*It is beyond the scope of this text to discuss how zombie comitology within the European Union would be handled. There is little doubt, however, that it would be painful.
NEOCONSERVATISM AND
THE AXIS OF EVIL DEAD
In the American foreign policy community, neocon-servatives, or “neocons,” are treated as analytically distinct from either realists or liberals. Most international relations scholars view neoconservative foreign policies as possessing a melange of liberal and realist tenets, but some believe that this approach represents an altogether different paradigm.1 On the one hand, neocons agree with liberals about the importance of the democratic peace. Like liberals, neo-conservatives believe that a world of democracies would be a more secure global order.2 They accept the notion that democracies will not fight each other—therefore, the world is a safer place when there are more democracies. Neocons also agree with liberal internationalists that American hegemony contributes to a more just world order.
On the other hand, neoconservatives share the realist skepticism about international institutions.3 Neocons disdain multilateral institutions as a Nietzschian weapon of the weak and the devious.4 International institutions and international law only constrain democracies because of their adherence to the rule of law. Despotic states benefit from cynically embracing multilateralism in theory but not in practice. Neo-conservatives do not trust the foreign policy intentions of authoritarian countries. They are also wary of the ability of democratic states to maintain their vigilance in such a dangerous world. Like classical realists, neocons fret about the enervating effects of democracy on the practice of foreign policy.5
American neoconservatives are very quick to spot threats and conflicts. Over the past decade, they have articulated many such threats to the American way of life—including those emanating from Russia, China, Iran, North Korea, Al Qaeda, Islam, the European Union, and the United Nations.6 Provided that the morass of other possible existential threats did not distract them, one would expect neoconservatives to detect the zombie menace at an early stage.*
The neoconservative policy response to an uprising of undead flesh-eaters would be simple and direct. Zombies are an existential threat more serious than any clash of civilizations. To paraphrase Robert Kagan, humans are from Earth and zombies are from Hell.7 Neither accommodation nor recognition would be sustainable options. The zombies hate us for our freedoms—specifically, our freedom to abstain from eating human flesh. As one of the zombies explains in Dan O'Bannon's Return of the Living Dead (1985), ghouls eat brains because it is the only thing that eases the pain of being dead.
Neoconservatives would scoff at the realist contention that zombies are like any other actor in world politics, and at the liberal contention that global governance structures could cope with the zombie menace. This school of thought would instead recommend an aggressive and militarized response to ensure the continued hegemony of the human race. Rather than wait for the ghouls to come to them, neoconservatives would recommend proactive policy options that take the fight to the undead. Their policy preference would be for an armed invasion of the central region in the zombie-affected area. Deploying armed forces in ghoul-infested territory would serve two purposes. First, it would act as “flypaper,” diverting zombies from expanding their dominion. Second, this use of force would eventually drain the swamp of the un-dead menace.
The neoconservative policy preference on zombies is predicated on the revolution in military affairs permitting swift victory.8 Based on this military doctrine, neoconservatives would recommend relying on high-tech combat tactics with a heavy focus on air power and special forces to shock and awe the living dead into submission. The hardcore neoconservative position would assert that the use of American power would create a new reality, in which the zombies themselves would yearn to break free of their undead state and rejoin the human-based community.9 Moderate neoconservatives would adopt a more nuanced position; they would posit that, after creating a human outpost in the center of zombie-infested territory, humans in neighboring zombie-afflicted nations would be inspired to rise up and liberate themselves from their undead oppressors. All neoconservatives would welcome a crusade against the undead as worthy of the martial spirit and national greatness that embody the best virtues America has to offer.10
It is to neoconservatism's credit that its doctrine is consistent with extant work on how best to respond to the zombie menace.11 A war against zombies would, surely, be a war against evil itself.12 However, other elements of neoconservatism might undercut the long-term viability of their initial plans. For example, neoconservatives frequently assume that all adversaries are part of a single axis or alliance of evil enemies. To be sure, that assumption works when confined to zombies, but it is unlikely that neoconservatives would stop there. Because of neoconservative hostility to authoritarianism, they would be inclined to see zombies and despots as part of the same overarching threat. They would inevitably identify reanimated corpses as part of a bigger World War IV against a so-called Axis of Evil Dead that could include Iran, Syria, Hezbollah, Hamas, Al Qaeda, China, and Russia, as well as the combined armies of the undead.13 Expanding the list of enemies would sabotage any attempt at broad-based coalition warfare, hindering military effectiveness in a global war on zombies.
Furthermore, the military doctrine of shock and awe combined with the light footprint of forces on the ground would prove disastrous in a military campaign against the undead. As Brooks noted explicitly in World War Z, this doctrine would likely have zero effect on zombies: “[W]hat if the enemy can't be shocked and awed? Not just won't, but biologically can't?”14 Indeed, such a strategy would only trigger a fresh wave of flesh-eating ghouls to rise up. If history is any guide, the initial occupying force would be drawn down too quickly. Over the long run, military forces would likely be enmeshed in a protracted, bloody insurgency from the undead. Indigenous human populations would quickly lose faith in the U.S. military's ability to quell the zombie hordes.
With a massive surge in troops and materiel to clear and hold pockets of zombie-free territory, the neoconservative approach to flesh-eating ghouls might yield modest successes in the long run. The costs, however, would be appalling. The failure of a surge strategy would lead to an inevitable and catastrophic policy response, as demonstrated in 28 Weeks Later. When a zombie outbreak occurs in the latter half of that film, military forces are quickly given orders to shoot on sight, regardless of whether the person is or isn't infected. Scarlet, a sympathetic Army doctor, explains the military mind-set in case of an outbreak of infection: “It all makes sense. They're executing Code Red. Step 1: kill the infected. Step 2: containment. If containment fails, then step 3: extermination.” Alas, by the end of that film, despite extreme measures that include the firebombing of London, the zombie infection escapes quarantine and spreads to continental Eurasia.
* * *
*Indeed, one concern would be that the initial neoconservative response to a zombie outbreak would be to invade Iraq again out of force of habit.
THE SOCIAL CONSTRUCTION
OF ZOMBIES
Constructivism is the most recent international relations paradigm to achieve widespread scholarly recognition. Just as with the realist and liberal paradigms, there exists a plethora of constructivist approaches.1 Constructivist approaches do share a set of core assumptions about world politics, however. These assumptions and causal mechanisms revolve around two central tenets: the social construction of reality, and the importance of identity in explaining and interpreting behavior on the world stage.
For constructivists, material factors such as economic wealth and military power are important—but even more important are how social structures filter and interpret the meaning of those material capabilities. For example, zombies are hardly the only actors in the social world to crave human flesh. Cannibals, sharks, and very hungry bears will also target Homo sapiens if there is sufficient opportunity and willingness. Nevertheless, zombies
are perceived to be a much greater threat to humankind. Why? There are material factors to consider—to our knowledge, bears can't turn human beings into more bears by biting them. Constructivists would argue that this is an incomplete explanation, however. Zombies threaten the powerful human norm of not devouring each other for sustenance or pleasure—and therefore arouse greater security concerns as a result.
Constructivists argue that transnational norms are a powerful constraint on action in world politics. Nuclear weapons, for example, are the most powerful destructive force in human history—but they have not been used in combat since 1945. Social constructivists argue that, over time, a taboo has developed regarding their use.2 Within societies, actors will usually refrain from violating powerful social norms because they do not want to be ostracized by their peers. Constructivist scholars argue that this effect also exists in global society; by and large, governments want to avoid being ostracized by other actors in the international community.3
Just as important to the constructivist paradigm is the role that identity plays in defining actors and their preferences. Identities are developed or constituted through mutual recognition—authoritative actors are considered legitimate in the international community not only because of self-recognition but because others recognize them as legitimate. Actors—including but not limited to states—define themselves in part by distinguishing themselves from the “other.”4 This provides all actors a greater sense of ontological security that guides their actions and beliefs in world affairs.5 Because zombies used to be human, reanimated, ravenous flesh-eating corpses could make humans more uncertain about their identity—and how it differs from the viably challenged.
Significant elements of the zombie canon have a constructivist bent. As cultural critics have observed, the horror in zombie films comes not from a single ghoul but from an ever-expanding community of them.6 It other words, the terror increases when a large swath of individuals are socialized into the ways of the undead. Similarly, zombie films persistently raise questions about the identity distinctions between ghouls and humans. These questions provoke considerable anxiety—and occasional nightmares—from human protagonists. One recent cultural analysis of the zombie genre observes, “What is remarkable about so many zombie movies is that the survivors of the plague/accident/alien invasion that caused the infection do so little to distinguish themselves from zombies; it's very much a case of as you are, so too am I.”7 In George Romero's films, characters cannot escape commenting on the similarities between the living and the undead. The actions of the zombies and the zombie-hunting posse in Night of the Living Dead (1968) are barely distinguishable from each other. In both Dawn of the Dead (1978) and Day of the Dead (1985) a human character, discussing the zombies, simply declares, “They're us.”
One could argue that social constructivism is better prepared than other paradigms to deal with a paranormal phenomenon like the dead rising from the grave. As previously noted, constructivists have engaged with other paranormal actors, such as UFOs. The applicability of these preexisting theoretical arguments to zombies is open to question, however. For example, Alexander Wendt and Raymond Duvall's constructivist explanation of official denials of extraterrestrial aliens is premised on the notion that these aliens possess superior technology to humans.8 The technological superiority of aliens undercuts the anthropocentric nature of human worldviews. UFOs therefore go unacknowledged because any official recognition would endanger the sovereignty of Homo sapiens on Planet Earth. While zombies possess some comparative advantage over humans in already being dead, their technological capabilities are far lower. Indeed, Wendt and Duvall's arguments cannot be extended to vampires, ghosts, Elvis Presley, or the Loch Ness monster—much less zombies. Unfortunately, attempting to advance this UFO-specific variant of constructivism further would represent a theoretical dead end.
The constructivist paradigm nevertheless offers some useful predictions and policy recommendations. If confronted with the exogenous shock of the un-dead, constructivists would undoubtedly argue that zombies are what humans make of them.9 That is to say, there are a number of possible emergent norms in response to zombies. One possible effect could be the Hobbesian “kill or be killed” scenario in which human beings turn on each other as well as the living dead. Some research,10 as well as most of the zombie canon, concludes that the natural response to the rise of the living dead would be sheer panic, leading to genuine anarchy.
Most constructivists would instead posit that a Kantian “pluralistic counter-zombie security community” in which governments share sovereignty and resources to combat the undead menace is more likely.11 Empirical work on how individuals respond to manufactured and natural disasters suggests that this is the more likely outcome than that predicted in George Romero's oeuvre.12 Rebecca Solnit observes that, “in the wake of an earthquake, a bombing, or a major storm, most people are altruistic, urgently engaged in caring for themselves and those around them, strangers and neighbors as well as friends and loved ones. The image of the selfish, panicky, or regressively savage human being in times of disaster has little truth to it.”13 Anthropological research further suggests that only with extreme resource scarcity will communities of people turn on each other.14
This could hold with even greater force if flesh-eating ghouls are the source of the disaster. The existence of zombies might foster some initial ontological security, but over time the implacable nature of the zombie threat should create a stronger feeling of collective identity among humans—because they have no intrinsic compulsion to consume the entrails of the living.15 This shared sense of identity should, in turn, foster a greater sense of ontological security. Indeed, for some constructivists, the existential peril posed by zombies could be the exogenous shock needed to break down nationalist divides and advance the creation of a world state.16
To nudge key actors toward the creation of a pluralistic security community in response to zombies, constructivists would offer two controversial but concrete policy recommendations. The first preemptive move would be to destroy every copy of nearly every zombie film ever made. Intentionally or unintentionally, constructivists argue that the consistency of the zombie narrative socially constructs “apocalypse myths.” As Frank Furedi observes, “The experience of disasters—major and minor—is a social phenomenon which is mediated through the public's cultural imagination.”17 Cultural narratives that suggest panic, disaster, and mayhem can have real-world effects.18 If everyone expects the rise of living dead to trigger panic and dystopia, then those misperceptions could very well reify that outcome. The zombie canon stresses the dog-eat-dog (or person-eat-person) nature of zombie apocalypses. Those images could become cemented in both elite and mass public perceptions. At the very least, security institutions should subsidize countervailing narratives about resilience in the face of flesh-eating ghouls—something that, not coincidentally, occurs in Max Brooks's novel World War Z (2006).
The second policy suggestion would be to socialize zombies into human culture. Jen Webb and Sam Byrnard observe that “zombies aren't social isolates—they seem to prefer to live in groups, within built social environments.”19 In Romero's Day of the Dead, Dr. Logan suggested that zombies were demonstrating the “bare beginnings of social behavior,” allowing for the possibility of human society socializing them. This was certainly the aim in their efforts to “train” Bub. Similarly, at the end of Edgar Wright's Shaun of the Dead (2004), a montage demonstrates the ways in which English society reintegrates the remaining zombies—as game show contestants, daytime talk show guests, supermarket workers, and video game players. This would be consistent with the socialization efforts advocated by constructivist scholars. If the undead learn to act as if they are human again, then constructivists would posit that they have abandoned their identity as flesh-eating ghouls.
These policy recommendations assume that once zombies walk the earth, humans will be able to socialize them before they proliferate beyond human control. If
a critical mass of flesh-eating ghouls were to emerge, however, then the constructivist paradigm offers a very different prediction. Constructivists would predict an emergent “norm cascade” from the proliferation of the living dead.20 A norm cascade functions like peer pressure—as people witness others adhering to a particular standard of behavior, they are more likely to conform to that standard of behavior as well. As a larger fraction of individuals are converted to the undead persuasion, the remaining humans would feel significant material and social pressure to conform to zombie practices.
The conformity meme appears frequently in the zombie canon. In World War Z, Brooks noted the existence of “quislings,” humans who acted like they were zombies. As one character described them, “These people were zombies, maybe not physically, but mentally you could not tell the difference.”21 In Shaun of the Dead, the principal characters practiced shuffling and moaning in order to blend in. In Ruben Fleischer's Zombieland (2009), Bill Murray put on zombie makeup in order to go out for an evening. Even if humans adopt zombie norms simply to survive, over time these actions will begin to constitute their identity.
Norms acquire general acceptance through a combination of greater numbers and the intrinsic attractiveness of the practices themselves. While one could casually dismiss the idea that eating live human flesh would be attractive, other components of the zombie lifestyle might be alluring to many humans. The living dead do not feel the need to bathe, shave, or change their clothes—nor do they judge their own kind based on appearance. Zombies do not discriminate based on race, color, creed, ethnicity, or sexual orientation. They always hang out in large packs. They are extremely ecofriendly—zombies walk everywhere and only eat organic foods. This description accurately captures many of the lifestyle traits of the typical college student, the change agent of many societies. Zombies might have hidden reserves of soft power, leading humans to want what zombies want.22 If this cultural vanguard were to embrace the zombie way of life, remaining survivors would eventually internalize all zombie norms. These would include guttural moaning, shuffling, and smelling like death warmed over. In the end, both socialized humans and zombies would crave the flesh of unrepentant humans. At this point, the conceptual category of zombies would not be restricted to reanimated corpses—it would be a social construct as well.
Theories of International Politics and Zombies Page 5