One relatively straightforward way in which academics could have a positive impact on global poverty is by putting people in a position to make better decisions about issues relevant to such poverty. Academics could do this by conducting appropriate kinds of research on those issues, and sharing what they have learned in accessible ways.

But aren't academics already doing this? In the case of many of those issues, I think the appropriate answer would be “Yes, to some extent, but they could do so much better.” In this article, I first discuss the academic research relevant to one important decision about an issue concerning global poverty. I argue that this research has been seriously deficient both in terms of quality and of quantity. Building on this discussion, I then formulate two questions that can be applied to any such decision, answers to which would indicate the quality of the input academics are currently providing. In cases where that input is deficient, and the decision in question an important one, I suggest that academics organise themselves in ways that will improve that input. I finish by briefly discussing how Academics Stand Against Poverty might help them do so.

In their new indictments of global neoliberalism and the economic profession's culpability in its harms, Dani Rodrik and Joseph Stiglitz press the case for reconstructed globalization that generates benefits for all and not just for corporate and financial elites. Both books are deeply consistent with the insights of Karl Polanyi, who had identified the inherent contradictions of the project to create what he called a self-regulating economy. Like Polanyi, Rodrik and Stiglitz are attentive to the inadequacies of neoliberalism, and both emphasize the capture of the state and international economic policy by elites, who have turned their backs on those left behind. While Stiglitz emphasizes that the profession knows how to fix the problem by applying modern Keynesian insights, Rodrik emphasizes the inherent epistemic limitations facing economists. Indeed, his arguments about development policy reflect the insights of Friedrich Hayek into the limits of economic expertise.

As part of the roundtable, “Moral Injury, Trauma, and War,” this essay explores the relationship between revisionist just war theory and moral injury. It proceeds in four sections. First, it offers a brief overview of the just war tradition, focusing on traditionalist and revisionist accounts, respectively. Next, it explores the relationship between moral injury and armed conflict. Then, it explores the links between moral injury and revisionist accounts of just war theory. Finally, by way of conclusion, the essay signals two potential complementary paths forward that future research could use to clarify the revisionist position and its link with moral injury.

Initially portrayed as the “great equalizer,” the COVID-19 pandemic has proved anything but. This essay recounts the sobering social disparities and vulnerabilities that the pandemic has exposed, especially when it comes to the inequalities that are baked into existing membership regimes, before turning to narratives of hope and democratic renewal. My discussion shines a spotlight on the relationship between borders, (im)mobility, and struggles for recognition and inclusion that have long been central to the practice of citizenship. Focusing on pathways to the acquisition of full membership status for those who are currently denied it, I will deploy logics and policies that have already begun to take shape in different parts of the world, with the goal of amplifying their effects and multiplying their scale. I identify three possible trajectories for postpandemic recovery, two of which offer ways to enhance equality of status and public standing by enlarging the circle of membership: first, through contribution (or what I will term “jus contribuere”), and second, by highlighting what we might call “solidarity in place.” The third reaction, which we might call the “stratification of membership,” pulls in the opposite direction by sharply redrawing the lines—legal, economic, social—that have distinguished insiders from outsiders, and exacerbated patterns of stratification and inequality of status and opportunity that predate the pandemic.

Although humanitarian intervention is never politically neutral, Mapel maintains that this point can be overdrawn. Arguing that humanitarian agencies cannot always actively pursue political agendas, Mapel asserts that the objectives of such missions must be determined on a case-by-case basis. Pushing the issue a step further, he argues that in deciding whether there is an obligation to intervene, the nature of the conflict, the costs and risks of intervention, and other factors must all be taken into consideration. Mapel concludes in support of Winston's call for a standing UN military force for humanitarian interventions but notes that debates over the objectives of interventions and the nature of justice in complex situations remain obstacles to the establishment of such a force.

Building on an earlier argument that isolationism may well be America's natural state, Schlesinger explains how the apparent rejection of isolationism during the long standoff with the Soviet Union during the Cold War was nothing more than a reaction to what was perceived as a direct and urgent threat to the security of the United States. In the wake of the Cold War's end, the incompatibility between collective international action and conceptions of national interest has highlighted the difficulties of democracies in sending their armies to war, especially those that do not directly threaten national security. While much more can and should be done to enhance the effectiveness of global organizations already in place, what is needed, Schlesinger argues, is both a reexamination of the Wilsonian doctrine of collective security and a greater concentration on preventive diplomacy.

In 1985, forty years after the adoption of the U.N. charter, a reform process was begun that addressed the changes in international relations over the past 40 years and sought to improve budgetary problems that interfered with the U.N. service of “creating a ‘better’ world.” Choudhury, elected president of the General Assembly in 1986, reviews the changes within the UN and reasserts its enduring role as a global instrument of peace.

Brzezinski shapes his discussion around three “new dimensions” of human rights: the protection of human rights from the arbitrary power of the state, the institutionalization of democracy, and the need to confront the potential exploitation of human individuality by science. Brzezinski predicts that the interface between ethics and science will be the new frontier of politics, and it will place on the shoulders of democratic leaders, and ultimately on all those who are concerned with human rights, the obligation to be at least part-time scientists and philosophers.

This article compares reflections from four sources on the state of the American democracy in the international community (The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers: Economic Change and Military Conflict from 1500 to 2000, by Paul Kennedy; 1999: Victory Without War, by Richard Nixon; “Communism at Bay,”The Economist; Long Cycles in World Politics, by George Modelski) within the framework of the 1980s, which was portrayed by leaders as “an era of good feelings.” Yet drastically different positions on American rise or decline are propounded by historians and officeholders, former presidents and scholars, journalists and aspiring candidates for political office. These four writings reveal the complexity of the analysis of the American decline. Yet, it is crucial for leaders to maintain public devotion to their nation, not through passion, but rather, in the words of Abraham Lincoln, through “the solid quarry of sober reason,”. America's capacity to preserve a strong and healthy resilience, the author concludes, is the exceptional value it continues to offer the world.

A basic premise of Confucianism rests in the intellectuals' responsibility to speak out against an oppressive government. This tradition continued well into the Maoist era, along with “the mandate from heaven,” which provided an additional fundamental right of the people to dispose of an unfair leadership. Why was it not until the mid-1980s that the intellectuals, the “democratic elite” of China, initiated a public dialogue on the necessity of “inalienable” rights in the Western sense? The reason may lie in the impact the events in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe had in inducing political reform in post-Mao China. The traditional Confucianist beliefs remained at the core of the emerging ideology. Despite Deng's crackdown in Tiananmen Square, the “sprouts” continue to reappear from time to time, and the author predicts that they will be stronger with each comeback.

Russell probes Morgenthau's realist ethics and the underpinnings of the nuclear threat in a technologically evolving modern world with increasingly obsolescent national boundaries. In the classic political question of a ‘just war,’ Russell argues that Morgenthau was concerned with dilemmas created by the very successes of science and the resulting decay of traditional Western thinking, where scientific reason was prevailing over social reason. Morgenthau's gloomy emphasis on “man's uncertain moral destiny in the nuclear era”-and, particularly, on the uniquely individualistic perceptions of scientific advancements at a time when nations seek collective security against the nuclear threat-highlights his confidence in the strong intellectual, moral and spiritual power of man. He is skeptical in the endurance of the morally disintegrating “scientific man.” Morgenthau analyzes man's new understanding of “life” and “death” and examines the new scientist, who creates “a new nature out of his knowledge of the forces of nature,” and the new statesman, who creates “a new society out of his knowledge of the nature of man.” Morgenthau sees politics as an art, not a science, and “what is required for its mastery is not the rationality of the engineer but the wisdom and moral strength of the statesman.”

Korea became known as the Hermit Kingdom at the end of the nineteenth century when it had withdrawn into itself under the threats of its neighbors-China, Russia, and Japan. This characterization has endured through this century even despite Korea's internal war and the involvement of the international community in that conflict. The election of Roh Tae Woo marked the beginning of a new stage in Korean politics: “the period of Korean-style democracy.” Robert Myers follows the historical eras and events leading up to this change and predicts a less threatening, less Confucian politics for the Korea of the future.