Novelists in the situation room? Foreign policy analysis and creativity

Government experience and a PhD doesn't make a good analyst. You also need creativity.

In international relations, you’d think the people with the clearest view would be those who’ve been trained in the field—foreign policy analysts, diplomats, think-tanks pundits, journalists, and political scientists. They have the education, the experience, and an understanding of the inner workings of governments. But sometimes, the people who see things most clearly are those who aren’t bogged down by all that expertise—outsiders like novelists, playwrights, and artists. Why is that?

For one thing, outsiders aren’t constrained by the same frameworks as the epistemic community. Trained analysts often rely on established theories and models to interpret events. These can be incredibly useful, but they can also create blind spots. If you’re always looking at the world through the lens of realism, for example, you might miss the significance of a leader’s personal motivations or the role of culture and ideology.

Theories and models are incredibly important for taking shortcuts or reacting on the spot, but they’re poison to creative thinking and open-minded contemplation. Novelists don’t often use theories and models. They are used to exploring the nuances of human behavior through personal experience. They understand that people aren’t always rational actors and that the stories we tell ourselves shape our actions. This can lead them to see things that analysts overlook.

The moment you started reading this post, you knew that I’d sooner or later bring up George Orwell. Orwell wasn’t a foreign policy analyst, and had only limited experience in colonial government. Yet, his understanding of totalitarianism in "1984" and "Animal Farm" has shaped how people think about authoritarian regimes. He didn’t need to be a political scientist to grasp the psychological and social dynamics that allow such regimes to thrive. In fact, his outsider status might have been an advantage—he wasn’t bogged down by the need to fit his observations into a pre-existing framework.

Another reason outsiders can offer clearer insights is that they’re often not beholden to any particular government or institution. Analysts who work within government or for think tanks might feel pressure, even subconsciously, to align their findings with the interests of their employers. They need funding after all! They might avoid controversial conclusions or downplay inconvenient facts.

Novelists have the freedom to be provocative and to challenge the status quo. They can say things that might be politically dangerous for others to express. Think of how Milan Kundera’s "The Book of Laughter and Forgetting" brought out the reality of Communism and attempts to oppose it, at a time when many Western analysts were still trying to understand or even excuse Soviet actions through the lens of Cold War politics.

There’s also something to be said for the way outsiders can connect with a broader audience. Foreign policy analysts often write for each other, using jargon and assuming a level of knowledge that can make their work inaccessible to the general public. Novelists, by contrast, are storytellers. They know how to craft narratives that resonate with people on an emotional level. This can make their insights more impactful because they’re not just explaining what’s happening—they’re making you feel it.

North Korea is a prime example of how outsiders, such as novelists, can offer unique and often clearer insights into international relations compared to traditional foreign policy analysts. The regime's secrecy, propaganda, and extreme control make it difficult even for seasoned experts to fully grasp the internal dynamics and motivations of its leaders. Yet, novelists and other creative thinkers have often captured the essence of North Korea in ways that reveal truths that might be missed by the more conventional approaches of analysts.

Take the novel "The Orphan Master's Son" by Adam Johnson, which won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 2013. Johnson’s novel delves into the life of a North Korean citizen and offers a harrowing portrayal of the regime’s impact on the individual psyche. Through the protagonist, Jun Do, Johnson explores the crushing weight of state control, the pervasive fear, and the complex layers of identity that citizens must navigate in such an oppressive environment. The novel doesn’t just describe North Korea as a geopolitical puzzle or a "rogue state"—terms often used by analysts—but instead provides a deeply human perspective on what it means to live under such a regime.

This kind of storytelling can offer a clearer understanding of North Korea in some ways because it goes beyond the surface-level analysis of political actions and state propaganda. While foreign policy experts might focus on North Korea's nuclear ambitions, military parades, or diplomatic maneuvers, novelists like Johnson can explore the emotional and psychological realities that drive the actions of the regime and its people. This is crucial because, in a country like North Korea, where official narratives are so tightly controlled, understanding the lived experience of its people can be key to predicting and interpreting the regime’s behavior.

Another example is the depiction of North Korea in films and documentaries, such as the 2015 film "The Interview", which, while a comedy, highlighted the absurdity of North Korea’s leadership and brought attention to how the regime uses cult of personality to maintain power. Although it was a satirical and fictionalized portrayal, the film tapped into a truth about the bizarre and extreme measures Kim Jong-un takes to control his image and country—something that might be understated in more clinical analyses.

Foreign policy analysts often have to operate within the confines of what can be proven or what fits within certain theoretical frameworks. They analyze North Korea's actions through the lenses of realism or deterrence theory, which are valuable but might not fully capture the irrational, absurd, emotional, or deeply personal aspects of the North Korea issue. Novelists, however, can use their creative freedom to speculate, imagine, and explore these hidden aspects, offering a richer, more nuanced picture of North Korean society and leadership.

The greatest problem is that trained analysts have proven incapable of understanding the strategic and political dimensions of North Korea. Perhaps, the insights from outsiders like novelists can provide a clearer, more relatable, and sometimes even more accurate portrayal of the underlying human factors that drive the regime's actions. New perspectives could lead to a deeper, more comprehensive understanding.

Of course, this isn’t to say that novelists or other outsiders are always right. They can make mistakes just like anyone else. But their lack of formal training and institutional ties can be an advantage, allowing them to see things that others miss. In a field as complex and multifaceted as international relations, having a diversity of perspectives—including those from outside the field—can only enrich our understanding.

In the end, the world of international relations needs both insiders and outsiders. The insiders bring the depth of knowledge and experience, while the outsiders bring fresh perspectives and the freedom to question everything. Together, they provide a fuller, richer picture of the world. Foreign policy and fiction should sit closer.