Old engraved illustration of The Congress of Vienna of 1814–1815 was an international diplomatic conference to reconstitute the European political order after the downfall of the French Emperor Napoleon I - stock photo

The Congress of Vienna of 1814–1815, an international diplomatic conference to reconstitute the European political order after the downfall of the French Emperor Napoleon (Getty Images)

The language of respect in world politics

A former diplomat muses on the vagaries of foreign policy dialogue … and the importance of the subjunctive mood.

Mark Pierce

22 October 20244 min read

A venerable but still distinguished study of American presidential power (Richard Neustadt’s Presidential Power and the Modern Presidents, 1960) concluded that a president’s authority derived essentially from the power to persuade. The same conclusion applies to any foreign policy that seeks to convince other countries to adjust what they are doing to suit your interests.

Unfortunately, there is no single or simple template for working out how to persuade the powers that be in other countries. The requirements on your own side of the argument, for ministers and diplomats alike, are straightforward enough. Convincing others demands listening thoughtfully, asking intelligent questions, outlining arguments coherently, remaining open to compromise, and not showing off nor banging on. Pompous guff about a “strategic” or “horizon-scanning” approach might be set aside; first, the tactics need to be made to work.

Being taken seriously overseas calls for still more skills. The tactical key may be to heed advice, which Aretha Franklin offered year after year: “R-E-S-P-E-C-T, find out what it means to me”. Showing respect does not connote kowtow-ing or even pandering, just understanding what matters to your counterpart. That is a hard task. Not even the Lowy Institute’s Asia Power Index could estimate how countries presume to regard and treat their neighbours. Anyway, making allowances for over-generalisations, here are some thoughts on the quirks of showing respect.

Take the French, for example. Anyone dealing seriously with the French government is expected to demonstrate a command of French that is structurally and grammatically sound. Using the subjunctive in the first couple of sentences is handy. Condensing an argument into three or four logical, succinct points, including a sub-point or two along the way, is expected. Failure to present a position thus can provoke the French to dismiss you as “stupid”, a grave criticism in their language, which tempts them to dismiss your government as equally stupid for having dispatched you as its representative.

Showing respect does not connote kowtow-ing or even pandering, just understanding what matters to your counterpart. That is a hard task.

Dexterity with the local language matters less elsewhere. Even those fluent in Mandarin may still find themselves condescended to in Beijing as barbarians. For their part, Germans remain oddly appreciative if foreigners can speak good German; Vladimir Putin intrigued them for some time with his KGB-trained expertise in the language. Germans put the emphasis elsewhere. Like the French, they want an argument to be ordentlich, by which they mean within conventionally reasonable bounds as well as logically coherent.

Others demand respect in quite different forms. New Zealanders want others to like and admire their country, although not quite as much as they do themselves. Canadians, blessed with the softest security choices of any country in the world, relish high-mindedness and apparent selflessness in a point of view.

Israel’s foreign ministry is – rightly – regarded as one of the front lines of national defence. That stance leaves no room for sentimentality, little appetite for posturing, and only a limited amount of patience. A friend of mine, responsible for relations with Egypt, had years before spent a week fighting at close quarters in a bunker on the Suez Canal (during the Yom Kippur War). Americans reckon that where you stand depends on where you sit. In Israel, where you stand also depends on where you have fought.

As for the powers who think themselves great, we might ignore all forms of a dialogue of the deaf with the current Russian regime. Their officials are unlikely to be impressed by a familiarity with Repin’s paintings, Pushkin’s prose, or Tschaikovsky’s music. Indians seem to value having someone intelligent with whom to spar, even if they end up saying “no”, fluently and gracefully, to too many of the propositions put to them. The Chinese carefully calibrate how seriously to take others depending on their relatively strict, formal hierarchy of which countries count for something. A whiff of deference goes a long way with the British, given their abiding anxiety about retaining a place at the global top table.

That leaves the Americans, who think that people asking to be taken seriously should display a deep, thorough knowledge of American history. The corollary of exceptionalism is ignorance of others. Watching American officials swiftly switch their focus from Iraq, about which they knew little, to Afghanistan, about which they knew less, was like watching a mass migration of the wildebeest in the African veldt.

Turning to Australia, are we still unduly flattered by foreigners who seem to take us seriously? Do other countries send to Canberra high-calibre diplomats ready and willing to engage in a serious dialogue? Do we ask enough of other countries – whether traditional great and powerful friends, or new friends such as India – to make them take us seriously? How many Australian foreign ministers have truly distinguished themselves internationally? Perhaps the nations that find it easy to be taken seriously take the world more seriously than we do?

About the author

Mark Pierce

Mark Pierce was a diplomat and is now a writer who has spent years living in France and Germany.

Topics

Diplomacy