This chapter provides a practitioner’s point of view on diplomatic images. The author is positioned to give a unique perspective as a freelance photographer who is currently based in Singapore, which has recently become a significant city-state for major global diplomatic events. Through his first-hand experiences of covering high-profile international diplomatic events, such as the 2018 Trump-Kim Summit held in Singapore, the author takes us backstage and demonstrates how famous diplomatic images are produced to represent the affective register of the moment. In so doing, the chapter illuminates the situational context of the photographer in taking diplomatic images, offering insight into the editorial process in which diplomatic images are produced by the media.

The politics of Vietnam was born in the early Cold War when Republicans made a concerted effort to undercut the national security advantage that Democrats enjoyed after a decisive victory in World War II. The years after the war are often remembered as a period when politics stopped at the water’s edge. Nothing could be further from the truth. Although there were a number of factors that moved the US military deep into the jungles of Vietnam, including a “domino theory” positing that if one country fell to communism everything around it would follow, partisan politics was a driving force behind this disastrous strategy. The same political logic and prowess that led President Lyndon Johnson to strengthen the legislative coalition behind his Great Society simultaneously pushed him into a hawkish posture in Southeast Asia.

Hanoi entered into negotiations with Washington and Saigon in 1968–9, Chapter 4 explains, but merely to probe and sow division among its enemies. But then unsettling circumstances intervened, including the Sino-Soviet Border War of early 1969; the death a few months later of Ho Chi Minh, who, despite his lack of influence over communist decision-making, remained the venerable face of the Vietnamese struggle for reunification and independence and thus an important public relations tool; and, finally, Nixon’s decisions to “Vietnamize” the anticommunist war effort in the South and then to authorize incursions into Cambodia and Laos. The period 1969–71 was marked by uncertainty and indecisiveness as communist decision-makers reassessed their strategic priorities and placed greater emphasis on alternative modes of struggle. Concerned about potential diplomatic isolation and the loss of Soviet and Chinese support, Le Duan decided to go-for-broke once more. The 1972 Easter Offensive was an abject disaster. Hanoi then tried its luck at the bargaining table, resulting in the Paris peace agreement of 1973 and the suspension of the Fourth Civil War for Vietnam.

By the mid-sixties, Leonard Bernstein was engaging with the Civil Rights Movement and the Vietnam War resistance. Bernstein took part in greeting Martin Luther King in the Selma Alabama fifty-four mile march to gain voting rights. He campaigned for war resistor Eugene McCarthy in the election of 1968. In 1970, Bernstein’s and his wife Felicia’s fundraising support for the Black Panthers Legal Defense brought him under public attack organized by the FBI’s J. Edgar Hoover. In 1971, Bernstein’s support for war resistor Daniel Berrigan, and his seeking the latter’s help in writing the libretto for Mass, brought him again under attack by Hoover, this time with the connivance of President Nixon, who had missed the inaugural performance of Mass for fear that Bernstein would publicly humiliate him. Nixon now placed Bernstein on his infamous ‘Enemies List’, but Bernstein was saved from victimization by Hoover’s death and Nixon’s forced resignation due to the Watergate scandal.

Explores the ascent of Richard Nixon to the presidency during the Vietnam War era, his presidency, his abuses of presidential power, and the many aspects of the Watergate affair that spawned multiple investigations by prosecutors, Congress, and the press and finally led to Nixon’s resignation to avoid impeachment.

In response to the radicalization of the late 1960s, many governments turned to repression. With so many of their comrades behind bars, radicals in the North Atlantic decided to pay closer attention to prisoners, promote civil rights, build alliances with progressives, rebrand themselves as defenders of liberty. At the same time that activists were reconsidering their revolutionary priorities, the United States reoriented its war in Vietnam by using the issue of the POWs to reframe American intervention as a fight for humanitarian principles. Antiwar radicals in the United States and France responded by focusing on political dissidents in South Vietnam. Drawing on their experiences with prison organizing, they connected their newfound concern with civil liberties to antiwar activism, calling for the liberation of political prisoners in South Vietnam. Despite their new focus on rights, anti-imperialist radicals still thought in Leninist terms, framing their internationalism around the problematic of the right of nations to self-determination. Yet in arguing that South Vietnam violated civil rights, anti-imperialist solidarity increasingly took the form of criticizing the internal affairs of a sovereign state, which brought radicals close to competing visions of internationalism like human rights. While most radicals never agreed on a single radical rights discourse, and did not convert to human rights in the early 1970s, their new collective attention to rights, along with alliances with groups such as Amnesty International, shifted the political terrain in a way allowed a rival approach to global change to attract new audiences. In so doing, anti-imperialists lent legitimacy to a competing form of internationalism that shared the progressive aspirations of anti-imperialism but rejected nationalism in favor of human rights.

This chapter reveals the popular origins of the Nixon-Mao summit. It argues that people-to-people diplomacy and nonstate actors made a fundamental contribution to the beginning of Sino-American rapprochement in 1971. Private US organizations – chief among them the National Committee on US-China Relations – helped change American minds about the need for engagement with the People’s Republic of China. Thereafter, people-to-people interactions were the first means by which direct contact between China and the United States resumed—through ping-pong diplomacy but also a raft of other 1971 visits by American scientists, students, and ideologically-motivated travelers. This chapter also analyzes the impression formed of China by some of the first American visitors to the country since the Cultural Revolution. It concludes with the negotiations over the structure of the exchange program that took place between the Chinese government and US state and nonstate actors in 1971 and 1972, including during the Nixon–Mao summit of February 1972.

Chapter 9 introduces the metaphor of a pendulum to characterize the sharp swings in Brandt’s policies toward European integration; the chancellor frequently backed ambitious EC projects that proved premature and unworkable. In 1970, fierce debates arose among the six EC members concerning how to pursue economic and monetary union (EMU). Brandt’s point person on Europe, Katharina Focke, sympathized with the French desire to tighten monetary cooperation among the EC partners right away. Bonn’s economy ministry under Karl Schiller took a more cautious line, insisting that macroeconomic convergence was necessary first. An EC agreement on EMU in early 1971 favored the French line; but soon thereafter a currency crisis prompted Brandt’s cabinet to “float” the mark, putting the EMU project on hold. Bonn’s policies helped the Nixon administration as it sought to stabilize the remnants of the Bretton Woods system – much to the dismay of French president Georges Pompidou. Afterwards Brandt worked to mend fences with France, and at a summit of the newly expanded EC in 1972 they pledged to form a European Union complete with a unified currency by 1980.

Chapter 12 shows how the Federal Republic’s booming economy created new challenges and expectations. Currency crises wracked the West, leading to the final breakdown of the Bretton Woods order. Together with other leaders of the newly expanded EC of Nine, Brandt and finance minister Helmut Schmidt instituted a “joint float” of European currencies (excluding Britain, Ireland, and Italy). The Nixon administration tried to slow the EC’s momentum by proposing a “Year of Europe” that would cement U.S. leadership; Bonn was again caught between the United States and France, with both countries fearing that West Germany had become “Finlandized” as a result of its Ostpolitik. Brezhnev’s visit to Bonn, along demands raised by Yugoslavia, Poland, and Romania, showed that West German prosperity had raised expectations of financial generosity. Brandt’s Germany began to play a more visible role in Middle Eastern diplomacy, and in September East and West Germany were finally able to join the United Nations. The EC-9 undertook steps toward greater coordination of foreign policy, particularly at the UN, and Brandt insisted that West Germany was there to act as a European power.

Despite their evident and sometimes pronounced differences in logic, rhetoric, strategy, and style, all the figures I discuss in this book rely on a few shared and underlying assumptions. While they can and do disagree about its shape, meaning, value, and future, they tend all to accept that modern social and political life is and has been defined by the question of how to manage a difficult negotiation between the ideas, preferences, and desires of individuals and the ideas, preferences, and desires of the group. Whether it be Jean-Jacques Rousseau or Jeremy Bentham, George Eliot or George Grote, William Morris or William Riker, Ralph Ellison or Kenneth Arrow, the writers and thinkers I’ve addressed take it as a fraught and incomplete given that the periodic crises and the essential complexity of modern life make it necessary not only to imagine new models of the group but also to identify practical methods and schemes that would allow one at least to act as if there were a significant and even organic way of recognizing what the people really think and want. Although some were enthusiasts, some were skeptics, and some were cynics, all of them recognize the importance of the problem established in Rousseau’s Social Contract: “How to find a form of association which will defend the person and goods of each member with the collective force of all, and under which each individual, while uniting himself with the others, obeys no one but himself, and remains as free as before.”1 Of course, for Rousseau, it was not enough simply to assert, announce, or even dream the existence of the general will; one needed also to imagine the mechanism, the process, the model of association or aggregation that would allow individuals to come together as something significantly more than the sum of their respective parts. Although the questions raised by Rousseau’s text are themselves legion, I have in this book focused on problems and paradoxes raised specifically by the nature and the machinery of aggregative political representation. Although Rousseau mostly hated the idea – perhaps because it was an idea from which he could not escape – others tend to accept that his imagined and fundamental “form of association” must amount to one or another model of representative as opposed to direct democracy; what gets you to something even remotely like the general will in large, pluralist societies will probably take the form an election whereby some individuals are somehow selected by other individuals somehow to represent the will of all.

The two decades from 1969 marked the tightening of Israel–US strategic ties. With the Cold War becoming more and more predominant in the America view of the Arab–Israeli conflict, American presidents, from Richard Nixon to Ronald Reagan, justified the tightening strategic relations between the two nations in the role Israel would ostensibly play in the defence of the Middle East against Soviet expansion. It did not really matter that Israel would not play that role; for Israel, the idealism that was prevalent in the relations between the two nations was not solid enough, and Israeli leaders gladly recited the Cold War rhetoric in their communication with American officials. Visually, the Arab–Israel conflict played a significant role in the conduct of the relations between the two countries, from the attempts to deal with the consequences of the 1967 June War to the 1982 Lebanon War. These, though, were only a minor irritation in what became deeper and closer ties, encompassing economic and industrial ties, the deepening of cultural connections and intensification of strategic cooperation, mainly in intelligence sharing and development of technologies.

Fierce partisan conflict in the United States is not new. Throughout American history, there have been polarizing struggles over fundamental questions relating to the meaning of the Declaration, the Constitution, and the relationship between the two. These struggles over ideals have become all encompassing when joined to battles over what it means to be an American – conflicts that have become more regular and dangerous with the rise of the administrative state. The idea of a “State” cuts more deeply than suggested by Max Weber’s definition of “a human community that (successfully) claims the monopoly of the legitimate use of physical force within a given territory.” Beyond the powers of government, the State represents a centralizing ambition (at least for progressive reformers) to cultivate, or impose, a vision of citizenship. In Randolph Bourne’s words, the State is a “concept of power” that comes alive in defense of or in conflict with an ideal of how such foundational values of Americanism as “free and enlightened” are to be interpreted and enforced. The ideal is symbolized not by the Declaration and the Constitution but rather in rallying emblems such as the flag and Uncle Sam.

In the summer of 1968, Mailer covered the Republican and Democratic conventions in Miami and Chicago, respectively. In this work, as in Armies of the Night, Mailer employs the literary tactics of New Journalism, and includes himself as a character in the narrative. Yet the Mailer of Miami and the Siege of Chicago is different from the Mailer of The Armies of the Night. In addition to providing the historical and political context for the publication of this work, this chapter will discuss the shift in Mailer’s level of involvement, enthusiasm, and support for the protests that erupted in Chicago.

This chapter investigates how and why the cultural capital of literary fiction increasingly became aligned with liberalism and the Left in the 1970s and 1980s. It introduces a unique historical perspective that moves away from well-trodden narratives about how modern progressive liberalism, the sixties counterculture, or the New Left altered the landscape of literary fiction, and toward a broader political narrative that interrogates the impact of conservatism as an ideological force on American fiction after the 1960s. This shift in conservative literary taste was a historical contingency, a largely unintended byproduct of arguments between three strains of the post-sixties American Right: the triptych of William F. Buckley’s movement conservatism, Irving Kristol’s neoconservatism, and the reactionary populist New Right. To advance its argument, this chapter concentrates primarily on the writings of Saul Bellow and Thomas Pynchon, two major postwar novelists who wrote several of the most critically acclaimed works of the era, but who were eventually seen as occupying very different positions in the political literary fields: Bellow’s literary prestige declining as he was aligned with neoconservativism and the American Right, and Pynchon’s literary prestige increasing as he was aligned with various strands of the New Left and the broader counterculture.