It's an ethical dilemma as old as civilization: When do you muscle in on somebody else's business? What gives you the right? It comes up again with Uganda's law cracking down on the LGBTQ community.
The Anti-Homosexuality Act signed into law several weeks ago by President Yoweri Museveni calls for life imprisonment for anyone convicted of homosexuality (as well as 20 years for "promoting homosexuality" as perhaps I am doing now, and six months for not reporting it). The rather vague crime of "aggravated homosexuality" is punishable by death.
Uganda is hardly alone; Iran executes people for such "crimes" as well. But unlike Iran, Uganda does not already face broader economic sanctions for being a criminal regime in general. Perhaps it should.
In assessing that, the question is whether those who do not favor criminalizing homosexuality should feel compelled to impose their ethics on others. Is imposition itself unethical?
I would argue for activism—and I'm not only one. From Aristotle's "Ethics" to "Civil Disobedience" by Henry David Thoreau to "On Liberty" by John Stuart Mill, thinkers have long asserted that there are limits to the freedom to damage others, and a moral obligation to prevent injustice to others.
The question was also addressed in the Seinfeld finale, in which our heroes ran afoul of a "Good Samaritan" law by not preventing a mugging. But perhaps the Old Testament put it best, in Isaiah 1:17: "Learn to do right; seek justice. Defend the oppressed. Take up the cause of the fatherless; plead the case of the widow."
One can argue the case not just on a moral foundation but on the basis of utilitarianism: by preventing a crime, society at large benefits since the sum total of damage to its collective members is diminished.
Ah, apologists will say, all that stems from just one culture—a certain interpretation of the Judeo-Christian one. We cannot expect others to abide by our ways. Maybe—and maybe not. One could argue that some ideas and rights should not stop at borders.
The preamble to the U.S. Constitution asserts that it is "self-evident" that "all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain "unalienable Rights" that include "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." No specific mention of Americans there. Forgiving the text's misogyny and the odd capitalization (applying it to Important Words, as Donald Trump now does), it is one of history's great claims of a universal truth.
This idea can also be found in the UN's Universal Declaration of Human Rights. It amounts to a statement that yes, some rights are for everyone. They're basic.
Can we really forge consensus? Realistically, that's hard.
It would seem clear that Nazi Germany should not have been allowed to exterminate Jews—and gays, Roma and others—in death camps with showers spewing Zyklon B. Still, it took the world a while to intervene. The killing only stopped as Allied forces discovered the camps one by one. If not for the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, the United States might have basically let it slide. Sad, but true.
But not all interference requires war. There is a difference between compelling other countries to stop abominable behavior and persuasion by the application of whatever leverage may be available.
There is no reason of principle not to. Countries, like individuals, have no obligation to be friends with everyone.
After the Ugandan law came into force, President Biden condemned it as part of "an alarming trend of human rights abuses and corruption in Uganda." Secretary of State Antony Blinken promised to "develop mechanisms to support the rights of LGBTQI+ individuals in Uganda and to promote accountability for Ugandan officials and other individuals responsible for, or complicit in, abusing their human rights."
U.N. human rights chief Volker Türk said that the law would "drive people against one another, leave people behind and undermine development." Strong words, but not a cost that Uganda cannot bear.
The West has every right to say that we are now in a new mode. And that in this new mode, a country's leadership is persona non grata; their accounts will be frozen whenever possible; tourists will no longer be welcome except as asylum seekers; there will be no trade; there will be no financing or aid.
Some of that will affect the target country's general population, but that can be an important data point in shaping their view of their leaders.
The problem with this is inconsistency. Other countries oppress gay people, and other countries do other terrible things, and not in all cases can we afford to punish them. China is a massive case in point—they make too much of our stuff for us to cut them off.
This creates discomfort, as hypocrisy should. It is unfortunate, but it is also life.
So a revised message to the miscreants of the world might go like this: You want to act like a barbarian? Then yes, you'd better make all our stuff and be a nuclear power. Otherwise, we are going to treat you like a barbarian.
Dan Perry is managing partner of the New York-based communications firm Thunder11. He is the former Cairo-based Middle East editor and London-based Europe/Africa editor of the Associated Press. Follow him at danperry.substack.com.
The views expressed in this article are the writer's own.
CORRECTION: A reference to the Bible in an earlier version of this story should have been to the Old Testament. We regret the error.
Uncommon Knowledge
Newsweek is committed to challenging conventional wisdom and finding connections in the search for common ground.
Newsweek is committed to challenging conventional wisdom and finding connections in the search for common ground.
