1NC Topicality: Its

A. Interpretation - Its implies ownership

Glossary of English Grammar Terms, 2005
(http://www.usingenglish.com/glossary/possessive-pronoun.html)
Mine, yours, his, hers, its, ours, theirs are the possessive pronouns used to substitute a
noun and to show possession or ownership. EG. This is your disk and that's mine. (Mine
substitutes the word disk and shows that it belongs to me.)

B. Violation –
Nuclear weapons in Turkey belong to NATO.
Meier, 4-28-1998 (Oliver, Berlin Information-center for Transatlantic Security statement
coordinator, "NATO Nuclear Weapons Transfers,"
http://www.bits.de/public/articles/om280498.htm )
Mr. Chairman, we would like to draw attention to a case of nuclear proliferation that has been moving up the
diplomatic and political agenda since 1995. Under NATO nuclear sharing arrangements, 150-200 US nuclear
weapons remain deployed in Belgium, Germany, Greece, Italy, the Netherlands, Turkey, and the United Kingdom.
Under NATO nuclear sharing arrangements, these countries are involved in
consultations on the possible use of these weapons and training for employment of these weapons
of mass destruction. It is also clear that the other member states of the Alliance - Canada, Denmark, Iceland,
Luxembourg, Norway, Portugal, and Spain pursue diplomatic policies which support the nuclear policies of the three
nuclear weapon states in NATO, France, the United Kingdom and the United States. The three candidate members,
Poland, the Czech Republic and Hungary, have adopted the same approach. We believe that these arrangements -
which enable some non-nuclear weapon states to be actively involved in the nuclear weapons policies of the Western
nuclear powers - are contradicting the intent and possibly the letter of Articles I and II of the NPT. It is therefore timely
and appropriate for these issues to be addressed in the NPT Review Process. NATO nuclear weapons and
the associated arrangements represent a major hurdle to further and substantial steps toward
nuclear disarmament. The continued deployment of these weapons in Europe and the continued practice of nuclear
sharing harms the nonproliferation regime in several respects: First, it runs counter to the NPT’s main purpose of
limiting access to nuclear weapons. It actually widens access to nuclear weapons for training purposes in peacetime
and use during wartime. NATO’s system of nuclear sharing enlarges the number of states who participate in nuclear
planning. Currently, all NATO member states who wish to do so can participate in discussions on nuclear planning
and doctrine. With the planned enlargement of the Alliance, the number of states eligible to participate in these
arrangements will increase. Further, in case of war, the United States still plans to transfer control over nuclear
weapons to Allied countries. Current NATO policy increases the number of countries with the capability to wage
nuclear war. Six states, which claim non-nuclear status under the NPT have that capability. As the distinguished
delegate from Turkey said yesterday in his prepared statement, "Turkey...apart
from the nuclear
umbrella of NATO Alliance, does not possess nuclear weapons."

C. Topicality is a Voting Issues

1. Predictability – No way predict presence not tied to the agent in the resolution,
exploding the research burden and destroying any semblance of clash that the round
could offer, which is key to education in the round.
2. Extratopicality - the extraneous removal of non-US owned nuclear weapons is an
extratopical advocacy
 a. kills topic-specific education: the resolution doesn’t deal with all supranational
organizations
b. destroys fairness: neg is placed at a disadvantage before the 1NC even begins
because we prepped out for US-owned military forces, not NATO-owned
3. The aff does not adhere to the res
2. Ground – disads depend on a possessive connection to the US, which are good for
debate because they allow us to test legitimate impacts.

A-SPEC 1NC

A) INTERPRETATION-THE AFF MUST SPECIFY AGENT

B) VIOLATION-USFG IS NOT AN ACTOR

Brovero in ‘94
(Adrienne, Immigration Policies Expert, http:www.wfu.edu/Student-
organizations/debate/MiscSites/DRGArticles/Brovero1994Immigration.htm)

The problem is that there is no agent

The problem is not that there is not a plan; this time there is on.

specified. The federal government does not enact policies, agents or

agencies within the federal government enact policies. The agent enacting a policy is a very
important aspect of the policy. For some of the same reasons the affirmative team should specify a plan of action, the affirmative
team should specify an agent of action.

C) VOTERS

1. GROUND-DENY SPECIFIC LINKS TO DISADS,

IMPLEMENTATION TAKEOUTS, AND AGENTS CPS- 90
PERCENT OF POLICY IS IMPLEMENTATION

2. NO SOLVENCY-BROVERO INDICATES USFG DOES NOT

ENACT POLICIES

3. NOT TOPICAL-THERE NOT FIRM ON AGENT WHICH

 VIOLATES RESOLVED “TO TAKE A FIRM COURSE OF
ACTION”- FROM RANDOM HOUSE

TNW’S 1nc
Weaponitis K 1NC
The aff focuses on a specific incarnation of our cultural obsession with the
super weapon which will finally end war. This ignores that nuclear weapons
are not unique, but part of a long historical progression dating back to the
discovery that rocks kill more efficiently than fists. This means the criticism
is woefully inept and only guarantees development of new and more deadly
weapons to replace nuclear ones.
Wagar, 1989 (W. Warren, Distinguished Teaching Professor of History at SUNY
Binghamton, “Truth and Fiction, equally Strange: Writing about the bomb,”
American Literary History, 1:2, Summer)
As Goethe wrote of the Germans, postmodern critics make everything difficult, both for themselves and for everyone else. At the other
extreme stands H. Bruce Franklin, who manages nicely without the benefit of literary metaphysics. In War Stars:
The Superweapon and the American Imagination, he supplies an engrossing exercise in applied nuclear criticism. War
Stars ranges freely through the worlds of fiction, cinematography, technology, and politics. Nuclear criticism is not, either in the strict
sense adopted by Brians and Solomon, or in the sloppier construction of the term by Dowling, what Franklin has set out to practice. His
referent is the real and imagined superweapon, the weapon that transcends all weapons. It may be nuclear. It
may also be bi- ological, or electrical, or chemical. Not to worry. Its provenance is irrelevant. What interests
Franklin is the predisposition, which he finds deeply embedded in American (and, to a lesser degree, British) culture, to
believe that in this or that superweapon humankind has at last discovered the antidote to war. If Frank- lin is
right, nuclear weapons are only the latest in a long sequence of technological fixes conjured by actual or fictional
wizards. What
should concern us, citizens and critics alike, is not the Bomb per se, but the
virus in the American psyche that renders us vulnerable to faith in superweapons of every
stripe. He builds his case well. The story begins in the late eigh- teenth century with a chapter on the first authentic wizard in
American military history, Robert Fulton. Schoolchildren re- member Fulton for his steamboats. He was also the inventor of the naval
submarine, a pioneer in the development of "tor- pedoes" (his term for naval mines), the builder of the first steam- powered warship,
and an obsessive visionary who foresaw the abolition of war. Offering his lethal inventions to any nation- the United States, Britain, or
France-that would have them, Fulton argued that if science could devise defensive weaponry capable of sinking
great warships, the freedom of the seas would be guaranteed, and world peace forever secured. He expounded many of his
thoughts in a treatise published in 1810, Torpedo War, and Submarine Explosions. Franklin notes that some of its key passages "would
need only minor stylistic revisions to be incorporated into a speech advocating Star Wars" (15). Fulton was the archetypal prophet of
warfare by super- weapon, the warfare that would end war itself and usher in the bourgeois millennium. Just as Fulton's nonmilitary
inventions, from canal locks to steam-powered merchant vessels, would help give us prosperity, so his superweapons (submarines,
mines, warships) would bring peace. The pattern, Franklin argues, has persisted with minor variations in the nearly
two centuries of American history since Fulton's death. Sometimes the vision- aries have been scientists and
engineers like Fulton, at other times novelists, at still others politicians. Some of their ideas have borne fruit, others
have not. It hardly matters, because the virus at work in their blood is always the same, breeding the euphoric
fantasy of a final, ultimate, once-and-for-all fix. Before there can be superweapons, there must be an
imaginative vision. What betrays us is not the weapons, but the vision. Franklin continues his narrative with chapters
on the fu- ture-war novels of the period from 1880 to 1917 and on the role played by Thomas Edison in promoting the mechanization of
warfare. Again, the mythology of the superweapon figured decisively. Romances of Anglo-Saxon world conquest in the name of peace,
scientists whose inventions compel the nations to disarm, and genocidal attacks on warlike inferior races by Caucasian heroes routinely
hinged on the contrivance of a su- perweapon that turns the tables and guarantees future security. Edison joined the chorus in his old age
with an appeal to gov- ernments to fill the world with death-dealing devices so terrible they would "make war utterly impossible" (qtd. in
Franklin 76). The superweapons imagined by writers before World War I were of all sorts, some plausible,
others not. Explosives dropped on warships from the air or submarines armed with torpedoes sufficed in some tales, but other stories
invoked electrical force fields, tubes of deadly germs, antigravity "radioplanes," and "automobile sky guns" to win the day. As with
 Fulton, so in these early tales of future world war, science and technology save America, and perhaps all
humanity, from the scourge of violence. Time and again the decisive factor is inventive genius. Another large
segment of War Stars is devoted to the ul- timately successful campaigns mounted by various air force commanders in the 1920s and
1930s, such as General Billy Mitchell, to convert war departments to the doctrine of strategic bombing. Throughout World War II (and
beyond), many au- thorities saw strategic bombing of industrial and military targets from the air as the best way to win wars quickly,
with the least possible loss of life. Strategic bombing would provide a knock- out blow. When this or that specific blow failed to shatter
enemy resistance, the answer was always to make the blows more massive, and, if necessary, flatten whole cities to bring the en- emy to
its senses. Franklin sees the Anglo-American bombing of Germany and Japan during World War II as little
more than an extrapolation of the nineteenth-century fantasy of war-end- ing wars fought with mechanical
superweapons. Most of the rest of his book deals, at a swifter pace, with the coming of nuclear superweapons
in imagination and fact from H. G. Wells to the abundant fictions of nuclear war since 1945 and Ronald Reagan's
rehash of the hoary myth of the defensive superweapon, otherwise known as Star Wars. Here, Franklin treads on more familiar ground.
He reviews the major events of the nuclear age and the major novels and films, and sketches perceptively the nuclearization of popular
culture. He unearths a few revealing stories that even Paul Brians missed, including scenarios of future nuclear war published in Liberty
in 1940 and Life in 1945. But these later chapters are rushed, and, for the most part, not quite up to the high standard of the first half of
the book. Eventually most writers of fiction veered off from their counterparts in government and the military, viewing the su-
perweapon as a way to end not war but civilization. Americans are generally less naive about superweaponry today than they were in the
era of Tom Edison, Billy Mitchell, and Harry Tru- man. But we still need books like Franklin's to remind us of the way
we were, and the way many of us remain. Only a few years ago a respected American political scientist,
Werner Levi, wrote in The Coming End of War that "weapons wipe out war" and that "developed states are unlikely
to engage in a moder war with each other directly" because such adventures are now- adays too "costly" (1 1,
15). The myth of the superweapon dies hard. Indeed, the thaw in Soviet-American relations in the Gor- bachev era, the
reduction of nuclear forces by the superpowers, and the resolution in the late 1980s of several major conflicts such as the Iran-Iraq war
will almost surely inaugurate a period of sublime public indifference to the nuclear peril, in which many lessons learned with much
difficulty may be forgotten. When the next round of gleaming technological panaceas ar- rives, whether "clean"
antimatter bombs or gamma-ray pro- jectors or impregnable force fields, will we fall for them all over again?
It would not surprise me, but Franklin's War Stars, and the other titles reviewed above, can make a
difference. They testify to the faintness of the boundary between literary and political texts, between fiction
and external reality, between the imagination of disaster and disaster itself. Like any war, the next world war
can be prevented only in the mind. If citizens, scientists, and governments summon the collective wisdom to
deconstruct the siren song of the Bomb and all its kin, it will never be used. Nothing else, not even fear or greed,
can offer us a scrap of protection from its power.

The image of nuclear war invoked in the 1ac is a fiction, a virtual

construction accessible only through fantasy—the consequence of debate
over the nuclear threat lies in the meanings produced. Visions of the bomb’s
power only make us want it more

Cordle, Nottingham Trent University, 2006 [Daniel, “Cultures of Terror: Nuclear

Criticism During and Since the Cold War,” Literature Compass, Vol. 3, No. 6,
November]
Nevertheless, it is worth pondering the ways in which nuclear weapons
might be considered textual. First, they are, as Derrida hints, not only
missiles but missiles that are held in suspension, ready to be launched
from, and by, vast interconnected informational networks. They are
part of cybernetic systems, comprised of humans and machines that
‘talk’ to each other, that sift information about potential threats, and
which, during the Cold War, had to strike a precarious balance between performing the safety
checks and fail-safe procedures that would prevent the accidental triggering of global war, and
launching a swift and devastating attack, on a hair-trigger response to an outside threat. Perhaps
they are textual to the extent that global nuclear
more importantly, though,
war is itself an entirely virtual construction that is accessible only
through fictions of various kinds. Once it happens then the possibility
of a fiction or art with which it might be rendered accurately is itself
erased because such a nuclear war has been presumed, from as early as the
 to be world-, or at least civilization-, ending. Fictions seeking to
1950s,
represent this occurrence are caught in a bind because they have to
postulate a perspective on the end of culture, from within culture. This
was powerfully expressed by Jonathan Schell, in The Fate of the Earth, a piece serialized initially in
the New Yorker, and then published as a book: [F]or most people, and perhaps for all, it
[nuclear war] wouldn't be like anything, because they would be dead.
To depict the scene as it would appear to the living is to that extent a
falsification. . . . The right vantage point from which to view a
holocaust is that of a corpse, but from that vantage point, of course,
there is nothing to report.5 There is, in other words, not only a sense in
which all representations of global nuclear war are virtual, but a
terrible precariousness about these virtual realities. They challenge the
capacity of the mind to imagine its own non-existence. This is a paradox on which a
number of writers picked up. Martin Amis, for instance, introduced a collection of short stories about the nuclear context with an essay, ‘Thinkability’, that
was pointedly titled both to challenge the disturbing call by some nuclear strategists to ‘think the unthinkable’, by considering nuclear war as a serious
strategic option, and to raise the difficulty of conceptualizing both nuclear war and meaningful disarmament. Similarly, Arundhati Roy, writing about a later
nuclear standoff, between India and Pakistan, made a point about the conceptual trauma occasioned by thinking about nuclear war, by titling her
impassioned protest, ‘The End of Imagination’.6 Of course, it was not only in works by writers of fiction that nuclear weapons had this textual and virtual
dimension. For instance, Michael Mandelbaum singles out an intriguing turn of phrase by Robert McNamara: ‘[The United States can] absorb fully a Soviet
strike and survive with sufficient power to destroy utterly the Soviet Union. We have made that statement. We wish them to believe it. They should believe it.
It is true.’ The first sentence contains the entire informational content of the statement, with the four following acting only as intensifiers. While Mandelbaum
comments that deterrence ‘required not only a huge nuclear club that was shatterproof, but one that was well known to be shatter-proof’, we might push our

In the
reading of McNamara's declaration further by considering the purpose of those four, seemingly redundant, extra sentences.7

absence of absolute proof of the US nuclear capability – which could only,

indeed, have been provided by ‘utterly’ destroying the Soviet Union – the virtual
construction of this reality, its existence in discourse, had to bear a
tremendous weight. Repetition was a way of shoring up the statement to bear this burden.
If nuclear weapons were useful only to the extent that they deterred attack (to fire them was
suicide, bringing destruction upon oneself), then talking about virtual attacks became the primary
way in which they could actually be used. It is a cliché to point out that nuclear weapons
were, and are, primarily psychological: in a Cold War context, their purpose was to
shape the behaviour of the enemy with the threat of their use; once they were actually used, both
The paradox this created was that it became
sides would have lost the game.
necessary to profess, loudly and continually, an absolute willingness to
use nuclear weapons, regardless of whether or not there was an
intention to do so. In this understanding, the weapons themselves operated
not primarily as explosive devices, but as props for a suspension of
disbelief. This was a true theatre of war, and we might read not only literary
fictions, but the whole panoply of Cold War posturing, including the missiles themselves, civil
defence drills and leaflets, and photographs of bomb tests, as texts, amenable to critical analysis,
and constitutive of a drama of confrontation. For Daniel Zins it was precisely this sort of critical
activity that made nuclear criticism revolutionary: ‘I submit that it [the canon] be further
problematized, indeed exploded, to confront nuclear texts: plays, poems, novels and short stories,
to be sure, but also a wide variety of "non-literary" nuclear texts.’8 Zins was, in other words,
calling for an opening up of the canon analogous to that demanded by other theoretical
approaches, including (but clearly not limited to) feminist, structuralist and postcolonial criticisms.
language constructs our sense of the
Furthermore, such an approach insisted that
nuclear. In other words, it was not interested only in the way in which
nuclear science and technology influences writing, but maintained that
the cultural impact of nuclear forces is constructed from within it: ‘[The
nuclear] is itself a discursive construct. . . . [It] not only leaves its traces
linguistically in a variety of literary and non-literary texts, but is itself
constructed linguistically by the metaphors and images we use in
trying to imagine it.’

The alternative is to reject the nuclear rhetoric of the aff.

Militarism sustains itself through a constant reiteration of sovereignty and
control. A refusal to act enforces the realization that fueling the war machine
cannot protect us, that fixes cannot supply everything, and endangers global
populations who we are inevitably dependent on. Either we acknowledge our
humble membership in an interdependent international sphere, or our
isolating hubris will guarantee nuclear extinction.
Judith Butler, professor of comparative literature at Berkeley, Frames of War. 2009. P. 178-4.
State violence often articulates itself through the positing of the sovereign subject. The sovereign subject poses as
precisely not the one who is impinged upon by others, precisely not the one whose permanent and irreversible
injurability forms the condition and horizon of its actions. Such a sovereign position not only denies its own constitutive
injurability but tries to relocate injurability in the other as an effect of doing injury to that other and exposing that other as by
definition, injurable. If the violent act is among other things, a way of relocating the capacity to be violated (always)
elsewhere, it produces the appearance that the subject who enacts violence is impermeable to violence, The
accomplishment of this appearance becomes one aim of violence; one locates injurability with the other by
injuring the other and then taking the sign of injury as the truth of the other. The specific moralization of this
scene takes place when the violence is "justified" as "legitimate" and even "virtuous,"
even though its primary purpose is to secure an impossible effect of mastery, inviolability,
and impermeability through destructive means. To avow injurability does not in any way guarantee a
politics of non-violence, But what may well make a difference would be the consideration of precarious life, and so too injurability, as
a generalized condition, rather than as a differential way of marking a cultural identity, that is, a recurrent or timeless feature of a cultural
subject who is persecuted or injured by definition and irregardless of historical circumstance. In the first instance, the "subject" proves to be
counter-productive for understanding a shared condition of precariousness and interdependency. In the second instance, the "subject" is re-
installed and becomes defined by its injury (past) and injurability (present and future).'' If a particular subject considers her- or himself
to be by definition injured or indeed persecuted, then whatever acts of violence such a subject commits cannot register as "doing
injury," since the subject who does them is by definition, precluded from doing anything but suffering injury. As a result, the production
of the subject on the basis of its injured status then produces a permanent ground for legitimating (and disavowing) its own violent actions. As
much as the sovereign subject disavows his injurability, relocating it in the other as a permanent repository, so the persecuted subject
can disavow his own violent acts, since no empirical act can refute the a priori presumption of victimization. If non-violence has the
opportunity to emerge here, it would take its departure not from a recognition of the injurability of all peoples
(however true that might be), but from an understanding of the possibilities of one's own violent actions in
relation to those lives to which one is bound, including those whom one never chose and never knew, and so those whose
relation to me precedes the stipulations of contract. Those others make a claim upon me, but what are the conditions under which I
can hear or respond to their claims? It is not enough to say, in Levinasian vein, that the claim is made upon me prior to my knowing
and as an inaugurating instance of my coming into being. That may be formally true, but its truth is of no use to me when I
lack the conditions for responsiveness that allow me to apprehend it in the midst of this social and political life. Those "conditions"
include not just my private resources, but the various mediating forms and frames that make responsiveness possible. In other
words, the claim upon me takes place, when it takes place, through the senses, which arc crafted in part through various forms of media:
the social organization of sound and voice, of image and text, of tactility and smell. If the claim of the other upon me is to reach
me, it must be mediated in some way, which means that our very capacity to respond with non-violence (to act
against a certain violent act, or to defer to the "non-act" in the face of violent provocation) depends upon
the frames by which the world is given and by which the domain of appearance is
circumscribed. The claim to non-violence does not merely interpellate me as an individual person who must
decide one way or another. If the claim is registered, it reveals me less as an "ego" than as a being
bound up with others in inextricable and irreversible ways, existing in a generalized
condition of precariousness and interdependency, affectively driven and crafted by those whose
effects on me I never chose, The injunction to non-violence always presupposes that there is some field of
beings in relation to whom nonviolence ought to be the appropriate bearing. Because that field is invariably
circumscribed, non-violence can only make its appeal by differentiating between those against whom
violence ought not to be waged and those who are simply not covered" by the injunction itself . For the
injunction to non-violence to make sense, it is first necessary to overcome the
presumption of this very differential—a schematic and non-theorized inegalitarianism—
that operates throughout perceptual life. If the injunction to non-violence is to avoid becoming meaningless, it must be
allied with a critical intervention apropos the norms that differentiate between those lives that count as livable and grievable and those that do
not. Only on the condition that lives are grievable (construed within the future anterior) does the call to non-violence avoid complicity with
forms of epistemic inegalitarianism. The desire to commit violence is thus always attended by the anxiety of having violence returned, since all the
potential actors in the scene are equally vulnerable, Even when such an insight follows from a eakula don of the consequences of a violent act, it
testifies to an ontological interrelation that is prior to any calculation. Precariousness is not the effect of a certain strategy, but the generalized
condition for any strategy whatsoever. A certain apprehension of equality thus follows from this invariably
shared condition, one that is most difficult to hold fast in thought: non-violence is derived from the
apprehension of equality in the midst of precariousness. For this purpose, we do not need to know in
advance what "a life" will be, but only to find and support those modes of representation and appearance that
allow the claim of life to be made and heard (in this way, media and survival are linked ). Ethics is less
a calculation than something that follows from being addressed and addressable in sustainable ways, which
means, at a global level, there can be no ethics without a sustained practice of translation—between languages, but also between forms of
media.'1. The ethical question of whether or not to do violence emerges only in relation to the "you" who figures as
the potential object of my injury. But if there is no "you," or the "you" cannot be heard or seen, then there
is no ethical relation. One can lose the "you" through the exclusive postures of sovereignty and
persecution alike, especially when neither admits to being implicated in the position of the other. Indeed, one effect
of such modes of sovereignty is precisely to "lose the you." Non-violence thus would seem to require a struggle
over the domain of appearance and the senses, asking how best to organize media in order to overcome the
differential ways through which grievability is allocated and a life is regarded as a life worth living on indeed,
as a living life. It is also to struggle against those notions of the political subject that assume
that permeability and injurability can be monopolized at one site and fully refused at
another. No subject has a monopoly on "being persecuted" or "being persecuting," even when thickly sedimented histories
(densely compounded forms of iteration) have produced that ontological effect. If no claim to radical impermeability is finally acceptable
as true, then no claim to radical persecutabiliry is finally acceptable either, To call into question this frame by which
injurability is falsely and unequally distributed is precisely to call into question one of the
dominant frames sustaining the current wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, but also in the
Middle East. The claim of non-violence not only requires that the conditions are in place for the claim to he heard
and registered (there can be no "claim" without its mode of presentation), but that anger and rage also find a way
of articulating that claim in a way that might be registered by others, In this sense, non-violence is not a
peaceful state, but a social and political struggle to make rage articulate and effective—the
carefully crafted "fuck you." In effect, one has to come up against violence to practice non-violence they are bound together,
and tensely so); but, it bears repeating, the violence one is up against does not issue exclusively from the outside. What we call
aggression and rage can move in the direction of nullifying the other; but if who we "are" is precisely a shared precariousness, then we
risk our own nullification. This happens not because we are discrete subjects calculating in relation to one another, but because, prior
to any calculation, we are already constituted through ties that bind and unbind in specific and consequential ways. Ontologically, the
forming and un-forming of such bonds is prior to any question of the subject and is, in fact, the social and affective condition of subjectivity.
It is also a condition that installs a dynamic ambivalence at the heart of psychic life. To say that we have "needs" is thus to say that who we
"are" involves an invariable and reiterated struggle of dependency and separation, and does not merely designate a stage of
childhood to be surmounted. It is not just "one's own" struggle or the apparent struggle of "another' but precisely the dehiscence at the
basis of the "we," the condition under which we are passionately bound together: ragefully, desirously, murderously, lovingly. To
walk the line is, yes, to live the line, the impasse of rage and fear, and to find a mode of
conduct that does not seek to resolve the anxiety of that position too quickly through a
decision. It is, of course, fine to decide on nonviolence, but decision cannot finally be the ground for the struggle
for nonviolence. Decision fortifies the deciding "I," sometimes at the expense of relationality itself. So the problem is
not really about how the subject should act, but about what a refusal to act might look
like when it issues from the apprehension of a generalized condition of precariousness
or, in other words, of the radically egalitarian character of grievability. Even the "refusal to
act" does not quite capture the forms of stalled action or stoppage that can, for instance, constitute the
non violent operation of the strike. There are other ways of conceiving the blocking of those reiterated actions
that reproduce the taken-for-granted effects of war in daily life. To paralyze the infrastructure that
allows armies to reproduce themselves is a matter of dismantling military machinery as
well as resisting conscription. When the norms of violence are reiterated without end and
without interruption, non-violence seeks to stop the iteration or to redirect it in ways that
counter its driving aims. When that iteration continues in the name of "progress," civilizational or otherwise, it=.\_3 makes sense
to heed Walter Benjamin's trenchant remark that "Perhaps revolutions are nothing other than human
beings on the train of progress reaching for the emergency brake."" To reach for the brake is an
"act," but it is one that seeks to forestall the apparent inexorability of a reiterated set of acts that postures as the
motor of history itself. Maybe the "act" in its singularity and heroism is overrated: it loses sight of the iterable process in which a
critical intervention is needed, and it can become the very means by which the "subject" is produced at the expense of a relational social ontology.
Of course, relationality is no utopian term, but a framework (the work of a new frame) for the consideration of those affects invariably
articulated within the political field: fear and rage, desire and loss, love and hatred, to name a few. All this is just another way of saying
that it is most difficult when in a state of pain to stay responsive to the equal claim of the other for shelter, for conditions of livability and
grievability. And yet, this vexed domain is the site of a necessary struggle, a struggle to stay responsive to a vicissitude of equality that is
enormously difficult to affirm, that has vet to be theorised by the defenders of egalitarianism, and that figures in a fugitive way in the
affective and perceptual dimensions of theory. Under such circumstances, when acting reproduces the subject
at the expense of another, not to act is, after all, a way of comporting oneself so as to break
with the closed circle of reflexivity, a way of ceding to the ties that bind and unbind, a way
of registering and demanding equality affectively. It is even a mode of resistance,
especially when it refuses and breaks the frames by which war is wrought time and again.

The affirmative eschews techno-fix solutions, they're not going to manipulate international
relations to secure ourselves against terrorism or foreign states. Instead they would wipe the
slate clean, opening a space for new life. What this really means is that they refuse to take the
work of averting nuclear war, instead they invite it, as apocalypse. After all, apocalypse means
salvation, unveiling. Nuclear war will wipe away the sinful, the cities, the modernist dregs,
leaving only the purified survivors, purified by the deaths of most of the world population.

Martha A Bartter (Northeast Missouri State University). “Nuclear Holocaust as urban Renewal.” Science Fiction Studies, 13:2. July 1986.

Mrs. O'Leary's cow did Chicago a big favor. The earthquake of 1906 did the same for San Francisco.
Once such a disaster is distanced by time, we can see how these major cities benefited by having to rebuild. Similarly, we may marvel at
the modernity, functionality, and beauty of some European cities-those most devastated by World
War II. Cities get old, worn-out, dirty, dysfunctional. No technological" fix" seems to satisfy us
as we struggle with deteriorating neighborhoods, narrow streets, and ineffective sewers. We long
for the opportunity to clean house from top to bottom, to "make it new." Typically, we alternate
between the kind of urban renewal that blasts all old structures to make room for high-rise low-
income housing and the kind that salvages the shell of old buildings while "modernizing" the
interior. While we would deny actually wanting our major cities destroyed, and with them our landmarks and our
history, we note the popularity of movies like Godzilla, which show the fragility of our urban
culture.
Since Sodom and Gomorrah, cities have been identified with sin. Now we spend much of
our time and energy trying to make our cities "habitable," while seeing them as a prime target for
atomic bombs; they sin by their very existence. For us, the underground "shelters" that simultaneously protect and confine
the fictional survivors of nuclear "war" metaphorically represent he most-feared features of the city: crowded, dark, technologically dependent,
complicated prisons, they are necessary only because the city itself exists. The city is both womb and tomb.
fictional descriptions of atomic
Our attitude towards nuclear holocaust appears similarly ambivalent. Early, serious
weapons used in war predicted their horrifying destructive properties, mostly aimed at civilian populations
in urban centers; yet these fictions usually found ways to explain the survival of a select group. This
group, purified through the sacrifice of a large percentage of its members (and perhaps by a return to
primitive conditions), might eventually be able to build a new, infinitely better world. Thus, atomic war has
traditionally been presented both as obvious disaster and as secret salvation. This covert message is
usually overlooked in fiction, even by authors, but it powerfully influences our cultural subconscious.
In fiction we explore who we "are" (or "were"). Through the medium of a story, we expose our
assumptions about ourselves and our world, although very often we don't see what we have said. "Culture hides
much more than it reveals, and strangely enough what it hides, it hides most effectively from its own
participants. … [T]he real job is not to understand foreign culture but to understand our
own"( Hall:3 8). Comparing our culture to another is invaluable; we can "see" ourselves, perhaps for the first time. We obtain much the same
result by observing our fiction, which is produced from our own cultural matrix, responds to it, and subtly
but definitively influences it, while being "made new" by passing through the eye of an artist. Looking back at our fictions,
we can see some of our own cultural "blind spots," some of which seem not to have changed very much over the years, even
though SF is a "literature of change" (Gunn:1). In fiction, we still expect to "renew" society by surviving the
"inevitable" atomic war, rather than by changing the conditions that lead to it. While we give lip
service to the concept of "renewal," what we truly believe, as Mircea Eliade notes (see G. Wolfe: 3-4), is that
any remnant of the old structure will get in the way of the new: "life cannot be repaired, it can
only be re-created by a return to sources."

In fact, the US has been preparing for a nuclear war. Not with Star Wars or treaties or stockpiled
food, but by ensuring that the right population will be attacked – by concentrating the poor and
racial minorities in cities and eliminating social programs. The disadvantaged members of
society are being prepped for nuclear annihilation, and the aff plan is just another step towards
this economic, religious, and ethnic cleansing.

Dean MacCannell (Professor of sociology at UC Davis). “Baltimore in the Morning … After: On the Forms of Post-Nuclear Leadership.”
Diacritics, 14:2. Summer, 1984.

This line of reasoning had already received technical reinforcement from Yale political scientist Bernard Brodie and other early post-war civilian
strategists who made models of nuclear exchanges and determined that "cities of over 100,000
population" are the only targets of sufficient economic value to justify the use of atomic
weapons. They reasoned that atomic bombs are just too expensive to use on military targets which
typically would be worth no more than the bomb and the cost of its delivery [F. Kaplan, The Wizards of Armageddon (New
York: Simon and Schuster, 1983), 30]. Thirty-five years later a military analyst reflected on the origin of the idea of deterrence by threat of
massive retaliation in the following way: [B]efore the ashes of Japan were cold, the earliest thinkers about nuclear war hit on the idea that, if there
was not effective defense against nuclear attack ... you had only to rely on the threat of retaliation in kind; they all thought in terms of what came
to be called 'city busting.' [L. Martin, The Two-Edged Sword: Armed Force in the Modern World (London: Weidendeld and Nicolsen, 1982), 18]
Basic Assumptions of the Doctrine of Deterrence and Their Effect on Domestic Structure 1. Survivability: Nuclear strategists must assume
limited "survivability." (I cannot concern myself here with the evidence for and against the validity of this assumption. I am personally among
those who do not believe that an all out nuclear attack can be survived. But this does not change the fact that our nuclear strategists must believe
in survivability, or fundamentally alter the total design of our current nuclear posture.) According to this idea, the cities will be blown away, but
sufficient numbers of people will survive to rebuild American society. According to one official United States Government Civil Defense Manual
I read, this will take approximately four days. An assumption that is never stated but is always implicit in survivability scenarios is that the
survivors will be people who are closely in touch with the unique spirit of America, and the values of the system of "free enterprise." No
government planner has envisaged a post-attack rebuilding by people who never much benefited from American society, or quite understood what
America was all about, that is, by people who lived at a disadvantage on the margins of society.
2. The City as a Nuclear "Defense Weapon"' A second assumption of deterrence is that cities are not merely targets, but
American cities can be transformed into effective defense weapons to the degree that they are
vulnerable to atomic attack. In other words, the defense role of the city is not just to receive the hit, it is to
absorb the hit so that damage minimally spills over to surrounding "survival areas." After 1960,
defense planners were univocal on this one point: any effort to defend the American city by
protecting its residents from attack is extremely dangerous to the national security. All analysts agree
that such efforts ("hardening" the city) will be interpreted by the Soviet Union as an offensive move on our part, that is, as a sign that we are
preparing for a "firsts trike." Even more important, we are told by our own planners, any preparedness for attack on our part will
only cause an intensification of the attack [Eyring iv, 19, 27, 28], needlessly endangering the small
communities and rural areas that might otherwise survive. For example, Wolfgang Panofsky stated: "a large civil
defense program would only raise the level of armament on both sides of the iron curtain to a higher level without an increase, and possibly a
decrease in our security" [Civil Defense 19]. Owen Chamberlain of the University of California agrees: "Meaningful
attempts by
the United States to protect its population from nuclear attack will be met by Soviet attempts to
increase the effectiveness of their armaments" [Civil Defense 291]. Barry Commoner, whose thoughts on the probable
effects of nuclear war are more detailed and sophisticated than other analysts, also agrees. He argues that any United States effort to duplicate the
Soviet policy of putting people and equipment in hardened facilities underground would cause our adversaries to reprogram their weapons to
detonate at ground level instead of in the lower atmosphere. In a 1966 statement, Commoner sums up this position: "the very existence of such
defenses would impel an enemy to massive attacks with ground bursts. This would create a huge global dust pall that might trigger a new ice age"
[AAAS 101]. What is especially noteworthy about these and similar statements is that they are made by scientists and other leaders who know
that Soviet domestic policy involves developing "hardened" facilities, and the United States has not chosen to read that fact as an extraordinary
provocation. This particular excuse for official opposition to the defense of our own cities is another slip of the nuclear unconscious.
3. The Strategic Role of the Rural Areas: The official plan of the United States is to move people, or suggest
that they move themselves, away from the target cities just before a nuclear attack. Interestingly, this
policy "figures in little" a large-scale shift in the macrostructural arrangement that Robert Redfield dubbed the "folk-urban continuum." The
first perturbation was the creation in the 1950's of middle class suburbs, entirely new communities, on the
edge of the cities. Next, in near perfect synchronization with accelerating nuclear arms build-up
and delivery capacity, came withdrawal of the upper-middle class and intelligentsia still further from
the city, into small towns beyond the suburban fringe. Beginning in the 1970's and continuing to the present, rural areas
of the United States, for the first time in history, are growing at a more rapid rate than urban areas. All of this is done in the framework of a
hastily assembled rhetoric of rediscovery of positive rural values. Independent of any actual cause, its strategic import cannot be discounted
because it now figures in our nuclear planning. The Desire: The will to sacrifice our cities and urban peoples is a matter of national foreign policy,
but the bomb itself and the will to use it is only a bit of the ankle showing. The hidden demographic-psychoanalytic desire can be discovered only
by bringing a consideration for some of the most basic problems of the "system of Free Enterprise" into the post-nuclear structural arrangement.
What is to be done with the mass of disadvantaged people which is such a common feature and
embarrassment to the system of "Free Enterprise?" Are we to follow the course of Eurosocialism
and agree upon certain minimal standards of income, health care, and housing below which no one should
fall? Or do we renew an earlier United States program of quality democratic institutions, courts, schools, the
free press, all of which hold out the prospect of great economic reward for anyone tough enough to go
for it? In the last decades, the United States has turned away from either of these approaches and begun to
warehouse its ethnic, impoverished, stigmatized, and mentally marginal populations in large
cities characterized by measurably inferior education, health standards and facilities, and
housing. During this same period on the rural side, there has been a movement of white wealth out of
the large cities and a sudden and very large drop in the numbers of rural black farm owners. After
the 1963 Community Mental Health Centers Act, thousands of addicts and the certified insane were released into the streets of our cities.

Disagreements won’t lead to a major decline in relations - - even if they do,

there won’t be rivalry or conflict.
Sakwa, 08 (Richard Sakwa, Professor of Russian and European Politics at University of Kent, “‘New Cold War’ or twenty years’
crisis? Russia and international politics” International Affairs 84: 2 (2008) 241–267.
http://www.chathamhouse.org.uk/files/11102_84_2sakwa.pdf
we
The end of the Cold War has been repeatedly announced, yet the beast stubbornly lives on.97 Nearly two decades after the fall of communism
have once again entered a period of self-reinforcing suspicion and distrust between the major nuclear powers. This
does not necessarily mean that the world will enter a period of sustained and institutionalized rivalry
between two powers that act as magnetic poles in global afairs. The conditions for a replay of the old Cold War in its classic
form are simply not present. Russia and America do not lead rival ideological projects on a global scale;
although disagreements over such issues as the appropriate role of multilateral mechanisms do exist, they exist also between
NATO allies. Nor are there sustained and entrenched policy diferences over such issues as nuclear
proliferation, global warming or any number of other fundamental issues facing the world. Russia is just one among a
number of potential great powers, and therefore old-fashioned bipolarism is a thing of the past, and Russian–
American relations are no longer the axis on which world politics turns. Even the issue that has much exercised the policy
community in Washington, Russia’s alleged ‘democratic backsliding’, is a matter of interpretation, and in any case new leaderships in both countries may
provide an opportunity for the regime question to become less sharp.98 The term ‘Cold War’, therefore, is a contemporary international relations
metaphor for a fundamentally strained relationship that cannot be resolved within the framework of the world views of either party but requires a
rethinking of both.

Virtually no chance of Russian ‘surprise’ attacks (or miscalculated launch)

against the U.S.
Woolf, 09 (Amy F. Woolf, Specialist in Nuclear Weapons Policy at the Congressional Research Service, “Nuclear Force Posture and
Alert Rates: Issues and Options” Discussion paper presented at the seminar on “Re-framing De-Alert: Decreasing the Operational Readiness of
Nuclear Weapons Systems in the U.S.-Russia Context” in Yverdon, Switzerland, 21-23 June 2009. http://www.ewi.info/system/files/Woolf.pdf)

the current environment, there is virtually no

The proponents and opponents of changes in alert status agree that, in
chance that Russia would launch a disarming surprise attack against the United States and that no other
nation has the capability to launch a massive attack. The opponents of changes in alert status argue, therefore, that, even
with some weapons on alert, the President almost certainly would not order a launch if the
evidence of an attack were ambiguous. He already can delay his response while waiting for additional
information. The proponents of change, however, see the extremely low probability of a surprise attack as proof that neither nation needs to
maintain weapons on alert to ensure an effective retaliatory strike. They argue that both can afford to step back from this brink and extend the
amount of warning and decision time.

No warming – warming is an alarmist approach based off exaggerated data

Lewis 7 (Institute of Economic Affairs, Mar 6,
http://www.lyd.com/lyd/controls/neochannels/neo_ch4260/deploy/gwfalsealarm.pdf) LL
The government claim that global warming is more threatening than
terrorism is alarmist and unwarranted. It is also suspect as an excuse for
mounting taxes and controls. It is strikingly similar to the dire predictions of 40
years ago of an imminent ice age and to other past doom forecasts due to
alleged overpopulation, depletion of food and fuel supplies, and chemical
pollution. There are serious doubts about the measurements, assumptions and
predictions of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), with regard to global CO2
growth, temperature and the role of clouds. Indeed there is a strong case that
the IPCC has overstated the effect of anthropogenic greenhouse gases on
the climate and downplayed the influence of natural factors such as
variations in solar output, El Niños and volcanic activity. The empirical
evidence used to support the global warming hypothesis has often been
misleading, with ‘scare stories’ promoted in the media that are distortions
of scientific reality. The high salience of the climate change issue reflects the fact that many special
interests have much to gain from policies designed to reduce emissions
through increased government intervention and world energy planning.

Relative to the ability of humans to adapt, climate change is slow

Tennekes 8 (Hendrick, former director of research at The Netherlands' Royal National Meteorological
Institute, Jul 15, http://climaterealists.com/index.php/forum/?id=1554) LL
“Fortunately,
the time rate of climate change is slow compared to the rapid
evolution of our institutions and societies. There is sufficient time for
adaptation. We should monitor the situation both globally and locally, but up to now global climate change
does not cause severe problems requiring immediate emission reductions.
Successive IPCC reports have presented no scientific basis for dire
warnings concerning climate collapse. Local and regional problems with shorter time scales deserve
priority. They can be managed professionally, just as the Dutch seem to do.”The so-called scientific basis of the climate problem is within
my professional competence as a meteorologist. It is my professional opinion that there is no evidence at all for
catastrophic global warming. It is likely that global temperatures will rise a little,
much as IPCC predicts, but there is a growing body of evidence that the errant behavior of the Sun may cause some
cooling in the foreseeable future.

rltns