Shall We Go Our Own Way?

Few words carry as much autoerotic charge as sovereignty. We love to hear it, and we love even more to say it. It gives us a pleasant jolt in the gut—like speeding over a speed bump. It gives us confidence and a sense of power. Perhaps because the word comes from the term for a ruler, a sovereign, who in the dark Middle Ages could do whatever he pleased—including, allegedly, testing local virgins on their wedding night.

By the way, ius primae noctis, or the “right of the thighs,” as the ever-elegant French referred to it in matters of the bedroom, is likely more myth than historical fact. Medieval lovers of sovereignty usually avoided brides from the lower classes—out of both aesthetic and health concerns, since life didn’t treat the poor kindly even back then. The German legal historian Karl Schmidt convincingly debunked the recreational aspects of medieval executive power in his 1881 study “Jus primae noctis. Eine geschichtliche Untersuchung.”

A few decades later, another Karl—Carl Schmitt, a fellow German—also took up the question of sovereignty. His theories on the ruler’s unlimited power earned him the reputation as Hitler’s court jurist and philosopher. Schmitt defined sovereignty as the right to declare a “state of exception,” which, in the defense of a nation’s vital interests, frees executive power from all legal obligations and constraints. In other words, the sovereign ruler may, in the name of the people, rise above the law and do as he pleases. History shows that Hitler interpreted Schmitt’s Ausnahmezustand rather broadly—and didn’t limit it to the right to mess around with his subjects.

Schmitt’s and Hitler’s idea of sovereignty had its legal reckoning at the Nuremberg Trials, where in response to Nazi atrocities, a new legal concept was introduced into international law: crimes against humanity. This significantly curtailed the sovereign right of states to treat people under their jurisdiction as they pleased. Limited state sovereignty, the obligation to respect human rights and freedoms, and multilateral international cooperation became the foundations of the post-war world order.

European countries took this a step further. Both the European Convention on Human Rights and the European Union are based on transferring part of national sovereign powers to supranational institutions. In light of historical experience, this limitation—or pooling—of national sovereignty was seen as a civilizational step forward and an investment in a safer shared future. That is also why the European Union was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize a few years ago.

Lately, obsession with national sovereignty is back in fashion. Part of the blame lies with the fading of historical memory, and part with politics' shallow commitment to its own democratic and humanist principles. This is cleverly exploited by those who, in the name of “vital national interests,” place themselves above laws and above the people. While many sovereignty enthusiasts in our country look for inspiration among our neighbors or our American son-in-law Donald Trump, I think their aspirations are more closely aligned with North Korea—a country that is arguably the most uncompromisingly sovereign state in the world. Kim Jong-un handles international relations with his middle finger. There are no migrants in North Korea; its border fences are designed only to stop people from fleeing the country. North Koreans, though often with empty stomachs, can sleep soundly knowing that their culture and identity are in no danger. And if someone bangs on their door at night, it’s certainly not a Syrian refugee—it’s the secret police.

Closer to Slovenia is the United Kingdom, which, though clearly not North Korea, illustrates well—through Brexit—the economic, political, and social consequences of fetishizing national sovereignty and politically exploiting migration challenges.

Populism interprets sovereignty as the right to arbitrariness and selfishness—at the expense of others, and ultimately to one’s own detriment. This understanding of sovereignty undermines efforts to combat global warming, rejects rational approaches to migration, and destabilizes global peace and security. We get a different picture if we view sovereignty as a measure of a state’s real capacity to influence its own fate. Every country has not only the right but the duty to its citizens to ensure safety and public order and to find effective answers to economic, social, and security challenges—including, of course, managing migration. The problem arises when politics pretends—or outright lies—that these goals can be better achieved through barroom swaggering at home rather than through international cooperation.

Populist dismantling of the international institutions and mechanisms established after the world’s disastrous experience with Schmitt-style sovereignty is particularly dangerous for small countries like Slovenia. It prevents them from using international cooperation and law to increase their actual sovereignty and effectively protect their interests—and from offering their citizens long-term security, freedom, and economic development.

The future is being endangered by politicians who talk the loudest about security and patriotism. The great nationalists of small nations forget about the selfishness and brutality of a unilateral world. In the jungle, where rules are set by the biggest and strongest orangutan, there are no consensual international relations. For small countries, there is neither candlelight nor romance—only the sovereign right of the big and powerful to take whatever they believe belongs to them.

In other words, without international law, institutions, and cooperation, our sovereignty and safety could end up depending on overpriced armored vehicles, poorly equipped troops, and some used warship bartered via a clearing debt. I respect the army—especially when commanded by a woman—but let’s first try intelligent policy and proactive diplomacy.

Whenever nationalists start rattling the sabers of sovereignty, I instinctively clench my thighs and try to remember how many days’ worth of food we have stored in the basement.