional administrative
apparatus was born. This would later form one of the constituent parts of the Slovene
diplomatic corps (Duran and Criekemans, 2009).
The instalment of the Republic of Slovenia in 1990 and the creation of the
‘National Secretariat for International Cooperation’ was a big step towards the devel-
opment of Slovene foreign policy. Initially, the National Secretariat was conceived
as an intermediary between the Republic of Slovenia and the Yugoslav Ministry of
Foreign Affairs. Since developments went so fast, it became the nucleus of a Slovene
Ministry of Foreign Affairs. On 24 April 1991, the Slovene Parliament adopted
the law on the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. On 22 May 1992, Slovenia entered the
family of the United Nations as its 176th member. Since then, Slovene diplomacy
402 Handbook on the politics of small states

has become quite successful and strongly oriented to European and transatlantic rela-
tions, trying also to serve as a bridgehead towards the so-called ‘Western Balkans’.
It is also active within the UN and organizations such as the OSCE (Duran and
Criekemans, 2009).
The story of Slovenia shows how a combination of a geographical peripheral
location and building of international acceptance against a backdrop of diplomatic
know-how, socio-economic strength and wide societal support together with some
‘luck’ proved to be successful.
But attempts at ‘protodiplomacy’ do not always end in ‘success’. Quite to the
contrary.

FAILURE: HOW CATALONIA’S INTENTION TO BECOME

A STATE FAILED AND CREATED A SEVERE BACKLASH

The case of Catalonia constitutes one of today’s most dramatic cases of how the aspi-
rations of wannabe states can turn into a nightmare, from a situation of far-reaching
autonomy and a quite developed sub-state diplomacy to a tutelage and humiliation
from Madrid. Deep internal societal divisions lie at the heart of this situation.
Duran (2015) explains that Catalonia is a historic nation. Its genesis as a substan-
tive polity commenced with the enlargement of the County of Barcelona from the
tenth century onwards, becoming later an integral part of the Kingdom of Aragon
through dynastic marriages. Within this personal union, Catalans were allowed
a meaningful degree of autonomy, with their own political and socio-economic
institutions (Duran, 2015, p. 171). Already during this period, there are signs of
a Catalan paradiplomacy. Duran explains that, after the Spanish defeat against the US
in the Philippines, Catalanism became highly political with the rise of the Regional
League (Lliga Regionalista). This movement became left-wing in socio-economic
matters, giving birth to the installation of the Catalan Republic in 1931. The left
wing Esquerra Republicana de Catalunya (Republican Left of Catalonia, ERC)
installed an autonomous Catalan government, named Generalitat after its medieval
predecessor. During the Spanish Civil War (1936–1939), the Catalan president of
the Generalitat, Lluis Companys, declared independence, but this never fully mate-
rialized because of internal struggles among unionists, nationalists, communists and
anarchists. The Generalitat was abolished in 1939 (Duran, 2015, p. 173). The lack of
internal cohesion spelt the ultimate debacle. Strangely enough, history would almost
repeat itself later under different circumstances.
It would take until the end of the Franco regime for Catalonia to regain its auton-
omy. The 1978 Spanish Constitution recognized Catalonia (together with the Basque
Country and Galicia) as “historic nationalities”. Andalusia would soon follow. They
received the right to self-government within the “unity of the Spanish nation” (art.
2). A fast track to self-government was given (art. 151), although Madrid retained
an emergency valve to withdraw it. Article 155 states that if a regional government
“does not comply with the obligations of the Constitution or other laws it imposes, or
 Protodiplomacy: sub-state diplomacy and wannabe states 403

acts in a way that seriously undermines the interests of Spain”, the national govern-
ment can ask the Senate to vote on the use of the measure.
The new-found autonomy gave a rapid rise to renewed paradiplomatic and
external activities. A kind of normalization took hold in the decades thereafter
(Cornago, 2010). It was no surprise that the so-called historic nationalities embarked
on paradiplomatic activities. In the case of Catalonia, most of its external activity
can be considered long-term paradiplomacy; it sought to achieve functional objec-
tives related to the fulfilment of policy commitments, in particular economic ones.
Nevertheless, there were also political and symbolic actions aimed at achieving inter-
national recognition for Catalonia’s differentiated national identity (Garcia Segura
and Etherington, 2017, p. 5).
From the beginning, Europe and the EEC constituted a priority for Catalan exter-
nal action. In 1982, four years before Spain became a formal member of the EEC, the
Catalan Generalitat had set up a Patronat Català Pro Europa (PCPE), as a means
of preparing Catalan society for EEC membership. On Spain’s accession, the PCPE
opened a delegation in Brussels: one of the first offices opened by a Spanish region
in Brussels, despite the opposition of the central government. The role of the Brussels
delegation became to defend the interests of Catalan actors, both public and private,
within the framework of European programmes and policies (Garcia Segura and
Etherington, 2017, p. 6).
In its paradiplomatic activities, Catalonia advanced the so-called ‘double export’:
the simultaneous promotion of Catalan identity and economy. The Institut Català
de les Indústries Culturals (ICIC), which operated separately from Catalan foreign
policy, played a pivotal role in the cultural promotion of Catalonia. Via its network
abroad, ICIC actively promoted Catalan cultural products (audiovisual, music, per-
forming arts). Another player in the international cultural promotion was for a long
time the Institut Ramon Llull which promoted the Catalan language and culture. The
idea behind the Catalan model is that the promotion of culture and identity can facil-
itate economic cooperation, and vice versa. Furthermore, the organizational structure
of Catalan foreign policy used to be quite horizontal, but this was changing. Under
the government of the charismatic minister-president Jordi Pujol (1980–2003),
foreign affairs became a voluntaristic endeavour, in which the vast personal contacts
of the minister-president often initiated quite substantial initiatives abroad, which
sometimes surpassed, but did not trespass, ‘Madrid’ (Criekemans, 2010a).
In 2006, a new Catalan Statute was approved by referendum. It defined the rights
and obligations of the citizens of Catalonia, the political institutions of the Catalan
community, their competencies and relations with the rest of Spain, and the financing
of the Government of Catalonia. However, this Statute was almost immediately con-
fronted by the Partido Popular (then in power in Madrid) through the Constitutional
Court. A bitter judicial fight ensued. As a result, Catalan nationalist parties started
to grow. The financial-economic crisis of 2008 gave this fight a fiscal dimension.
Madrid enforced austerity upon the regions. The richer Catalans thought they had
to pay more for the Spanish state; their regional prosperity was ‘leaking away’.
A decent political debate between Madrid and Barcelona became impossible.
404 Handbook on the politics of small states

Catalonia’s external action was not always protodiplomatic: there have also been
clear paradiplomatic phases in the past. This, however, changed around June 2013.
During this period, the Catalan Parliament’s documents show that, in addition to the
traditional paradiplomatic action, efforts would be undertaken to support Catalonia’s
future independence to the European and global stage: a clear sign of protodiplo-
macy. This was seen as a direct challenge to the Spanish state. Catalonia set up
initiatives for its own public diplomacy, the Public Diplomacy Council of Catalonia
(Diplocat). The organization would over time be used to organize public debates in
many European universities and across the world on the ‘Catalan question’. Diplocat
was a consortium of public and societal entities, and as such not officially responsible
for the public diplomacy of the Catalan Generalitat. However, the lines between the
two were blurred.
Next to this, the separatist parties in office instigated a reform; a new Ministry of
Transparency and Foreign Institutional Relations and Affairs was created. External
relations, multilateral and European affairs and development cooperation also
became part of this new entity. In high-speed mode, new protodiplomatic representa-
tions were set up abroad. At its height, the Catalan Generalitat had representations in
France, Switzerland, the UK, Ireland, the US, Austria, Italy, Morocco, the Holy See
and Portugal (Garcia Segura and Etherington, 2017, p. 8).
Heightened tensions between Madrid and Barcelona were the backdrop to an
independence referendum, held in Catalonia on 1 October 2017. On this occasion,
the Spanish Guardia Civil was seen using violence against voters, multiple times
and in a methodical manner. The violence used was disproportional, and the Catalan
Generalitat used it to leverage support for its independence claim. However, almost
all European countries believed this was a domestic politics issue for Spain to decide.
Only the Belgian Prime Minister Charles Michel said that a dialogue between both
parties had to be set up – which led to a conflict between Michel and the Spanish
Prime Minister Rajoy (Criekemans, 2018a). The Catalan protodiplomacy had not
made any significant gains on the most crucial criterion to become a state: interna-
tional recognition. Finally, the Catalan minister-president Puigdemont did declare
independence, but in a rather vague way. Madrid immediately invoked article 155,
stripping the region of its autonomy.
In April 2018, the Spanish government liquidated Diplocat based on the Royal
Decree 945/2017 of 27 October 2017 followed by the invoking of Article 155 from
the Spanish Constitution. However, the only argument of this Royal Decree is that
“it is necessary to suppress those unnecessary organizations in this context or those,
which have been created in order to participate in the development of the secessionist
process”. The decision of liquidating Diplocat was ratified by the Spanish govern-
ment’s Council of Ministers on 15 December 2017. In a press release and public
outcry email sent on 16 April 2018, the Catalan public and civil society organizations
that had supported Diplocat in the past stated that its activities had been merely
“within the scope of public diplomacy”, not traditional diplomacy (Diplocat, 2018).
In the period following this decision, Madrid effectively dismembered what
remained of Catalan foreign policy. All Catalan bilateral representations abroad were
 Protodiplomacy: sub-state diplomacy and wannabe states 405

closed, except the one in Brussels. Diplomats from Madrid were sent to effectively
take over Catalan external action, asking many questions to the officials working
there on what had been done in past years, with what budgets and how.
This case shows how the wishes of wannabe states can end in bitter disappoint-
ment. Also, much can be explained through the deep societal divisions between sep-
aratists and unionists within Catalonia itself. Next to this hypothesis, Garcia Segura
and Etherington (2017, pp. 12–15) develop some alternative explanations for what
happened: (1) the fact that Catalan protodiplomacy was seen as a direct confrontation
to Madrid, promoting secession; (2) the party composition in government at the
central and regional level, whereby the Catalan parties were not needed in Madrid
and thus came under pressure; and (3) the failure within Spain to jointly develop,
institutionalize and implement foreign policy, in terms of the daily management of
foreign policy processes between the centre and the regions.
The separatist parties never wielded a complete majority in the Catalan Parliament.
Hence, the declaration of independence of 27 October 2017 remained vague. The
declaration did not receive any recognition from the international community. The
dream has been shattered, effectively undermining all that was painstakingly gained
over many decades.

IN BETWEEN: HOW KURDISTAN IS FROZEN IN

A GEOPOLITICAL STALEMATE

On 25 September 2017, the autonomous Kurdistan Regional Government (KRG)

organized a referendum for independence, with well over 90 per cent of votes cast
in favour. The internal backdrop to this situation was the corrupt al-Maliki govern-
ment of Iraq in Baghdad. It began withholding funding to the Kurdistan Regional
Government in January 2014. The KRG attempted to export oil via the northern pipe-
line into Turkey in May 2014, but the Iraqi government lobbied international govern-
ments to block the export and sale of this oil. Another factor was the rise of Islamic
State (IS/Daesh) which occupied the northern Iraqi city of Mosul and extended into
north-central Iraq, very close to KRG territory. Iraqi troops (mostly comprised of
Shia from the south) proved ineffective against IS. Only the Kurdish Peshmerga
fighters were able to defend their region, and extended control beyond the traditional
Kurdish territory, establishing in effect a security perimeter. The Peshmerga became
the de facto alliance partner of Western governments against IS, whereby the city
of Erbil became a major point of coordination. Having lost its faith in Baghdad, the
Kurdish president Masoud Barzani announced his intention to call a referendum on
independence in 2014 on the grounds that the country had already been “effectively
partitioned” (BBC News, 2014). In 2016, he specified that the referendum would
only take place after the liberation of Mosul, although this was mainly an Arab city.
Turkish president Tayyip Erdoğan had however stated that he would not allow the
Kurds to play a key role in the liberation of Mosul. Turkey became a major stumbling
block against potential Kurdish independence. So, although there was quite some
406 Handbook on the politics of small states

unity at a domestic level with regards to supporting Barzani’s efforts, the shifting
geopolitical spheres of influence seem to have been a major stumbling block for the
KRG’s ambitions.
Danilovic (2018) offers an interesting picture of the KRG, the Kurdish regional
government in Iraq. Compared to the two other cases discussed in this chapter, the
geopolitical dimension is a dominant explanatory variable for the complexity in
which the KRG finds itself today. Danilovic acknowledges that the KRG has also
been involved in protodiplomatic activities, expanding its international engagements
in order to advance its status as a sovereign actor. Non-sectarianism, or Kurdish sec-
tarian neutrality, is identified as critical to develop relations with different countries,
for instance Turkey and Iran (Danilovic, 2018). Nevertheless, relations with Turkey
remained precarious. The new Turkish president Erdoğan gradually became a veto
player. The relationship between Erdoğan and the Kurds is ambiguous. On the one
hand, relations with the KRG have always been rather positive because of economic
ties, most notably Turkish exports to the KRG and oil imports from the region of
Kirkuk. On the other hand, Erdoğan seems to fear a too successful Kurdish region.
Millions of Kurds live in the Turkish region of Southeast Anatolia. A too successful
KRG could potentially encourage these Kurds in Turkey to join the fledgling Kurdish
state-in-the-making, promised in the Peace Treaty of Sèvres in 1920, but which has
not materialized.
The situation became more complex when US President Barack Obama supported
the creation of the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF), in war-torn Syria in October
2015, to fight against the Alawite President Bashar al-Assad. The SDF alliance
consisted of Kurdish, Arab and Assyrian/Syriac militias, as well as some smaller
Turkmen and Chechen components. However, the Kurdish People’s Protection Units
(YPG) played a key role in the SDF. From then on, Erdoğan actively sought to frus-
trate a potential territorial realignment of the northern Syrian Kurdish territories with
the KRG. The Turkish president intervened militarily in Syria in the region of Manbij
to establish Turkey’s own ‘security corridor’. At the same time there have also been
reports of Turkish shelling in the northern part of Iraq during the campaign to re-take
Mosul. This showed how intertwined the situation for the Kurds had become: a de
facto coupling between the situation in Iraq and Syria was made through the percep-
tion and policy actions of President Erdoğan.
Interestingly, before the KRG independence referendum, Israeli Prime Minister
Benjamin Netanyahu had been the first to publicly endorse potential Kurdish inde-
pendence. There are several theories as to why this was the case. Perhaps because the
Peshmerga had proven themselves as a genuine security provider against such chal-
lenges as IS/Daesh; and because Netanyahu saw them as a future buffer state against
an alleged growing Iranian influence in the region. Jordan considered the matter an
internal Iraqi affair, playing neutral; whereas Saudi Arabia hoped that Barzani was
smart enough not to hold the referendum. It seems that US President Donald Trump
toyed with a scenario of extending US support, referring to the Peshmerga as very
potent fighters; whereas the then US Secretary of State Rex Tillerson stated the US
did not recognize the referendum. Perhaps Tillerson, together with the US Secretary
 Protodiplomacy: sub-state diplomacy and wannabe states 407

of Defense James Mattis, did not want to jeopardize the US military collaboration
with Turkey, most notably the use by the US of the Incirlik base in the south of
Turkey. Trump later seemed to lose interest in the matter.
In effect, the Kurdish referendum for independence from Iraq ground to a halt.
The KRG had nevertheless invested in quite a substantial amount of diplomatic
representations abroad during this period, most notably in Belgium (home of
European Union institutions), Washington DC and Moscow. The KRG also has
offices abroad in Australia, Austria, France, Germany, Iran, Italy, Poland, Spain,
Sweden, Switzerland and the UK (Kurdistan Regional Government, 2019). As of
yet, Baghdad is too weak to eliminate these offices. The KRG often receives official
foreign parliamentarian and regional visits from abroad, as well as visits from foreign
countries represented at the level of consulate-general. The KRG, however, finds
itself in a geopolitical stalemate, being unable to translate the September 2017 ref-
erendum in a new state-like status. The KRG ‘wannabe process’ is in limbo, probably
for many years to come.

CONCLUSION

This chapter shows the degree of difficulty sub-state entities face in entering the
state-based ‘champion’s league of international relations’. The international com-
munity of states remains conservative in accepting new members. Recognition from
states is central in each of the cases that were analysed. Geopolitical factors and
foreign policy contexts, together with historical variables, define the action space
for pushing for recognition as states within the international community. Even when
the conditions are just right, central political decision-makers within these entities
need to show a degree of perseverance and agency to push through, sometimes
against the odds and also entailing personal risks. But it would be a mistake to think
that sub-state actors cannot generate genuine prosperity and welfare if they do not
become states (Berg and Vits, 2020; Prinsen, 2020). The phenomenon of sub-state
diplomacy has become widespread all over the world, and to a certain degree the
divisions between classical state diplomacy and sub-state diplomacy have watered
down, both in terms of the goals they try to achieve and the means and instruments
they use in order to reach them. From that point of view, it is also very relevant to
study sub-state diplomacy and wannabe states in a handbook on small states.
Lecours (2002, p. 95) argues that “if regional governments . . . are increasingly
acquiring an international presence, it is largely as a consequence of structural
changes”. On this basis, Lecours made a plea to use a perspective based on agency–
structure relationships, both at domestic and international levels. The problem facing
students of sub-state diplomacy is that this phenomenon is so diverse and intertwined,
and with so many different facets, that it is difficult to come to terms with it from
a theoretical point of view. Theory should of course not be seen as an end in itself, but
rather operate as a means to shed light on, and offer meaning to, a multifaceted trend.
The literature has yet to construct a comprehensive theoretical framework via which
408 Handbook on the politics of small states

the external activities of non-central governments and subnational jurisdictions can

be better comprehended.
Lecours’s remark is also valid for the analysis of protodiplomacy and its chances
for success. A cocktail of domestic and international variables seems to determine
the bandwidth within which some sub-state entities seek to fulfil their ultimate wish
as ‘wannabe states’. Based upon our explorative analysis in this chapter, one can
state that the line between dream and disillusionment is rather thin. Based upon the
above analysis, one can state that some internal variables for success are: societal
unity (versus division); socio-economic prosperity or at least the basic components
to create a viable ‘business model’ for a potential future state; and political stability
(or lack of internal political strife within the region). On the other hand, there are also
clear external variables for success: a geopolitical atmosphere that is conducive for
accepting the abolition of the territorial status quo in the wider region; and an inter-
national community (or at least key governments in it) willing to recognize the entity
while not worrying too much about their respective relationship with the old ‘centre’
of the (potentially former) state.
There is certainly potential for a more systematic study of the tentative hypotheses
generated from this chapter’s limited analysis. The world will continue to be con-
fronted with this phenomenon, as a result of global and local forces. The researcher
should approach these in a non-normative way. Moreover, the evolutions which we
will witness in the coming years might also lead to new forms of decentralization,
emboldening regions vis-à-vis the centre (Criekemans, 2018c).

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Index

Abkhazia 383, 390 migrants in 160–61

recognition of 385 political history of 152–3
trade 387 political institutions, dynamics and
abridged realism 314, 325 challenges 156–60
Acção Democrática Independente (ADI) socio-economic dynamics 160–62
228, 229 see also Liechtenstein; Monaco; San
Ademmer, E. 173 Marino
ADI see Acção Democrática Independente Angola 223, 236
(ADI) Anguilla 285
administrative fragmentation 369 Ankara 202
af Ugglas, Margareta 215 Annan Plan 140–41, 382
Africa 21, 28, 33, 34 annexation of Crimea 107, 123, 124, 168,
agency 380, 390 172, 174, 180, 202
Aggestam, K. 214–15 Anorthotikon Komma Ergazemenou Laou
Agha, H. 213, 215, 216 (AKEL) 135, 142
agrarian reform 234 Antigua 77, 283, 286
Ahmed, Saeed 388 ‘Antigua versus United States’ Internet
air transport hub 320–23 gambling case 283
Akashi, Yasushi 331 AOSIS see Alliance of Small Island States
Akayev, Askar 299–300 (AOSIS)
AKEL see Anorthotikon Komma Aquino, Benigno 338–9
Ergazemenou Laou (AKEL) Arafat, Yasser 212–14, 217
Ala, Abu 213, 214 Arbenz, Jacobo 245
al-Assad, Bashar 406 Arbitration Tribunal of the Law of the Sea
ALBA see Alianza Bolivariana Para Los (UNCLOS) 329–30
Pueblos de Nuestra America (ALBA) ruling 333, 336, 339
Albania 106 archipelagos 71, 369
GDP per capita 107 Arengo 155
Albanians 192, 193, 198 Argentina 266, 267, 271–3
Algeria 210 and Chile 262
Alianza Bolivariana Para Los Pueblos de Aristide, Jean-Bertrand 287
Nuestra America (ALBA) 261, 262, Armenia 384, 390
265, 286 participation in negotiations 391
al-Kurd, Maher 213 arms trade 252
Alliance of Small Island States (AOSIS) 350 ASEAN 330
Almada, Janira Hopfer 227 China’s proxy in 332–3
‘America First’ policy 108 Asfour, Hassan 213
American Samoa 34, 372 Ashrawi, Hanan 212, 213
Anckar, D. 364 Asia 33, 34
Andean Community (CAN) 269, 270 Association Agreement of EU 174, 177–80
Andersson, Sten 215, 216 Association of Caribbean States (ACS) 285–6
Andijan massacre 299 asymmetric relationship 7, 250, 273, 331, 365
Andorra 71 Atambayev, Almazbek 300
economic recovery 164 Atlantis 281
international relations 162–4 Australia 348–51, 353
members of parliament 157 Austria 27, 28, 102, 104, 153

411
412 Handbook on the politics of small states

autocratic regime 41–2 Bird, Vere 288

autonomy dilemma 9–10 Bishop, Maurice 284
Azahari revolt 335 ‘blacklist’ 283
Azerbaijan 177, 384, 390 Black Sea fleet 175, 177, 179
Aziz, Abdul 322 Blaise, S. 368
Blank, S. 182, 183
‘Baby Doc’ Jean-Claude 287 blue economy 353
Bachelet, Michelle 261 Blue Pacific, The 353, 354
Bahamas 278, 281 Bolivia
Baker, James 212 and Chile 261, 262
Bakiyev, Kurmanbek 298, 300 economic policies 260–61
balance of power 24–6, 34 foreign policy 261
in Europe 107–10 Peru and 269–71
Baldacchino, G. 55, 190, 362–4 politics 260–62
Balkan states see Yugoslav successor states Bolkiah, Hassanal 335
‘banana republics’ 14, 250 Bolsonaro, Jair 267
bandwagoning, in France’s Bonaparte, Napoleon 21, 26–7, 155, 314
proto-hegemony 24–5 Boris, King I 152
Banzer, Hugo 260 Bosnia
Barbados 281 border between Montenegro and 191
Barbuda 77, 282, 283, 286 GDP per capita 107
Barbuda Land Act of 2007 286 Bosnia-Herzegovina 106, 193, 200, 202
Barbuda People’s Movement 286 Croatia and 191
Barcelona 403 ethnic criterion 195
tensions between Madrid and 404 GDP per capita 107
Barrow, Errol 288 Serbian citizens 189
Barrow, Nita 288 Bosniaks 196
Bartmann, B. 31, 77, 365 Bouckaert, G. 57
Barzani, Masoud 405, 406 Bougainville 352
Battle, Jorge 271 Boyce, P. 312, 313
Beijing 317, 318, 332 Boyce, R. 60
Singapore and 336–8 brain drain 200
and UNCLOS ruling 330 Bray, M. 60, 62
Beilin–Abu Mazen understandings Brazil 263, 265–8, 271–3
215–17, 219 Peru and 270
Beilin, Yossi 212, 213, 216, 217 Brexit 4, 77, 110, 114, 125, 126
Belgium 396, 398, 407 BRI see Belt and Road Initiative (BRI)
Belgrade 201–2, 400 Brioni Accord 400, 401
Belize 247 Britain 134, 139, 244
violence in 248 British citizenship 372
Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) 202, 304, 305 British Nationality Act 372
Benedict, B. 59, 60 British Virgin Islands 285
Benítez, Mario Abdo 267, 268 Brnabić, Ana 194
Bercovitch, J. 208 Browning, C. 4
Berdymuhamedov, Gurbanguly 299 Brunei 71, 335–6
Bergh, A. 117 China and 336
Bertram, G. 345 economy 335–6, 339
Bhutan 42, 71 Brussels 403
bilateral lobbying 89 Brussels agreement 197
bilateral relationships 105, 269–70 Brzezinski, Z. 173
Chile 262 Budapest Memorandum 177, 181
Bildt, Carl 209 buffer state
 Index 413

conditions 170 small states

defined 169 falling apart 286–7
East–Ukraine–West system 172–4 population size 280
Germany–Belgium–France system working together 285–6
170–71 tourism 281–2
imperial expansion from 170 US hegemony and China 284–5
moral hazard behaviour 171 Caribbean Community and Common Market
rival powers 170 (CARICOM) 285
Bulmer-Thomas, V. 242 CARSI see Central American Regional
Bush, George W. 281 Security Initiative (CARSI)
Cartes, Horacio 266–8
Cabo Verde Carvalho, Evaristo 229
challenges for 233 Castro, Fidel 287
constitution 224, 225 Castro, Raúl 287
development indicators 232 Catalan Statute 403
development plans 231 Catalonia
development strategy 233 foreign policy 403
from economic vulnerability to as historic nationalities 402, 403
international credibility 230–34 paradiplomacy 403–5
emergency programmes 230–31 state failure 402–5
GDP growth 231 Catholic Church 193, 196, 198
governance 233 caveats 365
intra-executive relations 224–7, 237 Cayman Islands 282
migrant remittances 232 Central America
parliamentary elections 225–6 businesses 254
politics in 224–7 in colonial control 243
presidential elections 225–7 cooperation 254
public debt 233 corruption 248–9
reforming strategy 225 democratization 246
stable party system 224–7 diplomatic relations 250
tertiary sector 232 domestic characteristics 246–7
tourism 232 challenges 247–8
CAFTA-DR see US-Dominican economies 251
Republic-Central America Free Trade exports 250
Agreement (CAFTA-DR) federation 243
Cambodia 340 foreign policy 249, 255
ally of China 330–35 history 242–6
external aid for 332 inequality 246, 247
Cambodian National Rescue Party (CNRP) international characteristics 249–51
332 challenges 252–3
Cambodian People’s Party (CPP) 330, 332 international influence and support of
Captains Regent 156 251, 254
career management 63 organized crime 252
Caribbean 51, 369 politics 246–7
British colonies in 287 poverty 246
competitive elections 287 regionalism 250–51
economic profiles 279–83 social programmes 247
families and dynasties 287–8 states patterns 243
international aid for 282 United States and 244–5, 249
money laundering 282 violence 248
versus pacific small states 351 Central American Common Market 251
politics in 287
414 Handbook on the politics of small states

Central American Regional Security Civil Aviation Authority of Singapore 323

Initiative (CARSI) 253 civil liberties 41
Central Asian states civil war 196, 245, 248, 298
action spaces between Russia and Clayton-Bulwer Treaty 244
China 304–7 Clerides, Glafcos 137
foreign policy from Russia and towards clientelism 159, 226, 227, 237
China 301–4 climate change, in Pacific small states 350, 354
institutions in 12 Clinton, Bill 212
organizational setting 295–9 Clinton, Hillary 108
politics 300 Coard, Bernard 284
regimes: resisting democratization cocoa production 234
299–301 cocoa rehabilitation programme 234
trade 306 Coggins, B. 384
centre-right/centre-left divide 198 Cold War 29, 31, 122, 172, 245, 246
Changi Airport 322–3 and European small states 102–4, 110
Changi Airport Group (CAG) 323 foreign policy 209
Charles, Eugenia 288 small state proliferation 31–2
Charles, King VI 153 Collective Security Treaty (CST) 298
Charles, King VIII 154 Collective Security Treaty Organization
Chávez, Hugo 261, 264, 270, 272, 273, 284 (CSTO) 297, 298, 307
‘chequebook diplomacy’ 284 Colombia 265
Chile illicit groups 252
and Argentina 262 Peru and 270, 271
bilateral relations 262 colonization 243
Bolivia and 261, 262 Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS)
foreign policy 262–4 172, 175, 296–7, 301, 302, 307
in international affairs 264 Custom Union 180
international strategy 263 Eurasian Economic Community 178
Peru and 262, 269–71 mean 303
politics 262–4 distance of member states from 302
China 35, 202, 284–5, 317, 318, 385 Comoros 223, 237, 238, 364
action spaces between Russia and 304–7 Companys, Lluis 402
assistance to Pacific 350 competitiveness 76
and Brunei 336 small states in Europe 107
Cambodia, ally of 330–35 Compton, John 288
cooperation of Nordic states with 122–3 concert system 26
distance between Central Asian states inhospitality, 19th century 27–8
(and Russia) from 303 concerted political harmony 161
economy of 304–6 Conference on Security and Cooperation in
foreign policy 301–4 Europe (CSCE) 138
negotiations with Taiwan 382–3 conflict management 381–4
Philippines and 338–9 conflict resolution 381–4
Singapore and 337 constitution
trading partners 304 Andorra 152–3
and UNCLOS 330 Liechtenstein 153–4
China–Taiwan divide 236 Monaco 154
Ching-kuo, Chiang 318 contemporary political institutions 156–60
Ching-kuo, Chiang Jr. 318 Contessi, N. P. 182, 183
Chong, A. 320 Cook Islands 352–4
Christophias, Demetris 142 mobility 372
Chuuk 352 cooperation agreement 285
citizenship rights 161, 372, 374 cooperative hegemony 108, 110
 Index 415

coping strategies 84–6, 91 religion 133

pacific small states 355–6 Cyprus Problem 140, 142, 145
Corbett, J. 38 Czechoslovakia, Soviet interventions in 102
Cornago, N. 365
Correa, Rafael 264, 265, 269 da Costa, Pinto 227–9
corruption 159, 226 Dahl, R. A. 46
Central America 248–9 Danilovich, A. 405
Ukraine 176, 178–81 da Silva, Lula 261, 266, 267
cosmopolitan dilemma 8–9 Dayton peace treaty (1995) 195
Costa Rica 243, 245, 250, 253 de Brum, Tony 350
diplomatic relations 251 decision-taking, in UN general assembly
domestic characteristics 246–7 90–92
exports 251 “Declaration of Principles on interim
inequality 247 self-government arrangements, The”
violence in 248 215
Council of Europe’s Venice Commission declaration of the common language 193
report 159 Declaration on Sovereignty, Slovenia 399
Council for Mutual Economic Assistance decolonization 364, 369, 374
(COMECON) 103 deep sea mining 353
Council of Sixty, San Marino 155 de facto states 379–81
Count of Foix 152 conflict management 381–4
CPP see Cambodian People’s Party (CPP) conflict resolution 381–4
Crawford, J. 374 external supporters relationship 388–90
Crimea international relations 384–8
annexation of 107, 123, 124, 168, 172, Delcour, L. 173
174, 180, 202 de Losada, Gonzalo Sánchez 260
military incursions 77 demand constraints 103
Croatia 190, 193, 198, 200, 400, 401 de Menezes, Fradique 228, 229
borders 191 democracy
Cross-Strait relations 317–19 multiparty 227, 229
Cuba 31, 279, 284, 285 Pacific 346
Curaçao 282 resilience of 351, 352
Cypriot socialist party (EDEK) 136 democratic failure 45–6
Cyprus 13, 131 democratic governance 44, 246
and accession referenda 140–41 Democratic Party (DIKO) 136
British colonialism 134 Democratic Rally (DISY) 136
constitution 134–5, 145 democratic regime 41–2, 44–5
economy 132, 143–4 see also autocratic regime
ethnicity 145 democratization 246
in the EU 142–3 Central America 246
EU association with 139–41 resistance to 299–301
foreign policy 145 democratization/group think dilemma 9
GDP growth 142 Yugoslavia 195–9
geographic location 132–3 Denmark 102, 105, 108, 122, 123, 373
historic background 133–4 EU membership 125
international alignments 136–8 flag 366
international pressure in negotiation 382 immigration crisis 119–20
irregular migration 143 denuclearization 173
nationalism 133 de Roburt, Hammer 349
party politics 135–6 development indicators 232
physical size 132–3 diplomacy, Singapore 312, 314–20, 325
political system 134–5 direct democracy 39–40
416 Handbook on the politics of small states

Dismorr, Ann 216 Cabo Verde 230–34, 238

‘doing’ policy, economic aspects of index 282
economies of scope 75–6 São Tomé and Príncipe 234–6, 238
imperfect competition 75 economies of scope 75–6
market concentration 74–5 Ecuador
virtues of being small 73–4 economic problem 264
domestic affairs 115 foreign policy 264–5
economic policy and crises 118 Peru and 269, 271
immigration crisis 118–20 politics 264–5
migration crisis 118–20 EDB see Economic Development Board
Nordic model 115–17 (EDB)
domestic characteristics education 50
Central America 246–8 Education Index 47
pacific small states 343–7 EEA see European Economic Area (EEA)
domestic governance 368–9, 373 EEC see European Economic Community
domestic policy 247 (EEC)
domestic politics 368–9, 373 EEC–Malta Association Agreement 139
Dominica 281, 282 EEZs see Exclusive Economic Zones (EEZs)
Dominican Republic 285, 287 Egeland, Jan 213, 214
do Rosário, Gualberto 226 Elizabeth, Queen II 287
Douglas, Denzil 288 Elkins, Z. 51
Drevet, J.-F. 141 Ellice Islands, jurisdictions 369
Duale, Mohamed 388 El Salvador 245, 250
Duarte, Nicanor 266–8 corruption in 249
Duchacek, I. 395, 396 domestic characteristics 246–7
Ðukanovć, Milo 199 exports 251
Duran, M. 402 per capita income 247
Dutch citizenship 372 violence in 248
‘Dutch disease’ 75 Enhanced Defence Cooperation Agreement
Duterte, Rodrigo 339, 340 (EDCA) 338–9
Duvalier, François ‘Papa Doc’ 287 Erdoğan, Tayyip 202, 405, 406
Eriksson, J. 214
EAEU see EurAsian Economic Union Eritrea 33
(EAEU) erosion 350
East Timor 33 Estonia 108
East–Ukraine–West system 172–4 Estrada, Joseph 338
EC see European Commission (EC) Etherington, J. 405
economic challenge 164 ethnic Albanians 192
economic crisis ethnic cleansing 193
of 2008 163, 165 ethnic criterion 196
Nordic states 118 ethnicity 197
Uruguay 271 Cyprus 145
Yugoslavia 192 Singapore 337, 340
Economic Development Board (EDB) 321 Yugoslav successor states 195–7
economic fortunes 72–3 ethnic segregation 195
economic growth 142, 160, 231, 246, 385 ethno-nationalism 193
economic nationalism 321, 322 Eurasian Economic Community (EEC)
economic policy 139, 178
and crises 118 EurAsian Economic Union (EAEU) 297
Nordic states 118 Euro-Atlantic institutions 104, 106
economic profiles, Caribbean 279–83 euro crisis 142
economic vulnerability Euromaidan 30
 Index 417

Europe 22, 27, 33, 400, 403 external supporters relationship 388–90
balance of power 107–10
European Commission (EC) 109, 141, 143, fair-minded rationality 319
200, 281, 283, 400 Faroe Islands 366, 367
European Concert 27, 34 EU membership 125
European Economic Area (EEA) 125 fascist/partisan polarization 194
European Economic Community (EEC) 103, Fatherland Union 158
109, 400, 403 Fazal, T. M. 169
European Free Trade Area (EFTA) 125 Federated States on Micronesia (FSM) 349,
European institutions 109 352, 353
European integration 162, 164 US funding 354
Nordic states 124–6 Fernández, Christina 261
European small states Fierravanti-Wells, Concetta 350
balance of power 107–10 Fiji 346, 351–3
clusters 105–7 political turbulence in 349, 354
Cold War and 102–4 trade union organization 351
competitiveness 107 Final Act of the Conference on Security and
economic shelter 103, 104 Cooperation in Europe 177
identifying 99–100 Financial Action Task Force 282
influence 103–5, 110 Finland 122–5
institutional affiliation 105–6 immigration crisis 119
political outlook 106 FIR see Flight Information Region (FIR)
populations 100 First World War 27, 245
prosperity 102–4, 107, 110 fiscal evasion 163, 165
rebalancing European orders 107–9 fisheries 353
security 101–5, 110 flag of the territory 366
transformation of action 101–5 Flanders 398
European Union (EU) 12, 33, 104–7, 110, flexibility 370–71, 374
125, 382 Flight Information Region (FIR) 322
association with Cyprus and Malta Fonseca, Jorge Carlos 226
139–41 foreign direct investment (FDI) 232
Cyprus and Malta in 142–3 foreign policy 58, 398
public statement in Thessaloniki 200 Catalonia 403
regional market 201 Central America 249, 255
Ukraine and 174, 177, 179–80 Chile 262–4
Exclusive Economic Zones (EEZs) 142, 234, Cyprus 145
235, 336, 353 Ecuador 264–5
exerting of power 380 Malta 138, 145
Exolgan Container Terminal 322 Nordic states 122, 123
exports Paraguay 266–8
Central America 250 Peru 269–71, 273
Costa Rica 251 from Russia and towards China 301–4
El Salvador 251 Singapore 311–17, 325
Guatemala 251 of small sovereign states 374
Honduras 251 Sweden 209
São Tomé and Príncipe 235–6 Ukraine 179, 181, 183
Transnistria 387 Uruguay 271–3
external affairs 120–21 formal mediation 211
European integration 124–6 formal negotiations 88
Nordic cooperation 121–2 Forum for the Progress and Development of
security policy 123–4 South America (PROSUR) 262, 263
see also domestic affairs Fox, Annette Baker 8
418 Handbook on the politics of small states

fragmentation 369 sponsored resolutions 87

France 107–8 Germany–Belgium–France buffer system
bandwagoning, proto-hegemony 24–5 170–71
hegemony and concert system 26 Ghali Set of Ideas 382
relations with Monaco and Andorra 163 Gilbert islands 369
strategic partnerships 373 Ginsburg, T. 51
Franco, Fernando 266, 267 global climate negotiations 350
Franco-Monegasque Treaty global economic crisis of 2008 163, 165
of 1861 154 global economics 33
of 2002 154 globalization 194–5
“Free” countries 41 Gonsalves, Camillo 288
Freedom House data 41–2 Gonzales, Ralph 288
freedom of choice 383 governance 233, 368–9, 373
free trade agreements (FTAs) 263, 267, Cabo Verde 233
269, 270 governance weakness, Philippines 338
Free Trade Association of the Americas gradualism 215
(FTAA) 268 Grau, Raúl Cubas 266
French-led European Defence Initiative great powers 4, 8, 9, 26–9, 34, 35, 101–2,
(E2I) 105 104, 105, 168, 170, 171, 182–4, 385
French Polynesia 368 Russia 173
French Revolution 24–6, 154 Greece 134, 141, 191, 192
Friendship Treaty 177, 181 Greenland 123
FSM see Federated States on Micronesia EU membership 125
(FSM) Greenland/Kallalit Nunaat 373
FTAA see Free Trade Association of the Green Line Regulations 387
Americas (FTAA) Grenada 281, 284
FTAs see free trade agreements (FTAs) Grenadines 281
Grimaldi dynasty 154
Gairy, Eric 288 Grivas, Georgios 136
García, Alan 269, 270 group think dilemma 9
Garcia Segura, C. 405 Grydehøj, A. 365
Garibaldi, Giuseppe 155 Gstöhl, S. 2
gas wars 179 Guadeloupe 369
GATT see General Agreement on Tariffs Guatemala 243, 245, 250
and Trade (GATT) domestic characteristics 246–7
GDP per capita 47, 107, 153, 160, 335, 344, exports 251
353, 370 international influence 254
microstate rankings 47–50 per capita income 247
General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade violence in 248
(GATT) 76, 103 Guibernau, M. 396
‘General Treaty for Renunciation of War as Gurol, J. 100, 109
an Instrument of National Policy’ 30
genocide 194 Hague, The 368
Genscher, Hans Dietrich 400 Handel, M. 4, 144
geopolitical confrontation 201 Hans-Adam, Prince II 154, 163
geopolitical stalemate, Kurdistan 405–7 Haradinaj, Ramush 194, 197
Georgia 172, 174, 177, 383, 387 Hardarson, Ó. T. 119
military incursions 77 Hau’ofa, E. 344–5, 348, 353, 356
Georgian–Russian war of 2008 107 Hay-Pauncefote Treaty of 1900 244
German Confederation 27 hegemony 26–7
Germany 27–30, 34, 107–8, 400 Hernández, Juan Orlando 248
economies of scope 75–6 Hirschfeld, Yair 212, 213, 215
 Index 419

Hispaniola 286 Institut Català de les Indústries Culturals

Hjelm-Wallén, Lena 216 (ICIC) 403
Hocking, B. 395 Institute for Applied International Studies
Holst, Johan Jørgen 214, 215 (FAFO) 212–14
Holy See 364 institutional affiliation 105–6
Home Rule Government of Greenland 366 institutional order, Europe 109, 110
Honduras 240, 245 institutional weakness, Philippines 338
democratic breakdown 248 institutionalization 60
domestic characteristics 246–7 Institut Ramon Llull 403
exports 251 intergovernmental organizations (IGOs) 103
international influence 254 intergovernmentalism 109, 295–9
per capita income 247 international affairs 162–5
violence in 248 Chile 264
Hukbalahap Rebellion 338 international alignments, Malta and
Humala, Ollanta 269, 270 Cyprus 136–8
Human Development Index 47 international challenge 164
Hungary, Soviet interventions in 102 international characteristics
Hurricane Irma 371 Central America 249–53
Husseini, Faisal 212, 213 pacific small states 347–51
hyper-personalistic politics 368 International Commission against Impunity
in Guatemala 251
Iceland 123, 124 International Court of Justice (ICJ), and
EU membership 125 nuclear weapons resolution 87–9, 91
immigration crisis 119–20 international credibility 230–34, 237
ICIC see Institut Català de les Indústries international diplomacy, Central America 250
Culturals (ICIC) international institutions 12, 14, 398
IMDA see Infocomm and Media international law 270
Development Authority (IMDA) International Monetary Fund (IMF) 271–2,
IMF see International Monetary Fund (IMF) 334
IMF Debt Sustainability Analysis 233, 236 international negotiations 89
immigrant investor program 282 small states
immigrants 161 challenges in 84–6
immigration 165, 312 resolutions in UNGA committees
immigration crisis, Nordic states 118–20 88–90
imperfect competition 75 international organizations (IOs) 83, 251, 385
imperial expansion 170 International Political Economy (IPE)
income inequality 117 research 84
Indochina Wars 333, 334 international pressure 254, 255, 382
Indonesia 71, 312, 366 international recognitions 384–8, 391
inequality, Central America 246, 247 international relations 162–4, 384–8
influence/autonomy dilemma 9–10 International Relations theory 20
Yugoslavia 199–202 international treaties, sign of 366–7
influence, European small states 103–5, 110 Internet 388
Infocomm and Media Development Internet gambling case 283
Authority (IMDA) 324–5 intra-executive relations
informal communication 56, 65 Cabo Verde 224–7
informal mediation 211 São Tomé and Príncipe 227–30, 237
informal negotiations 88 Iran 406
informal politics 368 trade 306
information flows, Singapore 323–5 Iranian hostage crisis (1979–81) 210
initial regimes 40–46 Iraq 33, 405–7
Ireland 88, 90, 91
420 Handbook on the politics of small states

Islamic State (IS/Daesh) 405 Kocharian, Robert 390

island states 71 Kosovo 106, 195, 197, 200–202, 364, 384
Israel, and PLO 212–14 economy 387
Israeli–Palestinian conflict participation in negotiations 382, 391
Beilin–Abu Mazen understandings recognition of 385, 387
215–17 US involvement in 389
mediation strategy for 211 Krause, V. J. 4
Oslo channel 212–15 Kravchuk, Leonid 175–8
Istanbul convention 198 KRG see Kurdistan Regional Government
Itaipú Treaty 267 (KRG)
Italo-Maltese Neutrality Treaty 138 Kuala Lumpur 312, 317, 323
Italy 27, 28, 34 Kuan Yew, Lee 20, 23, 312, 317, 318, 337
relations with San Marino 163 Kucan, Milan 399
tax amnesty 163 Kuchma, Leonid 176–9, 182, 183
Iturbide, Agustín 243 Küçük, Fazıl 136, 137
Ivanov, Gjeorge 192 Kuczynski, Pedro Pablo 269, 270
Kuomintang (KMT) governments 317–18
Jakobsen, P. V. 122 Kurdistan, geopolitical stalemate 405–7
Jamaica 281 Kurdistan Regional Government (KRG) 405–7
Janša, Janez 195 Kurtzer, Dan 213
Japan 28, 30, 193 Kuwait, liberation of the small state 33
aid to Pacific 349 Kuzio, T. 173
JDZ see Joint Development Zone (JDZ) Kwajalein Atoll 349
Jewish genocide 194 Kyrgyzstan 297, 302, 307
Jing, Huang 338 2010 revolution in 298
Jinping, Xi 270, 319, 332, 337, 382 democratization 299–300
JNA see Yugoslav People’s Army (JNA) economy 305
Joint Development Zone (JDZ) 234–5 political rights and civil liberties 300
Jong-un, Kim 319
Jugl, M. 59 labour mobility 353, 355
Juul, Mona 212–15 Lagos, Ricardo 262
laissez-faire balance of power 24, 25
Kai-shek, Chiang 317, 318 language 193
Karabakh clan 390 Lao People’s Revolutionary Party (LPRP) 330
Karatnycky, A. 176, 181 Laos 330, 333–5, 340
Karimov, Islam 299, 301 malnutrition 333
Kavcic, Stane 401 partnership with China 334
Kazakhstan 297, 302 political system 333
economy and unemployment 305 public debt 334
political rights and civil liberties 300 security 333, 334
trade 306 Latin America 34
Kellogg-Briand Pact 30 independence movements 28
Kennedy, John F. 137 League system principles 30
Keohane, R. O. 23 Least Developed Countries (LDCs) 232
Khalidi, Ahmad 215 Lecours, A. 395, 396, 407–8
‘Khariv Accords’ 179, 180 Lee Hsien Loong 314, 337
Khrushchev, Nikita 175 Lee Teng-hui 318
Kiralp, S. 137 legislative elections, São Tomé and
Kirchner, Néstor 261, 266 Príncipe 228
Kiribati 346, 352, 353, 369 Lehoucq, F. 246
climate change 354 Leira, H. 209, 210
sponsored resolutions 87 Lewis, V. A. 32
 Index 421

liberal internationalism 30–31 independence 134

liberalization 192 international alignments 136–8
Liechtenstein 71 irregular migration 143
economic recovery 164 Mediterranean policy 138
economies of scope 75 nationalism 133
international relations 162–4 NATO flirtation 137–8
members of parliament 157 neutrality 138–40, 144
migrants in 160–61 party politics 135–6
political history of 153–4 physical size 132–3
political institutions, dynamics and political system 134–5
challenges 156–60 religion 133
socio-economic dynamics 160–62 security 144
Lijphart, A. 40, 135 and Soviet Union 138, 144
Lima, Aristides Raimundo 227 see also Cyprus
limited diplomatic capacity 11 Malta Labour Party (MLP) 137, 139
limited economic capabilities 11 managed intimacy 60
limited military capabilities 11 Mara, Ratu 349, 350
linear careers 63 maras gang 252
Lipset, S. M. 50–51 Margolin, Jean-Louis 313
Livingstone, Ken 316 Marinus 155
Louis, King XIV 24, 26 maritime and air transport hub 320–23
Lowenthal, D. 57, 60 Maritime and Port Authority of Singapore
Lugo, Fernando 266–8 (MPA) 322
Luxembourg 71 market concentration 74–5
constitution 42 market failure 75
GDP per capita 107 Marshall Islands 349, 353
climate change 354
Maamau, Taneti 346 US funding 354
Macedonia 192, 195–7, 201, 202 Martinelli, Ricardo 249
Macedonians 192 material power 5
Machi, Luis González 266 Mathisen, T. 170
Machiavelli, Niccolò 22 Mattis, James 406
Madrid 402, 403, 405 Mauritius 222, 223, 237
tensions between Barcelona and 404 May, Theresa 316
Maduro, Nicolás 268, 270 Mazen, Abu 216
Mahoney, J. 244 McElroy, J. L. 370
Makarios III 135–7 MDFM see Movimento Democrático Força
Malamud 250 da Mudança (MDFM)
Malaysia 71, 311–13, 323 MDFM/UDD 229
and resolution of nuclear weapons 87–91 MDGs see Millennium Development Goals
Maldives 87 (MDGs)
Malielegaoi, Tuilaepa Sailele 351, 353 Mearsheimer, J. J. 24
Malta 13, 102, 131 mediation 217, 218
British colonialism 134 defined 208
constitution 135, 145 strategies 210–11
economy 132, 143–4 mediation theory, small state 208–11
in the EU 142–3 mediator 208–11
EU association with 139–41 role 218
foreign policy 138, 145 Medvedev, Dmitry 298, 307
GDP growth 142 Mekong River 334
geographic location 132–3 Melanesian Spearhead Group (MSG) 349
historic background 133–4 members of parliament (MPs) 157
422 Handbook on the politics of small states

Menon, R. 171 Montevideo Convention of 1933 6

MERCOSUR 262, 266–8, 271–3 moral hazard 171
Mesa, Carlos 260 Morales, Evo 260–62, 269, 271
metropolitan authority 368 Morales, Jimmy 251
Mexico 243 Moreno, Lenin 264, 265, 395, 396
diplomatic relations 251 Morgenthau, H. J. 31
illicit groups 252 Moscow 201
Michel, Charles 404 Mosul, liberation of 405
microstate rankings, GDP per capita 47–50 Motyl, A. J. 171, 181
migrant remittances 232 Movimento de Libertação de São Tomé e
migration 160–61, 199–200, 354–6, 372, 374 Príncipe (MLSTP) 227, 228
migration crisis, Nordic states 118–20 Movimento Democrático Força da Mudança
Migration, Remittances, Aid and Bureaucracy (MDFM) 228, 229
(MIRAB) model 345, 352 Movimento para a Democracia (MPD) 225–7
military capability 5 MPA see Maritime and Port Authority of
military confrontation 193 Singapore (MPA)
Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) 233 MPD see Movimento para a Democracia
Miller, Aaron 207 (MPD)
Milošević, Slobodan 192, 399, 400 MSG see Melanesian Spearhead Group
Mindanao 338 (MSG)
Ministry of Transparency and Foreign Mujica, José ‘Pepe’ 272
Institutional Relations and Affairs 404 multi-functionalism 58, 59, 66, 75
MIRAB model see Migration, Remittances, multilateral organizations 398
Aid and Bureaucracy (MIRAB) model multilateral policy 398
Mirzijyoev, Shavkat 299 multilateralism 270
Mission against Corruption and Impunity in multiparty democracy 227–9
Honduras 251 multi-vector foreign policy 176–80,
MLP see Malta Labour Party (MLP) 182–3, 390
MLSTP see Movimento de Libertação de Murray, D. J. 61
São Tomé e Príncipe (MLSTP) Muscat, Joseph 142
MLSTP/PSD 228, 229 Myanmar 90, 92, 329
mobility 372 human rights resolution 88, 89
labour 353, 355
‘Modern Silk Road’ concept 304 Nagorno-Karabakh 390, 384
modernity 344–6 participation in negotiations 391
Moldova 174, 177, 383, 387 recognition of 386
GDP per capita 107 trade 387
Moldovan–Transnistrian relations 383 Najibullah, Mohammad 298
Monaco NAM see Non-Aligned Movement (NAM)
economic recovery 164 Nansen International Office for Refugees 209
international relations 162–4 Narod Odluèuje 198
members of parliament 157 national associations 200
migrants in 160–61 National and Democratic Union, Monaco 158
political history of 154–5 national identity 161, 162
political institutions, dynamics and national integration 244
challenges 156–60 National Oil Agency (ANP) 235
socio-economic dynamics 160–62 National Secretariat for International
money laundering 282 Cooperation 401
Monteiro, Antonio Mascarenhas 225, 226 nationalism 192, 194, 195, 203
Montenegro 106, 199 nationalist/cosmopolitan dilemma 8–9
border between Bosnia and 191 Yugoslavia 190–95
GDP per capita 107
 Index 423

NATO 12, 31, 35, 102, 104–7, 109, 110, Nordic Solutions to Global Challenges 121
122–4, 136–7, 201 Nordic states 113–15
Malta in 137–8 challenges 114
Montenegro’s membership in 199 cooperation 122–3
Turkey’s relations with 202 domestic affairs 115
Ukraine and 176, 179 economic policy and crises 118
Nauru 344, 349, 351, 352, 354 immigration crisis 118–20
climate change 354 migration crisis 118–20
Nazerbayev, Nursultan 299, 304 Nordic model 115–17
negotiation 89, 381–4 external affairs 120–21
Netanyahu, Benjamin 406 European integration 124–6
Netherlands 87, 88, 90, 91, 102, 373 Nordic cooperation 121–2
citizenship 372 security policy 123–4
mobility 372 foreign policies 122, 123
overseas jurisdictions 367 Nordic UN model 122
population 100 Nordic welfare system 115, 117
Neumann, I. B. 2 Noriega, Manuel 245
neutrality 123, 138–40, 144, 145, 162, 182, North Atlantic Council (NAC) 137
208, 209 North Korea 319
Neves, José Maria 227 North Macedonia 106, 191, 192
Nevis 286 GDP per capita 107
New Caledonia 366, 371 Northern Cyprus 382, 391
New People’s Army 338 foreign trade 387
new world order 32–3 participation in negotiations 391
New York, diplomatic missions 89, 91, 92 and Turkey 387, 390
New Zealand 349, 350, 373 Norway 102, 105, 122, 123
Newman, E. 386 EU membership 125
NGOs 208–10, 216, 218 GDP per capita 107
Nicaragua 243–5 immigration crisis 119–20
democratic breakdown 248 in Israeli–Palestinian conflict see
domestic characteristics 246–7 Israeli–Palestinian conflict
international influence 254 Norwegian Ministry of Foreign Affairs
per capita income 247 209, 213
niche diplomacy 397 NPT see Non-Proliferation of Nuclear
Niue 352, 353 Weapons (NPT)
depopulation 354 nuclear weapons, ICJ follow-up resolution
Niyazov, Saparmurat 299 87, 89
Non-Aligned Movement (NAM) 136–7, 144 Nusseibeh, Sari 212
‘non-bloc’ status 179
Non-Cooperative Countries or Territories Obama, Barack 124, 254, 284, 339, 406
(NCCT) list 282–3 ‘pivot to Asia’ 108
non-great powers 4 OECD see Organisation for Economic
Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons Co-operation and Development
(NPT) 90, 177 (OECD)
Nordic administrative model 116 OECS see Organisation of Eastern
Nordic cooperation 120–22 Caribbean States (OECS)
Nordic Council 121 Olivier, Gorg Borg 137
Nordic Defence Cooperation (NORDEFCO) Olof Palme International Center (OPIC) 216
105, 123, 124 omnibalancing theory 300
Nordic economies 125 omnidirectional diplomacy, Singapore
Nordic model 115–17 314–20
Nordic political culture 116 ‘One China Policy’ 251, 318
424 Handbook on the politics of small states

Ong, G. G. 320 scalar problems of development 352

Önnudóttir, E. H. 119 tourism 352
openness 64–5 underdevelopment trap 354–5
Orange Revolution 172, 174, 178–9 US influence 349
Organisation of Eastern Caribbean States Packer, S. 60, 62
(OECS) 285 PAIGC see Partido Africano da
Organisation for Economic Co-operation Independência da Guiné e Cabo
and Development (OECD) 102, 163 Verde (PAIGC)
Organisation for European Economic País, Alianza 264
Co-operation (OEEC) 102 Palau 33, 349, 352, 353
organized crime, Central America 252 US funding 354
Ortega, Daniel 248, 254 Palley, C. 141
Orthodox Church, Greece 192 Palme, Olof 209
Oslo Agreement 215, 217, 218 Panama 243, 245, 250, 254
Oslo channel 212–16 corruption 249
“Oslo spirit” 213 diplomatic relations 251
Otunbayeva, Rosa 300 domestic characteristics 246–7
‘Our Sea of Islands’ (Hau’ofa) 344–5, 348 inequality 247
overseas jurisdictions 367 Panama International Terminal 322
overseas representation 366 Panke, D. 100, 109, 110
Oviedo, Lino 266 Papadopoulos, Tassos 141
Papal States 42
PA see Pacific Alliance (PA) Papua New Guinea 352
PACER see Pacific Agreement on Closer paradiplomacy 365, 366, 395–6, 401
Economic Relations (PACER) Catalonia 403–5
Pacific Agreement on Closer Economic Slovenia 401
Relations (PACER) 355 Paraguay
Pacific Alliance (PA) 262, 263, 267, 269–71 foreign policy 266–8
Pacific Island Countries Trade Agreement Itaipú Treaty 267
(PICTA) 355 politics 266–8
Pacific Island Development Forum 349 Paris 368, 373
Pacific Islands 345, 369 Parry, C. E. 370
sovereignty 374 Parsons, T. 60
Pacific Islands Forum of 1999 349, 366 Partem, M. G. 170
Pacific Islands Forum Secretariat (PIFS) partially independent jurisdictions 364
347, 349 ‘particularistic’ role-relationships 60
Pacific Plan 348 Partido Africano da Independência da
Pacific regionalism 347–8, 353 Guiné e Cabo Verde (PAIGC) 224–7
Pacific small states Partido da Convergência Democrática
Caribbean versus 351 (PCD) 226, 229
challenges 354–5 Partido da Renovação Democrática (PRD)
Chinese aid 350 226
climate change 354 Partido de Convergência Democrática
climate negotiations 350 (PCD) 228
confirming or defying expectations 351–4 Partido Social Democrata (PSD) 228
coping strategies 355–6 Parties to the Nauru Agreement 353
domestic characteristics of 343–7 partisan polarization 194
international characteristics of 347–51 Partit Demokratiku (PD) 135
Japanese aid 349 Partit Laburista (PL) 135, 142
labour mobility 353, 355 Partit Nazzjonalista (PN) 135, 139
modernity 343–5 Partnership and Cooperation Agreement 176
policy solutions 355–6 Party Euroscepticism 140, 142
 Index 425

party system instability, São Tomé and PN see Partit Nazzjonalista (PN)
Príncipe 227–30 policy analysis 46–50
party system institutionalization 351 policy-making 55, 64–6
patriotic/terrorist dichotomy 194 policy solutions, pacific small states 355–6
Patronat Català Pro Europa (PCPE) 403 political constructs 6
paying twice strategy 117 political economy
PCD see Partido da Convergência ‘doing’ policy
Democrática (PCD) economies of scope 75–6
PCPE see Patronat Català Pro Europa imperfect competition 75
(PCPE) market concentration 74–5
PD see Partit Demokratiku (PD) virtues of being small 73–4
peaceful negotiations 315–16 economic fortunes 72–3
Peace of Westphalia 24 impact and effect of state’s size 70–72
Pelliconi, M. 158 political fragmentation 369
Pendarovski. Stevo 192 political history
People’s Action Party (PAP) 312–14, 337 Andorra 152–3
government 313, 317, 321, 322, 324 Liechtenstein 153–4
People’s Revolutionary Party (PRP) 333 Monaco 154–5
per capita GDP of sovereign states 370 San Marino 155–6
Pereira, Aristides 224, 225 political instability 229, 237, 266
Peres, Shimon 214, 217, 219 political institutions 150, 156–60
perfect competition 75 political outlook, European small states 106
performance management 59–61 political productivity 46–50
institutionalization of 60 political turbulence 349, 354
persistent aid dependency, São Tomé and political volatility 268, 271, 274
Príncipe 234–6 politics
personalized politics 368–9 Bolivia 260–62
Peru Cabo Verde 224–7
bilateral relationship 269–70 Caribbean 287
and Bolivia 269–71 Central America 246–7
and Brazil 270 Central Asian states 300
and Chile 262, 269–71 Chile 262–4
and Colombia 270, 271 Ecuador 264–5
and Ecuador 269, 271 Paraguay 266–8
foreign policy 269–71, 273 Peru 268–71
politics 268–71 São Tomé and Príncipe 227–30
Peshmerga 405, 406 small states 11, 12
Philippines 340 African states 224–30
China and 338–9 Uruguay 271–3
US ally 338–9 Pollitt, C. 57
PICTA see Pacific Island Countries Trade Polynesia, urbanization in 344
Agreement (PICTA) polyvalency 76
PIFS see Pacific Islands Forum Secretariat populism 119–20
(PIFS) Poroshenko, Petro 180–81
Pindling, Lynden 288 Port of Singapore Authority (PSA) 321, 322
Piñera, Sebastian 263 Portugal 232
Pires, Pedro 224, 226 Portugal, tabling resolutions 87
‘pivot to Asia’ 108 post-Cold War 102
PL see Partit Laburista (PL) and small state proliferation 32–3
Plan Colombia 265 Post-Crimean War 28–9
plantation economy 234 post-Napoleonic system 27
PLO, Israel and 212–14 “post-sovereign inter-governmentalism” 108
426 Handbook on the politics of small states

poverty 234, 246, 247, 261, 287, 333 Ranariddh, Norodom 331
power asymmetries 13 Read, Benjamin H. 137
power politics 14 Reagan 284
powerlessness 23 rebalancing European orders 107–9
PRD see Partido da Renovação Rechtsstaat values 116
Democrática (PRD) recruitment decisions 62
presidential elections refugees 196
Cabo Verde 227 regimes in Central Asian states 299–301
São Tomé and Príncipe 228–9 regional integration 72, 266, 305
Principality of Liechtenstein 42, 153 regional market 201
Prinsen, G. 368 regional migration flows 200
private sector management practices 59 regional powers 273
Progressive Citizens’ Party of regional relationships, Uruguay 271, 272
Liechtenstein 158 regionalism
Progressive Party of Working People of Central America 250–51
Cyprus 135 Pacific 347–8
proliferation 20 Republika Srpska 196
Cold War and 31–2, 34 resident foreigners 160–61
in 20th- and 21st century 29–30 resident population 70–71
prosperity 370 resilience, of democracy 351, 352
European small states 102–4, 107, 110 resistance to democratization 299–301
PROSUR see Forum for the Progress and Revolution of Dignity 180–82
Development of South America Rezvani, D. A. 364, 370
(PROSUR) rights and liberties 41
PRP see People’s Revolutionary Party (PRP) rival powers 170
PSA see Port of Singapore Authority (PSA) Robertson, R. 370
‘PSA Singapore’ 322 Rød-Larsen, Terje 212–15, 218
PSD see Partido Social Democrata (PSD) Rodríguez, Andrés 266
public administration 55–8 Rollins, A. A. 169
public debt 233, 236 Romania 28
Laos 334 Rothstein, Robert 29
public diplomacy 398 Rotuma 352
Public Diplomacy Council of Catalonia Rouge, Khmer 331
(Diplocat) 404 Rousseff, Dilma 263
public organizations 64 Royal Air Force 322
public personnel management 61–3 Royal Decree 945/2017 404
public sector organization 57–9 Rubio, Marco 251
public service career 63 Russia 35, 107–9, 175–6, 179–81, 201, 390
public service performance 59 action spaces between China and 304–7
Puigdemont, Carles 404 annexation of Crimea 107, 123–4, 168,
Pujol, Jordi 403 172, 174, 180, 202
Pundak, Ron 212–15, 219 approach to Ukraine 172–3
Putin, Vladimir 172, 179, 180, 201, 295, 297 cooperation of Nordic states with 122–3
distance between Central Asian states
Rabin, Yitzhak 212, 217 and 302, 303
Račić, Puniša 193 economy of Ukraine and 179
Raffles, Thomas Stamford 314, 320 foreign policy 301–4
Rainsy, Sam 332, 333 great power 173
Rajaratnam, S. 312, 314–17 and Kosovo 385
Rajoy, Mariano 404 trade with Serbia 202
Rakhmon, Emomali 299 trading partners 304
Rama, Edi 194 Ukraine
 Index 427

dependence on 175, 180, 182–4 self-determination, principles of 31

relationships with 176–8, 182 Selwyn, P. 64
and US 173 semi-sovereign jurisdictions 364
Russian aggression 124, 126 Sen, Hun 331–3
Russia Ukraine Friendship Treaty 177 Sentosa Island 321
Serbia 106, 192, 193, 198, 200, 202, 400
Sahlins, Marshall 343 GDP per capita 107
Saint Barthélemy 367 international pressure in negotiation 382
sale of passports 282 language rights 199
Samoa 352–5 power articulation 198
San Marino 42, 71 Serbian-Kosovo dialogue 190
clientelism and corruption 159 Serbian refugees 200
economic recovery 164 Seychelles 223, 237, 238
international relations 162–4 Shanghai Cooperation Organisation (SCO)
migrants in 160–61 298–9, 307
political history of 155–6 Shanghai Five 298
political system of 151 SIA see Singapore Airlines (SIA)
socio-economic dynamics 160–62 SIDS see small island developing states
Sanjak 202 (SIDS)
São Tomé and Príncipe Sihanouk 331
cocoa exports 235–6 Singapore 336–7
cocoa production 234 economic security 313
economic vulnerability 234–6 ethnicity 337, 340
elections 227–9 foreign policy 311–16, 325
foreign aid for 235 immigration into 312
intra-executive relations conflict information flows 323–5
227–30 keeping its distance from Beijing 336–8
multiparty democracy 227–9 maritime and air transport hub 320–23
oil production 234–5 omnidirectional diplomacy 314–15, 325
party system instability 227–30 peaceful negotiations with all
plantation economy 234 parties 315–16
politics 227–30 words and deeds, comparing
instability 229, 237 316–20
poverty 234 trade 317
public debt 236 Singapore Airlines (SIA) 323
tourism growth 235–6 Singapore Cooperation (SCP) 315
see also Cabo Verde Singapore Cooperation Enterprise (SCE) 315
Sargsyan, Serzh 390 Singer, J. D. 4
Savir, Uri 214 Single European Act of 1986 104
Sayasone, Choummaly 335 Sisoulith, Thongloun 334
SCE see Singapore Cooperation Enterprise Skossyreff, Boris 152
(SCE) Slovene Territorial Defence 400
Schori, Pierre 216 Slovenia 190, 193
SCO see Shanghai Cooperation Brioni Accord 400, 401
Organisation (SCO) Declaration on Sovereignty 399
SCP see Singapore Cooperation (SCP) democracy and nationalism 195
Second World War 8, 29–31, 102, 162, 245 before independence 401
secret talks 213, 217 paradiplomacy 401
security state success 399–402
in Europe 101–5, 110 Ten Day War 400
small states 20–23, 25–30, 32, 33 small African states, politics in
security policy, Nordic states 123–4 Cabo Verde 224–7
428 Handbook on the politics of small states

São Tomé and Príncipe 227–30 bandwagoning in France’s

small coastal continental states 71–2 proto-hegemony 24–5
small island developing states (SIDS) 350, 353 Cold War and proliferation 31–2
small powers in era of laissez-faire balance of power 24
in South America see South American hegemony and concert system 26
small powers liberal internationalism 30–31
small state death Post-Cold War and proliferation 32–3
history of 22–3 Post-Crimean War 28–9
in 19th century 26–7 proliferation in 20th- and 21st century
small state diplomacy, sub-state and 29–30
differences 397–9 small subnational jurisdictions 362–5
similarities 398 challenges and responses 371–3
small state Exodus 28–9 domestic characteristics of 367–9
small states expectations associated with small
challenges in international states 370–71
negotiations 84–6 international characteristics of 365–7
and decision-taking in UNGA 90–92 social capital 116
definition of 3–7 social ecology 60
denuclearization 173 socio-economic dynamics 160–62
direct democracy 39–40 Söder, Sven-Eric 216
falling apart 286–7 Sokha, Kem 332
findings and future research Soldatos, P. 395
capacity and capabilities matter 11 Solomon Islands 344, 352, 353, 364
history 12–13 political turbulence in 354
institutions 11–12 Somalia 382, 383
new research agendas 13–14 Somaliland 384, 388, 389
mediation theory 208–11 ‘capacity to act’ 383
military capability 5 participation in negotiations 381–2
and negotiating the resolutions in recognition of 386
UNGA committees 88–90, 93 trade 387–8
non-great powers 4 Sonangol 236
political constructs 6 Sousa, Manuel Inocêncio 227
politics, three dilemmas of 7–8 South American Defence Council (CDS)
democratization/group think 9 262, 267
influence/autonomy 9–10 South American small powers 259–60, 273–4
nationalist/cosmopolitan 8–9 politics of
power of 8 Bolivia 260–62
proliferation 20 Chile 262–4
Cold War and 31–2, 34 Ecuador 264–5
in 20th- and 21st century 29–30 Paraguay 266–8
security 20–23, 25–30, 32, 33 Peru 268–71
South China Sea see South China Sea, Uruguay 271–3
small states South American Union (UNASUR) 261–5,
and tabling of resolutions 86–8 267, 270, 272
three categories 70–72 South and Central American independence
working together 285–6 movements 27, 28
small states style 40–46 around South China Sea 329–30
small state survival, history 20–21, 34–5 Brunei 335–6
19th century concert system’s Cambodia 330–35
inhospitality 27–8 Philippines 338–9
balanced equilibrium of powers 25–6 Singapore 336–7
South China Sea, small states 329–30
 Index 429

Brunei 335–6 supply constraints 102

Cambodia 330–35 supranationalism 106
Philippines 338–9 survival 20–23
Singapore 336–7 small state see small state survival
South Ossetia 383, 390 sustainable buffer states 171
recognition of 385 Sustainable Development Goals, UN 315, 363
trade 387 Sweden 102, 122–4, 209
South Sudan 33 EU membership 125
sovereign states 362, 369 immigration crisis 119–20
foreign policies 374 in Israeli–Palestinian conflict see
per capita GDP of 370 Israeli–Palestinian conflict
personal politics 368 Swee, Goh Keng 312
sovereignty 6, 28, 364, 373–4, 391 Switzerland
Westphalian concept of 365 GDP per capita 107
Soviet Union 32, 77, 102, 103, 284, 294–6, relations with Liechtenstein 163
304, 385 Syria 406
conflict between the US 122 Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) 406
fishing agreement 350 systemic irrelevancy 23–4
GDP 175 systemically irrelevant state 23
Malta and 138, 144
SPA see Special Partnership Agreement (SPA) Tabai, Ieremia 350
Spain 163, 403 tabling resolutions
relations with Andorra 163 Portugal 87
Spanish Constitution, Article 155 402–4 small states and 86–8
Special Partnership Agreement (SPA) 233–4 Taipei 318, 319, 385
sponsoring resolutions 86–7 Taiwan 317, 318, 384
Spykman, N. J. 169 ‘capacity to act’ 382–3
Srebrnik, H. F. 46 economy 387
state-to-state Anglo-American contest 244 negotiations with China 382–3
St Barthélemy 369 recognition of 385, 386
St Kitts-Nevis (SKN) 41, 281, 282, 286 US military security to 389
St Kitts-Nevis-Anguilla 286 Taiwan Miracle 385
St Lucia 281 Taiwan Straits 317, 318
St Martin 286, 369 Tajikistan 302
St Vincent 281 economy and unemployment 305
stable party system, Cabo Verde 224–7, 237 political rights and civil liberties 300
state borders 190 political tension in 298
state systems 21–2 trade 306
Stokke, K. 210 Tashkent Treaty 298
Stoltenberg, Thorvald 213 tax havens 163–5
strategic partnerships 373 tax regulation 164
Stroessner, Alfredo 266 Taylor, Dame Meg 348
strong buffer states 171 TCTP see Third Country Training
Stuart, K. 363, 364 Programmes (TCTP)
subnational democracy 363 Temporary Protected Status (TPS) 254
subnational flag 366 Ten Day War 400
subnational French jurisdiction 369 terrorism 299
subnational territories 363 terrorist dichotomy 194
sub-state diplomacy 407 Thailand 329, 334
and small state Thatcher, Margaret 108
differences 397–9 Theophanous, A. 141
similarities 398
430 Handbook on the politics of small states

Third Country Training Programmes political rights and civil liberties 300
(TCTP) 315 trade 306
Thompson, G. G. 314 Tuvalu 353, 369
Thucydides 31 climate change 354
Tillerson, Rex 406 economies of scope 75–6
Tito, Josip Broz 136, 189, 190, 192, 399, 400 Tyler, I. 372
Tobago 286 Tymoshenko, Yulia 179, 180
Tokayev, Kasym-Zhomart 299
Toledo, Alejandro 269, 270 UCID see União Cabo-Verdiana
Tong, Anote 346, 350 Independente e Democrata (UCID)
Tonga 352–5 UDD see União para a Democracia e
topping up strategy 117 Desenvolvimento (UDD)
tourism 235–6 UK–Malta Defence 138
Caribbean 281–2 Ukraine
Pacific small states 352 corruption 176, 178–81
Touval, S. 209 dependence on Russia 175, 180, 182–4
Track I talks 213, 215 economy 179
Track II diplomacy 211, 213–15 and EU 174, 177, 179–80
trade liberalization 355 first years of independence 175–6
Transnistria 383, 384 foreign policy 179, 181, 183
exports 387 multi-vector foreign policy 176–80,
Trans-Pacific Partnership Agreement 263 182–3
transparency 64–5 and NATO 179
treaty of friendship of 1977 333–4 ‘non-bloc’ status 179
Treaty on the European Union of 1992 104 reforms 176, 180, 181
Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear relationships with Russia 176–8, 182
Weapons (NPT) 90, 177 return to Europe 175–6
Treaty of Utrecht of 1713 25 Russia’s approach to 172–3
Treaty of Vienna in 1815 26 securitization of 172–3
Trinidad & Tobago 281, 286 shelter seeking in the West 180–82
TRNC see Turkish Republic of Northern as small state between the East and the
Cyprus (TRNC) West 175–81
Tropo negotiations 137 and US 173–4
“Tropospheric Scatter Station” 137 West’s approach to 173
Trovoada, Miguel 227–9, 236 UN see United Nations (UN)
Trovoada, Patrice 228, 229, 236 UN transitional authority (UNTAC) 331
Trujillo, Rafael 287 UNASUR see South American Union
Trump, Donald 77, 110, 115, 124, 201, 254, (UNASUR)
263, 268, 270, 284, 319, 388, 406 uncooperative tax havens 163
‘America First’ policy 108 underdevelopment trap 354–5
Tsai Ing-wen 388 UNDP see United Nations Development
Tsipras, Alexis 192 Programme (UNDP)
Tucker, N. B. 385 unemployment 305
Tudjman, Franjo 400, 401 unemployment rates 116
Tufte, E. R. 46 UNESCO 315, 385
Turkey 134, 141, 406 UNGA see United Nations General
relations with NATO 202 Assembly (UNGA)
trade 306 União Cabo-Verdiana Independente e
Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus Democrata (UCID) 225
(TRNC) 132 União dos Povos das Ilhas de Cabo Verde
Turkmenistan 296, 298, 299, 302, 304 (UPICV) 225
economy 305
 Index 431

União para a Democracia e US-Dominican Republic-Central America

Desenvolvimento (UDD) 229 Free Trade Agreement (CAFTA-DR)
United Kingdom (UK) 104, 107–10, 113, 249, 251, 254
125, 136, 177 US see United States (US)
aid for Caribbean 371 Uzbekistan 298, 302
citizenship Act 372 economy 305
FDI 232 leaving the CSTO 301
United Nations (UN) 122, 315 May 2005 massacre 299
Sustainable Development Goals 315, 363 political rights and civil liberties 300
United Nations Department of Economic
and Social Affairs 47 Van den Broek, Hans 400, 401
United Nations Development Programme Vanuatu 351, 353–5
(UNDP) 47 Vatican 71
United Nations General Assembly (UNGA) Vázquez, Tabaré 272
83–4, 301, 305, 306, 308 Veenendaal, W. P. 38, 39, 374
decision-taking in 90–92 Veiga, Carlos 226
policy cycle 86, 90, 91, 93 Venezuela 265, 269, 272, 273, 284
resolutions 85–8 Verheugen, Gunther 140
of 1541 of 1960 374 Verney, S. 142
Rules of Procedure, Chapter VII 86 Versailles Treaty 29
small states Vietnam
challenges in 85–6, 93 Cambodia and 330–31
and decision-taking in 90–92 immigrants of 333
negotiating the resolutions in Laos and 333–5
committees 88–90, 93 virtues of being small 73–4
voting 90–91 ‘Vision 2035’ 336
United States (US) 107–10, 122–4, 144, Visiting Forces Agreement (VFA) 338
319, 385 Visoka, G. 386
and Central America 244–5, 249 Vizcarra, Martín 269, 270
citizenship 372 Vojvodina 198
flag 366 voting 90–91
hegemony 262, 263, 265, 273, 284–5 Vučić, Aleksandar 194, 198, 200
influence on Pacific islands 349–50 vulnerability 72, 371
Internet gambling case 283
involvement in Kosovo 389 Waage, H. H. 213, 214
Iraq invasion 35 Waltz, K. N. 20–21, 24
military security to Taiwan 389 wannabe states 12, 397, 402, 405
Philippines, ally of 338–9 war multilateralism 77
Post-Cold War 32–3 Warsaw Pact 31
regional market 201 Wasmosy, Juan Carlos 266
Russia and 173 Watson, A. 21
Ukraine and 173–4 Watters, R. 345
UPICV see União dos Povos das Ilhas de weak buffer states 171
Cabo Verde (UPICV) Weber, M. 62
Uruguay Wendt, A. 6
economic crisis in 2002 271 West Indian Federation, jurisdictions 369
foreign policy 271–3 Western Province 352
in MERCOSUR 271–3 Westminster model 40, 51
politics 271–3 Westphalian state system 21–2
regional relationships 271, 272 West’s approach to Ukraine 173
Wight, M. 23
William, Frederick 25
432 Handbook on the politics of small states

Wilson, Woodrow 30, 101 ethnic nation-states 193

Windrush Generation 372 EU membership 200
Wivel, A. 55, 190, 362 fascist/partisan polarization 194
Wolczuk, K. 173 federation of republics 192
World Bank 5, 234, 236, 321, 333, 335 influence/autonomy dilemma 199–202
GDP per capita estimates 107, 335 languages 193
World Health Organization (WHO) World liberalization 192
Health Report 47 migration flows 199–200
world history 21–2 military confrontation 193
world politics 21–2 nationalism 192, 194, 195, 203
World Trade Organization (WTO) 76, 77, 283 nationalist/cosmopolitan dilemma
World War II 8 190–95
Wray, H. 372 patriotic/terrorist dichotomy 194
WTO see World Trade Organization (WTO) power articulation in Serbia 198
refugees 196
Xiaoping, Deng 316–18, 322, 337 regional market 201
Xinjiang 305 ‘regional’ politics 194
Russian trade with Serbia 202
Yanukovych, Viktor 178–80, 183 state borders 190–91
Yeo, George 337 trade balance 201
Ying-jeou, Ma 319, 383 Yugoslavia 32, 34, 136, 189, 191, 201,
Young, O. R. 208 399–401
Yugoslav People’s Army (JNA) 400 economic crisis 192
Yugoslav successor states Yushchenko, Viktor 178–9
decisional power 196
democratization/group think dilemma Zaev, Zoran 192, 196, 197
195–9 Zedong, Mao 317
economic crisis 192 Zelaya, Manuel 248
ethnic cleansing 193, 196 Zemin, Jiang 334
ethnicity 195–7 Zheenbekov, Sooronbai 300