book review
Homelands: A Personal History of Europe – review
In Homelands: A Personal History of Europe, Timothy Garton Ash reflects on European history and political transformation from the mid-20th century to the present. Deftly interweaving analysis with personal narratives, Garton Ash offers a compelling exploration of recent European history and how its lessons can help us navigate today’s challenges, writes Mario Clemens.
Homelands: A Personal History of Europe. Timothy Garton Ash. The Bodley Head. 2023.
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Almost ten years ago, I heard the then-German Foreign Minister (and current Federal President) Frank-Walter Steinmeier say that we have to prepare ourselves for the fact that in the near future, crises will become the norm. What sounded like a somewhat eccentric assessment now appears to be an apt description of our reality, including in Europe. How did we get here?
As Timothy Garton Ash argues in Homelands: A Personal History of Europe, Western Liberals made the mistake of relying on the unfounded assumption that history would simply continue to go their way. Post-cold-war-liberals failed, for example, to care enough about economic equality (237) and thus allowed Liberalism to make way for its ugly twin, Neoliberalism.
Western Liberals made the mistake of relying on the unfounded assumption that history would simply continue to go their way.
Whether we want to understand Islamist Terrorism, the rise of European right-wing populism, or Russia’s revanchist turn, in each case we find helpful hints in recent European history. What makes Garton Ash the ideal guide through the “history of the present” is his three-dimensional experience: that of a historian, a widely travelled and prominent journalist and a politically active intellectual.
What makes Garton Ash the ideal guide through the “history of the present” is his three-dimensional experience: that of a historian, a widely travelled and prominent journalist and a politically active intellectual.
Garton Ash started travelling across Europe fresh out of school, “working on a converted troopship, the SS Nevada, carrying British schoolchildren around the Mediterranean” (27). Aged 18, he was already keeping a journal on what he saw, heard and read.
He nurtured that journalistic impulse and soon merged it with a more active political one, eventually becoming the “engaged observer” (Raymond Aron) that he desired to be. In the early 1980s, he sat with workers and intellectuals in the Gdańsk Shipyard, where the Polish Solidarity movement (Solidarność) emerged. Later in the 1980s, he befriended Václav Havel, the Czech intellectual dissident and eventual President. Garton Ash chronicled and participated in the movement led by Havel, which successfully achieved the peaceful transition of Czechoslovakia from one-party communist rule to democracy. Since then, Garton Ash has consistently enjoyed privileged access to key political figures, such as Helmut Kohl, Madeleine Albright, Tony Blair and Aung San Suu Kyi. Simultaneously, he has maintained contact with so-called ordinary people. All the while, he has preserved the necessary distance intellectuals require to do their job, which in his view “is to seek the truth, and to speak truth to power” (173). His training as a historian, provides him with a broader perspective, which, in Homelands, allows him to arrange individual scenes and observations into an encompassing, convincing narrative.
Garton Ash has published several books focusing on particular themes, such as free speech, and events, such as the peaceful revolutions of 1989. In addition, he has published two books containing collected articles that cover a decade each. History of the Present: Essays, Sketches, and Dispatches from Europe in the 1990s and Facts are Subversive: Political Writing from a Decade without a Name, which covers the timespan between 2000 and 2010. Homelands now not only covers a larger timespan, the “overlapping timeframes of post-war and post-wall” (xi) – 1945 and 1989 to the present – but the chapters are also more tightly linked as had been possible in books that were based on previous publications.
By the second decade of the twenty-first century we had, for the first time ever, a generation of Europeans who had known nothing but a peaceful, free Europe consisting mainly of liberal democracies.
“Freedom and Europe” says Garton Ash, are “the two political causes closest to my heart” (xi), and he had the good fortune to witness a period where freedom was expanding within Europe. Now that history seems to be running in reverse gear, he worries that this new generation don’t quite realise what’s at stake: “By the second decade of the twenty-first century we had, for the first time ever, a generation of Europeans who had known nothing but a peaceful, free Europe consisting mainly of liberal democracies. Unsurprisingly, they tend to take it for granted’ (23-24).
Thus, one critical aim motivating Homelands is to convey to a younger generation what has been achieved by the “Europe-builders,” men and women who have been motivated by what Garton Ash calls the “memory machine,” the vivid memory of the hell Europe had turned itself into during its modern-day Thirty Years War (21-22). While nothing can equal this “direct personal memory,” he argues that there are other ways “in which knowledge of things past can be transmitted” – via literature, for instance, but also through history (24), especially when written well.
A gifted stylist, Garton Ash makes history come alive by telling the stories of individuals
A gifted stylist, Garton Ash makes history come alive by telling the stories of individuals, for instance, that of his East German friend, the pastor Werner Krätschell. On Thursday evening, 9 November 1989, Werner had just come home from the evening church service in East Berlin. When his elder daughter Tanja and her friend Astrid confirmed the rumour that the frontier to West Berlin was apparently open, Werner decided to see for himself. Taking Tanja and Astrid with him, he drove to the border crossing at Bornholmer Strasse. Like in a trance, he saw the frontier guard opening the first barrier. Next, he got a stamp on his passport – “invalid”. “‘But I can come back?’ – ‘No, you have to emigrate and are not allowed to re-enter,’” the border guard replied. Horrified because his two younger children were sleeping in the vicarage, “Werner did a U-turn inside the frontier crossing and prepared to head home. Then he heard another frontier guard tell a colleague that the order had changed: ‘They’re allowed back.’ So he did another U-turn, to point his yellow Wartburg again towards the West” (146).
History, written in this way, “as experienced by individual people and exemplified by their stories” (xiii), may indeed help us to “learn from the past without having to go through it all again ourselves” (24).
Though he emphasises the wealth, freedom and peace in late 20th-century Europe, Garton Ash also reminds us that post-war European history, even its “post-wall” period, is not an unqualified success story.
Though he emphasises the wealth, freedom and peace in late 20th-century Europe, Garton Ash also reminds us that post-war European history, even its “post-wall” period, is not an unqualified success story. Notably, right after the Cold War, there were the hot wars accompanying the dissolution of Yugoslavia. He regards the fact that the rest of Europe “permitted this ten-year return to hell” as “a terrible stain on what was otherwise one of the most hopeful periods of European history” (187).
Garton Ash is equally alert to the danger of letting one’s enthusiasm for Europe’s post-war achievements turn into self-righteousness. “That post-war Europe abjured and abhorred war would have been surprising news to the many parts of the world, from Vietnam to Kenya and Angola to Algeria, where European states continued to fight brutal wars in an attempt to hang on to their colonies” (327).
While such warnings qualify and differentiate Homelands’ central message – that today’s Europeans have much to lose – they do not reverse it. But knowing that one is bound to lose a lot can also have a paralysing effect, as many of my generation currently experience. Here again, history can help: to understand our present, we need to know what brought us here. Garton Ash is convinced that we can learn from history; he, for instance, claims that the rest of Europe should “learn the lessons of Brexit” (279).
Those who seek orientation through a better understanding of the past should turn to this extraordinary, eminently readable exploration of recent European history.
Homelands: A Personal History of Europe perfectly complements Tony Judt’s extensive Postwar (published in 2005). While Judt’s work offers a detailed and systematic account of European history after 1945, Garton Ash’s book seamlessly blends personal narratives, insightful analysis, and astute critique. Those who seek orientation through a better understanding of the past should turn to this extraordinary, eminently readable exploration of recent European history.
This post gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science. The LSE RB blog may receive a small commission if you choose to make a purchase through the above Amazon affiliate link. This is entirely independent of the coverage of the book on LSE Review of Books.
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Indigenizing the Cold War: Nation-Building by the Border Patrol Police in Thailand – review
Indigenizing the Cold War: Nation-Building by the Border Patrol Police in Thailand by Sinae Hyun explores the effects of the Cold War on Thailand’s nation-building process, specifically on the transformation of the Border Patrol Police (BPP) from a force supported by the CIA to a civic action agency. Applying the analytical lens of indigenisation, the book vividly describes the interplay between anti-communist mobilisation and nation-building during this period, writes Xu Peng. This post was originally published on the LSE Southeast Asia Blog.
Indigenizing the Cold War: Nation-Building by the Border Patrol Police in Thailand. Sinae Hyun. University of Hawaii Press. 2023.
The main argument of this book is that the Cold War in Thailand was not just an ideological struggle between communism and anti-communism but a complex interplay between local elites and the general populace. The book highlights two key historical continuities: the Thai ruling elite’s collaboration with the US to establish Thailand as a bastion of anti-communism and leveraging US Cold War policies to advance Thai military and royal agendas. This work offers valuable insights into Southeast Asian studies, Cold War history, and political science by exploring the complexities of nation-building and the role of global superpowers in local affairs.
The author astutely observes that the revival of monarchical influence [in Thailand] was not an isolated phenomenon but a strategic move that dovetailed with anti-communist politics during this period [1947-1962]
The first chapter, “From CIA Brainchild to Civic Action Agent, 1947-1962,” serves as a foundational piece, setting the stage for the intricate transformations the Border Patrol Police (BPP) would undergo. The author astutely observes that the revival of monarchical influence was not an isolated phenomenon but a strategic move that dovetailed with anti-communist politics during this period. This alignment of interests between the Thai military and the monarchy was not merely coincidental but rather a calculated strategy that drew substantial support from the United States. This chapter illuminates how international geopolitics and local political imperatives can intersect, thereby mutually reinforcing each other. Moving on to the second chapter, “Building a Human Border, 1962-1980,” the author delves into the complexities of nation-building and bordercraft. The BPP’s initiatives in remote mountainous regions, which included sanitation, health, rural economic development, and narcotics suppression, were not merely civic actions. Rather, they were strategic moves designed to maintain a hierarchical relationship between the hill tribes and mainstream Thai society. Far from aiming to integrate these ethnic minorities into the Thai nation, these activities deliberately kept the highland minorities at arm’s length, serving to legitimise the nation-building process led by the existing ruling elite.
The author argues that [the 6 October1976 Massacre] epitomises how the Thai ruling elite, whether military or monarchy, successfully indigenised American anti-communist strategies to serve their own ends
The third chapter, “The Saga of the Black Panther, 1950-1976,” offers a nuanced look into the Police Aerial Reinforcement Unit (PARU) and its role within the broader framework of the BPP and the Cold War. Initially formed as a CIA paramilitary force, PARU faced existential challenges, particularly when Sarit Thanarat seized power in 1957. In order to survive, the unit was deployed to Laos for clandestine operations, securing US military aid for Thailand in the process. However, when the Laos operation faltered, PARU returned to Thailand as a demoralised unit. At this juncture, the Thai monarchy adopted PARU as an agent of indigenisation and royalist nationalism. The chapter reflects on the complexities of survival, allegiance, and identity. It highlights how local actors like PARU were not merely pawns but active agents in shaping their destinies within shifting geopolitical landscapes. In the fourth chapter, “Crusade from the Borders to Bangkok, 1969-1976,” the focus shifts to the 6 October Massacre, a watershed moment in Thai history. The author argues that this event epitomises how the Thai ruling elite, whether military or monarchy, successfully indigenised American anti-communist strategies to serve their own ends. The formation of the Village Scouts by the BPP and their role in the massacre is a stark reminder of how state-sponsored initiatives can have far-reaching and often devastating consequences. The concluding chapter, “Mission Incomplete,” serves as a reflective epilogue, pondering the long-term impacts of the indigenised Cold War on Thai society. The chapter scrutinises the transformation of King Bhumibol from a traditional royal patron to a modern nation-builder. It also examines the legacies of Thai-style democracy and royalist nationalism, which continue to exert a profound influence over Thai society. The chapter raises pertinent questions about the future role of the BPP, especially given its ambiguous identity constructed during the Cold War era.
The ruling elite engaged in a calculated ‘othering’ process, setting up psychological borders between ‘friend’ and ‘foe,’ ‘us’ and ‘them.’[…] to marginalise political dissidents and others posing threats to the regime, often labelling them as communists irrespective of their actual affiliations
One of the most salient strengths of Indigenizing the Cold War lies in its nuanced understanding of the postcolonial nation-building process. The author compellingly argues that under the aegis of the global Cold War system, nation-building was not merely a territorial project but also a psychological one. The ruling elite engaged in a calculated ‘othering’ process, setting up psychological borders between ‘friend’ and ‘foe,’ ‘us’ and ‘them.’ This strategy was particularly effective as it employed ambiguous criteria to determine who were communists and who were not, thereby consolidating the state’s authority. The ruling class weaponised this ‘othering’ tactic to marginalise political dissidents and others posing threats to the regime, often labelling them as communists irrespective of their actual affiliations. This strategy essentially conditioned the nation to fear and respect the authority of the state, as it was the state that had the ultimate say in meting out punishment or rewards. Additionally, the book offers a unique perspective on communism’s impact on Southeast Asia. The narrative tends to depict communism more as an abstract, distant threat rather than a tangible force with ebbs and flows. This portrayal could be a deliberate choice by the author to underscore how the concept of communism was often manipulated or reconstructed to fit specific narratives.
Another significant strength of the book is its nuanced analysis of the BPP’s role, which the author describes as a ‘symbolic missionary of nationalism’(page 5). The term ‘missionary’ is employed to signify the BPP’s active role in disseminating and reinforcing nationalist ideologies, a role in which it was patronized and emboldened by the Thai ruling elite, particularly the monarchy. The BPP is not merely a security force but a formalised institution that epitomises the collaboration between the United States and the Thai monarchy up to 1974. While the book provides an exhaustive account of the BPP’s role in Thai nation-building, it could benefit from situating the BPP within a broader context. Specifically, the BPP acts as a broker between ethnic minorities and the ruling regime, and it is worth noting that Thailand often employs a more direct form of intervention, particularly in the use of forest land rights in border areas, to complete the state’s control of the border through processes of territorialisation. These top-down processes, like the civic initiatives led by the BPP, are instrumental in nation-building. Therefore, the correlation between the BPP and other state-led initiatives in nation-building should also be considered for a more comprehensive understanding.
While the book does touch upon the bureaucratic hindrances to the assimilation of mountain peoples, as mentioned in Chapter 2, ‘The Human Border,’ it still lacks a comprehensive account of resistance or agency from these communities
The core issue that emerges from the book is its portrayal of nation-building as a largely one-way process, focusing predominantly on the actions and strategies of the state or its agents (or broker), such as the BPP. While the book does touch upon the bureaucratic hindrances to the assimilation of mountain peoples, as mentioned in Chapter 2, ‘The Human Border,’ it still lacks a comprehensive account of resistance or agency from these communities. This absence is significant because it is difficult to gauge the effectiveness of nation-building without considering this component of resistance. The book’s one-sided portrayal simplifies what should be understood as a complex, two-way interaction between the state and the people in ungoverned areas. This leads to a further point of curiosity: Which concept of ‘nation-building’ is the book discussing? Is it the ‘united, progressive nation-state’ that the author describes as challenging to build, or is it a more inclusive concept of the nation? While the author’s final conclusion does reflect on the limitations of the concept of nation-building, it leaves room for further exploration and discussion.
The book excels in its theoretical contributions, particularly the concept of ‘indigenisation.’ […] Compared to the more commonly used term ‘localisation,’ ‘indigenisation’ serves as a more potent analytical tool to highlight the reciprocity involved in creating and sustaining conditions for collaboration and adaptation between the U.S
Lastly, the book excels in its theoretical contributions, particularly the concept of ‘indigenisation.’ The author employs the metaphor of ‘missionisation’ in missiology to elucidate the work and practices of missionaries who aimed not merely to convert indigenous people but also to bring them under their mission’s sphere of influence and control. Compared to the more commonly used term ‘localisation,’ ‘indigenisation’ serves as a more potent analytical tool to highlight the reciprocity involved in creating and sustaining conditions for collaboration and adaptation between the U.S. and its Southeast Asian allies during the Cold War. Significantly, the book integrates this theory of ‘indigenisation’ exceptionally well, particularly in chapters one through five. It demonstrates a progressive increase in the degree of ‘indigenisation,’ culminating in the 6 October Massacre, representing the apex of full ‘indigenisation.’ This observation adds another layer of depth to our understanding of how the theory is not just static but evolves and intensifies over time, thereby enriching our understanding of Cold War dynamics in Southeast Asia.
This book review is published by the LSE Southeast Asia blog and LSE Review of Books blog as part of a collaborative series focusing on timely and important social science books from and about Southeast Asia. This review gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, the LSE Southeast Asia Blog, or the London School of Economics and Political Science.
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