In May of 2024, Spain,  Norway, and Ireland formally  recognized the existence of a Palestinian state.

They became the latest of around 140  countries to make this proclamation.

This recognition came with no additional concrete action on the part of these countries.

And yet, Israel’s then Foreign Minister declared that the Spanish government was, quote, “being complicit in inciting genocide  against Jews and war crimes.” Meanwhile, the countries doing the recognizing stated more or less the opposite: that they hoped their  recognition would be a “positive  contribution” toward  promoting peace in the region.

Which led me to wonder, how could the simple act of recognition carry so much weight?

I'm Ellie Anderson and this is  Crash Course Political Theory.

[THEME MUSIC] In political theory, recognition is a big deal.

It’s not like, “Oh, I recognize  that actor from somewhere.” It’s more like, “I validate your existence.” This kind of recognition can change people’s lives when it’s given politically — like, when a state recognizes a same-sex partnership as an officially sanctioned marriage.

And it can result in harm when it’s withheld, from feelings of inferiority to all-out war.

Throughout history, disputes over recognition have been central to violent conflicts, whether in Palestine, Ukraine,  Ireland, Algeria, and beyond.

Which makes me wonder about the  power of recognition even more.

Like, is it a symbolic gesture or is it real?

What does political recognition achieve, really?

In order to get clearer on this  thing that feels so abstract  and yet is driving our global  conflicts, I needed to dig deeper.

My digging took me—as it often, weirdly, does— to 19th-century Germany.

Specifically to philosopher G.W.F.

Hegel, and a strange scenario he posed  called the “master-servant dialectic.” Let’s go to the tape.

[TV static] Imagine you’re alone in the universe and you think to yourself… wait, stop right there cause you’re already wrong.

At least that’s what Hegel would say.

Hegel argued that in order to  do something as simple as think, which we might call “human consciousness,” human beings need to be seen and  recognized by other human beings.

OK, so imagine you’re alone in the universe, except for one other person.

“I’m me,” you say.

“Who are you?” “No, I’m me,” the other person says.

And so the two of you enter  into a fight to the death.

Some WWE-level stuff.

Eventually, one of you wins  and the other begs for mercy.

In Hegel’s terminology, the loser becomes the servant and the winner the master, who gets to keep the claim of “I am me.” One has selfhood.

The other is well, other.

And so a hierarchy is established.

The servant gets to work doing the master’s will — say, building bicycles, while the master, I don’t know, does wheelies on them.

But all the while, the servant is having an impact on the world around them.

They’re making stuff happen.

The master is benefitting from that work— they get to test out cool jumps all day.

But the servant made all this possible, and so they feel…kinda powerful.

Whereas the master is dependent on the servant to get what they want and need.

On top of that, the servant is  giving the master recognition — they’re following their orders, treating them like a real person in the world.

But the master is treating the servant like less than a person, more like an object.

And objects can’t recognize you back.

Which if you’ll recall, is really what both the master and servant wanted all along.

[TV static] And that little thought experiment helped me  understand why Hegel diagnosed  struggles for recognition as the core cause of conflict between people.

When we clash, we’re not  really fighting over rights  or resources or who left dirty  dishes in the sink again.

We’re struggling to be recognized.

Like, do you see me as a person?

Do you respect me?

This moldy Tupperware says otherwise.

And I can see Hegel’s point.

I’ve definitely been in roommate meetings that weren’t really about the dirty dishes.

But I still wondered: what about the servant?

Surely, there’s some additional impact of not being recognized by the master, no matter how much self-worth  you cultivate along the way.

Which brought me to psychiatrist and political theorist Frantz Fanon, a key  figure in decolonial theory.

Growing up on the island of Martinique  and later studying in France, Fanon found himself swimming in cultural messages  that white people were the default,  Black people the inferior “other.” In his 1952 book “Black Skin, White Masks,” Fanon engaged with Hegel’s concept of recognition to describe the condition of colonized peoples.

Fanon argued that when France  abolished slavery in its colonies, Black people were suddenly granted freedom without  having created and defined  what that freedom meant.

He writes that it was, quote, “always white liberty and white justice; that is, values secreted by [...] masters.” And that these newly free people knew “nothing of  the cost of freedom, for [they  have] not fought for it.” This is where Fanon got a little controversial.

He thought that colonized people  needed to struggle for recognition  — both psychologically and with  violence, if it came to that.

He argued that this struggle was critical to heal from the trauma of being treated as objects.

So, this is the big takeaway for me at this point: recognition is a two-way street.

These days everyone wants to be  like, “I feel so seen right now.” But that led me to German  philosopher Axel Honneth,  and his 1992 book “The Struggle for Recognition.” Honneth argues that we seek recognition in three main “spheres of interaction.” First, there’s the sphere of love.

Honneth meant the personal  sphere, where our friends  and family either build—or  weaken—our basic self-confidence.

Next, there’s rights, the  political sphere, where we  seek recognition for our essential sameness.

But there’s also solidarity, the communal sphere, where we seek recognition of our differences.

And we need recognition in all of these spheres, Honneth argued, in order to become whole people.

I’ll be honest, when I first  read this, part of me thought, “This sounds like a fancy way of saying something we all learned in kindergarten.” But then I thought about it and  realized that even in kindergarten, some identities definitely get  more recognition than others.

For sixty years, peachy-pink  Crayola crayons were called  “flesh”-colored, implying  that’s the human skin color.

So, yes, recognition seems basic…but elusive.

When we’ve got it?

We grow, we self-actualize, we become ourselves.

And when we don’t got it…we face real harm.

That’s what philosopher Charles Taylor argues in his 1992 essay “The Politics of Recognition.” He calls recognition a “vital human need,” formed through our interactions with others.

Identity is molded—for better  or for worse— by other people.

And Taylor argues that our political conditions should allow for recognition of our differences, instead of treating them like they don’t exist.

Rights might give us grounds for being treated the same, as abstract, anonymous individuals.

But we’re not abstract and anonymous.

As much as I sometimes wish I was, when I think about my appearances in the fashion column of my college newspaper.

Anyway, I still have questions.

Like how do we know when recognition is achieved?

And also: who decides that?

After all, recognition isn’t tangible — it’s not something we can hold in our hands.

We either feel like we have it, or we don’t.

Which brought me to a new question.

What about land acknowledgements?

You may have encountered these at public events – [SEC.

BUTTIGIEG] “I want to begin by acknowledging  that we are on the ancestral  homelands of Nacotchtank, Anacostine, and Piscataway people.” [ELLIE] when a speaker acknowledges that the land we’re all on was taken from Indigenous peoples.

It’s a practice that tries to give recognition, but critics say it often falls short.

I read perspectives from some  Native people who say land  acknowledgements can come off as hollow gestures.

Without mention of ongoing  inequities or a call to action, they can feel like, “I recognize I’m on your land.

Do you recognize I’m good for recognizing this?” So I started to wonder: is recognition enough?

Is it just a symbolic substitute for real change?

And to try to answer that, I went back to Honneth, who argues that — no, behind  every struggle for real change,  there’s really a struggle for recognition.

Workers demanding better wages?

Money represents respect.

A woman pointing out the  thousands of dollars’ worth  of unpaid housework she does every year?

She’s really seeking recognition for her gendered, undervalued labor.

I could see Honneth’s point, but there are some theorists who really disagree with him.

They say that recognition is not nearly enough.

It’s the redistribution of resources that will ultimately make things right, so those with few resources have more, and theoretically everyone has enough.

For example, many Indigenous  people and non-Indigenous  allies are involved with the Land Back Movement, whose goal is to return land—especially federal  land and sacred sites— to its  previous Indigenous owners, through government intervention, purchasing the land themselves, and other methods.

This is a form of reparations, or efforts to repay or make amends for an injustice.

Take the Tübatulabal Tribe of  what’s now southern California.

Since the mid-1800s, their ancestral  lands weren’t in their control.

But when a plot of that land  went up for sale in 2019,  they had an opportunity to get it back.

Four years later, with funding  from the state Wildlife  Conservation Board and the  Sierra Nevada Conservancy, the tribe got the deed of over  twelve hundred acres of that land,  what they call Kolo kam’ap,  or “the place of the duck.” Tribal chairman Robert Gomez said the land  will be used for tribal  ceremonies, cultural education, public-access hiking and fishing,  and ecological restoration.

Which is awesome.

But recognition isn’t one-size fits all.

Philosopher Kyle Powys Whyte  argues that redistribution  isn't enough unless it also recognizes  a tribe’s specific situation.

Other Indigenous groups may have different needs  or attitudes toward accepting  monetary reparations.

And some experts advocate for  collecting oral histories,  restoring damaged land, and reforming the law around Indigenous sovereignty in order for land redistribution to really mean anything.

At this point, I started thinking that maybe neither redistribution nor recognition is enough.

Then I came across philosopher Nancy Fraser, who asks one of my favorite questions, especially when it comes to deciding whether to get the tiramisu or the chocolate lava cake: “Why not both?” She argues that recognition and redistribution are  equally important pieces of  the same injustice puzzle.

For example, when feminists call  for equal pay for equal work,  they’re calling for redistribution—for  reducing a difference.

And when feminists point out that women earning  as much as their male partners  still do more housework, they’re calling for  recognition of that difference.

So perhaps these symbolic gestures are an important step on the path toward tangible change.

Maybe rights and recognition  are inextricable after all.

[Harp music] Aww!

I can’t say that I’ve figured it all out.

But I can say that recognition gets at something we all need and deserve: a respect for our sameness and our differences.

And with that, wow — that’s  the last episode of our series.

It’s been quite a journey.

While politics can make us feel  like tiny cogs in a giant machine, we’ve seen how individuals and  groups are weaving political  theory and practice to struggle  toward a more just society.

And how we get there — whether it’s through democracy or anarchy or the pursuit of utopia, with the help of feminists or  Marxists or prison abolitionists — that’s the question of political theory,