How 9/11 Changed Our Ways of War 9780804788526

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How 9/11 Ch a nged O ur Ways o f Wa r

How 9/11 Ch a nged O ur Ways o f Wa r Edited by James Burk

Stanford Security Studies An Imprint of Stanford University Press Stanford, California

Stanford University Press Stanford, California © 2013 by the Board of Trustees of the Leland Stanford Junior University. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system without the prior written permission of Stanford University Press. Printed in the United States of America on acid-free, archival-quality paper Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data How 9/11 changed our ways of war / edited by James Burk.   pages cm   Includes bibliographical references and index.   isbn 978-0-8047-8659-1 (cloth : alk. paper) — isbn 978-0-8047-8846-5 (pbk. : alk. paper)   1.  United States—Military policy.  2.  Military art and science—United States.  3.  North Atlantic Treaty Organization.  4.  Military art and science.  5. September 11 Terrorist Attacks, 2001—Influence.  I.  Burk, James, editor of compilation.   ua23.h5675 2013   355′.033573—dc23 2013010529 isbn 978-0-8047-8852-6 (electronic) Special discounts for bulk quantities of Stanford Security Studies are available to corporations, professional associations, and other organizations. For details and discount information, contact the special sales department of Stanford University Press. Tel: (650) 736-1782, Fax: (650) 736-1784 Typeset by Newgen in 10/14 Minion

Contents

Acknowledgments

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Contributors

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Introduction James Burk

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Part I: Choosing War 1 The End of (Military) History? The Demise of the Western Way of War Andrew J. Bacevich

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2 Assessing Strategic Choices in the War on Terror Stephen Biddle and Peter D. Feaver

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3 The Rise, Persistence, and Decline of the War on Terror Ronald R. Krebs

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Part II: Using Force 4 Odysseus Prevails over Achilles: A Warrior Model Suited to Post-9/11 Conflicts Joseph Soeters

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5 What “Success” Means in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Libya Christopher Dandeker

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6 Torture, Harm, and the Prospect of Moral Repair James Burk

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Part III: Mobilizing Resources 7

Isomorphism within NATO? Soldiers and Armed Forces before and after 9/11 Gerhard Kümmel

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8 The Mobilization of Private Forces after 9/11: Ad Hoc Response to Inadequate Planning Deborah Avant

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9 Globalization and al Qaeda’s Challenge to American Unipolarity Pascal Vennesson

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Conclusion James Burk and Christopher Dandeker

Index

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Acknowledgments

M

a n y t h a nk s a re d ue to t he In t er- Uni v er si t y Semin a r

for Armed Forces and Society, known colloquially as the IUS. Under the strong leadership of John Allen Williams and Robert Vitas, the IUS encourages interdisciplinary and international scholarly and policy-relevant research on civil military relations and related topics. Without their unwavering moral and material support, this project would never have got off the ground. We are especially grateful to Teresa J. Lawson and to the anonymous reviewers of this volume, who carefully read the manuscript from beginning to end, and to Michael Desch, Antony King, and Suzanne Nielson, for reading and commenting on substantial portions of the manuscript. Their gifts of time and good counsel we cannot repay. But they will see what a positive contribution they made when they read the final text. Other readers will benefit from their comments too, though they will not know just how much. I cannot leave unmentioned the patience and unfailingly helpful insights offered by Geoffrey Burns, whom we were fortunate to have as our editor. He taught me a great deal about the craft of scholarship and the making of a good book. I want also to acknowledge and thank the College of Liberal Art at Texas A&M University for its material support for this project, made possible through its generous Cornerstone Faculty Fellowship program. Finally, we thank SIPRI for its permission to reproduce tables and figures originally available on its website and also to thank Bonn International Center for Conversion (BICC) for its permission to include here its original data on the Global Militarization Index. vii

Contributors

Deborah Avant is the Sié Chéou-Kang Chair for International Security and Diplomacy and Director of the Sié Chéou-Kang Center for International Security and Diplomacy at the Josef Korbel School of International Studies, University of Denver. She studies civil-military relations, military change, and the politics of controlling violence. Andrew J. Bacevich is Professor of History and International Relations at Boston University. His most recent book is Washington Rules: America’s Path to Permanent War. Stephen Biddle is Professor of Political and International Affairs in the Elliott School of International Affairs, George Washington University. He is also an Adjunct Senior Fellow for Defense Policy at the Council on Foreign Relations. He studies military strategy and the basis in social science research for current defense policies. James Burk is a Professor of Sociology and Cornerstone Faculty Fellow in the College of Liberal Arts at Texas A&M University. He is a past editor of the journal Armed Forces & Society. He studies issues related to war and morality in democratic societies. Christopher Dandeker is Professor of Military Sociology in the Department of War Studies, King’s College London. He is Co-Director of the King’s Centre

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for Military Health Research (KCMHR), an Academician of the Social Sciences of the UK, and a Fellow of King’s College London. Peter D. Feaver is a Professor of Political Science and Public Policy at Duke University and Director of the Triangle Institute for Security Studies and Duke Program on American Grand Strategy. Ronald R. Krebs is Associate Professor of Political Science at the University of Minnesota and author of Fighting for Rights: Military Service and the Politics of Citizenship. He is currently studying public narratives and national security policy. Gerhard Kümmel is Senior Researcher at the Bundeswehr Institute of Social Sciences (SOWI) and President of the Research Committee 01: Armed Forces & Conflict Resolution within the International Sociological Association. He is also a Lecturer in the Masters’ Program in “Military Studies” at the University of Potsdam. Joseph Soeters holds the chair of management and organization studies at the Netherlands Defense Academy. He is also a Professor of Organizational Sociology at Tilburg University. His work includes comparative studies of organizational and military culture, multinational military cooperation, and national styles in military operations. Pascal Vennesson is Professor at the S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies, Nanyang Technological University. He studies military power and grand strategy in world politics. He is finishing his new book, War in the Global Village: Transnational Challenges and the Struggle for Freedom of Action.

How 9/11 Ch a nged O ur Ways o f Wa r

Introduction James Burk

A

l Q a e d a’ s at ta c k a g a i n s t t h e U n i t e d S tat e s o n

September 11, 2001, was a matter of choice. There was no apparent necessity for al Qaeda to attack innocent civilians on such a scale within U.S. borders. By this attack, al Qaeda chose to escalate sharply a conflict that it had already declared was a war against the West. Once the attack was carried out, a war against al Qaeda by the United States and its liberal democratic allies was next to inevitable.1 But what kind of war would it be, how would it be fought, for how long, and what would it cost in lives and money? None of that was known. The impending war would not be a conventional interstate conflict fought in the familiar interstate way. The rules of interstate war, never perfectly followed, would be hard to apply in a “war against terror.” Some said that the old rules did not apply and were better done without. The gloves were off. The old ways of war had to change. But what did that mean? Now more than ten years later, we should be able to ask and answer (at least in part) the question: How did 9/11 change our ways of war? Our approach to answer this question is holistic. Rather than examine our responses to the wars on terror through a single lens, looking only at strategic choices made, tactics employed, or mobilization plans, we employ multiple theories and methods, across a range of concerns, expecting to learn more from an examination of the whole than we could learn from examining the parts alone. Moreover, we assume that the wars on terror do not only challenge our military capabilities. They also challenge our commitments

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to the values of liberal democracy. So our concerns are both normative and instrumental. We want to know how ways of war have adapted to fight terrorism. We also want to know how fighting terrorism has affected our capacity to protect and sustain liberal democracy at war. These dimensions are related.

Ways of War The phrase “way of war” has no simple agreed-upon definition. Liddell Hart first used the term in 1927 to describe a British way of war based on maritime and economic power supporting expeditionary missions, quite different from the mass continental forces Britain used to fight in the world wars.2 The phrase was made popular in Russell F. Weigley’s historical study of American war fighting, published in 1973. Weigley used it to identify a U.S. strategic preference for fighting wars of attrition or annihilation rather than fighting wars with limited aims or employing preventative strategies of deterrence. The idea has merit, if we do not stretch it into a deterministic claim that nations only fight certain wars in certain ways. Nations—and perhaps even nonstate belligerents like al Qaeda—do possess political cultures that predispose them to fight certain wars in certain ways. But there is always a possibility for adaptation and change. Weigley recognized, for instance, that the American ways of war were modified by Cold War threats to the country’s values and interests, threats that could not be met by pursuing military victories in a “total war.”3 What a way of war refers to may be narrowly or broadly drawn. Narrowly, it refers to beliefs about how to fight and prevail on the battlefield. This is what Max Boot had in mind in 2003 when he extolled a new American way of war, based on speed, maneuver, flexibility, and surprise, with increased reliance on special operations forces and precision-guided munitions. He thought this new way of war had proved itself in Afghanistan and Iraq from 2001 to 2003. It would be “more effective and more humane” than a “grinding strategy of attrition.”4 More broadly, the term encompasses beliefs about when and how to use armed force in ways that are accepted (or not) as legitimate by the larger society. This is the approach Martin Shaw took in his study of what he called the new Western way of war. This way of war minimized military casualties to maintain domestic support for war yet in doing so increased the risk of civilian injuries and of civilian dead in the war zone.5 What distinguishes the narrow from the broad approach is an explicit concern for the relationship



Introduction

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between the use of armed forces and the normative evaluations of their use by the larger society. The broad approach is used here as we consider whether our ways of war since 9/11 protect and sustain values central to a liberal democratic society. Notice that the reference is limited. All ways of war are not considered, only “our” ways of war, meaning specifically the ways of war of the United States, Britain, and other North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) nations, primarily as employed in the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq after 9/11. Some chapters in this book refer to theories of general or even universal application and sometimes to events involving countries, regions, or actors other than members of NATO. But these are exceptions and they are made in support of the book’s main purpose—to see how 9/11 changed our ways of war and why it matters for liberal democracies.

Three Major Themes We pursue our aim by addressing three major themes: What factors shape strategic decisions to go to war? How should force be used to wage war? What resources are mobilized to carry on the fight? These themes are not unique to war after 9/11. They pose questions that arise in any war. Will decisions to go to war seem justified, setting achievable goals for good reasons? Can war be fought in a way that appears to be both militarily effective and fair? Where will the resources needed to wage war be found? Will the costs of war—the sacrifice—be equitably distributed? What matters to us is how these questions are answered in this age of terror and unconventional wars. To begin, this section discusses briefly why each of these themes is important. The following section outlines the plan of the book. It considers what each chapter contributes to our understanding of key issues raised by one of our major themes. Taken together, they weave a complex tapestry of responses to our central question about the changing ways of war since 9/11. Choosing War Less than a month after 9/11, Congress authorized and President Bush ordered military action against Afghanistan, which had provided a safe haven for al Qaeda to plan, prepare, and pursue its program of terror. The decision to go to war was swiftly made and long supported by public opinion, at least in the West, though more so in the United States than elsewhere. If the public now

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shows signs of being war-weary, that is only after more than a decade of fighting in Afghanistan and Iraq, with the conflicts not yet fully resolved and prospects for achieving success far from clear. Looking backward to a time when hopes for success were high, it may seem that what happened after 9/11—a mobilization to fight two wars—was inevitable or at least unsurprising. The United States, with its allies, did what great powers do: it took military action to punish those who attacked it and to keep them if possible from doing so again. What state with the power has chosen to do otherwise? Nevertheless, the decision to go to war was not inevitable. The question remains why some alternatives were selected and others were not. While 9/11 was a surprise attack, it was not al Qaeda’s first attack against the United States nor was it al Qaeda’s first attack on American soil. Using force against al Qaeda to take out its leadership and close down its operation was already a matter of policy. At issue then was how much of what kind of force was needed to achieve particular ends. The question was especially heated in the immediate aftermath of 9/11. The U.S. public’s mood at the time was punitive and its first thoughts were about how to bring al Qaeda to justice. Using Force Decisions to wage war also entail discussions about how to fight. Ideally in liberal democracies, such discussions are public. Public deliberation about the methods of war is especially important when the methods are untested, not known to be reliable, or are likely to provoke ethical criticism. But in practice, of course, public deliberation about how to wage war is usually quite restricted. Leaders invariably make crucial decisions behind closed doors. The public is not fully informed about decisions made or the reasons for them. Democracy’s need for publicity is subordinated during war to its need for secrecy. Secrecy is often justified by realistic fears that disclosing methods of operation give an advantage to the enemy. However necessary secrecy may be, political and military leaders run the risk of public criticism—or, even worse, the loss of public support—should their methods of war fail to bring the hoped-for results. Public disclosure and accountability are hard to avoid. Once the atom bomb was dropped, even the Manhattan Project became public knowledge, sparking debate about the use of force that has not yet subsided. Yet, apart from the logic that says loose lips sink ships, there is a deeper problem. Since the end of the world wars at least, there has been no simple instrumental connection between the use of



Introduction

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force and the achievement of national security objectives. Modern weapons are now so powerful that their unlimited use is self-defeating.6 But if the use of force must be limited, what should the limits be and how are they to be enforced? Can those we fight (or can we) be counted on to follow rules in a conflict where the rules are disputed and there is no confidence that rule followers are likely to succeed? This is a conundrum political and military leaders cannot escape. Mobilizing Resources Whether and how to fight are often matters affected by the ability of state, or nonstate, belligerents to mobilize the people and money required to support a particular way of war. It is not easy to know what resources might be needed. Those planning for war must ask whether the conflict will require a large or small armed force, of professional soldiers, citizen soldiers, or private contractors, for a war of long or limited duration, fought with high-technology weapons from a distance or face-to-face, literally among the people. Answers to these questions affect how much money and how many people may be needed for the fight. Planners sometimes make mistakes: often they are overly optimistic, underestimating what will be required. The result is a military that is undermanned, underfunded, and therefore under strain when called on to fight. But even if planners make no mistakes, political and military leaders may not get the resources they want. This is true for the obvious though trivial reason that the supply of resources is always constrained. More important is that fighting limited unconventional wars make it unexpected and difficult to meet demands for resources not traditionally employed for military purposes. In the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, these resources range from the intelligence of anthropologists who are steeped in a local language and culture to the technical skills of hackers able to mount or prevent cyberattacks.

Plan of the Book A central premise of this book is that military and political leaders make choices that affect when and how military force is used in pursuit of national security objectives. Yet, also assumed is that the choices leaders make are not entirely free. They are more or less constrained by the context in which choices are made. The chapters that follow each consider how 9/11 shaped

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the context within which choices were made about whether, why, and how to fight “wars on terror.” They also assume that whatever effects 9/11 may have had were themselves shaped by a prior and ongoing discussion about what protects national security and what sustains the values or moral principles for which liberal democracies fight. Taken altogether, when the contributors consider how 9/11 changed our ways of war, they depict a complex interaction between a neorealist concern for power and interests and a sociological concern for the operation of moral principles and ethical norms.7 To clarify presentation of the argument, the book is divided into three issue areas, with each area focused on one of our three major themes, the first being the choice to go to war. The three contributors to this opening section adopt distinct and seemingly incompatible perspectives. Andrew J. Bacevich, in the next chapter, advises us to see that the decision to go to war after 9/11 was not something new. It was a historically typical response by the United States to a threat, a typical response that the United States shared with Israel. It rests on the old idea that military force can solve problems encountered in the pursuit of national security objectives. He contends that faith in this idea has elsewhere declined since 1945. Rather than win victories, this military principle of action has led to out-sized military spending and a succession of tactical fads, no one of which succeeds. With 9/11 the typical response was invoked again, but this time, Bacevich hopes, it was the swan song for a way of war best forgotten. In sharp contrast with Bacevich’s stand, Stephen Biddle and Peter D. Feaver, in chapter 2, defend policies adopted immediately following and in response to 9/11, to elevate terrorism from a secondary to a highest-order threat that justified going to war in Afghanistan. These were reasonable decisions for which there were no obviously better policy alternatives, a conclusion they support after considering what might have happened if an alternative policy had been pursued. While the 9/11 attacks were unexpected, they did not prevent the government from quickly adopting and implementing (what seemed to be) an instrumentally rational national security policy. This is not to say that the choice was unconstrained. As they note, public response to terrorist attacks created political pressures to choose war no matter what. In chapter 3, Ronald R. Krebs considers this matter in greater depth. He argues that 9/11 sharply constrained national security debates about how to make sense of and respond to the terrorist threat. The response was not just military but was also rhetorical. Soon after 9/11, the president constructed a



Introduction

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“terrorist narrative.” His aim was to make sense out of the attacks by showing where they stood in the light of American history and its value commitments. The narrative portrayed terrorists as enemies of freedom, and it said that the United States had a special calling to defeat these enemies, by force if necessary. The importance of the narrative lies with the constraints placed on national security discourse; there was no room for views or policies not implied by it. Krebs asked whether this constrained discourse made the U.S. response to 9/11 less reasonable than it might have been had a more wide-ranging discussion been encouraged. The second issue area focuses on how force is or should be used. In chapter 4, Joseph Soeters compares the ways of war adopted by the British military with those of the Dutch and asks which was more effective in post-9/11 conflicts. The British way of war emphasizes (as Achilles might) the use of force to achieve security goals. The Dutch way of war emphasizes (as Odys­­seus might) the use of cunning and guile to achieve security goals, with a minimum amount of force used. The analysis is complex, comparing the two militaries in military deployments conducted before and after the 9/11 attacks. But the theoretical claim is clear: insurgencies like those encountered after 9/11 are conflicts better met by limited military operations than by operations that use force as the primary means to mission success. In chapter 5, Christopher Dandeker argues that the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan began in response to 9/11. They represented the height of Western confidence that military force could defeat threats posed by terrorists like al Qaeda and rogue states like Iraq or Afghanistan under the Taliban. Experience in Iraq and Afghanistan undermined that confidence. In these two cases, even modestly defined military success has been difficult to prove, while the costs of interventions have been obviously high. Western leaders are now reluctant to undertake further military interventions, a reluctance reinforced by current economic constraints. Should leaders intervene anyway, the effort will be strictly limited, as it was in Libya in 2011. Neither political elites nor the public at large back large-scale military interventions like those that flowed from 9/11. Support for such missions has come to an end. Questions about how to fight are not simply expedient, based on whether we could achieve our goals. After 9/11, questions about how to fight also assumed a moral dimension, which I address in chapter 6. The chapter reviews the evolution of the Bush administration’s controversial policy to allow what it called “harsh interrogation” policies to meet the new terrorist threat. Rather

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than ask whether the policies were justified, the chapter examines the harm done to those directly involved, to public servants in government, to the institutions of civil society, and to the “moral status” of the United States in the international community. The Obama administration stopped use of “harsh” interrogation techniques, but the harm done has not been fully acknowledged, investigated, or redressed. After 9/11, protections against the state’s use of torture were weakened. Since 9/11 checks on presidential power to use torture have been only partially restored. There is little public or elite pressure to do more. The final issue area addresses the problem of mobilizing resources, which was surprisingly hard to do after 9/11. In chapter 7, Gerhard Kümmel argues in general that, when confronted with a trauma like 9/11, the leading institutions in a field will be the first to adapt to novel circumstances. Applied to military institutions, after 9/11, he expects that the United States will establish patterns of response that others will adopt; where the United States leads the rest will follow. There is some evidence to suggest that this leadership effect occurs. But the effect is not observed when it comes to trends in defense expenditures. Measured globally, defense expenditures increased sharply after 9/11, yet there is no support for the idea that the United States was setting an example. On the contrary, even within NATO, increases in defense expenditures were concentrated in the United States. Others did not follow. The findings suggest that states have difficulties raising money to pay for military interventions, even when 9/11 provided a reason for doing so. In chapter 8, Deborah Avant documents that military planners sharply underestimated the number of ground troops needed to deal with the insurgencies that arose after Saddam Hussein and the Taliban were toppled. To make up for personnel shortfalls, the Bush administration increased reliance on private military contractors far beyond what was expected. This experience raises questions about future mobilizations, especially if reliance on private contractors becomes a means for meeting demands that sharp cuts be made in defense spending. This would be a radical innovation in U.S. military organization and culture. Its effects might debase the strong tradition upholding the role of the citizen soldier. In chapter 9, Pascal Vennesson asks why the post-9/11 wars were fought in a limited way, though the rhetoric was strident on both sides and seemed to invite unlimited war. He argues that war was limited because neither side could mobilize “the people” to fight. Difficulty mobilizing people to fight is



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easiest to understand in the case of al Qaeda. Al Qaeda was a global terrorist movement without any territory of its own, and its strategy envisioned a way of war that did not require mass mobilization of the people. Something similar can be said of the United States. Its reticence to mobilize people for war was partially a product of new tactics of war that focused on speed and maneuver, special operations forces, and precision-guided missiles and did not require large-scale mobilization. More important, Vennesson suggests, was a decades-long and growing erosion of trust and commitment between political leaders and the people, weakening the resolve to serve by the people and the courage of leaders to ask for their service. He wonders what is the cost to a democratic political culture if the United States and other democratic states cannot mobilize people to bear war’s sacrifice. To conclude, the final chapter offers an analytic assessment of the ways 9/11 changed beliefs about when and how to use armed forces. A central finding is that post-9/11 conflicts undermined previous confidence in the use of force as a tool for achieving foreign policy objectives. There was instead enhanced recognition of the limits encountered when using force. These limits arose from the difficulty of connecting the use of force with the ends of policy. Without that connection war is not instrumentally rational. The chapter also considers the implications of 9/11 for waging future wars. The topic is urgent. As I write these words, civil war ravages Syria, Iran and North Korea still pursue their goal to become nuclear powers, and political turmoil in Egypt unsettles what was the year before a peaceful and hope-filled Arab Spring. It is important to assess whether the experience and lessons from 9/11 are of historical interest only or may be applied more generally in a world already facing new outbreaks of collective violence.

Conclusion The terrorist attacks on 9/11 led to a choice for war shaped by rhetoric distrustful of open democratic debate. Once war began, decisions about how to use force could not be tied reliably to the aims force was meant to achieve. The result was a crisis for the democratic control of war. Public doubts grew over whether military forces could be successfully deployed. Of course, Western states will not abandon the use of force if its use is seen as a necessary and a last resort. But they have been chastened by the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Those wars have been so costly and they are not yet finally over. Western

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states will be reluctant to enter another large-scale ground war as a means of imposing their will. They will ask how else armed forces can protect and sustain democratic values in an era of terror and asymmetric war.

Notes 1.  Going to war was not strictly inevitable. Early in the fall of 2001, some warned against a policy of war, preferring instead to rely on an international police operation. Among them was the highly respected British military historian, Sir Michael Howard, as was reported in the Guardian at the time. Available at http://www.guard ian.co.uk/uk/2001/oct/31/afghanistan.highereducation (accessed May 21, 2012). Still, the political pressures to go to war were so great as to make any policy other than war difficult to choose. For more on this, see chapters 2 and 3 in this volume. 2.  Hew Strachan, “Strategy in the Twenty-First Century,” in The Changing Character of War, ed. Hew Strachan and Sibylle Scheipers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 505; Brian Holden Reid, “The British Way in Warfare: Liddell Hart’s Idea and Its Legacy,” RUSI Journal 156 (December 2011): 70–76. 3.  Russell F. Weigley, The American Way of War: A History of United States Military Strategy and Policy (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1977). See also Brian M. Linn, “The American Way of War Revisited,” Journal of Military History 66 (April 2002): 501–533. 4.  Max Boot, “The New American Way of War,” Foreign Affairs 82 (July–August 2003): 41–58. 5.  Martin Shaw, The New Western Way of War: Risk-Transfer War and Its Crisis in Iraq (Cambridge: Polity, 2005). 6.  Bacevich introduces this judgment in chapter 1. Soeters, Dandeker, and I treat the matter more deeply in our chapters. For classic statements of the argument, see Morris Janowitz, The Professional Soldier: A Social and Political Portrait (Glencoe, IL: Free Press, 1960), chaps. 15 and 20; Hannah Arendt, On Violence (San Diego: Harvest/ HBJ Books, 1970). 7.  For an extensive review of this theoretical approach, see Ward Thomas, The Ethics of Destruction: Norms and Force in International Relations (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2001).

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The End of (Military) History? The Demise of the Western Way of War Andrew J. Bacevich

“I

n watchin g t he flow o f e v en t s ov er t he pa s t d ec a d e

or so, it is hard to avoid the feeling that something very fundamental has happened in world history.”1 This sentiment, introducing the essay that made Francis Fukuyama a household name, commands renewed attention today, albeit from a different perspective. Developments during the 1980s, above all the winding down of the Cold War, had convinced Fukuyama that the “end of history” was at hand. “The triumph of the West, of the Western idea,” he wrote in 1989, “is evident . . . in the total exhaustion of viable systematic alternatives to Western liberalism.” Today the West, its leading members wrestling with entrenched economic problems, no longer looks quite so triumphant. Yet events during the first decade of the present century have delivered history to another endpoint of sorts. Although Western liberalism retains considerable appeal and liberal economies may yet demonstrate an ability to get their house in order, the Western way of war has run its course. Whatever doubts may have remained on this score, events since 9/11 have removed them. For Fukuyama, history implied a Hegelian dialectic. During the twentieth century, that dialectic had found expression in a fierce ideological competition, a contest pitting democratic capitalism against fascism and communism. By the time he published his famous essay, that contest was reaching its denouement. Defined as an unfolding sequence of events, history was likely to



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continue. As teleological process, however, history, according to Fukuyama, had arrived at an endpoint likely to prove definitive. Yet from start to finish, military might as much as ideology had determined that competition’s course. Throughout much of the twentieth century, great powers had vied with one another to create new, or more effective, instruments of coercion. Military innovation assumed many forms. Most obviously, there were weapons: dreadnoughts and aircraft carriers, rockets and missiles, poison gas and atomic bombs—the list is a long one. Yet in their effort to gain an edge, nations devoted equal attention to other factors: doctrine and organization, training systems and mobilization schemes, intelligence collection and war plans. All of this furious activity, whether undertaken by France or Great Britain, Germany or Japan, Russia or the United States, derived from a common belief in the plausibility of victory. Expressed in simplest terms, the Western military tradition reduces to this proposition: war remains a viable instrument of statecraft, the accouterments of modernity serving, if anything, to enhance its utility.

Great Expectations That was theory. Reality, above all the two world wars, told a decidedly different story. Armed conflict in the industrial age reached new heights of lethality and destructiveness. Once begun, wars devoured everything, inflicting staggering material, psychological, and moral damage. Pain vastly exceeded gain. In that regard, the war of 1914–1918 became emblematic: even the winners ended up losers. When fighting eventually stopped, the victors were left not to celebrate but to mourn. As a consequence, well before Fukuyama penned his essay, faith in war’s problem-solving capacity had begun to erode. As early as 1945, among several great powers—thanks to their affinity for war, now great in name only—that faith disappeared altogether. Among nations classified as liberal democracies, only two resisted this trend. One was the United States, the sole major belligerent to emerge from World War II stronger, richer, and more confident. The second was Israel, created as a direct consequence of the horrors unleashed by that cataclysm and the criminal regime of Nazi Germany. By the 1950s, both countries subscribed to this conviction that national security (and, arguably, national survival) demanded unambiguous military superiority. In the lexicon of American and Israeli politics, peace was a code word. The essential prerequisite of peace was



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for any and all adversaries, real or potential, to accept a condition of permanent inferiority. In this regard, the two nations—not yet intimate allies— stood apart from the rest of the Western world. So even as they professed their devotion to peace, civilian and military elites in the United States and Israel prepared obsessively for war. They saw no contradiction between rhetoric and reality. In the United States, this preoccupation with war gave rise to the national security state, a vast network of institutions, governmental and nongovernmental alike, centered on the misleadingly named Department of Defense. In Israel, the preoccupation with war found expression in the creation of a people’s army, which became (and remains) the preeminent manifestation of the nation and the state. To be an Israeli citizen, remarked one Israel Defense Force (IDF) chief of staff, “was to be a soldier on eleven months annual leave.”2 Yet belief in the efficacy of military power almost inevitably breeds the temptation to put that power to work. This is especially true among nations (like the United States) fired by crusading instincts, sometimes bordering on messianic delusions, or those (like Israel) imbued with a deep and pervasive sense of insecurity, sometimes bordering on paranoia. For missionaries and for the fearful, armed might held in readiness to defend the nation does not suffice. Thus does “peace through strength” all too easily translate into “peace as the product of war.” Israel succumbed to this temptation in the conflicts undertaken in 1956 and then in 1967. Both were wars of choice, begun because Israelis (politicians in 1956, generals in 1967) saw an opportunity for what they expected to be an easy win. Although the Suez War yielded none of the expected results, the Six Day War proved a turning point. The IDF smashed several Arab armies and seized huge swathes of territory. Plucky and audacious David had defeated—and thereby became—Goliath. Even as the United States was flailing about in Vietnam, Israelis appeared to have succeeded in mastering war. It took a quarter-century before U.S. forces seemingly caught up. In 1991, Operation Desert Storm, George H.W. Bush’s war against Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein, showed that American troops, like Israeli soldiers, knew how to win and to do so quickly, cheaply, and humanely. U.S. generals such as H. Norman Schwarzkopf persuaded themselves that their brief desert campaign against Iraq had matched—even surpassed—the battlefield exploits of such famous Israeli warriors as Moshe Dayan, Yitzhak

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Rabin, and Ariel Sharon. For the U.S. military, Vietnam now faded into irrelevance, an embarrassing memory happily expunged (or at least buried). For the American officer corps, Desert Storm signified redemption. Better still was the conviction that this successful foray into the desert was anything but a one-off event; American soldiers (and many members of the American public) deemed it a portent. Desert Storm foretold a future in which conflicts, according to one senior U.S. officer, were certain to be “short, decisive, and accompanied by a minimum of casualties.”3 For both Israel and the United States, however, appearances proved deceptive. Apart from fostering large illusions, the splendid wars of 1967 and 1991 decided remarkably little. In both cases, victory turned out to be more apparent than real, especially with regard to political implications. From winning came unintended and undesirable consequences. Worse still, triumphalism fostered massive future miscalculation. On the Golan Heights, in Gaza, and throughout the West Bank, proponents of a Greater Israel—disregarding Washington’s objections—set out to assert permanent control over territory that Israel had gained. Yet “facts on the ground” created by successive waves of Jewish settlers did little to enhance Israeli security. They succeeded chiefly in shackling Israel to a rapidly growing and resentful Palestinian population that the Jewish state would not assimilate and the IDF could not pacify. In the Persian Gulf, the benefits reaped by the United States after 1991 likewise proved ephemeral. Despite his defeat in the so-called Mother of All Battles, Saddam Hussein survived, becoming in the eyes of successive U.S. administrations an imminent threat to regional stability. This perception prompted (or provided a pretext for) a radical reorientation of U.S. strategy. The Carter Doctrine of 1980 had declared that the United States would prevent any unfriendly outside power from controlling the oil-rich Persian Gulf. After 1991 that was no longer enough: Washington now sought to dominate the entire Greater Middle East. Hegemony became the implicit aim. Yet the United States proved no more successful than Israel in imposing its writ. During the 1990s, the Pentagon embarked upon what became its own variant of a settlement policy. Yet U.S. bases dotting the Islamic world and U.S. forces moving in and out of the region proved hardly more welcome than the Israeli settlements dotting the occupied territories and the IDF soldiers assigned to protect them. In both cases, presence provoked (or provided a pretext for) resistance. Just as Palestinians vented their anger at the Zionists



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in their midst, radical Islamists targeted Americans whom they regarded as neocolonial infidels. The Six Day War had not really ended in six days. The Persian Gulf War of 1990–1991 had not really ended with its celebrated 100-hour ground campaign. Seemingly decisive victories had created conditions conducive to more violence. Most Europeans would have found such an outcome unsurprising. Yet few Israelis and fewer Americans were prepared to assess the implications of this troubling fact.

Stuck No one doubted that Israelis (regionally) and Americans (globally) enjoyed unquestioned military dominance. Throughout Israel’s year abroad, its tanks, fighter-bombers, and warships operated at will. So, too, did American tanks, fighter-bombers, and warships wherever they were sent. So what? Events made it increasingly evident that military dominance did not reliably and predictably translate into concrete political advantage. Although Israeli and American national security elites remained deeply invested in the Clausewitzian conception of war as an instrument of policy—“politics by other means”—the outcomes achieved when employing that instrument rarely lived up to expectations. Rather than enhancing the prospects for peace, coercion regularly produced ever more complications and more than a few nasty surprises. No matter how badly battered and beaten, the “terrorists” (a catch-all term applied to anyone resisting Israeli or American authority) were not intimidated, remained unrepentant, and kept coming back for more, devising tactics against which forces optimized for conventional combat did not have a ready response. The term invented for this was “asymmetric conflict,” loosely translated as war against adversaries who won’t fight the way we want them to. Israel ran smack into this problem during Operation Peace for Galilee, its 1982 invasion of Lebanon. U.S. forces encountered it a decade later during Operation Restore Hope, the West’s self-congratulatory titled foray into Somalia. Lebanon possessed a puny army; Somalia had none at all. Rather than producing peace or restoring hope, however, both operations ended in frustration, embarrassment, and failure. There were also moral problems that clashed with Israeli and American assertions of a humane and liberal democratic identity. Both armies preferred to make war against armies;

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increasingly, they found themselves fighting groups that the term “army” did not adequately describe. According to its “iron wall” strategic paradigm, a militant Israel demonstrating implacable strength would ultimately leave its adversaries no alternative but to make peace on terms acceptable to the Jewish state.4 By the end of the twentieth century, that strategy had achieved modest but not inconsequential success. First, in 1979 came a peace agreement with authoritarian Egypt. Then in 1994 came an agreement with the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan, a weak state held together by a precarious monarchy. More important than either of these was Israel’s hard-won alliance with the United States, forged in the last third of the twentieth century. American arms and diplomatic support played an invaluable role in buttressing Israel’s iron wall. Yet for Israel, the episode in Lebanon proved but a harbinger of worse things to come. By the 1980s, the IDF’s glory days had passed. Rather than lightning strikes deep into the enemy rear, the narrative of Israeli military history became a cheerless recital of dirty wars—unconventional conflicts against irregular forces yielding problematic results. The First Intifada (1987– 1993), the Second Intifada (2000–2005), a second Lebanon War (2006), and Operation Cast Lead, the notorious 2008–2009 incursion into Gaza, all conformed to this pattern. One effect of these encounters was to tarnish Israel’s image internationally. Actions that Israeli governments depicted as taken in self-defense looked to others like heavy-handed bullying. This had profound political implications as Israel faced increasing criticism from abroad and even diplomatic isolation. For better or worse, this served to increase Israel’s reliance on the United States as its superpower patron. Stubbornly persisting in their belief that war works, the two democracies stood together, but increasingly alone. Meanwhile, the differential between Palestinian and Jewish Israeli birth rates emerged as a looming threat—a “demographic bomb,” Benjamin Netanyahu called it.5 Here were new facts on the ground that military forces, unless employed pursuant to a policy of ethnic cleansing, could do little to redress. American-manufactured F-16s or Apache attack helicopters were of no value in suppressing Arab fertility rates. Even as the IDF tried repeatedly and futilely to bludgeon movements such as Hamas and Hezbollah into submission, demographic trends continued to suggest that within a generation a majority of those living within Israel and the occupied territories would be Arab.



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Trailing a decade or so behind Israel, the U.S. military nonetheless succeeded in duplicating the IDF’s experience. Moments of glory remained, but they would prove fleeting. After 9/11, American efforts to dominate (or, in Washington’s preferred term, to “liberate”) the Greater Middle East kicked into high gear. In Afghanistan and Iraq, George W. Bush’s global war on terror began impressively enough, as U.S. forces operated with the speed and élan that had once been an Israeli trademark. Thanks to “shock and awe,” Kabul fell in 2001, then Baghdad in 2003. In remarkably short order, military action had seemingly achieved its intended political objectives.6 Landing on the deck of the carrier USS Abraham Lincoln on May 1, 2003, George W. Bush sought to affirm that verdict. Here lay the symbolic significance of the famous (or infamous) “Mission Accomplished” banner that served as a flamboyant backdrop for that visit: by declaring the job all but done, the commander in chief, his personal prestige and authority at their highest, was attempting to rebut or refute the view that war had become pointless. At the dawn of the twenty-first century, American technology, professionalism, and bravery had made war once again purposeful—controlled, cost-effective violence yielding intended outcomes. The results so spectacularly achieved in Afghanistan and Iraq seemingly proved this. As one senior Army general explained to Congress the following year, the Pentagon had war all figured out: We are now able to create decision superiority that is enabled by networked systems, new sensors and command and control capabilities that are producing unprecedented near real time situational awareness, increased information availability; and an ability to deliver precision munitions throughout the breadth and depth of the battlespace. . . . Combined, these capabilities of the future networked force will leverage information dominance, speed and precision, and result in decision superiority.7

The key phrase in this mass of techno-blather was the one that occurred twice: “decision superiority.” The American officer corps knew it knew how to win. Such claims of success, however, proved obscenely premature. As the Israeli generals had discovered, real decision yielding conclusive outcomes remained just beyond reach. On the whole, assertions that the events of September 11, 2001, “changed everything”—commonplace a decade ago—have proven absurd. In terms of

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everyday life, 9/11 changed very little. Apart from the minor inconvenience of airport security measures, most Americans today would be hard-pressed to identify ways in which the al Qaeda attacks have altered their day-to-day existence. Yet that statement does not apply to any American who has spent the post-9/11 decade in military service. In this realm, change—driven by hubris and disappointment—has been massive. In both Afghanistan and Iraq, campaigns advertised as being wrapped up in weeks in fact dragged on for years, while American G.I.s struggled with their own de facto intifadas. With the passage of time, so-called overseas contingency operations proliferated. Alongside the two “big wars” in Afghanistan and Iraq, U.S. forces engaged in “small wars” in Libya, Pakistan, the Philippines, Somalia, and Yemen. Accompanying the troops into battle were CIA paramilitaries and ever-growing numbers of private security contractors, some of whom functioned as de facto mercenaries.8 The United States demonstrated a willingness to initiate the use of force that had previously been a uniquely Israeli signature. Yet when it came to achieving decisions that actually stuck, the Pentagon (like the IDF) remained clueless.

Winless If any overarching conclusion emerges from America’s post-9/11 wars (and from their Israeli equivalents of the past three decades), it is this: except in the rarest of circumstances, victory in the traditional sense—winning the battle that wins the war and thereby achieves the stated political aim—is a chimera. Counting on today’s enemy to yield in the face of superior force makes about as much sense as buying lottery tickets to pay the mortgage: you better be lucky. Meanwhile, as the end of the George W. Bush era approached, the U.S. economy went into a tailspin. Americans contemplated their equivalent to Israel’s “demographic bomb”—a “fiscal bomb.” Ingrained habits of profligacy, both individual and collective, pointed to the prospect of long-term stagnation—no growth, no jobs, no fun. Out-of-control spending on endless wars exacerbated that threat. By 2007, the American officer corps itself gave up on victory, although without giving up on war. First in Iraq, then in Afghanistan, priorities shifted. High-ranking generals shelved their expectations of winning—at least as a Rabin or Schwarzkopf would have understood that term. They sought in-



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stead to not lose. In Washington and in U.S. military command posts, the avoidance of outright defeat emerged as the new gold standard of success. For decades, the officer corps had focused on not repeating the mistakes of Vietnam. Now, according to one U.S. Army four-star general, the imperative was to avoid “repeat[ing] the mistakes of post-Vietnam,” the chief mistake being the expectation that by dictating the terms under which they fought, U.S. forces could actually win.9 For a brief period of time, American officers junked decision-oriented warfare in favor of counterinsurgency or COIN, as its boosters— COINistas—termed it. Henceforth, U.S. troops sallied forth from their base camps in Iraq and Afghanistan not to defeat the enemy but to “protect the people,” consistent with the latest doctrinal fashion. The conviction that Americans were particularly adept at nation-building, a casualty of the Vietnam War, found renewed favor. “We’ve got government in a box, ready to roll in,” as one senior commander put it, somewhat prematurely.10 Meanwhile, where nation-building fell short of expectations, U.S. commanders sipped tea and cut deals with warlords and tribal chieftains in hopes of persuading guerrillas to lay down their arms. A new conventional wisdom took hold, tacitly endorsed by everyone from General David Petraeus, the most celebrated soldier of the age, to Nobel Peace Prize laureate Barack Obama, Bush’s successor as commander in chief. For the conflicts in which the United States found itself enmeshed after 9/11, “military solutions” did not exist. As Admiral Mike Mullen has ruefully acknowledged, “We can’t kill our way out of the mess we are in.”11 In effect the former chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff was pronouncing a eulogy on the Western conception of warfare. Yet COIN itself proved to be little more than a passing fad. It required too many troops, too much money, and too much patience. Moreover, the results it produced were too ambiguous. During the so-called Iraq surge of 2007–2008, enthusiasm for counterinsurgency reached its high-water mark. That antigovernment violence substantially decreased during this period is an indisputable fact. Why exactly it did so has proven to be less clear. Was the decline in bloodletting due to the shift in U.S. tactics? To the increased number of “boots on the ground”? To the fact that ethnic cleansing had already produced a de facto separation of warring Iraqi factions? Or did the explanation lie elsewhere: in the decision of Sunni warlords, acting for their own reasons, to reach a temporary accommodation with the Americans? No one could say

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for sure. Meanwhile, there remained this other fact, equally indisputable: the insurgency in Iraq persisted. The surge had not defeated it. Antigovernment violence continued to occur at levels that elsewhere would have been taken as evidence of impending state failure. In Iraq, counterinsurgency policy served as a method of extrication. It offered the United States a way to back out of a debilitating, unpopular, going-nowhere war without anyone in Washington, civilian or military, being obliged to admit outright failure. In short order, not losing became the new definition of winning. So retired U.S. general Jack Keane’s insistence, uttered in the fall of 2011, that “We won the war in Iraq” in effect repackaged and recycled the old saw that in Vietnam U.S. forces had “never lost a battle.” Its validity depended entirely on ignoring the political outcome achieved and the costs paid.12 In Afghanistan, counterinsurgency failed to achieve even the modest level of success gained in Iraq. By the time General Petraeus arrived on his second salvage mission in 2010, the timeline for nation-building there already extended beyond what the U.S. treasury could sustain or the American people were willing to tolerate, especially with a presidential election approaching in 2012. So, although counterinsurgency continued to provide the nominal template for allied military strategy there, the actual emphasis shifted: counterterrorism now became the favored approach. In essence, Petraeus embarked upon a campaign of attrition, employing drone strikes and raids by special operations forces to disrupt jihadist activities and reduce their capabilities without any serious expectations of achieving their complete destruction. White House counterterrorism czar John O. Brennan explained the logic: “if we hit al-Qa’ida hard enough and often enough, there will come a time when they simply can no longer replenish their ranks with the skilled leaders they need to sustain their operations.”13 Tactically, this approach achieved impressive results: lots of raids and missile strikes eliminated large numbers of terrorists, or at least people said to be terrorists. That the campaign also resulted in civilian casualties—the actual number being hotly disputed—while also fueling anti-Americanism not only in Afghanistan but also in neighboring Pakistan became part of the cost of doing business. The best that could be said for this strategically counterproductive approach is that it created the pretense of progress, thereby allowing Washington to schedule a U.S. withdrawal without admitting outright defeat.



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Although little noted, U.S. military practice had once again caught up with innovations already developed by Israelis. “Targeted assassination,” routinely employed by Israel to keep its adversaries off-balance and preoccupied with trying to stay alive, now defined the main thrust of U.S. efforts, not only in Afghanistan but also in Pakistan, Yemen, and Somalia. The missile-firing drone became the latest manifestation of the American way of war. As for future developments, evidence suggested that the United States and Israel would march hand-in-hand: reported U.S.-Israeli collaboration in employing the Stuxnet virus to disable Iranian computers suggested that both nations were adding cyberweapons to their offensive arsenals. Yet here too, unforeseen consequences seemed likely to outnumber decisive outcomes. By the time of the tenth anniversary of 9/11, this Israelification of American military policy was an accomplished but largely unacknowledged and almost entirely unexamined fact. In the United States, with popular opinion committed to vacuously “supporting the troops” without inquiring too deeply into what they were doing, the implications of targeted assassination, moral and political, remained largely unexplored. Only one thing seemed certain: for U.S. forces, as for Israeli forces, there will be no rest for the weary.

No Way Out? What then are the implications of arriving at the end of Western military history? In his famous essay, Fukuyama cautioned against thinking that the end of ideological history heralded the arrival of global peace and harmony. Peoples and nations, he predicted, would still find plenty to squabble about.14 With the end of military history, a similar expectation applies. Politically motivated violence will persist and may in specific instances even retain marginal utility. (Depending on the ultimate consequences of overthrowing Moamar Ghaddafi—not only in Libya but elsewhere in the region—the NATO campaign to overthrow the Libyan dictator may provide an example.) Yet the prospect of Big Wars solving Big Problems is probably gone for the foreseeable future. Certainly, no one in their right mind, Israeli or American, can believe that a continued resort to force will remedy whatever it is that fuels anti-Israeli or anti-American antagonism throughout much of the Islamic world. To expect persistence to produce results that are different or better is to believe in moonshine.

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It remains to be seen whether Israel and the United States can come to terms with the end of military history. As nervous Israeli leaders watch the Arab Spring that is roiling the Middle East, they contemplate the prospect of an undoing of the so-called cold peace negotiated with Egypt and Jordan, a souring of formerly good relations with Turkey, and a destabilizing of what was hitherto a quiet Syrian front, as civil war grips that country. Then there is Iran with its alleged nuclear program and long-range rockets. As a divided and profoundly dysfunctional U.S. government wrestles with monumental budget problems, a superficial guns-or-butter debate conceals the fact that getting America’s fiscal house in order will require large cuts in both guns and butter. In the meantime other nations, having long since come to terms with the end of military history, accommodate themselves to the changing rhythms of international politics. That they do so is evidence not of virtue but of shrewdness. China, for example, shows little eagerness to disarm. Yet as Beijing expands its reach and influence, it does so by emphasizing trade, investment, and development assistance. Meanwhile, the People’s Liberation Army stays largely at home. China has stolen a page from an old American playbook, having become today the preeminent practitioner of “dollar diplomacy.” The Chinese economy grows by leaps and bounds. The American economy stagnates. The collapse of the Western military tradition confronts Israel with limited choices, none of them attractive. Given the history of Judaism and the history of Israel itself, the reluctance of most Israeli Jews to entrust their safety and security to the good will of their neighbors or to the warm regard of the international community is understandable. In a mere six decades, the Zionist project has produced a vibrant, flourishing state. Why put all that at risk? Although the demographic bomb may be ticking, no one really knows how much time remains on the clock. If Israelis are inclined to continue putting their trust in (American-supplied) Israeli arms while hoping for the best, who can blame them? In theory, the United States, sharing none of Israel’s demographic or geographic constraints and far more richly endowed, should enjoy far greater freedom of action. Unfortunately, Washington has a vested interest in preserving the status quo, no matter how much it costs and regardless of where it leads. For the military-industrial complex, there are contracts to win and buckets of money to be made. For those who dwell in the bowels of the national security state, there are prerogatives to protect. For elected officials, there are campaign contributors to satisfy. For appointed officials, civilian and military, there are ambitions to be pursued.



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And always there is a chattering claque of militarists, warning of the dangers of isolationism, calling for jihad against enemies real and imagined, and insisting on ever greater exertions, while remaining alert to any hint of backsliding. In Washington, members of this militarist camp, by no means coincidentally including many of the voices that most insistently defend Israeli bellicosity, tacitly collaborate in excluding or marginalizing views that they deem heretical. As a consequence, what passes for debate on matters relating to national security is a sham. Thus are we invited to believe, for example, that General Petraeus passing the baton to the umpteenth U.S. commander in Kabul constitutes a milestone on the way to mission success. Nearly twenty years ago, a querulous Madeleine Albright demanded to know: “What’s the point of having this superb military you’re always talking about if we can’t use it?”15 Today an altogether different question demands attention. What’s the point of constantly using the superb U.S. military if doing so does not actually work? Washington’s refusal to pose that question provides a measure of the corruption and dishonesty permeating American politics. Perhaps more puzzling is the apparent willingness of the American people to tolerate this situation. In general, members of the public today hold an exceedingly low opinion of those wielding power and influence in the nation’s capital. In many quarters, “Washington” has become something of an epithet, notably so in the wake of the 2008 economic collapse. This is true on the Tea Party Right and also on the Occupy Wall Street Left. Yet national security remains one of the few areas of public policy where conventions embraced inside the Beltway remain holy writ out in the hinterlands. One explanation lies in the distance that separates the American people from the soldiers they profess to admire. The burden of war is borne by onehalf of 1 percent of the population while the other 99.5 percent carry on as if there were no war. In contrast to Israel, where the nation-in-arms model survives, if in somewhat attenuated form, Americans have enthusiastically embraced the concept of the nation as spectator. When it comes to military policy, such circumstances invite willful civic ignorance and collective irresponsibility. For whatever reason, in the United States (as in Israel) peace is still a code word, devoid of substantive content. Conceptualizing peace—making it an actual basis for policy, rather than simply an applause line—requires a level of creative imagination that may no longer exist in American life, whether public or private. In that case, for Americans—as, sadly, for Israelis—the end of the Western military history may well open up a very dark time indeed.

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Notes 1.  Francis Fukuyama, “The End of History?” National Interest (Summer 1989). 2.  Reuven Gal, A Portrait of the Israeli Soldier (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1986), 39. 3.  David A. Deptula, quoted in Brian Linn, “The U.S. Armed Forces’ View of War,” Daedalus (Summer 2011): 36. 4.  The “iron wall” derives from an essay by that title published in 1923 by Vladimir Jabotinsky. See www.marxists.de/middleast/ironwall/ironwall.htm (accessed February 23, 2012). 5.  Gideon Alon and Aluf Benn, “Netanyahu: Israel’s Arabs Are the Real Demographic Threat,” Ha’aretz, December 18, 2003. 6.  Originating in a monograph written by a pair of defense analysts, the phrase “shock and awe” became journalist shorthand for the high-tech approach to waging war that found favor in U.S. military circles in the wake of Operation Desert Storm. For the original formulation, see Harlan K. Ullman and James P. Wade, Shock and Awe: Achieving Rapid Dominance (Washington, DC: National Defense University, 1996). 7.  Lieutenant General Robert Wagner, “Testimony before House Subcommittee on Terrorism, Unconventional Threats, and Capabilities,” February 26, 2004, http:// www.iwar.org.uk/rma/resources/transformation/02-26-2004-wagner.htm (accessed April 12, 2013). 8.  In Afghanistan by 2009, the number of contractors in the war zone surpassed the number of soldiers. August Cole, “Afghanistan Contractors Outnumber Troops,” Wall Street Journal, August 22, 2009. Also see chapter 8 in this volume. 9.  General Ray Odierno, quoted in Walter Pincus, “Recent War Lessons Will Aid Future,” Washington Post, July 25, 2011. Emphasis added. 10.  David Sanger, “A Test for the Meaning of Victory in Afghanistan,” New York Times, February 13, 2010. 11.  Quoted in Mark Thompson, “The Military’s Mission: To Kill or Protect,” Time, July 5, 2011, http://nation.time.com/2011/07/05/militarys-mission-to-kill-orprotect/ (accessed April 12, 2013). 12.  Daniel Halfer, “General Jack Keane on Obama’s Iraq Policy: ‘Absolute Disaster,’” Weekly Standard, October 24, 2011, www.weeklystandard.com/blogs/generaljack-keane-obamas-iraq-policy-absolute-disaster_598497.html. 13.  John O. Brennan, “Remarks at Paul H. Nitze School of Advanced International Studies,” June 29, 2011, www.whitehouse.gov/the-press-office/2011/06/29/remarksjohn-o-brennan-assistant-president-homeland-security-and-counter (accessed July 22, 2011). 14.  Fukuyama, “End of History.” 15.  Michael Dobbs, “With Albright, Clinton Accepts New U.S. Role,” Washington Post, December 8, 1996.

2

Assessing Strategic Choices in the War on Terror Stephen Biddle and Peter D. Feaver “At the end of the day, this was still a 55–45 situation.”1

T

w o s u cc e s s i v e U . S . a d m i n i s t r at i o n s h av e wa g ed t h e

so-called war on terror. The “war” has consisted of a series of key strategic decisions, each with its own set of intended and unintended consequences. Ten years into this war, while the ultimate outcome of many decisions remains uncertain, enough is known to allow for provisional judgments. The conventional wisdom treats U.S. strategic choices in the war on terror as a series of 90–10 decisions: decisions obviously right, or obviously wrong, where the judgment of wisdom or folly is vindicated by ensuing events. In contrast, we argue that the war was a series of 55–45 decisions—some calls perhaps even closer than that—where the arguments for and against most choices were more evenly balanced than a superficial reckoning of the outcome would lead one to believe. We base this conclusion on a series of counterfactuals that consider the likely consequences of the options rejected by decision makers at the time. To see the war as a series of 90–10 calls is to imply that different choices would have led to radically better (or worse) outcomes. Logically, any such judgment rests on implicit counterfactuals: only the result of the choices actually made can be observed, so to call these choices clearly mistaken or obviously sound is to imply that other choices would have produced much better or much worse results. Yet these counterfactual implications are rarely assessed in any depth. Instead, the debate typically examines the actual consequences of the choices made in great detail, with critics emphasizing costs actually

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incurred and supporters highlighting benefits actually realized. Neither approach is logically sufficient. We thus consider the counterfactuals directly, to evaluate not whether we like or dislike the world of today, but whether we like it better or worse than the world that probably would have obtained by 2013 if other choices had been made instead. Our analysis leads us to conclude that many of these counterfactual outcomes look surprisingly close to today’s world. For the most part, we do not believe that different choices would have produced a radically better 2013 outcome, but neither do we believe they would have produced perils on a scale unimagined today. There is thus a greater degree of equifinality in the war on terror than commonly supposed: that is, many potential choices would lead to similar long-term results, even if they got there via different routes.2 Hence we see these choices as close calls on the analytical merits: they involved options that all had important risks and dangers, and were all likely to incur major costs; none offered robust, low-cost, low-risk means to a safe future, given the emergence of al Qaeda and the 9/11 attacks. This is meant neither to defend nor to criticize the decision makers in either the Bush or Obama administrations. We make no effort to assess officials’ motives or intentions or veracity. These are important tasks, but they belong to historians, who reconstruct the full, rich context of the past to judge officials given what they knew or should have known at the time. By contrast, we exploit knowledge available to us now but not to officials then. We have our own views on the relative wisdom or folly of certain players, and the two of us disagree on certain key questions. But what distinguishes our approach from other assessments is that we examine carefully the likely consequences of alternatives not taken. Of course, we recognize the inherent uncertainty in counterfactual analysis. We know what did happen but cannot prove what might have happened if other choices had been made. War is a stochastic process, subject to chance and happenstance; complex chains of events pose manifold opportunities for error or unanticipated interactions in projecting alternative trajectories of outcomes. Humility is in order, and there are inherent limits on confidence in our findings. But these limits affect all analyses that assess choices by their results. All studies of cause and effect rest implicitly on counterfactual claims. The chief difference between our analysis and most others in today’s debate is that we make explicit a logic chain that is no less critical to others’ findings, even if unstated, than it is to ours. By making that logic explicit, we hope to



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illuminate the problem in ways that make the limitations and uncertainties in any such findings clearer. We also recognize the impossibility of analyzing every alternative policy in the logical universe. For each major choice, we identify and analyze two primary counterfactual alternatives, which we argue are representative of the best options that were available to policymakers. We can think of countless variations, of course, but we believe none had a significantly greater likelihood of changing our fundamental conclusion. We begin by describing in overview terms the consensus grand strategy driving American foreign policy since the end of the Cold War that the 9/11 attacks seemed to challenge. We next evaluate two early grand strategic choices made shortly after 9/11 as an initial cut to demonstrate the utility of our approach: the decision to elevate the terrorism threat to first rank and the decision to invade Afghanistan. We conclude with a discussion of the implications of this approach for the menu of strategic choice confronting U.S. strategists today and in the future.

Post–Cold War Grand Strategy The 9/11 attacks were the most consequential global event since the dissolution of the Soviet Union and called into question the grand strategy that had guided U.S. policy since the end of the Cold War. Grand strategy is “an academic term referring to the plans and policies undertaken in order to balance national ends and means at the broadest national level.”3 There is a lively debate among experts as to whether grand strategy really exists, or whether instead leaders generally make policy through a series of ad hoc decisions and then craft a strategic logic post hoc when writing their memoirs.4 Even many scholars who would credit the United States with having followed a (largely successful) grand strategy called containment during the Cold War argue that no similarly coherent grand strategy emerged to take its place in the post–Cold War era.5 President Clinton would appear to agree; he famously said, “strategic coherence . . . was largely imposed after the fact by scholars, memoirists and the ‘chattering classes.’”6 We argue, however, that while post–Cold War U.S. national security policy may not have had a bumper-sticker label with the popular currency of “containment,” for the past twenty years the United States has followed a grand strategy at least as coherent and bipartisan as the one that guided U.S. action during the Cold War.

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The prime imperative of American grand strategy of the last twenty years has been to avoid another Cold War, that is, to avert the rise of a hostile peer rival who could match the United States on key power dimensions and thus pose challenges to U.S. security interests across the globe.7 The grand strategy that policymakers pursued to meet this goal and confront this threat consisted of four main pillars. Pillar I involved dissuading the rise of a hostile peer rival by use of a “velvet-covered iron fist.” The iron fist meant maintaining defense spending in excess of what was needed to meet near-term threat, thus staying far ahead of would-be rivals. The velvet glove meant accommodating would-be rivals, giving them equity stakes in global order in excess of their real power. Thus, after a somewhat rocky start, U.S. policymakers sought to resolve the core areas of dispute with the European Union and Japan, the closest near-peer rivals at the outset of the post–Cold War era. The United States also sought to give Russia an equity stake through extensive diplomatic engagement in the Gore-Chernomyrdin process and with other concessions and enticements such as a seat at the G-8. The velvet glove is most readily seen in the “responsible stakeholder” approach to China. While both candidate Bill Clinton and candidate George W. Bush campaigned on promises of getting tough with China, both, once elected, moved rather quickly to a more conciliatory posture, adopting rhetorical justifications that explicitly discussed giving China an equity stake in the existing global order as a way of dissuading China from disrupting that order as China’s power increased.8 Pillar II of the grand strategy involved making the world more like us politically by promoting the spread of democracy. Of course, promoting American values has been a hallmark of U.S. strategy (at the very least, of rhetorical strategy) from the earliest days of the Republic. But with the end of the Cold War, abetting a new wave of democratization became a more explicit and higher-priority foreign policy goal.9 The spread of democracies would further improve global security, it was believed, because of the democratic peace theory: the claim that mature democracies do not go to war and instead resolve disputes peacefully. Pillar III of the grand strategy was the economic counterpart to Pillar II. Its goal was to make the world more like us economically by promoting globalization, market capitalism, and free trade: the so-called Washington consensus.10 Pillars II and III were thought to be mutually reinforcing. Market democracies—states that embraced both a liberal political order and a liberal economic order—would be the most stable; political progress would



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lead to greater economic prosperity; and economic prosperity would lock in democratization. Together, these two pillars would secure a global status quo that favored an existing global order with the United States as the sole superpower. The fourth pillar of the post–Cold War grand strategy involved identifying and confronting the highest priority near-term threat: the spread of weapons of mass destruction (WMD) to rogue states. Strategists recognized that rogue states with WMD did not pose as great a threat as the Soviet Union once did, but such states were the most lethal threat to the existing global order. Clinton’s CIA Director James Woolsey put it this way: “it’s as if we were fighting with a dragon for some 45 years and slew the dragon and then found ourselves in a jungle full of a number of poisonous snakes.”11 The Clinton administration did show some inclination to add a fifth pillar, elevating the problem of “failed states” and the solution of “assertive multilateralism” to the top rank of grand strategy emphasis, but the ambiguous U.S. experiences in Somalia, Haiti, Rwanda, Bosnia, Sudan, and Kosovo meant that this pillar had less bipartisan support.12 While we do not know of a single document that lays out the post–Cold War grand strategy explicitly in these terms, we would argue that this outline is readily discernible in the primary strategy documents that successive administrations did develop.13 Pillar II (democratic goals) and Pillar III (economic goals) are made quite explicit in President Clinton’s National Security Strategy, released in July 1994; indeed, the Clinton administration labeled it “A Strategy of Enlargement and Engagement,” seeking a deliberate echo of Cold War containment policy. Candidate Bush campaigned against the Clinton emphasis on failed states and promised other tonal shifts (including a more “humble” foreign policy), but the essence of what he was advocating involved a reorientation back to the four main pillars.14 There was, then, remarkable bipartisan continuity and support at the level of post–Cold War grand strategy.

The Decision to Elevate the Terrorism Threat to the First Rank The events of 9/11 catalyzed major change in U.S. grand strategy almost immediately. The most basic of these changes involved the priority given to terrorism over the four pillars of the existing strategy. Before 9/11, terrorism was a minor consideration in U.S. grand strategy as a whole. There had long

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been dissenters who believed that terrorism—or transnational crime, or state failure—had been underemphasized and merited greater attention. But at no point had the terrorist threat competed with the four pillars of existing U.S. grand strategy for effort or resources. After 9/11, however, terrorism was elevated almost immediately to the first rank of national security threats. But while terrorism was elevated, the other four pillars were not downgraded. Terrorism became a fifth pillar, rather than a singular or exclusive focus of American strategy. As such, it was grafted onto the existing strategy rather than replacing it. This was hardly the only possibility. Some critics have challenged the Bush administration’s emphasis on terrorism on the grounds that its objective dangers do not merit this. One alternative option would have been to leave terrorism in its prior status as a lesser challenge—retaining the four existing pillars, and continuing to treat counterterrorism as a subordinate threat (which we examine as counterfactual 1.1). Another option not taken would have been to elevate terrorism but downgrade the others, replacing a four-pillar grand strategy with a one-pillar alternative of defeating terrorism (counterfactual 1.2). Either alternative had clear precedents. Great Britain, for example, had faced a major terrorism threat stemming from Northern Ireland, yet it never raised this to a priority equal to its North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) commitment against the Soviet Union.15 Conversely, the United States in World War I, World War II, and the Civil War made the immediate war itself the nearly exclusive focus of American strategy, setting other concerns aside for the duration. Even in the long Cold War, the primary U.S. competition with the Soviet Union took clear precedence over other security challenges, which were considered “lesser included challenges” at most and got short shrift in budgets, military force design, and diplomacy.16 After 9/11, by contrast, the terrorism threat received massive effort, but without significantly diverting resources from the existing four pillars. According to Congressional Research Service (CRS) estimates, the $1 trillion spent on the war on terror was accompanied by another $1 trillion on other defense spending.17 The Navy and Air Force, for example, although playing only secondary roles in Afghanistan, Iraq, and counterterror special operations, nevertheless retained almost the entire force structure they had in 2000, with nearly the same budget share and with an expensive modernization agenda including the F-22, F-35, and a new class of nuclear aircraft carrier. Concern with China and the rise of the Pacific also continued to play a major role in the foreign policy debate.



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This is not to say whether either alternative would have been a likely choice for the Bush administration in the political context of the time, but alternatives were available in principle. Our task here is to evaluate the possible consequences and potential lessons for others who may face similar choices in the future. Counterfactual 1.1: A Terrorism-Subordinate Policy The alternative to making terrorism a subordinate priority would have involved a radically lower counterterror expenditure after 9/11; avoidance of major military action in Afghanistan, Iraq, or elsewhere; and avoidance of compellent threats like those that the Bush administration in fact delivered to Afghanistan and Pakistan. Such a policy would, instead, have continued existing policies for a “velvet fist” relationship with China (Pillar I), incrementalist promotion of democracy abroad (Pillar II), support for economic globalization (Pillar III), and multilateral nonproliferation efforts (Pillar IV). This alternative would permit low-profile, low-cost, and low-risk counterterror action abroad (such as small-scale cruise missile or drone strikes, or occasional special operations raids, as the Clinton administration and its predecessors had accepted), but only those consistent with leaving counterterrorism in a subordinate status as a security challenge. What would the world of today look like if this alternative had been adopted? First, al Qaeda would probably have been much more active since 2001 and would probably be much stronger today. This is partly because bin Laden or others might have been emboldened by a U.S. failure to retaliate for 9/11, seeing this as a sign of weakness, encouraging them to undertake further aggression and expanded recruitment. The co-authors disagree on the importance of this effect (Feaver sees it as central, Biddle as secondary, and each can cite social science literature in support of his view).18 They agree, however, that al Qaeda would have had strategic incentives to escalate if the United States had downplayed 9/11 in this fashion. Terrorists seek to goad states into reacting, even overreacting; the logic is either to exhaust state opponents through their own exertions or to win converts by provoking increased state oppression. Either goal is advanced when states react to terror attacks with massive force. If bin Laden had failed to stimulate this response with 9/11, his logical reaction would have been to escalate until he did. A U.S. policy of “rope-a-dope” could thus be expected to encourage harder punches. Al Qaeda would also have been better positioned to deliver harder punches than it in fact can do today. Without the invasion of Afghanistan,

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bin Laden would still enjoy state sanctuary under an openly supportive Taliban regime. In 2001 the Taliban refused to renounce al Qaeda or turn over bin Laden even under a credible threat of invasion. If U.S. grand strategy had refrained from such war-risking ultimata, the Taliban would surely have continued to offer bin Laden at least the same level of support. Bin Laden was able to survive even after being driven into Pakistan and enjoyed some degree of tacit Pakistani support right up until he was killed in the dramatic raid of May 2, 2011. But open support by Afghanistan, a committed state sponsor, would have made al Qaeda’s planning and operational control of its farflung global terror network much easier. Some would counter that without the Afghan and Iraq wars as recruiting tools, al Qaeda would today be smaller. However, most now believe that al Qaeda is weaker than it was in 2001; that was the judgment even before bin Laden was killed.19 Terrorists typically use violence as a recruiting and motivational tool; an unopposed surge of violence against distant America could well have offered a recruiting tool useful enough to offset the absence of the effect of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. But while al Qaeda would probably have been more lethal, the magnitude of the increase would have been subject to constraints. Lacking nuclear or biological weapons, the lethality of purely conventional terrorism is limited. More Americans died of peptic ulcers than terrorism even in 2001, the worst year on record for terrorist lethality in the United States.20 Al Qaeda’s historical pattern has been to plan big attacks carefully over long periods of time; this has produced large death tolls but with long intervals between strikes. It has never shown an ability to repeat spectacular attacks at a high tempo over a long period. Even if al Qaeda could mount a 9/11-scale attack every year, they would still kill far fewer Americans than automobile accidents do. And al Qaeda’s ability to escalate its violence would be subject to counterpressure from ongoing U.S. intelligence and counterterror efforts. Even a terrorismsubordinate U.S. strategy would still have involved a major espionage effort against al Qaeda and some degree of drone attack or other standoff strike activity. Such pressure could never destroy al Qaeda but would complicate its planning and tend to suppress its lethality to some degree. It would make it harder for al Qaeda to expand operations for an increase in sustained lethality beyond what it had ever been able to demonstrate in the past. On balance, al Qaeda would probably have been substantially more lethal in a terrorism-subordinate counterfactual world than it actually was over the



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past dozen years. But the net result would probably have been a pattern of chronic attacks whose toll, even cumulated over time, would still be smaller than many other dangers in modern life. The increased death toll would be real, but probably not cataclysmic in objective terms, unless al Qaeda got access to weapons of mass destruction. Without the invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq, the lives of more than 6,000 American service members would not have been lost in those wars, 43,000 Americans would not have been seriously wounded, and much larger numbers of Iraqis and Afghans would not have been killed and wounded. These would have been accompanied by other differences. The U.S. economy, for example, would have suffered the cost of further terrorist attacks. While nontrivial, these would probably not have been catastrophic. Analyses of the 9/11 attacks themselves now generally conclude that their effects “were too small and too geographically concentrated to make a significant dent in the nation’s economic output,” as the CRS put it.21 On the other side of the ledger, the economy would have been spared perhaps $1 trillion in war-onterror defense spending since 2001. The net economic effect would depend on the nation’s psychological response to chronic terrorism, but unless this effect were large, it would be significantly offset by the benefits of reduced defense expenditure. In international politics, China would perhaps be less empowered today. Many now criticize the war on terror as a distraction from a more important task of restraining China. Absent this U.S. distraction after 2001, perhaps China would be less assertive today. Yet most analysts see the primary cause of Chinese assertiveness lying in long-term trends in relative economic growth. These trends would surely still favor China today even without the war on terror. Perhaps the Chinese would today be more restrained at the margin, but the difference would probably be small. As for the other main emphases of pre-2001 grand strategy, global trade would probably be no more affected than U.S. domestic economic growth by a counterfactual scenario of chronic but conventional terrorism. The central issue for democratization today is the Arab Spring, a phenomenon with little causal link to the war on terror; it would probably be largely unaffected by its absence.22 World opinion of the United States was sharply, and negatively, affected by the invasion of Iraq (and to some extent by U.S. warmaking against Muslims in Afghanistan). While the concrete consequences of anti-Americanism are hard to trace, these would presumably have been lesser if the United States had made a lower-key

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response to 9/11. On the other hand, in the counterfactual, the preexisting Iraq problem would still be festering. World intelligence services would probably continue to believe that Iraq had WMD; there would be no inspectors to show otherwise; the further erosion of the UN sanctions regime would have allowed Saddam Hussein to restart his WMD program, as we now know he intended to do; and so a possible alliance between Iraq and al Qaeda would continue to concern officials, as they had concerned both Clinton and Bush administration officials for years.23 Of course, there are many uncertainties. If a continued safe haven in Afghanistan had enabled bin Laden to acquire a nuclear weapon or to master biological warfare on a large scale, then the toll under a terrorism-subordinate policy would have been immensely higher.24 If public malaise had led to a lack of economic confidence, then the economic cost could have been substantial. Conversely, if more vigorous U.S. diplomacy in the Pacific had changed China’s perceptions of its self-interest and spurred a more benign Chinese foreign policy, then the political benefits could have been significant, and world opinion of the United States would presumably now be more favorable. On balance, however, the likeliest outcome appears to us to be one of chronic but conventional terrorism against American civilians of a kind that the war on terror has largely averted, offset by the savings in defense expenditures and in lives, both of service members and civilians, in Afghanistan and Iraq. Counterfactual 1.2: Terrorism-Dominant Grand Strategy Our second alternative would retain the historical strategy’s emphasis on terrorism and indeed would elevate it, downgrading the other pillars of the existing strategy to subordinate status. For the nonproliferation pillar (IV), this would have had little practical effect, since much of the focus of the historical war on terror was denying al Qaeda access to WMD, so any grand strategy that focused on the terror threat would certainly do the same. This “terrorism-dominant” counterfactual would have some effect on the democratization and economic globalization pillars (II and III), but only at the margin. These were not the most expensive pillars, in terms of resource allocation, and, in any case, the Bush administration argued in the 2006 National Security Strategy that democratization and economic globalization were partly antiterror measures, so those policies might have continued at roughly the same level of effort. Instead, the main effect of this counterfactual would be on Pillar I: the velvet-fist strategy to dissuade potential great-power rivals from competing with the United States. In particular, resources would have



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been diverted from U.S. conventional military capability to a much greater degree in order to underwrite the $1 trillion expenditure and high groundforce operational tempo needed to sustain the war on terror and especially its campaigns in Afghanistan and Iraq. The world this counterfactual would create would differ in two main respects. First, the United States would have spent much less on defense after 2001. Assuming that the war on terror per se was unchanged, we might expect that the post-2001 Defense Supplemental budgets would have been unchanged, but that the department’s base budget would have been smaller. For example, if we assume that post-2001 base budgets were held constant at 2001 levels—no actual cuts, but no increases in the nonsupplemental base—then the United States would have spent almost $1.2 trillion less than it actually spent between 2001 and 2011.25 This probably overestimates the savings: the “base budget” includes, for example, the cost of expanding the Army and Marine Corps to wage the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq and the military pay increases deemed necessary for wartime recruitment. These expenditures would be needed for the historical war on terror even if Pillar I, the velvet fist, were downgraded, so some increase in the base budget would probably have been necessary even without Pillar I. But much of the base budget’s growth is attributable to the need to maintain a preeminent conventional military even while creating a counterinsurgency (COIN) force for Afghanistan and Iraq.26 At a minimum, this counterfactual would imply a decrease of hundreds of billions of dollars of defense expenditure between 2001 and 2011, with substantial future additional savings through to the planned 2014 transition of the Afghan War to Afghan government control. Savings on this scale might have improved national economic performance and cushioned, to some degree, the severity of the post-2008 financial crisis.27 They would also have reduced the scale of austerity measures needed to address the federal deficit in the aftermath of the crisis. In 2001, the Congressional Budget Office projected a cumulative federal budget surplus of $2.3 trillion by 2011, whereas the United States now actually faces a cumulative debt of $10.4 trillion. The Pew Center estimates that perhaps 15 percent of the difference is attributable to post-2001 defense spending increases, of which they allocate one-third to purposes other than Afghanistan and Iraq.28 While the defense budget is thus only part of the problem, it has been a notable part, and the Bush administration decision to add the war on terror to a preexisting strategy rather than to replace that strategy played an important role in this.

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Against these economic advantages would be several offsetting disadvantages. The velvet fist was designed to encourage a more benign Chinese foreign policy; deliberate disinvestment in the pillar’s military underpinning could be expected to promote the opposite. Moreover, a shift away from concerns with great-power balancing would only make sense during wartime. The war on terror could be a very long war, but presumably it will eventually end, and when it does, the challenge of great-power competition will reemerge. If the United States were to take a decade-long conventional procurement holiday and restructure its military systematically for counterinsurgency in the interim, the result could be a serious loss of relative standing by the time the nation tried to pivot from COIN back to concerns with balancing China. The cost of rebuilding the American military at that point would be much larger, mitigating to some extent the economic savings of this counterfactual over the past dozen years. On balance, this counterfactual implies a tradeoff between economic benefits in the near term (through perhaps 2014) and excess costs in defense transformation thereafter, plus an expectation of more assertive Chinese behavior in the interim.

The Decision to Invade Afghanistan After deciding to wage a war on terror, the Bush administration then faced a number of critical decisions on how to do it. Among the earliest of these involved Afghanistan. The Bush administration’s choice was to act quickly against the Taliban regime. Air strikes began on October 7, 2001, and soon thereafter several Special Operations Forces (SOF) teams were inserted on the ground to act as spotters for the air attacks and to cooperate with allied Afghan forces of, first, the Northern Alliance and later the Southern Alliance in their civil war against the Taliban. The result was, at first, a surprisingly rapid overthrow of the Taliban with very few U.S. casualties and al Qaeda’s loss of state sanctuary and its subsequent flight into Pakistan. Later, however, a stubborn Taliban insurgency revived; it might yet topple the Karzai government, and has already killed over 1,500 American troops and many thousands of Afghans. This was not, of course, the only possible choice open to the Bush administration in 2001. The two basic alternatives were either to do less, especially by opting for limited counterterrorism air strikes or SOF raids rather



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than invasion, or to do more, especially with larger conventional forces. The United States could, for example, have declined to invade, leaving the Taliban in power, and instead targeting al Qaeda from the air to suppress its ability to plan terror attacks and weaken its leadership. (Limited versions of this approach would be consistent with the terrorism-subordinate grand strategy we describe above, but a more aggressive air-only program would fit a war-onterror strategy, albeit one waged differently than that actually commenced in 2001.) This might have resembled the counterterrorism (CT) proposals reportedly advanced by Vice President Joseph Biden for Afghanistan after 2008: Biden reportedly advised downgrading the importance of nation-building and other counterinsurgency activities aimed at winning the battle for hearts and minds and instead focusing on kinetic strikes aimed at the terrorist leadership and conducted primarily by drones and special forces.29 Alternatively, in 2001 the Bush administration could have deployed a much larger conventional ground force in lieu of the small-footprint SOF approach actually chosen. Other possibilities include variants on the master alternatives of less and more than 2001: the United States could have sought regime change with the same combination of SOF, allies, and air strikes actually used, but might have withdrawn all U.S. forces immediately after the Taliban fled (a regimechange-only option). Or it could have acted immediately as it did in 2001, but followed up with a large force of conventional soldiers as these became available in theater to provide security and to stabilize the new Karzai regime. Here, too, the alternatives would not necessarily have been realistic given the political context of September 2001 and the personalities and views of the key actors. But they were open possibilities all the same, so we ask whether either might have produced a significantly better result by 2011. Counterfactual 2.1: Counterterrorism Alone in Afghanistan in 2001 The consequences of a “counterterrorism alone” policy would be similar to those of the terrorism-subordinate counterfactual we described first above, as it would have involved similar methods of standoff suppression against al Qaeda, rather than invasion in an attempt to annihilate it. One could thus expect a stronger al Qaeda in 2011 inflicting chronic but probably noncatastrophic terrorism against Americans, along with reductions in costs of other kinds, especially the costs of a long counterinsurgency campaign on the ground in Afghanistan. The main difference from the terrorism-subordinate counterfactual is that a much greater scale of counterterrorism activity is implied by

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a war against terrorism. The costs of such a campaign would thus be marginally higher than in the first counterfactual, and the scale of terrorism against Americans marginally lower. A more important difference is that counterterrorism alone would present problems of conflict termination and escalation management. In particular, a strategy of counterterrorism alone would have posed many of the dilemmas that were played out during 2011 in Libya over five months of air strikes (much longer than the five weeks for the comparable phase in Afghanistan). Air strikes are better at suppressing than defeating an enemy; against a resolute opponent, campaigns limited to the air can drag on if the target digs in and refuses to concede. This is tolerable if the effort is small, cheap, quiet, and modest in its ambitions, as were the U.S. intelligence efforts against terrorism before 2001. Few called for an end to actions against terrorists after interventions like that against the terrorists who attacked the Achille Lauro in 1985, even though this action had no prospect of destroying the enemy or ending the conflict.30 In contrast, when the president frames the conflict as a war, treats the enemy as a threat of the very first rank, and reorients American grand strategy accordingly, this raises the stakes for the primary theater in which that war is to be waged, making it that much more painful if success is elusive. An aerial CT campaign alone, without groundforce involvement, would have been unlikely to topple the Taliban or cause them to hand over bin Laden. Before the ground-force spotters arrived, the air campaign had already started to run out of targets by the end of October 2001, with no sign of concession from the Taliban. An air-only effort would have been likely to drag on, much as the Libyan campaign did. Similar calls for escalation or disengagement would have been heard, given the inherent prominence of the air campaign and its visibility as a proclaimed act of war. And unlike the Qaddafi regime in 2011, the Taliban was battle-hardened from decades of war and would likely have outlasted U.S. domestic public or political will for such a hobbled air campaign. Disengagement could have produced a worse outcome in the absence of the continuing small-scale suppressive effort of the terrorism-subordinate policy we described above, if the result was an end to U.S. military counterterrorism in Afghanistan altogether. Escalation, by contrast, would make the counterfactual look like the actual choice made in 2001, but with the appearance of early failure as a drag on its efficacy. If the counterterrorism-only option had been all the United States was prepared to do in Afghanistan, then the terrorism-subordinate option would probably have yielded better results.



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Counterfactual 2.2: Large-Force Conventional Invasion of Afghanistan in 2001 In principle, sending a large conventional force instead of the small commando teams of 2001 might have had two important advantages. If it had enabled the United States to catch bin Laden in 2002, rather than letting him escape to Pakistan as he did, this might have shortened the war on terror. And if it had secured Afghanistan against guerilla penetration after 2002, it might have dampened or averted today’s insurgency. Neither outcome can be excluded, but we believe the outcome would most likely be similar to the way things look today. A larger conventional ground force would have improved the chances of intercepting bin Laden at Tora Bora in 2001. In fact many have argued that if the United States had simply abandoned its reliance on ill-motivated Afghan forces and instead used just the American troops that were already available in a more aggressive effort to seal the battlefield, then bin Laden could have been captured.31 Others disagree.32 But few believe that interception would have been a sure thing, and most see it as a high-risk gamble, albeit a worthwhile one. As Peter Krause puts it: “Significant challenges at each step of the operation made success far from assured, and the operation presented here is admittedly extremely ambitious and risky.”33 A greater conventional-force effort would have required airlifting thousands of U.S. soldiers into some of the most forbidding terrain on the planet, supplying them from the air for weeks or months of battle, and hoping they could prevent a single individual from evading them through any of the dozens of interconnected caves and mountain foot trails used for centuries as smuggling routes. Changeable mountain weather that grounded aircraft could have left the blocking forces without supplies or medical evacuation for extended periods. Deployment delays could have alerted bin Laden, giving him time to escape. Observation of incoming aircraft by al Qaeda fighters or sympathetic civilians could have tipped him off. A crashed or shot-down helicopter could have changed the mission from manhunting to rescue, diverting limited lift, as in the “Blackhawk Down” incident in Somalia. Some challenges, such as heavy-lift helicopter availability, would have been eased if the administration had chosen to delay the whole operation until a large conventional force could arrive. But it was the faster-than-expected U.S. response that pinned bin Laden in Tora Bora in the first place. It is far less likely that bin Laden would have stayed holed up in Tora Bora while watching a slow and ponderous accumulation of heavy U.S. forces; seasonal weather

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might have stretched the deployment and subsequent campaign well into late summer of 2002. Other problems could have been made worse. Most advocates of a U.S. cordon at Tora Bora begin from the premise that bin Laden had been identified there and had chosen to linger for multiple weeks (as he did), so a blocking force could have surrounded him in a close perimeter without having to seal the entire Afghan-Pakistani border, impractical even for an enormous force. Without this lucky sighting, or without his willingness to delay there, even a large force would have faced an impossible challenge in trying to close one of the most porous borders in the world and prevent the passage of a single individual traveling incognito with a small security team. Yet the largeforce counterfactual would imply a very different campaign, with different timing, dynamics, and conduct, on both sides. Perhaps this new war would have produced a bin Laden sighting of its own, perhaps in Tora Bora or some other location no harder to reach. Perhaps the quarry would have cooperated by sitting still long enough to be captured. But if we change the conditions this much, we introduce so many other differences that it becomes very hard to know whether we could still expect a lucky sighting of a famously elusive target who then did not immediately flee. Thus while a larger force would probably have improved the odds of eliminating bin Laden in 2001, it is hard to know by how much, and surely the prospects would have been highly imperfect even so. The conventional-force counterfactual suggests some hope for better prospects of averting the 2011 insurgency. In the historical case, the weakness of available security forces gave the Taliban, having rebuilt their strength in Pakistan, easy access to Afghan territory and population. A larger U.S. force would have presented a much tougher target, and it could have provided the trainers, mentors, and partners needed for a much faster expansion and reform of Afghan security forces. A large, sustained conventional force deployment could also have helped quell Karzai’s growing fears of U.S. abandonment after 2003, when the Bush administration handed the Afghanistan mission off to NATO in order to focus U.S. attention on Iraq.34 This fear of abandonment has given rise to a range of hedging behaviors by the Afghan government— from political alliances with warlords and malign powerbrokers to incentives for corruption—that have hindered the legitimacy normally seen as essential for success and that have facilitated Taliban access to victimized populations. A clear U.S. commitment to stabilizing Afghanistan militarily could also have



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reduced Pakistani incentives for harboring Afghan Taliban expatriates. Most now believe that Pakistan, too, fears that the United States will abandon the region prematurely, resulting in Karzai’s collapse and leaving Pakistan with dangerous instability on its western border. Islamabad thus offers sanctuary to Afghan Taliban factions that it believes will take over when this happens and provide a tolerable alternative to chaos; in the process they undermine the prospects for Karzai’s success. If Karzai’s government were stable with clear and sustained U.S. support, these Pakistani hedging incentives would be diminished, and perhaps Islamabad would be willing to act against Taliban safe havens on its soil.35 Yet experience since 2001 also suggests a strong possibility of a major insurgency by 2011 even so, albeit one waged on different grounds. First, Mullah Omar, Jalaluddin and Sirajudin Haqqani, Gulbuddin Hekmatyar, and the other leaders of the primary Taliban factions have proven to be highly determined foes. The insurgency continues, even though the United States has more than tripled its troop strength in Afghanistan since 2008, from around 30,000 to 100,000. Together with major growth in indigenous Afghan forces and a reinforced non-U.S. NATO contingent, this has produced an allied security force of over 425,000 in 2011. Yet the insurgency continues. It may yet be possible to negotiate a settlement in which these or other Taliban leaders agree to stand down in exchange for political concessions of some kind, and it is possible that they would have chosen not to attempt a return after 2001 if faced with a hard enough target. But it is clear that these insurgents are willing to accept considerable cost and hardship in pursuit of restoration of their power in Afghanistan. From what we now know, it seems more likely that they would have attempted an insurgency even if they had faced a much larger security force in 2001. A much larger foreign military presence would also have posed political and legitimacy challenges of its own for the Karzai government. Occupation by foreign troops is rarely welcome. They may be tolerated if clearly needed for security against an unpopular enemy, but foreign soldiers who do not seem necessary quickly wear out their welcome. David Edelstein has shown that a critical determinant of success in modern occupations is a clear perception of a common threat to unify the occupying force and the occupied population. Where this was present, for example, where occupiers and occupied faced a common Soviet enemy in post–World War II Germany or Japan, very long term foreign military presences were accepted. Where it is lacking, as

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in Israel’s occupation of Lebanon from 1982 to 2000 or Vietnam’s presence in Cambodia from 1979 to 1989, nationalism soon turned the population against the occupiers.36 In Afghanistan today, the Taliban insurgency is a clear threat, and the overwhelming majority of Afghans fear and reject the Taliban as a prospective ruler. An important reason for their continued tolerance of a foreign military presence, which has become larger and more intrusive since 2009, is this perception that the foreign troops are all that stands between them and a future of chaos or Taliban restoration. In the conventional-force alternative counterfactual, however, a large foreign presence would remain after 2001 in a presumably quieter Afghanistan, during a prolonged period of largely invisible Taliban rebuilding in Pakistan. The very purpose of the deployment would be to prevent Pakistan-based Taliban from reentering Afghanistan or threatening Afghan civilians. If this worked as intended, it would dampen the common threat perception that would justify its presence with the population. It is unlikely that such a force would actually dissuade the likes of Omar, the Haqqani, or Hekmatyar from plotting a return, given their evident determination; their behavior since 2001 indicates remarkable patience and commitment to building an insurgency from Pakistan. But it is likely that a large foreign deployment would have slowed or deferred the onset of military action by them; it could have lengthened significantly the time they would need for quiet rebuilding in Pakistan in order to mount a credible threat.37 In the meantime, Afghans would be asked to tolerate a large, intrusive foreign military presence with no immediate, visible enemy to justify it. Edelstein’s analysis implies an important danger: the public could turn against such an occupation before a unifying threat materialized. If so, this would in turn strengthen the insurgency and undermine the foreign troops’ effectiveness against it, once it had rebuilt and engaged in active operations inside Afghanistan. The Taliban have long promoted resistance to foreign occupation as a major plank in their political platform, and while this had limited persuasive power against a foreign troop presence clearly designed to protect against an unpopular insurgency, it would be more effective against a presence that had already worn out its welcome and become a cause of resentment. There is evidence to suggest that Afghan patience with the foreign presence was fraying a bit even in the historical case, with its limited and nearly invisible pre-2008 configuration. Through the end of 2008, under 30,000 American and under 30,000 other foreign troops were present in a country of 250,000 square miles and almost 30 million people.38 During this period, in a



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rural society with a widely distributed, low-density population and limited media penetration, most Afghans never saw a foreign soldier. It took the Taliban only three to five years to rebuild to a strength where they could threaten this light security presence. Yet this was long enough for at least some of the foreign troops to wear out their welcome. In May 2006, for example, the brakes failed on a U.S. Army cargo truck as it descended a hill north of Kabul, and the truck hit twelve cars in rush-hour traffic, killing five Afghan civilians. This traffic accident spurred a riot in which at least fourteen people were killed and over ninety injured.39 The traffic accident, a relatively minor incident in itself, catalyzed a simmering resentment of what was seen as an arrogant and self-interested foreign presence. U.S. tactics tended to aggravate this problem: in the era before the Army published its official doctrine on best practices in FM3-24, Counterinsurgency (which emphasized winning hearts and minds by protecting civilians from harm), military force protection concerns often encouraged U.S. aggressiveness that spurred local resentment. As late as 2010, four years after the manual went into effect, logistics convoys were still bulling their way through Kabul traffic jams, clearly angering local residents and provoking hostility to the foreign presence.40 During 2001–2006, before the manual had yet extended its influence, such behavior was even more widespread. In the historical case, the relatively light foreign military footprint and the relatively early return of the Taliban both did less to provoke nationalist resistance, promoting public acceptance of the foreign presence as a necessary evil to defeat the Taliban. But in a counterfactual where a much larger presence stayed on for a longer period with no apparent Taliban threat, much lower levels of public tolerance might be expected, along with a much more effective antiforeign propaganda campaign by the Taliban once its insurgency appeared, and in the interim perhaps an authentic nationalist insurgency (by contrast with the Taliban’s revanchist movement). A variation on this option that might help overcome the problem of nationalism would have involved supporting a much larger indigenous Afghan security force. In the historical case, Afghan forces remained very small: in 2003, the Afghan National Army had only 6,000 troops. By comparison, in December 2011 it numbered almost 180,000.41 Such an expansion could have been implemented much sooner, beginning immediately after the overthrow of the Taliban. Such a large Afghan force might have prevented the Taliban from gaining a foothold, without the legitimacy challenges associated with a sustained presence of 100,000 American troops.

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Two problems would confront such an alternative. First, large foreign forces are normally thought necessary to train and supplement novice indigenous militaries. A primary function for the 100,000 U.S. troops now in Afghanistan is precisely that: to train, mentor, and partner with the new Afghan Army and Police in the field. Nationalist resistance to foreign troops might be reduced if the latter operated together with indigenous forces, but large foreign forces would still be needed to make a large new Afghan military effective, and in the absence of an evident threat it is unclear whether this large foreign presence would be accepted even if it were partnered with Afghans. More important, large Afghan forces would require massive external funding. The United States now pays about $11.6 billion a year to train, equip, and sustain the Afghan National Army and Police, a figure almost 12 times the annual revenue of the government of Afghanistan, or 63–74 percent of the country’s GDP.42 A force of this size is only conceivable if the West, primarily the United States, foots the bill. With an actual war in progress, and with Afghan forces seen as substitutes for Americans in waging it, these expenditures have been tolerated by the U.S. Congress, but only barely. It is very unlikely that Americans would have been willing to pay anything like this sum to support, apparently in perpetuity, an Afghan military of this size, or anything close, with no apparent threat to require it. In practical terms, it is thus very unlikely that a large indigenous Afghan force could have been funded during the quiet period before the Taliban insurgency grew strong enough to pose a serious threat. On balance, a large early conventional presence would have offered some advantages, but it would also have posed difficult political problems. At the extreme, it might have led to a broader nationalist insurgency in place of the Taliban’s Islamist revanchism. At a minimum, nationalist resistance would have diminished, at the margin, the effectiveness of a large U.S. force as a counterweight to the Taliban insurgency when that insurgency eventually appeared. Any of these possibilities would tend to offset the counterinsurgency benefits of a larger U.S. presence after 2001.

Conclusions and Implications The war on terror involved a host of major decisions, any of which could have been made very differently. As an initial probe, we have considered two such choices—the decision to elevate terrorism to become the fifth pillar of U.S.



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grand strategy in 2001 and the decision to topple the Taliban regime in Afghanistan and leave a small international force on the ground to secure the successor Karzai government—and four counterfactual alternatives: the option to leave terrorism in a subordinate position in 2001 (1.1), the option to elevate terrorism as a priority while downgrading the other four pillars of grand strategy (1.2), the option to restrict the Afghan intervention to aerial counterterrorism without a ground component (2.1), and the option to invade Afghanistan with a large conventional ground force (2.2). Each implies a different world a decade later if it had been adopted in 2001–2002. Some of these differences would be improvements. The terrorismsubordinate counterfactual (1.1), for example, would probably have reduced defense expenditures and the loss of life in Afghanistan and Iraq. The terrorism-dominant (1.2) and counterterrorism-alone (2.1) policies would probably have saved money. The large conventional invasion alternative (2.2) would have improved the odds of capturing bin Laden in 2001. None, however, looks to us likely to have had a high probability of bringing about a radically better world than we have today. Mostly this is because each has drawbacks that offset their advantages. The terrorism-subordinate alternative (1.1), for example, would probably have led to years of chronic conventional terrorism against the United States. The terrorism-dominant alternative (1.2) would probably have allowed an increased Chinese assertiveness in the Pacific and incurred a larger bill for reshaping the U.S. military after Afghanistan. The counterterrorism-alone option in Afghanistan (2.1) would probably have resulted in an elevated terror threat to the United States, as well as a war termination dilemma. The large conventional invasion option (2.2) would have increased U.S. defense expenditure while risking a nationalist reaction in Afghanistan that could have provoked an insurgency apart from, and possibly worse than, that posed by the Taliban today. Some options may, on balance, seem in retrospect like better choices, but we are struck chiefly by the absence of radically superior or decisively inferior alternatives. The strategic challenges that 9/11 created for the United States simply do not look wholly avoidable by any of the options open to decision makers at the time. A determined terrorist opponent in today’s world can credibly threaten chronic, ongoing attacks despite intercontinental distances. The measures required to end such threats—especially regime change to eliminate the terrorists’ state sponsors and havens—create dynamics that make long, grinding counterinsurgency commitments difficult to avoid. This

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leaves Americans with a choice among unattractive alternatives: tolerate a degree of terrorist violence against innocent American civilians, or invest enormous sums in blood and treasure to avert this. Moreover, the only options that offer a higher-probability way out of this costly counterinsurgency—1.1, terrorism subordinate, and 2.1, counterterrorism alone—pose enormous domestic political challenges. Terrorism is extremely hard for democratic governments to ignore. The attacks may kill few people in objective terms, but they frighten much larger groups. Certainly 9/11 shocked Americans of all parties, ages, and creeds. Dramatic acts of violence against innocent civilians prompt powerful calls for governments to act, even where action will be more costly than the attacks it is meant to prevent. There was an overwhelming public outcry for revenge and protection in the United States after 9/11. Even if one concluded in hindsight that the most effective response to the 9/11 attacks would have been to respond with a low-key effort focused chiefly on intelligence, espionage, and limited counterterrorism air strikes, without promises to destroy al Qaeda or to end the threat of global terror, it is hard to imagine any American president choosing such a path.43 Even if George W. Bush had been inclined to take a minimal response, criticism from both parties would have made such a policy unsustainable. If al Qaeda had actually managed to mount a second attack on the United States without a vigorous U.S. military response in the interim, the domestic outcry would have been immediate and politically fatal to the incumbent. And the successor president would likely have reversed the policy to pursue a more aggressive strategy. Minimalism was possible as a choice in theory, but in practice it was simply not realistic in 2001. Given the basic character of democracies faced with a sudden terrorist attack, all realistic options impose a major risk of suffering and sacrifice. This is not to say that al Qaeda will triumph or that the wars in Iraq or Afghanistan will result in defeat of the United States; on the contrary, al Qaeda now looks headed for terminal decline, and we are guardedly optimistic that U.S. security goals could ultimately be met in the Persian Gulf and south Asia. But if so, it will have been at immense cost. This in turn suggests that these post-9/11 decisions were neither 90–10 nor 10–90 calls. For each of the decisions considered above, the balance of cost and benefit appears closer to even when their counterfactual implications are explicitly assessed. The real difference was thus smaller than suggested by analyses that considered only one side of the cost-benefit ledger. To us, this suggests that these decisions were, instead, a series of 55–45 close calls.



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Of course, this conclusion is specific to the two decisions considered here. And any counterfactual analysis is subject to the inherent uncertainties of the enterprise. Yet some tentative initial implications can be drawn. Perhaps the most important of these is the utility of widening the option space for the future. Faced with a set of 55–45 alternatives, it is certainly better to pick 55 than 45, but far better would be to get a 65–35 or 75–25 option onto the menu. New technology or some radical new military operational concept might theoretically provide this, but it seems improbable. Standoff counterterrorism strikes, for example, will certainly become more precise, but a lack of precision or an inability to destroy a really critical target was not the problem limiting counterterrorism options in 2001. The real problem was that limited violence delivered from afar cannot overcome combatants on the ground with virtually unlimited commitment. If terrorists or insurgents see their wars as vital interests, then limited air strikes or intermittent SOF raids can rarely do more than temporarily suppress or contain the threat they might pose. Conversely, major invasions can control populations and deny terrorists haven or state support, but only at a cost that will often exceed the real stakes for a distant United States. Better counterinsurgency training or equipment or organization can help reduce those costs, but only at the margin, and efforts to engage in COIN on the cheap can easily result in very expensive campaigns. To control territory by force is irreducibly expensive and will remain so for the foreseeable future. This raises the question of whether the primary means of widening the option space might be by reshaping the politics of terrorism and Americans’ expectations of security in the longer run. If the long, grinding wars of the last decade look in hindsight to be undesirable, would it be better to lower U.S. expectations of security and to condition Americans to view terrorism as unpreventable, something with which they simply must learn to live? The view that terrorism is preventable and that defeating the threat is the way to prevent it creates escalatory pressures that make wars hard to avoid. In 2001, the closest thing to a 65–35 option may have been the one that was the least realistic politically: a limited response to 9/11 and tolerance of some degree of terrorism. This choice might or might not have been the best: it has major downsides of its own, and its acceptability turns on views about risk that will vary from person to person. If that had been the choice made, we can well imagine analytical exercises pegged to the ten-year anniversary asking what we are doing wrong that we have had to suffer so many follow-on terrorist strikes at the hands of an al Qaeda that looks not much weaker than it did ten years ago.

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For something like the minimal response even to be a viable option in the future would require a different domestic political environment than the one that faced George W. Bush in 2001. That cannot happen overnight, or in the immediate aftermath of a spectacular attack, but would require sustained political debate. We are not optimistic it could happen in a democratic political environment where partisan rivals have so much incentive and opportunity to highlight the costs of choices taken by the party in power and to downplay the costs of alternatives. We cannot even be sure that the American public would have opted decisively for the minimal response if all of the alternatives had been thoroughly aired and weighed. The public might even have opted for the current result: long hard wars that cost far more than expected but that yielded the death of bin Laden and a substantially degraded al Qaeda that was never able to launch a follow-on strike on U.S. soil. This might have been preferred to a world in which al Qaeda launched repeated intermittent strikes with seeming impunity, while the WMD ambitions of the terrorists came ever closer to realization. We are sure, however, that a real choice would require careful consideration of complex counterfactual analyses such as the ones we have attempted here. Reasonable people can disagree even when the analysis is carefully done, but without the analysis, the debate is likely to be far less reasonable.

Notes 1.  President Obama in a 60 Minutes interview televised May 8, 2011, describes his ambivalence over whether to order the risky special forces assault on the compound in Pakistan where bin Laden was thought to be hiding. CBS News, “President Obama on the Raid That Killed bin Laden,” www.cbsnews.com/stories/2011/05/08/60minutes/ main20060876_page3.shtml (accessed September 8, 2011). 2.  We do not claim that equifinality is the dominant feature of the post-9/11 grand strategy scene, let alone the only relevant factor for evaluating American grand strategy in this period. Indeed, the opposite feature of contingency also played a role and could serve as a heuristic around which to organize an assessment: To what extent did key policy choices succeed or fail “for want of a nail”? It may be that decisions that seem obviously wrong because of generally negative consequences were just unlucky, while obviously right ones were lucky. We disagree among ourselves as to the relative weight to assign between equifinality and contingency—Feaver gives contingency more scope than does Biddle. But we agree that prevailing analyses have ignored the equifinality feature and so we focus our argument here. 3.  Peter D. Feaver, “Debating American Grand Strategy after Major War,” Orbis 53, no. 4 (2009): 548.



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4.  See, for example, Andrew Bacevich, The New American Militarism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005); Richard K. Betts, “Is Strategy an Illusion?” International Security 25, no. 2 (2000): 5–50; Colin S. Gray, Irregular Enemies and the Essence of Strategy: Can the American Way of War Adapt? Strategic Studies Institute Monograph, March 2006; Christopher Layne, The Peace of Illusions: American Grand Strategy from 1940 to the Present (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2007); John J. Mearsheimer, “Imperial by Design,” National Interest (January–February 2011); Barry Posen, “The Case for Restraint,” American Interest 3, no. 2 (2007); Stephen M. Walt, Taming American Power (New York: Norton, 2005). 5.  This is the basic conclusion of Hal Brands, From Berlin to Baghdad: America’s Search for Purpose in the Post–Cold War World (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2008); John Lewis Gaddis, “What Is Grand Strategy?” lecture prepared for Duke University, February 26, 2009, www.duke.edu/web/agsp/grandstrategypaper .pdf (accessed September 8, 2011); Jeremi Suri, “American Grand Strategy from the Cold War’s End to 9/11,” Orbis 53, no. 4 (2009): 611–627; Andrew Krepinevich and Barry Watts, Regaining Strategic Competence: Strategy for the Long Haul (Washington, DC: Center for Strategic and Budgetary Assessments, 2009); Hew Strachan, “The Lost Meaning of Strategy,” Survival 47, no. 3 (2005): 33–54; Michelle Flournoy and Shawn Brimley, “Introduction,” in Finding Our Way: Debating American Grand Strategy, ed. Michelle Flournoy and Shawn Brimley (Washington, DC: Center for a New American Security, 2008). 6.  Strobe Talbot, The Russia Hand: A Memoir of Diplomacy (New York: Random House, 2002), 133. 7.  Grand strategies tend to be oriented at preventing the last war. The prime imperative of Cold War grand strategy was confronting the Soviet threat in such a way as to avoid another global hot war like World War II. See Feaver, “Debating American Grand Strategy,” 549. 8.  Both the Clinton and George W. Bush administrations pursued a secondary hedge in the form of improved relations with India, China’s most serious regional rival, even though those improved relations came at the cost of further accommodation of Indian geostrategic demands regarding nuclear weapons. For more on the “responsible stakeholder” strategy, see Robert B. Zoellick, “Whither China: From Membership to Responsibility?” remarks to the National Committee on the United States and China Relations, New York City, September 21, 2005, www.disam.dsca.mil/pubs/ INDEXES/Vol%2028_2/Zoellick.pdf (accessed September 8, 2011). For more on the outreach to India, see Ashley J. Tellis, “The Merits of Dehyphenation: Explaining U.S. Success in Engaging India and Pakistan,” Washington Quarterly 31, no. 4 (2008): 21–42. 9.  For more on U.S. efforts to promote democracy in the post–Cold War era, see Thomas Carothers, U.S. Democracy Promotion during and after Bush (Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment for Peace, 2007); Thomas Carothers, Aiding Democracy Abroad: The Learning Curve (Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 1999). 10.  For more on the “Washington consensus” and on U.S. efforts to promote a liberal economic order, see John Williamson, “What Washington Means by

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Policy Reform,” in Latin American Readjustment: How Much Has Happened, ed. John Williamson (Washington, DC: Institute for International Economics, 1989). 11.  James Woolsey, “Former CIA Director Woolsey Delivers Remarks at Foreign Press Center,” March 7, 2000, cryptome.org/echelon-cia.htm (accessed September 8, 2011). 12.  For more on Clinton’s ineffective efforts at “assertive multilateralism,” see Richard N. Haass, “Paradigm Lost,” Foreign Affairs 74, no. 1 (1995): 43–58. 13.  Indeed, to a remarkable degree, the outline of this approach is evident in the draft Defense Planning Guidance (DPG) that the Department of Defense developed in 1992. The draft Defense Planning Guidance is available at www.gwu.edu/~nsarchiv/ nukevault/ebb245/doc03_extract_nytedit.pdf. 14.  The Bush campaign view of grand strategy can be found in Condoleezza Rice, “Promoting the National Interest,” Foreign Affairs 79, no. 1 (2000): 32. 15.  See Paul Dixon, “British Policy towards Northern Ireland 1969–2000: Continuity, Tactical Adjustment and Consistent ‘Inconsistencies,’” British Journal of Politics and International Relations 3 (2001): 340–368. 16.  See Gaddis, Strategies of Containment. 17.  Amy Belasco, “The Cost of Iraq, Afghanistan, and Other Global War on Terror Operations since 9/11,” Congressional Research Service (CRS) Report for Congress, March 2011. For a critical analysis, see Carl Conetta, “An Undisciplined Defense: Explaining the $2 Trillion Surge in U.S. Defense Spending,” Project on Defense Alternatives, Commonwealth Institute, January 18, 2010, www.comw.org/pda/ fulltext/1001PDABR20.pdf (accessed September 8, 2011). 18.  Supporting Biddle’s case, see Daryl Press, Calculating Credibility: How Leaders Assess Military Threats (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2007); Aaron Friedberg, The Weary Titan: Great Britain and the Experience of Relative Decline 1895–1905 (Prince­ton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1988). Supporting Feaver’s view, see Kathryn Cochran, “Strong Horse or Paper Tiger? Assessing the Reputational Consequences of War Fighting,” Ph.D. Dissertation, Duke University, 2011. Cochran shows that Daryl Press’s argument holds when considering crises between two powerful actors, but in asymmetric cases between a strong actor and a much weaker one, such as al Qaeda, the weaker actor does draw inferences about resolve from the willingness of the strong state to suffer costs. See also Mark J. C. Crescenzi, “Reputation and Interstate Conflict,” American Journal of Political Science 51, no. 2 (April 2007): 382–396; Todd Sechser, “Winning without a Fight: Power, Reputation, and Compellent Threats in International Crises,” Ph.D. Dissertation, Stanford University, 2007; Thomas C. Schelling, Arms and Influence (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1966). 19.  See, for example, Peter Bergen, Ten Years On: The Evolution of the Terrorist Threat since 9/11, testimony presented before the House Armed Services Subcommittee on Emerging Threats, June 22, 2011, newamerica.net/publications/resources/2011/ten_ years_on_the_evolution_of_the_terrorist_threat_since_911 (accessed September 8, 2011). Even Bruce Hoffman, who has a generally pessimistic view about the al Qaeda threat, agrees that al Qaeda has been degraded by a decade of aggressive counterter-



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rorism. Peter Bergen and Bruce Hoffman, Assessing the Terrorist Threat: A Report of the Bipartisan Policy Center’s National Security Preparedness Group (Washington, DC: Bipartisan Policy Center, 2010), 2. 20.  Elizabeth Arias and Betty L. Smith, “Deaths: Preliminary Data for 2001,” U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, National Vital Statistics Reports 51, no. 5 (2003): 4, 16, www.cdc.gov/nchs/data/nvsr/nvsr51/nvsr51_05.pdf (accessed September 8, 2011). 21.  Gail Makinen, coordinator, The Economic Effects of 9/11: A Retrospective Assessment (Washington, DC: U.S. Congressional Research Service, September 27, 2002), 58. See also former under secretary of commerce Robert Shapiro in Robert Shapiro, “Al Qaeda and the GDP,” Slate, February 28, 2003, www.slate.com/id/2079298 (accessed September 8, 2011); Robert Looney, “Economic Costs to the United States Stemming from the 9/11 Attacks,” Strategic Insights 1, no. 6 (2002). However, these economic costs might have been greater in the absence of steps taken by the Bush administration and Congress to reassure consumers and to overcome the psychological and economic shocks of 9/11. In the counterfactual, where al Qaeda is able to mount sustained (albeit intermittent) attacks, the economic costs could have been substantially higher, if only because of a devastating impact on consumer confidence. 22.  President Bush did raise the profile of democracy in the Middle East with his “Freedom Agenda,” and Iraq did become the first major Arab country in modern times to draft a constitution, ratify it in a free referendum, and then conduct mostly free and fair democratic elections under the auspices of that democratically approved constitution. However, few participants in the Arab Spring uprisings have invoked the Iraqi transition to democracy as a favorable inspiration, which is why we likewise consider any linkage of the Arab Spring to the war-on-terror grand strategy as probably secondary. 23.  The most authoritative account of Iraqi ambitions remains the 2004 “Comprehensive Report of the Special Advisor to the Director of Central Intelligence on Iraq’s WMD,” known as the Duelfer Report, 1/iraq_wmd_2004/index.html (accessed September 8, 2011). 24.  Indeed, it was probably concerns about al Qaeda’s quest for WMD that drove the Bush administration’s actual grand strategy choices; such concerns were, at least, the ones cited most often in contemporaneous speeches and subsequently in memoirs seeking to explain or justify the decision. 25.  Department of the Treasury, General Explanations of the Administration’s Fiscal Year 2012 Revenue Proposals (February 2011), 29–34, center/tax-policy/Documents/ Final%20Greenbook%20Feb%202012.pdf (accessed September 8, 2011). 26.  For a more detailed analysis, see Conetta, “Undisciplined Defense.” 27.  Some scholars believe that defense spending is less efficient than nondefense expenditure for gross domestic product (GDP) growth, given the reduced multiplier effect associated with defense spending and its diversion of engineering and technical talent away from more productive sectors of the civil economy. These effects are independent of any broader relationship between government spending per se and

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economic performance. However, other studies have found a positive relation between defense spending and GDP growth. A third group of studies found no significant statistical relationship between the two. For a review of this literature, see Dale Bremmer and Randy Kesselring, “The Impact of Defense Spending on GDP: The Case of North America,” paper presented at the 49th Annual Conference of Western Social Science Association, Calgary, Canada, April 2007. 28.  Pew Charitable Trusts, The Great Debt Shift: Drivers of Federal Debt Since 2001, 5, April 2011, www.pewtrusts.org/uploadedFiles/wwwpewtrustsorg/Fact_Sheets/ Economic_Policy/drivers_federal_debt_since_2001.pdf (accessed September 8, 2011). 29.  On Biden’s proposals, see Bob Woodward, Obama’s Wars (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2010), 159–201. 30.  On the Achille Lauro incident, see Brian Michael Jenkins, The Aftermath of the Achille Lauro (Santa Monica: RAND Corporation, 1985). 31.  See, for example, Peter J. P. Krause, “The Last Good Chance: A Reassessment of U.S. Operations at Tora Bora,” Security Studies 17 (2008): 644–684; Senate Foreign Relations Committee, Tora Bora Revisited: How We Failed to Get Bin Laden and Why It Matters Today (Committee Print, November 2009), foreign.senate.gov/imo/media/ doc/Tora_Bora_Report.pdf; Michael O’Hanlon, Defense Strategy for the Post-Saddam Era (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Press, 2005), 32–33; Gary Berntsen, Jawbreaker: The Attack on Bin Laden and Al Qaeda (New York: Crown, 2005), 278, 298–299; Philip Smucker, Al Qaeda’s Great Escape (Washington, DC: Brassey’s, 2004), 97–98, 132–139. 32.  See, for example, Michael DeLong, Inside CENTCOM (Washington, DC: Regnery, 2004), 55–56; Tommy Franks, “War of Words,” New York Times, October 19, 2004. 33.  Krause, “Last Good Chance,” 648. 34.  Under this counterfactual, the United States might also have matched the larger military effort with larger state- and nation-building efforts, perhaps yielding more progress. This is the core thesis of Dov Zakheim, the senior Department of Defense official with responsibility for Afghanistan policy during this critical period. See Dov Zakheim, A Vulcan’s Tale: How the Bush Administration Mismanaged the Reconstruction of Afghanistan (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Press, 2011). 35.  On the hedging incentives created by Afghan and Pakistani fears of U.S. abandonment, see, for example, Stephen Biddle, “Long Term Goals for Afghanistan and Their Near Term Implications,” testimony for Steps Needed for a Successful 2014 Transition in Afghanistan: Hearing before the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, 112th Cong., 1st sess., May 10, 2011, foreign.senate.gov/imo/media/doc/Biddle%20Testi mony.pdf (accessed September 8, 2011). See also Alissa Rubin, “As U.S. Pulls Back, Fears Abound over Toll on Afghan Economy,” New York Times, June 22, 2011; Alissa Rubin, “Afghans Fear West May See Death as the End,” New York Times, May 3, 2011; Alissa Rubin, “Pakistan Pushed Afghans for Closer Ties, Officials Say,” New York Times, April 28, 2011. 36.  David M. Edelstein, “Occupational Hazards: Why Military Occupations Succeed or Fail,” International Security 29, no. 1 (2004): 49–91.



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37.  Another complication to the counterfactual analysis is the effect of Pakistani government pressure on Taliban elements inside Pakistan territory. While this pressure was never as great as the United States wanted it to be, it was substantially greater before Prime Minister Musharraf made an ill-fated deal with the tribal elements in 2006 that substantially eased the burden on the Pakistan-based Taliban and permitted their revival in the last half of the decade. Musharraf ’s subsequent disastrous confrontation with Chief Justice Chaudhry—for reasons largely unrelated to the Afghanistan-Taliban situation—further weakened him, easing his pressure on the Taliban and thus contributing to the downward security spiral in Afghanistan. 38.  Ian S. Livingston, Heather L. Messera, and Michael O’Hanlon, Afghanistan Index: Tracking Variables of Reconstruction and Security in Post-9/11 Afghanistan (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution, 2011), 4, www.brookings.edu/~/media/Files/ Programs/FP/afghanistan%20index/index.pdf (accessed September 8, 2011); CIA World Factbook, Afghanistan, https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world -factbook/geos/af.html (accessed September 8, 2011). 39.  Carlotta Gall, “Afghans Riot after Deadly Crash by U.S. Military Truck,” New York Times, May 29, 2006. 40.  Stephen Biddle, personal observation, Kabul, January 2010. 41.  Livingston, Messera, and O’Hanlon, Afghanistan Index, 6. 42.  Ray Rivera, “Support Expected for Plan to Beef Up Afghan Forces,” New York Times, January 16, 2011, www.nytimes.com/2011/01/17/world/asia/17afghanistan.html; Maria Abi-Habib, “US and Allies Cut Plans for Funding Afghanistan’s Forces,” Wall Street Journal, July 4, 2011; CIA World Factbook, Afghanistan, https://www.cia.gov/ library/publications/the-world-factbook/geos/af.html (accessed September 8, 2011). 43.  The two authors of this chapter do not even agree on whether this is the best option in hindsight, given uncertainties about al Qaeda’s quest for WMD in a counterfactual world where al Qaeda, having successfully bloodied the United States, still enjoyed Taliban sanctuary, while Saddam Hussein (and others) were slipping out of the loosening nonproliferation noose.

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The Rise, Persistence, and Decline of the War on Terror Ronald R. Krebs

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e n y e a r s a f t e r 9 / 11 , t h e m i l i ta r y, f i n a n c i a l , a n d

ideological struggle to contain al Qaeda and its autonomous, like-minded affiliates around the world continues. Although the Obama administration distanced itself from its predecessor’s unilateralist tone and embrace of torture, and especially from the Iraq War, the continuities have been striking: from the surge in Afghanistan, to its legal stances on such matters as state secrets and military detention, to its reliance on drone attacks and targeted assassination. Critics have often noted this—with frustration on the left and vindication on the right. But such a story of utter continuity is too simple. On the one hand, there has been a real change in recent years: the dominant terror narrative, which structured the nation’s debate over national security for a decade after 9/11, is no longer the organizing principle of U.S. political discourse. This did not happen immediately when Barack Obama took office and stopped using that poisonous slogan, “the war on terror.” Nor has it brought to an end U.S. military action around the globe against al Qaeda and its allies. But the terror narrative did finally lose its grip on the U.S. national security debate, opening up space for alternative narratives of national security and for a needed conversation about strategy in an era of scarce resources. On the other hand, however, the break has not been complete. While the Obama administration has allowed some elements of the terror narrative to die a quiet death, it has reproduced others—notably the prevailing account of 9/11 and its 56



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place in history. The persistent rhetoric of national victimhood in the United States has impeded efforts to reform key aspects of domestic and foreign policy and has complicated the ongoing campaign against violent extremist organizations. This chapter explains the rise, persistence, decline, and future of the terror narrative by addressing three bundles of questions. First, what was “the terror narrative”? In what ways, if any, was it new to U.S. political discourse? Why did this narrative, among both conceivable alternatives and those actually advanced, come to dominate the U.S. national security debate? How did it shape those debates, and what alternatives did it shunt aside? Second, why did it prove so enduring, despite evident difficulties with the war in Iraq, which had been justified in its name? Why did Democratic critics of that war frame their opposition in terms that relied upon and reproduced the terror narrative? Third, what made possible Obama’s eventual but partial break with the terror narrative? What has the end of its dominance made possible? In what ways does it still drive the U.S. national security debate and with what implications? The answers to these questions are less obvious than they may seem. Certainly after 9/11, U.S. political elites had to offer a shocked nation an account of what had happened; whatever narrative emerged as dominant would set the parameters for subsequent policy debate. But the terror narrative was not the only reasonable way to make sense of that day’s events and of America’s role in the world. And it is surprising that the terror narrative maintained its dominance as long as it did, given public frustration with the course of the war in Iraq. After all, the bipartisan Cold War consensus unraveled in the jungles of Vietnam, or so the conventional story goes: the U.S. public lost faith in the central narrative of the Cold War in parallel with their loss of faith in the war in Vietnam. A persuasive account of the rise, persistence, and fall of the terror narrative lies at the intersection of the dynamics of national security narratives and of politics. This chapter develops three core arguments. First, the rise of the terror narrative to dominance was neither a “natural” response to 9/11 nor the straightforward product of the presidential “bully pulpit.” Rather, it was the consequence of the conjuncture of political context (the narrative crisis of 9/11), institutional power (the unusual authority of the president in matters of national security), and actors’ rhetorical choices (Bush’s carefully chosen reliance on the narrative mode). Second, the U.S. military’s struggles

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in Iraq not only failed to undermine the terror narrative but in fact, surprisingly, bolstered it. The politics of military failure are paradoxical: rather than undercut the narratives in whose terms military operations are justified, battlefield setbacks give political actors incentives to maintain fidelity to dominant narratives, at most tinkering at the margins, and they undermine the impetus toward dramatic narrative change. Third, what finally brought down the dominant terror narrative was not some massive unexpected policy failure that could plausibly be laid at its feet but the distraction of the Great Recession. It allowed Obama gradually to distance his administration from its core tenets, without the political flak that such a change would normally have drawn. First, however, I must spend a little time unpacking the notion of a national security narrative and exploring how dominant narratives mold political debate. I then turn to the three bundles of questions laid out above, focusing on the latter two, which are less well understood: why the terror narrative remained dominant for so long and what made possible its decline. I then examine how the terror narrative continues to linger in the contemporary politics of national security in the United States. Finally, the chapter concludes with a reflection on alternative trajectories: When and how might the nation have escaped the terror narrative’s grasp earlier and more completely?

Narrative and National Security Dominant narratives often underpin debates over national security. Americans during World War II agreed that it was the Nazi regime, not the German people, that was the nation’s adversary—a narrative consensus that rendered unsustainable the punitive Morgenthau plan for postwar Germany. A “Cold War consensus” gripped U.S. foreign and domestic policy (until it allegedly fell apart as a result of the Vietnam War)—a narrative consensus that led to missed opportunities to moderate superpower rivalry. These zones of unquestioned agreement were unprobed truths, not policies carefully pieced together via coalitional bargaining, and they had important consequences for U.S. national security debate and thus policy. Dominant narratives limit what stances can be publicly justified and thus what concrete policies can be pursued. By no means did all Americans subscribe to these positions, but even many who disagreed privately paid public fealty to them—a phenomenon that Elisabeth Noelle-Neumann famously called “the spiral of silence.”1



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Political scientists and historians have often treated zones of consensus as if they were the unproblematic lessons of real-world events.2 Politicians know better. They seek to shape the terms of political contest, to shift the linguistic playing field in their favor.3 Certainly, they can purchase or compel others’ assent to specific policies, but they often seek a more enduring basis for action. If they can fix the very terms in which debate is conducted, policy legitimated, and events interpreted, they will have won a good part of the battle, probably the more important part. Politics entails not just regular struggles over coercion and distribution but also continual struggles over meaning, over how reality is understood. Political actors thus often pursue what Stuart Hall has called “hegemonic projects,” which aspire to “the remaking of common sense.”4 This is what Lewis Carroll meant when he had Humpty Dumpty insist to Alice that the essential question is not “whether you can make words mean different things” but rather “which is to be master”—which meanings are seen as natural, rather than constructed and contingent.5 Narrative is not just a Washington buzzword—although it is that too, for good reason. Politicians are especially concerned with controlling the narrative because they rightly grasp that stories are essential to how human beings make meaning. Narrative is the vehicle through which people formulate and articulate identity and interests.6 “Narratives are important,” write two scholars, “in providing both individuals and collectives with a sense of purpose and place.”7 This is not some abstruse scholarly insight: David Brooks has written in the New York Times that “unlike other animals, people do have a drive to seek coherence and meaning. We have a need to tell ourselves stories that explain it all. We use these stories to supply the metaphysics, without which life seems pointless and empty.”8 Narrative imposes order on disordered experience. To the extent that a narrative is accepted, events no longer seem random or meaningless. Underlying the war on terror was a dominant narrative of national security, sometimes made explicit and often left implicit. Like other public narratives, narratives of national security tell stories that are selective in their presentation of events, represent these select events as temporally ordered, and present that sequence as being meaningfully and causally structured. Even skeletal narratives are populated by characters and are thus constituted by both plot and protagonist.9 Narratives of national security answer, at a minimum, the following questions: What is the character, and what are the desires, of the self? What is the character, and what are desires, of the other? Does the

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other pose a threat to the self and to the attainment of its goals? If so, to what extent and how? How has the other given evidence of its threatening nature or intentions—that is, what has the other done in the past and with what consequences?10 National security narratives weave together past, present, and future; they locate historical events in a causal sequence, relate the crucial forces at work in the contemporary international environment, and offer a forecast based on current trends and historical lessons. When narratives become dominant, they do not shut down contestation or fully determine its outcome, but they do shape the course of politics by constituting the terrain of contestation. Establishing the boundaries of legitimate political contest, they privilege particular courses of action and impede the legitimation of others. This is important because legitimation—the articulation before key publics of publicly acceptable reasons to justify concrete actions and policy positions—is typically an imperative, not a mere nicety, of politics, both domestic and foreign.11 While political actors are free in principle to say anything they like, the dominant narrative is, in James Scott’s words, nearly always “the only plausible arena of struggle.”12 Those who do not care to legitimate their claims, or who do so on other narrative grounds, will be rejected or ignored. At the extreme, such a political actor “is quickly regarded as a fanatic, the prey of interior demons, rather than as a reasonable person seeking to share his convictions.”13 Dominant narratives thus exert power in ways more subtle, but no less consequential, than coercion. Their effects are structural and productive, shaping the distribution of capabilities, defining actor identities, and even molding visions of the possible.14 In this chapter, I bring this narrative perspective to bear on post-9/11 U.S. foreign policy. From that standpoint, three sets of questions come into focus: How did a particular narrative come to dominate U.S. security debate in the wake of 9/11, and what difference did it make to the policies the United States pursued abroad? Why was it so resilient over the next decade? And why did it eventually lose its privileged place? Explaining the rise and fall of dominant narratives is important because, with apologies to Marx, the narratives people write, especially in their public lives, are not entirely of their own choosing. That is as true when it comes to the high politics of national security as anything else.

Terror’s Origins: Fixing the Meaning of 9/11 For some, the meaning of “9/11”—as the day came to be known in the United States—was, and is, clear. On that day, evil and barbaric Islamofascists who



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despise freedom attacked a blameless America, marking a turning point in both America’s history and global politics. This understanding of 9/11 is often seen in the United States as the “natural” interpretation of that day’s events, and it lay at the heart of the terror narrative. That narrative constituted the basic prism through which Americans made sense of the world for the next decade, and politicians felt compelled to reference it if they wished to be heard on matters of foreign affairs. The terror narrative had five core components. First, regarding the self, it cast the United States, “America”—not just the people who died on 9/11—as the innocent victim of an unprovoked attack, targeted because of the values it represents, not because of anything it had done. Second, regarding the other, it represented the perpetrators not as rational agents seeking to further political ends but as ideologically motivated opponents of freedom, as purveyors of fear and hatred for their own sake. As evildoers, they were mindless foot soldiers of a force with which one cannot negotiate, compromise, or reason and that is thus beyond the realm of politics. Third, it depicted terrorism as the new great threat to the nation’s security, on a par with the Soviet Union during the Cold War, and it suggested that all terrorists, by virtue of their having signed on to that tactic, were equally threatening. Fourth, it portrayed 9/11 as a moment of historical rupture. As the day on which al Qaeda and its Islamofascist allies demonstrated of what they were capable, 9/11 constituted a turning point in the nation’s and the world’s history: on 9/11, “our world . . . changed forever,” Attorney General John Ashcroft said.15 Fifth, and consistent with long-standing American exceptionalism, now buttressed by a spirit of righteous vengeance, the terror narrative affirmed the special mission of the United States to rid the world of these terrorists, who prized fear and ideological purity, and to replace them with spokesmen for tolerance and liberty.16 But there were other ways of narrating the day’s horrific events: as a response to U.S. meddling in the Middle East to support either Israel or autocratic Arab regimes or to U.S. forces based in Saudi Arabia; as an unusually destructive terrorist act but one that did not alter larger structural forces in which the rise of China figured centrally; as a demonstration of al Qaeda’s surprisingly sophisticated operation, not of some amorphous abstraction (terror). In these accounts, the perpetrators were not evil automatons but political agents seeking to redress individual and collective grievances that they traced, rightly or wrongly, to America’s doorstep. In these accounts, the events of 9/11 did not, in and of themselves, mark a defining historical moment. Yet these accounts of the attacks—their origins, the protagonists, and

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their place in history—were swiftly marginalized. That the terror narrative strikes many of us as natural is less a reflection of reality than a sign of the success of this narrative project. The terror narrative triumphed over actual and conceivable competitors due to a conjuncture of three factors.17 First, context: the attacks of 9/11 brought on a narrative crisis,18 halting the decade-long debate over the nature of the post–Cold War world. As the historian John Lewis Gaddis wrote three years later, “It was not just the Twin Towers that collapsed on that morning of September 11, 2001: so too did some of our most fundamental assumptions about international, national, and personal security.”19 Publics experience periods of narrative crisis as disconcerting and disturbing, and thus they are then especially receptive to narrative projects that make sense of an otherwise incoherent reality. By ordering social life, dominant narratives facilitate the unreflective action that characterizes everyday living, and so in times of crisis the public’s demand for such a narrative is elevated. The second factor was the speaker’s institutional position. Even in the days before the Internet and cable television, presidents did not sway public opinion or set the agenda as readily as the notion of the bully pulpit implies.20 Although audiences today are highly fractured, the president remains the nation’s “first explainer,” in Richard Reeve’s inelegant but apt formulation.21 When public demand for an authoritative narrative voice is elevated, as during crisis, presidents and their representatives have special advantages. When, in these moments, they exercise their authority to narrate for the political community, others are silenced: they generally abstain from contesting the narrative these authorized speakers advance, and if they do, they are treated as illicit intruders onto the nation’s narrative terrain.22 George W. Bush and his administration’s officials took to the airwaves after 9/11, groping slowly but steadily toward a well-limned tale that would make comprehensible (and stable) a world that had been rendered interpretively incomprehensible (and unstable). They found an eager audience, and Democrats toed the president’s line. Third was the rhetorical mode that speakers adopt. In times of crisis, when their station confers advantages, presidents must still speak in the right way to fix the narrative foundations of political debate. Arguments based on cost-benefit analysis (the instrumental mode) or the assertion of right (the normative mode) dominate everyday policy debate, but they presume the stability of metrics and norms—which are up for grabs in times of crisis. Presi-



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dents must instead embrace a storytelling mode that provides explanation more than exhortation or recommendation, offering the audience the stability and order it craves,23 or find themselves frustrated. This too Bush followed to a tee. His rhetoric after 9/11 was “a prose of solidarity rather than a prose of information.” It reflected “symbolic reassurance,” not a mastery of policy detail. In his public rhetoric, Bush made little effort to weigh the costs and benefits of his preferred course of action.24 After 9/11, competing narratives made hardly a dent in the national debate. Democrats, who had exulted in the Bush administration’s early missteps over China and in domestic affairs, rallied behind both the president’s policies and his rhetoric. Until well into 2002, “there was barely a peep” in Congress, as “everyone along Pennsylvania Avenue [marched] seemingly in lockstep agreement with administration policy. Patriotism dominated the scene.”25 Once Bush overcame his early tentativeness and “signaled that he was personally prepared to take charge,” writes Samuel Kernell, “other Washingtonians quickly accepted his leadership.”26 Asking not whether the United States should engage in a war on terror but rather how such a war might most effectively be waged, opinion polls presumed its appropriateness.27 So unchallenged was the terror narrative that Bush, in his major public addresses delivered between September 2001 and March 2003, never felt compelled to rebut other ways of understanding 9/11 and its implications.28 Those who did have the temerity to question the dominant terror narrative were declared foolish or misguided, even traitorous, though most often they were simply ignored. The mainstream media rarely acknowledged the critics and, on those rare occasions when it did, they were derisively dismissed: members of the “reactionary left” are simply “out to lunch” and engaged in “mindless moral equivalency,” one columnist wrote in Newsweek. The plain truth is that “someone is trying to kill them.”29 Revealingly, even critics of the war on terror typically reproduced the underlying terror narrative, sometimes to the point of incoherence. Realists, such as former national security advisor Zbigniew Brzezinski, occasionally dissented from the simplistic and apolitical portrait of terrorists as evildoers, yet Brzezinski nonetheless felt moved to reassure readers that he did believe terrorism to be morally reprehensible and, yes, evil.30 A year after the attacks, former vice president Al Gore parted ways with leading fellow Democrats in criticizing the march to war with Iraq. But his stance only seemed radical, for he legitimated it in terms of the dominant narrative, arguing that the invasion of Iraq would “seriously damage” the war on terrorism.31

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The Bush administration did not break new ground, by the standards of U.S. security discourse, in characterizing a limited campaign as “war,” in identifying that campaign’s object as the undifferentiated tactic of terrorism, or in employing Manichaean rhetoric.32 Such discursive continuity is to be expected: actors who seek to legitimate new projects must always overcome the “liability of newness” by grafting them onto, or integrating them within, discourse that is accepted.33 But the terror narrative was novel in breaking with statist presuppositions, in defining nonstate terrorism as an existential threat, and in narrating a radically transformed world. And it was indeed new that these elements came together and dominated the debate over national security. The Bush administration’s controversial 2002 National Security Strategy placed the war on terror at the center of U.S. grand strategy, articulated a doctrine of “preemption,” and declared maintaining U.S. primacy in the national interest, and it legitimated its bold claims with reference to the terror narrative.34 The document occasioned a vigorous debate over whether it represented a radical new direction for U.S. foreign policy, and the confusion was warranted because it contained elements both novel and long-standing.35 However, that the terror narrative drew on hoary rhetorical tropes is not itself an adequate explanation for its success in marginalizing competing narratives. The universe of foreign affairs discourse is sufficiently rich to ground multiple narratives. The dominant terror narrative structured U.S. policy debate in the decade after 9/11 and shaped the policies that emerged. It helped make possible the Iraq War: combined with existing representations of Saddam Hussein, it silenced leading Democrats by closing off avenues through which they might have justified opposition to the war.36 Offering a rhetorical cloak behind which foreign regimes could hide murderous repression, it legitimized the Bush administration’s reluctance to challenge the gross violations of human rights perpetrated by its partners in the war on terror. It sustained an atmosphere of crisis antithetical to America’s aims abroad and disastrous for liberty at home—as James Burk’s searching chapter in this volume makes clear.37 By inflating the terrorist threat, identifying the adversary as a front unified only by its embrace of a horrific tactic, and articulating a globe-encircling logic that linked terrorism to “ungoverned spaces,” it sustained a limitless agenda of state-building projects the world over, and thereby made impossible any vigorous debate at home about national security strategy—that is, the alignment of limited means and foreign policy ends. Finally, the terror narrative stifled a



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debate that 9/11 might have otherwise occasioned about America’s role in the world and specifically in the Middle East.

The Enduring Terror Narrative More remarkable though than the fact that the terror narrative became dominant is how long that dominance endured. It persisted for much of the succeeding decade—even though another mass-casualty attack on U.S. soil, which the narrative suggested was likely, did not take place, and even as the public soured on the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, which the Bush administration had bound up with the war on terror. That the terror narrative survived the public’s frustration with these festering counterinsurgencies may be surprising. The conventional theoretical wisdom is that, while various forces jointly sustain ideational and policy inertia, large-scale and repeated policy failure, especially when contrary to expectations and desires, makes possible and even drives dramatic change.38 One might have expected the administration’s Democratic opponents, eager to distance themselves from unpopular wars, to have seized the opportunity to articulate a different narrative of the world and America’s place in it. But their criticisms of the Iraq War in fact reproduced and stabilized the terror narrative. Democrats failed to take on the terror narrative not in spite of the U.S. military’s battlefield performance but paradoxically because of it. The politics of military failure make narrative revolution especially unlikely. To grasp the dominance of a narrative, look less to its official defenders than to potential critics. Five years after 9/11, self-identified progressives insisted not that the administration was wrong to be fighting a war on terror or that it had misdiagnosed the ills that brought on the terrorist attacks but rather that it was fighting the war in the wrong place (Iraq) and that it had wrongly bound this unjust and illegitimate war (in Iraq) to a just and legitimate one (in Afghanistan).39 For example, libertarians from the Cato Institute, long opposed to U.S. military intervention overseas, framed their traditional arguments comfortably within the terror narrative.40 By the fifth anniversary of 9/11, there were cracks in the imposing terror edifice, but they did not grow into substantial fissures.41 As the 2008 campaign heated up, the journalist James Traub observed, “Six years have passed since the terrorist attacks, but it seems that, psychologically, we remain inside their fearful penumbra.”42

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Critics had long had the war on terror in their sights. From the start, there were those who charged that the administration’s characterization of its post9/11 policy as a “war” would legitimize al Qaeda, predispose the United States to militarized counterterrorism, alienate Muslim populations sympathetic to al Qaeda’s grievances, and hand al Qaeda a psychological victory.43 Over time, government officials too recognized the dangers of waging a “war” on terror. As early as 2005, Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Richard Myers futilely sought to rebrand it as “a global struggle against violent extremism,” seeking to emphasize anew the campaign’s ideological component.44 In May 2008 the senior intelligence official in the Department of Homeland Security, Charles Allen, objected to the phrase because it created “animus” among Muslims. This was not because of “political correctness,” he said, but because the term “is interpreted in the Muslim world as a war on Islam, and we don’t need this.” Republican Representative Peter Hoekstra called it “the dumbest term” one could have chosen.45 Such criticism, however, left the dominant terror narrative untouched. In fact, the narrative also underpinned the usual alternative to the militarized war on terror: treat terrorism as a crime and terrorists as criminals. This law enforcement paradigm still represented the United States as the blameless victim of the 9/11 attacks. It still left open the possibility, or even probability, that the perpetrators were consumed by evil, for it did not presume that the criminals could be rehabilitated nor that they would not be permanently incarcerated or even executed. It still treated terrorists around the globe, criminals or not, as an undifferentiated and equally threatening mass—whether their aims were global or local. It still depicted terrorism as the greatest challenge to the U.S. national interest in a world governed by law. The 9/11-as-crime model reproduced the dominant narrative, and this was part of its appeal. Faithful to the core of the terror narrative, its advocates could assail specific Bush administration policies from the politically safer standpoint of the loyal opposition. With the narrative foundation established, the debate focused on means, not ends, and even this became more confused over time. In 2009, announcing the administration’s decision to prosecute in civilian court the 9/11 “mastermind,” Khalid Shaikh Mohammed, and four others, U.S. attorney general Eric Holder blurred the military and law enforcement paradigms when he defended the decision by reaffirming that “we are at war.”46 The fact that criticism of the war on terror remained so thin throughout the post-9/11 decade may be surprising not only because much of the public



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had lost patience with seemingly never-ending wars in Iraq and Afghanistan but also because substantial segments had lost trust in the Bush administration. To many, evidence of Bush officials’ deception in the run-up to the Iraq War was overwhelming, and as time passed there was also increasing awareness of how U.S. leaders had used terrorism and fear for electoral gain.47 If Bush and his officials had been duplicitous, and if their machinations had led the United States into debilitating unconventional campaigns that did not exploit the U.S. military’s comparative advantage, perhaps the underlying terror narrative that they so avidly defended was questionable as well. But the endurance of the terror narrative is less surprising if one reflects on the politics of military failure. Substantial policy failures are normally imagined as moments that unsettle dominant ideas and discourses. But the acknowledgment and interpretation of military failure typically takes place through a protracted, public, and political process. Military campaigns that are seen in retrospect to have been unsalvageable disasters rarely seem so early on. Their failure is revealed only in stages, and politicians must publicly make sense of battlefield travails before any consensus forms that the war is a disaster. In this context of military struggle, the key speakers are not the official defenders of the dominant narrative—in this case, the Bush administration—for, with the erosion of public trust that follows military setbacks, they no longer enjoy substantial inherent advantages in the exercise of “interpretive leadership.”48 The result is that narrative authority diffuses, and the previously constrained political opposition enjoys new freedom to challenge the dominant narrative. Yet, early on in a war, the opposition has little political incentive to take advantage of that opportunity. When evidence of military difficulties has begun to accumulate, but before the perception of irrevocable failure has crystallized, opposition politicians are understandably reluctant to launch a thoroughgoing critique that challenges the war’s ends and not just its means, or declares it fundamentally wrongheaded and not just poorly conducted; in other words, that takes on its underlying narrative. Criticism in wartime is always dangerous, but the deeper it strikes, the more vulnerable critics are to charges that they are emboldening the enemy, demoralizing the troops, and prolonging the fight. Should the war’s course reverse, their judgment would be severely questioned, and should the nation’s forces continue to flounder, they might be held responsible, not lauded for their prescience. Questioning the war’s narrative foundation is thus especially risky. As a result, even as the

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war’s costs mount, criticism is typically framed within the terms of the dominant narrative. Critics thus often suggest that another strategy would bring victory or insist that the strategy is sound but its application flawed. Politics does not stop at war’s edge, at least not for long, but it is normally waged within the bounds of the dominant narrative.49 This logic helps explain why, even as U.S. forces in Iraq suffered setbacks and as the anti-American insurgency morphed into sectarian civil war, leading Democrats were reluctant to break with the terror narrative. Having mostly voted in Congress to authorize the Iraq War, they began by accusing the Bush administration of having botched the war—by having failed to put sufficient boots on the ground and to prepare adequately for postwar challenges. These criticisms of operational doctrine and implementation then gave way to buyer’s remorse. Agreeing that the United States could not withdraw from Iraq precipitously, critics charged that the war had been a distraction from the war on terror properly conceived—against al Qaeda and the Taliban in Afghanistan and Pakistan. Democrats thus repudiated the Iraq War by reproducing the narrative and logic of the war on terror. They remained in thrall to the terror narrative even as Barack Obama rode to the White House on a surge of mass discontent with Republican leadership on both foreign and economic policy. In their rhetorical choices during the post-9/11 years, leading Democrats regularly opted for the safe political route, but it ultimately tied their hands, and the nation’s. If Democrats have complained that the war on terror lasted too long, they have themselves to blame. The limits of leading Democrats’ criticism of the Bush administration’s adventures abroad emerged clearly in the 2004 and 2008 presidential campaigns.50 During the 2004 Democratic primaries, every candidate, even the most hawkish of them, Joseph Lieberman, criticized how the war was conducted—without the imprimatur of the United Nations, with too few allies, and based on false pretenses. But they differed with the administration not over whether to prosecute the war on terror but only on how. Andrew Bacevich’s rueful observation about the Democratic nominee, John Kerry— that his “differences with George W. Bush’s national security policies” were “framed . . . in terms of tactics rather than first principles”51—applied equally to most of Kerry’s primary competitors. Indeed, all save Lieberman converged around the representation of Iraq as a distraction from the real war on terror. As early as December 2003, Howard Dean charged that “the Iraq war diverted critical intelligence and military resources, undermined diplomatic support



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for our fight against terror, and created a new rallying cry for terrorist recruits.”52 Kerry took the same line of attack. Awkwardly echoing Bush’s own language, he declared in a debate, “I can do a better job of waging a smarter, more effective war on terror and guarantee that we go after the terrorists. I will hunt them down and will kill them, will capture them, will do whatever’s necessary to be safe.”53 When it came to the stakes of the war on terror, Kerry again could have been confused with Bush: “The war on terror is as monumental a struggle as the Cold War. Its outcome will determine whether we and our children live in freedom or in fear. . . . This is a clash between civilization and the enemies of civilization; between humanity’s best hopes and most primitive fears.”54 The Democratic contestants for the presidency even tried to outdo the administration in fear-mongering, regularly invoking the specter of mushroom clouds on American soil.55 Regarding the nature of the adversary, the usual abstractions—terror, terrorism—often trumped the specific figures of al Qaeda and Osama bin Laden.56 The perennial maverick candidate Dennis Kucinich was the only one to hazard breaking with the war on terror’s first principles, with its narrative. The 2008 campaign revealed that not very much had changed. True, foreign policy was no longer the overriding issue, given the financial meltdown and economic slowdown. True, the war on terror, once well established as unquestioned common sense, had begun to lose that status: during the first debate among Democratic hopefuls, they were asked whether they thought the United States was, or should be, engaged in a global war on terror.57 The number of marginal candidates challenging the terror narrative doubled, as Mike Gravel joined Kucinich. Nevertheless, of the eight candidates who appeared at that first debate, nearly all made clear, then and afterwards, that they accepted the terror narrative’s premises and that their differences with the Bush administration were over means not ends.58 Even those who sought to avoid the slogan “war on terror” often substituted combative synonyms such as fight, battle, or struggle, and they did not generally insist that its targets be more concrete: terrorism, as an abstraction, was still the adversary. The candidates almost universally agreed that the administration’s misguided war in Iraq had undermined the more important battle being waged at what Hillary Clinton called, in a January debate, “the forgotten frontlines in the war against terror” in Afghanistan and Pakistan.59 By going to war in Iraq, the United States, Obama alleged, had “taken [its] eye off the ball”—the war on terror—and the result was that al Qaeda was “stronger now than [at] any

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time since 2001.”60 Most importantly, they did not offer an alternative narrative of national security, with a different set of protagonists, paramount issues, historical moments, or causal story. Criticizing the Bush administration and specifically the Iraq War from the terrain of the terror narrative was a consistently used technique through 2008. Thus Democrats faulted the Bush administration for having wasted resources in Iraq that could have been devoted to counterproliferation, and they drove the point home by invoking the prospect of a terrorist nuclear explosion in the United States.61 And what did they say motivated terrorists to continue to target the United States? A “toxic, distorted, and hate-filled ideology” that made them “intent upon foisting their way of life” on others—little different from the “Islamofascism” of the prevailing narrative.62 More than any other major Democratic candidate in 2008, Barack Obama made opposition to the Iraq War the centerpiece of his campaign. It is telling that even Obama, as a senator and presidential candidate, reproduced the terror narrative. As he described it, the chief problem confronting the United States in the global arena remained that vague abstraction, terrorism.63 And that was the problem with the Iraq War: “the military defeat of the Iraqi insurgency,” Obama said in 2005, will not bring about “the defeat of international terrorism.” Just the opposite, as that misbegotten war, in Obama’s view, hampered the war on terror, properly conceived. It led to a “deteriorating” situation in Afghanistan, “lagg[ing]” improvement in intelligence collection and analysis, and the failure to implement “critical homeland security measures” or “improved coordination with our global allies and partners.”64 It was a distraction from “the central front in the war on terrorism”—that is, “the fight against al Qaeda and the Taliban in Afghanistan and the border region of Pakistan.”65 Many, on the left and right, saw in Obama a radical critic of the war on terror, but he was never any such thing. He regularly employed the phrase, or various closely related variants, though he assailed its use as a “political football.”66 He too portrayed terrorists not as rational actors with a political agenda but as “fanatical” ideologues.67 He too represented the events of 9/11 as a historical fissure. “The attacks of September 11 brought this new reality into a terrible and ominous focus,” he asserted during his presidential campaign. “On that bright and beautiful day, the world of peace and prosperity that was the legacy of our Cold War victory seemed to suddenly vanish under rubble, and twisted steel, and clouds of smoke.” The new reality was that “the American people cannot be protected by oceans or the sheer might



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of our military alone.” The stakes were high, implicitly the nation’s survival: the danger of terrorism was “no less grave” than the threat posed by the Soviet Union during the Cold War.68 Before his election as president, Obama legitimated numerous projects in the name of the war on terror. As U.S. senator, Obama made nuclear proliferation a signature issue because of the danger that nuclear weapons and radioactive materials might fall into terrorist hands.69 He endorsed greater reliance on renewable resources explicitly because reducing dependence on foreign, specifically Middle Eastern, oil would aid in the war on terror: America’s money would then not go to “madrassas that plant the seeds of terror in young minds” and, independent of foreign oil, the United States would no longer “fight . . . the War on Terror with one hand tied behind our back.”70 Despite having declared himself the candidate of change, Barack Obama remained wedded to crucial elements of the terror narrative through his presidential campaign. The Bush administration was, of course, primarily to blame for the misconceived war on terror that stoked Americans’ nightmares after September 11, 2001, to the detriment of the nation’s priorities, its foreign policy, the tenor of its political discourse, and its liberties. But Democrats were hardly without guilt. Taking the politically safe rhetorical route in a time of war, they blunted their own spears and left the terror narrative untouched. Its long life is their legacy too.

Terror’s Loosening Grip? In November 2008, Rahm Emanuel, just appointed Obama’s chief of staff, famously explained, with reference to the president’s wide-ranging ambitions, “You never want a serious crisis to go to waste.”71 It was not wasted when it came to the terror narrative. The terror narrative did not immediately lose its grip on U.S. national security debate when Barack Obama took office and stopped referring to the war on terror. Two and a half years later, however, it was finally no longer the organizing principle of the nation’s national security discourse. The Great Recession probably deserves much of the credit. Change did not come immediately. As president-elect, Obama remained bound by the rhetorical path he had charted as a candidate. Thus, shortly after the election, he portrayed the bloody attacks in Mumbai as evidence of “the grave and urgent threat of terrorism” that the United States faced, as if the

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perpetrators were necessarily members of a global terrorist brotherhood that threatened the United States as much as it did India. Introducing his national security team a few days later, he highlighted the threat posed by a poorly specified “terror” that “cannot be contained by borders” rather than pointing to specific U.S. adversaries who would use terrorist tactics.72 In his inaugural address, the new president affirmed that “our nation is at war against a farreaching network of violence and hatred . . . those who seek to advance their aims by inducing terror and slaughtering innocents.”73 Although Obama did not utter the phrase “war on terror” in these early speeches, he did not notably break with the terror narrative. However, it was not long before Obama and senior administration officials began to show signs of backing away from the terror narrative. While counterterrorism remained an administration priority, it was no longer foremost but was commonly relegated to one among many foreign policy initiatives.74 For the Obama administration, terrorism was a concern, but not preeminent: “these wars—and our global efforts to successfully counter violent extremism—are only one element of our strategic environment and cannot define America’s engagement with the world. Terrorism is one of many threats that are more consequential in a global age.”75 This was an important departure from a crucial element of the terror narrative that had informed even secondterm Bush administration strategy documents.76 Yet other differences were more superficial. During the campaign, Obama had been inconsistent as to whether the targets of the war were terror and terrorism or instead Osama bin Laden, al Qaeda, and the Taliban. After taking office, he usually adopted a more concrete formulation, pledging “to disrupt, dismantle and defeat al Qaeda in Pakistan and Afghanistan,” sometimes adding “its extremist allies” or “adherents.”77 Yet a grander objective—a campaign against “violent extremism”—often accompanied this narrower definition. “We will not waver in our resolve to defeat al Qaeda and its affiliates and to root out violent extremism in all its forms,” Obama declared. By “violent extremism,” he meant an ideology “that leads to the killing of innocent men and women and children.” This allowed Obama to avoid uttering the infamous words “war on terror.” But the threat posed by violent extremism was, in Obama’s rhetoric, global and unvarying, and a major manifestation remained the tactic of terrorism (a “bankrupt agenda of extremism and murder”).78 Consider how closely this resembled the Bush administration’s portrait of the challenge in 2006: “a new totalitarian ideology now



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threatens. . . . Its content may be different from the ideologies of the last century, but its means are similar: intolerance, murder, terror, enslavement, and repression.”79 In committing the United States to a global mission to root out extremism, wherever it appeared, Obama depicted a world not so different from that of the terror narrative. With this rhetorical backdrop, and given Obama’s long-standing criticism that the Bush administration had pursued the wrong war on terror, how could he not have ramped up U.S. operations in Afghanistan? Vice President Joe Biden’s proposal to contain al Qaeda via escalated drone attacks never had a chance. The administration’s National Security Strategy, published in May 2010, and especially the more consistent National Strategy for Counterterrorism, released in June 2011, broke with the terror narrative by narrowing greatly the “principal focus” of U.S. counterterrorist efforts: to “al-Qa’ida and its affiliates and adherents.” The word “extremist” appears only once in the latter document.80 Early on, it pointedly rebuked the previous administration: “The United States deliberately uses the word ‘war’ to describe our relentless campaign against al-Qa’ida. However, this Administration has made it clear that we are not at war with the tactic of terrorism or the religion of Islam. We are at war with a specific organization—al-Qa’ida.” “To defeat al-Qa’ida,” the president declared, “we must define with precision and clarity who we are fighting, setting concrete and realistic goals tailored to the specific challenges we face in different regions of the world.” This contrasted with a war on terror that left the adversary vague, laid out overly ambitious and unachievable goals, and presented a one-size-fits-all strategy. For that matter, it was unlike the war on violent extremism that the Obama administration itself had previously endorsed.81 With the publication of the National Strategy for Counterterrorism, the Obama administration finally abandoned core elements of the terror narrative and its global battle between the forces of fear and freedom, which had legitimated a global mission to remake the world. As a result, while the terror narrative lives on in some quarters, it is no longer an unquestioned zone of consensus structuring U.S. national security debate. What difference will this make? The end of the terror narrative gives U.S. officials greater freedom to criticize repression by foreign governments even when directed against alleged terrorists. It takes expensive and unattainable global solutions off the table. Most important, it makes possible a national conversation about strategy. This is necessary even when the economy is humming, and all the more so in an era of financial constraint.

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The most remarkable thing is that the end came not with a bang, not even with a whimper, but with a whisper. Even those who normally relish attacking the Obama administration for its lack of backbone have not taken much notice of how it has narrowed the focus of the U.S. counterterrorist campaign. Silence greeted the release of the National Strategy for Counterterrorism. The Great Recession, the boomless economic recovery, and fears of a “double-dip” recession probably account for this. Not only have partisans been fighting their battles on other terrains, but Republicans have been divided over which U.S. interests actually are vital in times of austerity.82 The country’s economic difficulties are not the direct cause of the Obama administration’s break with the terror narrative, and thus with the end of the narrative’s dominance, but they are a permissive cause: by reducing the political costs of challenging the dominant narrative, they made change possible. The terror narrative was certainly not undermined by some great foreign policy failure. If anything, a contributing factor might have been a rare success: the killing of Osama bin Laden by U.S. forces in May 2011. But this seems unlikely. The National Strategy for Counterterrorism, which was published a month later, did not draw attention to its narrowing of the counterterrorist mission, let alone frame it in terms of the difference bin Laden’s death made; if anything, the administration has gone to great lengths to emphasize how little the world has changed after bin Laden’s killing and that the threats to U.S. forces and interests from al Qaeda and its affiliates remain great. While the post-9/11 terror narrative is no longer a background common sense shaping U.S. debate on national security, it has left its mark: the Obama administration has not offered a novel account of 9/11 itself. For Obama, what transpired on 9/11 was not traceable to U.S. foreign policy, and the attacks were the product solely of a murderous ideology. He has repeatedly emphasized that the United States has nothing for which to apologize. Announcing a new strategy for Afghanistan and Pakistan in March 2009, Obama said that “the United States of America did not choose to fight a war in Afghanistan. Nearly 3,000 of our people were killed on September 11, 2001, for doing nothing more than going about their daily lives.” A year later, he told West Point cadets, “The war began only because our own cities and civilians were attacked by violent extremists who plotted from a distant place, and it continues only because that plotting persists to this day.” A year after that, in announcing to the nation the death of bin Laden, Obama reminded his listeners, “The American people did not choose this fight. It came to our shores and



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started with the senseless slaughter of our citizens.”83 Ten years after 9/11, the self-image of the American collective remains that of innocent victim. This is not surprising. Especially for a Democrat, fearful of being tarred as weak on national security, it is not politically attractive to admit to U.S. mistakes abroad, let alone mistakes that led to the deaths of Americans.84 But the persistence of the rhetoric of victimhood in the national narrative has been costly. The attacks of September 2001 could have been a wake-up call for the United States to reexamine its relationships with autocratic Arab regimes and with Israel, its conception of its global role, its spending on defense, its balance between liberty and security, and the growth, in practice, of zones of unchecked executive authority. The national narrative after 9/11 did not encourage, and in fact impeded, self-reflection on the part of the American public. Obama went to Cairo in June 2009 in the quest for “a new beginning,” but that proved impossible in the absence of U.S. acknowledgment of its own misdeeds before 9/11.85 This was not because profuse apologies were crucial to winning over audiences abroad—it often seemed that Obama had them at “hello”—but because a deeper break with the rhetoric of 9/11 victimhood was crucial to reshaping domestic political coalitions. “Whatever we think of the past, we must not be prisoners to it,” declared Obama, yet he was a prisoner of past narratives that continued to hold American audiences.86 Thus the Obama administration’s efforts to pressure the most right-wing Israeli government in twenty years remained half-hearted, as the Netanyahu government successfully mobilized allies in Congress. As a result, the United States was perceived as neither a neutral arbiter nor a trusted ally by either side: Palestinians were frustrated by what they saw as Obama’s timidity, Israelis were deeply skeptical of the president’s commitment to their security and future, and Jewish Americans allegedly began to consider seriously abandoning the Democratic Party. The persistence in the United States of the rhetoric of national victimhood has complicated even the narrowly conceived war on al Qaeda and its affiliates. Experts have long advised the United States to work with local allies in combating al Qaeda, not just because direct military action is costly in blood and treasure, but because only they have the credibility to wage the battle of ideas.87 Finding reliable local allies, however, has been a problem: those willing to work with the United States have often lacked legitimacy, and those who have legitimacy have feared losing it by seeming to be American stooges.88 Under the Obama administration, the United States has not become a more palatable partner, nor is it likely to as long as the United States

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continues to pursue aggressive counterterror under the banner of a war of necessity. In 2009, the Obama administration legitimated its deepening commitment to military operations in Afghanistan in precisely this way. As Obama put it at Cairo, the United States “did not go [to Afghanistan] by choice; we went because of necessity. . . . Al Qaeda chose to ruthlessly murder these people [on 9/11], claimed credit for the attack, and even now states their determination to kill on a massive scale.”89 The enduring narrative of national victimhood has underpinned an aggressive counterterrorism that has been more tactically than strategically successful.90 Al Qaeda has become less popular, but not because of anything the United States has done: rather, like so many other terrorist groups, it too often bit the hands that fed it, by attacking its own population of potential sympathizers.91

Terror’s Legacy Neither the war on terror nor the underlying terror narrative any longer dominates U.S. politics. Yet its legacy lives on. The United States will be coping with the aftermath of wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, legitimated on that narrative foundation, for years to come, and its fingerprints remain on the nation’s national security discourse. While the narrative of victimhood suffers more arrows from critics than it once did, one is hard-pressed to find a political figure willing to question it. And its continued hold has been costly for U.S. foreign policy. The terror narrative did not become dominant because it was the “natural” interpretation of what had transpired on 9/11; nor did its dominance persist, despite the frustrating failures of Iraq, because it objectively depicted the world; nor did the Obama administration break with key elements of that narrative because the world had indeed changed. The rise, decline, and evolution of dominant narratives are, this chapter has argued, the product of politics, and they in turn shape the politics of the possible because what cannot be legitimated often cannot be pursued. Americans should not mourn the demise of the terror narrative’s dominance, but they should reflect upon it—what it made possible, what it foreclosed, and how elements of it endure. The reflective impulse should extend to the question of alternative post9/11 trajectories: How might the U.S. national security narrative have turned out differently after the events of that September morning? Such reflection must be attuned to the politics of the possible: What else could realistically



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have taken place, and when were politics characterized by real constraint and when by relative slack? Notwithstanding the political pressures that Stephen Biddle and Peter Feaver briefly lay out in the conclusion to their chapter, the Bush administration might have offered a very different national security narrative in the days and weeks after that tragic morning of September 11, 2001. However, once it had settled on the terror narrative, which it quickly did, the space for alternatives was eliminated. The door might have opened to a new narrative of national security when the Iraq War stalled—a possibility that Biddle and Feaver do not consider. Braver Democrats might well have parted ways with the terror narrative in 2004 and beyond, rather than genuflect to it. But once leading Democrats took on the Iraq War from the narrative terrain of the war on terror—based on an understandable, if regrettable, political calculus—the door closed once more. When the next chance came with the Great Recession, the Obama administration gingerly stepped through that opening, although one can imagine that an administration less worried about its security credentials might have seized the opportunity for more radical collective self-reflection. Yet the Obama administration’s choices, too, were presumably rooted in a reasonable political calculus, given the president’s low poll numbers and the stagnant economy, to try to keep foreign affairs a relative preserve of domestic political strength, rather than yet another lightning rod. That we can reconstruct and understand these political choices does not mean they were inevitable, let alone right. In the decade since 9/11, there were at least three moments in which America’s leaders could have offered a narrative of national security that looked quite different from the terror narrative.92 When the next moment presents itself, will the country finally fully escape from under the shadow of 9/11? Will its leaders narrate a new world, or will they remain partly enslaved to the old?

Notes I wish to thank Alisha Bower for diligent research assistance. 1.  Elisabeth Noelle-Neumann, The Spiral of Silence: Public Opinion—Our Social Skin, 2nd ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993). 2.  This may seem like a straw man, but it is not. For prominent examples among political scientists, see George C. Edwards III, The Strategic President: Persuasion and Opportunity in Presidential Leadership (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2009); John J. Mearsheimer, “The False Promise of International Institutions,”

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International Security 19, no. 3 (1994–1995): 43; John J. Mearsheimer, The Tragedy of Great Power Politics (New York: Norton, 2001). 3.  Some political scientists have recognized this. In American politics, see David Green, The Language of Politics in America: Shaping Political Consciousness from McKinley to Reagan (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1987); Mark A. Smith, The Right Talk: How Conservatives Transformed the Great Society into the Economic Society (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2007); Stephen Skowronek, Presidential Leadership in Political Time: Reprise and Reappraisal (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2008), chap. 1. In comparative politics, see James C. Scott, Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1990); Lisa Wedeen, Ambiguities of Domination: Politics, Rhetoric, and Symbols in Contemporary Syria (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999). In international relations, see Michael C. Williams, Culture and Security: Symbolic Power and the Politics of International Security (Oxford: Routledge, 2007); and, from a very different perspective, see Chaim Kaufmann, “Threat Inflation and the Failure of the Marketplace of Ideas: The Selling of the Iraq War,” International Security 29, no. 1 (2004). 4.  Stuart Hall, The Hard Road to Renewal: Thatcherism and the Crisis of the Left (London: Verso, 1988), 8. 5.  Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass (London: J.M. Dent & Sons, 1954 [1865]), 185. 6.  Erik Ringmar, Identity, Interest and Action: A Cultural Explanation of Sweden’s Intervention in the Thirty Years War (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), chap. 3. See also Janice Bially Mattern, Ordering International Politics: Identity, Crisis, and Representational Force (New York: Routledge, 2005), 12; Maurice Charland, “Constitutive Rhetoric: ‘The Case of the Peuple Québécois,’” Quarterly Journal of Speech 73, no. 2 (1987). 7.  Molly Patterson and Kristen Renwick Monroe, “Narrative in Political Science,” Annual Review of Political Science 1 (1998): 320–321. See also Celeste M. Condit, “The Functions of Epideictic: The Boston Massacre Orations as Exemplar,” Communication Quarterly 33, no. 4 (1985): 288. 8.  David Brooks, “The Rush to Therapy,” New York Times, November 10, 2009. See also George Lakoff, The Political Mind (New York: Viking, 2008). 9.  Paul Ricoeur, Time and Narrative (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984– 1988); Hayden White, The Content of the Form: Narrative Discourse and Historical Representation (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1987). On causation and narrative, see Frank Kermode, “Secrets and Narrative Sequence,” in On Narrative, ed. W. J. T. Mitchell (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981), 79–80. My understanding of narrative is also informed by, among others, Robert Franzosi, “Narrative Analysis—Or Why (and How) Sociologists Should Be Interested in Narrative,” Annual Review of Sociology 24 (1998); Larry J. Griffin, “Narrative, Event-Structure Analysis, and Causal Interpretation in Historical Sociology,” American Journal of Sociology 98, no. 5 (1993); Patterson and Monroe, “Narrative in Political Science”; Margaret R. Somers and Gloria D. Gibson, “Reclaiming the Epistemological ‘Other’: Narrative and



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the Social Construction of Identity,” in Social Theory and the Politics of Identity, ed. Craig Calhoun (Oxford: Blackwell, 1994); Lawrence Stone, “The Revival of Narrative: Reflections on a New Old History,” Past and Present 85 (1979); Shaul Shenhav, “Thin and Thick Narrative Analysis: On the Question of Defining and Analyzing Political Narratives,” Narrative Inquiry 15, no. 1 (2005). 10.  These are adapted from Jutta Weldes, Constructing National Interests: The United States and the Cuban Missile Crisis (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1999), 13–16; Michael W. Doyle, Ways of War and Peace: Realism, Liberalism, Socialism (New York: Norton, 1997), 22. 11.  For general discussion, including of exceptions, see Ronald R. Krebs, Fighting for Rights: Military Service and the Politics of Citizenship (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2006); Ronald R. Krebs and Patrick T. Jackson, “Twisting Tongues and Twisting Arms: The Power of Political Rhetoric,” European Journal of International Relations 13, no. 1 (2007). 12. Scott, Domination and the Arts of Resistance, 102. 13.  Chaïm Perelman, The Realm of Rhetoric (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1982), 16. 14.  Michael N. Barnett and Raymond Duvall, “Power in International Politics,” International Organization 59, no. 1 (2005): 52–53. 15. Eric Lichtblau, “Antiterror Campaign Made Ashcroft a Lightning Rod,” New York Times, November 10, 2004. For similar statements, see Stuart Croft, Culture, Crisis, and America’s War on Terror (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 38. 16.  On this narrative, see also the treatments in Denise M. Bostdorff, “George W. Bush’s Post–September 11 Rhetoric of Covenant Renewal: Upholding the Faith of the Greatest Generation,” Quarterly Journal of Speech 89, no. 4 (2003); Richard Jackson, Writing the War on Terrorism: Language, Politics, and Counter-Terrorism (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2005); Sandra Silberstein, War of Words: Language, Politics and 9/11 (London: Routledge, 2004); Croft, Culture, Crisis, and America’s War on Terror, 69–73, 84–121. 17.  The theoretical framework and its application to the post-9/11 period are developed at greater length in my book in progress, “Narrative and the Making of U.S. National Security” (University of Minnesota, 2011). 18.  See Dirk Nabers, “Filling the Void of Meaning: Identity Construction in U.S. Foreign Policy after September 11, 2001,” Foreign Policy Analysis 5, no. 2 (2009); Jack Holland, “From September 11th, 2001 to 9-11: From Void to Crisis,” International Political Sociology 3, no. 3 (2009). 19.  John Lewis Gaddis, Surprise, Security, and the American Experience (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004), 80. 20.  See especially Jeffrey E. Cohen, The Presidency in the Era of 24-Hour News (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2008); George C. Edwards III, On Deaf Ears: The Limits of the Bully Pulpit (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2003); Edwards, Strategic President.

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21.  Quoted in Susan A. Brewer, Why America Fights: Patriotism and War Propaganda from the Philippines to Iraq (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 7. See also Michael Novak, Choosing Our King: Powerful Symbols in Presidential Politics (New York: Macmillan, 1974). 22.  See John M. Murphy, “‘A Time of Shame and Sorrow’: Robert F. Kennedy and the American Jeremiad,” Quarterly Journal of Speech 76, no. 4 (1990); John M. Murphy, “‘Our Mission and Our Moment’: George W. Bush and September 11th,” Rhetoric and Public Affairs 6, no. 4 (2003). 23.  On stabilizing rhetoric, see Condit, “Functions of Epideictic”; Yun Lee Too, “Epideictic Genre,” in Encyclopedia of Rhetoric, ed. Thomas O. Sloane (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 255; Patterson and Monroe, “Narrative in Political Science.” 24.  Michael Schudson, “What’s Unusual about Covering Politics as Usual,” in Journalism after September 11, ed. Barbie Zelizer and Stuart Allan (London: Routledge, 2002), 41. 25.  Stephen Hess and Marvin Kalb, eds., The Media and the War on Terrorism (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Press, 2003), 237. 26.  Samuel Kernell, Going Public: New Strategies of Presidential Leadership, 4th ed. (Washington, DC: CQ Press, 2007), 186. 27.  Ian S. Lustick, Trapped in the War on Terror (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006), 15–18, quote at 17. 28.  At most, Bush dismissively alluded to “malicious lies and outrageous conspiracy theories concerning the attacks of September the 11” and to “the propaganda of terrorists”; President’s Radio Address and Address to the United Nations General Assembly, both November 10, 2001. But these were, according to Bush, the narratives that others, outside the United States, promoted, not alternatives with any serious following among Americans. 29.  Jonathan Alter, “Blame America at Your Peril,” Newsweek, October 15, 2001. 30.  Zbigniew Brzezinski, “Confronting Anti-American Grievances,” New York Times, September 1, 2002. 31.  Al Gore, “Iraq and the War on Terrorism,” Commonwealth Club of California (San Francisco), September 23, 2002, www.commonwealthclub.org/archive/02/ 02-09gore-speech.html. 32.  On the history of U.S. counterterrorism, see Timothy Naftali, Blind Spot: The Secret History of American Counterterrorism (New York: Basic Books, 2005). 33.  Arthur Stinchcombe, “Social Structure and Organizations,” in Handbook of Organizations, ed. James G. March (Chicago: Rand-McNally, 1965), 586. 34. The 2002 National Security Strategy is available online at http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/23/world/asia/23obama-afghanistan-speech-text.html?page wanted=all&_r=0. 35.  For accounts downplaying the distinctiveness of the 2002 National Security Strategy, see David M. Kennedy, “What ‘W’ Owes to ‘WW,’” Atlantic Monthly, March 2005; Melvyn P. Leffler, “Think Again: Bush’s Foreign Policy,” Foreign Policy 144 (2004): 22–24; Paul T. McCartney, “American Nationalism and U.S. Foreign Policy



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from September 11 to the Iraq War,” Political Science Quarterly 119, no. 3 (2004); Jonathan Monten, “The Roots of the Bush Doctrine: Power, Nationalism, and Democracy in U.S. Strategy,” International Security 29, no. 4 (2005); Joan Hoff, A Faustian Foreign Policy from Woodrow Wilson to George W. Bush: Dreams of Perfectibility (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007); Gaddis, Surprise, Security, and the American Experience. 36.  For more detailed examinations, see Ronald R. Krebs and Jennifer K. Lobasz, “Fixing the Meaning of 9/11: Hegemony, Coercion, and the Road to War in Iraq,” Security Studies 16, no. 3 (2007); Krebs, “Narrative and the Making of U.S. National Security,” chap. 3. 37.  See chapter 6 in this volume. 38.  This synthesizes David A. Welch, Painful Choices: A Theory of Foreign Policy Change (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2005), chap. 2; Jeffrey W. Legro, Rethinking the World: Great Power Strategies and International Order (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2005). Welch and Legro are both writing about major foreign policy change, but this conventional wisdom is common across many domains. 39.  Peter Beinart, The Good Fight: Why Liberals—And Only Liberals—Can Win the War on Terror and Make America Great Again (New York: HarperCollins, 2006); Will Marshall, ed., With All Our Might: A Progressive Strategy for Defeating Jihadism and Defending Liberty (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2006). See also Tony Judt, “Bush’s Useful Idiots,” London Review of Books 28, no. 18 (2006). 40.  See the brief essays reprinted in Ted Galen Carpenter, Smart Power: Toward a Prudent Foreign Policy for America (Washington, DC: Cato Institute, 2008), esp. 84–90. 41.  See, among others, William J. Dobson, “The Day Nothing Much Changed,” Foreign Policy 156 (2006); Juan Cole, “Think Again: 9/11,” Foreign Policy 156 (2006): 26; Frank Rich, “Whatever Happened to the America of 9/12?” New York Times, September 10, 2006; Lustick, Trapped in the War on Terror; John Mueller, Overblown: How Politicians, the Terrorism Industry and Others Stoke National Security Fears (New York: Free Press, 2006). For a partial break with the terror narrative, see Philip Gordon, Winning the Right War: The Path to Security for America and the World (New York: Times Books, 2007). 42.  James Traub, “Is (His) Biography (Our) Destiny?” New York Times Magazine, November 4, 2007. 43.  See, among others, Bruce Ackerman, Before the Next Attack: Preserving Civil Liberties in an Age of Terrorism (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2006), esp. chap. 1; James Fallows, “Declaring Victory,” Atlantic Monthly, September 2006; Philip B. Heymann, Terrorism, Freedom, and Security: Winning without War (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2003), chap. 2; Michael Howard, “What’s in a Name?” Foreign Affairs 81, no. 1 (2002); Lustick, Trapped in the War on Terror; Mueller, Overblown; Paul R. Pillar, Terrorism and U.S. Foreign Policy (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Press, 2001), 1–10, 97–110. On the political challenges of framing terrorism as crime, see Carol K. Winkler, In the Name of Terrorism: Presidents on Political Violence in the Post–World War II Era (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2005), 203–206.

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44.  Eric Schmitt and Thom Shanker, “U.S. Officials Retool Slogan for Terror War,” New York Times, July 26, 2005. 45.  Demetri Sevastopulo, “Security Chief Decries ‘War on Terror,’” Financial Times, May 28, 2008. See also Mike Nizza, “Thoughts on Tweaking the ‘War on Terror’ Message,” The Lede (New York Times blog), May 29, 2008; “U.S. Aims to Unlink Islamic, Terrorism,” Washington Times, May 7, 2008. 46.  Charlie Savage, “Holder Defends Decision to Use U.S. Court for 9/11 Trial,” New York Times, November 19, 2009. 47.  See, for instance, the comic strip “Doonesbury,” October 16–21, 2006. Early important scholarly assessments include Kaufmann, “Threat Inflation”; Lawrence Freedman, “War in Iraq: Selling the Threat,” Survival 46, no. 2 (2004). 48.  Wesley W. Widmaier, “Constructing Foreign Policy Crises: Interpretive Leadership in the Cold War and War on Terrorism,” International Studies Quarterly 51, no. 4 (2007). 49.  I develop this argument at greater length and apply it to the dynamics of the Cold War consensus, in Krebs, “Narrative and the Making of U.S. National Security,” chap. 5. 50.  The conclusions that follow are based, except where otherwise indicated, on debate transcripts available at www.presidency.ucsb.edu/debates.php (hereafter, Debates). I am grateful to Alisha Bower for collecting and conducting an initial analysis of debate transcripts and candidate speeches. 51.  Andrew J. Bacevich, The New American Militarism: How Americans Are Seduced by War (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005), 15. See also Croft, Culture, Crisis, 44, 219–220. 52.  Howard Dean, “Fulfilling the Promise of America: Meeting the Security Challenges of the New Century,” remarks to the Pacific Council on International Policy, Los Angeles, December 15, 2003, www.crocuta.net/Dean/Dean_Speeches.htm (hereafter, Dean Speeches). See also Wesley Clark in Democratic Presidential Candidate Debate, Manchester, NH, January 22, 2004 (Debates). 53.  “Transcript of Debate between Bush and Kerry,” New York Times, October 14, 2004. 54.  John Kerry, Speech at Temple University, September 24, 2004, www.presiden tialrhetoric.com/campaign/index.html. 55.  Howard Dean, “Restoring American Leadership: A New Direction for American Foreign Policy,” speech to the Council on Foreign Relations, June 25, 2003 (Dean Speeches). See also John Edwards in Vice-Presidential Debate at Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, October 5, 2004 (Debates). 56.  See, for instance, John Edwards in Democratic Presidential Candidate Debate, Manchester, NH, January 22, 2004 (Debates). 57.  Democratic Presidential Candidate Debate, Orangeburg, SC, April 26, 2007 (Debates). 58.  The four possible exceptions were Biden, Edwards, Gravel, and Kucinich. While all four distanced themselves from the war on terror, Biden and (usually) Edwards continued to subscribe to the terror narrative.



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59.  Democratic Presidential Candidate Debate, Los Angeles, January 31, 2008 (Debates). See, similarly, Christopher Dodd, “Understanding the Stakes: The Way Forward in Iraq,” speech delivered at Providence College, Providence, RI, October 12, 2006; Bill Richardson, “A Grand Strategy on Terrorism,” July 27, 2007, 2008election .procon.org/view.resource.php?resourceID=001568. 60.  Barack Obama in Democratic Candidates Forum, Chicago, August 7, 2007 (Debates). See also Obama in Democratic Presidential Candidate Debate, Charleston, SC, July 23, 2007 (Debates). 61.  See Bill Richardson in Democratic Presidential Candidate Debate, Manchester, NH, January 5, 2008 (Debates); Barack Obama, Remarks to the Chicago Council on Global Affairs, April 23, 2007, www.asksam.com/ebooks/releases.asp?file=ObamaSpeeches.ask. Unless otherwise indicated, all quoted or cited speeches by Obama as senator come from this source. 62.  See Dodd, “Understanding the Stakes”; Hillary Clinton in Democratic Presidential Candidate Debate, Manchester, NH, June 3, 2007 (Debates). 63.  See, among many others, Barack Obama, “A Way Forward in Iraq,” speech to the Chicago Council on Global Affairs, November 20, 2006; Obama Remarks at the VFW National Convention, Orlando, August 19, 2008. 64.  Barack Obama, “Moving Forward in Iraq,” speech to the Chicago Council on Foreign Relations, November 22, 2005. 65.  Barack Obama, Remarks at the VFW National Convention, Orlando, August 19, 2008. 66.  Obama, “Way Forward in Iraq.” 67.  Obama, “Moving Forward in Iraq.” 68.  Barack Obama, “A New Strategy for a New World,” remarks delivered in Washington, DC, July 15, 2008. 69.  See, for example, Barack Obama “Non-Proliferation and Russia: The Challenges Ahead,” speech to the Council on Foreign Relations, Washington, DC, November 1, 2005; “The War We Need to Win,” speech to the Woodrow Wilson Center, Washington, DC, August 1, 2006; Remarks at Summit on Confronting New Threats, West Lafayette, IN, July 16, 2008. 70.  Barack Obama, “Energy Security Is National Security,” remarks to the Governors’ Ethanol Coalition, February 28, 2006. See also “Energy Independence: A Call for Leadership,” September 20, 2006 (no location stated); “A New Strategy for a New World.” 71.  Quoted in Gerald F. Seib, “In Crisis, Opportunity for Obama,” Wall Street Journal, November 21, 2008. 72.  Statement on Terrorist Attacks in Mumbai (n.d.), and Announcement of National Security Team, December 1, 2008, change.gov/newsroom. 73.  Inaugural Address, January 21, 2009, www.whitehouse.gov/blog/inauguraladdress/. 74.  See, among others, Remarks in Nomination of Governor Jon Huntsman as Ambassador to the People’s Republic of China, May 16, 2009; Press Conference by President Obama and President Medvedev of Russia, July 6, 2009; Remarks at the

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U.S.-China Strategic and Economic Dialogue, July 27, 2009, www.whitehouse.gov/ briefing-room/speeches-and-remarks. Unless otherwise indicated, all speeches by Obama as president come from this source. 75.  National Security Strategy, 8. See also National Strategy for Counterterrorism (June 2011), 1. 76.  See, for instance, the 2006 National Security Strategy, georgewbush-white house.archives.gov/nsc/nss/2006/sectionI.html; and the 2008 National Defense Strategy, www.defense.gov/news/2008%20national%20defense%20strategy.pdf. 77.  See Remarks on a New Strategy for Afghanistan and Pakistan, March 27, 2009; Address to the Nation on the Way Forward in Afghanistan and Pakistan, December 1, 2009. See also Remarks at the U.S. Naval Academy Commencement, May 22, 2009; Remarks at the National Counterterrorism Center, October 6, 2009; Remarks at U.S. Military Academy at West Point Commencement, May 22, 2010. 78.  Statement by the President, October 29, 2010; May 2010 National Security Strategy, 8. See also Remarks at the National Counterterrorism Center, October 6, 2009. 79.  2006 National Security Strategy, pt. I. 80.  The May 2010 National Security Strategy is more of a transitional document. It is ambiguous regarding the scope of the U.S. counterterrorist mission but frequently gestures toward a broad understanding. 81.  National Strategy for Counterterrorism, June 2011, quotations at pp. 3, 2, presidential letter of endorsement. 82.  See Alex Roarty, “Foreign Policy Opens Fissures in GOP,” National Journal, June 29, 2011; Eli Lake, “All over the Map,” New Republic, July 28, 2011. 83.  Remarks on a New Strategy for Afghanistan and Pakistan, March 27, 2009; Remarks at U.S. Military Academy at West Point Commencement, May 22, 2010; Remarks on the Defeat of Al Qaida Terrorist Organization Leader Usama bin Laden, May 1, 2011. 84.  I have argued elsewhere that there is much precedent for self-flagellation in national narratives and that it may be employed to sustain foreign policies not only of passivity and retrenchment, as in interwar Europe, but also of assertiveness and expansion, as in the case of NSC-68. See Krebs, “Narrative and the Making of U.S. National Security,” chap. 3. 85.  Obama certainly did acknowledge some misdeeds after 9/11: torture, Guantánamo, the lack of coalition building in the lead-up to Iraq. 86.  Remarks on a New Beginning, June 4, 2009. 87.  Daniel A. Byman, “U.S. Counter-Terrorism Options: A Taxonomy,” Survival 49, no. 3 (2007). 88.  On these dynamics, see Arjun Chowdhury and Ronald R. Krebs, “Making and Mobilizing Moderates: Rhetorical Strategy, Political Networks, and Counterterrorism,” Security Studies 18, no. 3 (2009). 89.  Remarks on a New Beginning, June 4, 2009. 90.  This is typical of counterterrorism. See Daniel A. Byman, A High Price: The Triumphs and Failures of Israeli Counterterrorism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011).



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91.  See Audrey Kurth Cronin, “How Al-Qaida Ends: The Decline and Demise of Terrorist Groups,” International Security 31, no. 1 (2006). 92.  Biddle and Feaver, in chapter 2 of this volume, argue that alternative grand strategies (which would have been sustained by alternative narratives of national security) would not have resulted in a world radically different from that the United States confronted in 2011. Yet had the Bush administration not chosen to propound the terror narrative or had it not chosen to extend its logic to Iraq, the United States would not have become embroiled in a decade-long misadventure in Iraq, and it would have enjoyed substantially greater freedom of maneuver with respect to Iran, among a host of other global challenges. Tracing out this counterfactual is well beyond the scope of this chapter, but Biddle and Feaver’s conclusion that the most profound American misstep abroad since Vietnam had minimal consequences not only for American power, influence, and legitimacy but also for the global strategic chessboard strains the bounds of plausibility.

4

Odysseus Prevails over Achilles A Warrior Model Suited to Post-9/11 Conflicts Joseph Soeters

I

n t h i s c h a p t e r , I a d d r e s s , co m pa r e , a n d a s s e s s t w o

particular approaches to military conflict resolution. Even within the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), there are considerable differences in views on how to deal with conflicts and violence in Afghanistan and elsewhere.1 Although it is widely acknowledged among NATO partners that a traditional military approach does not suffice to cope with a situation in which a “whole-of-government approach” is called for, NATO partner nations show remarkable variation in what they actually do on the ground. Sometimes these differences are extreme, sometimes fairly subtle.2 These differences occur because neither politicians nor military commanders really know what works in solving conflicts and reducing violence. Military intervention as a means of conflict resolution is, like management, one big conundrum.3 However, overconfidence and culture-related cognitive limitations (“not being aware that one can see things differently”) are wellestablished phenomena in the world of military operations.4 Conflict resolution is not Newtonian physics or classical chemistry, even if some military commanders or politicians appear to think that it is.5 In order to come to grips with the operational impact of the different approaches to military conflict, I compare the Anglo-Saxon operational style, exemplified by the classical warrior Achilles, with the style of smaller, less ambitious, and less military-oriented nations in Europe and elsewhere, which I liken to the approach of another classical warrior, Odysseus.6 More

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specifically, I compare the British approach to military conflict resolution with the Dutch approach.7 Using a two-by-two case study design, I compare two cases of violence affecting, respectively, the United Kingdom and the Netherlands in the 1970s (the “troubles” in Northern Ireland and the Moluccan actions in the Netherlands), and then I compare the British and Dutch military performance in two dangerous provinces of southern Afghanistan, respectively, Helmand and Uruzgan, during 2006–2010. I chose to compare the operations in Afghanistan with the troubles in Northern Ireland (as well as with the Moluccan actions) because the claim is often heard that, due to their successful experiences in Northern Ireland, the British armed forces could show those of other countries how to act in Afghanistan. The Dutch, the Australians, the Canadians, and even the Americans could, it was ceaselessly asserted, learn from the British. This claim could also be heard earlier, during the operations in Bosnia in the 1990s.8 First, however, I offer a theoretical basis for discussing the four cases, using insights from the study of military ethics and from classical Greek thinking. I use Achilles and Odysseus to represent, respectively, the British and Dutch view of conflicts and possible solutions. I turn then to game theory, mathematics, and experimental social sciences. Recent work in this field, following in the footsteps of Robert Axelrod, has produced considerable knowledge on issues of reciprocity including cooperation and its contrast, adversary behavior. The pattern described as “generous tit-for-tat” has been shown to be the most consistently successful way to succeed in interaction with others. I refer to this research in the two-by-two case analysis. My conclusion argues for a change from the warrior style of military behavior represented by Achilles to a style represented by Odysseus that stresses cooperation as a general principle and resorts to retaliation only as an exception.

Achilles and Odysseus In an illuminating book, Shannon French writes about warrior values in past and present military operations.9 Delving into the history of conflicts and conflict resolution all over the world, she is particularly inspired by the image of Achilles, the warrior of ancient Greece who fought fierce battles over the city of Troy (in today’s Turkey). Achilles represents the fighting hero, the noble, almost godlike man who takes pride in courageous behavior on the



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battlefield, and who endures pain and runs risks for a higher cause, such as the freedom or prosperity of his own country. As a warrior, Achilles acts with discipline, martial prowess, and commitment; he displays anger toward his enemies and deep love for his comrades and friends. Although the behavior of such a warrior is thus based in emotion, it is ruled by explicit standards of proper military conduct. Both expressions of behavior—emotion and disciplined restraint—enable him to punish and kill adversaries in service of a higher cause. Achilles knows that he may get killed himself: he is aware that he risks sacrificing his own life but, in this view, that is the very moment that the warrior becomes a hero in the memory of others. Like Achilles, warriors must be able to kill. Killing—distinct from murder—is an essential element of the warrior’s life, but for most people, killing is a difficult thing to do.10 It can be done in an ethically and mentally sound way only by a warrior who knows who the enemy is. Warriors need to be trained both technically and mentally to kill. Such preparation relies on a simplification of reality: seeing the “others” who must be killed as simply evil and wrongdoing, and sometimes even as less than human, explicitly or implicitly. This approach also depends upon the existence of a code of conduct to prevent serious mishaps, excessive bloodshed, and harm to people who are not the enemy.11 Another warrior image, however, is also found in Greek history and mythology: Odysseus, too, is a hero, but he is a warrior whose personal goal is to avoid fighting and, if fighting is inevitable, to make military campaigns as short as possible.12 Odysseus acts on his own or with only a few men around him, finding his way in a myriad of dangers and risks of all kinds. He partners and cooperates with strangers, both male and female, when this seems useful. Odysseus employs cleverness; for example, he binds himself to the mast of his ship in order to keep himself from being seduced by attractive dangers that could destroy him. But Odysseus, too, is capable of ruthless killing when it cannot be avoided or as revenge.13 Interestingly, Shannon French does not extensively refer to the image of Odysseus in her elaboration on the values of the warrior. That is probably because Odysseus acts mostly on his own and because he is more an adventurer than a warrior. As he finds his way through the hazards of life in ancient Greece, Odysseus does not rely on war to deal with problems, dangers, and conflicts. Instead, he relies on wisdom, skill, “cunning intelligence,” prudence, and craftiness.14

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The image of Odysseus may be very useful, however, in the analysis of conflict resolution, as may be derived from James Scott’s analysis.15 Pointing out that most large-scale attempts by states to improve the human condition have failed, Scott analyzes a few such cases: Soviet collectivization, the planning of high modernist cities such as Brasilia in Brazil, attempts at the “scientific” taming of nature by the plantation of large-scale forests and farms in many regions in the world, and compulsory villagization in Tanzania, which was a massive attempt to settle most of the country’s population in villages whose layouts were wholly planned by officials of the central government. Scott ascribes these failures of state intervention to what he calls “state simplifications”: such projects depend too much on abstract state-created knowledge, technical rationality of presumed universal application, centralization, and authoritarian intervention. More effective, argues Scott, are approaches that take advantage of local experience and practical knowledge “acquired . . . in responding to a constantly changing natural and human environment.” Scott points to Odysseus as the exemplar of the successful user of such practical knowledge; his quality of metis enables him “to shape the behavior of partners and opponents to his own ends.” Metis implies being smart in a practical way, able to be patient, to renounce and suppress one’s own impulses.16 This quality is more important than the centralized, state-created application of general principles and logics of action involved in the large-scale failures that Scott describes. Applying Scott’s analysis to military issues yields useful insights. For example, many military operations resemble his schema of state simplifications (“with us or against us”); they rely on a simplified logic of war (“invade and conquer”); and they deploy warriors like Achilles. In such military operations, the actors believe that they know for certain the essential foe they must try to kill: it seems to be a matter of technical rationality only. Not that many military operations make use of the logic of metis exemplified by Odysseus. This approach would rely on small steps, favor reversibility, plan on using surprise, and presume human inventiveness.17 These distinctions between Achilles and Odysseus can illuminate the differences between military operations conducted by the UK and those of the Netherlands. At the heart of the distinction is that Great Britain is one of those “countries where war belongs to the miserable but nonetheless more or less accepted consequences of life,” whereas the Netherlands is a country “where they are totally opposed to” war.18 Evidence is not hard to find. For



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example, even the most modest of bookshops in the UK has shelves filled with books on military history. In the Netherlands, by contrast, military books are only available in specialized bookstores. In the UK, the English noun “war” is in common usage, with references to the waging of war, war studies, warfare, and warriors. By contrast, the Dutch view such words with suspicion, particularly as they relate to the Netherlands itself. Although the Netherlands Defence Academy has a department of War Studies, its name, in the Dutch language, uses for the word “war” an old-fashioned word krijg, instead of the current term oorlog. This peculiar choice of words seems to have been chosen to avoid negative connotations. Krijg is a word that barely anyone knows, let alone uses these days. The Dutch, in other words, pride themselves on being not warriors but traders and preachers; they want to be more like Odysseus, less like Achilles. They view their recent history through this lens. An example is decolonization operations in the former colony of Indonesia after World War II, where the Dutch were relatively quick (even if not so quick in the eyes of the Indonesians) to discover the futility of their “police actions” (again we see the reluctance to use the word “war”). These operations lasted three to four years, from 1945 to 1946 until, under international pressure, the Netherlands ceded its claims on Indonesia in 1949. Present-day Dutch people view the “policing actions” in their former colony as a shameful black page in the national history book, in particular because the Dutch operations caused so many indigenous people to lose their lives. This history can be compared with decolonization operations in neighboring Malaya, the former British colony, which began around 1948 and lasted until 1960. Even now, British military practitioners and academics, echoed by American analysts such as John Nagl,19 express admiration for British actions in Malaya and their purported success in suppressing the communist uprising in the country. Many academics and practitioners consider these operations to be models for the current operations in Iraq and Afghanistan. Yet, they overlook the controversial nature of the British actions of that period: forcing population groups to move to so-called “New Villages,” “food destruction operations,” “brutal air operations,”20 “intimidating the population through indiscriminate violence,”21 and using “coercion and enforcement” to incite fear among population groups, particularly the rural Chinese.22 Today we might call these war crimes, or nearly so. The prevailing admiration for the British operation also overlooks the fact that it took Malaya twelve years

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to become independent in 1960; by contrast, Indonesia took only about four years, gaining independence by 1949. The UK thus continues its tradition of being a “warrior nation”23 —more Achilles than Odysseus—in its operations in Iraq and Afghanistan. It initiated the missions by deploying large-scale resources. The idea, endorsed by the U.S. government, was that the job would be dealt with quickly. The Dutch, by contrast, were later to join in both Iraq and Afghanistan, less visible on the scene, and quicker to withdraw most of their troops. Like Odysseus, they sought ways to avoid violence if possible, and once there, sought to use local knowledge—not always successfully—to tailor their plans to the immediate situation so as to accomplish the desired ends. The Dutch find it difficult even to think about invading a country and waging a war, let alone to discuss or decide upon such steps.

Game Theory and Experimental Social Science Before we continue our discovery of different military styles, it seems wise to take a step back, or reculer pour mieux sauter, as the French say, and examine the implications of some theoretical work on our discussion. If we regard conflict as the opposite of cooperation, academic work from the field of mathematics and experimental social science becomes highly interesting. The mathematical political scientist Robert Axelrod studied the so-called tit-fortat strategy, which can be used to understand the emergence of cooperation and of solutions to problems of adversity and hostility.24 It can also be used to understand the continuance and aggravation of conflicts. Axelrod’s theory on the evolution of cooperation suggests three rules for the interactions of two parties.25 First: “never be the first to act badly”; second: “do what the other did before”; third: “include elements of forgiveness in striking back.” The second rule implies that one can keep on being nice, if the other party is being nice, which in fact is the continuation of the first rule. But if the other party stops being nice, for instance, by attacking or deceiving, one should strike back: tit-for-tat. If one does not strike back, the “sucker’s alternative” remains the only option, and one will continue to be deceived, punished, or attacked. Hence, retaliation is important to stop the bad behavior of the other party. Clearly, then, tit-for-tat is not a prescription of pacifism. However, striking back entails the risk of getting into a spiral of escalating violence because the other party is not likely to hesitate to retaliate in turn. It



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is for this reason that the third rule advises incorporating elements of forgiveness in retaliation, by striking back less, perhaps, or later, and always in the context of realistic, attainable goals in negotiating with the opponent. Since Axelrod published these insights, there has been much more work in this field. Mathematical biologist Martin Nowak has pursued Axelrod’s work with a number of studies. He finds that cooperation, altruism, positive interaction, and generosity are useful to solve problems and conflicts.26 This sounds idealistic, but it is based on mathematical analyses and experimental results. In numerous simulations and studies, Nowak and his colleagues have demonstrated the most effective sequence for conflict resolution: sanctions or retaliation should be mild for a first violation, but they should be stricter in response to repeated violations or attacks. They incorporate Axelrod’s third rule in a strategy that they called generous tit-for-tat.27 This strategy says that the best way to solve a conflict is to refrain occasionally from striking back and occasionally to forgive a violation or attack. This, however, should be done on the basis of randomness, not certainty: the opponent should never be able to predict or count upon forgiveness because offering such certainty would undermine the strategy. However, occasional forgiveness adds to the positive reputation of the one who can let bygones be bygones. Additionally, Nowak and his colleagues discovered that in situations from which one cannot escape (in methodological argot “repeated measures”), costly punishment is not a winning strategy, nor does it promote public cooperation. In such games and experiments, rewards are far more effective than punishments.28 Moreover, cultural differences complicate the effect of punishments in these games and experiments. In the United States and the United Kingdom, punishment of antisocial behavior is seen as fair, whereas in other societies, such as Russia and modern-day Greece—perhaps favoring Achilles over Odysseus?—punishment is more likely to lead to further antisocial behavior based on seeking retribution and revenge, showing others who is boss.29 The 2009 Nobel Prize winner Elinor Ostrom and her colleagues did a series of experiments to study whether people in a community can manage themselves, despite the possibility that some people may misbehave such as by not paying taxes or by abusing others’ property. They conclude that: Covenants, even without a sword, have some force, while swords without a covenant may be worse than the state of nature. Best of all conditions we examined

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are the covenants with an internal sword, freely chosen or made available as an institutional option.30

In order to be able to achieve this state, the actors must have sufficient information and a forum where they can discuss their joint strategies, including plans for implementation, monitoring, and sanctioning. The conclusions of Ostrom and her colleagues challenge the prominent idea that people can only be managed through the intervention of a major power holding a sword. Their conclusions and those of Nowak and other scientists contradict the notion that conflicts must usually or always be solved by use of external force, applied by warriors who punish and kill. This research is of considerable heuristic value in studying the four cases.

Two-Times-Two Cases: Achilles and Odysseus at War The first two cases that I present go back to the late 1960s and early 1970s.31 I compare the so-called troubles in Northern Ireland with the Moluccan terrorist acts in the Netherlands. Some would argue that these cases cannot be compared because of the enormous differences in the number of casualties (over 3,500 versus 16), in the number of wounded (over 40,000 versus 15), and in the duration of the conflicts (more than thirty years versus nine years).32 But both cases concern violent intranational conflicts in Western Europe that started in the same decade; 33 both have a colonial history; and in each, a third country looms in the background (respectively, the Republic of Ireland and the Republic of Indonesia). As such, the two cases are quite comparable, more similar in fact than other—sometimes famous—comparative studies in the field of conflict and military studies. It is the difference in results—in terms of casualties and duration—that must be explained.34 The Troubles in Northern Ireland The story of the troubles in Northern Ireland starts in the late 1960s, after a long series of violent developments in the decades before.35 Northern Ireland, also referred to as Ulster, is an area in the north of the Irish isle that remained part of the United Kingdom when Ireland became an independent republic in 1921. The British chose to keep this region due in part to its harbors and industries, but the better-known reason is that, over the preceding centuries, Protestants who had migrated there from England and Scotland remained loyal to the United Kingdom. The British sought to make sure that the Protes-



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tants would not be dominated by the Catholics, who constituted the majority in the Republic of Ireland but the minority in Northern Ireland. In the 1960s—the era of emerging civil rights movements—the Catholic minority in Northern Ireland became increasingly dissatisfied with their subordinate position in terms of jobs, housing, and political influence. Evidence of discrimination was no less than appalling, but the root of the problems in social and political policies was neglected by the administration in London. Groups of Catholic protesters went into the streets to voice their grievances and also in reaction to the folkloristic/political Orange Marches of the loyalist Protestants, which passed close by Catholic residential areas. As the atmosphere deteriorated, violence erupted: people threw stones and Molotov cocktails and set houses on fire, leading to the inevitable vicious cycles of contra-violence and contra-contra-violence. Eventually people who lived in the “wrong” neighborhoods were driven from their homes. The major cities of Ulster—Belfast and Londonderry/Derry—became war zones. A number of places became dangerous “no-go” areas. The British government was slow in responding, regarding the upheaval as a local problem and reluctant to recognize the social and political content of the problems. In response to the violence in the streets, it deployed British troops for peacekeeping in August 1969.36 At first, the troops were welcomed by Catholic as well as Protestant citizens of Northern Ireland. But the good atmosphere quickly deteriorated. The people of Northern Ireland were introduced to curfews, barbed wire, bayonets, tear gas, massive internments without trial, house searches with forced entry (“hard knocks”), and the heavy-handed relocation of Catholic families. The presence of the Black Watch regiment from Protestant Scotland—perceived to be biased—did little good. Military units were not a match for the type of action that was needed or appropriate in the streets of Belfast and Londonderry. Paratroopers, for example, cannot help with riot control, but they were conspicuously present on “Bloody Sunday” in January 1972: thirteen unarmed people were killed as British soldiers applied tactics learned during earlier colonial wars. In Malaya, Kenya, and Aden, however, there had been no cameras and press to record everything. The British stepped up the military pressure in Operation Motorman, a large-scale military undertaking that involved the deployment of more than 25,000 troops, the area’s largest British show of force in the twentieth century. This operation put an end to the fighting and upheaval in the streets;

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instead began the long war of terrorist activities by the Irish Republican Army (IRA), countered by the military with orders to “shoot to kill.” The hostilities endured for over thirty years, causing thousands of deaths and tens of thousands of injuries and permanent disabilities, including suffering inflicted on many “unintended or wrongful” targets.37 IRA snipers and bombers killed nearly 1,000 British soldiers in this period. The British soldiers, not surprisingly, came to see their opponents as bandits, criminals, and even as urban warriors, comparable to foes on the battlefield.38 The troubles had turned into a long war. Gradually, in the 1990s, the British army began to adapt its operational style in the region, and the London government offered political reforms and economic development. This led to a peace agreement in 1998. Yet, even today, the area still is not calm or free from occasional killings. The Moluccan Troubles in the Netherlands Another case of intranational violence, the Moluccan troubles of the early 1970s in the Netherlands, also has a history going back to a colonial past.39 During the late 1940s in the current Republic of Indonesia, soldiers from one indigenous population group, from the Moluccan islands in the eastern part of the archipelago, sided with the Dutch military in their policing actions against the independence movement. After the Republic gained independence in 1949, the Moluccans tried but failed to establish their own republic. Since their future in Indonesia looked unpromising, some 12,500 people— about 4,000 soldiers and their families—decided to migrate to the Netherlands starting in 1950. Nevertheless, they still cherished the wish to go back someday to their own independent “Republic of South Moluccas.” However, the newly established Republic of Indonesia unrelentingly opposed this ambition. The Netherlands had little influence on this position, but even so the lack of Dutch support caused resentment among the immigrants. The immigrant Moluccans stayed at first in isolated encampments in the Netherlands and, later, in residential areas that were isolated from traditional Dutch neighborhoods. During the first decades of their stay, the older Moluccan generations remained calm, focusing on their ambition to go back some day. The Dutch government tolerated actions such as the wearing of military uniforms during ceremonial gatherings. In the 1960s and 1970s, however, as civil rights movements emerged all over the Western hemisphere, the younger generation got impatient and became radicalized. Inspired by terrorist attacks



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in other countries and even in the Netherlands (where the Japanese Red Army took hostages at the French embassy in The Hague in 1970), young Moluccan immigrants went into action themselves. On August 31, 1970, armed Moluccan activists forcibly entered and occupied the residence of the Indonesian ambassador in the Netherlands. They took thirty-five hostages and killed a police officer on guard. After one day of negotiating, the activists surrendered. In response to this event, the government ordered a raid, using helicopters and small armored vehicles, on one of the Moluccan camps. This show of force and an effort to arrest suspected activists was deeply resented by the Moluccan community. Additionally, statements by Dutch politicians discouraging their ambition to establish an independent free Republic of South Moluccas further agitated the young activists. Their frustration grew with the declaration of independence of Surinam, another former Dutch colony, in 1975. Further dramatic and sometimes violent actions by Moluccan activists in the Netherlands followed: train hijackings in 1975 and 1977, the occupation of the Indonesian Consulate-General in Amsterdam accompanying the first train hijacking, hostage taking at a primary school in 1977, and the occupation of a Provincial Government House in the north of the country in 1978. In these dramas, dozens of hostages were endangered, including children at the school, and the Moluccan activists executed a number of people. Altogether, sixteen people lost their lives in those years, including six Moluccan activists who were killed during the forcible liberation of the occupied train in 1977. The government, at first taken by surprise by these terrorist acts, gradually developed what became known as the “Dutch approach.” This approach involves, first, “talking them out” and then, if inevitable, “shooting them out.”40 During the first actions, for example, the government hired psychologists to start negotiating in a respectful manner with the hijackers. This sometimes took days or up to three weeks. By the 1977 train hijacking and the 1978 occupation of the Provincial Government House, however, there was less patience. After negotiations, both actions ended with governmental use of force. In 1977, the government attacked the occupied train with fighter jets and Special Forces from the Marine Corps. Such breathtaking military action inside the country was both a relief and a shock. Despite occasional tensions, there has been no more manifest violence since the quick take-over of the Provincial Government House by Dutch security forces in 1978.

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It is remarkable that the Dutch government never declared war in response to these and other terrorist attacks; it always took a rather moderate public posture.41 During the years of sometimes violent Moluccan activism, the government went to great lengths to try to understand what was going on in the Moluccan community and sought to address the social and economic roots of the problems. A number of measures were taken. To address labor-market issues, the Dutch government initiated educational programs, job skills training, and job creation plans for unemployed Moluccan young adults. In the area of social policies, housing support and help for drug addicts was developed. To address cultural issues, a Moluccan Historical Museum was founded, and the government made available broadcast time for Moluccan radio and television. One of the most remarkable measures was the organization of “homeland visits” by key leaders and other representatives of the Moluccan community in the Netherlands, paid for by Dutch taxpayers. The Moluccan leaders returned from their trip having seen for themselves that the idea of independence in their homeland was no longer a viable ambition.42 With rare exception (the 1977 killing of the six activists in the occupied train), the Dutch government and society did not seek to inflict punishment but made attempts to understand, to help, and to support instead. Preliminary Conclusions  Admittedly, the Moluccan troubles were easier to solve because the Moluccan community is fairly small (today about 60,000 people, less than 0.4 percent of the Dutch population). In contrast, Catholics constitute almost 40 percent of the population in Northern Ireland. As we know from conflict theory, the numerical distribution has a large influence on the resolution of conflicts: two opposing blocs of approximately equal size make conflict resolution difficult.43 Moreover, a third party played different roles in the two cases: Indonesia made it clear from the outset that it totally opposed the Moluccan actions because these were contrary to the Indonesian interest in keeping their nation whole. By contrast, although the Irish republic has never formally interfered in the troubles in Northern Ireland, many Irish people both inside and outside the republic (for example, in the United States) provided support for the terrorist actions, both financially and at times also by the smuggling of weaponry.44 Other outsiders, however, did try to mediate. Nonetheless, the outcomes in the two cases were very different, and the approach of the two governments to these violent uprisings was also differ-



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ent. In Northern Ireland, the British politicians neglected the problems, while allowing the army to follow a “warrior” approach—strike after strike after strike—that fueled the conflict and violence to an enormous degree. In contrast, the Dutch politicians and armed forces followed an approach that might have been recommended by Axelrod, Nowak, and the other cooperation theorists: it involved “being nice,” “striking unexpectedly, and striking more strictly if offenses are repeated,” and “forgiving.” This approach was developed in practice, as the Dutch government muddled and stumbled through, but the resulting approach and its success were very similar to what later researchers would discover experimentally. Thus, Odysseus in the Netherlands outperformed Achilles in Northern Ireland. What do we find when we turn these lessons to southern Afghanistan? The British “COIN Machine” in Helmand, Southern Afghanistan (2006–2010) Helmand is a “far tougher nut to crack” than any other province in Afghanistan, say Theo Farrell and Stuart Gordon, leading analysts of the British military experiences in Afghanistan.45 They suggest that the rural province of Helmand is probably the most dangerous, the most challenging, region in southern Afghanistan because of its borders with Pakistan, its flourishing poppy culture, which leads to criminal violence, the ideologically inspired violence of the Taliban, and the tribal violence of warlords. However, the region was relatively quiet militarily after the fall of the Taliban, as American troops found prior to the British entry in the province in 2006.46 Like other British military analysts, Farrell and Gordon compared the British experience, in this case in Helmand, with the experience of U.S. forces, in this case in the eastern part of Afghanistan.47 Comparisons are rarely if ever made between British armed forces and those of other nations, even those whose situation is more directly relevant. In this case, a comparison of the British in Helmand would be more appropriate with the forces operating at that time in neighboring provinces, that is, Canada in Kandahar and the Netherlands in Uruzgan. Therefore, we undertake such a comparison between the British experience in Helmand and the Dutch experience in Uruzgan. Although there was public criticism in Britain, the government faced no real obstacles to British participation in the operations in Iraq and in Afghanistan. Both operations were consistent with traditional UK views of military

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operations by the country’s armed forces. The British participated in both missions in Afghanistan, the coalition-wide International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) and the U.S.-led Operation Enduring Freedom (OEF). Whereas ISAF was geared toward the stabilization of the country, OEF essentially aimed at chasing and killing opposing forces and terrorists, particularly the Taliban. British troops, entering the province in 2006, at first experienced an optimistic and calm start in Helmand, but the warrior-type approach practiced in OEF quickly started to color the operations of the British troops in Helmand.48 As events developed, these operations would involve the British in the heaviest fighting they had experienced since the Korean War. The emphasis came to be military defeat of the enemy, rather than stabilization and development. There were a number of major combat and sweep operations (“clearance operations”) and continuous dispersed offensive actions at the company level. In these operations, many houses were destroyed, local populations displaced, villages and cities turned into ghost towns, and there was considerable collateral damage from aerial bombing and use of firepower from a distance.49 The local population was not always warned prior to military action because the British military did not want to alert the Taliban. Even though the British claimed that their style was different from the U.S. approach, which utilized the bombing and strafing of villages, a former British captain declared that the British troops “behaved exactly like” the Americans. Such actions prompted a fresh influx of Taliban fighters from the madrassas in Pakistan, as well as the recruitment of large numbers of local villagers to the Taliban side. The violence pushed bystanders and accidental opponents to become foes, as the British came to be seen as Afghanistan’s historic enemies bent on revenge.50 In the first years of the British deployment (2006–2007), engagements with enemy forces increased from 537 per six-month brigade tour (16th Brigade’s tour starting May 2006), to 821 (3rd Brigade’s tour starting October 2006), to 1,096 (12th Brigade’s tour starting April 2007). A large number of these were “preemptively” initiated or provoked by the British troops. On the Taliban side, there were ever-rising body counts.51 Although this war of attrition increased the violence substantially, and even though there were no enduring security improvements such as holding ground, the British operations were not useless: they led to the weakening of Taliban forces and, particularly, of the Taliban’s leadership (located and targeted through their telephone



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communication networks).52 As force-on-force engagements declined as a result, the Taliban resorted instead to the use of improvised explosive devices (IEDs) and road bombs, which were not much less deadly. However, attacks and “real” combat had become less frequent. Since 2008, there has been a gradual shift in emphasis in the British operations. The traditional brigades deployed at first adhered to conventional military practices, showing martial prowess in battle. Since 2008, however, British operations became more population centric and less kinetic. Influence operations, based on supporting host nation governance structures, became more important. Provincial Reconstruction Teams, which could not operate while fighting was going on, became more active. With an increase in the number of civil servants and other civilians, who in the first years had been virtually absent, their influence became more prominent.53 Such an approach could begin to work because of the weakening of the Taliban, the integration of the Afghan National Army, and the availability of considerably larger numbers of British troops. The arrival of an unconventional, newly established brigade and its staff helped to realize the shift in attention. Traditional hard combat power to defeat Taliban field forces, however, is still a crucial element of the British operations.54 The situation in Helmand has not really settled down. The “Dutch Approach” in Uruzgan, Southern Afghanistan (2006–2010) The leading Dutch role in Uruzgan—the largest Dutch military mission since the colonial policing actions of the 1940s—was disputed from its very beginning, in Dutch politics and in Dutch society at large. There have been three rounds of decision making. The first decision was at the beginning of the mission in 2006; a second decision, in 2008, prolonged the mission for two more years. The third decision in 2010 resulted in the end of the military mission and also brought down the government then in power. Because the political partners in government could not agree on a further prolongation of the Dutch military mission in Afghanistan, the government resigned at the beginning of 2010.55 This was an indication of the decline in the mission’s societal and political support, which had been only lukewarm from the beginning. Since war is almost a taboo word in Dutch society and fighting is not a highly valued activity, the mission could not be “sold” as a fighting or combat mission. The notion of a “reconstruction mission” was just barely acceptable, but the debate over a combat mission versus a reconstruction mission

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c­ ontinued until the end.56 Because of this debate, Dutch participation was limited to ISAF; the participation of its ground forces in Operation Enduring Freedom was explicitly precluded.57 In addition, any reference to the Dutch mission as a counterinsurgency (COIN) operation was controversial because of the term’s negative connotations from the Dutch colonial past.58 It was in such a political and ideological fog that the Dutch mission in Uruzgan both started and ended. This situation may have been a disadvantage, but it may have resulted in positive effects as well. The province of Uruzgan has always had the reputation of having complicated tribal structures and rivalry. It is also known as the cradle of Taliban leadership.59 In 2006, Hamid Karzai reportedly told the Dutch foreign minister that, “Uruzgan is the most unruly province in the country, housing people who still have connections to the Taliban.”60 The Soviets, during their time in Afghanistan, were reluctant to operate in this “unruly” region. Because of this situation, the first years of Dutch military leadership in Uruzgan were dominated by the core military operations of the Dutch Battle Group. Less emphasis was placed on the reconstruction activities of the Dutch Provincial Reconstruction Team during that first period, but there were such activities from the very beginning of the mission. In a number of military operations, the Taliban were chased off, but due to the small number of Dutch troops, it proved to be difficult to hold ground. It took time and some learning experiences before the Dutch began to take such measures as installing checkpoints and patrol bases after the opposing forces had fled and starting reconstruction activities immediately after the fighting. With such steps, the situation gradually became more stabilized, particularly in the southeastern part of the province.61 Even so, from time to time, the fighting was fierce, but it was more restrained, more reactive, more limited, less frequent, and less dispersed than in the neighboring provinces of Helmand, Kandahar, and Zabul where British, Canadian, and American troops, respectively, were in command. For example, the Dutch Battle Group regularly warned the local population of upcoming operations by use of loudspeakers and pamphlets dropped from aircraft. The Dutch also kept the governor of Uruzgan informed of operations in advance.62 The Battle Group’s commanders believed that the opposing forces consisted predominantly of local peasant rivals, not hardcore Taliban. It was their ambition not to alienate such people from the Dutch military.



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“The more local fighters we kill, the deeper the conflict will be.”63 The Dutch commanders thus showed a practical grasp of the local political dimension of the violence, worthy of comparisons to Odysseus. Comparatively, the Dutch did not very often use long-distance artillery fire, and, when they did, they issued warnings to the local population. In one instance, the battle of Chora, where things went wrong and dozens of civilian casualties resulted from a lack of fire correction from local observers, it was immediately criticized and judicial investigations in the Netherlands resulted.64 All in all, the local population had more sympathy with the Dutch soldiers than with the troops from Australia or the United States, who were also operating in this region but in a far more aggressive way (possibly contaminating the more cautious approach of the Dutch).65 Gradually, until the end of the Dutch military mission in Afghanistan in 2010, reconstruction and civilian aspects of the mission in Uruzgan increased in importance. These efforts produced satisfactory results. Several evaluation reports concluded that the situation in the province had improved considerably, citing concrete developments in agriculture, health care, education, entrepreneurship, media, the construction of roads, the number of nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), and the presence of women in public life. There were also considerable developments in the training of Afghan security forces and in the Dutch engagement with key local leaders. When the Dutch left the area, Uruzgan was seen as one of the few provinces in southern Afghanistan where positive developments had occurred.66 As of early 2012, however, the situation there remains somewhat precarious, and not all corners of the region are safe. Preliminary Conclusions  The absolute number of casualties among the British troops in Afghanistan was 33 in the period from 2001 to 2006, rising to 585 in the four years from 2007 to 2010. The increase in casualties in Helmand between 2008 and 2010 was a staggering 266 percent (obviously this figure is also related to the increment of troops deployed). In Uruzgan in the same period, the number of casualties increased at a considerably lower pace, by only 27 percent (from 2008 to 2010). On average, during the period from 2007 to 2010, the British lost 3.71 percent of troops deployed (304 from an average deployment of 8,196). During the same period, the Dutch had a much lower casualty rate of 1.33 percent (21 out of averagely 1,583 troops deployed).

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The increase in the number of attacks on NGOs in Helmand between 2008 and 2010 was 272 percent, with an average of 0.74 attacks per 1,000 inhabitants during the period 2008–2010. In Uruzgan, the corresponding figures in this period were lower, increasing to 224 percent, with a total of just 0.48 attacks per 1,000 inhabitants. The British seemed to have more success than the Dutch in efforts to eradicate the poppy culture; in Helmand, the number of hectares devoted to poppy cultivation was reduced by 37 percent in 2010, compared to 2008, whereas the corresponding reduction in Uruzgan was only 26 percent.67 Thus, except perhaps for the reduction of poppy cultivation,68 the results in unruly Uruzgan have been more positive than in Helmand, which before the British arrival had been militarily quiet since the fall of the Taliban.69 In other words, the war-fighting approach in Helmand produced considerably smaller gains in security than the cautious Dutch approach.70 If it would be exaggerated to deem the British operation in Helmand “a losing campaign,” it was at best a “stalemate,” in which “neither side could progress much without the introduction of more . . . troops.”71 This sounds like the words that were used to characterize the conflict in Northern Ireland for decades.

Discussion and Conclusion In comparing the operational styles of the British and the Netherlands armed forces, I do not mean to fault the one while praising the other. They are examples, perhaps not even perfect examples, of types of conflict resolution represented by Achilles and Odysseus. Achilles dominates the military culture and ideals not only in the United Kingdom but also in many other nations in the world. The so-called Dutch approach probably is not uniquely Dutch, as its caution, modesty, and restraint can be seen in the conduct of armed forces of other countries as well.72 That the Dutch military approach is not always the most effective is indicated by another black page in Dutch military history: Srebrenica in Bosnia in the 1990s. A British-Dutch case comparison would be possible here as well, since a British battalion secured the “safe area” of Gorazde in much the same manner as a Dutch battalion of similar size tried to protect the safe area of Srebrenica. The Bosnian Serb Army attacked both of these safe areas in July 1995, but only in Gorazde did they meet with some resistance. The British force fought back for two hours, firing 1,600 rounds of ammunition.73 The



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Dutch did not do anything like this. The commander of the Bosnian Serb Army, Ratko Mladic, decided not to continue his attack on Gorazde and concentrated his attack on Srebrenica instead. We may never know what influenced his decision, but it is not unlikely that resistance by the British troops played a role. If so, this would validate the game-theoretic insights discussed earlier in this chapter: if one party does not resist an attack, it will be seen as a “sucker” whose fate (or, as at Srebrenica, the fate of the people it tries to protect) will become even worse. Striking back is part of the repertoire to reduce conflicts. Here, the cautious, modest approach of the Dutch may have been too cautious and too modest, when it meant doing little or nothing to resist the attacker. This comparison reminds us that the optimal approaches to creating security and resolving conflicts must strike a balance between too little and too much use of violence. In this chapter I looked for variations in operational styles, and I have sought to show how different styles affect conflict resolution. Conflict resolution in practice remains an important puzzle: in conflicts and military operations, too many lives and resources are at stake to neglect this question. The two-by-two case study design allowed for comparisons within and between missions, leading to an all-over conclusion not in the positivist way but more modestly as a guided theoretical framework for future studies.74 Examining the Northern Ireland and Helmand cases, it is striking to see the emphasis on conventional, traditional military tactics and the relative neglect of the social and political dimensions of the tensions. In Ulster, the British military pursued the sorts of colonial practices that had been used in Kenya and Aden; in Helmand, the British military conducted air-assault operations as if they were again fighting the battle of Arnhem in World War II.75 Such a “one approach fits all” solution is obviously an oversimplification of reality. Only with time was there a change in approach, but it came too little and too late. The warrior reflex—“cracking on,” proactive, even provocative, “cando,” lacking in modesty—was a catalyst of cycles of violence as it turned bystanders and accidental opponents into essential foes. Comparing the Moluccan and Uruzgan cases, we see core military operations too, but from the very beginning they were embedded in a broader approach that also considered the context of the conflict. In both cases, the violence used by opponents was regarded as an expression of larger social, political, and economic problems that needed to be addressed. Contextualization and the ambition to quell the violence by addressing the roots of the

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conflict were important elements of the Dutch approach. Hence, military actions were reflective and reactive, rather than offensive; they were limited in time, restrained, not very frequent, and involved serious efforts to take the interests of ordinary citizens into account. Consequently, much less violence resulted on all sides. Comparing the two-by-two cases, we see that the “warrior reflex” modeled on Achilles is especially counterproductive where there is only a thin line between who is—or could be—a friend or a foe, as is the case in almost all of post-9/11 conflicts. Such conflicts require the reflection of Odysseus rather than the warrior reflexes of Achilles. The world must free itself from the almost romantic admiration for the “war” and “warrior” concept so deeply rooted in the military and political culture of many nations, and instead strive to adopt the strategic cunning, practical wisdom, intelligence, and patient prudence of Odysseus.

Notes 1.  I am not questioning the effectiveness of military interventions such as in Afghanistan per se. A number of authors do. See, for example, Jan Angstrom, “Inviting the Leviathan: External Forces, War, and State-Building in Afghanistan,” Small Wars and Insurgencies 19, no. 3 (2008): 374–396. See also Rory Stewart and Gerald Knaus, Can Intervention Work? (New York: Norton, 2011). 2.  Joseph Soeters and Tibor Szvircsev Tresch, “Towards Cultural Integration in Multinational Peace Operations,” Defence Studies 10, no. 1–2 (2010): 272–287. 3.  See, for instance, Kersti Larsdotter, “Exploring the Utility of Armed Force in Peace Operations: German and British Approaches in Northern Afghanistan,” Small Wars and Insurgencies 19, no. 3 (2008): 352–373. Larsdotter argues that it still is unproven whether small (“minimum force”) or more robust, larger patrols (“show of force”) are more likely to improve safety in Afghanistan. As to the many “inescapable” conundrums of managing, see Henry Mintzberg, Managing (Harlow, UK: Prentice Hall, 2009), 157–193. 4.  D. D. P. Johnson, Overconfidence and War: The Havoc and Glory of Positive Illusions (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004). 5.  Of course, a number of developments in military theory go beyond simple linear thinking. Important for the thoughts in this chapter has been D. Kilcullen, The Accidental Guerilla: Fighting Small Wars in the Midst of a Big One (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009). 6.  For a description of varying European ways of military operating, see Pascal Vennesson, Fabian Breuer, Chiara de Franco, and Ursula C. Schroeder, “Is There a European Way of War? Role Conceptions, Organizational Frames and the Utility of



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Force,” Armed Forces and Society 35, no. 4 (2009): 628–645. Discussing the impact of national culture on the development of doctrines is Elizabeth Kier, Imagining War: French and British Military Doctrines between the Wars (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997). 7.  I described differences in military and operational culture between the American and Dutch forces in Joseph Soeters, “Afghanistan Talks: Experiential Isomorphism in the Military,” in Armed Forces and Conflict Resolution: Sociological Perspectives, ed. G. Caforio, G. Kümmel, and B. Purkayastha (Bingley, UK: Emerald, 2008), 139–156. 8.  Military colleagues from the Netherlands Defence academy who served in Bosnia under British command report having heard this assertion over and over again. At conferences and other academic meetings, the supposed analogies between Northern Ireland and southern Afghanistan, including an expected duration of the operations of about forty years, were stressed ceaselessly. See, for example, Frank Ledwidge, Losing Small Wars: British Failure in Iraq and Afghanistan (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2011), 4; and Andrew Mumford, The Counter-Insurgency Myth: The British Experience of Irregular Warfare (London: Routledge, 2012), 147. There were also many references to the British experiences in Malaya in the 1950s. 9.  Shannon E. French, The Code of the Warrior: Exploring Warrior Values Past and Present (Oxford: Rowman & Littlefield, 2003), especially chaps. 1 and 2. 10.  Randall Collins, Violence: A Micro-Sociological Theory (Princeton, NJ: Prince­ ton University Press, 2008). 11.  But such a code of conduct may not be sufficient. After his friend Patroclus died, Achilles went—so to speak—berserk, as he was overwhelmed by “the full fury of his grief and anger on the field of battle,” and for a time displayed the “power of his passion and frenzy.” C. J. Mackie, “Achilles in Fire,” Classical Quarterly 48, no. 2 (1998): 329–338, esp. 336 and 337. 12. French, Code of the Warrior, 35. 13.  One only has to refer to the massacre of the young men after Odysseus’ return home. See Jonathan Gottschal, The Rape of Troy: Evolution, Violence, and the World of Homer (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008), particularly chap. 8. 14. French, Code of the Warrior, 59–60. Some excerpts from the Iliad may be illustrative (trans. Stephen Mitchell, New York: Free Press, 2011). Helen, the daughter of Zeus, says of Odysseus that he is resourceful and knows all kinds of tricks and cunning (3.193–194). It is Odysseus who is charged to oversee delicate diplomatic missions (1.311 and 3.314). Even Athena called on Odysseus for his diplomatic skills. She called on him to calm the Greek warriors who were ready to bolt, relying on his “gentle words” to encourage them (2.169). Achilles, in contrast is the great warrior, ready for the battlefield, where he is at this best (16.61–70). There is no compromise in him to resolve differences among warriors without a fight. 15.  James C. Scott, Seeing Like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condition Have Failed (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1998), especially chaps. 9 and 10. The following quotations are from 313 and 315.

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16.  The latter characterization is from Horkheimer and Adorno who, long before Scott, praised the model of Odysseus as relevant for the understanding of the Enlightenment. Max Horkheimer and Theodor W. Adorno, Dialectic of Enlightenment: Philosophical Fragments (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2002), 35–62, particularly 43, 45, and 262. In the original text the word metis is known as polumetis (the very shrewd one, one who has many thoughts). 17. Scott, Seeing Like a State, 345. 18.  Bert Wagendorp, “Krijger” (Warrior), De Volkskrant (Amsterdam), July 14, 2011, 2. For a more balanced but basically similar message, see Jan van der Meulen and Joseph Soeters, “Dutch Courage: The Politics of Acceptable Risks,” Armed Forces and Society 31, no. 4 (2005): 537–558. 19.  John A. Nagl, Learning to Eat Soup with a Knife: Counterinsurgency Lessons from Malaya and Vietnam (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002); David H. Ucko, “The Malayan Emergency: The Legacy and Relevance of a Counter-Insurgency Success Story,” Defence Studies 10, no. 1–2 (2010): 13–39. 20. Nagl, Learning to Eat Soup with a Knife, 75. But for a more critical view, see Mumford, Counter-Insurgency Myth, particularly chap. 2; and Benjamin GrobFitzgibbon, Imperial Endgame: Britain’s Dirty Wars and the End of the Empire (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), particularly 231–233, 327. 21.  Huw Bennett, “Minimum Force in the British Counterinsurgency,” Small Wars and Insurgencies 21, no. 3 (2010): 459–475. Quotations are from 461. 22.  Ucko, “The Malayan Emergency,” 19. This state coercion and intimidation, sweeps, cordon and search, widespread detention, and large-scale deportation notably characterized the first period, until early 1950; see Karl Hack, “Everyone Lived in Fear: Malaya and the British Way of Counter-Insurgency,” Small Wars and Insurgencies 23, no. 4–5 (2012): 671–699, 674, 680–682. 23.  Michael Paris, Warrior Nation: Images of War in Popular Culture, 1850–2000 (London: Reaktion Books, 2000). 24.  Robert Axelrod, The Evolution of Cooperation (New York: Basic Books, 1989). This book is based on, and elaborated in, numerous articles in academic journals. An example is Robert Axelrod and William D. Hamilton, “The Evolution of Cooperation,” Science 211 (1981): 1390–1396. 25.  Along with Axelrod’s own book, for an easy-to-understand description, see Joseph Soeters, Ethnic Conflict and Terrorism: The Origins and Dynamics of Civil Wars (Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 2005), chap. 10. 26.  Martin Nowak (with Roger Highfield), SuperCooperators: Evolution, Altruism and Human Behaviour or, Why We Need Each Other to Succeed (Edinburgh: Canongate, 2011). The elaboration of the “generous tit-for-tat” strategy can be found in chap. 1. For a similar result based on computational experiments (but not directly connected to Nowak’s work), see Michael G. Findley and Joseph K. Young, “Fighting Fire with Fire? How (Not) to Neutralize an Insurgency,” Civil Wars 9, no. 4 (2007): 378–401. 27.  Steven Pinker, in The Better Angels of Our Nature: The Decline of Violence in History and Its Causes (London: Allen Lane, 2011), 535, suggests that contrite tit-for-tat is more discriminating in its forgiveness and, hence, even better in conflict resolution.



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28.  Anna Dreber, David G. Rand, Drew Fudenberg, and Martin A. Nowak, “Winners Don’t Punish,” Nature 452 (2008): 348–351; David G. Rand, Anna Dreber, Tore Ellingsen, Drew Fudenberg, and Martin A. Nowak, “Positive Interactions Promote Public Cooperation,” Science 325 (2009): 1272–1275. 29.  Simon Gächter, Benedikt Hermann, and Christian Thöni, “Antisocial Punishment across Societies,” Science 319 (2005): 1362–1367. 30.  Elinor Ostrom, James Walker, and Roy Gardner, “Covenants with and without a Sword: Self-Governance Is Possible,” American Political Science Review 86, no. 2 (1992): 404–417; quotation from 414. It may be worthwhile to recall that the 2012 Nobel Prize for Economics is again awarded to game theorists—Lloyd S. Shapley and Alvin E. Roth—applying their insights to practical problems and again stressing the importance of positive human traits such as honesty. 31.  I am aware that the external validity of these case comparisons is not warranted per se. Yet, as Rueschemeyer argues, cases can have considerable theoretical validity, such as, for instance, Robert Michels’s iron law of oligarchy based on one single case study has shown. Dietrich Rueschemeyer, “Can One or a Few Cases Yield Theoretical Gains?” in Comparative Historical Analysis in the Social Sciences, ed. James Mahoney and Dietrich Rueschemeyer (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 305–336. 32.  This rough comparison is based on Joshua Levine, Beauty and Atrocity: People, Politics and Ireland’s Fight for Peace (London: Collins, 2010); Beatrice de Graaf, Theater van de Angst: De Strijd tegen het Terrorisme in Nederland, Duitsland, Italië en Amerika (Theater of Fear: The Struggle against Terrorism in the Netherlands, Germany, Italy and America) (Amsterdam: Boom, 2010); and Martijn Rasser, “The Dutch Response to Moluccan Terrorism, 1970–1978,” Studies in Conflict and Terrorism 28 (2005): 481–492. 33. The 1960s, during which rather sudden rises of violence in all aspects of society across the globe could be observed; see Pinker, Better Angels, 106–116. 34.  In methodological terms, this comparison is a “rather similar systems design”; see A. Przeworski and H. Teune, The Logic of Comparative Social Inquiry (New York: Wiley, 1970). An example of an international comparison in military studies is the famous book by Nagl, Learning to Eat Soup with a Knife. Another example of comparison in military studies is Peter Lieb, “Suppressing Insurgencies in Comparison: The Germans in the Ukraine, 1918, and the British in Mesopotamia, 1920,” Small Wars and Insurgencies 23, no. 4–5 (2012): 627–647. A final example is the comparison between fighting the Italian Mafia and organized crime in Jamaica: H. Johnson and J. Soeters, “Jamaican Dons, Italian Godfathers and the Chances of a ‘Reversible Destiny,’” Political Studies 56 (2008): 166–191. 35.  This section is based on Levine, Beauty and Atrocity, as well as David Mc­ Kittrick and David McVea, Making Sense of the Troubles: The Story of the Conflict in Northern Ireland (Chicago: New Amsterdam Books, 2002). There is ample academic work on the origin of the troubles in Northern Ireland; see, for example, Christopher Hewitt, “Catholic Grievances, Catholic Nationalism and Violence in Northern Ireland during the Civil Rights Period: A Reconsideration,” British Journal of Sociology

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32, no. 3 (1981): 362–380; and corresponding debates in that journal. See also Mumford, Counter-Insurgency Myth, particularly chap. 5; and Christopher Tuck, “Northern Ireland and the British Approach to Counter-Insurgency,” Defence and Security Analysis 23, no. 2 (2007): 165–183. 36.  The following is based on A. Edwards, “Misapplying Lessons Learned? Analysing the Utility of British Counterinsurgency Strategy in Northern Ireland, 1971– 76,” Small Wars and Insurgencies 21, no. 2 (2010): 303–330; Sjef Orbons, “Non-Lethal Weapons: Peace Enablers or Troublesome Force? Assessing the Role of CS and Baton Rounds in the Northern Ireland Conflict,” Small Wars and Insurgencies 22, no. 3 (2011): 467–494; Rod Thornton, “Getting It Wrong: The Crucial Mistakes Made in the Early Stages of the British Army’s Deployment to Northern Ireland (August 1969 to March 1972),” Journal of Strategic Studies 30, no. 1 (2007): 73–107. See also Mumford, Counter-Insurgency Myth, chap. 5; Tuck, “Northern Ireland and the British Approach to Counter-Insurgency.” 37.  See Mumford, Counter-Insurgency Myth, 107; and Tuck, “Northern Ireland and the British Approach to Counter-Insurgency,” 173. 38.  Ken Wharton, A Long, Long War: Voices from the British Army in Northern Ireland 1969–1998 (Solihull, UK: Helion, 2008). 39.  For this case description I made use of de Graaf, Theater van de Angst; and Rasser, “Dutch Response to Moluccan Terrorism, 1970–1978.” See also Koos Dalstra, “The South Moluccan Minority in the Netherlands,” Contemporary Crises 7 (1983): 195–208; Alexander Schmid, “Countering Terrorism in the Netherlands,” in Western Responses to Terrorism, ed. Alexander Schmid (London: Cass, 1993), 79–109; Hans van Amersfoort, “The Waxing and Waning of a Diaspora: Moluccans in the Netherlands, 1950–2002,” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 30, no. 1 (2004): 154–174; and Froukje Demant and Beatrice de Graaf, “How to Counter Radical Narratives: Dutch Deradicalization Policy in the Case of the Moluccan and Islamic Radicals,” Studies in Conflict and Terrorism 33, no. 5 (2010): 408–428. 40.  Fridus Steijlen, “To Talk Them Out, Is to Talk Them Out, Is to Shoot Them Out, Is to . . : A Critical Analysis of the ‘The Dutch Approach’ to Moluccan Terrorists,” Netherlands Journal of Social Sciences 37, no. 1 (2001): 38–51. 41.  Cyrille Fijnaut, “Political Violence and the Police Response in the Netherlands,” Journal of Conflict Studies 12 (Fall 1992): 57–66. 42. This section is predominantly based on Rasser, “Dutch Response to Moluccan Terrorism, 1970–1978”; and Demant and de Graaf, “How to Counter Radical Narratives.” 43. Soeters, Ethnic Conflict and Terrorism, 37; see also Donald L. Horowitz, Ethnic Groups in Conflict (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985), 182. 44. Mumford, Counter-Insurgency Myth, 118. 45.  Theo Farrell and Stuart Gordon, “COIN Machine: The British Military in Afghanistan,” Orbis (Fall 2009): 665–683; Theo Farrell, “Back from the Brink: British Military Adaptation and the Struggle for Helmand, 2006–2011,” in Fighting the Afghanistan War, ed. T. Farrell, F. P. B. Osinga, and J. A. Russell (Stanford, CA: Stanford



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University Press, 2013), 93–113. See also Anthony King, “Understanding the Helmand Campaign: British Military Operations in Afghanistan,” International Affairs 86, no. 2 (2010): 311–332; Anthony King, “Operation Herrick: The British Campaign in Helmand,” in Statebuilding in Afghanistan: Multinational Contributions to Reconstruction, ed. Nik Hynek and Péter Marton (London: Routledge, 2012), 27–41; Stephen Grey, “Cracking on in Helmand,” Prospect, August 27, 2009; and Anthony King, “Why We Are Getting It Wrong in Afghanistan,” Prospect, September 4, 2009. For a very critical assessment of the British performance in Helmand, see Ledwidge, Losing Small Wars. 46.  Theo Farrell, “Improving in War: Military Adaptation and the British in Helmand Province, Afghanistan, 2006–2009,” Journal of Strategic Studies 33, no. 4 (2010): 567–594, particularly 574. The characterization of Helmand as militarily quiet since 2001 is based on King, “Understanding the Helmand Campaign,” 314; Ledwidge, Losing Small Wars, 64; and Warren Chin, “British Counter-Insurgency in Afghanistan,” Defense and Security Analysis 23, no. 2 (2007): 201–224, particularly at 218, where Chin says that “before the British deployed to Helmand province, senior military officers did not perceive the Taliban to be a real threat. Even a former Taliban minister referred to the movement as a ‘spent force.’” 47.  See Farrell and Gordon, “COIN Machine.” 48. King, “Understanding the Helmand Campaign,” 314–315; Chin, “British Counter-Insurgency in Afghanistan,” 219. 49.  See King, “Understanding the Helmand Campaign”; Chin, “British CounterInsurgency in Afghanistan”; and particularly Ledwidge, Losing Small Wars, who is extremely critical of the frequent use by the British troops of distant fire by air power and artillery. 50.  For this description see Tom Coghlan, “The Taliban in Helmand,” in Decoding the New Taliban: Insights from the Afghan Field, ed. A. Giustozzi (London: Hurst & Company, 2009), 119–153, specifically 129–130. See also Farrell and Gordon, “COIN Machine,” 671 and 674; Bennett, “Minimum Force in the British Counterinsurgency,” 467; and Stuart Gordon, “The United Kingdom’s Stabilization Model and Afghanistan: The Impact on Humanitarian Actors,” Disasters 34, no. 3 (2010): S368–S387, particularly S374. And again, see Ledwidge, Losing Small Wars. 51.  Farrell, “Improving in War,” 577–578; King, “Understanding the Helmand Campaign.” Chin, “British Counter-Insurgency in Afghanistan,” 221, gives astonishing numbers for the quantities of ammunition consumed in just three months. 52.  Coghlan, “Taliban in Helmand,” 139, 145, and 151. 53.  King, “Understanding the Helmand Campaign,” 319–321. See also Farrell, Back from the Brink, 96ff. 54.  Farrell, “Improving in War,” 585–588; also see Gordon, “The United Kingdom’s Stabilization Model and Afghanistan.” 55.  Jan van der Meulen and Mirjam Grandia, “Brussels Calling: National Politics under International Pressure,” in Mission Uruzgan: Collaborating in Multiple Coalitions for Afghanistan, ed. Robert Beeres, Jan van der Meulen, Joseph Soeters, and Ad Vogelaar (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2012), chap. 2. This volume sheds

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light on the various aspects of the Dutch Uruzgan experiences. See also Martijn Kitzen, Sebastiaan Rietjens, and Frans Osinga, “Soft Power, the Hard Way: Adaptation by the Netherlands’ Task Force Uruzgan,” in Fighting the Afghanistan War, ed. T. Farrell, F. P. B. Osinga, and J. A. Russell (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2013), 134–159. 56.  George Dimitriu and Beatrice de Graaf, “The Dutch COIN Approach: Three Years in Uruzgan, 2006–2009,” Small Wars and Insurgencies 21, no. 3 (2010): 429–458. 57.  In fact, Dutch air force units (F-16s and Apaches) contributed to OEF’s operations in response to requests to support ground troops of other nations that needed assistance. 58.  Dimitriu and de Graaf, “Dutch COIN Approach,” 434. 59.  Martine van Bijlert, “Unruly Commanders and Violent Power Struggles: Taliban Networks in Uruzgan,” in Giustozzi, Decoding the New Taliban, 155–178. More recently, Taliban leadership has moved to Kandahar. 60.  Emiel de Bont, Onder Taliban en krijgsheren: Nederland en de oorlog in Afghanistan (Among Taliban and War Lords: The Netherlands and the War in Afghanistan) (Amsterdam: Nieuw Amsterdam, 2011), 190. 61.  Dimitriu and de Graaf, “Dutch COIN Approach,” 439–444. 62. Ibid., 440. 63.  Joeri Boom, Als een nacht met duizend sterren: Oorlogsjournalistiek in Uruzgan (Like a Night with a Thousand Stars: War Journalism in Uruzgan) (Amsterdam: Uitgeverij Podium/BKB, 2010), 116. 64. Ibid., 195. See also Deedee Derksen, Thee met de Taliban: Oorlogsverslaggeving voor beginners (Tea with the Taliban: War Journalism for Beginners) (Breda: de Geus, 2010), 117 and 123. 65. Boom, Als een nacht met duizend sterren (Like a Night with a Thousand Stars), 243–244; and Derksen, Thee met de Taliban (Tea with the Taliban), 140 and 143–145. 66.  Sebastiaan Rietjens, “Between Expectations and Reality: The Dutch Engagement in Uruzgan,” in Nik Hynek and Péter Marton, Statebuilding in Afghanistan, 65–87. Also Sebastiaan Rietjens, Joseph Soeters, Jacqueline Heeren-Bogers, and Christiaan Davids, “Taking Stock: The Social Construction of Effectiveness,” in Beeres et al., Mission Uruzgan, chap. 20. 67.  Marion Bogers, Robert Beeres, and Irene Lubberman-Schrotenboer, “Dutch Treat? Burden Sharing in Afghanistan,” in Beeres et al., Mission Uruzgan, chap. 19; tables are on 273, 275, 276, and 277. 68.  I say “perhaps” because it is not really clear whether eradication of poppy culture is more conducive to creating security and conflict resolution than, as in the predominant Dutch view, interdiction of supplies in (criminal) trafficking. In contrast to eradication, interdiction prevents poor farmers from being targeted, as it only focuses on traders and (criminal) intermediates. See Erik Donkersloot, Sebastiaan Rietjens, and Christ Klep, “Going Dutch: Counternarcotics Activities in the Afghan Province of Uruzgan,” Military Review (September–October 2011): 44–51. 69.  See also Dimitriu and de Graaf, “Dutch COIN Approach,” 444, where they quote the Economist stating in March 2009 that, against the general trend elsewhere, solid results were chalked up in one province: Uruzgan.



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70.  King, “Understanding the Helmand Campaign,” 322, states that British officers were “contrasting the limited goals the Dutch had set themselves in Uruzgan, with relative success, with the very ambitious goals to which the British have been drawn.” 71. Ibid., 311–312, quoting statement of British general Jim Dutton on June 29, 2009. For similar but harsher views, see Ledwidge, Losing Small Wars. 72.  This approach may, for example, apply to the Italian armed forces as well; a British civil servant observed of the Italian and British performance in the Basra region in Iraq: “I found that Dhi Qar . . . , where I believed the closure of our office and the passivity of the Italian troops would lead to inchoate anarchy . . . , had become one of the most secure provinces in Iraq, while Maysan, where the British had fought a prolonged and bloody battle for reform, was highly unstable. The Italian policy of inaction had produced a much better result because it had forced the Iraqis to take responsibility for their own affairs.” Rory Stewart, The Prince of the Marshes: And Other Occupational Hazards of a Year in Iraq (Boston: Harcourt, 2007), 402 (emphasis added). 73.  I received this information from a retired Dutch colonel who was deployed to Sarajevo around that time. The further reasoning and hypothesizing is mine. Jan van der Meulen helped me to become aware of this implication of my argument. The British experiences in Gorazde are under-researched. Another useful British-Dutch case comparison would examine experiences in Iraq, comparing the British in Basra with the Dutch at Al Muthanna (2003–2005). I expect that such a comparison would result in findings similar to those presented here. 74.  Rueschemeyer, “Can One or a Few Cases?” 328–329. 75.  As to how military practices in Northern Ireland stemmed from British experiences in earlier colonial wars, see Levine, Beauty and Atrocity; as to comparisons between the Helmand air assault operations and the Market Garden operation near Arnhem, see King, “Understanding the Helmand Campaign,” 326.

5

What “Success” Means in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Libya Christopher Dandeker

T

his c h a p t er fo c u se s o n t hr ee mil i ta ry in t er v en t i o ns

by the West since 9/11, in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Libya. The differences between the first two, led by the United States, and the Libyan episode, which involved the United States “leading from behind,” reveal how 9/11 and its aftermath altered the kind of military intervention that characterized the first decade after the end of the Cold War. They also show how experience of the past ten years has caused Western governments to change their approach to intervention. I argue, first, that the interventions in Afghanistan and Iraq represent the high-water mark of the Western belief that states can successfully use military force to intervene in the affairs of failed, rogue, or other states to achieve ambitious foreign policy goals. Second, I argue that the difficulties of achieving success in these interventions, even when “success” is modestly defined, have shaken confidence and belief in the value of intervention among Western political and military elites and publics. That loss of confidence has been reinforced since 2008 as the global debt crisis has created pressure for sharp curtailment of defense spending. Third, I argue that although military interventions will continue, they will be different from those of the past two decades and more like the Libyan example of 2011. Military interventions— whether arising from Western strategic imperatives where existential or territorial interests are at stake or from the humanitarian “responsibility to protect” people who are threatened by their own governments—are likely 116



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to be much more restrained and discretionary. The organization of Western military establishments will be transformed to achieve more modest and realistic objectives. States will rely on a mix of hard and soft power, reflecting both economic pressures and the constraints of a public skeptical that the sacrifices of military interventions are worthwhile.

Post–Cold War Western Military Interventions: Before and after 9/11 Two of the most important consequences of 9/11 were the military interventions in Afghanistan and Iraq. President George W. Bush said, as events unfolded on September 11, 2001: “Sounds like we have a minor war going on here; I heard about the Pentagon. We’re at war . . . somebody’s going to pay.”1 When responding to the 9/11 attacks, the United States, along with its allies and coalition partners, used force in pursuit of a mix of security policy goals, both punitive and restorative. In Afghanistan, the goals were, first, punitive retribution against those who had launched the attacks against the United States or had provided havens for the planning of those attacks. Second, after the defeat of the Taliban regime, there was an attempt—still continuing after a decade of war—to eliminate the safe haven for terrorism by providing the political and social basis for a functioning polity in Afghanistan that would not pose a threat to the West or its regional interests. In this sense, the West has pursued a tactic of restorative as well as retributive justice: it is trying to attract the various constituencies of Afghanistan into a set of institutional arrangements based on nonhostile views of the West and away from an acceptance of terrorism as a legitimate tactic. The calculation was that creation of some kind of functioning democracy in Afghanistan, together with a successful market economy, would be in the interests of both Afghanistan and the West. In the case of Iraq in 2003, there was also a mix of political motives. The U.S.-led coalition sought to punish Iraq’s repeated refusals to comply with UN resolutions, in ways that were much more forceful and ambitious than had been applied during the preceding decade. The coalition’s 2003 intervention lacked the level of international legitimacy, including a UN resolution specifically authorizing force, which the elder President Bush had so assiduously cultivated in the period leading up to the 1991 military operation that ejected Iraqi forces from Kuwait. To use a phrase coined by Tony Blair, the events of

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9/11 altered the “calculus of risk,” due to fears of the spread of weapons of mass destruction (WMD) from Saddam’s Iraq (or other rogue states) to nonstate terrorist actors.2 The West’s preemptive and unilateralist action sought justification in terms of the new calculus of risk, but it was far from commanding universal assent; public opinion in the UK, for example, was sharply divided.3 This action involved not only a more assertive military response to Iraq’s noncompliance with UN resolutions but also an ambitious attempt to use force, along with political and other mechanisms of reconstruction, to change the regime into a functioning democratic polity that would not threaten the West or harbor those who wished to use terror to do so. The neo-conservative goal was “draining the swamp” by using force against the underlying causes of the terror attacks of 9/11 and not just the symptoms.4 The events of 9/11 triggered more ambitious forms of military intervention in Afghanistan and Iraq than any in the decade following the end of the Cold War. The first Gulf War of 1991 had reflected a commitment by the United States and its allies and coalition partners to rely on UN authorization to pursue the limited goal of ejecting Iraq from Kuwait in order to reestablish the status quo ante. It was a forceful and optimistic expression of the rules of a purported “new world order.” The 1990s were an era in which military interventionism increasingly reflected humanitarian impulses, in addition to strategic interests or realpolitik. Both governments and public opinion, at least some segments of it, argued that states could and should “do something” to alleviate suffering and make the world a better place. During that first post– Cold War decade, interventions in Cambodia, Bosnia, Kosovo, Sierra Leone, and East Timor were key examples, while the genocide in Rwanda in 1994 became infamous as a counterexample of Western government inaction.5 Optimism and moral conviction were tempered by the practical difficulties arising from trying to achieve humanitarian success through military means. Some were more successful than others, such as Sierra Leone in 1999, Cambodia from 1990 to 1992, and East Timor in 1999. More troublesome were the episodes in Somalia in 1992 and Kosovo in 1999, the latter representing unfinished business stemming from the difficulties of securing international peace and security following the wars arising from the breakup of the former Republic of Yugoslavia in the mid-1990s.6 The less successful cases exposed the problem of how a military intervention could help engineer a robust central state able to achieve and maintain a monopoly on the legitimate means of violence. The cases of Kosovo,



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Bosnia, East Timor, and, possibly, Libya illustrate the need for intervening forces, whether under the auspices of the UN, the European Union (EU), or the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), to establish an interim capability to allow for the process of establishing a state monopoly of legitimate force. However, this is a problem that cannot be solved quickly, and it can be expected to test the resources—including the patience—of governments and voters of the intervening states. A further consideration is the complex issue of judging what constitutes a successful case of military intervention. For example, it might be argued, as does Taylor Seybolt, that only about half of such humanitarian interventions in the post–Cold War decade were successful. He relies on the criterion of the number of lives saved, compared with what could reasonably be supposed to have occurred had intervention not taken place.7 Judged by other measures, such as the establishment of political order (including the monopolization of legitimate force), a lasting peace, reconciliation amongst conflicting parties, and establishment of basic democratic political processes, the results are even less impressive. Since 1999, only Sierra Leone could be regarded as a real success.8 The mixed record of a decade of intervention tempered the early post– Cold War optimism. However, the moral conviction to persevere in the face of such difficulties was reinforced by the humanitarian idea of the “responsibility to protect” (R2P). This idea evolved from a key recommendation of an independent commission in 2001 and was endorsed by the UN General Assembly in October 2005.9 A decade after the events of 9/11, it continues to be a principle of the international order: states have a responsibility to protect their own citizens and, if they do not, may be subject to intervention by other states relying on just war principles and UN authority. The idea of R2P in effect institutionalizes “conditional sovereignty” in the international system.10 Both before and after 9/11, states considering or engaging in military interventions have had to contend with how to balance strategic factors with moral or humanitarian considerations, as well as how to achieve success. Key issues for the U.S.-led coalition efforts in both Afghanistan and Iraq were, first, the difficulty of sustaining a humanitarian or R2P narrative and, second, in spite of devoting enormous resources to the enterprise, the difficulty of achieving their ambitious objectives. In both cases, the difficulties have continued even though the objectives and the criteria for success have been redefined in less ambitious terms. In Libya, by contrast, initially modest objectives, established

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by two European states rather than by the United States, and inspired largely by R2P, were expanded, even though resources to achieve them were not increased proportionately. Some analysts have sought to provide an explanatory framework to make sense of the challenges involved in the past two decades of military intervention and how they have been managed. Of particular value is The Utility of Force by General Sir Rupert Smith.11 His professional experience, with British and multinational forces in Bosnia and subsequent conflicts, led him to distinguish between what he calls “industrial war” and “war amongst the people.”12 In wars amongst the people, Smith says, a lesser and more malleable goal of success—or what he later termed a satisfactory “security condition”—is all that can be realistically expected, even after the expenditure of enormous amounts of treasure and blood.13 The wars amongst the people that Smith examines, including Afghanistan and Iraq (from 2003 to 2005) as well as Bosnia and Kosovo, contrast with what Smith calls industrial war. In the latter case, the strategic use of armed forces can produce a decisive outcome against another state or states by defeat of the opposing forces, resulting in a settlement on terms that are favorable to the successful side and accepted by the losers as a basis for an enduring peace.14 Smith believes that, in contrast to the industrial wars of the past, wars amongst the people will be the dominant strategic reality of the future for Western states (although one may ask whether he has underestimated the likelihood of industrial wars in the coming decades and the need to plan to deter or fight them). Potential interveners will face serious challenges in defining and achieving success. These challenges will include setting goals that are realistic in terms of the time and resources that intervening states are willing to devote to the cause. Another challenge will be how to construct persuasive narratives to generate support for the missions amongst domestic and other audiences.15

Iraq and Afghanistan: Mission Accomplished? The UK and the United States have withdrawn their armed forces from Iraq and are on their way to the exit from Afghanistan.16 The plan is for their withdrawal to be complete by the end of 2014. Other states that participated in the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF), such as the Dutch and the Canadians, have already left. France decided in early 2012 to withdraw be-



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fore 2014, thus before the United States and UK plan to do so.17 Despite the much-heralded success of the Petraeus-orchestrated “surge,” political stability in Iraq remains fragile. In the last year of the U.S. military engagement there, the level of disorder and violent insurgency was at worrying levels; for example, in August 2011 there were “reports that violence in Iraq [was] on the upswing.”18 Also, there were new U.S. casualties right up until the withdrawal of the U.S. forces. Thus in both Iraq and Afghanistan, for all the effort expended, “victory” remains a chimera. Military and political effort is now devoted to obtaining the security conditions for withdrawal that can be presented in a narrative whose principal messages are: “we were not defeated”; “we are engaged in on-going support of the states that have been partially reconstructed as a result of our decade of intervention”; and “our support is political, cultural and diplomatic but not military.” This narrative was hard to sustain during the intervention in Iraq, and is even more so as a retrospective narrative now that the mission has been terminated rather than accomplished. Indeed, this was one of the reasons why some political commentators and sections of the Republican Party, as well as the U.S. military, had pressed for keeping something like 20,000 troops in Iraq to help sustain the Iraqi state and the stability of the delicate settlement amongst the three main groupings (Shia, Sunni, and Kurdish). However, neither the Iraqi government, nor the U.S. administration heading into an election year, nor the U.S. public would support it.19 Meanwhile, a surge of extra troops for Afghanistan was announced after a lengthy review of options during the second half of 2009. The surge had been designed to emulate the progress achieved by the surge in Iraq, although in much more difficult conditions. The hope had been that the surge could provide military as well as political momentum to establish a position from which the United States could begin a process of withdrawal beginning in July 2011. This, in turn, could allow an exit of sorts in 2014. Obama’s vision, expressed in his June 22, 2011, speech, is that “these long wars will come to a responsible end” (emphasis added).20 This idea of a “responsible end” is worth exploring further.21 It provides an opportunity to consider broader questions of Western strategy on military intervention; below, its implications for the design of the armed forces will be discussed. The idea of a responsible end to the post-9/11 long wars is a political expression of what Smith called a security condition; it constitutes recognition of the impossibility of victory in the traditional sense.22 President Obama’s

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speech outlined the political (or security) condition hoped for by 2014: the surge in Afghanistan was meant to reverse the momentum of the Taliban and provide a basis for the Afghan security forces to defend their own country. It was also meant to ensure that neither Al Qaeda nor a “spin-off” fragment would have a base from which to mount future operations against the United States or its friends and allies. But it will not be easy to destroy radical elements of the Taliban while at the same time involving some Taliban elements in the future of the Afghan polity. The problem is compounded by the fact that the Afghan polity suffers from chronic corruption; this raises questions about the viability of the entity with which the United States will seek to develop an enduring partnership once most U.S. forces have withdrawn.23 In all of this, much depends on the political definition of defeat and success. An unambiguous defeat would involve a Taliban return to power and the collapse of U.S. political will to continue the campaign, along with clear signs of a return to the status quo ante, with a Taliban-fragmented polity providing shelter to Islamist groups inimical to Western interests. A minimum condition of success would be an autonomous state that, if not a full-fledged democracy, might be able to guarantee its own security and refrain from being a threat to its neighbors or to Western states (such as by allowing or encouraging the use of Afghan territory for armed groups able to create such threats). However, political corruption, the dispersal of authority in the large and often inaccessible spaces of the territory, and divisions within Afghanistan, as well as the interests of neighbors such as Pakistan and India, make such a scenario of stability unlikely. Thus, there is an argument for a significant residual U.S. or coalition military presence to support the Afghan polity in the midst of this unstable set of conditions. This would require a narrative that spoke of sustaining the successes achieved up to the point of major troop withdrawals at the end of 2014 and of clear signs of improved stabilization. However, it would be hard24 to sustain this as a success with Western public opinion, which is already displaying fatigue with regard to this campaign. However all this may be, the goal is to have U.S. forces moving from combat to support and training roles, a process that will supposedly be complete by 2014. Even if this is successful, President Obama’s June 2011 speech was careful to specify a backup to his proposed exit strategy, reflected in the long-term and expensive assets that have been built in Afghanistan, especially Camp Bastion. The exit strategy involves a recalibration of U.S. military, political, and socioeconomic relationships with Afghanistan. Obama’s strategy proposes an enduring partnership with an Afghanistan that relies on itself for



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security and develops a kind of society that is not imposed from outside but authored by the various groups within it. Obama expressed caution about the possibility that outsiders could ever make Afghanistan a perfect place, but he argued that the United States must “be able to continue targeting terrorists and supporting a sovereign Afghan government.”25 This would presumably require bases within Afghanistan’s territory, including convenient access to the borders of Pakistan. One would expect such a capacity to rely on Special Forces (SF), drones, and similar capital-intensive rather than labor-intensive approaches. Reflecting Obama’s backup mentioned above, this is a way of projecting U.S. power, while domestically indicating that the long wars are drawing to an end. Although some commentators have suggested that the next presidential election influenced the timing of the announcements of the surge and withdrawal of U.S. forces from Afghanistan, the domestic constraints on Obama and his successors are severe and go far beyond the electoral cycle. The U.S. public has grown weary of the enormous costs of two long wars, which may exceed the costs arising from the U.S. engagement in World War II.26 Moreover, these costs are not perceived to be generating a level of benefits that can be convincingly described as proportionate to the costs. In any case, the level of U.S. debt makes the current commitments to defense along with other areas of U.S. public expenditure unsustainable.27 In a telling phrase, while reflecting on the trillion-dollar costs of war and economic hard times, Obama said, “it is time to focus on nation building here at home” (emphasis added).28 The defense budget is a fat target for cuts, with a refocusing of resources on a military designed for a “post–long war” strategic context. Here, the criteria for military interventions will be demanding, given the lessons of the two wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. Nation-building by military means is likely to be hard to sell to the U.S. public for some time to come. Discretion to resort to military interventions will be used less often. Major military commitments—especially large-scale troop deployments—will be avoided, short of identification of a genuine existential threat. Also, U.S. allies and friends will be expected to take on more of the burden of defending their own interests; this point takes us to the case of the intervention in Libya.

Libya 2011–2012: New Definitions of Success? Public unanimity was displayed by the governments of the United States, France, and the United Kingdom with regard to the military intervention in

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Libya during the spring of 2011. However, from the outset, the United States saw its role as confined to support and facilitation, with both diplomatic and military assets, of the NATO initiative that was, de facto, led by France and the UK. This soon exposed the problem of whether the Europeans had the will and the means to secure what turned out to be ambitious objectives, possibly beyond what their publics might support.29 The wording of UN Security Council Resolution (UNSCR) 1973 of March 18, 2011, allowed for a range of readings of the legitimate implementation of the will of the UN, from protecting civilians against imminent attack by Libyan government forces, along with protecting civilians sympathetic to the government from rebel forces, to the more extreme goal of regime change.30 In fact, regime change rapidly became the coalition governments’ definition of the best and most enduring way of “protecting civilians.” Yet this did not answer the question of what strategic objective was to underpin UNSCR 1973, but shifted it to what kind of regime change was envisaged: What would be the political composition of any new government? Would a mixed polity—with or without Qaddafi and his entourage—be tolerated? What military and other levers would the intervening states use to pursue these objectives? Tensions arose from shortcomings in the Europeans’ will and material capacity to act. The interveners eventually recognized that the most that could be achieved (even if Qaddafi were eventually removed) was a security condition in which, while the strategic initiative lay with the interveners, the political resolution of the problem would in the end be determined by political groupings within Libya. Indeed, there would be clear political advantages to the interveners (for example, in terms of enhancing international legitimacy and allaying concerns about “colonialism”) if Libyans were seen to have authored their own success, even if this required external military and other forms of assistance. In addition, even if Libya had ended up as, at best, a stalemate between the Qaddafi regime and the rebels, the aid of the Europeans in saving civilians from government armed repression could have made the intervention politically and morally defensible. Furthermore, the strategic initiative of the interveners would in any case always have been blunted by their unwillingness to commit ground forces: ground troops as an option were ruled out by shortages of both resources and public support at home. It remains a question whether their publics would have accepted insertion of an ISAF-style force to stand in as an interim capacity to enforce a monopoly on the means and use of violence. Such a capacity might yet be needed if the various militias hold on



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to their weapons and use violence to extract political concessions, which they see as their rightful reward for ending the Qaddafi regime.31 The constraints on government action by public opinion can be illustrated briefly with reference to the case of the UK. The government was ahead of public opinion in its judgment that the best way to achieve the humanitarian goal of protecting civilians was through the means of regime change. Such a broad interpretation of UNSCR 1973 was viewed with caution by the public. It was supportive of a no-fly zone (with 69 percent in favor, just 14 percent against, and the rest undecided), but much less so of the use of any Western ground forces (61 percent not in favor, only 17 percent in support).32 This reluctance was also expressed when the public was asked about the employment of Special Forces to help the rebels against the Qaddafi regime, even after the press had described the important role of Special Forces in the enforcement of no-fly zones and other operations.33 It is also unclear whether, in the initial discussions of a no-fly zone, the public realized that such a plan would require preemptive early destruction of air defense installations and systems, or understood the breadth of other actions, arguably approved by UNSCR 1973, that would take place in the summer months of 2011. Despite the lack of effective strategic communications by the government to the UK public about the evolution of its political objectives in Libya, from protecting civilians to regime change as the best way of achieving that humanitarian goal, public support in March 2011 was 45–35 for military action— as long as it fell short of the use of ground troops (with 20 percent “don’t know”).34 The survey did not ask about public support for military measures against attacks by rebel forces against regime supporters. This issue did arise in policy circles, as the intervening powers were divided over not just the means and manner of controlling operations but also the nature of the end state to be achieved. The question of the end state or security condition was inherently complex: at least for some observers, the whole point of the intervention was to shape the situation to allow the competing factions in Libya to find their own solution to the conflict, so long as the broadly construed UNSCR 1973 was not breached through the insertion of interveners’ ground forces, and the local solution that emerged was acceptable to the intervening powers. Before his death, an acceptable solution was “anyone but Qaddafi” and his henchmen (even if some of the other contenders were hardly friends of the West). In the late summer of 2011 the possibility of a divided Libya, with or without

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Qaddafi, troubled the intervening states because it would have fallen short of the goal of regime change; persisting with the mission for much longer would also have tried the patience of their publics. The rapid development of events that culminated in the death of Qaddafi came as something of a relief to both government and publics. Whether, a year later, the system in place is a substantial advance on the previous regime in terms of the metrics discussed above—such as democratic governance, the rule of law, force monopolization, and a regime sympathetic to the interest of the intervening states—remains unclear. As in any coalition operation, some differences among the contributing states were evident. France and the UK played the main role in flying air sorties, with important contributions to air operations from Denmark, Norway, Belgium, Jordan, and Qatar. Germany, having abstained on UNSCR 1973, did not want to play a military role, but later on, having along with other states recognized the Transitional National Council, it did use its substantial financial resources to assist post-Qaddafi Libya. With the United States leading from behind and, unusually, not deploying a Nimitz-class carrier, and the UK lacking aircraft carrier capability of its own for the next decade,35 the European powers were dependent on the willingness of Italy to allow its land bases to be used for the air campaign. About that, there was a degree of uncertainty, especially as the campaign appeared to be heading for a quagmire in the midsummer of 2011. Meanwhile, France was much keener than Turkey to try to influence what kind of regime might succeed Qaddafi. Such divisions among the powers during the Libyan campaign seem likely to persist now that the campaign has concluded, as the United States seeks to leave the problem in the hands of the European and Arab states that are now involved in the post-Qaddafi settlement. Whether handing over the strategic initiative to the Europeans has positive implications for U.S. international influence and reputation in the region is debatable. But U.S. hands were tied on this matter: the administration questioned whether Libya was a vital U.S. interest, and public opposition to U.S. involvement was significant during the summer of 2011.36 This lack of public support helps to explain the U.S. reluctance to become involved in the first place and also accounts for the “remote-control” U.S. approach to management of the intervention, as it handed the strategic initiative over to other powers with a hope that the whole matter would be resolved quickly. Even so, the U.S. administration has had to deal with the reactions of key opponents or abstainers on this matter. For



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example, Brazil’s reluctance to approve Western intervention in the affairs of other states complicates the U.S. goal of furthering its influence in Latin America, which, like Asia, offers major opportunities for trade and economic development. That said, opponents of the intervention, such as China and Russia, have come to recognize the realities on the ground, and to acquiesce in the intervention in order not to forego economic and other forms of influence in the region. In addition to issues of strategic coherence and political will amongst the interveners, there were material capacity problems, for example, supplies of munitions, and wear and tear on equipment. These have led to some tense words between military and civilian political leaders in the UK over whether in the midst of major force reductions its armed forces would be able to prosecute the other missions given to them by the Strategic Defence and Security Review.37 This echoed charges heard during the Blair years that overstretched and under-resourced armed forces were being tasked to fight “Blair’s wars.” The Libyan intervention provides clear evidence that, without the support of U.S. military infrastructure (which supplied 75 percent of the need in the Libyan intervention), there are severe limits on the long-term sustainability of European-led campaigns. An early resolution of the Libyan episode could not have come soon enough for the Europeans. Now that Qaddafi has been removed, this is far from the end of the matter. The focus of attention is on whether the transition to a new regime can be not simply democratic but also peaceful and orderly. Internecine conflict is not unlikely and would raise the vexing question of which states would have the capacity and the will to offer not just humanitarian assistance but the military means of effecting stabilization. Such open-ended or protracted missions do not have neat conclusions, complicating the calculation of how far an intervention has improved the situation, compared with the likely consequences of staying out. Post-Qaddafi stabilization efforts by Western powers seem likely to include political and administrative advice and diplomatic support, but not overt military support, for a new Libyan polity and socioeconomic system. Establishing that system is likely to be a long process. An ISAF-type force, should internal conflict become so serious as to resemble Iraq in 2003, would pose great political difficulties for Western states, both as to domestic public support and financial costs. There is good reason to believe that the strong preference of Western states, such as the UK and Canada, is that if such a force were required, it should be for Muslim countries to provide.

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The Libya case raises a number of other issues. The first is that it shows that the United States, since 2003, has become both weary and more skeptical of the benefits of military intervention, especially where the threat to U.S. interests is not easy to discern and the potential costs are considered to be disproportionate to any purported benefits. Second, there is the matter of whether legitimacy and support for any potential future interventions will be hampered by lack of unified public support. Third, states have to consider how to justify interventions in terms of vital interests, their rightness in terms of law, and their legitimacy in terms of public support. A continuing question will be how to sustain that support and develop strategic patience on the part of publics, not just governments. The fourth consideration is whether or not EU states such as France and the UK will have the means, as well as the inclination, to intervene militarily in the affairs of other states, whatever the mix of humanitarian and strategic reasons. Without major military support from the United States, there are currently severe limits on their scope for action. This is a long-standing issue for European NATO members as well as the EU.

Outlook for Military Intervention: Constraints of Economics and Public Opinion After ten years of the U.S.-led pursuit of the military-induced transformation of Afghanistan and Iraq, some have argued that it is now time for a return to a more realist rather than idealist view of international relations. This argument has been bolstered by a number of factors apart from the limited successes achieved in Iraq and Afghanistan. One concerns economic constraints. Both the United States and the Euro-zone face serious indebtedness; economic events since 2007–2008 present Western states with a period of austerity unparalleled since the 1930s. Levels of indebtedness limit government room for maneuver, while signs of self-help and “beggar thy neighbor” economic policies in the global setting give cause for serious concern. Economic constraints will affect military intervention abroad, as governments reducing defense expenditures will face hard choices about which programs to cut and which areas of military activity to prioritize. For example, since 2010 and the Strategic Defence and Security Review mentioned earlier, the UK has cut 7.5 percent of its annual £37 billion budget over the next five years, 38 including a 10 percent average reduction in personnel (a reduction that is likely to be even greater after the withdrawal from Afghanistan39), and reductions that



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will affect aircraft carrier capability for at least a decade. The future of U.S. programs such as the F-35 Joint Strike Fighter and the number of Nimitzclass carrier battle groups will pose challenges for defense planners. Personnel numbers may be reduced by at least 15 percent. Cuts will also mean restructuring and refocusing of public spending. Among the United States and its allies, both governments and publics seek to place a higher priority on nonmilitary state expenditures, especially on health care and social infrastructure; for demographic reasons (namely, an increasing proportion of the elderly in the population), these needs will press upon the public purse of the advanced societies for at least a generation. The public, especially in the United States as the global superpower, is demanding a greater focus on domestic troubles rather than military adventures abroad, especially where, as in Libya, other powers can or should be expected to take on more of the efforts of intervention. Limited engagement and caution are increasingly the watchwords. Another factor concerns public attitudes toward intervention. These have been influenced by the past decade of limited success in war and also by a longer-term trend. In the twentieth century, with the triumph of the mass army in both world wars and then its subsequent decline, society’s access to the military and to war has undergone paradoxical shift: citizens have become disengaged from military service with the decline of the mass army and rise of the all-volunteer force (AVF), while their indirect exposure to war and the military via the mass media has increased. Their dependence on media organizations has increased, and they are influenced by the accuracy or myths reproduced by the media. However, this trend is mitigated through the increase in the variety of media organizations and diversity of viewpoints offered, such as access in the West to al Jazeera. The increase of social media makes it easier for publics to question and compare media sources if they so choose. Meanwhile, since 1945, wars have become less existential and more wars of choice and indeed, since 2003, of more contested choice. The result is that there is potentially much more conditionality in support for military interventions.40 This fact is reinforced by our more individualistic and skeptical, even postmodern, social and cultural climate. As Michael Howard observed recently with regard to twentieth-century British history, the more or less unquestioning attributes of 1914—rally round the flag and flocking to the colors—were followed in 1939 by grudging acceptance of the necessity of war and mass involvement in it; since then, support for war and for joining the military if needed have become much more conditional.41

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These developments since 1945, reinforced by the difficulties of achieving success over the past decade, have created a space in which support for the military and of the missions it is tasked to carry out have begun to be regarded as two quite different questions. In the media and public opinion, support and understanding of the military might not be the same as support and understanding of the missions and operations in which the armed forces are engaged.42 This leads to four theoretical possibilities for public views of both the armed forces and their missions. The first is high support combined with low understanding. Whether one is referring to missions or military personnel, this might be described as “uninformed sympathy.” It is also possible that military personnel themselves feel supported yet perceive that this support comes from a society that knows little about the realities of military life. Second, both the armed forces and their missions may be poorly understood and not supported. This can be viewed as indifference. The third possibility, high understanding coupled with positive support, is what most military personnel would like, so far as views of themselves and their missions are concerned. Such “well-informed support” is limited by the decline of mass direct participation in military affairs as a result of the end of conscription, the fading of the last generation of conscripts, and the downsizing of the military. The fourth possibility is that the military and its missions are poorly supported but well understood. Here a sector of the public might be termed “knowledgeable opponents,” well informed about the nature of military life and of its missions but critical of military institutions, their value, or their contribution to society and dubious about the worth and purpose of particular missions. Some of the above possibilities have been seen in recent discussions of what can be called the “politics of sacrifice.” For example, Moskos suggested that, after the end of the Cold War, there would be a trend toward indifference: the armed forces being poorly understood and not supported. He expected this trend due to the decline of conscription and of elite recruitment to the forces, and also due to a “diminution of perceived national threats,” that is, a shift away from the mission of defense of territory and against existential threats and toward international missions involving narratives with less hold on the national imagination.43 As Jay Williams pointed out, however, 9/11 changed that equation. The public—at least in the United States—was no longer indifferent to the military but supportive: “There is a greater public



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appreciation of the military, and opposition to the Iraq war does not seem to affect civilians’ respect for those fighting it.”44 Public support, whether high or low, may not be the same as understanding: there can be enthusiastic and misinformed support of the military or of the mission. The armed forces themselves seem aware of these distinctions: they tend to want both support and understanding and are aware that support for them but not their mission can easily tip into pity and a perception that they are victims. These complexities in the politics of sacrifice deserve further analysis and will in any case be watched carefully by governments when they consider if and how to intervene: to do so without carrying the public with their decisions would be a very risky business. Along with economic constraints and a mixed record of success in a decade of war, these developments in public attitudes provide the context for developing a way forward with regard to Western intervention for the future. Indeed, President Obama has sought to construct just such a pathway in his important speech of June 22, 2011.45 President Obama acknowledged three possible U.S. roles: international engagement to provide “an anchor of global security”; isolation that would “ignore . . . the very real threats that we face”; and overextension that “would have America . . . confront . . . every evil that can be found abroad.” Obama argued, instead, for “a more centered course”: Like generations before, we must embrace America’s singular role in the course of human events. But we must be as pragmatic as we are passionate; as strategic as we are resolute. When threatened, we must respond with force—but when that force can be targeted, we need not deploy large armies overseas. When innocents are being slaughtered and global security endangered, we don’t have to choose between standing idly by or acting on our own. Instead, we must rally international action, which we are doing in Libya, where we do not have a single soldier on the ground, but are supporting allies in protecting the Libyan people and giving them the chance to determine their destiny.46

In these statements from the current U.S. administration can be seen an approach to future interventions that combines several principles.47 First, it involves a more restrictive idea of existential interests. Thus, Afghanistan is a place to achieve not victory but a responsible ending of a war, while Libya is not a core U.S. interest in the way that Israel or Iran is. Meanwhile, after Libya,

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Taiwan may become a more “core interest” than before, given the increasing U.S. focus on China. Second, the future U.S. intervention policy may incorporate a more selective and conditional acceptance of international legal and moral norms as these apply to intervention, especially the “duty to protect,” which the United States is more likely to interpret as an “option to protect.”48 (Such an approach would expose such selective action to political and moral skepticism and cynicism from the wider public, even if lawyers and moral philosophers can mount a serious defense of the position that, although we cannot act everywhere, it does not mean we should not act somewhere.) A third feature of future U.S. intervention policy is likely to be a reluctance to engage in long-drawn-out missions involving labor-intensive military operations requiring strategic patience from both leaders and the public. There is likely, instead, to be a preference for technology-rich and “labor-lite” operations, a limited public profile of casualties, and the secrecy characteristic of Special Forces operations to create some scope for longer-term military activity. This is a likely approach in Afghanistan after the proposed withdrawal at the end of 2014. Indeed this is a key line of organizational development for the U.S. armed forces and those of its allies and future coalition partners. Instead of largescale, labor-intensive “boots on the ground” interventions, such as those that have attempted to effect societal transformation in Iraq and Afghanistan, efforts might center on “strategic raiding.”49 This would involve using armed forces not to occupy territory but to destroy targets using remote, or “action at a distance” high-technology precision weaponry, relying where possible on automation (such as drones and unmanned aerial vehicles [UAVs]), Special Forces where the use of personnel was seen as necessary, and contractors in supporting roles.50 The military footprint would be light, although an extended commitment to a mission might be possible so long as the bases used were remote, any forces had only a limited profile in the public eye, and likely casualty rates were low (these factors may characterize the United States in Afghanistan after 2014). A higher priority for information technologies and automation, such as drones and UAVs, and the use of Special Forces in “black operations,” would make it more difficult for publics to monitor military actions. It is here that the often exaggerated potential of the “revolution in military affairs” or “force transformation” may actually be justified, as I have argued elsewhere.51



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With continued investment in Special Forces, which are becoming a more important element within the military, their skills and tactics may well spread to other areas of the military institution as part of an overall upgrading and concentration of military power and a focus on the transnational professional military networks linking Western states together.52 Also of greater importance will be ISTAR (Intelligence, Surveillance, Target Acquisition, and Reconnaissance), transport for lift and mobility, and drone technologies, both short and long range, perhaps even launched from U.S. territory. Drones equipped with weapons provide military means of intervening, whose advantages include minimizing home-side casualties, and they can operate relatively hidden from public scrutiny.53 On the other hand, they can cause civilian casualties, which can lead to public controversy.54 These technologies reflect increased reliance of governments on the information power that underpins their military and various kinds of intelligence organizations. 55 A fourth feature of the U.S. approach to intervention is that the United States is likely to press its allies and friends to take on more of the burden of their own defense and security, leaving the United States in more of a supportive political and military role. Again Libya is a key turning point in this regard. However, the European states will be further limited by decreases in U.S. underwriting of their military power, even if they make modest improvements in their own shared military assets as is the case with UK-French cooperation on nuclear, drone, and other military capabilities. This is a key lesson of recent events in Libya. Fifth, the United States is likely to seek to encourage countries that are facing internal strife or threats to their existence from neighbors or transnational terror groups to use self-help, with U.S. support, to build their own security organizations. The proposed U.S. and NATO enduring partnership with Afghanistan is one example; current relations with Yemen would be another. Special Forces might assist in training and support but would not get involved beyond the labor-lite principle. In Afghanistan, U.S. Special Forces are already providing cover for withdrawal of U.S. forces; this is an early sign of what we might expect over the longer term. Sixth and finally, we might expect a future U.S. security policy to shift toward “soft power”—the use of symbolic and reputational influence—and economic growth, especially with the fast-developing BRIC countries (Brazil, Russia, India, and China).56 Indeed, during the early phase of the Libyan crisis, journalists confronted President Obama as he was commenting on the

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splendor of the Brazilian beaches around him and demanded to know “where is the Commander in Chief?” He might well have retorted, “exactly in the right place,” from the point of view of U.S. national interests. Western states will seek to mobilize the influence that soft power can bring in international affairs, through investments in culture and creative industries, education, and the like, not least the power of the English language and branding of, say, Britain. However, the current economic difficulties in the UK and the United States, including recent civil disorder in the UK, must surely take some of the shine off the model of states whose way of life, including of liberal capitalism, is supposed to attract others’ emulation.57 This, too, has implications for questions of how to allocate budgets among defense, development, and cultural efforts. In the UK there are already signs of serious tensions amongst the interested producer interests in defense and international development, to mention just two of the key players in this regard. We can expect similar tensions in the United States and other Western states. An increasing reluctance to take on the burden of military intervention is not confined to the United States, nor are the problems associated with thinking through how such actions might be approached in future. As we observed earlier, there are signs of the beginnings of an unraveling of ISAF; a question is how far the timing of this process is tied to the U.S. withdrawal strategy. Canada, for example, deployed its last combat rotation in Afghanistan in October 2010, and, although it contributed to the air campaign in Libya, it is most unlikely to contribute any boots on the ground to any possible future stabilization operation.58 The Dutch, too, have withdrawn from Afghanistan. Although they are proud of what they have achieved in humanitarian and development terms at the local level, there are doubts about the overall strategic results, especially amongst the Dutch public and legislature. “No more Afghanistans” is now the slogan in Dutch politics and this seems unlikely to change for some time.59 Germany and France, too, will soon be withdrawing from Afghanistan, before the United States will have done so. The UK is timing its departure in coordination with the United States, while some smaller countries such as Estonia are likely to do the same for political reasons, namely their need of U.S. support to counter Russia, a far from abstract need given the history of cyberattacks in that country as well as the precedent set by the Russian intervention in Georgia. These states, having invested political capital by participating in the intervention, face the challenge of disinvesting to satisfy their domestic public opinion without suggesting to



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the United States that they would be unreliable partners in any future collective response to an international crisis. This raises wider issues of U.S. and European relations in NATO. Secretary of Defense Robert Gates highlighted, in late 2011, the question of the will and capacity of European states to defend their own interests and to bear a fair burden of the collective defense effort. The United States is increasingly discontented at bearing 75 percent of the costs of NATO, and this is one of the reasons it played only a limited role in the intervention in Libya. Choices to intervene will have to be made more cautiously, not just because of economic constraints but also due to the lessons of the past decade’s limited successes relative to effort expended. For example, President Obama could not persuasively define Afghanistan in existential terms in his June 2011 speech. Instead, he was forced to acknowledge that the end state in 2014 would be, at best, a less-than-optimal “security condition.” Such protean or amorphous definitions of success will not be so easy to communicate to the public to mobilize their commitment, when compared with mobilization against a threat to existential or territorial interests. Indeed, there has also been greater recognition by publics in the United States and other states (such as the UK) of the costs of interventions undertaken without clear understanding of the conditions of success: it is increasingly recognized that a “one-size-fits-all” template cannot serve as the basis for intervention.60 As the expense of contemporary military technology and personnel systems is recognized, so too is the fact that soft power could offer more effective and cheaper means than military intervention to defend a state’s interests and to influence international politics. Intervention might be used in addition to soft power (rather than as an alternative to it) but might be more focused on use of different forms of hard power; this is the main point of what I have called labor-lite operations. However, it would be unwise to assume that all the arguments lead away from Western military intervention, especially given that R2P will continue to play an influential role in international affairs. Realpolitik and intervention based purely on self-interest and a restricted view of international obligations will become harder to sustain. There will be repeated cases for liberalhumanitarian forms of military interventionism. It might be argued that one bad example, such as the Western experience in Iraq, should not prevent future interventions if the case is more compelling and if it is authorized by UN Security Council resolutions. An example of such a case, as we have seen, is

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Libya.61 Yet Libya shows the limits on what is perceived to be possible and right in such cases that are placed on governments by their publics. The U.S. caution in Libya and its choice to lead from behind reflected the press of other priorities, together with a sense that too much treasure and blood had already been spent on Iraq and Afghanistan and that there were far too many domestic issues to be dealt with by government. When resorting to hard power, governments will need to be aware of the politics of sacrifice discussed above. The Western public is tired of intervention; it is skeptical and confused about the purported benefits of current interventions, the costs incurred, and the timeline over which such benefits are supposed to accrue. Governments know that without public support, or at least acquiescence, it is difficult to pursue a policy indefinitely without clear and convincing signs of success. It is not easy for the “strategic patience” called for by senior military figures and political leaders to gain sufficient traction in the wider public, whose support for long-term military interventions is of such importance. If governments intervene in circumstances where it is difficult to define the objective in terms of defense of either territorial or existential interests, it will have more difficulty dealing with a war-weary public. Should it wish to intervene on the basis of a responsibility to protect, it will face questions about the selection that has been made and the likely costs to be incurred. It will be especially difficult to justify labor-intensive military operations in pursuit of humanitarian goals, if such actions are likely to put the armed forces of the intervening states at high risk of casualties. Political leaders are, one imagines, well aware of these factors as they mull over the options for dealing with Syria, a much more complex and potentially dangerous case than Libya. The interventions in the three cases discussed above show that achieving any real success poses challenges for governments and especially for their attempts to garner public support. Two other important lessons for a mission couched in R2P terms may be drawn from the Libyan episode. First, it was airpower, not ground forces (apart from Special Forces and contractors), that was used to protect civilians. Second, the previous experience with the Kosovo campaign and use of airpower in Serbia gave some hope and expectation that a few weeks of precision air strikes would see the achievement of the coalition’s objective, even in its increasingly ambitious form of regime change. However, for some months before the death of Qaddafi, the campaign in Libya threatened to become protracted; the original image of Qaddafi



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killing civilians was now overlain with an alternative narrative, difficult to counter, of NATO inflicting civilian casualties. An emerging, more cautious approach to intervention needs to be located in the wider context of defense expenditure. This is not just a matter of defense cuts but also a reorganization of military power. One question is whether European states can invest enough to maintain their roles in the transnational system of military professional expertise and power. The gulf within NATO between the United States and Europe might worsen, or it might be eased by greater collaboration amongst the leading military powers in Europe, that is, France, the UK, and Germany. A wider question is how non-Western powers might take on more of the burden of any military intervention, with the United States and its Western allies providing diplomatic and political support but only limited military support. The military role of India (a key player in any scenario involving Afghanistan after the Western withdrawal in 2014–2015) is one question; Turkey, now a major economic as well as military force, is another in the Middle East context as is evident in the Syrian imbroglio. Western states will probably focus efforts on the economic and political development of those states at risk of implosion or of hosting groups likely to threaten Western interests; these efforts are likely to be supplemented by training and support of indigenous security forces. This will involve greater use and prominence of Special Forces and related assets. Something along these lines would be a feature of the more optimistic scenarios for Afghanistan.

Conclusion I conclude that, after the military interventions inspired by the events of 9/11 have come to an end, Western states are likely to adopt a more cautious approach to such actions. The costs and difficulties of pursuing success, economic constraints, and a public much less willing to support perceived adventurism abroad will all make it difficult for elites to act as freely as they have in the past decade. The limited engagement in Libya is leading to a muchneeded reevaluation. One issue is how strained the European efforts were, even in response to a relatively modest crisis in their own backyard, without the assistance of the United States, whose commitment to European defense is showing signs of decline. Promising but as yet far from definitive indicators of success in Libya, where boots on the ground were limited to Special Forces

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and private security-company personnel in aid of the rebels (with at least the tacit support of Western states), will surely reinforce the trend to less laborintensive forms of military intervention. If it turns out that Libya’s security problems—especially the problems of monopolizing the means of legitimate violence—require a larger international force, similar to ISAF, how reluctant would the West be to step up? Would Muslim countries fill the gap? Meanwhile, more awareness of the risk of applying a one-size-fits-all template to such activities will lead to caution about what might be achieved elsewhere, for example, in Syria, where the potential of a much more serious conflict— with Iran, for instance—would loom large. The West would be wise to be both more cautious and more selective in these matters. It will be likely to adopt labor-lite models of strategic raiding, as seems evident now in the case of attempts by Israel (and perhaps others) to limit Iran’s ability to develop nuclear weapons and in the hunt for the killers of the U.S. ambassador to Libya. The West will encourage others to share more of the burden of military intervention so it can play a lesser role. One focus on strategic raiding could be protecting the flow of goods and services through the sea, air, land, and cyberlanes of global traffic. As John Mackinlay has observed, various kinds of “pirates” are able to operate in each of these traffic lanes; just as, with global communications, activities of insurgents are not restricted to the territorial space of a particular (more or less effectively governed) state or territory.62 Such a focus might allow the United States (along with its allies) to devote more attention to deterring China and to reassuring its friends in the Pacific, rather than to costly and open-ended missions attempting military-induced transformation in fragile or threatening states. Seeking to encourage those states that are at risk to be self-reliant, with military and other assistance from the West, will also be a favored course of action. If the West adopts a more restrictive and discretionary model of military intervention based on capital-intensive and labor-lite forces, a key strategic question will be how to maintain its full-spectrum capabilities, especially those that could deter hostile states and, if necessary, to prevail in an industrial war, for example, once again, in the Middle East. The United States faces some difficult choices in identifying its main effort (statements in January 2012 suggest this will probably be directed at North Korea, China, and Iran) and what platforms and assets this effort would require. Other Western states will need to rely less on the United States and to recalibrate their willingness



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to engage in military intervention and the level of resources they are prepared to devote to it. Finally, this analysis of Western military intervention and changes in the ways of war—particularly the idea of “labor-lite” operations—poses a number of political challenges for liberal democracies, three of which have been highlighted briefly here and commended as topics for further research and public debate. First, the increased reliance on UAV technologies, the sophisticated information power on which they rely, as well as the fact that their operators may not be drawn from military units but more shadowy intelligence agencies, pose questions of accountability not only to the executive but to the legislative and judicial branches of government and to the wider public. Is there a widening gap between systems of democratic oversight and the new technologies of war, and if so how might it be closed? 63 Second, there are just war issues at stake: in particular the question of noncombatant, civilian casualties arising from the use of precision weapons. The often heated debates about the exact numbers of such casualties, especially in Afghanistan, Pakistan, and now various countries in north Africa, pose a serious question of the balance of risk; this is a point to which we have been alerted by Martin Shaw with his concept of “risk transfer war.”64 That is to say, it is perfectly reasonable to seek ways of protecting one’s own forces from casualties and seeking to maximize the chances of the burden of harm being borne by enemy units. However, it is not acceptable for Western forces to be relatively insulated from casualties through the use of such weapons if innocent civilians pay more of a blood sacrifice than would be the case if Western units were prepared to lessen such civilian losses through exposure of their own units to the risk of harm. This is why the contestation between state authorities and other bodies such as nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) on the numbers involved is so heated—the stakes are high. Collateral damage is not just a matter of the political legitimacy of military operations but poses the moral question of the West continuing to comply with ius in bello, just war principles. Third, the mixed record of success in the past decade of operations in Iraq and Afghanistan conjoined with the age of austerity, with which the West may have to live for some years yet, have implications for its future use of force. These two factors may encourage the West to be more cautious or wary about future military interventions. However, when inclined to intervene, the West may also be ever more willing to countenance the kinds of automated warfare

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that raise the ius in bello issues just mentioned. And this is not to mention the political aspect of such actions: the automated killing machines may produce more problems by way of violent opposition to the West and its values than the ones on the “hit lists” removed by such technologies. To the mixed record of success may well be added morally dubious acts.

Notes 1.  The 9/11 Commission Report (New York: Norton, 2011), 53. 2.  See Tony Blair, “Evidence to the Iraq War Enquiry,” www.iraqinquiry.org.uk/ transcripts/oralevidencebydate/100129.aspx (accessed February 14, 2012). 3.  Division was especially evident on the question of joining the United States in an invasion without a UN Security Council Resolution specifically authorizing force. For a relevant poll, see YouGov, cdn.yougov.com/today_uk_import/YG-Archives-ira -dim-ShowdownIraq-030317.pdf. See also Rachael Gribble, Simon Wessely, Susan Klein, David A. Alexander, Christopher Dandecker, and Nicola T. Fear, “The UK’s Armed Forces: Public Support for the Troops but Not Their Missions?” in British Social Attitudes, ed., Alison Park, Elizabeth Clery, John Curtice, Miranda Phillips, and David Utting (London: National Centre for Social Research, 2012), 29:138–154, http://bsa-29 .natcen.ac.uk/read-the-report/armed-forces/introduction.aspx (accessed October 2, 2012); and Charles A. Miller, Endgame for the West in Afghanistan? Explaining the Decline in Support for the War in Afghanistan in the United States, Great Britain, Canada, Australia, France and Germany (Carlisle, PA: Strategic Studies Institute, 2010). 4.  This is not to imply that only neo-conservative arguments were at work. So were liberal internationalist sentiments: that democracy was good not just because of the U.S. interest in international security and in encouraging the development of democracy, including by force, but that democracy was good in itself as an expression of universal human rights. 5.  Of course, in any given case there was a debate over whether realpolitik rather than humanitarian interests motivated an intervention. For example, some saw the Australian humanitarian assistance in East Timor in 1999 as self-interested imperialism. See Sam Peitch, “Australian Imperialism and East Timor,” www.anu.edu.au/ polsci/mi/2/mi2pietsch.pdf. The possibility of states viewing other states’ humanitarian interventions as examples of questionable strategic initiatives has a long history. For example, the United States regarded Vietnam’s removal of Pol Pot from Cambodia in 1979–1980 as a self-interested action by a Soviet client state. I owe this point to a conversation with Dr. David Fisher of the Department of War Studies, King’s College London. 6. In 2008, after an extended period of UN administration, Kosovo became an independent state recognized by over 80 other states (including the United States). In September 2012, Western powers involved in the International Steering Group overseeing Kosovo announced the end of their supervision, but despite this move Ser-



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bia continues to not accept its sovereignty, a position shared by Russia, Georgia, and China. 7.  Taylor B. Seybolt, Humanitarian Military Intervention: The Conditions for Success and Failure (London: SIPRI and Oxford University Press, 2007). Also see Christopher Gelpi, Peter D. Feaver, and Jason Reefer, “Success Matters: Casualty Sensitivity and the War in Iraq,” International Security 30, no. 3 (Winter 2005–2006): 7–46; Christopher Gelpi, Peter D. Feaver, and Jason Reefer, Paying the Human Costs of War: American Public Opinion and Casualties in Military Conflicts (Princeton, NJ: Prince­ ton University Press, 2009); and Christopher Dandeker, “From Victory to Success: The Changing Mission of Western Armed Forces,” in Modern Warfare and the Utility of Force, ed. Jan Angstrom and Isabelle Duyvesteyn (London: Routledge, 2010), 16–38. 8.  Andrew Dorman, Blair’s Successful War: British Military Intervention in Sierra Leone (London: Ashgate Press, 2009). 9.  United Nations, “In Larger Freedom: Towards Development, Security and Human Rights for All,” Report of the Secretary-General, UN document A/59/2005, March 21, 2005, cited in Seybolt, Humanitarian Military Intervention, 2, n6. 10.  Support for R2P is likely to depend on whether a state perceives that the principle and its application might set precedents that would expose its conduct toward its own citizens to outside questioning or intervention. This is why some states—China and Russia, for example—tend to be suspicious of such interventions and have abstained on or vetoed them, as in the cases, respectively, of Libya in 2011 and Syria in 2012. With regard to Kosovo, no UNSCR was sought because it was feared that Russia (a firm supporter of Serbia) would exercise a veto. Earlier, on Bosnia, Russia abstained (as had Brazil). In this regard, it is important to remember that Russia was in a weak position internationally in the early 1990s. I owe these points to discussions with Dr. David Fisher. 11.  Rupert Smith, The Utility of Force: The Art of War in the Modern World (London: Penguin Allen Lane, 2005). 12.  See also Dandeker, “From Victory to Success: The Changing Mission of Western Armed Forces.” 13.  John O. Brennan, member of Obama’s National Security Council with responsibility for counterterrorism, said: “If you’re talking about [creating in Afghanistan] a completely uncorrupt government that delivers services to all its people, that end state won’t be achieved in my lifetime. . . . That’s why using terminology like ‘success,’ like ‘victory’ and ‘win,’ complicates our task.” Brennan, quoted in Bob Woodward, Obama’s Wars (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2010), 227. I am grateful to James Burk for bringing this reference to my attention. 14.  Ian Kershaw points out that: “Wars between states in the modern era have usually ended in some kind of negotiated settlement.” An exception was Nazi Germany: after the Allied conference in Casablanca in January 1943, this was “the first time that a sovereign state had been formally offered no terms short of total and unconditional capitulation.” Ian Kershaw, The End: Hitler’s Germany 1944–45 (London: Penguin Allen Lane, 2011), 6–7.

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15.  Legitimacy involves grounding missions in legal and other norms, generating positive support amongst the public, and providing evidence of performance and momentum in achieving objectives that persuades publics that the “metrics of success” outweigh the costs. I explore these issues in depth in Dandeker, “From Victory to Success.” This approach to legitimacy was developed in James Gow, Legitimacy and the Military: The Yugoslav Crisis (London: Pinter 1992); and Christopher Dandeker and James Gow, “The Future of Peace Support Operations: Strategic Peacekeeping and Success,” Armed Forces and Society 23 (Spring 1997): 327–348. 16.  However, in Iraq, a substantial number of armed private military contractors remain—some press reports have mentioned up to 5,000—to protect the continuing political and diplomatic presence of the United States there. See Tom Bowman, “No U.S. Troops But an Army of Contractors in Iraq,” www.npr.org/2011/12/27/144198497/ no-u-s-troops-but-an-army-of-contractors-in-iraq. As we shall see below, future interventions are likely to rely even more than at present on this facility. See also chapter 8 in this volume. 17.  Military withdrawal will, subject to legal agreements with the Afghan authorities, still leave an unspecified number of U.S. forces to provide the basis of a training and support mission as part of the enduring NATO partnership with the autonomous state of Afghanistan. 18.  Andrew Bacevich, “The Petraeus Doctrine,” The Spectator, August 6, 2011, 18–19. 19. See “Iraq, after US Ends Its War Role, Must Now Define ‘Mission Accomplished,’” Christian Science Monitor, December 15, 2011, www.csmonitor.com/ Commentary/the-monitors-view/2011/1215/Iraq-after-US-ends-its-war-role-mustnow-define-mission-accomplished. 20.  President Obama’s speech, “On the Way Forward in Afghanistan,” Washington, DC, June 22, 2011, can be found at www.nationalreview.com/corner/270303/text -obamas-afghanistan-speech-nro-staff (accessed July 2, 2011). Hereafter referred to as President Obama Speech, June 22, 2011. 21.  On January 5, 2012, Secretary of Defense Leon Panetta referred to this as “turning the page on a decade of war.” See the interview with Leon Panetta, www.pbs .org/newshour/bb/military/jan-june12/panetta_01-05.html. 22.  For a recent argument that, despite tactical military progress, the strategic obstacles to political success are so serious that the war in Afghanistan is, politically speaking, unwinnable, see Rudra Chaudhuri and Theo Farrell, “Campaign Disconnect: Operational Progress and Strategic Obstacles in Afghanistan 2009–11,” International Affairs 87, no. 2 (2011): 271–296. Farrell made a crisp and blunt statement along these lines in 2011: “Life inside the Taliban may be grim right now. But with NATO on the way out, safe havens in Pakistan, and a fragile government in Kabul, Taliban prospects look bright.” See Theo Farrell, “Politically the War in Afghanistan Is Unwinnable,” Daily Telegraph, June 23, 2011, www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/asia/ afghanistan/8592710/Prof-Theo-Farrell-politically-the-war-in-Afghanistan-is-unwin nable.html (accessed August 2, 2011). Whether Taliban groups will be a threat to West-



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ern states by giving safe haven to anti-Western Islamist groups or will, rather, focus on using (or being used by) support from Pakistan to undermine India’s interest in Kashmir is an open question. 23.  As Theo Farrell noted, “across NATO, publics and politicians are increasingly war-weary. In 2010, only 40 percent of Americans supported the war (down 15 percent from 2009); public support was 37 percent in Britain and only 30 percent in France and Germany in 2010.” Farrell, “Politically the War in Afghanistan Is Unwinnable.” However, a scenario that lies midway between the collapse of the Afghan polity with the return of terror groups to unregulated territory, on the one hand, and a robust functioning state, on the other, might be the basis of a narrative of success: a story of long-term, patchy progress that is not deflected by collapse might gain traction amongst publics of the intervening states at least as a “success.” This scenario of “patchy progress” is a theme in Toby Dodge and Nicholas Redman, Afghanistan to 2015 and Beyond, Adelphi Series 425–426 (London: International Institute for Strategic Studies, 2012). 24.  It would be hard, but not impossible, as argued in the preceding footnote. 25.  Barack Obama, “Text of Presidential Speech on Afghanistan,” New York Times, June 22, 2011, http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/23/world/asia/23obamaafghanistan-speech-text.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0 (accessed April 12, 2013). 26.  Rupert Cornwell, “‘War on Terror’ Set to Surpass Cost of Second World War,” www.independent.co.uk/news/world/americas/war-on-terror-set-to-surpass-cost-ofsecond-world-war-2304497.html (accessed July 1, 2011). 27.  The questions of how far and where to cut U.S. defense spending, and the implications of this for the U.S. position in the international system, have become more urgent in light of current concerns over U.S. indebtedness. See, for example, Max Boot, “Cutting Defense Spending Could Hasten America’s Decline as a World Power,” Commentary, August 4, 2011, www.commentarymagazine.com/2011/08/04/cuttingdefense-spending-america/ (accessed August 7, 2011). This issue will be revisited below. 28.  President Obama Speech of June 22, 2011. 29.  The Europeans acted in response, in part, to pressure from the Arab League, which wished to have a no-fly zone enforced. The Arab League’s role in the formulation and passage of UNSCR 1973 on March 17, 2011, was significant, as was the important role played by Qatar and the United Arab Emirates (UAE). There were five abstentions: Germany and the so-called BRIC states: Brazil, Russia, India, and China. 30.  It is interesting to ask whether China and Russia had anticipated the West’s use of the broad mandate to pursue regime change and had factored that possibility into their calculations and abstentions. This has a bearing on whether their subsequent vetoes of the UNSCR on Syria in early 2012 were caused by the outcome of UNSCR 1973 on Libya, or whether they had already made up their minds that, from their point of view, any intervention in Syria, especially one involving the use of force, possibly in support of the enforcement of “humanitarian corridors” or armed support of nongovernment armed groupings, was their “red line.” This was an item of discussion following a briefing on HMS Liverpool, January 30, 2012, London. The briefing

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was provided to a group of academics and policy analysts by the commanding officer of HMS Liverpool, Commander Colin Williams, and Commodore John Kingwell, Commander UK Task Group (COMUKTG) for the Libyan operation, The discussion, under the Chatham House rule, was chaired by Professor David Held, University of Durham, UK. 31.  There are perhaps more than 200 militias in Libya, each with access to weapons from unregulated arms dumps. HMS Liverpool briefing. 32.  Sunday Times YouGov Poll, reported on March 20, 2011. 33.  See “SAS ‘Smash’ Squads on the Ground in Libya to Mark Targets for Coalition Jets,” Daily Mail, March 21, 2011, www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1368247/LibyaSAS-smash-squads-ground-mark-targets-coalition-jets.html (accessed March 29, 2011). 34.  Sunday Times, March 27, 2011, YouGov poll. 35.  The UK and France were able to cooperate and fly missions from the French aircraft carrier Charles de Gaulle. 36.  For example, between March and June 2011, approval for limited U.S. involvement in Libya (limited in that it would be confined to the use of airpower) declined from 47 to 39 percent, while disapproval rose from 35 to 46 percent (no opinion, 15 percent in March and 16 percent in June). See www.pollwatchdaily.com/2011/06/24/ public-opinion-turns-negative-on-u-s-military-involvement-in-libya/. 37.  The Strategic Defence and Security Review (SDSR) sought to prepare the UK’s defense policy and its armed forces for the challenges of the next two decades, while also delivering major cuts in expenditure to contribute to the overall deficit reduction seen as a key priority of the Coalition government. On SDSR, published in October 2010, see www.mod.uk/DefenceInternet/DefenceNews/DefencePolicyAndBusiness/ StrategicDefenceAndSecurityReviewPublished.htm. On whether Libya has altered the assumptions and conclusions of SDSR—or ought to—see comments by Professor Andrew Dorman reported in James Kirkup, “Defence Cuts in Doubt over Libya, Says Military Adviser,” Daily Telegraph, April 7, 2011, www.telegraph.co.uk/news/ uknews/defence/8433749/Defence-cuts-in-doubt-over-Libya-says-military-adviser .html (downloaded January 4, 2012). How far military leaders shared the enthusiasm of the politicians for the Libya mission remains a matter of debate. 38.  Although this appears to be a less radical cut than some had feared beforehand, it is one that leaves the Ministry of Defence to find a solution to the £38 billion shortfall or “black hole” in its spending commitments, as well as funding for the asyet unbudgeted replacement costs for the Trident submarine nuclear deterrent. Some analysts, such as Professor Andrew Dorman, predict that this could involve a defense budget reduction in real terms of 20–30 percent. See “Military Strategy: The First Casualty,” Economist, May 11, 2011, www.economist.com/node/18712682 (accessed April 10, 2012). 39.  It is likely that the largest service, the British Army, will be reduced, after major military operations in Afghanistan, to 75,000, with a greater reliance on part-time reservists. On this theme, see Christopher Dandeker, Neil Greenberg, and Geoffrey



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Orme, “The UK’s Reserve Forces: Retrospect and Prospect,” Armed Forces and Society 37, no. 2 (2011): 341–360. 40.  Today the armed forces are “instruments of government,” which might be used in defense of existential interests, but these are far from being the default setting for their use; other uses of a less existential kind are much more likely, and this formulation reflects that fact. 41. Lecture to 50th Anniversary of The Department of War Studies, King’s College London, January 27, 2012. 42.  I am indebted to discussions with Meredith Kleykamp on this distinction, which is of relevance to the debates in the United States as well as the UK. She addressed similar themes to those developed here in Alair MacLean and Meredith Kleykamp, “The War at Home: Attitudes toward Veterans Returning from Iraq,” manuscript presented at the Inter-University Seminar on Armed Forces and Society IUS Biennial conference, Chicago, October 2011. 43.  Charles Moskos, Jay Williams, and David R. Segal, eds., The Post Modern Military (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 19. 44.  Jay A. Williams, “The Military and Society beyond the Postmodern Era,” Orbis 52, no. 2 (Spring 2008): 199–216, online version, p. 5. 45.  President Obama Speech, June 22, 2011. 46. Ibid. 47.  This is even more evident in the statements made in early 2012 on defense cuts and the strategy underpinning them. U.S. defense cuts will involve $500 billion over the next ten years, with possibly another cut of $500 billion identified in early 2013, depending on whether there is Congressional agreement on overall budget cuts. Military personnel will be reduced by about 15 percent. However, cyberwar, missile defense, and Special Forces are not likely to be cut. Although there has been talk of stepping away from a two-war capacity—see www.csmonitor.com/USA/Military/2012/0103/ Pentagon-to-abandon-two-war-strategy-but-at-what-cost-to-US-security—there has also been a suggestion of an intent to maintain a capacity for two simultaneous major operations, such as a ground war on the Korean peninsula and a simultaneous conflict with Iran. In addition, a shift in focus from Europe to the Pacific has been indicated. All of this would be quite a stretch and would leave not much for less important interventions; others, perhaps the Europeans, would have to take these on. Libya, again, is a current example. See Panetta interview of January 5, 2012. However, there has been a discussion of whether simultaneous operations would or should still include scenarios like two major regional wars. See Michael O’Hanlon, “The Case for a Leaner U.S. Military,” www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2011/10/17/secretary-ofdefense-leon-panetta-s-two-war-paradigm-should-be-reconsidered.html. 48.  The phrase “option to protect” was used by Andrew Bacevich at a conference in Ottawa, June 6–7, 2011. An August 2011 UK government statement about intervention echoes the theme of restraint: the UK, alone or with allies, cannot and will not use force to intervene in Syria in response to the Assad government’s repression there. British foreign secretary William Hague, was quoted as saying, about military

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intervention: “It’s not a remote possibility. Even if we were in favour [of UN-backed military action], which we are not because there’s no call from the Arab League for intervention as in the case of Libya, there is no prospect of a legal, morally sanctioned military intervention.” See “Syria: William Hague Says No Possibility of Military Intervention,” Daily Telegraph, August 1, 2011, www.telegaph.co.uk/news/worldnews/ middleeast/syria/8674396/Syria-William-Hague-says-no-possiblity-of-military-inter vention.html (accessed August 3, 2011). The risks of further militarizing the ongoing conflict in Syria by a Western military intervention are recognized by Western governments to be high, given the complexity of the divisions within Syria and its proximity to regional tensions, especially between Iran and Israel. There is no confidence (yet) that such an action would make the situation better rather than worse, even assuming public support for action on the humanitarian reasoning that “something must be done.” Sanctions, diplomacy, and seeking to provide humanitarian access to, and relief for, those most at risk from the conflict are continuing. For anything more forceful, the Western powers may (as the United States did in Libya) lead from behind whilst others, for example, Turkey, address the difficult challenges. In any event, such action would require a UNSCR that would not be vetoed, like the last one, by states such as China and Russia. 49.  Gwyn Prins, The Heart of War: On Power, Conflict and Obligation in the Twenty-First Century (London: Routledge, 2002), 179–181, 219–225. I have adapted this concept to underpin the idea of labor-lite operations. 50.  Use of Special Forces includes not only specialist military personnel, both regular and reservists, but also other special operations personnel from agencies such as the CIA and other kinds of secret intelligence agencies. As with any intermilitary and interagency activities, there can be cooperation as well as conflict. In addition, it is normally difficult to gauge the nature of the precise involvement of such organizations in operations, as has been true of all three cases of intervention discussed in this chapter. Unsurprisingly, there was speculation about their possible ongoing role in Syria in the early months of 2012. The emphasis on Special Forces in the contemporary U.S. reshaping of its defense organization has not gone unnoticed in the press. See, for example, Eric Schmitt, Mark Mazzetti, and Thom Shanker, “Admiral Seeks Freer Hand in Deployment of Elite Forces,” New York Times, February 12, 2012, www .nytimes.com/2012/02/13/us/admiral-pushes-for-freer-hand-in-special-forces.html. I am grateful to Teresa Lawson for bringing this reference to my attention. 51.  Christopher Dandeker, “Surveillance and Military Transformation: Organizational Trends in Twenty First Century Armed Services,” in The New Politics of Surveillance and Visibility, ed. K. Haggerty and R. V. Ericson (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2006), 225–249. 52.  This is an important theme in the recent writings of Anthony King. See Anthony King, The Transformation of Europe’s Armed Forces: From the Rhine to Afghanistan (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011). King sees the main trend since the end of the Cold War as the process not of downsizing but of concentration. The armed forces have become smaller but more potent in their destructive power, with



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greater global reach and precision. Improved technologies, especially improved communications, allow greater horizontal networking amongst military component to supplement the vertical systems of traditional military hierarchies. Greater professionalism is epitomized by the shift in the force mix to a greater reliance on Special Forces as well as higher professional standards in other components of regular forces, exemplified in the British case by comparing present-day British forces to those active during the Falklands War of 1982. I owe these points to discussions with Anthony King of the University of Exeter. 53.  Unarmed drones can also serve as valuable means of real-time surveillance and not just in military contexts: for example, monitoring compliance with agreements on use of land for particular purposes. On military reconnaissance, it is interesting to note that one of the key ISTAR weaknesses of the NATO intervention in Libya was a shortage of UAVs. This was a discussion point at the briefing on board HMS Liverpool. 54.  There is also a debate about whether activity at a distance can be as effective as the more labor-intensive methods of counterinsurgency, which in turn leads to questions about how best to ally these techniques. My expectation is that the main line of development will be away from the labor-intensive methods: in essence, drones will go into action with strategic raiding not with labor-intensive counterinsurgency, whose time may well have come and gone despite all the investment in new field manuals and doctrinal development. The U.S. use of drones deployed from bases in friendly Arab states in the Middle East to target enemies in Yemen is an indication of likely developments. See Ioan Craig, Hugh Tomlinson, and Giles Whittell, “Secret Drone Bases Mark Latest Shift in US Attacks on al-Qaeda,” The Times (London), July 26, 2011, www.thetimes.co.uk/tto/news/world/americas/article3105002.ece (accessed August 8, 2011). 55.  The recent death of the U.S ambassador to Libya in September 2012 is likely to lead to a labor-lite response by the United States in terms of use of drones and Special Forces both within Libya and adjacent countries. 56.  Joseph S. Nye, Jr., Soft Power: The Means to Success in World Politics (New York: Public Affairs, 2004). 57.  A recent discussion of soft power and its military implications for the UK is Geoff Till, Back to Basics: British Strategy after Afghanistan, Corbett Paper No. 6, Corbett Centre for Maritime Policy Studies, King’s College London, July 2011, 12–14. 58. Canada sent to Afghanistan the last combat rotation of what it termed Operation ATHENA (Rotation 10) on November 30, 2010; see www.cefcom.forces.gc.ca/ pa-ap/ops/fs-fr/jtfa-foia-eng.asp. 59.  Personal communication to the author from Dr. Jan Van Der Meulen. 60.  A notable contribution to this line of criticism is Mats Berdal, Building Peace after War (London: Routledge, International Institute for Strategic Studies, 2010). 61.  For a recent and robust statement of this view, see David Fisher, Morality and War—Can War Be Just in the Twenty-First Century? (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011).

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62.  In this vein, see John Mackinlay, The Insurgent Archipelago (London: C. Hurst and Co., 2009). In the UK, for example, it is no surprise that even with radical cuts in defense spending, resources are still being found for Special Forces and cybersecurity. 63.  This theme is explored by Rachel Maddow, Drift: The Unmooring of American Military Power (New York: Crown, 2012), 188–215. 64.  Martin Shaw, The New Western Way of War: Risk Transfer War and Its Crisis in Iraq (Cambridge: Polity, 2005).

6

Torture, Harm, and the Prospect of Moral Repair James Burk

T

h e t e r r o r i s t atta c k o n S e p t e m b e r 11 , 2 0 0 1 , w a s a

traumatic event for the United States, felt around the world. In the United States, it aroused feelings of vulnerability and insecurity at least as deep as those prompted by the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor sixty years before. It also aroused resentment that the attack had happened at all and determination that such an attack should not happen again. Near the surface was a desire to get even. Many saw this as an emergency that required an emergency response. But against whom, against what, should the U.S. government respond? And what kind of response was required? Unlike Pearl Harbor, the September 11 attack was not a traditional act of war by one state against another. It was not something the world had often seen before. A novel situation, it seemed to demand a novel response. The novelty was in both the attackers and in their methods. They were not a state but a fanatical terrorist group, al Qaeda.1 Unlike previously known terrorist groups that aimed to attain local political goals, al Qaeda was a global group that was bent on provoking and lashing out against the United States (and the West in general) by means of deadly attacks that targeted innocent civilians. To meet this threat, Congress gave the Bush administration broad authority to take military action against the terrorists and their supporters, to punish them, and to prevent them from mounting future attacks.2 In the fall of 2001, President Bush launched an attack against the Taliban regime in

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Afghanistan. The Taliban had provided a safe haven for al Qaeda to recruit and train new members and to plot new attacks. One result of this war in Afghanistan was the detention of hundreds of Afghanis and others suspected by the United States of being “unlawful enemy combatants.” Many more suspected unlawful enemy combatants were detained as a result of the war in Iraq and the insurgency that came after the fall of Saddam Hussein. Some were held in Afghanistan and Iraq, and others were imprisoned in the U.S. facility established for that purpose at Guantánamo Bay and elsewhere, including secret prisons (“black sites”) run by the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), located outside U.S. borders.3 The U.S. government interrogated these detainees, seeking information that would help military operations, provide insight into how al Qaeda was organized and operated, and tell where and when al Qaeda might strike in the future. Backed by President Bush and the secretary of defense, Donald Rumsfeld, the CIA and the military carried out these interrogations with a sense of urgency, as they thought that gathering such intelligence was critical to the U.S. ability to prevent any new attack on the nation. As military operations continued in Afghanistan and expanded into Iraq, Secretary Rumsfeld authorized the military to replace traditional interrogation techniques with harsher so-called enhanced interrogation techniques. To facilitate this change, the executive branch declared that many detainees suspected of being terrorists or aiding terrorists were not “lawful combatants,” to be thought of in traditional terms as prisoners of war or others entitled to protection by the Geneva Conventions.4 Instead, they were said to be “unlawful” enemy combatants against whom, the administration claimed, it could use interrogation methods that were not allowed under the Geneva Conventions. The Bush administration argued that harsher, more coercive interrogation techniques would increase the flow and volume of valuable information, resulting in “actionable intelligence” for the war on terror. No public data provide evidence that this was, in fact, the result. Moreover, by 2003, reports began to appear claiming that coercive interrogation techniques used in Afghanistan, Guantánamo Bay, and later in Iraq had gone too far and that detainees were being abused or tortured.5 In May 2004, photographs of prisoner abuse at Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq were publicly disclosed, along with evidence that interrogation techniques, which most people would call torture, were frequently in use there, techniques such as hooding, beatings with hard objects, and forcing prisoners to assume stress positions, while



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naked, over long periods of time. These disclosures sparked a wide debate over whether or when the use of such techniques—the use of torture—might be justified. The public debate has ebbed and flowed. But scholarly debate continues, having grown into a large literature, and human rights organizations such as Human Rights Watch and the Center for Constitutional Rights still monitor and report on U.S. government conduct in this arena and have undertaken various attempts to hold public officials accountable.6 This chapter focuses on the use of torture by the United States in the war on terror, on the moral harm that can result, and on steps that have been and might be taken to repair the moral harms that torture does. To begin, I ask what we should call the treatment detainees received when they were interrogated. Was it abuse, torture, enhanced or harsh interrogation, or what? Language matters, in part, because U.S. laws and international treaties embody values that prohibit torture. Next I ask whether such treatment is harmful and, if so, what were the harms and to whom? I argue that the treatment received by many detainees amounted to torture (as that word is ordinarily used) and that the harms done, not just to the detainees, were serious. I conclude by examining whether and how the harms might be remedied. What are the prospects for the effective moral repair of the moral harms caused by the U.S. use of torture?

Defining and Redefining Torture Torture is not an obscure word. Its ordinary meaning is clear. To quote the Oxford English Dictionary, torture is “the infliction of severe bodily pain, as punishment or a means of persuasion . . . by a judicial or quasi-judicial authority, for the purpose of forcing an accused or suspected person to confess, or an unwilling witness to give evidence or information.” Definitions vary, of course. Michael Ignatieff defines torture more simply: torture is “the deliberate infliction of physical cruelty or pain in order to extract information.”7 A more encompassing definition is found in Article 1 of the 1984 United Nations Convention against Torture (which the United States signed in 1988 and ratified in 1994). Despite the more cumbersome prose of law, the language fairly restates the dictionary meaning: [Torture is] any act by which severe pain or suffering, whether physical or mental, is intentionally inflicted on a person for such purposes as obtaining from

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him or a third person information or a confession, punishing him for an act he or a third person has committed or is suspected of having committed, or intimidating or coercing him or a third person, or for any reason based on discrimination of any kind, when such pain or suffering is inflicted by or at the instigation of or with the consent or acquiescence of a public official or other persons acting in an official capacity.8

While the words in these three definitions differ in particulars, there is a family resemblance among them. Someone who offers a radically different definition—as key members of the Bush administration attempted to do—must explain convincingly why we should adopt a new and different meaning. We should ordinarily not be confused about what acts count as torture. The philosopher Seumas Miller, discussing torture, lists a variety of actions historically used that we now view as torture, including severe beatings, searing with hot irons, cutting out body parts, inserting a needle under the fingernails, depriving the victim of sleep or water for long periods of time, suspending victims by the legs with arms tied behind their backs, forcing victims to remain in “stress positions” (such as squatting or standing with arms lifted for long periods of time), and waterboarding.9 Miller’s list was not meant to be exhaustive; there should be no serious question that torture also includes being made to stand naked without shelter from heat or cold, being raped or subjected to other sexual degradation, or being kept in a confined space, subjected to unrelenting bright lights or loud noise or other forms of mental suffering.10 No such catalogue could be complete, but these are representative of the acts we ordinarily call torture. Reflection on these definitions and representative acts suggests some common elements to torture apart from the infliction of pain. The torturer is in a position of complete power over the victim. The torturer’s power comes from being an agent of the state. The person being tortured is, in contrast, utterly helpless, without powers of self-defense, isolated from society, kept in a closed world. Torture is intentional: it has a purpose. The purpose, typically, is to intimidate political opponents (who may be others, not necessarily the person being tortured) or to obtain information from the victim. Henry Shue calls these, respectively, “terroristic torture” and “interrogatory torture.”11 Argentina’s military leaders used terroristic torture against political enemies in their “dirty war” in the 1970s.12 French military leaders used interrogatory torture in the 1950s to gather intelligence for the counterterrorism campaign



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against Algerians who fought for independence from France.13 Yet, as Shue observes, this distinction is analytic: empirically, all interrogatory torture includes an element of terroristic torture. Our understanding of torture’s purpose is deepened when we put it more generally: torture uses pain to curtail the victim’s autonomy as a person and to break the victim’s will.14 So far, I trust, nothing is controversial. We know what torture is. There are variations in formal definitions of torture, but they are not great. We know what kinds of acts count as torture; we understand the social structure that underlies the practice of torture; and we understand the functions that its perpetrators intend by using torture. Nevertheless, the Bush administration challenged this shared meaning. In the year following September 11, 2001, senior officials in the Bush administration attempted to establish a legal basis for narrowing the scope of the ordinary meaning of torture. Their method was to assert that interrogation techniques, apparently prohibited by statutes and treaties binding on the United States, were in reality permissible. This was convincing only if one adopted a definition of torture that was so narrow that it excluded all but the most extreme acts. If acts less extreme could be called something else, anything but torture, then those who authorized or performed these less extreme acts could deny they committed torture.15 The rationale was outlined in a memo dated August 1, 2002, from the assistant attorney general, Jay S. Bybee, to Alberto R. Gonzales, counsel to the president.16 The memo, known sometimes as the “Bybee memo” but originally drafted by Deputy Assistant Attorney General John Yoo, begins with an analysis of the U.S. statute implementing the UN Convention against Torture, which the United States had signed and ratified some years earlier.17 This Convention’s definition is, as we saw above, an example of the ordinary meaning of torture. The Bush administration’s challenge was how to make that definition say something else. One solution asserted by the Bybee memo was to argue about what the statute meant when it said torture was an act one specifically intended to commit and that the pain and suffering caused as a result had to be severe. The memo contrasted the legal meaning of “specific” versus “general” intent. Both terms define standards of proof required to establish wrong doing. But specific intent requires a higher standard of proof and so it narrows the scope of acts that count as torture. If general intent to torture were the standard used, then guilt could be established by showing that the accused

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torturer knew that severe pain or suffering was likely to result from his or her actions. In contrast, if the stricter standard of specific intent were used, then guilt could only be established by showing that the accused torturer acted with the express purpose of inflicting severe pain or suffering on a person in his custody or control. The Bybee memo makes a similar but even less persuasive claim about acts that inflict severe pain and suffering. Finding no definition of “severe” in the relevant statute, the memo cited an unrelated statute defining medical emergencies for the purpose of collecting health benefits. According to the statute, a medical emergency exists when life is in jeopardy, bodily functions are impaired, or body organs fail. Relying on this far-fetched analogy, the memo argued that the pain and suffering inflicted during harsh interrogations were not so severe as to result in a serious injury “such as death, organ failure, or serious impairment of bodily functions,” and for this reason they were not so severe as to amount to prohibited torture.18 These arguments were meant to work in tandem to assert that no act is torture that does not inflict the highest imaginable level of pain, and even if that level were inflicted, the accused torturer would be guilty of torture only if he or she had expressly intended to inflict such a degree of pain. This definition does, certainly, identify as torture a subset of the acts that would fall within the ordinary meaning of torture. But it excludes from the set many acts—perhaps most—that are ordinarily thought of as torture. It does so by creating a vast gray area within which fuzzy boundaries dimly distinguish acts that are torture from acts that are not. Within this gray area, interrogators are free to inflict a great deal of pain and suffering, so long as they do not intentionally cause death, bodily impairment, and organ failure. This gray area is the permissive realm within which “enhanced interrogation” is, according to the arguments of the Bybee memo, allowed. The Bybee memo further argued that the UN Convention against Torture intended to create this permissive realm, by pointing to the Convention’s subtitle, which refers to “other cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment.” Torture belongs to the set of cruel, inhuman, or degrading conduct, argued Yoo and Bybee, but not all cruel, inhuman, or degrading acts are torture. Torture, the memo argued, lies at “the furthest end of impermissible actions.” It is something “distinct and separate” from the cruel, inhuman, or degrading conduct that, according to this strained reading of the UN Convention, is permitted.19



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There is neither space nor need to offer further analysis of this memo. It is enough to say that the memo was designed to put conduct ordinarily prohibited as torture beyond the reach of law. It asserted that even very extreme coercive interrogations were not prohibited, either because such acts would fail to meet standards of intent or suffering or for a range of other reasons, extending from common-law defenses of necessity and self-defense to claims that neither international treaties nor U.S. statutes could restrict or regulate the interrogation methods authorized by the president acting as commander in chief in a time of war. This was not a memo intended for public discussion and review. It was highly classified until it was leaked in June 2004.20 Nevertheless, it had broad and important effects. As an opinion of the Office of Legal Counsel in the Department of Justice, the memo was the guiding interpretation of law within the executive branch. It provided legal authorization for other opinions, and it justified the military and CIA in conducting enhanced or harsh interrogations of detainees that would not otherwise have been allowed. This opinion provided assurance—a golden shield—to interrogators acting within these permissive guidelines that they could not be prosecuted for committing war crimes because they were operating in accordance with official legal advice. It also justified senior officials in telling the public that U.S. policy prohibited torture in the interrogation of detainees; officials rarely if ever stated any qualifications about how narrow the official legal prohibition actually was.21 Once made public, the memo was controversial. The controversy revolved in part around its very narrow definition of torture. The influential jurist Richard A. Posner argued that this was a reasonable distinction. “So at one end of the interrogation spectrum we have torture,” as Posner explained the memo’s reasoning, “at the other end the kind of mildly coercive methods that the Supreme Court permits to be used to obtain statements for use in criminal proceedings, and in the middle ‘cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment’ that doesn’t reach the level of torture.”22 John Yoo also publicly defended this superficially moderate position. He continued to argue that the Convention against Torture made clear distinctions between torture on the one hand and harsh measures on the other that might be cruel, inhuman, or degrading but were not torture.23 Many others, in contrast, challenged the administration’s position as extreme and indefensible. Testifying at a Senate hearing in 2005 on the

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nomination of Alberto R. Gonzales to be attorney general, Harold H. Koh, dean of the Yale Law School, called the memo the most “erroneous legal opinion” he had ever read. Its definition of torture was so narrow, he testified, “that it would have exculpated Saddam Hussein.”24 The New York City Bar Association’s opinion of the Convention against Torture was directly contrary to that propounded by Yoo and Posner.25 Where the latter had argued that there were two distinct classes of conduct—torture (not permitted) and cruel, inhuman, and degrading conduct (a middle ground, permitted)—the Bar Association pointed to the plain language of the Convention. Article 16 makes it clear that the Convention requires signers (including the United States) to prohibit “cruel, inhuman, and degrading conduct” as well as torture. Rather than narrowing the class of prohibited acts, as Yoo claimed, the Convention explicitly expands it. The Convention ruled out the conduct called enhanced interrogation, rather than permitting it.26 Even some officials in the Bush administration thought that the memo overreached; among them were officials in the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), the military, and the CIA.27 For instance, Alberto Mora, general counsel to the Navy, thought the memo was far too open-ended and that it failed to set any clear limits on interrogation. In late December 2002, he took his concerns in person to Secretary of the Navy Gordon England and then to William J. Haynes II, general counsel for the Department of Defense. He warned both that the interrogations going on at Guantánamo Bay, which had been authorized by the memo, employed techniques that were at least cruel and unusual and that might amount to torture. His warnings went unheeded.28 Jack Goldsmith¸ who in the fall of 2003 succeeded Jay Bybee as chief of the Office of Legal Counsel in the Department of Justice, also found fault with the memo, calling it “wildly broader” than necessary and providing no persuasive legal analysis to support the positions it took. Goldsmith thought the memo was so flawed that it had to be withdrawn. On June 15, 2004, he informed Attorney General John Ashcroft that he was withdrawing the memo, even though many in the Bush administration welcomed its expansive authorizations and its protections against prosecution. A revised memo was written by his successor.29 Why does this controversy over the meaning of a word matter? It matters, in brief, because a choice between the ordinary definition of torture and the Bush administration’s more narrow and legalistic definition affects how much discretion the government may claim to have to engage in harmful ac-



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tions against others in pursuit of national security. It is enough for now to say that I am not persuaded to abandon the ordinary definition of torture for the Bush administration’s definition. I argue that there should be limits on the government’s discretion to use harsh and coercive interrogation of those it has detained in the war on terror precisely because of the inherent harms associated with the practice of torture. These harms are not confined to the victims, though harming them is the immediate aim.

The Harms Caused by Torture Questions about whether torture is harmful often arise in discussions about whether states are ever right to engage in torture. Some assert that torture is always wrong, without exception.30 Some argue that torture, although usually wrong, may be justified under certain extreme circumstances, such as the emergency of a ticking time bomb that might be defused in time to save innocent lives only if someone held in custody could be forced to talk.31 And some advocate torture, though they may call it by some other name, on the supposed basis that “torture works.” It is, some argue, an effective weapon in the war on terror; a U.S. failure to seek out and use information by means of torture would put the nation and innocent lives unnecessarily at risk.32 For our purposes, however, this debate obscures an important point. Whether justified or not, states that torture or otherwise engage in cruel, inhuman, or degrading treatment cause harm to those they hold in captivity and interrogate with coercive techniques, to those who implement or authorize the policy, to the institutions through which the practice of torture is carried out, and ultimately to themselves. Put in broad terms, when a society chooses to torture it ceases to be what Avishai Margalit calls a “decent society.”33 A decent society is one that does not humiliate people: neither those living in its mainstream nor those living at its margins. It treats all others with respect, those holding power and those over whom power is held. A decent society can be trusted to govern itself. A torturing society, in contrast, cannot. It depends for its survival on the humiliation of at least some people who live under its control. Those in power fail to treat others with respect. As a result, those in power lose respect for themselves and for others. They cannot be trusted to govern themselves and others openly. They must govern furtively, in secret, lest others discover what they are doing. Their autonomy is constrained.

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Harm to the Victims of Torture The first and obvious harm that those who torture do is to the victims of torture. The harm is intended and calculated, as a review of some recent U.S. policies and actions should make clear. Consider, for example, a memorandum dated May 10, 2005, sent by Principal Deputy Assistant Attorney General Steven G. Bradbury to John A. Rizzo, senior deputy general counsel for the CIA. Relying on CIA documents, Bradbury described a “prototypical interrogation” of prisoners detained in Afghanistan or Iraq.34 In the first session, Bradbury writes, prisoners could be slapped for acting inconsistently with interrogator instructions, thrown against a wall (called “walling”) if they appeared to be uncooperative, made to stand for hours without relief (one of the so-called stress positions, which might include prolonged kneeling or squatting, standing with arms lifted, or shackling of wrists to ankles), deprived of sleep, kept nude (except, sometimes, for a diaper), and put on a restricted liquid diet. In the next session, prisoners could be slapped if they failed to give “appropriate answers,” walled multiple times if they maintained a “resistant posture,” then doused with water for several minutes, returned to a standing position, deprived of clothes and sleep, and kept on a restricted liquid diet. In the third session, slapping would resume if prisoners still failed to provide the information sought. Interrogators would “integrate” stress positions into the interrogation. Intense questioning and walling would be repeated multiple times. When the session ended, prisoners were typically returned to sleep dep­rivation, left nude, and fed a restricted diet. In later sessions, interrogators kept prisoners for hours in a “cramped confinement,” a small or large box built for the purpose (whose dimensions were not disclosed). All of these interrogation techniques were designed to inflict harm on the prisoners to give them a negative incentive to cooperate with their interrogators so as to avoid the harm. The purpose of Bradbury’s memo was to spell out for the CIA which, if any, of these interrogation techniques might legally be used in combination with one another. Combining techniques would typically intensify the pain the prisoners felt. In general, Bradbury advised the CIA that, although the use of combined techniques could be expected to increase the pain of interrogations, it would not lead to pain severe enough to meet the Bush administration’s definition of torture. Bradbury’s opinion was somewhat more restrictive with respect to “waterboarding.” For a small number of detainees, the CIA had sought permission



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to use the technique in which a detainee would be strapped on an inclined board with feet elevated somewhat above the head while interrogators would pour water continuously over the detainee’s face, nose, and mouth to generate the fear of drowning.35 According to Bradbury’s memo, use of waterboarding was subject to some limits. A given prisoner could be subjected to only one “episode” of waterboarding in a thirty-day period, lasting no more than five days. During any twenty-four-hour period during such a five-day episode, interrogators might conduct no more than two waterboarding “sessions,” meaning, the time during which a detainee is strapped to the waterboard. No such session should last longer than two hours. The prisoner might be kept under water for ten seconds or longer, up to a maximum of forty seconds, not more than six times in a two-hour session. In any one twenty-four-hour period, a detainee should not be kept under water longer than a total of twelve minutes in all. Waterboarding could be used simultaneously with just two other techniques, sleep deprivation and a restricted liquid diet, but interrogators were permitted by Bradbury’s memo to employ other techniques (such as slapping, dousing, stress positions, or cramped confinement) at a time close to a waterboarding session, including on the same day. Bradbury’s memo paints a picture of interrogatory order and strict control, a picture of power. It is a legal memo authorizing the use of harsh interrogation techniques, while denying that the techniques it authorized amount to torture. The reasons for dwelling on this depiction of interrogations is to show that even those who favored harsh interrogation knew that the approved techniques were meant to harm the prisoners. That harm was done cannot be denied. Other documents suggest a less ordered and harsher reality. Bradbury’s memo presumed that all those who were detained possessed actionable intelligence. As it described the interrogation process, a detainee might be interrogated by neutral rather than painful techniques only after disclosing information about actionable threats or told the whereabouts of high-level “targets” that were still at large. Yet these were impossible conditions for most detainees to meet. Both U.S. military leaders and the International Committee of the Red Cross have agreed that, in fact, 70–90 percent of those detained were arrested by mistake and possessed no information that had intelligence value.36 In other words, the majority of prisoners had no way to avoid torture by cooperating; U.S. policies meant that they could be forced to endure harsh interrogation with no way out.37

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By the end of 2002, the harm that could result to detainees under these conditions was indisputable: in December, a young Afghani man named Dilawar who had been picked up by U.S. soldiers died after five days of interrogation at Bagram Air Base. He had been beaten so severely that, had he lived, his legs would have required amputation. During the interrogation, he was shackled, hung from his arms for hours, and denied water and medical care. Too late, interrogators would determine that he was innocent and had been arrested by mistake. But Dilawar died a captive. His family received a death certificate from local U.S. medical authorities attesting that his death was a homicide. Apparently unaware of this, Lieutenant General Daniel McNeill, commander of Coalition Forces in Afghanistan, told reporters in February 2003 that Dilawar had died of natural causes. Army criminal investigators took up the case sixteen months after Dilawar’s death. The investigators found reasons to charge twenty-seven soldiers with roles in causing or concealing Dilawar’s death. None was charged with murder. The harshest punishment fell on one soldier who was sentenced to five months in a military prison.38 Because Dilawar’s death had not been “specifically intended,” this death was not attributable to “torture” under the Bush administration guidelines outlined in the Bybee memo of August 2002. Yet it was clearly a harm done. This was not the only such instance. Steven H. Miles, the journalist who told Dilawar’s story, has marshaled evidence carefully documenting eighteen similar instances of homicide from September 2002 through April 2004.39 Were there more? How many more? The documentary record is still largely classified. This much is known: at some point the pain inflicted on the victim of torture becomes “world destroying.”40 When pain is so extreme, the individual is left behind. As Elaine Scarry explains: “the created world of thought and feeling, all the psychological and mental content that constitutes one’s self and one’s world, and that gives rise to and is in turn made possible by language, ceases to exist.”41 The tortured person is no longer an autonomous being, no longer takes part in the shared life of a community, is shorn of dignity, is more alone than Job, and is beyond humiliation, even after torture stops. Harm to Those Who Inflict Torture The guards and interrogators who perpetrated torture may have felt at the time as if they acted from a position of strength to do what their country asked of them. Their ability to use force against detainees was incontestable



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and bolstered by the Bush administration’s narrow definition of torture that guided commanders’ conduct. Some found the sense of power seductive. Consider a medic serving at Abu Ghraib in Iraq who beat Iraqi prisoners. He was not a “moral monster.”42 He was an ordinary soldier, older than most, one who, as a medic, expected to ease the pain of others not inflict pain on them. Nonetheless, as he described in graphic terms, performing torture created in him a sense of unlimited of power. When beating prisoners, he said: “You get a burning in your stomach, a rush, a feeling of hot lead running through your veins, and you get a sense of power. Imagine wearing point-blank body armor, an M-16 and all the power in the world and the authority of God. That power is very addictive.”43 Yet the sensation of power came at a cost. Soldiers lost their “sense of compassion” and they degraded the detainees under their control, killing some.44 Their feeling was real, but the power was not. In contrast, the costs to them were real and were not paid simply by returning home. Those who tortured were also harmed, by the illusion of power and by the moral injury their exercise of “power” had caused. To say the power of torturers was illusory does not mean the tortured did not feel their blows. Rather it is to ask what the pain actually achieves. Torture is not what it seems: just a technique to get answers to questions. There is evidence enough to cast doubt on that idea.45 Torture, Scarry tells us, is “a grotesque piece of compensatory drama.”46 Looking beneath appearances, she finds that torture is about torturers gaining a semblance of power over a world that they in fact cannot control. In this play, the weakness and pain of the tortured becomes an emblem standing for a power the torturer and those in authority only wished they had, power to mold the world as they would.47 But the emblem of power is not the real thing. Real power does not flow from compensatory drama. It cannot be based on the shaky foundation of inflicting harm on the helpless. The illusion of power is often cast aside when those who tortured come home to confront the reality of their moral injury.48 This is a major conclusion reached from Sharrock’s in-depth interviews of U.S. soldiers who had been sent to the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq or to Guantánamo Bay and asked to implement the policy of enhanced interrogation. After they returned home, the injury they suffered was difficult for them or anyone to explain. The soldiers felt a sense of betrayal, confusion, alienation, and shame over what they did. The soldiers could not easily admit to themselves, their families, or others the cruelties they committed. Their injury is difficult to confront and to

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care for, so long as they live in a society that has no settled narrative to explain, much less to justify, why the United States adopted a policy of torture as an instrument of war.49 It is a human frailty that we often do what is authorized even though, from a moral perspective, we should not. But the harms done were not restricted to those who personally inflicted or bore the pain. When the roles we occupy expect us to engage in misconduct, it is a source of institutional trouble, as discussed next.50 Institutional Harms To see further into the harms done by a regime of torture, we move from the social-psychological to the institutional level. Key officials in the Bush administration authorized and encouraged others to use coercive, cruel, inhuman, and degrading techniques when interrogating prisoners held in Afghanistan, Guantánamo, and Iraq. For many in government, from highranking officials to those in the field, these policies were a sharp and secret departure from core values that define the American political system, how it operates, and its relationship with the larger society. Two specific institutional harms resulted: a weakening of civil society and of its relation to the government and an erosion of trust among those serving within the government that the government’s policies and official acts were just. Civil society refers to the set of institutions, apart from the state, through which is carried out much of the government of free societies. In American discourse, at least since Alexis de Tocqueville, many have recognized the importance of these institutions to the infrastructure of liberal democracy. Their vitality depends on a culture of mutual respect—including respect from the state—for the many values and social practices they uphold. Any claim that torture has weakened civil society has to specify how a particular institution has been compromised by the government’s use of harsh interrogation as a weapon in the war on terror. Here I consider the medical profession to illustrate the harm. The medic’s admission that he felt empowered when beating prisoners in Iraq, quoted above, suggests that there were serious problems with the prison’s medical practices. It is, of course, a violation of medical ethics to beat patients or to engage in any practices designed to hurt rather than to heal those under medical care. It does not matter whether those cared for are enemies or not, in uniform or not. “First, do no harm” is the medical profession’s rule. Statements of ethics issued by medical societies in the United States and around



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the world prohibit medical doctors from practicing torture, abetting in the practice, or even being in the room when harsh coercive interrogations occur. Should they witness acts of torture they are required to report them and to try to stop them.51 Despite these rules, as Steven H. Miles documents, members of the American health-care professions “cooperated with all phases of coercive interrogations” at Abu Ghraib, Guantánamo, and elsewhere. They developed and helped the military to implement plans for harsh interrogation; they were sometimes formally organized by the military to do so, as “Behavioral Science Combat Teams.”52 Besides these acts, there were omissions: physicians neglected to provide health care for prisoners. They failed to screen prisoners for tuberculosis, treat mental illness, ensure the adequacy of food rations and standards of sanitation, and to protect prisoners from incoming fire.53 These acts and omissions harmed core values central to medical ethics, rendering the virtues of medical practice subservient to the state’s practice of torture. They thus contributed to a weakening of civil society.54 This goes beyond the prudential question, of the type often raised in wartime, about how to balance the claims of civil liberty against those of security. As Michael Ignatieff put it, the broader question is whether liberal democracy, based on respect for human dignity, can ever be saved by means that violate human dignity. As he argues: Liberal democracy stands against torture because it stands against any unlimited use of public authority against human beings, and torture is the most unlimited, the most unbridled form of power that one person can exercise against another.55

Trust within the U.S. government was harmed when the Bush administration authorized the military’s use of harsh interrogation in Guantánamo in 2002. Members of the FBI had expressed doubts since early 2002 that the interrogation practices followed by the military were legal.56 Jane Mayer describes the ensuing distrust that arose between them. FBI agents complained that some military interrogation methods might be criminal and unconstitutional.57 That was the view of Jim Clemente, a special agent from the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, sent to Guantánamo in October 2002 to direct the FBI’s interrogations. He was troubled by what seemed to be the military’s abusive treatment of detainees. In November 2002, Clemente, along with other FBI agents, met with Major General Geoffrey Miller, the military commander of Guantánamo, to warn him that interrogation techniques the military intended to use against

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Mohammed al-Qahtani were cruel and degrading and “potentially illegal.” General Miller did not heed the warning but suggested instead that the FBI get “on the team.” Increasingly concerned, Clemente sent to Marion Bowman, head of the FBI’s national security law section, “a scathing legal analysis” warning that ten of eighteen interrogation techniques the military proposed to use might violate the U.S. antitorture statute or provisions of the Constitution. Clemente objected to hooding, prolonged (twenty-four-hour long) interrogation sessions, the use of dogs to arouse fear, and the use of stress positions, among other practices.58 Bowman sent the complaints to William J. Haynes, the Pentagon’s general counsel, but received no response in return.59 No one restrained military interrogations in ways that addressed FBI concerns. As a result, some FBI agents chose to leave Guantánamo rather than seem complicit in the military’s abuse.60 In May 2004, after disclosures of prisoner abuse at Abu Ghraib, the FBI instructed its agents to avoid being present when the military interrogated suspected al Qaeda members.61 Distrust of the government’s policy of harsh interrogation was aired at the highest levels within the Department of Defense in early 2003. In January, Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld assembled a working group of civilian and military personnel to create guidelines for military interrogators to follow when they questioned detainees.62 Among those included in the working group were senior officers in the Judge Advocate General’s Corps (JAG) representing each military service. Rumsfeld claimed in his memoir that, during their meetings, several military officials “expressed concern” that the guidelines for interrogations were “too restrictive,” putting American lives at risk by limiting interrogation methods.63 That was not, according to the JAGs themselves, what they had said. According to the JAG officers’ comments on the working group report, the JAGs expressed serious doubts—unrecorded in Rumsfeld’s memoir—about the working group’s recommendations. They believed the group was relying too heavily on the Bybee memo of August 2002 to justify a policy of harsh interrogation. Speaking respectfully but critically, they tried to influence the working group to adopt a more restrained set of interrogation guidelines; they gave three major reasons for doing so.64 First, the JAGs argued that the working group was wrong to assert in its draft report that there were no limits on the president’s power as executive and commander in chief to interrogate prisoners in a time of war. Such an assertion would simply ignore the legislative and judicial checks and balances



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on presidential war powers. The assertion of an unchecked presidential power was not good law, regardless of whether the executive, the judicial, or the legislative branches moved to enforce the restrictions. Second, the JAGs argued the recommendations for harsh interrogation would not garner domestic political support. They asked whether harsh interrogation such as the working group would permit was the “right thing” to do. They warned that the American people, when it was time to judge, might conclude that the policy was “inconsistent with our most fundamental values,” and that this would lower the military’s standing in society. As a practical matter, the JAGs warned, “soldiers ordered to use otherwise illegal [interrogation] techniques” would run “a substantial risk of criminal prosecution or personal liability arising from a civil suit.” Legal defenses, which the working group as a whole claimed would give soldiers immunity against prosecution for use of harsh techniques, were weak and might not stand up against accusations of torture. The JAGs pointed out that: “several of the exceptional techniques, on their face, amount to violations of domestic criminal law and the UCMJ” (the Uniform Code of Military Justice). It was not just interrogators but also those in the chain of command who risked criminal prosecution. Third, the JAGs warned that the proposed interrogation policies might negatively affect the treatment of U.S. service members who were captured abroad. Would their captors treat American soldiers according to the rules of international law if the captors could not expect the same in return? These were not merely rhetorical questions. For decades, military training emphasized the importance of taking the legal and moral “high road.” The JAGs pointed to the contradictions between this training and the use of harsh interrogation techniques that the working group would permit. They worried that such contradictory guidance would adversely affect pride, discipline, and self-respect within the military and would diminish public support and respect for the U.S. military, at home and abroad. The JAGs’ position was compatible with a long-standing American view that observance of Geneva Conventions and other laws of war—even if not strictly required—reinforces an international norm of reciprocity, establishing decent treatment of captured enemies as a standard to be met by all. The JAGs were not alone in thinking so. Susan J. Crawford, appointed by President Bush to be the convening authority for military commissions at Guantánamo, defended this norm when she dismissed charges against Mohammed

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al-Qahtani on the basis that he had been tortured while in U.S. custody. “If we tolerate . . . and allow” such abuse of detainees, she wrote, “then how can we object when our servicemen and women, or others in foreign service, are captured and subject to the same techniques? How can we complain? Where is our moral authority to complain? Well, we may have lost it.”65 Despite these critical concerns, the working group’s final report recommended a policy of harsh interrogation. In April 2003, Rumsfeld accepted the report’s recommendations with no substantial changes and he quickly implemented the harsh interrogation policy.66 When the Abu Ghraib scandal broke the next year, it raised questions in the United States and around the world about the U.S. policies that led to or allowed such abuses of detainees. The Bush administration claimed that the abuses were unauthorized acts by a few “bad apples,” a position to which Donald Rumsfeld apparently continued to cling.67 But few found these assertions credible. It soon became plain that the abuse was not simply an isolated case of breakdown of control among low-ranking soldiers. It was, in fact, the predictable outcome of the Bush administration’s decision to establish the practice of torturebased interrogation.68 Harms to U.S. Standing in the World The administration had been warned that—once the policy for harsh interrogation became public knowledge—the policy would damage country’s reputation as a defender of the international laws of war with its related protection of human rights for belligerents and nonbelligerents alike. Harsh interrogation policies would also make pursuit of U.S. foreign polices abroad more difficult.69 The warnings had gone unheeded by the Bush administration. The result was as predicted: the U.S. practice of torture, and more generally its conduct of the war on terror, caused U.S. favorability ratings to plummet around the world. In Argentina, which had had its own experience in the 1970s of a torture regime, U.S. favorability ratings dropped from 50 percent in 2000 to 16 percent in 2007. In Indonesia, they dropped from 75 to 29 percent over the same time period. The drop in favorability was felt even among the closest allies of the United States. In Britain, favorability declined from 83 percent in 2000 to 51 percent in 2007. America’s global standing clearly suffered as a result of objections to Bush administration policies. Similar patterns were observed when respondents were asked more narrowly whether they favored U.S.-led efforts to fight terrorism. Although the ratings have improved since 2009 un-



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der the Obama administration, they remain far below what they were before September 11, 2001.70 Poll data are only one indicator of the harm coercive interrogation has done to the United States. Negative reaction to American torture polices is indicated by attempts made in foreign courts to hold U.S. public officials to account for the U.S. use of torture. Such legal actions are possible in countries that claim a universal jurisdiction to prosecute war criminals and human rights violators or other international criminals who would otherwise go unpunished. The legal theory underlying these actions is that state sovereignty is not absolute but conditional: states cannot commit or allow human rights violations with impunity. Other states may, therefore, intervene to hold them to account.71 Some states in Western Europe have relied on this theory in attempts to punish torture and other human rights violations committed in Argentina, Chile, Rwanda, and Serbia.72 Since 2004, formal requests have been filed in Germany, France, and Spain to investigate the role of high-ranking American leaders in the use of torture as a weapon in the war on terror.73 It is doubtful, however, that any of these investigations will result in a legal judgment. The United States has exerted strong diplomatic pressure to prevent that from happening. It demanded that other countries limit future use of universal jurisdiction and stop ongoing legal investigations into the conduct of U.S. political leaders, soldiers, military, and CIA operatives. Whether this demand is wise foreign policy is not at issue here. It is sufficient to note that U.S. pursuit of this foreign policy has been made more difficult as a consequence of its adoption of the practice of harsh interrogation. In short, the harm done by torture runs deep, raising questions about whether and how the moral injury of torture might be repaired.

Prospects for Moral Repair Moral repair refers to overcoming wrongs that have upset moral beliefs about how social relationships should be carried on. It is a way of setting things right, if that can be done. The aim, as put by Margaret Urban Walker, is to create or restore morally adequate social relations. Social relations are morally adequate when we share “moral standards, trust in our responsiveness to them and responsibility under them, and hope that our confidence is not misplaced.”74 Creating or restoring such relations is not easy. In the simplest case, moral repair may occur when a single wrongdoer sincerely repents and

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perhaps makes concrete amends for having rent the moral order that wronged a single victim and when, in addition, the victim is able on moral grounds to overcome the resentment aroused by having been wronged, that is, to forgive the wrongdoer.75 Rarely, however, are matters so simple. They are very far from simple when we think about the practice of torture adopted by the United States in the war on terror. Having acknowledged that the practice of torture creates a moral harm, we must ask what the prospects are for limiting the harm, and for creating or restoring institutional relationships “in the direction of becoming morally adequate.”76 There are at least three possible modes of repair that may be pursued by states that have engaged in torture. First would be to make amends for harms done to those subjected to torture. Second would be to strengthen respect for the rule of law so as to reverse or prevent further authorization of torture. Third would be to resist bureaucratic tendencies to routinize and normalize the practice of torture. Making amends to those harmed by torture includes, in the first place, an acknowledgment by the government that it has wrongfully tortured some of those it detained as part of the war on terror. To be credible, the acknowledgment would include an apology for what it had done and the payment of reparations. This possibility is consistent with past American practice in response to official acknowledgment of previous wrongdoing. An obvious example is the apology extended, with reparations awarded, by Congress and President Reagan in 1988 to Japanese Americans who lost their homes and liberty and were humiliated by the U.S. government during World War II.77 A less dramatic example, yet still important, was the U.S. military’s award of the Soldier’s Medal to Chief Warrant Officer Hugh Thompson and his crewmembers for their heroic actions to stop the My Lai massacre in 1968 during the Vietnam War. In the first years after the massacre, those soldiers responsible for the wrongdoing received only light sentences. The intervention to stop the massacre went unacknowledged. It was thirty years before the good conduct of Thompson and his crewmembers was officially honored and commended by a military that had been embarrassed by its own misbehavior.78 Unclear is whether abuses of liberty that stem from overreactions to war will always eventually be regretted and curbed. Geoffrey R. Stone has found a pattern in American history that tends in that direction. He believes that U.S. participation in war often leads to excessive wartime restraints on First Amendment liberties. These restraints are later regretted and eventually apol-



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ogized for after the war was over, sometimes long after.79 With regret comes some striving to compensate for the wrong done. The compensation may be small, more symbolic than tangible. Nonetheless, it provides a brake in American political culture against a recurrence of the abuse. Perhaps the practice of torture was an overreaction to the war on terror. If so, after the war on terror ends, this practice too may be seen as a regrettable aberration in American history, with some compensation paid for the harm done. Based on the case of Maher Arar, however, it is doubtful that day will come soon. In 2002, U.S. authorities detained Arar, a Canadian citizen, during a flight layover at New York’s John F. Kennedy airport while he was in transit to his Canadian home. U.S. and Canadian authorities suspected that Arar belonged to a known terrorist organization because once, in October 2001, Arar had lunched in Ottawa with a person suspected of being a terrorist. Based on this evidence, U.S. authorities sent Arar to Syria where he was held for one year without charge and without the benefit of any legal process, was interrogated, and was tortured. In November 2003, Syria released Arar without any explanation, except to say it had no evidence that Arar had any terrorist ties. Under public pressure to determine what had happened to Arar, the Canadian government investigated the case, found that Arar’s claims of maltreatment and torture were true, and concluded that the Canadian government had mistakenly cooperated with the United States to facilitate Arar’s “rendition” to Syria. In January 2007, Canada’s government issued an apology and substantial compensation to Arar.80 In contrast, the United States has offered no apology or reparation. Instead, both the Bush and Obama administrations have failed to recognize or acknowledge responsibility for any harm done to Arar. In June 2010, the U.S. Supreme Court refused to hear Arar’s appeal of his civil suit against U.S. officials seeking damages for their role in Arar’s rendition and torture.81 Strengthening the rule of law is a second essential element in moral repair. The rule of law expresses the idea that laws apply to all persons, high or low. It protects the concept that law is a public and common standard to define and guide responsible action. As we have seen, the steps taken by the Bush administration to enable the practice of torture depended chiefly on weakening the rule of law. Secret opinions by the Office of Legal Counsel authorized coercive interrogation. These opinions declared that detainees were not eligible to receive legal protection, that what is ordinarily called torture did not meet a more restrictive legal definition of torture, that the president in any case had

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unilateral authority as commander in chief to approve harsh interrogation, and that these policies therefore required no statutory action or independent review by Congress. The theory of presidential power that underpinned these opinions would raise rule by the executive above the rule of law resting on public deliberation, in which checks and balances limit the power of any one branch of the U.S. government. Congress did not agree with the Bush administration approach. In 2005, driven by the scandal of Abu Ghraib, Congress overwhelmingly passed the Detainee Treatment Act. A central aim of the act was to prohibit military interrogators from using more force or harshness in their interrogations than allowed by the long-standing limits set forth in the Army’s Field Manual on Interrogation. The act also forbade CIA or other government personnel from engaging in torture or in cruel, inhuman, or derogatory treatment of detainees in military facilities. Although the Bush administration lobbied hard, it was unsuccessful in stopping passage of the bill by veto-proof margins—in the Senate, 90–9, and in the House, 308–122. The president continued to claim that he need not acquiesce to Congressional will. As he signed the bill into law, President Bush attached a so-called signing statement in which he asserted the power to interpret and enforce the act in ways consistent with his claimed constitutional authority as president, to supervise the executive branch, and as commander in chief.82 In other words, using this signing statement, the Bush administration asserted that it was free to follow its previous course of action as if the bill had not been passed.83 At best, the use of the signing statement introduced uncertainty about what legal and moral standards the government would follow when it came to interrogating detainees. Immediately after assuming office, President Obama issued executive orders to acknowledge the force of international law as a limit on interrogation of detainees and promised a broad review of U.S. detention policies.84 These orders reversed the controversial practices endorsed by the previous administration, but the process of reliance on executive orders leaves too much to the will of the president. Election of a new president could, following this pattern, once again result in displacement of presidential orders opposing torture with orders setting more permissive standards. Thus has the rule of law been damaged, making moral repair harder to achieve. A third area where moral repair is both possible and necessary is that of the potential normalizing or routinizing of previously prohibited conduct such as torture. Henry Shue warned that torture is hard to stop once it be-



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comes an administrative practice of the state or a part of the routine, as its bureaucratic defenders will be unlikely to favor altering or closing down their operation. This is all the more true, he argued, when the bureaucratic defenders believe, whether sincerely or cynically, that by carrying out their routine they are protecting national security.85 But bureaucratic routines run the risk of goal displacement, meaning that practices initially designed to be means to an end are elevated to become ends in themselves and self-justifying. As bureaucracies create internal expectations about how their world works, those who question the expectations are likely to be ignored or punished, even at the expense of the organization’s ability to achieve its explicit goal or reason for being. Examples of this tendency can be found in CIA interrogations of highvalue targets. A former interrogator reports how the CIA’s conventional way of thinking about the threat posed by al Qaeda could not, as a practical matter, be contradicted. The interrogator knew that the so-called high-value target he was supposed to interrogate could not possibly supply the kind of information expected from his harsh interrogations because the target was not the al Qaeda operative he was supposed by some in the organization to be. The interrogator had few options, despite his knowledge of the futility of harsh interrogation with this detainee: if he were to challenge the institution’s deeply held beliefs or contradict its ingrained practices, such a challenge was unlikely to change the institution. It would probably just endanger his career. Nevertheless, this interrogator thought the CIA’s mistake was too crucial; to act as if the mistake were true would serve no purpose. Moreover, he believed, it was shameful for the CIA to use enhanced interrogation against a prisoner who was not the high-value target they thought he was. The interrogator attempted to correct this error by publicizing it in written cables that he sent through CIA channels.86 However, his cables were not forwarded because his field office thought them too incendiary: they would upset bureaucratic routine and cast doubt on the foundations of the interrogation program. The implicit goal thus served was not the gathering of truthful intelligence but simply to hold the prisoner and keep the case going, regardless of the prisoner’s innocence, and without fidelity to the truth. All this interrogator could do, despite his best efforts, was go to work in another department.87 How does a society guard against the self-protective acts of bureaucratic leaders? It is not easy. Tactics used in harsh coercive interrogations were publicly opposed but secretly approved by President Bush, allowing little opportunity for public scrutiny. Such acts depict an administrative evil for

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which the only remedy is the light of publicity. Publicity reveals and makes visible the conflicts between societal values and administrative routines, so that they can be subjected to discussion and shared decisions about how we as a society should carry on. Human rights organizations and some in the media have used publicity as a tool since the beginning of the war on terror, creating opposition to the practice of torture, and thanking those who saw the practice and acted against it.88 At this point, prospects for the moral repair of the harm to U.S. society caused by the adoption of torture as a weapon of war are not absent, but neither are they bright. Paths for creating and restoring social relations harmed by torture are well marked, if not well worn. We have considered the role of apologies and reparations, defense of human rights under the rule of law, and monitoring by human rights groups and the media to expose and condemn administrative evils when they occur. By traveling such paths, it is possible that U.S. society may restore shared values opposed to torture, may increase confidence that these values will be upheld in action, and thus may warrant our hope to live in a decent society. It is hard to judge how likely success will be. The public is closely divided in its opinion whether the practice of torture is permissible as a tool against terror. We are far from a society that acknowledges, much less regrets, harms that torture has done. The rule of law is unsettled about what limits the United States should observe when treating powerless prisoners who may, it fears, be agents of a terrorist attack against us. Legal opinions, executive orders, military field manuals, and Congressional legislation may lean one way today but another tomorrow. Political leaders and government bureaucracy, meanwhile—having taken a bite of the forbidden apple—may rely on recent practices and precedents to justify a continuing secret practice of torture. The public shock and outcry that were heard at the news of Abu Ghraib may not be heard again so loudly or so long. Whether we will repair the harm done by torture, or continue to permit it, is an open question. It will remain so until, by deliberation or drift, we choose the kind of society we hope to be.

Notes 1.  Al Qaeda is not the only fanatical terrorist group. See Mark Juergensmeyer, Terror in the Mind of God: The Global Rise of Religious Violence, 3rd ed. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003).



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2.  The Congressional authorization was passed on September 14, 2001. See also George W. Bush, Decision Points (New York: Crown, 2010), 154. 3.  President Bush admitted to (and defended) the use of the secret prisons in a speech on September 6, 2006. See Bush, Decision Points, 178–179. U.S. and European journalists reported on the existence of CIA secret prisons a year earlier. For example, see Dana Priest, “CIA Holds Terror Suspects in Secret Prisons,” Washington Post, November 2, 2005; and Luke Harding, “CIA’s Secret Jails Open Up New Trans-Atlantic Rift,” The Guardian, December 4, 2005, www.guardian.co.uk/world/2005/05/usa/ terrorism (accessed February 15, 2012). 4.  The Geneva Conventions of 1949 (there are four) require provisions to care for specific classes of people during war: the wounded and sick, the shipwrecked, prisoners of war, and civilians. Protocols I and II adopted in 1977 are more controversial attempts to extend the Conventions within conflicts that are not interstate wars. The United States ratified the Conventions in 1949 but not the Protocols. At issue since 9/11 was whether captured terrorists were entitled to protection as prisoners of war. John C. Yoo and Richard Delahunty, both high-ranking officers in the Justice Department, wrote a legal memo, dated January 9, 2002, arguing for the Bush administration’s position that the captured terrorists were not prisoners of war and were not entitled to Geneva Convention protections. See Karen J. Greenberg and Joshua L. Dratel, eds., The Torture Papers: The Road to Abu Ghraib (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press: 2005), 38–79. 5.  For an early report on this see Jane Mayer, The Dark Side: The Inside Story of How the War on Terror Turned into a War on American Ideals (New York: Doubleday, 2008), 224. 6.  In its long report published in 2011, Getting Away with Torture, Human Rights Watch makes the case for an independent commission to investigate U.S. mistreatment of detainees since September 11. The Center for Constitutional Rights is pursuing civil ligation on behalf of four detainees seeking to hold Donald Rumsfeld, former secretary of defense, liable for harm to the detainees while they were kept and tortured at Guantánamo Bay. 7.  Michael Ignatieff, The Lesser Evil: Political Ethics in an Age of Terror (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004), 136. 8.  “UN Convention against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment (1985), www.hrweb.org/legal/cat.html (accessed July 27, 2011). 9.  Seumas Miller, “Torture,” The Stanford Encyclopedia (Summer 2011 Edition), ed. Edward N. Zalta, plato.stanford.edu/archives/sum2011/entries/torture/ (accessed July 28, 2011). 10.  The additional items come from a list in Steven H. Miles, Oath Betrayed: America’s Torture Doctors, 2nd ed. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2009), 8–9. Miles’s entire list, only partially reproduced here, also includes some acts on Miller’s list. Miles writes that many of the listed practices were “reliably documented” to have been used at U.S. detention centers in Iraq, Afghanistan, or Guantánamo Bay.

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11.  Henry Shue, “Torture,” Philosophy and Public Affairs 7 (Winter 1978): 124–143. 12.  Mark Osiel, “The Mental State of Torturers: Argentina’s Dirty War,” in Torture: A Collection, ed. Sanford Levinson (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), 129–141. 13.  Paul Aussaresses, The Battle of the Casbah: Terrorism and Counterterrorism in Algeria 1955–1957 (New York: Enigma Books, 2004). 14.  Miller, “Torture.” Miller refers to autonomy and will in defining torture. Torture, he states, is “(a) the intentional infliction of extreme physical suffering on some non-consenting, defenceless person; (b) the intentional substantial curtailment of the exercise of the person’s autonomy (achieved by means of [a]); (c) in general, undertaken for the purpose of breaking the victim’s will.” This definition fits within the family of definitions offered above. The link between torture and the aim of breaking people’s will is empirical and practical not simply philosophical. Mark Danner quotes an email that a military intelligence captain in Iraq sent to his men in midAugust 2003, explaining what his colonel expected from them: “The gloves are coming off gentlemen regarding these detainees. Col Boltz has made it clear that we want these individuals broken. Casualties are mounting and we need to start gathering info to help protect our fellow soldiers from any further attacks.” Mark Danner, Torture and Truth: America, Abu Ghraib, and the War on Terror (New York: New York Review Books, 2004), 33. 15.  See Henry Shue, “Target-Selection Norms, Torture Norms, and Growing US Permissiveness,” in The Changing Character of War, ed. Hew Strachan and Sibylle Scheipers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 464–483. Shue argues that the trend of U.S. policy to narrow the applicability of the norm against torture is not confined to the Bush administration: it started earlier with the Reagan administration and has not been stopped by President Barack Obama. 16.  The memo is reproduced in Greenberg and Dratel, Torture Papers, Memo 14 (August 1, 2002), 172–217. 17.  Torture Victim Protection Act of 1991 (28 U.S.C. §1350). 18. Ibid., 176. 19. Ibid., 185. 20. Mayer, Dark Side, 292. 21.  See, for example, the letter of William J. Haynes II, general counsel for the Department of Defense, dated April 2, 2003, in response to a query from Kenneth Roth, executive director of Human Rights Watch, quoted in Greenberg and Dratel, Torture Papers, 559. 22.  Richard A. Posner, Not a Suicide Pact: The Constitution in a Time of National Emergency (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 84–85. 23.  John Yoo, War by Other Means: An Insider’s Account of the War on Terror (New York: Atlantic Monthly Press, 2006), 174–175. 24.  Quoted in Henry Shue, “Target-Selection Norms,” 473. 25.  The Convention was implemented by 18 U.S.C. §§ 2340 and 2340A in 1994.



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26.  Report of the Committee on International Human Rights and Committee on Military Affairs and Justice, Human Rights Standards Applicable to the United States’ Interrogation of Detainees (New York: Association of the Bar of the City of New York, 2004), in Greenberg and Dratel, Torture Papers, 566–569. 27.  See Mayer, Dark Side, 202–204, 232–233; Glen L. Carle, The Interrogator: An Education (New York: Nation Books, 2011). 28. Mayer, Dark Side, 213–229. 29.  Jack Goldsmith, The Terror Presidency: Law and Judgment Inside the Bush Administration (New York: Norton, 2007), 148–160. The replacement opinion was issued December 30, 2004. Its author, Daniel Levin, acting assistant attorney general, noted in the opinion that despite any disagreements with the August 2002 memo, “we have reviewed this Office’s prior opinions addressing issues involving treatment of detainees and do not believe that any of their conclusions would be different under the standards set forth in this memorandum.” See Legal Standards Applicable under 18 U.S.C. §§ 2340–2340A (December 30, 2004), 17. 30.  Charles Fried and Gregory Fried, Because It Is Wrong: Torture, Privacy and Presidential Power in an Age of Terror (New York: Norton, 2010); and Jeremy Waldron, “Torture and Positive Law: Jurisprudence for the White House,” Columbia Law Review 105 (October 2005): 1681–1750. 31.  Owen Gross, “The Prohibition on Torture and the Limits of the Law,” in Levinson, Torture, 229–253; and Andrew C. McCarthy, “Torture: Thinking about the Unthinkable,” in The Torture Debate in American, ed. Karen J. Greenberg (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 98–110. 32. Yoo, War by Other Means, 165–203; and Posner, Not a Suicide Pact. 33.  Avishai Margalit, The Decent Society (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996). 34.  Steven Miles and Leah Marks, eds., United States Military Medicine in War on Terror Prisons (Minneapolis: Human Rights Library of the University of Minnesota, 2007). The memo can be found at www1.umn.edu/humanrts/OathBetrayed/policies -index.html (accessed August 17, 2011). See also CIA Office of Medical Services, OMS Guidelines on Medical and Psychological Support to Detainee Rendition, Interrogation, and Detention (May 17, 2004), www.aclu.org/torturefoia/released/103009/ cia-olc/2.pdf (accessed February 16, 2012). 35.  Waterboarding would be used, the CIA explained (in its request to which Bradbury’s memo was a reply), only if “(1) the CIA has credible intelligence that a terrorist attack is imminent; (2) there are substantial and credible indicators the subject has actionable intelligence that can prevent, disrupt or delay this attack; and (3) other interrogation methods have failed and are unlikely to yield actionable intelligence in time to prevent the attack.” Notice that this explanation closely follows the structure of the “ticking bomb” defense for torture. 36. Major General George R. Fay, Investigation of the Abu Ghraib Detention Facility and 205th Military Intelligence Brigade (August 2004), reprinted in

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Greenberg and Dratel, Torture Papers, 1042; and International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), “Report on the Treatment by the Coalition Forces of Prisoners of War and Other Protected Persons by the Geneva Conventions in Iraq During Arrest, Internment and Interrogation” (February 2004), reprinted in Greenberg and Dratel, Torture Papers, 388. 37.  This practice provided detainees a big incentive to give actionable but false information to their interrogators, if that would make the pain stop. I do not know how often false information was deliberately offered and wrongly accepted as true. For evidence that torture is an unreliable process of intelligence gathering, see Center for Strategic Intelligence Research, Educing Information: Interrogation—Science and Art (Washington, DC: National Defense Intelligence College Press, 2006). 38. Miles, Oath Betrayed, 68–71. 39. Ibid., 71–96. See also Mayer, Dark Side, 244–225; and Douglas Jehl and Eric Schmitt, “U.S. Military Says 26 Inmate Deaths May Be Homicide,” New York Times, March 16, 2005. The New York Times report counted suspected homicides from 2002 through March 2005. Of course, not everyone subject to harsh interrogation died, but harm is caused even short of death. See the partial record of the interrogation of Mohammed al-Qahtani, a captured al Qaeda leader, in Adam Zagorin and Michael Duffy, “Inside the Interrogation of Detainee 063,” Time 165 (June 20, 2005), 26–33. See also Philippe Sands, Torture Team: Rumsfeld’s Memo and the Betrayal of American Values (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008). 40.  Elaine Scarry, The Body in Pain: The Making and Unmaking of the World (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985), 29. 41. Ibid., 30. 42.  On “moral monsters,” see Charles L. Griswold, Forgiveness: A Philosophical Exploration (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 72–77. 43.  John Simerman, “East Bay Soldiers Back Up Rationale,” Contra Costa Times, May 9, 2004. 44. Ibid. 45.  Center for Strategic Intelligence Research, Educing Information: Interrogation—Science and Art. 46. Scarry, Body in Pain, 28. 47. Ibid. 48.  Brett T. Litz, Nathan Stein, Eileen Delaney, Leslie Lebowitz, William P. Nash, Caroline Silva, and Shira Maguen, “Moral Injury and Moral Repair in War Veterans: A Preliminary Model and Intervention Strategy,” Clinical Psychological Review 29 (2009): 695–706. 49.  Justine Sharrock, Tortured: When Good Soldiers Do Bad Things (New York: Wiley, 2010). See earlier claims that those who torture bear the guilt of crime and the shame of humiliation, in Albert Camus, “Preface to Algerian Reports,” Resistance, Rebellion, and Death (New York: Vintage, 1960), 114; and Osiel, “Mental State of Torturers.”



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50.  This is a matter I explore in greater depth in James Burk, “Responsible Obedience by Military Professionals: The Discretion to Do What Is Wrong,” in American Civil-Military Relations: The Soldier and the State in a New Era, ed. Suzanne C. Nielsen and Don M. Snider (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2009), 149–171. 51. Miles, Oath Betrayed, 181–184. 52. Ibid., 66–67. 53. Ibid., 97–118. 54.  The effects of torture on American civil society cannot be fully told by the case of a single profession. Opposition to Bush administration interrogation policies may, in fact, have strengthened media and civil rights organizations, which used publicity to exert a moderating force over Bush administration policies. Members of the legal profession have responded in a variety of ways that sometimes affirmed and sometimes undermined civil society. 55. Ignatieff, Lesser Evil, 136–137. 56.  FBI agent reports describe harsh interrogation techniques in use at Guantánamo Bay throughout 2002. Redacted copies of some of these reports are available from the Center for the Study of Human Rights in the Americas, the Guantánamo Testimonials Project, humanrights.ucdavis.edu (accessed February 18, 2012). 57. Mayer, Dark Side, 203. 58. Ibid., 202–204. 59.  Seymour M. Hersh, Chain of Command: The Road from 9/11 to Abu Ghraib (New York: Harper, 2005), 6–7. 60.  David P. Forsythe, The Politics of Prisoner Abuse: The United States and Enemy Prisoners after 9/11 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 112. How many agents left for this reason was not reported. 61. Hersh, Chain of Command, 14. 62.  New guidelines were needed because the president had declared that the detainees were not entitled to the protections prescribed in the international laws of war. Disagreement over what rules should govern how the detainees would be treated had given rise to the dispute between FBI and military interrogators in the fall of 2002 described earlier. 63.  Donald Rumsfeld, Known and Unknown: A Memoir (New York: Sentinel, 2011), 581–583. 64.  In this and the following three paragraphs, I rely on copies of the JAG officers’ comments on the working group report, balkin.blogspot.com/jag.memos.pdf (accessed August 23, 2011) (hereafter JAG Memos). The collection contains six memos: two from Rear Admiral Michael F. Lohr, judge advocate general in the U.S. Navy, dated February 6, 2003, and March 13, 2003; two from Major General Jack I. Rives, deputy judge advocate general in the U.S. Air Force, dated February 5, 2003, and February 6, 2003; one dated February 27, 2003, from Brigadier General Kevin M. Sandkuhler, staff judge advocate to the Marine Corps commandant; and one memo dated March 3, 2003, from Major General Thomas J. Romig, judge advocate general in the U.S. Army.

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65.  Quoted in James P. Pfiffner, Torture as Public Policy: Restoring U.S. Credibility on the World Stage (Boulder, CO: Paradigm Publishers, 2010), 161. 66.  The working group’s final report is reprinted in Greenberg and Dratel, Torture Papers, 286–359. 67.  In his 2011 memoir, Rumsfeld states that the soldiers at Abu Ghraib “were not following any guidelines or policies approved at any level. They were a small group of disturbed individuals abusing the Iraqis they were in charge of guarding.” Rumsfeld, Known and Unknown, 551. In their memoirs, both George W. Bush and Dick Cheney argue in a way that puts distance between the perpetrators of Abu Ghraib—the “bad apples”—and themselves, America, and the American military. See Bush, Decision Points, 88–89; and Dick Cheney, In My Time (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2011), 421–422. 68. Danner, Torture and Truth; Frederic A. O. Schwarz, Jr., and Aziz Z. Huq, Unchecked and Unbalanced: Presidential Power in a Time of Terror (New York: New Press, 2007), 65–96. 69.  See, for example, JAG Memos; and also Alberto J. Mora, Memorandum for Inspector General, Department of the Navy, Statement for the Record: Office of General Counsel Involvement in Interrogation Issues, dated July 7, 2004, entry for January 8, 2003, www.aclu.org/files/pdfs/safefree/mora_memo_july_2004.pdf (accessed August 29, 2011). 70.  Andrew Kohut, “Restoring America’s Reputation in the World” (Pew Research Center, March 10, 2010). The report and underlying data are available at pewresearch.org/pubs/1512/restoring-americas-reputation-globally-gains-may-be-fragile (accessed August 28, 2011). See also the Survey Report, Pew Global Attitudes Project, “China Seen as Overtaking U.S. as Global Superpower” (Pew Research Center, July 13, 2011), chap. 2, pewglobal.org/2011/07/13/china-seen-overtaking-us-as-global -superpower/3/#chapter-2-views-of-the-u-s-and–american-foreign-policy (accessed August 29, 2011). 71.  See Goldsmith, Terror Presidency, 55–58. 72.  See Steven R. Ratner, “Belgium’s War Crime Statute: A Postmortem,” American Journal of International Law 97 (October 2003): 888–897. 73.  Human Rights Watch, Getting Away with Torture: The Bush Administration and Mistreatment of Detainees (New York: Human Rights Watch, July 2011), Appendix: Foreign State Proceedings Regarding U.S. Detainee Mistreatment, www.hrw.org/ sites/default/files/reports/us0711webwcover.pdf (accessed August 29, 2011). 74.  Margaret Urban Walker, Moral Repair: Reconstructing Moral Relations after Wrongdoing (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 191–192. 75.  Jeffrie G. Murphy, Getting Even: Forgiveness and Its Limits (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003). 76. Walker, Moral Repair, 209. 77.  Geoffrey R. Stone, Perilous Times: Free Speech in Wartime (New York: Norton, 2004), 307. 78.  Burk, “Responsible Obedience,” 164–165.



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79. Stone, Perilous Times. 80.  Schwarz and Huq, Unchecked and Unbalanced, 98–99; and Lisa Hajjar, “Does Torture Work? A Sociolegal Assessment of the Practice in Historical and Global Perspective,” Annual Review of Law and Social Science 5 (2009): 334. 81.  The Supreme Court refused to hear an appeal of Arar v Ashcroft (585 F.3d 559 [2009]). That left standing the lower court’s decision that the United States owed Arar no damages for its action in his case. Arar’s suit alleged violations of the Torture Victim Protection Act of 1991 (28 U.S.C. §1350). Andre Duff, “U.S. Rebuffs Arar Lawsuit,” Montreal Gazette, June 15, 2010. 82. Mayer, Dark Side, 319; Forsythe, Politics of Prisoner Abuse, 90–91, 154; and “Statement on Signing the Department of Defense, Emergency Supplemental Appropriations to Address Hurricanes in the Gulf of Mexico and Pandemic Influenza Act,” Public Papers of the Presidents of the United States: Administration of George W. Bush, 2005, vol. 2 (Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office 2009), 1901–1903. 83.  Nonetheless, some in the administration disagreed with this interpretation. In February 2006, Philip Zelikow, counselor to the Secretary of State, Condoleezza Rice, wrote a memo stating that passage of the McCain Amendment changed U.S. legal obligations under Article 16 of the Convention against Torture. Under the new law, Zelikow argued, the CIA could no longer engage in cruel, inhuman, or degrading treatment when interrogating detainees in foreign countries. According to a report by Jordan Michael Smith, the Bush administration responded to this counsel by trying to collect and destroy all copies of the memo. See Jordan Michael Smith, “The Memo Bush Tried to Destroy,” Salon.com, April 4, 2012, www.salon.com/2012/04/04/ the_memo_bush_tried_to_destroy (accessed April 16, 2012). One copy of the memo survived, was declassified, and was released to the public on April 3, 2012. The memo is available online in the Torture Project section of the National Security Archive, www.gwu.edu/~nsarchiv/news/20120403/ (accessed April 20, 2012). 84.  Executive Orders 13491–13493, Federal Register 74, 16 (January 27, 2009): 4893– 4902. 85.  Shue, “Torture,” 137–140. 86. Carle, Interrogator, 247–253, 273–276. 87. Ibid., 288–290. Sometime after 2009—the exact year is not stated—the prisoner was released. On bureaucratic tendency to be indifferent to truth, see Robert Jackall, Moral Mazes: The World of Corporate Managers (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988). 88.  Deborah Pearlstein, “Finding Effective Constraints on Executive Power: Interrogation, Detention, and Torture,” Indiana Law Journal 81, no. 2 (2006): 1255–1295; Guy B. Adams, Danny Belfour, and George E. Reed, “Abu Ghraib, Administrative Evil, and Moral Inversion: The Value of Putting Cruelty First,” Public Administration Review (September–October 2006): 680–693; Ignatieff, Lesser Evil, 24.

7

Isomorphism within NATO? Soldiers and Armed Forces before and after 9/11 Gerhard Kümmel

T

he e vents of 9/ 11 have been described a s “ world e vents ,”

crucial turning points affecting patterns of social organization across the world.1 As such a historical, political, and also moral world event, perhaps akin to the Reformation or the French Revolution, it could be expected to have repercussions for the ordering of many areas of life, including the military. This chapter assesses the accuracy of such a description of 9/11 by analyzing its effects on defense and on military organization of the member states of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO). If, indeed, 9/11 was a world event, we should find that it triggered a common or mimetic response from the NATO societies and their political leaders to alter their military organizations so that they could better meet the common transnational terrorist threat. Political-sociological theory suggests that adaptations to a world event will tend to be similar: the processes of institutional isomorphism will lead political and military leaders to share ideas about what changes are needed, and thus we should see a high degree of imitation of the practices adopted by successful models. The expectation, then, is that the militaries of NATO members would respond in similar ways to 9/11. More specifically, we hypothesize that the leading military within NATO, the U.S. armed forces, would establish a pattern for adapting to and confronting the terrorist threat that others, expecting success, would follow. To test this hypothesis, which is developed by reference to politico-sociological



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theory, this chapter examines two developments in particular. First, how did 9/11 affect the military’s understanding of its security mission and roles, as documented by changes in security law, military practice, and processes of military transformation and innovation? And, second, how did 9/11 affect the military’s presence in society as measured by the changes in how various societies allocated resources for the military’s use? The analysis will show that in response to the exogenous shock of 9/11 inflicted on the institutional field of NATO, the member militaries of the alliance did not, in fact, react in lockstep as institutional isomorphism would suggest. Rather, their respective societies and political leaders had them respond in various ways.

Developing the Hypothesis from Theory The terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, have had and continue to have global repercussions. Dimensions affected by 9/11 include security, politics, economics, culture, society, and, the focus here, the armed forces. In the decade since 9/11, governments have raised defense expenditures and have issued tighter legislation regarding domestic security. Airports have tightened security check regulations. The presence of security forces in everyday life has reached new heights. Angst because of increased and amorphous danger from the terrorist threat has disseminated widely into society. Muslim segments of society have become the focus of changes in public sentiment. The militaries of many countries have been deployed against those responsible for 9/11. In sociological theory, the term “world event” was invented to capture the implications for social organization of such an event with global reach and structuring repercussions.2 There are several types of world events that, while different from one another in terms of character and phenomenology, are all media events with a global audience. In his sociological theorizing of the world event, Rudolf Stichweh groups the terrorist attacks of 9/11 into the category of historical/political/moral world events.3 He characterizes such world events as acts of performative and symbolic violence with primarily communicative functions.4 Stichweh’s sociology of world events is rooted in interrelated theories: in world society theory,5 in globalization theory,6 and in interdependence theory.7 In essence, globalization leads to a tremendous growth of interactions



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on the globe. More than just quantitative, such growth becomes qualitative, leading to interdependence and global governance. Evidence is that the world has become more normatively and culturally integrated.8 The existence of an international public, concern for the “other,” increasingly cosmopolitan orientations imagining a global community,9 examples of international solidarity such as various fair-trade endeavors, social corporate responsibility initiatives, and the international relief, provided, for example, after the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami, and the global discourse on human rights are evidence of this. The international community has begun to debate such concepts as “human security”10 and a “Responsibility to Protect”11 and has developed the capabilities to match these words with deeds, even, if necessary, deeds of a military nature. And yet the globalized world is an ambiguous world. With regard to cosmopolitan attitudes, the world is a post-Westphalian one as it reaches well beyond the nation-state era. On the other hand, the potential for conflict and for violence is such that it reminds one of the pre-nation-state era, meaning that the world also resembles a pre-Westphalian one. Thus, there is the dark side of globalization because interdependence makes the actors more susceptible to the disruption of interdependence patterns.12 Effective barriers against spill-over effects from seemingly far away events and conflicts cannot be established; this led Ulrich Beck to speak of the “world risk society.”13 Societies have become much more vulnerable to both intended and unintended turbulence in cooperation, and 9/11 is very prominent evidence. To deal with such ambiguity is the art of defense and security policies, and NATO, our focus here, represents one avenue to do this. Choosing NATO as a research focus adds another dimension to our analysis. So far, on the basis of the world event approach, we could argue that a common threat—9/11—may lead to a common response. With NATO, this argument can be made stronger because we can add organization theory to the analysis. Organization theory suggests that there will be a tendency toward homogeneity in organizations leading toward institutional isomorphism; that is, over time the military organizations of NATO members will become more and more alike. In their masterpiece of organization theory, DiMaggio and Powell explore the “startling homogeneity of organizational forms and practices.” They point out that “in the initial stages of their life cycles, organizational fields display considerable diversity in approach and form.” Yet, they argue, “once a field becomes well established . . . , there is an inexorable push

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towards homogenization.”14 This results, as Hugh Dyer points out, in “conformity to expected practices or standards of behavior . . . in social or political situations for both societies and individuals.”15 Such institutional isomorphism is furthered, within NATO, by the fact that NATO members share central values and are culturally, economically, and politically quite similar: all democracies, all market economies, all fairly open societies, all part of a special in-group communication within NATO. There is a close military cooperation among NATO countries and a NATOwide transnational military and organizational culture.16 This generates socialization and convergence effects upon the member states of NATO and their militaries. Last, but not least, member states must meet explicit NATO standards with regard to technology, strategy, tactics, and the like, and they are contractually bound to provide mutual defense to each of its members in case of attack. Taken together, these theoretical considerations suggest that military developments after 9/11 among the group of NATO countries would look quite similar. When we test this assumption empirically, however, we find some surprising results. In particular, despite all alliance rhetoric, the United States proves to be the sole NATO member to have increased its defense spending significantly in response to 9/11.

Examining the Evidence of Military Isomorphism We assess the hypothesis that military transformation after 9/11 would follow similar paths in the NATO countries by two research avenues. First, we check for similarities in military transformation processes and military innovations, such as significant changes in equipment and in the tasks with which the military is charged. Second, we look at the development of military expenditures of NATO members to assess the extent to which NATO members have undergone a process of militarization since 2001. As we will see with both research avenues, an initial appearance of common change—of isomorphism—breaks down quite a bit upon closer inspection. Military Innovations In looking at how different countries have reacted to 9/11 in terms of military innovations, we first look at the broader environment of security laws. These constitute the context for the actions and operations of a nation’s armed



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forces. We see, in countries all over the world that otherwise differ from one another, a consistent pattern, with security laws becoming stricter, more severe, and more restrictive. After 9/11, anti-terrorism laws that have very similar shapes have been put into effect in countries that are otherwise radically different. Countries as varied as Canada, Germany, Indonesia, China, and Vanuatu enacted laws that took extraordinarily similar approaches to fighting terrorism: criminalizing new terrorism-related offenses like conspiracy, planning, recruitment, incitement and indirect assistance, cracking down on terrorism financing, increasing surveillance of the resident population, and tightening border controls. Country after country made at least some changes to its legal system to adopt antiterrorism policies that followed from this common template.17

One reason for these similarities arises from the guided socialization that comes from international organizations. The United Nations acted on the issue of transnational terrorism, referring to Chapter VII of the Charter of the United Nations. On September 28, 2001, the UN Security Council adopted Resolution 1373, Threats to International Peace and Security Caused by Terrorist Acts, calling upon member states “to work together urgently to prevent and suppress terrorist acts, including through increased cooperation and full implementation of the relevant international conventions relating to terrorism.” The Resolution asked member states “to complement international cooperation by taking additional measures to prevent and suppress, in their territories through all lawful means, the financing and preparation of any acts of terrorism.”18 Thus, “binding global security law now exists,” since implementation of Security Council resolutions is mandatory for all UN member states.19 Other international institutions and organizations working in the field of antiterrorism include the G-8, the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), and the European Union (EU). The EU’s focus has been on balancing European security with European ideals as laid down in the EU’s Charter of Fundamental Rights announced at the Nice Summit in December 2000 and focusing on individual, civil, political, economic, and social rights. Steps taken by the EU affecting the EU member states of NATO related to improvements in cross-border cooperation in the judicial realm (EUROJUST), information sharing, protection of critical infrastructure across the EU, and elsewhere. For example, the European Agency for the Management of Operational Cooperation at the External Borders of EU Member

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States (FRONTEX/AMOCEB) was established in 2004. The EU agreed upon a Plan of Action to Combat Terrorism in September 2001, revised in 2005. Further EU initiatives addressed the retention of communication traffic data, the suppression of terrorist money laundering, and of financing terrorism.20 Table 7.1 compiles examples of national antiterrorism legislation and measures taken since 9/11, conveying the impression of conformity and homogeneity of such legislation. However, the impression of conformity and homogeneity suggested by the long list of legislation in Table 7.1 falters somewhat, both for Europe and the United States, and for the world at large, when these measures are examined more closely.21 As Scheppele points out, international legal obligations must be followed in domestic law, which needs to be modified accordingly. But she also points to a “variety in domestic implementing frameworks,” which thus “produce local rather than global standards.”22 And indeed, we do find that local standards vary from one country to another. National antiterrorism legislation, for instance, differs substantially in terms of the definitions of terrorism used and also in terms of the criminal prohibition of terrorism, meaning that “the new laws do not criminalize the same things.”23 After 9/11, the United States, for example, broadened its Law on Material Support for Terrorism to an extent that many Europeans would not want to follow. Ta b le 7.1   Antiterrorism measures and legislation, by country and year Country

Legislation

Albania

Amendment of Criminal Code, 2001

Belgium

Law on Terrorist Offences, 2003

Bulgaria

Penal Procedure Code, 2006; Amendment of Penal Code, 2006

Canada

Anti-Terrorism Act, 2001; Amendment of Proceeds of Crime (Money Laundering) and Terrorists Financing Act, 2001 and 2002

Croatia

Anti-Money Laundering and Terrorist Financing Law, 2008

Czech Republic

Nation Action Plan to Combat Terrorism, 2005; Act 252 (Anti-Terrorist Financing Law), 2008

Denmark

Criminal Code Provisions Concerning Terrorism, n.d.

Estonia

Emergency Preparedness Act, 2002; Emergency Situation Act, 2002; Money Laundering and Terrorist Financing Prevention Act, 2004

France

Amendment of the Law on the Suppression of Terrorism, 2001; Law on Internal Security; 2003 and 2010; Law on the Fight against Terrorism, 2006 and 2008 (continued)

Ta b le 7.1   (continued) Country

Legislation

Germany

Law on the Fight against Terrorism, 2002; Anti-Terror Database Act, 2006; Money Laundering Act, 2008; Amendment of Security Monitoring Act, 2008; Amendment of Criminal Code, 2009

Greece

—

Hungary

Revision of Section 261 of the Criminal Code Concerning Acts of Terrorism, 2003; Anti-Terrorism Coordination Committee, 2003; National Action Plan to Combat Terrorism, 2004

Italy

Decree-Law 374: Emergency Measures to Fight against International Terrorism, 2001

Latvia

Action Plan for Combating International Terrorism, 2001; NBCProtection-Unit, 2001

Lithuania

Law on Operational Activities, 2002

Luxembourg

Anti-Money Laundering and Anti-Terrorist Financing Law, 2010

Netherlands

Anti-Terrorism-Law, 2004; Private Data Inspection Law, 2006; National Anti-Terrorism Coordinator, 2006; Stricter Interpretation of Immigration Law, 2006

Norway

First Revision of Anti-Terror-Legislation (Section 147) 2000; Second Revision of Anti-Terror-Legislation (Section 147), 2008

Poland

Anti-Money Laundering and Anti-Terrorist Financing Law, 2000; Homeland Security Agency, 2002

Portugal

Anti-Terrorism Law, 2003: Revision of Penal Code, 2004; Anti-Money Laundering Law, 2004

Romania

Emergency Ordinance 141 on Punishing Terrorist Acts, 2001; Investigation Division on Terrorism and Organized Crime, 2004; Emergency Government Ordinance 131, 2006; Law 535 (Anti-Terrorism Law), being amended

Slovak Republic

National Action Plan on the Fight against Terrorism, 2005

Slovenia

Anti-Money Laundering and Anti-Terrorist Financing Law, 2007

Spain

Anti-Money Laundering and Anti-Terrorist Financing Laws, 2004; National Center for Anti-Terrorism Coordination, 2004

Turkey

Revision of Act 3713 (Anti-Terror Law), 2006

United Kingdom

Anti-Terrorism Crime and Security Act, 2001; Prevention of Terrorism Act, 2005; Terrorism Act, 2006

United States

Authorization to Use Military Force, 2001; USA Patriot Act, 2001; Aviation and Transportation Security Act, 2001; Bioterrorism Preparedness and Response Act, 2001; Enhanced Border and Visa Entry Reform Act, 2002; Homeland Security Act, 2002; Terrorism Risk Insurance Act, 2002; Maritime Transportation Security Act, 2002; Terrorist Bombings Convention Implementation Act, 2002; Terrorist Penalties Enhancement Act, 2004; National Intelligence Reform and Terrorism Prevention Act, 2004; Homeland Security Appropriations Act, 2007; Terrorist Expatriation Act, 2010

source: Compiled by author.

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Researchers also find local variations when examining the transformation of militaries and military tasks within NATO after 9/11 that have been aimed at fighting transnational terrorism and those who aid it. In 2005, for example, Schreer and Whitlock identified: notable differences across the Atlantic in addressing the dimensions of force transformation. In the light of Operation Iraqi Freedom many Europeans grew skeptical of what they regard as a one-dimensional U.S. approach to transformation, focusing predominantly on war-fighting capabilities. . . . Americans on their part questioned European willingness to substantially invest in . . . mak[ing] their forces more useful for future combined operation.24

Indeed, there was even concern by analysts as well as politicians over “diverging risk perceptions” in transatlantic relations: the Americans felt themselves to be at war, but to Europeans the security threat appeared less imminent.25 This is reflected in public opinion data. In 2007, for example, 58 percent of the Europeans surveyed were rather skeptical of U.S. leadership in world affairs, and even more, 77 percent, disapproved of President George W. Bush, his handling of international politics in general, and his conduct of the Iraq and Afghan Wars in particular. The issue of combat was especially divisive: just 30 percent of Europeans surveyed approved of combat operations against the Taliban in Afghanistan, compared with 68 percent of the Americans.26 More recent public opinion data, however, revealed a trend toward converging public opinion on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean.27 This might point to increasing isomorphism. This means that, for most of the post-9/11 period, European publics were alert to things international and to things military, which in turn created a restraining environment for European governments. Even among American citizens, perspectives on the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) in Afghanistan differed quite substantially, and there were also differences between the United States, the United Kingdom, and Canada, which interpreted the mission as a counterinsurgency operation, and other NATO members such as Germany, which viewed ISAF as a stabilityand-reconstruction mission. The French took an intermediate position on this question. In other words, counterinsurgency constituted a political problem for NATO.28 It raised the risk of a “two-tier alliance” as charges were made, resonating with similar debates during the Cold War that “some members have not been carrying their fair share of the burden.”29



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In transforming the U.S. armed forces to meet the challenges of the new security environment, the United States has stressed technology and counterinsurgency combat capabilities. This involves the pursuit of network-centric warfare capabilities while at the same time enhancing the combat capabilities of the “boots on the ground.” Emphasis on Special Operations Forces (SOF)30 is combined with the conduct of warfare from a distance, such as by unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs).31 However, such approaches are problematic for most European NATO members because they lack the necessary military hardware for counterinsurgency. The Europeans and, in some respects, the Canadians, are short on tactical airlift, particularly helicopters. The scarcity of specialized infantry, military assistance units, units for military and police training, and mobile combat reserves makes it difficult to match the U.S. approach to counterinsurgency.32 Counterinsurgency, then, constitutes a military as well as a political problem for NATO. Yet, despite these shortcomings, the transformation of the European armed forces is well under way. Indeed, according to Anthony King, European military transformation has already been achieved. Describing European military transformation as “a simultaneous process of concentration and transnationalisation,” he predicts that “by 2020 Europe’s armed forces will be even smaller than they are now, but . . . more professional and capable, having developed deeper co-operative links with each other.”33 There surely will be budgetary pressures in the future, and thus any substantial increase of military expenditures and defense budgets is quite unlikely, but Europe is aiming to get more for less. As King points out, the European armed forces have already changed significantly in several dimensions.34 First, in human resources and personnel, there is a European-wide trend to concentrate on elite forces and on light and hybrid formations. Second, at the operational level of planning and command, European military commands are being centralized to form joint operation commands. Third, European forces are increasing their coordination with U.S. forces in terms of military transformation policies, military tasks, and military role scripts to develop European counterinsurgency capabilities. King expects that, at least until 2020, “it seems almost inconceivable that European military reform will not take place within NATO, heavily influenced by the United States.”35 Would King’s optimism regarding the further development of European armed forces mean that isomorphism is on the rise (again)? Does his

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proposition disprove the military isomorphism hypothesis? Far from it, would be the answer. Surely, there is adaptation, emulation, imitation, even isomorphism in the field of military transformation, but this goes up to a certain extent only, just as is the case with the security laws discussed above. The analysis of military expenditures within NATO, to which we turn now, provides further illustrations. Military Expenditures In the field of military expenditures, the hypothesis is that a common threat—9/11 and transnational terrorism—hitting a group of countries organized in a military alliance—NATO—may trigger a common response, which would lead us to expect institutional isomorphism in the form of a fairly uniform pattern in the development of the military expenditures among NATO members. However, the empirical data do not corroborate this hypothesis, as we shall see. The examination of trends in military expenditures since 9/11 uses a database provided by the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI), which includes data for 171 countries for the years 1988–2010. Under SIPRI’s definitions, military expenditures are different from defense budgets in that they include current expenditures on the military, departments of defense, additional government agencies working on defense projects, space activities related to the military, and to defense and, under certain conditions, paramilitary forces. Thus, the database provides aggregate data for military and defense expenditures on operations, maintenance, procurement, research and development (R&D), construction, current military personnel, current civilian personnel working for the military, current retirement pensions, social services, and military aid. It explicitly does not include expenditures for past military activities, such as benefits for veterans, or money used for purposes of demobilization, destruction of weapons, conversion, and civil defense.36 The aggregate global data for military expenditures from 1988 to 2010 are presented in Figure 7.1. This clearly shows the general picture of a reduction in military expenditures from the end of the Cold War until about 1996 or 1998. Then, there is a modest increase until 2001, followed by a somewhat steeper rise since 2002 to the present time. This suggests that 9/11 triggered a long and continuing period of substantial increases in global military expenditures, which have surpassed even the Cold War levels of the late 1980s.



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1800

Constant (2009) US$b.

1600 1400 1200 1000 800 600 400 200

10

09

20

08

20

07

20

06

20

05

20

04

20

03

20

02

20

01

20

00

20

99

20

98

19

97

19

96

19

95

19

94

19

93

19

92

19

91

19

90

19

89

19

19

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88

0 Year

Fi gu r e 7.1   World military expenditures 1988–2010 source:  Data reprinted with permission from the SIPRI military expenditure database, www .sipri.org/research/armaments/milex/resultoutput/world/world_graph_8810v2/, September 30, 2011. SIPRI does not explain the missing data for 1991.

When disaggregating the global data for military expenditures by regions of the world, some interesting variation occurs and the apparent homogeneity of Figure 7.1 falters.37 The regional perspective reveals the marginal impact of spending in Africa, Latin America, and the Middle East. The bulk of military expenditures are made by the countries of North America, Europe, and, to a somewhat lesser extent, Asia and Oceania. North America and Europe are fairly similar in the amounts of their military expenditures in the mid1990s; however, beginning in 2002 there was a steep increase in North American military expenditures leading to notable divergence in the Euro-Atlantic comparison. Turning to NATO,38 the alliance that is under scrutiny here, it is useful to disaggregate Europe into eastern Europe and west/central Europe. Figure 7.2, which sets the year 2001 at index value 100, shows that although military expenditures have increased in all regions of the world, the variance among regions is considerable. The great increase in the index value for North America is surpassed by that for eastern Europe, while the index value for west and central Europe is only slightly higher in 2010 than in 2001. This may suggest that eastern Europe displays more isomorphism in relation to North America than do the western and central European regions.

0

20

40

60

80

100

120

140

160

180

200

2001

2002

2003

2004

2005 2006 Year

2007

2008

2009

2010

Africa North America Latin America Asia & Oceania Eastern Europe West & Central Europe Middle East

Fi gu r e 7. 2   Index of regional military spending 2001–2010 source:  Data reprinted with permission from the SIPRI military expenditure database, www.sipri.org/research/ armaments/milex/resultoutput/trendgraphs/regind2011, September 30, 2011. note:  Lines show percentage increase since 2001 for each region and year.

Index (2001 = 100)



Isomorphism within NATO?

195

When we examine the military expenditures of these 27 NATO members individually (shown in Table A.1 in the Appendix), we find 17 countries with military expenditures higher in 2010 than in 2000. Starting with the greatest increase and then in descending order, these are the United States of America (with an increase of 311,212 million USD), the United Kingdom (+11,875), Canada (+7,221), Poland (+2,751), Spain (+2,164), France (+1,777), Norway (+1,445), Portugal (+1,039), the Netherlands (+750), Greece (+377), Slovenia (+364), Denmark (+271), Romania (+201), Estonia (+163), Latvia (+125), Albania (+112), and Lithuania (+2). If we also look at 2009, Bulgaria (+40) would be added to this list. These data allow us to deconstruct the east Europe versus west/central Europe variation on isomorphism mentioned above. (See Table A.1.) Yet, military expenditures by themselves do not tell the full story of post9/11 militarization. Another indicator that is helpful to measure the importance a country attaches to military expenditures is the relative weight of a country’s military expenditures in comparison to the gross domestic product (GDP). (See Table A.2.) In this perspective, only seven countries gave greater weight to military expenditures in 2009 than they did prior to September 11, 2001. At the top of the list is the United States (with an increase of 1.6 percentage points), followed by Albania and Estonia (both +0.9), Latvia and Slovenia (both +0.5), Canada (+0.4), and the United Kingdom (+0.3). Three of these seven countries—Estonia, Latvia, and Slovenia—were not NATO members until 2004, and a fourth, Albania, not until 2009. Thus, efforts by these four countries to meet NATO standards in order to become eligible for membership may explain, at least in part, their rising military expenditures, which means that it is not possible to point to a definite 9/11 effect.39 Leaving aside those with motivation to become eligible for NATO membership, then, we find just the United States, the United Kingdom, and Canada with rising shares of their GDP devoted to military expenditures since 2001. This suggests that only two of America’s NATO allies followed in the footsteps of the Alliance’s hegemonic power. This evidence is clearly contrary to the hypothesis of large-scale isomorphism within NATO. Even more evidence against the hypothesis of isomorphism appears when we examine “the relative weight and importance of the military apparatus of a state in relation to society as a whole.”40 Looking at the extent to which

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Gerhard Kümmel

NATO members have undergone a process of militarization, the isomorphism hypothesis would again lead us to expect a common pattern. Such an evaluation is made possible by the Global Militarization Index (GMI) of the Bonn International Center for Conversion (BICC). The GMI “defines the level of militarization by the behavior of a state in distributing its resources to the military sector in comparison to other sectors in society.”41 The GMI is calculated based on three categories (see Table 7.2).42 First, a country’s military spending is compared to its GDP and to its spending on health services. Here, the data come from SIPRI for military spending, from the International Monetary Fund (IMF) for GDP, and from the World Health Organization (WHO) for data on health expenditures. This category, then, comes up with two indicators. The second category includes the ratio of a country’s military personnel (including any paramilitary personnel) and its military reserves, both to the country’s population and to the number of the country’s physicians. Here, the data is from the International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS) in London for the military and paramilitary personnel and from the WHO for the number of physicians. This category comes up with three indicators (see Table 7.2). The third category is based on the ratio of a country’s heavy weapons to its population. Population figures were taken from the UN’s Vital Statistics Report, while the data on weapons holdings were primarily collected from the IISS.

Ta b le 7. 2   Global Militarization Index, indicators and weighting factors Category Expenditures Personnel

Weapons

Indicator

Weighting factor

Military expenditures as percentage of GDP

5

Military expenditures in relation to health spending

3

Military and paramilitary personnel in relation to population

4

Military reserves in relation to population

2

Military and paramilitary personnel in relation to physicians

2

Heavy weapons in relation to population

4

source: Jan Grebe, The Global Militarization Index (GMI), Research Report, Occasional Paper VII (Bonn: Bonn International Center for Conversion [BICC], 2011), 16. Reprinted with permission from Bonn International Center for Conversion (BICC).



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By aggregating and examining these six indicators extracted from the three categories on a time-series basis, the BICC calculates the GMI for each country (see Table A.3).43 The interpretation of the GMI, then, is very simple: the higher a country’s GMI, the more militarized it is considered to be. The most surprising finding from these data is that the United States is the one and only NATO member state whose GMI has risen between 2000 and 2009 (although it was not the country with the highest GMI in 2009). This is shown in Figure 7.3. The GMI evidence suggests that, contrary to the hypothesis, there is relatively little isomorphism within NATO since 9/11. The United States is alone in showing an increase in overall militarization after 9/11; this trend is not followed by any of the other NATO member states. Even those countries whose GMI is higher than that of the United States in 2009—Greece, Bulgaria, Turkey, and Portugal—show a decline from 2000. The United States had a lower GMI in 2000 than fifteen of the twenty-six other countries of the “NATO 27” we examine here, but every one of those, except the United States, experienced a decline in its GMI between 2000 and 2009.

720 700 680 660 640 620 600 580 560 540 2000

2001

2002

2003

2004

2005

Rest of NATO

2006

2007

2008

USA

Fi gu r e 7.3   2000–2009 Global Militarization Index (GMI) of the United States compared with other NATO countries (members as of 2009) source:  Calculated from Table A.3.

2009

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Gerhard Kümmel

Conclusion Reality is more complex than a simple hypothesis of isomorphism might suggest. In the first years after the terrorist world event of 9/11, and up to the present time, military and security political change has taken place within all countries of NATO. The model that dominates within NATO—with regard to missions, organization, personnel, and equipment—is the American one. The United States sets the pace for a military and security political metamorphosis that has diffused and is diffusing throughout NATO.44 But this diffusion is far from being swift and comprehensive. There are departures from isomorphism: there are and will continue to be significant differences between the member states of the alliance, most obviously arising from their differences in resources. With regard to threat perceptions, the transatlantic divide seems to have become less pronounced in recent years, but there still is some divide. Many Europeans have, after an early delay, accepted the counterinsurgency mission. The same applies to organizational changes and shifts in the focus of human resources. Europe’s sociocultural environment, however, under present conditions, seems unlikely to allow increases in military expenditures that would result in increases in their GMI. Thus, what we find is some limited conformity within NATO, and some varied or nuanced isomorphism within the alliance, resulting from the differing sociocultural, political, and economic contexts and the differing national interests of NATO’s member states. This finding may have some important theoretical implication as it may indicate a weakness of a major theoretical claim in neo-institutionalist theory. We have not found a far-reaching institutional isomorphism within NATO in the sense that NATO members chose to meet the transnational terrorist threat with a unitary, uniform, and homogeneous pattern of action. Instead, for the future, we may very well see division and differences of opinion among NATO members about the military’s format, its missions, and its place and role in society within an alliance of nation-states sharing a common culture. This points to the need to examine the conditions under which changes within NATO may not be as isomorphic as expected, and to the need to develop strategies and means to deal with how those differences may affect the likelihood of NATO reaching a shared goal. The United States, NATO’s hegemonic power, should put such an examination quite high on the agenda because the limited conformity and the varied and nuanced isomorphism within NATO is much more than could be expected from other, non-NATO countries.

425

236

10,854

Lithuania

Luxembourg

Netherlands

41,229

Italy

143

1,842

Hungary

Latvia

8,992

Greece

4,317

48,969

2,968

Czech Republic

Denmark

Germany

1,349

Croatia

173

12,943

Canada

59,508

923

Bulgaria

France

5,781

Belgium

Estonia

89

2000

Albania

Country

11,137

296

453

180

40,553

2,032

8,794

48,170

59,308

201

4,586

2,855

1,250

13,280

1,022

5,527

102

2001

11,125

264

465

294

41,661

1,981

8,626

48,306

60,525

240

4,530

3,051

1,352

13,350

1,031

5,359

101

2002

11,283

279

514

339

41,999

2,129

7,390

47,646

62,364

278

4,396

3,314

1,094

13,595

1,051

5,417

114

2003

11,370

293

492

366

42,137

1,971

8,125

46,183

64,076

293

4,421

3,180

958

14,110

1,027

5,304

124

2004

11,388

297

532

426

40,539

1,951

8,786

45,460

62,724

365

4,213

3,477

943

14,730

1,050

5,111

129

2005

11,922

291

579

536

39,226

1,749

9,135

44,411

63,059

410

4,606

3,212

1,048

15,415

1,042

5,071

158

2006

12,082

301

632

584

38,006

1,782

9,128

44,454

63,272

498

4,442

3,098

1,079

16,806

1,210

5,472

196

2007

11,873

—

661

572

39,408

1,656

10,148

45,730

62,642

480

4,614

2,641

1,239

18,111

1,014

5,959

231

2008

12,129

—

504

364

38,303

1,476

10,572

47,453

66,869

437

4,337

2,719

1,129

19,518

963

5,622

249

2009

(continued)

11,604

—

427

268

38,198

1,323

9,369

46,848

61,285

336

4,588

2,529

1,060

20,164

698

5,382

201

2010

Ta b le A .1  Defense expenditures of the NATO countries of 2009 (in million USD, at constant 2009 prices and exchange rates)

Appendix

2,059

1,963

1,102

Romania

Slovak Republic

375,893

United Kingdom

United States

520

378,925

47,112

17,803

13,814

425,471

49,977

18,942

14,145

577

1,258

2,048

4,463

5,904

5,897

2002

484,255

52,765

17,096

14,010

601

1,335

2,112

4,306

6,137

5,670

2003

527,799

52,541

15,602

14,461

637

1,240

2,271

4,574

6,416

5,813

2004

552,966

52,579

14,770

14,565

650

1,344

2,403

4,848

6,859

5,469

2005

561,555

52,475

15,859

17,027

744

1,363

2,476

4,710

7,303

5,459

2006

576,294

53,122

13,880

17,591

749

1,371

2,375

4,508

8,256

5,807

2007

618,940

55,291

15,285

17,646

793

1,403

2,617

4,525

7,385

5,838

2008

668,604

57,907

16,302

16,939

792

1,218

2,225

4,810

7,917

6,196

2009

687,105

57,424

15,634

15,803

788

1,010

2,164

5,213

8,380

6,322

2010

source: Data reprinted with permission from the SIPRI military expenditure database, www.sipri.org/research/armaments/milex/research/armaments/ milex/milex_database, September 30, 2011.

19,420

45,549

Turkey

13,639

Spain

424

4,341

4,174

Slovenia

5,804

5,632

Poland

Portugal

1,242

4,908

4,877

Norway

2001

2000

Country

Ta b le A .1  (continued)

1.7

1.8

Poland

0.9

Latvia

Norway

2.0

Italy

1.6

1.7

Hungary

Netherlands

3.6

Greece

1.7

1.5

Germany

0.6

2.5

France

Luxembourg

1.4

Estonia

Lithuania

1.5

Denmark

1.1

Canada

3.1

2.8

Bulgaria

2.0

1.4

Belgium

Czech Republic

1.2

Albania

Croatia

2000

Country

1.9

1.7

1.5

0.8

1.8

1.0

2.0

1.8

3.4

1.4

2.5

1.5

1.6

1.9

2.8

1.2

3.0

1.3

1.3

2001

1.9

2.1

1.5

0.7

1.7

1.6

2.0

1.6

3.2

1.5

2.5

1.7

1.5

2.0

2.8

1.2

2.9

1.2

1.3

2002

1.9

2.0

1.6

0.7

1.7

1.7

2.0

1.7

2.6

1.4

2.5

1.7

1.5

2.1

2.1

11.0

2.8

1.2

1.3

2003

1.9

1.9

1.5

0.7

1.5

1.7

2.0

1.5

2.7

1.4

2.6

1.7

1.5

1.9

1.7

1.1

2.6

1.2

1.4

2004

1.9

1.6

1.5

0.6

1.4

1.7

1.9

1.4

2.9

1.4

2.5

1.9

1.3

2.0

1.6

1.1

2.6

1.1

1.4

2005

1.9

1.5

1.5

0.6

1.4

1.8

1.8

1.2

2.9

1.3

2.4

1.9

1.4

1.7

1.7

1.2

2.4

1.1

1.6

2006

2.0

1.5

1.5

0.6

1.4

1.7

1.7

1.3

2.8

1.3

2.3

2.1

1.3

1.6

1.7

1.2

2.6

1.1

1.8

2007

Ta b le A . 2   Military expenditures by country as a percent of gross domestic product, 2000–2009

1.7

1.4

1.4

—

1.4

1.7

1.8

1.2

3.0

1.3

2.3

2.2

1.4

1.4

1.9

1.3

2.1

1.2

2.0

2008

(continued)

1.8

1.6

1.5

—

1.4

1.4

1.8

1.1

3.2

1.4

2.5

2.3

1.4

1.4

1.8

1.5

2.0

1.2

2.1

2009

2.4

3.1

United Kingdom

United States

3.1

2.4

3.7

1.2

1.3

1.9

2.4

1.9

2001

3.4

2.5

3.9

1.2

1.4

1.8

2.3

2.0

2002

3.8

2.5

3.4

1.1

1.4

1.9

2.1

1.9

2003

4.0

2.5

2.8

1.1

1.5

1.7

2.0

2.0

2004

4.0

2.4

2.5

1.0

1.4

1.7

2.0

2.1

2005

3.9

2.4

2.5

1.2

1.6

1.6

1.8

2.0

2006

4.0

2.3

2.2

1.2

1.5

1.5

1.5

1.9

2007

4.3

2.5

2.3

1.2

1.5

1.5

1.5

1.9

2008

4.7

2.7

2.7

1.1

1.6

1.4

1.4

2.1

2009

source: Data reprinted with permission from the SIPRI military expenditure database, www.sipri.org/research/armaments/milex/research/ armaments/milex/milex_database, September 30, 2011.

1.2

Slovenia

3.7

1.1

Slovak Republic

Turkey

1.7

Romania

Spain

1.9

2.5

Portugal

2000

Country

Ta b le A . 2  (continued)

536.80

607.00

609.32

515.86

558.66

313.71

561.01

653.10

649.77

Italy

Latvia

Lithuania

Luxembourg

Netherlands

Norway

Poland

641.58

650.86

557.84

326.70

607.06

645.17

776.78

561.31

632.66

780.81

Germany

656.78

565.25

France

627.86

605.00

Hungary

634.97

Estonia

593.56

748.50

493.89

785.32

570.53

602.20

2001

Greece

626.46

596.09

Denmark

782.95

Canada

605.36

499.49

Bulgaria

Czech Republic

786.39

Belgium

Croatia

637.09

581.49

Albania

2000

Country

614.90

652.23

550.58

320.91

618.22

551.73

602.19

630.28

773.18

558.67

588.46

621.61

626.71

580.53

741.47

486.60

774.03

563.77

595.98

2002

611.59

640.94

542.55

307.02

612.19

546.35

590.50

620.77

750.03

543.44

576.65

614.20

613.01

586.09

673.33

479.91

750.08

524.48

574.01

2003

604.97

641.28

530.70

297.92

610.13

540.84

583.88

590.97

746.35

542.74

573.08

599.22

590.19

557.25

655.92

471.03

740.68

516.34

563.74

2004

601.33

629.67

526.69

299.05

591.48

506.31

565.95

576.32

745.61

543.04

563.85

608.53

586.89

518.83

651.12

474.93

738.14

500.28

561.80

2005

598.61

617.01

519.79

298.17

594.00

508.10

565.12

572.24

733.01

516.02

562.52

618.15

577.43

499.76

653.47

475.99

732.11

462.32

519.85

2006

589.10

586.59

511.67

289.21

578.86

562.02

549.32

565.81

728.72

510.16

570.34

613.01

588.38

476.99

622.08

482.16

720.14

460.17

522.50

2007

Ta b le A .3  The 2000–2009 Global Militarization Index (GMI) for NATO countries (members as of 2009)

580.26

567.79

452.79

283.64

569.69

554.31

548.01

527.41

727.90

506.62

564.71

618.07

582.33

457.40

596.72

482.28

697.36

453.91

473.88

2008

(continued)

501.10

585.16

462.38

288.14

575.75

515.61

549.56

538.28

736.03

510.45

571.58

613.47

572.27

456.23

596.24

476.05

680.97

450.03

477.29

2009

631.62

593.50

739.92

662.65

630.07

606.36

735.92

597.12

605.02

Romania

Slovak Republic

Slovenia

Spain

Turkey

United Kingdom

United States

609.67

586.65

721.01

596.29

619.23

641.88

686.10

652.04

2002

613.70

583.14

699.32

570.17

595.38

608.94

668.85

638.89

2003

617.23

573.05

682.21

563.51

596.09

598.85

663.98

635.36

2004

616.17

570.82

669.47

556.16

594.49

598.57

653.10

637.09

2005

611.95

558.24

669.98

560.47

599.32

573.13

611.73

633.97

2006

614.28

550.88

649.74

551.90

590.64

563.96

589.74

625.00

2007

616.80

549.38

647.09

545.40

566.57

493.92

586.32

621.37

2008

622.18

568.29

665.47

544.58

574.95

490.18

589.24

626.95

2009

source: Compiled from data used with permission from the Bonn International Center for Conversion (BICC), www.bicc.de/our-work/gmi/ gmi-table.html, September 30, 2011. Please note that Iceland, the NATO member free of armed forces, is not included in the table.

604.50

591.23

729.98

662.71

712.64

657.34

655.68

Portugal

2001

2000

Country

Ta b le A .3  (continued)



Isomorphism within NATO?

205

Notes 1.  The views expressed herein are those of the author and not of any agency of the German government. 2.  See also Niklas Luhmann, Die Gesellschaft der Gesellschaft, 2 vols. (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1997), chap. 3. 3.  Rudolf Stichweh, “Zur Soziologie des Weltereignisses,” in Weltereignisse: Theoretische und empirische Perspektiven, ed. Stefan Nacke, René Unkelbach, and Tobias Werron (Wiesbaden: VS Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften, 2008), 17–40. Stichweh distinguishes four type of world events: natural (such as the tsunami of December 2004); planned or repeated (such as the Olympic Games); media-induced events without genuine global impact, such as notorious criminal cases or disappearances; and historical-political-moral world events such as the Reformation, the French Revolution, or the world wars, a category in which Stichweh also includes 9/11. 4.  Rudolf Stichweh, “Der 11. September 2001 und seine Folgen für die Entwicklung der Weltgesellschaft,” in Asymmetrische Konflikte und Terrorismusbekämpfung: Prototypen zukünftiger Kriege? ed. Gerhard Kümmel and Sabine Collmer (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 2003), 7–6, 10–11. 5. Rudolf Stichweh, Die Weltgesellschaft: Soziologische Analysen (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 2000); Niklas Luhmann, “Die Weltgesellschaft,” in Niklas Luhmann, Soziologische Aufklärung 2. Aufsätze zur Theorie der Gesellschaft (Opladen: Westdeutscher, 1975), 51–71. 6.  See Roland Robertson, Globalization: Social Theory and Global Culture (London: Sage, 1992); David Held and Anthony McGrew, eds., Globalization Theory: Approaches and Controversies (Cambridge: Polity, 2007). 7.  Robert O. Keohane and Joseph S. Nye, Jr., Power and Interdependence: World Politics in Transition (Boston: Little, Brown, 1977). 8. The locus classicus is Mike Featherstone, ed., Global Culture: Nationalism, Globalization and Modernity (London: Sage, 1990). See also Frank J. Lechner and John Boli, World Culture: Origins and Consequences (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2005); Georg Krücken and Gili S. Drori, eds., World Society: The Writings of John W. Meyer (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010). Jan Nederveen Pieterse, Globalization and Culture: Global Mélange (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2004), predicts a hybrid outcome of cultural globalization that he calls the “global mélange.” For a critique of the concept of cultural globalization see, for example, Daniele Conversi, “The Limits of Cultural Globalisation?” Journal of Critical Globalisation Studies 3 (2010): 36–59. 9.  Garrett Wallace Brown and David Held, eds., The Cosmopolitanism Reader (Cambridge: Polity, 2010). 10.  Roland Paris, “Human Security: Paradigm Shift or Hot Air?” International Security 26, no. 2 (2001): 87–101; Des Gasper, “Securing Humanity: Situating ‘Human Security’ as Concept and Discourse,” Journal of Human Development and Capabilities 6, no. 2 (2006): 221–245; Caroline Thomas, Global Governance, Development and Human Security: The Challenge of Poverty and Inequality (London: Pluto, 2010).

206

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11.  International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty (ICISS), Responsibility to Protect: Report of the International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty (Ottawa: International Development Research Centre, 2001). 12.  It should also be mentioned that actors may withdraw or refrain from interdependence if they are no longer willing to bear its costs. See Wilfried von Bredow, Thomas Jäger, and Gerhard Kümmel, “Outsiders in Global Society: Isolation and Dissociation in International Politics,” in Military Sociology: The Richness of a Discipline, ed. Gerhard Kümmel and Andreas D. Prüfert (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 2000), 255–282. 13.  Ulrich Beck, World Risk Society (Cambridge: Polity, 1999). 14.  Paul J. DiMaggio and Walter W. Powell, “The Iron Cage Revisited: Institutional Isomorphism and Collective Rationality in Organizational Fields,” American Sociological Review 48, no. 2 (1983): 147–160, 148. 15.  Hugh C. Dyer, Coping and Conformity in World Politics (London: Routledge, 2010), 3. 16.  See Joseph L. Soeters, “Value Orientations in Military Academies: A Thirteen Country Study,” Armed Forces and Society 24, no. 1 (1997): 7–32, 24. 17.  Kim Lane Scheppele, “The International Standardization of National Security Law,” Journal of National Security Law and Policy 4 (2010): 437–453, 437–438. 18.  UN Security Council, Threats to International Peace and Security Caused by Terrorist Acts, Resolution 1373 adopted by the Security Council at its 4385th meeting on September 28, 2001 (S/RES/1373 [2001]) (New York: United Nations),1, daccess-ddsny.un.org/doc/UNDOC/GEN/N01/557/43/PDF/N0155743.pdf?OpenElement (accessed September 30, 2011). 19.  Scheppele, “The International Standardization of National Security Law,” 452. 20.  Gustav Lindstrom, “The EU’s Approach to Homeland Security: Balancing Safety and European Ideals,” in Transforming Homeland Security: U.S. and European Approaches, ed. Esther Brimmer (Washington, DC: Center for Transatlantic Relations, 2006), 115–131; Rik Coolsaet, “EU Counterterrorism Strategy: Value Added or Chimera?” International Affairs 86, no. 4 (2010): 857–873. For a general assessment see Jude Howell and Jeremy Lind, “Securing the World and Challenging Civil Society: Before and after the ‘War on Terror,’” Development and Change 41, no. 2 (2010): 279–291. A more critical account on the balancing of security needs and European ideals is Marieke De Goede, “The Politics of Preemption and the War on Terror in Europe,” European Journal of International Relations 14, no. 1 (2008): 161–185. 21.  See Helga Embacher and Margit Reiter, Europa und der 11. September 2001 (Vienna: Böhlau, 2011). 22.  Scheppele, “International Standardization of National Security Law,” 452. See also Counter-Terrorism Committee, Survey of the Implementation of Security Council Resolution 1373 (2001) by Member States (New York: United Nations, 2010). For the Third World, see Beth Elise Whitaker, “Exporting the Patriot Act? Democracy and the ‘War on Terror’ in the Third World,” Third World Quarterly 28, no. 5 (2007): 1017–1032. 23.  Scheppele, “International Standardization of National Security Law,” 447.



Isomorphism within NATO?

207

24.  Benjamin Schreer and Eugene Whitlock, “Foreword,” in Divergent Perspectives on Military Transformation, ed. Benjamin Schreer and Eugene Whitlock (Berlin: German Institute for International and Security Affairs [SWP], 2005), 5. 25.  Gerd Föhrenbach, “Transatlantic Homeland Security and the Challenge of Diverging Risk Perceptions,” in Brimmer, Transforming Homeland Security, 43–55. 26.  German Marshall Fund of the United States of America (GMFUS) et al., Transatlantic Trends: Key Findings 2007 (Washington, DC: GMFUS, 2007), 7–8, 17–18. 27.  German Marshall Fund of the United States of America (GMFUS) et al., Transatlantic Trends: Key Findings 2011 (Washington, DC: GMFUS, 2011). 28.  Benjamin Schreer, “NATO and Counterinsurgency: Lessons from Afghanistan,” in Counterinsurgency: The Challenge for NATO Strategy and Operations, ed. Christopher M. Schnaubelt, NDC Forum Paper 11 (Rome: NATO Defense College [NDC], 2009), 43–57, 48–49. On Germany, see Timo Noetzel and Martin Zapfe, “NATO and Counterinsurgency: The Case of Germany,” in Schnaubelt, Counterinsurgency, 129–151. 29.  Christopher M. Schnaubelt, “Introduction: The Counterinsurgency Challenge for NATO,” in Schnaubelt, Counterinsurgency, 8. 30.  Malcolm Brailey, “The Transformation of Special Operations Forces in Contemporary Conflict,” in Military Transformation and Strategy: Revolutions in Military Affairs and Small States, ed. Bernard Loo (London: Routledge, 2009), 80–100. 31.  Manjeet Singh Pardesi, “Unmanned Aerial Vehicles: Missions, Challenges, and Strategic Implications for Small and Medium Powers,” in Military Transformation and Strategy: Revolutions in Military Affairs and Small States, ed. Bernard Loo (London: Routledge, 2009), 101–113. 32.  Benjamin Schreer, “NATO and Counterinsurgency: Lessons from Afghanistan” in Schnaubelt, Counterinsurgency, 43–57, 51. 33.  Anthony King, The Transformation of Europe’s Armed Forces: From the Rhine to Afghanistan (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 11. 34. King, Transformation of Europe’s Armed Forces, 271–273. 35. Ibid., 273. 36.  See the SIPRI Definition of Military Expenditure, www.sipri.org/research/ armaments/milex/resultoutput/sources_methods/definitions (accessed September 30, 2011). See also Sources and Methods for SIPRI Military Expenditure Data, www.sipri .org/research/armaments/milex/resultoutput/sources_methods (accessed Sep­ tember 30, 2011). 37. See http://www.sipri.org/research/armaments/milex/resultoutput/trend graphs/regind2011 (accessed September 30, 2011). 38.  Here, a methodological note is necessary. When speaking of NATO in this chapter, we speak of the NATO of 2009, the year in which France fully returned to NATO, bringing the alliance to 28 member states. The empirical data used in this chapter are time-series data for almost a decade and cover the years 2000 through 2009–2010. All of these twenty-eight member states are to be included into the analy-

208

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sis; however, Iceland does not have armed forces of its own, so the sample of member states goes down to twenty-seven. Thus for various years of the time span studied, a number of countries that were not formally members of NATO are treated as de facto NATO members. There have been three enlargement/accession rounds. In 1999, the Czech Republic, Hungary, and Poland joined the alliance; in 2004, Bulgaria, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Romania, the Slovak Republic, and Slovenia joined. Along with the return of France to NATO, in 2009 Albania and Croatia were granted membership status. Candidates for later accession are Bosnia and Herzegovina, Montenegro, and Macedonia. Serbia is also considered a potential member but, since a 2007 parliamentary resolution, has pursued a policy of military neutrality. We justify this decision by pointing out that, because NATO enlargement and accession to NATO have been on the agenda in eastern and southeastern Europe since the end of the Cold War, those countries aspiring for NATO membership began to focus their security, defense, and military policies on NATO well before they actually joined. 39.  However, other countries that joined NATO during the post–Cold War period do not show similar increases. 40.  Jan Grebe, The Global Militarization Index (GMI): Use of the GMI for Evaluating the Development Orientation of States and Regional Militarization, Research Report, Occasional Paper VII (Bonn: Bonn International Center for Conversion [BICC], 2011), 16. 41. Ibid., 7. 42. Ibid., 16–17. 43.  The calculation procedure is described as follows: “In order to increase the compatibility between different indicators and prevent extreme values from creating distortions when normalizing data, in a first step every indicator was represented in a logarithm with the factor 10. Second, all data was normalized using the formula x = (y-min)/(max-min), with min and max representing, respectively, the lowest and the highest value of the logarithm. In a third step, every indicator was weighted in accordance to a subjective factor, reflecting the relative importance attributed to it by BICC researchers. In order to calculate the final score, the weighted indicators were added together and then normalized one last time on a scale ranging from 0 to 1,000. For better comparison of individual years, all years were finally normalized.” Grebe, Global Militarization Index (GMI), 17. 44.  Emily O. Goldman and Leslie Eliason, eds., The Diffusion of Military Technology and Ideas (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2003).

8

The Mobilization of Private Forces after 9/11 Ad Hoc Response to Inadequate Planning Deborah Avant

A

s t he t w in tow er s o f t he Wo rl d T r a d e Cen t er a nd t he

west side of the Pentagon lay smoldering, many assumed that the attacks would spur a reinvigorated mobilization of military forces. After a decade of drifting through an unclear threat environment, the al Qaeda attacks presented U.S. leaders with a “clear and present danger” around which to rally public support for the forces necessary to fight them. The prevailing prediction was that the trend toward military privatization was about to reverse.1 What a surprise, then, that among the most significant changes we have witnessed in the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq linked to these attacks has been a dramatic increase in the use of private forces. The ratio of contractors to troops in Iraq was about 1:1, according to a 2008 Congressional Budget Office report, a ratio at least 2.5 times higher than during any other major U.S. conflict.2 By March 2010, the ratio of contractors to troops in Afghanistan was even greater, with roughly 143 contractors for every 100 soldiers.3 There are no numbers for contractors in the early years of these conflicts, not because contractors were not present but because the U.S. government did not collect this information. In 2008, the number of contractors in Afghanistan was 58,394 (compared with 32,200 troops). The number of contractors grew to a high of 94,413 (compared with 91,600 troops) in 2010 and was down to 90,339 (compared with 99,800 troops) in 2011. In Iraq the number of contractors ranged from 155,826 in 2008 (compared with 152,275 troops) to 64,253 in 2011 (compared with 45,660 troops).4

209

210

Deborah Avant

In this chapter, I first describe changes in the use of private military and security companies (PMSCs) in these wars and then explain why the United States increasingly turned to contractors in the wake of 9/11.5 I argue that simplistic explanations inferred from either the objective features of the terrorist threat or from the prevalence of liberal ideas are misleading guides for explaining U.S. mobilization behavior. Tracing the process of decision making reveals that increasing privatization was not an intentional policy and had little to do with 9/11. Instead it was an ad hoc response to poor planning for troop requirements. Investigation into the reasons for poor planning does suggest some linkages between both changes in perceptions about security and the liberal perspective that dominated policy thinking, but these linkages are more tangential than the simple explanations would have us believe. I conclude by suggesting that though the changes may have been ad hoc rather than planned, they are unlikely to be reversed. Despite problems it has experienced in relying so greatly on private forces in Iraq and Afghanistan, the United States is likely to continue to use them in the future.

Post-9/11 Private Mobilization—More PMSC Personnel, More Security Services, More Transnational Force Since 9/11, there has been an increase in the relative number of personnel the United States has recruited through private military and security companies to perform jobs related to the war in both the Afghanistan and Iraq theaters. PMSCs offer a wide range of services associated with military operations. They provide technical support and maintenance for weapons systems and equipment. They give military advice and training to both U.S. and foreign militaries. They offer logistical support such as providing fuel, food, and quarters for troops. They also deliver site security, armed and unarmed, as well as training police, and providing a range of intelligence services.6 Some firms specialize, while others provide a broad array of services. The Commission on Wartime Contracting (CWC), established by Congress in 2008, described the services provided to the U.S. government by contractors in three categories: logistics, security, and reconstruction.7 Logistics services include the supply of food, laundry services, fuel, and base facility construction. During the early years of the conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan, the U.S. Army’s logistics civil augmentation contract (known as LOGCAP) was held by Kellogg, Brown and Root (KBR), created shortly after



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World War I as an engineering and construction firm. In June 2007 a new LOGCAP contract (LOGCAP IV) was awarded to three companies: DynCorp International LLC, Fluor Intercontinental Inc., and KBR. In Iraq alone, the LOGCAP contract paid out $22 billion between 2003 and 2007.8 Security services include guarding people, buildings, and convoys. These tasks are most similar to those performed by soldiers. Many security contractors are armed. In carrying out their duties, they frequently shoot and are shot at.9 The Congressional Budget Office (CBO) estimated that 30,000–35,000 of the contractors working in Iraq in 2008 were armed. In early 2010, there were roughly 11,000 private security contractors in Iraq.10 Employees of Blackwater (later called Xe, now Academi11) received notoriety while providing security in Iraq, and more recently, Afghanistan, supporting both the U.S. military and the State Department. Blackwater personnel working in Iraq under the State Department’s Worldwide Personal Protective Services (WPPS) contract carried weapons, had their own helicopters, and fought off insurgents in ways hard to distinguish from military actions.12 Similar services have been supplied in Iraq, Afghanistan, or both by such firms as Triple Canopy, ArmorGroup, Crescent Security Group, and Custer Battles, among others.13 Reconstruction services include building everything from physical infrastructure (roads, communication, water, and power) to institutions (providing training for military, police, justice personnel and other employees of national, provincial, and local governments, supporting civil society groups, promoting rule of law and democratization, etc.). A wide range of PMSCs, along with other contractors, have delivered these services. DynCorp, a company founded in the 1940s with roots in technical support, but with an increasing presence in policing and police training since the end of the Cold War, has trained police, constructed police and prison facilities, and built capacity for justice systems (such as by training justices) in Iraq and Afghanistan.14 The three companies that provided training for the new Iraqi Army early in the conflict are Vinnell, a company with a previous history of providing military training in Saudi Arabia, MPRI, a firm that grew while training Croatian and then Bosnian troops in the 1990s, and USIS, which was established as the result of an Office of Management Personnel privatization effort in 1994.15 Parsons Corporation, another firm with a long history in the construction of infrastructure, has worked on many large infrastructure projects.16 It was not just the numbers of contractors that changed after 9/11. The second notable change was a sharp increase in the use of contractors for

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“military-like” private security jobs. More and more contractors, both armed and unarmed, were employed to guard people, places, and convoys, first in Iraq and then in Afghanistan.17 Among these guards were the Blackwater personnel killed in a notorious incident in Fallujah in 2004, as well as those that fired on civilians in Baghdad’s Nisour Square in 2007. The use of private security contractors led to these and other troubling incidents in Iraq. The tendency of private security details to drive too fast, shoot too quickly, and seemingly act with impunity was something both U.S. military leaders and Iraqi politicians complained of consistently. The Commission on Wartime Contracting found this of particular concern.18 The third change we have seen since 9/11 is a change in the composition of the forces mobilized through the private sector. In the 1990s, these forces were largely made up of former U.S. military (or police) or else locals hired to do less skilled jobs. In Iraq, over time, the force became more international. A far greater number of “third-country nationals”—people from neither the United States nor the host country—have been hired by PMSCs to provide services. This was especially prevalent in Iraq, where the majority of private security jobs were filled by third-country nationals. The trend was somewhat different in Afghanistan, where local Afghans have provided the bulk private security services. This has led to fewer third-country nationals overall. Most PMSCs have established transnational recruiting networks, however, and have begun to use third-country recruits in Afghanistan as well. In what follows, I focus on explaining the increasing numbers of contractors overall, and accounting for their use in private security and their increasingly transnational character.

Was Private Mobilization Based on Strategic Necessity? On Liberal Ideas? There are two prominent explanations for these mobilization patterns. One focuses on the objective requirements of different threats and the other on prevalent ideas about how to fight them. According to the first, while large wars against existential threats (generally peer competitors) require armies of citizens, asymmetric or low-level threats are better met with the use of professional forces or mercenaries. As Eliot Cohen put it: The great differences between the political-military requirements of large and small wars are revealed most clearly in the system of military service suited to



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each. For the one, a large, mechanized conscript force offers the main, perhaps the only hope, of success. For the other, a smaller, lighter equipped, professional force seems best.19

The logic of this argument draws both on the size and skill of the force needed and on the threat’s effect on mobilization potential. Large wars require large numbers that can only be deployed with mass mobilization; at the same time, the existential nature of the threat increases the capacity to mobilize the entire society and soldiers are generally willing to serve until the war ends. Small wars, by contrast, require fewer numbers of soldiers, but those soldiers must be experienced and, as Cohen puts it, “physically and psychologically rugged.”20 It is also difficult to mobilize vast parts of society to deal with a smaller threat. A professional army implies both greater skill and experience and less of a tax on society at large, and thus is said to be best suited for longer, smaller wars. This argument suggests that the United States increasingly turned to private forces after 9/11 because it faced a small, asymmetric threat and engagement in multiple small wars rather than a single large one. The ideational argument focuses on the liberal ideology at the core of American society. In the late twentieth century, the liberal mentality took an even stronger hold as the dissolution of the Soviet Union dealt a blow to socialism. Privatization was a prominent policy in many issue areas and was associated with comparative advantage, competition, and efficient and effective responses to problems. In some parts of the world, this meant selling off stateowned assets. In others, like the United States, it meant outsourcing government services to the private sector. This argument implies that the United States turned to private forces as part of a platform for creating more efficient and effective means for fighting terrorists. Both of these explanations assume that the greater use of private forces was an intentional policy choice, born either of the requirements of the threat or of the nature of ideas then prevalent in the United States. Neither argument, though, accurately captures the process as it unfolded. The first explanation is problematic because both the rhetoric of leaders and the general feeling in the country suggested that the threat from the al Qaeda network (and terrorism more generally) was an existential threat, even if al Qaeda was not a peer competitor. The scale of the 9/11 attack against Americans and the fact that it occurred on American soil led President George W. Bush to launch a Global War on Terror as the linchpin of American foreign policy. Indeed the common expectation that the United States would turn away from private

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forces in the wake of 9/11 is based on the observation that the 9/11 attacks demonstrated the importance of terrorism as an existential threat to American security. The nature of the wars the United States fought in Iraq and Afghanistan do look more like the small wars Cohen writes of, and one could make the argument that these required more skilled and rugged soldiers than one might expect to mobilize with a conscription policy. Still, this does not explain why the United States turned to the private sector for forces rather than opting to increase the size of its professional army, once the need arose for more forces. Indeed, various military analysts made the case for increasing the size of U.S. forces—particularly the Army and the Marines—as the insurgency in Iraq developed and as evidence mounted that rebuilding Afghanistan would not be as easy as initially expected.21 Other than companies that saw the opportunity for contracts for themselves, few argued at this time that the United States would be better served in the war on terror by relying on forces drawn from the private sector. The ideational explanation may appear more plausible at first. Liberalism and privatization were strong in the United States at the time of 9/11, and these ideas were particularly endorsed by the Bush administration in a variety of policy areas. Liberalism and its privatization bias played an undisputable background role that opened the door for the U.S. use of private forces after 9/11. The privatization revolution, led in the United States by President Ronald Reagan, brought about important administrative changes.22 In particular, a 1983 policy established by Office of Management and Budget (OMB) Circular A-76 provided a rationale and a push for additional contracting by requiring that government rely on commercial entities to provide those services that are not “inherently governmental”; the argument was that the U.S. government should avoid “competing” with its own citizens.23 Although Circular A-76 was not to apply to the Department of Defense during declared war or military mobilization, it did apply during peacetime and caused the beginning of a more systematic examination of what kinds of services the Department of Defense might effectively privatize. Throughout the 1980s and 1990s, the U.S. military launched a variety of initiatives to transfer logistics, education and training, and a variety of other noncore tasks to the private sector. These initiatives led to the formation of a new breed of service companies in the late 1980s and early 1990s. These companies—what we now call PMSCs—provided a wide variety of services



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as the United States engaged in a number of new roles in the post–Cold War era.24 During this time, defense policymakers frequently touted their clever use of the private sector. Such policy responses established important policy paths and institutional history that made the turn toward the private sector after 9/11 much easier than it otherwise would have been. But the benefits of privatization did not appear prominently in post-9/11 rhetoric. There were no arguments that U.S. military forces were not up to the task of fighting the war on terror, or that private forces would be more effective. Nor was there a campaign to privatize parts of the military. To the contrary, as the decade unfolded, a variety of concerns were raised as use of private forces was implicated in poor performance, abuse, and cost overruns. Although liberal ideas were important to the expansion of the private sector in defense in the late 1980s and early 1990s, a direct causal linkage to expansion of their use after 9/11 cannot be established. A more accurate explanation for the expansion of private forces would acknowledge the particular nature of the terrorist threat and the background influence of liberalism but would place front and center the fact that the greater use of private forces was not an intentional policy choice. Instead, the use of these forces grew as a by-product of overly optimistic assessments about the number of forces needed for various policies undertaken to advance the war on terror. The escalating use of private forces was not a change in the policies begun in the 1980s and 1990s but an expansion of them. What needs to be explained is why, in the wake of a significant event that could have shocked the United States into more public-sector mobilization, the United States continued on its privatization path. To do that, we must understand what led to the overly optimistic assessments of the forces required for Afghanistan and Iraq. There are three roots for these overly optimistic assessments. One is structural and deep-seated and the other two more proximate and political. At a structural level, increasing global connectedness complicated both the nature of security and the relationship between security and economic growth. Related to this was the political perception among leaders that the American public was highly sensitive to the costs—particularly the human costs—of its policies. Finally, the glib “lessons” drawn from the quick and easy victory against the Taliban in Afghanistan bolstered beliefs that the United States could accomplish a great deal with few troops. As evident in the following sketch of key moments in mobilization over the last decade, the interaction among these conditions led leaders to downplay the mobilization needs of

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meeting the terrorist threat even as they emphasized (or even exaggerated) the threat as significant and existential.25 When, first in Iraq and then in Afghanistan, there were too few troops to do the job, contractors provided an ad hoc surge capacity for quickly bolstering forces. But this was not a tool that could be used for every purpose, and it came with real constraints. These restrictions help us understand the expansion of private security jobs and transnational recruiting.

Optimistic Assessments of Mobilization Requirements On September 20, 2001, President Bush addressed a joint session of Congress about the 9/11 attacks. Toward the end of the speech he offered suggestions about what Americans should do. After urging hugs for children, tolerance for different religious views, support for victims of the attacks, and patience with security measures, the president asked Americans to show confidence by participating in the American economy.26 A week later, in a speech at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport, President Bush sought to restore confidence in air travel. He urged Americans to “do your business around the country. Fly and enjoy America’s great destination spots. Get down to Disney World in Florida. Take your families and enjoy life, the way we want it to be enjoyed.”27 Though perhaps too much has been made of this call for normalcy,28 it does indicate a tension from the very beginning of the response to the 9/11 attacks between mobilization for war and mobilization for life as usual, or at least economics as usual. This tension reflected the widely shared belief that a fundamental element of U.S. power is its economic power. Thus any mobilization effort that threatened to undermine the economy could ultimately weaken the U.S. capacity to fight the terrorist threat. The American economy did suffer a number of short-term losses in the immediate wake of the attacks. The stock market plummeted for a few months, unemployment rose, and consumer confidence fell. In some industries (such as air transportation and insurance) and some areas (New York City), the effects were more pronounced. Evidence that the U.S. economy rebounded fairly quickly does not suggest that it would have done so under any and all circumstances, according to a Congressional Research Service (CRS) report one year later.29 Efforts by the administration to ease consumer concerns and stabilize the economy contributed to minimizing the immediate effect of the crisis. The CRS report suggested that the



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effects on the global economy were more pronounced, with potential impacts on the U.S. economy. The report speculated that the most important longterm effect of the attacks could be the potential drain on U.S. productivity caused by the security measures adopted in response to the attacks. This suggests one way in which globalization has affected U.S. national security. Generally, as globalization shifts the spatial reach of social action toward an interregional or intercontinental scale, it affects the security concerns people have, as well as the usefulness of different strategies for addressing these concerns. Both of these shifts complicate the role of governments—even the U.S. government—in delivering security. Although the United States gains more from globalization than do many of its potential rivals, globalization also contributes to the growth of transnational threats, such as terrorism, that the United States is less able to control. One way to control terrorism might have been by mobilizing “gently,” in cooperation with allies, and a move toward a constabulary foreign policy aimed at averting potentially dangerous developments around the world.30 But such a mobilization that allowed economic activity to continue unabated might not be effective for convincing Americans to bear the cost of policing in areas far from the United States. The Bush administration’s approach—mobilizing loudly but in a limited way and promising little cost—can be seen as one way to try to square this circle. Similar to what Pascal Vennesson describes in his contribution to this volume, such a choice limits the popular voice in the broader conflict.31 This strategy was reinforced by the first military response to the 9/11 attacks. The beginnings of the war in Afghanistan seemed to validate the view that the United States could fight this existential threat without a costly mobilization of new forces. The combination of a small number of U.S. forces, precision-guided munitions, and relatively skilled allied forces (the Northern Alliance) allowed the United States to topple the Taliban government in a matter of weeks.32 The revolutionary lessons of this victory were touted widely by the administration and in the media.33 Although not without critics, the position gained widespread acceptance within the Bush administration that the early success in Afghanistan represented a revolution in war fighting.34 The salience of the Afghanistan model in arguments about the potential costs of war in Iraq could not be exaggerated. As Stephen Biddle wrote in 2002: “Many now believe that this Afghan Model could be used elsewhere with comparable effect. It has been widely reported that senior civilian

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defense officials advocate its use against Iraq. Many see it more broadly still— as a new ‘American Way of War’ applicable across a wide range of future conflict types.”35 In the lead-up to the Iraq War, discussions about the requirements for a successful campaign were hotly debated. Soon after becoming Army Chief of Staff in 1999, General Erik Shinseki had begun war games to experiment with strategies and manpower needs for a conflict with Iraq. As reported by James Fallows, this was not because he thought war was imminent, but because he thought the region posed a particular challenge for the United States and for U.S. troops.36 After 9/11 and particularly following the 2002 State of the Union address in which President Bush identified Iraq as part of the “Axis of Evil,” these war-gaming efforts intensified. It was on the basis of information drawn from these exercises that Shinseki estimated, in a February 2003 hearing of the Senate Armed Services Committee, that occupying Iraq would require several hundred thousand soldiers.37 From early on in the planning, however, the Bush administration estimated much smaller needs. Drawing on both the experience in Afghanistan and his vision of lean, mean, agile forces, Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld initially spoke of going to war with Iraq with as few as 75,000 troops.38 There is evidence that civilian leaders in the administration were concerned that too much thought about the occupation, or high estimates of the cost (in dollars and people) of occupying Iraq, would dampen public enthusiasm for the war. For instance, the CIA invited Department of Defense representatives to participate in its war games in the summer of 2002 to explore how best to find the expected weapons of mass destruction and whether rival groups from Iraq could agree on a leader as Afghan groups had agreed on Hamid Karzai. But as these exercises began to suggest difficulties—particularly that rival groups in Iraq might be less likely to cooperate with one another than their Afghan counterparts—these Defense Department representatives were reprimanded by their superiors in the Office of the Secretary of Defense (OSD). Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, Deputy Secretary Paul Wolfowitz, Under Secretary Douglas Feith, and one of Feith’s deputies, William Luti, told them not to participate in further exercises. “Because detailed thought about the postwar situation meant facing costs and potential problems, and thus weakened the case for launching a ‘war of choice’ (the Washington term for a war not waged in immediate self-defense), it could be seen as an ‘antiwar’ undertaking,” wrote Fallows.39



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Similarly, when Lawrence Lindsay, then the chief White House economic adviser, was asked by the Wall Street Journal how much a war and its aftermath might cost—and he replied that it might end up at 1–2 percent of the gross domestic product ($100 billion to $200 billion)—he too was rebuked by the administration. Even though Lindsay also said that he thought the cost of not going to war could conceivably be greater, he was widely criticized by administration officials (published as anonymous background comments), and he was ultimately forced to resign. An unnamed administration official told the Washington Post that Lindsay’s comment had “made it clear Larry just didn’t get it.”40 The administration was even more annoyed with Shinseki’s estimate, which flew in the face of its plans. A less anonymous rebuke was delivered to General Shinseki when, several days later, Deputy Secretary of Defense Paul Wolfowitz testified at a hearing of the same committee that there had been some recent estimates that had been “wildly off the mark” and went on to suggest that he found it difficult to imagine that the occupation could prove more troop intensive than the war itself. The initial conflict in Iraq proceeded, at first, even more quickly and successfully than the civilians at OSD had predicted. On March 19, the U.S. attacks began; U.S. forces took Baghdad on April 9; the Coalition Provisional Authority (CPA) replaced the Office for Reconstruction and Humanitarian Assistance (ORHA) on April 21, with Lieutenant General Jay Garner (formerly head of ORHA) as its first chief. On May 1, 2003, President Bush stood on the deck of the aircraft carrier USS Abraham Lincoln and declared combat operations at an end and “mission accomplished.” Even before this, however, there were worrying signs. As some Iraqis pulled down the statue of Saddam Hussein in celebration of their liberation, others looted banks, museums, and government offices. Diplomat Peter Galbraith described events to a congressional panel in June 2003: “in the three weeks following the U.S. takeover, unchecked looting effectively gutted every important public institution in the city—with the notable exception of the oil ministry.”41 In what was reportedly a dispute over the speed of “de-Ba’athification” (removal of Ba’ath party officials from key offices), General Garner was replaced by Paul Bremer in early May. One of Bremer’s first decisions was to disband the Iraqi army. This action, which left thousands of armed men unemployed, was later seen by many as a major mistake.

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The end of combat operations did open the possibility for stabilization efforts by other members of the international community. On May 22, the United Nations passed Resolution 1483, which ended economic sanctions on Iraq, established responsibilities for the UN in Iraq, and supported the creation of a transitional Iraqi authority.42 Efforts by the CPA and the UN yielded some fruit. The Iraqi Governing Council—established by and operating under the CPA—met for the first time in July. UN Resolution 1500 of August 14 established the UN Assistance Mission for Iraq (UNAMI), which pledged advice, support, and assistance to the government of Iraq and to the humanitarian efforts in the territory.43 Despite the successful beginning, concerns brought to the fore in the Army and CIA war game exercises proved to be prescient. Order was difficult to establish and violence continued to escalate. On August 19, a truck bomb exploded outside the UN Headquarters in Baghdad. The explosion, one of the worst attacks on UN personnel ever, killed the UN special representative to Iraq, Sergio Vieira de Mello, and 16 others.44 Then, on August 29, a massive car bomb exploded outside the Imam Ali Mosque, killing 124 people including one of Shi’ite Islam’s top clerics, Ayatollah Mohammad Baqir al-Hakim. The war was not over after all: it was just beginning. At that point, the United States had roughly 150,000 troops in Iraq. Although the U.S. government did not keep track of them at the time, so we do not know precisely, the United States also had somewhere between 20,000 and 60,000 contractors in Iraq.

The Private Mobilization During the 1990s, the United States had integrated the use of PMSCs in its plans to the point that it could not go to war without contractors. Through various long-term contracts along with LOGCAP, the private sector was responsible for providing a variety of services to support weapons systems in theater as well as logistics supply (such as food, fuel, and laundry services) for troops.45 The private sector also frequently provided in-theater readiness and training for U.S. troops in the Balkans and other areas in the 1990s. In these capacities, PMSCs were part of the U.S. mobilization from the very start in both Afghanistan and Iraq. MPRI provided training services to U.S. troops in Kuwait during Operation Iraqi Freedom. As the U.S. combat operations began in Iraq, PMSCs continued to play a wide variety of training roles. For example, Vinnell won an umbrella contract from the U.S. Army to train the



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Iraqi Army, under which subcontracts went to MPRI, SAIC, Eagle Group International, and Omega Training Group.46 DynCorp won a contract to train and support the Iraqi police.47 A contract was issued by the CPA in August 2003 to train a private security force, known as the Iraqi Facilities Protection Force, to defend oil facilities and pipelines in the country. Erinys, a South African company, won that contract.48 The estimated 20,000–60,000 contractors were those initially deployed to do these jobs. There were early indications, however, that the conflict in Iraq was different. Problems in execution of logistics contracts suggested that the level of violence in Iraq had led to unexpected problems with the civilian force. In particular, supplies of fuel and water meant to be delivered by contractors were reportedly inadequate during the conflict and became even more so as the insurgency accelerated in the spring and summer of 2003. Many civilian contractors failed to show up. “We thought we could depend on industry to perform these kinds of functions,” said Lieutenant General Charles S. Mahan, Jr., the Army’s senior logistics officer, “[but it got] harder and harder to get [civilian contractors] to go in harm’s way.”49 As security concerns deepened, and there were not enough troops to dampen the violence, contracts for logistics, reconstruction, and training began to include provisions calling for private security personnel. These were not troops or warfighters, but guards. The demand rose for private guards to provide at least a modicum of security to individual logisticians and other contractors where the areas in which they were working could not be kept under control. They were also a more immediate response to the violence than were the trainers or the contractors that provided reconstruction services. No matter what one calls them, they were people with guns, who were meant to handle pressing issues of violence. Because they were called guards, they also were compliant, in technical terms, with prohibitions in U.S. law against the outsourcing of inherently government services. It turned out, however, that in a war without front lines, such distinctions were hard to maintain. At the time, this seemed a reasonable response to a very difficult situation for many different parts of the U.S. government that were required to maintain a presence in Iraq. However, it caused problems as private security personnel sped through streets, fired on civilians, and appeared to act with impunity. These are just some of the concerns identified in the CWC’s final report.50 The demand for experienced guards for personal security details, convoy security, and site security soared in Iraq in late 2003 and early 2004. Some

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security personnel from the United States and Britain who were working in Colombia reported being offered three times their pay to work in Iraq.51 The extent of the use of private guards began to make the news when four Blackwater employees who were escorting a convoy through Fallujah were attacked, killed, and mutilated by an Iraqi crowd.52 Days later, Blackwater employees fought off an insurgent attack on U.S. Marines.53 Later that spring, personnel working for the Titan and CACI firms as translators and interrogators, both U.S. citizens and third-country nationals, were implicated in the abuses that took place at Abu Ghraib prison.54 These events brought public attention to the presence of PMSCs in Iraq. Rumors about the salaries of these individuals led to congressional inquiries and news exposés. Tales of misdeeds engendered requests for information from the press, nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), the U.S. Congress, and the British Parliament. Even though few had been aware of the extent of contracting, and although the coverage of contractors overall pales beside the coverage of troops, many of the stories that appeared had a similar conspiratorial tone, and most mentioned the exorbitant contractor salaries.55 The structure of contracting was such that some companies felt the effects of hikes in salaries (and insurance) immediately. Many began to examine transnational recruiting as a means of staying competitive. Some companies believed that personnel from particular countries were already likely to have the skills required because they had experience in peacekeeping or other violent settings.56 The international character of these forces was even touted as adding to the diversity of representation in a somewhat broader “coalition of the willing.” As put by one U.S. Army staff sergeant, “We’re trying to get more international participation here and contractors can hire internationally.”57 As demand for personnel surged in Iraq and the cost of hiring ex-military personnel from the United States or Britain escalated, reports increased of companies recruiting in South Africa, El Salvador, Chile, Fiji, Nepal, the Philippines, and beyond. Thus, even as stories were appearing that touted the high salaries of private security personnel from the United States and Britain, companies had already begun to recruit outside the United States, in countries where salaries were not so high. These third-country nationals, citizens of neither the United States nor Iraq, have become an important feature of the contracting force in Iraq. Congressional requests and, eventually, requirements resulted in data collection on the use of various types and numbers of contractors by the U.S.



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government in Iraq and Afghanistan beginning in September 2007. Before that time, however, we can only infer the extent of their use on the basis of anecdotes. Indeed, in response to an April 2, 2004, public letter to Donald Rumsfeld from Representative Ike Skelton, ranking Democrat on the House Armed Service Committee, asking for information about the numbers of private personnel deployed in Iraq, Rumsfeld could only “estimate” that as many as 20,000 might be operating in Iraq.58 His language suggests that even Rumsfeld simply did not know the real numbers. He attached a discussion paper prepared by his office that stated that the CPA had contracts with eight companies for various personal security, site security, and convoy security duties. (This did not include contracts let by other agencies and branches of the U.S. military.) Early on, it seemed to close observers that the use of contractors in Iraq surged in response to the increase in violence in the summer of 2003 and beyond. The use of armed and unarmed contractors for personal security details, site security, and convoy security was far greater in Iraq than it had been in earlier operations.59 Virtually any foreigner who spent time in Iraq from the summer of 2003 on, whether working for the U.S. government, international organizations, NGOs, or even the media, had experiences with private security services. Had the United States gone in to Iraq (or Afghanistan) with a greater number of contractors, this would support the arguments that use of contractors was relatively intentional, based on either the nature of the threat or the importance of ideas. The great increase occurred, however, after the initial invasion. The use of contractors was both a way to stretch U.S. forces as needed on a case-by-case basis, such as for supplementary training, and as a way to keep activities going in an increasingly unstable environment by providing private protection. This is consistent with both the increase in the number of PMSC personnel and the fact that many acted as security providers. This logic is also consistent with Rumsfeld’s lack of knowledge about the number of contractors. There is no evidence that there was an OSD or administration-level policy to increase the number of contractors. The policy was to keep going, keep a lid on violence as much as possible, and maintain the administration’s line that progress was being made. Individual decisions makers on the ground implemented that policy by mobilizing contractors. Thus PMSC personnel were mobilized and deployed through a wide range of different umbrella contracts and other tools. This led to some bizarre outcomes: for example, at one

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point, CACI and Titan translators and interrogators in Iraq were mobilized through a Department of Interior contract and “overseen” by a contract officer located somewhere in the western United States.60 It was clear that the CPA was, from its inception, aware of a potential role for contractors. It specified a legal status for contractors, declaring in CPA Order No. 17 that contractors would be subject to the law of their parent country and not to Iraqi law for any actions taken as part of their contract.61 Responding to publicity surrounding events in Fallujah, Abu Ghraib, and elsewhere in spring 2004, the CPA intensified its regulatory efforts, particularly with regard to security services. It required that PMSCs be insured and began to set up a system for industry standards and vetting of companies with the Iraqi interior ministry.62 In 2005, as the handover of sovereignty to the Iraqis approached, the CPA’s Program Management Office, responsible for monitoring reconstruction projects in Iraq, solicited bids for a PMSC to coordinate security among the thousands of private contractors employed by the more than fifty PMSCs operating in the country. The solicitation also requested as many as 75 two-man personal security details per day to protect Program Management Office personnel. It stipulated that these personnel should have “mobile vehicle warfare” and “counter-sniping” skills, and should be able to protect sites against indirect fire and attacks by small units.63 Toward the end of 2007, the United States got a clearer look at the extent of its use of contractors, the proportion of those that were performing security services, and the number of third-country nationals in the overall contracted force.64 Although cautioning that the “census” tool used for counting contractors was problematic and inexact at best, the CBO reported that approximately 190,000 contractors were working to support the war in the Iraq theater, at roughly a 1:1 ratio to U.S. military personnel. Less than 10 percent were identified specifically as providing security, but the CBO suggested that additional security jobs were likely scattered throughout the other categories. Over 50 percent of the contractors performed base support; 20 percent performed construction. Of the 6,700 contractors working for the State Department, 40 percent were performing security work. By late 2007, only about 20 percent of the 190,000 contractors were U.S. citizens; 40 percent were Iraqis and the remaining 40 percent were third-country nationals. Only about 6 percent of the total were Iraqis participating as armed security providers. The number of armed security contractors gradually increased in Iraq and peaked in June 2009 at a little over 13,000 (which represented about



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13 percent of the contracted force). In March 2011, armed security contractors still represented 14 percent of the contracted force, but as the numbers of both U.S. troops and contractors had declined, this was a smaller absolute number, closer to 10,000.65 The largest portion of the armed private security force in Iraq continues to be composed of third-country nationals. The same 2007 document reported that the total number of contractors in Afghanistan was much smaller, under 30,000, although they outnumbered the roughly 22,000 U.S. troops there. Roughly 8 percent were private security contractors. As the insurgency and accompanying violence later intensified, however, there was an increase in the numbers of contractors and of private security contractors. The absolute number of PMSCs in Afghanistan dipped in June 2008, but then grew, peaking at about 110,000 in March 2010. By September 2010 the total contractor numbers had declined to about 65,000 (fewer than the nearly 100,000 troops then in Afghanistan), but increased again in March 2011 to roughly 85,000 (but still fewer than the roughly 100,000 troops). After staying at a steady 8 percent of contractors, the proportion of armed private security contractors began to grow in June 2009. By March 2011, they represented 21 percent of the contractors in Afghanistan. Third-country nationals were virtually unrepresented in the private security force in Afghanistan until June 2009, but since then they have grown to roughly 5 percent of the force. A somewhat greater proportion of third-country nationals serve in the nonsecurity contracting force in Afghanistan.

Conclusion: Private Mobilization Used to Make Up for Deficiencies In general, the trajectories of private-sector mobilization for Iraq and Afghanistan have been similar and suggest that the increasing use of PMSCs in both wars was not an intentional policy but an ad hoc response to a worsening situation where troops were stretched too thin. Contractors could be mobilized quickly, through a variety of different tools and without congressional approval, public mobilization, or even intentional policy. Indeed, there is much evidence to suggest that neither the Bush administration nor the Obama administration was aware of the degree to which the private sector was being mobilized. Most decisions for mobilization of contractors were made at much lower levels in response to deteriorating security.

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The use of third-country nationals differed between Iraq and Afghanistan, due in part to the different relationship that U.S. forces had with the armed groups in the two countries. In Iraq, the United States had disbanded the army, but in Afghanistan the United States had collaborated with local resistance forces to topple the Taliban. Although reports of connections and even collaboration between Afghan private security firms and the Taliban should temper evaluation of how well this has worked, Afghans have been employed in the private security sector and there has not been as great a reliance on third-country nationals. As security concerns grew in Afghanistan, so too did a local private security industry; thus there the cost pressures of relying on former U.S. or British soldiers were not as great as in Iraq. As policy was made, there were few arguments that the private sector was somehow better than U.S. troops. A wide variety of analyses have suggested that, on the contrary, the use of contractors in these conflicts has often been wasteful and ineffective. The concluding 2011 report from the Commission on Wartime Contracting suggests that this practice led to a shocking amount of waste—one out of every four dollars spent—and that the presence of armed security contractors posed risks to civilians, U.S. military forces, and to U.S. policy more generally.66 There have also been many arguments that the whole notion of paying guards to protect places or individuals creates unintended incentives that undermine the primary goals of U.S. counterinsurgency policy. The increase in the use of PMSCs has not been according to a plan but according to need. That need had little to do with the character of the enemy and a lot to do with the need for additional forces. There has been no real argument that “private is better,” but instead private has been necessary, given the inadequate commitment of traditional military forces. Although politicians cast terrorism as an existential threat, and although military analysts suggested that a constabulary force would be best suited to meeting such a threat, the Bush administration did not believe it could or should sell mobilization of such a force to the American public, even immediately after 9/11. Privatization was not a response to 9/11; it was a tool to fill the mobilization gap created by poor judgment about force requirements after 9/11. Despite well-recognized problems in using private forces in these wars, most policymakers expect that contractors will nonetheless continue to be a part of the future U.S. force as the United States begins to move beyond the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Indeed, many believe that the use of private forces will even expand. A general belief that the terrorist threat has declined,



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combined with much greater evidence of economic weakness, has caused a further decline in any inclination to call for broad mobilization. Defense planners eager to be realistic are planning to do more with less. This is true even as they admit that this will lead to inevitable problems of overstretched forces and that contractors will be used, often in an ad hoc way, to fill the gaps. PMSCs, of course, remain ready and eager to respond to whatever needs emerge, for a suitable price.

Notes 1.  Indeed, many people asked me that fall what I would do with my research on military privatization, in the expectation of a turn away from it in the wake of the 9/11 attacks. 2.  Congressional Budget Office (CBO), “Contractor Support of U.S. Operations in Iraq” (Washington, DC: CBO, August 2008), www.cbo.gov/ftpdocs/96xx/ doc9688/08-12-IraqContractors.pdf. To put this number in context, however, the U.S. operation in the Balkans in the 1990s also had large numbers of contractors. Even though the ratios of troops to contractors were similar in the Balkans, the CBO report points out that the numbers overall were much smaller (only 20,000 troops) and the environment much less challenging. The comparison CBO is making is with major wars including Korea, Vietnam, and the first Gulf War: wars more like the conflict in Iraq. Ibid., 12. 3.  T. X. Hammes, “Private Contractors in Conflict Zones: The Good, the Bad, and the Strategic Impact,” Strategic Forum 260 (October 2010). 4.  The U.S. Department of Defense’s Office of Program Support has published these numbers quarterly since 2008. Summary statistics can be found on the Private Security Monitor at http://psm.du.edu. 5.  There has been a debate over what to call these forces. Some distinguish between private military companies (PMCs) and private security companies (PSCs), depending on the services provided. This distinction is hard to maintain in practice, though, because many contemporary services fit uneasily in one or the other category, and many companies provide services on each side of the military/security divide. Others use new acronyms such as privatized military forces (PMFs), or use PMC or PSC to refer to the entire range of services, or use the less defined term “contractor.” It is increasingly common to refer to these companies as private military and security companies (PMSC). I generally use PMSC to refer to companies that, under contract, perform services that might otherwise be provided by military forces. I also use the term contractors. I use private security forces (or services) to refer, as the U.S. Commission on Wartime Contracting does, to services that protect people, places, and things from violent attack. 6.  Deborah Avant, The Market for Force: The Consequences of Privatizing Security (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005).

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7.  Commission on Wartime Contracting (CWC), “At What Cost? Contingency Contracting in Iraq and Afghanistan” Interim Report (Washington, DC: CWC, June 2010), www.wartimecontracting.gov/index.php/reports. 8.  CBO, “Contractor Support of US Operations in Iraq.” 9. Ibid. 10.  Moshe Schwartz, The Department of Defense’s Use of Private Security Contractors in Afghanistan and Iraq: Background, Analysis and Options for Congress, Congressional Research Service (CRS) Report 7-5700, May 13, 2011, 6. 11.  Nathan Hodge, “Company Once Known as Blackwater Ditches XE for Yet Another New Name,” Wall Street Journal, December 12, 2011, online.wsj.com/article/SB10 001424052970204319004577089021757803802.html. 12.  Dana Priest, “Private Guards Repel Attack on US Headquarters,” Washington Post, April 6, 2004. 13.  See descriptions in Steve Fainaru, Big Boy Rules (Philadelphia: Da Capo Press, 2008); T. Christian Miller, Blood Money: Wasted Billions, Lost Lives, and Corporate Greed in Iraq (New York: Little, Brown, 2006); and Tom Ricks, Fiasco: The American Military Adventure in Iraq (New York: Penguin, 2006). 14.  See www.dyn-intl.com/history.aspx. 15.  See the discussion of Vinnell in Avant, Market for Force, 18, 114, and 148. MPRI stands for Military Professional Resources Incorporated; it is now a part of L-3 Communications. For a discussion of its role in the Balkans, see Avant, Market for Force, chap. 3. For the history of USIS, see www.usis.com/Fact-Sheet.aspx. 16.  See www.parsons.com/pages/default.aspx. 17. Schwartz, Department of Defense’s Use of Private Security Contractors in Afghanistan and Iraq. 18.  See Commission on Wartime Contracting (CWC), “Transforming Wartime Contracting: Controlling Costs, Reducing Risks,” Final Report, Washington, DC, August 2011, www.wartimecontracting.gov/docs/CWC_FinalReport-lowres.pdf. 19.  Eliot Cohen, Citizens and Soldiers: The Dilemmas of Military Service (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1985), 32. 20. Ibid. 21.  See, for instance, Michael O’Hanlon, “The Need to Increase the Size of the Deployable Army,” Parameters (Autumn 2004): 4–17. 22.  For background on the privatization movement, see Madsen Pirie, Dismantling the State (Dallas: National Center for Policy Analysis, 1985); John Donahue, The Privatization Decision: Public Ends, Private Means (New York: Basic Books, 1989); Harvey Feigenbaum, Jeffrey Henig, and Chris Hamnett, Shrinking the State: Reagan, Thatcher and the Politics of Retrenchment (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). 23.  The first official U.S. statement on contracting, the 1954 Budget Bureau Bulletin 55-4 (revised in 1955, 1957, and 1960) was renamed OMB Circular A-76 in 1966. It is still in effect but was revised again in 1967, 1979, 1983, 1999, and 2003. It states that government agencies should seek to obtain products and services through the private



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sector except in cases of national interest. See James E. Althouse, “Contractors on the Battlefield,” Army Logistician (November–December 1998), www.whitehouse.gov/ omb/circulars/a076.pdf. 24. Avant, Market for Force, 35–36; 113–138. 25.  See, for instance, John Mueller, Overblown: How Politicians and the Terrorism Industry Inflate National Security Threats and Why We Believe Them (New York: Free Press, 2006); Special Issue on Threat Inflation, Security Studies 16, no. 3 (July–September 2007). 26. Transcript of President Bush’s address, September 21, 2001, articles.cnn .com/2001-09-20/us/gen.bush.transcript_1_joint-session-national-anthem-citizens/6. 27. President Bush speech, O’Hare Airport, September 27, 2001, articles.cnn .com/2001-09-27/us/rec.bush.airports_1_federal-air-marshal-program-cockpitdoors-airport-security. 28.  Tom Murse, “Did President Bush Really Tell Americans to Go Shopping after 9/11?” usgovinfo.about.com/od/thepresidentandcabinet/a/did-bush-say-go-shop ping-after-911.htm. 29.  Gail Makinen, “The Economic Effects of 9/11: A Retrospective Assessment,” Congressional Research Service (CRS) Report RL31617, September 27, 2002. 30.  These arguments are made by Karl Mueller, “The Paradox of Liberal Hegemony,” in Jonathan Kirshner, Globalization and National Security (New York: Routledge, 2006). The idea that the United States would be best served by a constabulary force was raised much earlier. See Morris Janowitz, The Professional Soldier (New York: Free Press, 1960). 31.  See chapter 9 in this volume. See also Deborah Avant and Lee Sigelman, “Private Security and Democracy: Lessons from the US in Iraq,” Security Studies 19, no. 2 (2010). 32.  Stephen Biddle, Afghanistan and the Future of Warfare: Implications for the Army and Defense Policy, Monograph (Carlisle Barracks, PA: U.S. Army War College, Strategic Studies Institute, November 2002). 33.  See, for instance, “The World Will Always Remember September 11,” White House Press Release, December 11, 2001; Michael Gordon, “New US War: Commandos, Airstrikes, and Allied on the Ground,” New York Times, December 20, 2001; Thom Shanker, “Conduct of War is Redefined by Success of Special Forces,” New York Times, January 21, 2002. 34.  For a discussion of the critics, see Biddle, Afghanistan and the Future of Warfare. 35. Ibid., 2. 36.  James Fallows, “Blind into Baghdad,” Atlantic Monthly, January–February 2004. 37.  “Army Chief: Force to Occupy Iraq Massive,” USA Today, February 25, 2003; Fallows, “Blind into Baghdad.” See also Matthew Moten, “Broken Dialogue: Rumsfeld, Shinseki, and Civil-Military Tension,” in American Civil-Military Relations: The Soldier and the State in a New Era, ed. Suzanne C. Nielsen and Don M. Snider (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2009).

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38.  Public Broadcasting System (PBS), Frontline: The Invasion of Iraq, Interview with James Fallows, www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/invasion/interviews/ fallows.html. 39.  Fallows, “Blind into Baghdad.” 40. Ibid. 41.  Quoted in Fallows, “Blind into Baghdad.” 42.  “UN Security Council Ends Economic Sanctions on Iraq,” usinfo.state.gov, April 30, 2007. 43.  See www.uniraq.org/aboutus/mandate.asp. 44.  “Truck Bomb Kills UN Envoy to Iraq,” CNN World News, August 20, 2003, articles.cnn.com/2003-08-19/world/sprj.irq.main_1_bomb-explosion-truck-bombcar-bomb. 45.  Related programs include AFCAP, the Air Force Contract Augmentation Program; CONCAP, the Navy’s Construction Capabilities Contract; and BSC, the Balkan Support Group for the U.S. Army, Europe. 46.  The cost-plus-fixed-fee contract awarded to Vinnell was for $48,074,442 for one year of work beginning July 1, 2003. See Steven Rosenfeld, “Iraq: Vinnell’s Army on the Offensive,” originally posted on TomPaine.com but also available on the Corp­ Watch website at corpwatch.org/article.php?id=7842. 47.  Patricia O’Meara Kelly, “New DynCorp Contract Draws Scrutiny,” Insight Magazine, April 11, 2003, www.insightmag.com/news/415933.html. 48.  The contract for $39,500,000 called for Erinys to improve security along the northern pipeline immediately (via foreign personnel) and then to recruit, screen, and train some 6,500 Iraqis for the long-term force. Richard Giragosian, “Targeting Weak Points: Iraq’s Oil Pipelines,” Asia Times, January 27, 2004; Gordon Fellers, “Coalition Works to Make Iraqi Pipeline Protection a Top Priority,” Pipeline and Gas Journal 231, no. 3 (March 1, 2004). 49.  See David Wood, “Some of Army’s Civilian Contractors Are No-Shows,” New­house News Service, July 31, 2003; “Outsourcing War,” Business Week, September 15, 2003. This was also mentioned in drafts of what would become Office of the Chief of Staff, U.S. Army, On Point: The US Army in Operation Iraqi Freedom (Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Institute Press, 2004); however, references to contractors’ roles in problems with supply were not mentioned in the final version. 50.  CWC, “Transforming Wartime Contracting.” 51.  Author interviews, January and February 2004. 52.  James Dao, “Private US Guards Take Big Risks for the Right Price,” New York Times, April 2, 2004. 53.  Dana Priest, “Private Guards Repel Attack on US Headquarters,” Washington Post, April 6, 2004. 54.  Seymour Hersh, “Torture at Abu Ghraib: American Soldiers Brutalized Iraqis. How Far Up Does the Responsibility Go?” New Yorker, May 10, 2004; Major General Antonio M. Taguba, “Article 15-6 Investigation of the 800th Military Police Brigade,” report to U.S. Central Command, March 2004.



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55.  Deborah Avant and Lee Sigelman, “Private Security and Democracy: Lessons from the US in Iraq,” Security Studies 19, no. 2 (2010). 56.  Author interviews with leaders of several PMSCs contracting with the U.S. government in Iraq, June–December 2004, June 2005. 57.  Bourzou Daragahi, “For Profit, Private Firms Train Iraqi Soldiers, Provide Security and Much More,” Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, September 28, 2003. 58.  Representative Ike Skelton, April 2, 2004, letter to Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld. 59.  See, for instance, Jennifer Elsea and Nina M. Serafino, “Private Security Contractors in Iraq: Background, Legal Status and Other Issues,” Congressional Research Service (CRS), May 28, 2004. 60.  See Coalition Provisional Authority Order Number 17 (revised), www.iraq coalition.org/regulations/20040627_CPAORD_17_Status_of_Coalition__Rev__with_ Annex_A.pdf. 61.  Coalition Provisional Authority Order Number 17 (revised). 62.  Carolyn Alred, “Standards Sought for Iraq Security Firms,” Business Insurance, April 26, 2004; Stephan Gray, “Iraq Targets Private Guards,” Sunday Times, June 6, 2004; Mary Pat Flaherty and Dana Priest, “More Limits Sought for Private Security Firms,” Washington Post, April 13, 2004. 63.  Mary Pat Flaherty, “Iraq Work Awarded to Veteran of Civil Wars,” Washington Post, June 16, 2004. 64.  CBO, “Contractor Support of US Operations in Iraq.” 65. Schwartz, Department of Defense’s Use of Private Security Contractors in Afghanistan and Iraq. 66. CWC, Transforming Wartime Contracting.

9

Globalization and al Qaeda’s Challenge to American Unipolarity Pascal Vennesson

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h e 9/ 11 atta c k s w e r e a k e y e n g a g e m e n t i n t h e wa r

between al Qaeda and the United States that started in the early 1990s, gained strength in the mid-1990s, and is ongoing, albeit in a much altered fashion, in 2012. In August 1996, Osama bin Laden called upon Muslims to expel American soldiers from Saudi Arabia. Two years later, in February 1998, he and Egyptian physician Ayman al Zawahiri published, in the name of a “World Islamic Front,” a manifesto calling the murder of any American the “individual duty for every Muslim who [can] carry it out in any country where it proves possible.”1 Al Qaeda had, on its own and not on behalf of any state, started a war against the world’s sole superpower. Although al Qaeda– related terrorist activities had risen to high-level attention and had prompted the Clinton administration to undertake a number of responses, it was the 9/11 attacks that triggered full U.S. involvement in the war. The most serious direct challenge to American unipolarity at the beginning of the twenty-first century came, not from a rising state challenger, but from a transnational terrorist group. Why? Many scholarly and policy perspectives put to the task to characterize and discuss the conflict originate either from area studies (essentially the Middle East and Central Asia) or terrorism studies. By contrast, I argue that the 9/11 attacks and the war between al Qaeda and the United States can be explained as a product of the character of the systemic international environment in the 1990s and early 2000s, specifically its unique mixture of unipolarity and globalization.2 “Globalization under unipolarity” made such 232

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a war possible in the first place and shaped its character by increasing the magnitude of the perceived threat for both actors as well as by providing them with means to facilitate their action. These system-level (or “outside-in”) factors establish the broad parameters of the war between al Qaeda and the United States, but they do not suffice in accounting for the conduct of that war. I further argue, therefore, that the ways of war of both al Qaeda and the United States, before and after 9/11, have been constrained by the diminished role of the people in politics and in war. This diminished role of the people encouraged the two sides to resort to military means and strategies that reduced the need for the extraction and mobilization of labor (and, to some degree, of capital) for their war efforts. The ideas involved in the 9/11 attacks and the responses that they triggered— as broad and open-ended as the promotion of a neo-fundamentalist version of Islam, anti-imperialism and resistance to hegemony, and the promotion of democracy and human rights—were capable of expanding and escalating the war and were partially designed to do so. And yet, while the belligerents have actively pursued the globalization of their causes and their geographical reach, ultimately engaging in a war of hegemony, their conduct of the war was domestically (or internally) constrained.3 Their respective peoples were somewhat involved but mostly in passive and secondary roles (as an audience, for example); this has limited the capacity of the belligerents to extract and mobilize the societal resources that generate military power. This, in turn, has encouraged both sides to resort to military means and strategies that do not depend so greatly on labor and capital. The resulting war of hegemony with limited popular involvement is at the core of the strategic tensions, contradictions, and dilemmas that have shaped the conduct of war since 9/11. The chapter proceeds in three steps. I first characterize the armed conflict between America and al Qaeda as a war of hegemony, which helps to capture some of the most salient characteristics of the struggle and its potential war escalation dynamic. While this conceptualization is analytically richer and more fruitful than alternatives like “global war on terror,” the “long war,” or “global civil war” (as well as “new war,” “crime,” or “crisis”), I acknowledge that this war of hegemony has distinctive characteristics, notably its comparatively limited demands for sacrifices by the people.4 I then turn to the international and transnational sources of the conflict and show that the international environment—characterized by both unipolarity and globalization—provided an important permissive context for such a war to

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break out in the first place and to evolve the way it has. While unipolarity and globalization help in understanding the main characteristics of the war, they are less useful to analyze the absence of mass mobilization and the role that a much more “virtual” people has played on both sides. In the final part of the chapter, therefore, I explore the domestic political forces that shaped the belligerents’ capacity for action.

Al Qaeda’s Challenge and America’s Response: A Different Kind of War of Hegemony The struggle between al Qaeda and the United States—which took a dramatic and spectacular turn with the 9/11 attacks—can usefully be understood as a war of hegemony. At first sight, this might appear counterintuitive since this war does not resemble the armed conflicts that are usually considered wars of hegemony, such as the Peloponnesian War (431–404 BC), the Thirty Years’ War (1618–1648), the wars of Louis XIV (1667–1713), the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars (1792–1814), or World Wars I and II (1914–1918 and 1939–1945). In the modern era, most of the actors and all of the great powers involved in wars of hegemony have been territorial states. However, I argue that nothing in the most widely accepted theories of wars of hegemony—notably in Robert Gilpin’s conception5 —prevents us from examining, in terms of a war of hegemony, a situation in which the challenger is not a rising state or coalition of states but a transnational terrorist network. This is not to deny that the war between al Qaeda and the United States has some distinctive characteristics and some differences with the wars of hegemony of the past. At the heart of these differences is the fact that, for the first time in such a direct and autonomous way, a nonstate transnational actor decided to challenge the world’s most powerful state. Still, I argue that the theory of hegemonic war, among the most significant generalizations in the field of international relations (IR), offers a useful starting point to uncover some of the key characteristics of the struggle between al Qaeda and the United States. In turn, that armed conflict can help complement, refine, and enrich the existing conceptual tools available to analyze wars of hegemony. In what follows, I use Robert Gilpin’s theory to define the notion of “war of hegemony” and present the operational criteria he used for the identification of this particular type of war. I then show that the existing theoretical and empirical conceptualizations of hegemonic wars—notably Gilpin’s

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theory of war and change in world politics—can be fruitfully applied to the armed conflict between al Qaeda and the United States. Wars of Hegemony: Theory and History There are several theories of hegemonic war.6 While they share several characteristics, for the sake of clarity and because of its importance and influence, I focus on Robert Gilpin’s conceptualization.7 His definition of hegemonic wars and the criteria that he uses to identify them are among the most explicit. His theory’s important contribution is the conception of hegemonic war itself and the importance of this type of war for the dynamics of international relations.8 Hegemonic wars as a particular type of war, integral to the evolution and dynamics of international systems, share three main characteristics. First, Gilpin argues, a hegemonic war involves “a direct contest between the dominant power . . . in an international system and the rising challenger” and triggers the participation “of all the major states and most of the minor states in the system.”9 Second, the fundamental issue at stake is “the nature and governance of the [international] system.”10 Third, the means employed are “unlimited” and the scope of warfare is “general.”11 Hegemonic wars are at once political, economic, and ideological struggles. Ideological or religious disputes—conflicting views over the organization of domestic societies—are at the heart of hegemonic, armed conflict.12 In addition to these criteria, Gilpin argues that three conditions are commonly associated with wars of hegemony. First, the war of hegemony does not only arise from a contest for supremacy between two or more great powers, but it is also the result of significant changes in the larger technological and economic environment. “Underlying the outbreak of a hegemonic war is the idea that the basis of power and social order is undergoing a fundamental transformation.”13 These wars arise “from profound historical changes and the basic incongruity between new environmental forces and existing structures.”14 Specifically, the geographical extension of the international system is contracting, leading to the “‘closing in’ of space and opportunities.”15 As the distance between states decreases, they increasingly come into conflict with one another. The second precondition is the perception by the leaders of the dominant power that time might not be on their side and that they should settle matters while they still have the advantage.16 Often the dominant power is

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seeking to minimize its losses rather than maximize its gains. Finally, the third precondition is the sense that the course of events escapes human control.17 Policymakers on both sides usually underestimate the scope and intensity of the conflict and its implications for themselves and others. It is important to note that Gilpin’s theory of hegemonic war does not take a position on three important issues. First, hegemonic wars may be intentional, or they may not be. In some cases, the initial strategic goals of the belligerents are quite limited but, because of a range of other factors and dynamics, the war becomes a war of hegemony (like World War I). In other cases, however, the explicit goals of the belligerents are “hegemonic” from the start—in the sense that they deliberately want to alter (or preserve) the structure and operation of the international system—but in the end the challenger is unable to transform its action in a genuine war of hegemony (like a number of revolutionary movements in the 1960s). The challenger—be it a state or a transnational terrorist network—might want to trigger a hegemonic war but might be unable to do so by itself. In short, the intentions of the actors is an important empirical question but not indispensable to defining a war as hegemonic. Moreover, Gilpin’s theory does not focus on the question of which actor is ultimately responsible for the war. “Identification of the initiator of a particular war is frequently impossible to ascertain and authorities seldom agree. When did the war actually begin? What actions precipitated it? Who committed the first hostile act?”18 Third, the theory does not address the consequences of the war. The outcome of hegemonic wars could be the confirmation, perhaps even the intensification, of the dominance of the hegemon or could be a genuine shift in the structure and governance of the international system. In other cases, as Gilpin notes, “both the declining and rising protagonists may suffer and a third party may be the ultimate victor. Frequently, the chief beneficiary is, in fact, a rising peripheral power not directly engaged in the conflict.”19 The Armed Conflict between al Qaeda and America: Is It a War of Hegemony? The struggle between al Qaeda and the United States corresponds to Gilpin’s definition of a hegemonic war.20 The first factor is the direct involvement of the hegemon and of major states. Starting in the mid-1990s, al Qaeda attacked, directly and repeatedly, the United States, which by any measure was

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the dominant power in the international system at that time.21 These attacks triggered, after 9/11, the participation of all of the major states and most of the minor states in the international system, largely on the side of the hegemon. The intention of bin Laden and his chief lieutenants was to touch off a war involving the United States and, if possible, other Western countries. Before and after 9/11, the al Qaeda leadership actively sought to achieve ambitious war aims and to give them the widest international range.22 Bin Laden’s goal was to “drag the United States into a war with Islam—‘a large-scale front which it cannot control.’”23 In October 2001, bin Laden explained on al Jazeera: “This battle is not between al-Qaeda and the U.S. This is a battle of Muslims against the global Crusaders.”24 It was not the first time that a transnational terrorist group sought to challenge the world order in a broad sense. Anarchist groups did so at the end of the nineteenth century. A loose connection of international terrorist networks such as the Baader-Meinhof gang and Carlos “the Jackal” even used attacks on airliners in the 1970s. However, what made al Qaeda unusual was that, most visibly with the 9/11 attacks, it engaged in an autonomous, direct and violent, even military contest with the world’s only superpower. Al Qaeda’s actions were not merely limited and localized challenges to hegemony. Bin Laden himself and the Saudi members of al Qaeda in particular had been anti-American and anti-imperialist since the mid-1980s and had started to single out the United States for attack in 1992.25 Unlike their Egyptian counterparts, they did not go through an initial phase of open and protracted struggle against the Saudi state. They remained for a long time quite close to the Saudi power elite, a proximity revealed, for example, by the facts that bin Laden offered his services to Saudi authorities in 1990–1991 after Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait and that no attacks were launched against the Saudi regime until 2003.26 In response to the antihegemonic attacks of 9/11, the U.S. leadership immediately considered them to be acts of war and demanded, and largely obtained, support from every state in the international system, including all the most significant powers. The U.S.–al Qaeda conflict also shows Gilpin’s second defining factor of hegemonic war, in the nature and governance of the international system. Al Qaeda’s main goal is reflected in its strategic focus on the unipolar distribution of power in the international system and its regional implications, notably in the Middle East. The grievances explicitly and publicly complained

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of by al Qaeda reflected this challenge to American unipolarity, as al Qaeda contested what it saw as the blasphemous U.S. military presence in the Arabian Peninsula near Muslim holy sites, the blinding U.S. bias toward Israel, American support for corrupt regimes in the Muslim world, the destruction and occupation of Iraq, the subordination of the Muslim world, and the unfair exploitation of Middle East oil.27 The 1998 “world Islamic front statement urging Jihad against Jews and crusaders” signed by bin Laden, as leader of al Qaeda, and a number of radical Islamists announced that: Killing the Americans and their allies—civilians and military—is an individual duty for every Muslim who can carry it out in any country where it proves possible, in order to liberate al Aqsa Mosque and the holy sanctuary [Mecca] from their grip, and to the point that their armies leave all Muslim territory, defeated and unable to threaten any Muslim.28

It is important to note that the Americans were not presented as apostates and were not attacked on that basis, in contrast, for example, to the case of author Salman Rushdie in the fatwa issued by Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini in 1989. Rather, U.S. citizens were said to belong to the political category of a “universal enemy” that should be attacked worldwide.29 The unipolar characteristic of the international system was perceived by bin Laden and the leadership of al Qaeda as threatening notably because many political regimes, especially in the Middle East and especially the Saudi regime, are subordinate to the United States. Bin Laden declared that: “Our main problem is the U.S. government, while the Saudi regime is but a branch or an agent of the U.S.”30 Al Qaeda’s declared and actual targets were all manifestations and symbols of American power: embassies, military forces and facilities, and, most prominently, the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and probably either the White House or Congress.31 Moreover, reflecting Gilpin’s argument that hegemonic wars often are also ideological or religious struggles, bin Laden and his followers were convinced that Islam was under attack by the West and that this existential threat should be countered.32 In short, the main goal of bin Laden and al Qaeda was to challenge and ultimately to end American hegemony. The establishment of an Islamic state remained secondary. Faced with such an immediate and violent challenge, U.S. policymakers framed the struggle as the defining conflict of the twenty-first century, a war for the values of civilization and democracy.33

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The third element of Gilpin’s definition of hegemonic war, the general scope of warfare, is also found in the al Qaeda conflict with the United States. Al Qaeda’s ideological justification for the 9/11 attacks as well as the U.S. response were grounded in the vocabulary of major wars. Both belligerents sought to escalate the war so as to make a local conflict into a global one, rooted in a fundamental ideological contest and geographically unlimited. They sought to aggregate smaller wars into a bigger one. For example, Abdallah Azzam, one of the early theorists of radical Islamism and an influential figure of the early history of al Qaeda, declared that the fight against the Soviet Union in the 1980s had been only the beginning, as many other places worldwide had to be reconquered: “Palestine, Bukhara, Lebanon, Chad, Eritrea, Somalia, the Philippines, Burma, South Yemen, Tashkent, and Andalusia.”34 By invading Afghanistan and Iraq, and by redefining America’s grand strategy, the Bush administration invested considerable resources in the war and, through a wide variety of political, diplomatic, military, and legal instruments, expanded its scope. However, it is important to note that not all hegemonic wars are total wars, even when the leaders wish them to be. As I emphasize below, the conduct of the war was severely constrained by domestic conditions and internal characteristics of the belligerents. What characteristics of the international system made such a war of hegemony possible? This is the question to which I now turn.

International Sources of the War between al Qaeda and the United States The international environment—characterized by both unipolarity and globalization—provided an important permissive context for such a war of hegemony. Yet, for the three main research traditions in international relations on their own—realism, liberalism, and constructivism—the war between al Qaeda and the United States is seemingly disconcerting. Although there is clearly a link between 9/11 and its systemic context, scholars in these traditions have not been eager to explore the international sources of such an apparently bizarre event. For realist scholars, 9/11 is doubly anomalous: it was triggered by a nonstate actor, not by a competing state or an aspiring great power, and it was deeply shaped by globalization, the dimension of the

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international environment that they usually consider the least significant.35 Moreover, for “offensive realists,” such as John Mearsheimer, one of the most significant geostrategic factors that shape wars of hegemony is the stopping power of water, which severely limits the power projection capabilities of armies and makes it impossible for any state to achieve global hegemony. In such a context, “the United States is probably the most secure great power in history, mainly because it has always been separated from the world’s other great powers by two giant moats—the Atlantic and the Pacific Oceans.”36 And yet, at the beginning of the twenty-first century, the most significant challenge to American unipolarity, and the trigger for enormous change in American foreign policy and beyond, came from a nonstate actor, driven by a transnational goal, motivated by a transnational religious ideology, and whose violent means were shaped by the strategic possibilities of a globalizing international system. Al Qaeda’s power projection was not stopped by water. For liberals and constructivists, by contrast, “the universal condition of world politics is globalization. States are, and always have been, embedded in a domestic and transnational society that creates incentives for its members to engage in economic, social, and cultural interactions that transcend borders.”37 These research traditions usually emphasize the positive, cooperationenhancing, wealth-creating, and ultimately peace-promoting consequences of globalization. The 9/11 attacks showed that globalization does matter, but not in the ways they expected. The globalized international environment helped to create the group that launched the attack, contributed to providing and shaping some of its key ideas, and was exploited, tactically and strategically, to undermine U.S. hegemony. Moreover, the exclusive focus of some transnationalist scholars on the “globalized” dimension of the international environment leaves too much outside of the analysis. The fact that the attacks specifically targeted the hegemon in a unipolar international system showed that one dimension of the international environment—globalization—did not dominate the other—the unipolar distribution of power. In fact, the relationship of these two dimensions was the critical factor. Combining key insights of these research traditions is more fruitful than keeping them separate and I argue that a unique mixture of unipolarity and globalization—a situation of “globalization under unipolarity”—contributed to shaping the character of war between al Qaeda and the United States.38 This combination of unipolarity with globalization increased the perceived threat and also provided the means of action for both sides.

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Unipolarity and Antihegemony The existence of American unipolarity contributed to shaping bin Laden’s vision of international relations as well as his threat perception. The “unipole” has by definition large spheres of influence; its security and economic interests touch every region of the world. Oil makes this particularly true in the Middle East, especially the Arabian Peninsula.39 This contributed to making the United States an attractive target, especially since the United States could be associated with broader aspects of Western-led modernization.40 In a unipolar system, moreover, the leadership of al Qaeda could not challenge U.S. conventional military power and had less opportunity of finding the kind of allies and support that had been available in earlier days. Using the “dark side of globalization” strategically, including a situation of state fragility in Afghanistan, became al Qaeda’s preferred means to challenge American power. Bin Laden and al Qaeda did more than express grievances about U.S. unipolarity. Their military strategy addressed a linked chain of problems that would have to be solved so they could reach their final goal: the defeat of the adversary. They thought that they had a reasonable probability of success: that they could seriously undermine and even, in the longer run, overthrow U.S. hegemony.41 First, their strategy was rooted in their experience of fighting against the Soviet Union in Afghanistan. They believed that their contribution had been decisive to the Soviet withdrawal from Afghanistan and that they could similarly defeat the United States.42 In their view, “the myth of the superpower died amid the cries of the mujahedeen: God is greater!”43 As bin Laden noted in 2004, “we have experience in using guerrilla warfare and attrition to fight tyrannical superpowers, as we, alongside the mujahedeen, bled Russia for ten years, until it went bankrupt and was forced to withdraw in defeat. . . . So we are continuing this policy in bleeding America to the point of bankruptcy.”44 Bin Laden made frequent reference to what he saw as defeats inflicted on the great powers, such as the Soviet Union in Afghanistan, Russia in Chechnya, and the U.S. forces in Lebanon in 1983, in Yemen in December 1992, and in Somalia in 1993.45 The leadership of al Qaeda relied heavily on the Somalia analogy, emphasizing that the United States had “left the area carrying disappointment, humiliation, defeat and [its] dead with [it].”46 In short, he argued, the United States was a paper tiger. Second, in strategic terms, and keeping in mind that this strategy evolved over time and was not a fixed blueprint, bin Laden and al Qaeda relied on the

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indirect approach.47 The indirect approach, like the direct approach, aims at a final military victory, but the preparation for it is indirect. Initially conceptualized by Liddell Hart at the operational level, the indirect approach seeks to surprise and put the enemy off balance by unexpected moves in order to alter the balance of force. Al Qaeda tried to extend the threat of guerrilla warfare and terrorism geographically as much as possible without causing its enemy to retreat, so as to make the enemy’s protection problem more acute. As the dominant power had to use more and more force to guard an increasing number of points, this would progressively alter the balance of power.48 In the international environment of globalization under unipolarity, this indirect approach gave al Qaeda the freedom of action it needed. Bin Laden also publicly mentioned the economic dimension of the indirect approach. In 2003, for example, he asserted that the U.S. economic situation had begun to deteriorate due to the 9/11 attacks. “The losses inflicted by that blow and its repercussions have reached over a trillion dollars—a thousand thousand million—and for the third consecutive year they have also had a budget deficit. This year it reached a record high, since it is estimated at over 450,000 million dollars, praise be to God.”49 In December 2004, he urged his supporters in Saudi Arabia to strike petroleum-related infrastructure in order to trigger a sharp increase in oil prices and produce a crisis for the American economy.50 Al Qaeda also targeted the symbolic dimension of unipolarity by seeking to undermine U.S. prestige. Bin Laden publicly declared that one goal of the 9/11 attacks was to “strike down America’s totems.”51 As a result, he said, “everyone realized that America, that oppressive force, can be beaten, humiliated, brought low.”52 These attacks would also force U.S. leaders to reveal the true nature of their hegemonic power: “The most important positive consequence of the attacks on New York and Washington was that they showed the truth about the fight between the crusaders and the Muslims.”53 The Shaping Effects of Globalization As this section explains, the globalized environment contributed to the creation and social characteristics of the group that launched the 9/11 attacks, contributed to providing and shaping some of its key ideas, and was exploited by it, tactically and strategically, toward its goal of violently challenging American hegemony.54 The shrinking technological, economic, and geographic space enhanced the relative ability of small groups to launch a

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powerful strike. Moreover, al Qaeda could play to a global rather than a limited national audience more easily because of the vast, ever-present array of instantaneous media and communications technologies. My argument about the implications of globalization builds upon Gilpin’s theory of wars of hegemony outlined above.55 Gilpin’s insight about the effects on wars of hegemony of the incongruity between new environmental forces (such as shrinking distance between actors) and existing structures is important but incomplete. It does not sufficiently acknowledge the range of consequences on the nature of the actors involved and their political and strategic calculations. First, al Qaeda was genuinely a transnational terrorist group; it represented, in James Rosenau’s description, actors “free of sovereignty.”56 It was not linked to, nor used by, any Middle Eastern state, intelligence service, or radical movement, as had been the case with comparable groups in the 1980s. The background of this “de-territorialized” radical Islamic network was not related in a direct and specific way to this or that conflict in the Middle East; it was not linked to territorial claims or national identities. The social composition of its membership and its outlook made it, instead, an “internationalist” and “transnationalist” group with international and transnational followers. While national experiences and cleavages retained their significance, the members of the group were not united by their national citizenship: they came from different countries and their allegiances were more religious and ideological. Most radical militants engaged in action as individuals; they cut their ties with their immediate community, such as family, ethnic group, and nation, to fight outside the sphere of any real collective identity. 57 Time and again, these militants ignored their immediate political and societal context, instead favoring a de-territorialized engagement. Second, from an ideological standpoint, al Qaeda’s leaders and militants adopted Islamic fundamentalism, meaning a return to the “true” tenets of religion rooted in a transnational pan-Islamic sentiment.58 This specific “neo-fundamentalism” combined technical modernism, de-culturization, and the rejection of both traditional Muslim and modern Western cultures. In this, too, it was shaped by a globalized international environment. Neofundamentalism allowed alienated youths, even in Western countries, to turn their cultural alienation into a justification for forging a universal Islam that was stripped of customs and traditions and was thus acceptable to all societies. It appealed to the well-educated, and the disenchanted, offering a system for regulating behavior in any situation, from Afghan deserts to Western

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college campuses. The globalizing environment also exacerbated relative dep­ rivation in economically backward societies, by making the “demonstration effect” more striking. Images of widely disparate standards of consumption, comfort, health, and life expectancy diffused more quickly and widely.59 Third, al Qaeda’s political and strategic goals were themselves international and transnational, and these dimensions were at the heart of some of the key ideological and strategic debates during its early history. The role of Abdallah Azzam was particularly significant in that regard.60 Himself an exiled Palestinian who had studied and worked in different countries, Azzam favored pan-Islamism and minimized the importance of nation-states. He argued for the shift from an “internal” war to a war against an external enemy. The alleged occupation of Muslim territories by foreign aggressors became a more urgent priority than overthrowing domestic tyrants. Azzam also redefined the theater of operations. Territory remains important for the war, but it is not geographically confined to a specific state. Thus he rhetorically incorporated a number of heterogeneous separatist struggles of the 1990s, such as Bosnia, Chechnya, Palestine, and Mindanao, within a broader struggle to reconquer Muslim land. There were differences between Azzam’s ideas and bin Laden’s preferences, since Azzam’s priority was to constitute a military force, not a clandestine political avant-garde. Moreover, his preferred strategy remained closer to guerrilla warfare, and he did not advocate terrorist attacks on the territory of a faraway enemy, whereas al Qaeda favored transnational terrorism.61 Still, his foreign fighter doctrine, together with the important enabler of ease of communication and transportation, favored the rise of transnational jihadism.62 Al Qaeda did not provide any blueprint for forging a new society in a particular context. Its ideological orientation was thus very different from the movements of Islamists who wanted to build a real Islamic state in a specific country (such as Hamas in Palestine, Hezbollah in Lebanon, or the FIS [Front Islamique du Salut, in French, and Islamic Salvation Front, in English] in Algeria in the early 1990s) and who thus appealed to nationalism and popular mobilization. Such movements involve themselves in national elections and seek to take power and to govern in a specific country. They are much less interested in the political situation elsewhere such as in Iraq, Afghanistan, or Chechnya. A similar contrast can be seen between al Qaeda’s ideas and actions and those of the Pashtun-Taliban insurgency in Afghanistan.63 Instead, al Qaeda focused on the creation of a transnational ummah, a universal

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Muslim community not bound to a particular society or nation.64 The principal objective was to reinstitute a strict interpretation of shari’a law across a broad swath of “traditionally Islamic lands” stretching from Indonesia to the Iberian Peninsula. In short, al Qaeda did not focus on a specific geographical territory, nor did it identify itself with any specific state, place, or nation. Fourth and finally, transnational terrorism, by the nature of its attacks and its reliance on propaganda, belongs to the modes of warfare that, like sanctions, air power, and nuclear weapons, by-pass and put into question the “hard shell” of the state and its defensibility. The state itself as fundamental security provider is targeted.65 This challenge to a core characteristic of statehood is exacerbated by the fact that it comes from a private transnational actor, acting autonomously from other states, and using violence. At the operational level, the activities of al Qaeda depend on the feasibility of traveling around the world and on the efficient movement of information and money. The greater interconnectedness of the international system also facilitated links and coordination between distant individuals and groups, for example, when the radicalization of some Western Muslims leads them to travel to war zones in Iraq, Afghanistan, or Pakistan. Dispersed microactors can benefit from the knowledge and organization of others and increase their capabilities.66 In sum, then, the 9/11 attacks were carried out by a de-territorialized group with objectives and tactics that were partially disconnected from specific Middle East conflicts and were instead embedded in a globalized transnational context. U.S. and allied military responses to al Qaeda addressed this key problem of de-territorialization in Afghanistan in a variety of ways, such as targeting sanctuaries, initially preferring a “light footprint,” use of special operations forces and local allies, engaging in counterinsurgency, and increasing reliance on unmanned combat aerial vehicles.

Virtual People and the Changing Character of War The belligerents in this ongoing war of hegemony have conducted warfare without a direct popular mobilization. While unipolarity and globalization help in understanding the main characteristics of the war between al Qaeda and the United States, they are less useful to analyze the absence of mass mobilization in that conflict and the role that a more virtual people has played on both sides. For this, one has to take into account the domestic political forces that shaped the belligerents’ capacity for action.

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Al Qaeda From the perspective of the conduct of war, the notion of a transnational insurgency poses an intriguing question: Whom do the transnational insurgents view as “the people”? Whose hearts and whose minds need to be won?67 Al Qaeda’s position on the issue of popular mobilization for warfare was shaped by its own organizational characteristics, the societal characteristics and the ideological beliefs of its leaders and members. Its priority was spectacular action, rather than building a movement through mobilization, membership, and organization. Al Qaeda never provided a satisfactory answer to the strategic and military challenge of how to mobilize people and build a movement or deal with the consequences of not doing so. Al Qaeda’s inability to mobilize people in a specific territorial environment might seem surprising. Any insurgency “needs the people to act in certain ways. [It] needs their sympathy, acquiescence, and silence, or simply their reaction to provocation, in order to survive and further [its] strategy.”68 Insurgents usually need a population to shelter them, provide recruits and supplies, and in other ways advance their effort to undermine the existing political order. Mao Tse-tung places a heavy emphasis on “political mobilization” of the population: “The richest source of power to wage war lies in the masses of the people.”69 However, al Qaeda’s entire strategy to fight the “distant” enemy was designed to do without the need to mobilize a specific people or to overcome a lack of grassroots support in a specific territorial environment. At the tactical level, the use of suicide attacks can be interpreted as a resort to a military tactic whose notable characteristic is that it does not require any significant popular mobilization.70 Moreover, when al Qaeda had the opportunity to become a genuine territorial insurgency in Iraq, it failed, paving the way for the success of the U.S. surge. Al Qaeda–linked groups seized power for themselves and killed Iraqi civilians instead of mobilizing them. As a result, not only did Sunni tribes start to work with U.S. forces against al Qaeda in Iraq, but Muslims outside the country also became increasingly critical of massacres of Muslims by other Muslims. Moreover, when a popular mobilization occurred in the Arab world in 2010–2011 that challenged and toppled political regimes, it had nothing to do with al Qaeda’s ideas and modes of action. However, the leadership of al Qaeda understood that attracting sympathy and allegiance in the broader Muslim world were important, and it appealed to a more abstract community of the faithful.71 Hence, mass media, especially television, were important to al Qaeda’s hopes to draw support from a broader

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international community by untraditional means such as dramatic attacks. This virtual or imagined people might be politically significant, but it could also be strategically problematic. The United States After 9/11 and the first direct attack on U.S. soil since Pearl Harbor, it was widely believed that U.S. policymakers would change the American way of war and return to military strategies based on the major extraction and mobilization of societal resources to achieve victory in the global war on terror. The first Gulf War and the interventions in Somalia, Bosnia, and, perhaps even more strikingly, Kosovo seemingly gave rise to a “new” American way of war.72 The introduction of information and communication technologies in war fighting, epitomized by the notions of “revolution in military affairs” and “network-centric warfare,” gave rise to a way of war based on precision fire power, special forces, psychological operations, and jointness rather than the traditional principles of overwhelming force, mass, and concentration. Still, it was widely assumed that in the post–9/11 threat environment, this new conduct of war would quickly dissipate. Eliot Cohen, for example, had asserted in 1999 that the new American way of war would prevail for some time to come, “barring some cataclysmic event—a twenty-first century Pearl Harbor.”73 After 9/11, Stephen Biddle similarly argued that, because of the dramatic change triggered by the global war on terror, the new American way of war was already passé, as its premises were “no longer valid.”74 And yet, the expected shift did not materialized. The operations against Afghanistan and Iraq were framed as a response to an existential threat, but the post-9/11 rhetoric of total war did not translate into a genuine mobilization of the entire nation, nor were the American people asked to make great sacrifices. While the war on terror saw a greater U.S. willingness to deploy ground troops and to suffer casualties than during previous humanitarian interventions or wars of choice, as Strachan notes: “the peoples of the Western allies do not regard themselves as under direct attack, despite the terrorist atrocities perpetrated in New York, Washington, London and Madrid, and they have not mobilised for war, either psychologically or actually.”75 The rhetoric failed to convince and did not trigger a genuine mobilization.76 In the wake of 9/11, an outpouring of patriotism became prominent. However, as Theda Skocpol noted, patriotism did not translate into a direct involvement of the citizenry in the war effort: indeed, the only demand of

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President Bush to the American people was “taking more airplane trips” and “go shopping.”77 During the 2004 presidential election, in the midst of the insurgency in Iraq, both President Bush and the Democratic candidate John Kerry felt compelled to promise that there would be neither a draft nor new taxes to pay for the war, and that, in fact, there would be additional tax cuts.78 The burden of fighting in Afghanistan and Iraq fell on less then 1 percent of the population of 280 million Americans.79 Changes in civic life provide an answer to this reluctance or incapacity to fully mobilize the people. The war of hegemony took place “in a changed public world in which political authorities and non-profit organizations rely on professional management and media messages rather than on organized popular participation.”80 The decrease in public political participation affected the capacity to extract resources and thus encouraged forms of military intervention that minimized the sacrifices imposed on the people in both lives and wealth. Just as with al Qaeda, the vanishing role of the people cut both ways for the United States. On the one hand, this lesser involvement lifted constraints: it increased the freedom of action of political leaders who, by relying on precision air power, an all-volunteer force, and private military contractors, became less dependent on the public’s will and resources. On the other hand, however, it imposed strategic trade-offs: there are certain things that such a force has difficulty in accomplishing. The first phase of the war in Afghanistan, in particular, was characterized by the deployment on the ground of only a few hundred Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) personnel and Special Operation Forces supporting the Afghan Northern Alliance and by a massive use of air power. By the end of January 2002, the U.S. Air Force had flown about 25,000 sorties and dropped 18,000 bombs, including 10,000 precision munitions.81 However, in spite of the tight connection between the conflict in Afghanistan and national security, the reluctance to deploy ground troops that had characterized previous humanitarian interventions persisted unaltered. Although the overthrow of the Taliban regime was quickly achieved, the administration’s choice of a light footprint may have undermined the achievement of one of the main goals of the mission. While being “a masterpiece of military creativity and finesse,” Operation Enduring Freedom was characterized by the failure to capture top al Qaeda leaders including Osama bin Laden (who was caught and killed only ten years later, in May 2011).82 The main

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factor accounting for this lack of success was the unwillingness to deploy a sufficient number of ground troops in Operation Anaconda in March 2002, and the choice to use, instead, Afghan and Pakistani fighters who proved less reliable than U.S. troops would have been.83 Had more U.S. ground troops been deployed to close all the possible escape routes from the Tora Bora region, bin Laden, al Zawahiri, and the other al Qaeda leaders might not have been able to leave Afghanistan. While partly linked to logistical problems, the unwillingness to deploy U.S. ground troops in the mountainous regions of southern Afghanistan can be primarily attributed to the Pentagon’s aversion to casualties. As Michael O’Hanlon wrote, it is “supremely ironic that a tough-on-defense Republican administration fighting for vital national security interests appeared almost as reluctant to risk American lives in combat as the Clinton administration had been in humanitarian missions.”84 The transformation of U.S. civic participation did not happen overnight, and its cumulative effects on the American way of war, while progressive, have been genuinely transformative. Since the 1970s, the overall place and role of the people in U.S. politics has been changing. Assessing alterations in the characteristics of sociopolitical systems is a challenging task on which political scientists and sociologists often disagree, with difficulties in operationalization, measurement, and interpretation.85 However, despite the variety of approaches, of perspectives (some egalitarian and others elitists, for example), and of empirical data, a consensus has been reached on the evolution of political participation during recent decades in the United States and in the Western world more generally, even if disagreement persists about causes and potential remedies. Scholars have identified a trend toward what is variously described as “disaffected,” “diminished,” “stealth,” or even “post” democracy.86 Politics at the beginning of the twenty-first century are clearly characterized by the diminishing role of the people.87 Democracy has been largely stripped of its popular component. Civic democracy in the United States changed profoundly between the mid-1950s and the mid-1970s.88 New civic organizations proliferated, but more than three-fourths of the largest membership federations began to lose their share (previously 40–70 percent) of the adult population.89 Theda Skocpol has highlighted a significant transformation in the primary purpose of very large civic associations. In the mid-twentieth century, most associations were fraternal or religious federations focused on celebrating brotherhood or sisterhood or were civic associations devoted to community service. By the 1980s

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and 1990s, the goals of most associations became more narrowly instrumental or recreational.90 “The universe of very large American membership associations today is much less concerned with brotherhood, sisterhood, fellow citizenship, and community service than ever before in the nation’s long civic history.”91 Skocpol provides a telling, condensed, image of this transformation: “Everyday Americans are increasingly more spectators of public affairs. Much of the time they are benignly disinterested observers; at other moments angry or cynical. Either way, ordinary citizens have less and less involvement in shaping our common affairs—and, arguably, dwindling leverage over powerful leaders and institutions.”92 In a remarkable two and a half year participant observation inquiry conducted in the mid-1990s with a wide range of civic groups (volunteer, recreational, and activist), sociologist Nina Eliasoph carefully documented the shrinking public space for publicly minded discussions in some American communities.93 Publicly minded ideas evaporated out of public circulation and became regularly treated as inappropriate for discussion. In losing their ability to discuss politics, she argues, citizens have weakened their capacity to generate power together. The declining engagement with the wider world increased political apathy. These empirical results and their interpretation have been contested; a number of scholars offer a more benign or even an optimistic view of these characteristics of civic developments.94 Critics of the disaffected democracy thesis usually argue that involvement in voluntary associations can compensate for the decline of political parties and reinforce citizenship. However, existing empirical evidence raises doubts about this possibility: now, people tend to join groups that are homogeneous, not heterogeneous; civic participation does not lead to—and may actually turn people away from—political participation; and not all groups promote democratic values.95 In sum, there has been a weakening of the direct political involvement of ordinary citizens in the United States. “The people” might remain politically significant for policymakers but only more indirectly, with their power represented by public opinion polls, “reflected” in Congress, Parliaments, or other elected representative bodies or represented by media. Different factors contributed to this trend: the rise of the global firm as a significant political actor and the growing dominance of business lobbies and the perceived competence of the private sector to run public-service activities, the decline of the occupations that could form effective labor unions, and the existence of a

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fragmented, more passive population that finds it more challenging to generate organizations to articulate its demands, as well as the related transformation of political parties.

Conclusion The war between al Qaeda and the United States is shaped by two main set of factors. On the one hand, globalization under unipolarity made such an unusual war of hegemony possible in the first place. The most significant challenge to American unipolarity, and the trigger for enormous change in American foreign policy and beyond, came from a nonstate actor, driven by a transnational goal, motivated by a transnational religious ideology, whose violent means were shaped by the strategic possibilities of a globalizing international environment. On the other hand, the character of that war of hegemony has been constrained by the diminished role of the people in politics and in war. This diminished role of the people encouraged both sides to resort to military means and strategies that reduced the need for extraction and mobilization of capital and especially of labor for their war efforts. One might raise two objections to the above analysis. First, one could argue that by using the concept of war of hegemony to analyze the struggle between the United States and al Qaeda, I engage in what Giovanni Sartori called conceptual stretching, distorting both the concept and the empirical evidence.96 While I do engage in conceptual traveling, the application of the concept of hegemonic war to a new case, the struggle between the United States and al Qaeda, it does not amount to conceptual stretching. I use “war of hegemony” as a family resemblance category, not as a Sartori-style classical categorization.97 A family resemblance category fits a number of cases reasonably well and captures a set of commonalities considered by the researcher to be analytically important. The full set of attributes should not be expected to be found in every instance, however. The task of the researcher is to identify attributes that are present to varying degrees and in varying forms in particular cases, rather than being simply present or absent. An excessive methodological concern with the difficulties of establishing equivalence among wars of hegemony would lead to the abandonment of the comparative study of these wars altogether. It would be unfortunate since one of Gilpin’s assumptions was that the Peloponnesian War is in fact comparable to World War II, for example.

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Second, from an empirical standpoint, it might be argued that al Qaeda never really had the material power to be considered a challenger to the United States and to supplant it as a new hegemon. To be sure, the type of counterhegemonic challenge mounted by a transnational nonstate actor is bound to be different from the more familiar situations in which the contender is a rising state. However, the challenger need not mirror the hegemon in its political form or military capacity. The relevant factor here is not the possession of material resources but the capacity to inflict damage— material and symbolic—that would be serious enough to erode the position of the hegemonic state. There is plenty of evidence that al Qaeda’s capacity to do so was taken very seriously by U.S. policymakers, leading, for example, to domestic security spending of about $690 billion over a decade, not including the cost of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.98 Moreover, following the logic of asymmetric war, political success for the global insurgents can arise not only from a military victory on the ground but from a military stalemate and even a military defeat.99 What ultimately matters is the capacity of the nonstate challenger to erode the political capacity of the hegemon to wage war. Finally, it is important to emphasize that the hegemonic character of some wars is never only the result of the material capacity of one of the belligerents taken in isolation. Rather, it is generated by the pattern of the mutually hostile intentions of the opponents and the explosive potential of their conflictual interactions.

Notes I am grateful for the material and intellectual support provided by the Robert Schuman Center for Advanced Studies at the European University Institute and by the S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies, Nanyang Technological University. I also benefited from many insightful discussions on this topic with Olivier Roy. 1.  “World Islamic Front Statement Urging Jihad against Jews and Crusaders,” February 23, 1998, in Al Qaeda in Its Own Words, ed. Gilles Kepel and Jean-Pierre Milelli (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2008), 55. 2.  I succinctly define globalization as the “widening, deepening, and speeding up of worldwide interconnectedness.” Anthony McGrew, “Globalization and Global Politics,” in The Globalization of World Politics: An Introduction to International Relations, ed. John Baylis, Steve Smith, and Patricia Owens (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 16. 3.  Hew Strachan, “Strategy and the Limitation of War,” Survival 50, no. 1 (2008): 42–47. See also Antulio J. Echevarria II, “Clausewitz and the Nature of the War on

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Terror,” in Clausewitz in the Twenty-First Century, ed. Hew Strachan and Andreas Herberg-Rothe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 208–218. 4.  Peter J. Katzenstein, “Same War, Different Views: Germany, Japan, and Counterterrorism,” International Organization 57, no. 4 (2003): 732–733. 5.  Robert Gilpin, War and Change in World Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981); Robert Gilpin, “The Theory of Hegemonic War,” Journal of Interdisciplinary History 18, no. 4 (Spring 1988): 591–613. 6.  Raymond Aron, La société industrielle et la guerre (Paris: Plon, 1959), 18–39; A. F. K. Organski, World Politics (New York: Knopf, 1968); A. F. K. Organski and Jacek Kugler, The War Ledger (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980); George Modelski, ed., Exploring Long Cycles (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 1987). See also Jack S. Levy, “Theories of General War,” World Politics 37, no. 3 (April 1985): 344–374. It is important to emphasize that my argument is about the relevance of the concept of war of hegemony to the conflict between the United States and al Qaeda, not about the applicability of hegemonic stability theory. 7. Gilpin attributes the paternity of his conception of hegemonic war to Thucydides. While I find Gilpin’s interpretation of Thucydides somewhat problematic, here I simply use his conception of hegemonic war. See also Andrew C. Janos, “Paradigms Revisited: Productionism, Globality, and Postmodernity in Comparative Politics,” World Politics 50, no. 1 (October 1997): 130–133. 8.  Gilpin, “Theory of Hegemonic War,” 600. 9. Gilpin, War and Change, 199. See also Levy, “Theories of General War,” 351. 10. Gilpin, War and Change, 199; Gilpin, “Theory of Hegemonic War,” 593. 11. Gilpin, War and Change, 200; Gilpin, “Theory of Hegemonic War,” 601. Jack Levy’s definition and operationalization of the notion of hegemonic war is very close to Gilpin’s. He suggests that a hegemonic war should be defined as a war in which “there is a reasonable probability of a decisive victory by at least one side that could lead to the emergence of a new dominant or leading power” (Levy, “Theories of War,” 364). He further specifies that while the conflict might not threaten to impose a new hegemony, it “definitely threatens to overthrow an existing one” (Ibid.). Levy suggests three criteria, individually necessary and jointly sufficient, to identify such a “reasonable probability.” First, the conflict involves the system’s leading power (operationalized mainly as the possessor of superior military capability). Second, the war involves most (at least half) of the major powers in the system. Third, the conflict is a substantial war involving intense combat (at least 1,000 battle deaths per one million population of the countries involved) (Ibid., 365). 12.  Gilpin, “The Theory of Hegemonic War,” 601. 13. Ibid., 602. 14. Ibid., 603, 606. 15. Gilpin, War and Change, 200. 16. Ibid., 201. 17. Ibid., 202. 18.  Gilpin, “Theory of Hegemonic War,” 602.

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19.  Ibid. Some journalists made exactly this type of analysis of the long-term consequences of 9/11. See, for example, Philip Stephens, “No, 9/11 Did Not Change the World,” Financial Times, September 1, 2011. The fact that al Qaeda proved unable to reach its main policy objectives does not mean that its war against the United States was not hegemonic. See Max Abrahms, “Al Qaeda’s Scorecard: A Progress Report on Al Qaeda’s Objectives,” Studies in Conflict and Terrorism 29 (2006): 517–523. 20.  For a perceptive analysis, developed soon after 9/11, of its implications for U.S. hegemony, see Paul W. Schroeder, “The Risks of Victory: An Historian’s Provocation,” National Interest (Winter 2001–2002): 22–36. While there are a number of differences with my argument, see also Eliot Cohen, “World War IV,” Wall Street Journal, November 20, 2001; Norman Podhoretz, World War IV: The Long Struggle against Islamofascism (New York: Doubleday, 2007). 21.  G. John Ikenberry, ed., America Unrivaled: The Future of the Balance of Power (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2002); Stephen M. Walt, Taming American Power: The Global Response to U.S. Primacy (New York: Norton, 2005); G. John Ikenberry, Michael Mastanduno, and William C. Wohlforth, eds., International Relations Theory and the Consequences of Unipolarity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011). 22.  The analysis of al Qaeda below follows especially the interpretation of Olivier Roy, Globalized Islam: The Search for a New Ummah (New York: Columbia University Press, 2004). See also Abdel Bari Atwan, The Secret History of al Qaeda (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008); Marc Sageman, Understanding Terror Networks (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004); Marc Sageman, Leaderless Jihad: Terror Networks in the Twenty-First Century (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008); Elena Mastors and Alyssa Deffenbaugh, The Lesser Jihad: Recruits and the al Qaida Network (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2007); Brynjar Lia, Architect of Global Jihad: The Life of Al Qaeda Strategist Abu Mus’ab al-Suri (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008). 23.  Al Hammadi, “The Inside Story of al-Qa’ida,” quoted in Lawrence Wright, The Looming Tower: Al Qaeda and the Road to 9/11 (New York: Knopf, 2006), 172; Kepel and Milelli, Al Qaeda in Its Own Words. 24.  Bin Laden quoted in Wright, Looming Tower, 209. 25.  The 9/11 Commission Report (New York: Norton, 2004), 48, 59–63; Peter L. Bergen, The Longest War: The Enduring Conflict between America and Al-Qaeda (New York: Free Press, 2011), 18–20; Steven Brooke, “Strategic Fissures: The Near and Far Enemy Debate,” in Self-Inflicted Wounds: Debates and Divisions within al-Qa’ida and Its Periphery, ed. Assaf Moghadam and Brian Fishman (West Point, NY: Harmony Project–Combating Terrorism Center, 2010), 45–68. 26.  The situation and strategic assessment of the Egyptian members of al Qaeda, notably Ayman al-Zawahiri, was different: they had been struggling for years against the Egyptian state, which they saw as their “near enemy,” and only after facing ferocious repression and failure there, sought to turn again the “far enemy,” the United States. However, this Egyptian experience, as important as it is, should not be confused with the specific orientation of bin Laden and al Qaeda.

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27.  Daniel L. Byman, “Al Qaeda as an Adversary: Do We Understand Our Enemy?” World Politics 56 (October 2003): 144–145; Max Abrahms, “Al Qaeda’s Scorecard: A Progress Report on Al Qaeda’s Objectives,” Studies in Conflict and Terrorism 29 (2006): 513–515. 28.  “World Islamic Front Statement Urging Jihad Against Jews and Crusaders,” February 23, 1998, in Kepel and Milelli, Al Qaeda in Its Own Words, 55. 29.  Kepel and Milelli, Al Qaeda in Its Own Words, 281–282, n8. 30.  Bin Laden, “Interview with CNN,” in Kepel and Milelli, Al Qaeda in Its Own Words, 51. 31.  Byman, “Al Qaeda as an Adversary,” 147. 32. Bergen, Longest War, xvii, 28–32. 33.  John Lewis Gaddis, Surprise, Security, and the American Experience (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004), 69–113; Ron Suskind, The One Percent Doctrine: Deep Inside America’s Pursuit of Its Enemies Since 9/11 (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2006). See also Douglas J. Feith, War and Decision: Inside the Pentagon at the Dawn of the War on Terrorism (New York: Harper, 2008), 1–21. 34.  Quoted in Thomas Hegghammer, “Abdallah Azzam, the Imam of Jihad,” in Kepel and Milelli, Al Qaeda in Its Own Words, 100. 35.  Some of the most sophisticated recent International Relations scholarship on unipolarity does not systematically address 9/11 or al Qaeda. See, for example, G. John Ikenberry, Michael Mastanduno, and William C. Wohlforth, eds., International Relations Theory and the Consequences of Unipolarity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011). 36.  John J. Mearsheimer, The Tragedy of Great Power Politics (New York: Norton, 2001), 127. 37.  Andrew Moravcsik, “The New Liberalism,” in The Oxford Handbook of International Relations, ed. Christian Reus-Smit and Duncan Snidal (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 234; Jennifer Sterling-Folker, “Competing Paradigms or Birds of a Feather: Constructivism and Neoliberal Institutionalism Compared,” International Studies Quarterly 44 (2000): 97–119. 38.  On globalization under unipolarity, see Steven Weber, Naazneen Barma, Matthew Kroenig, and Ely Ratner, “How Globalization Went Bad,” Foreign Policy 158 (January–February 2007): 48–54; Jonathan Kirshner, “Globalization, American Power, and International Security,” Political Science Quarterly 123, no. 3 (2008): 363–389. 39.  Marc J. O’Reilly, Unexceptional: America’s Empire in the Persian Gulf, 1941–2007 (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2008). 40.  Christina Hellmich, Al Qaeda: From Global Network to Local Franchise (London: Zed Books, 2011). See also Audrey Kurth Cronin, “How Al-Qaeda Ends: The Decline and Demise of Terrorist Groups,” International Security 31, no. 1 (Summer 2006): 7–48; Nuno Monteiro, “Unrest Assured: Why Unipolarity Is Not Peaceful,” International Security 36, no. 3 (Winter 2011–2012): 9–40. 41.  9/11 Commission Report, 48; The Al Qaeda Reader (edited and translated by Raymond Ibrahim) (New York: Doubleday, 2007), 260–265.

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42.  Bin Laden, “Tactical Recommendations,” in Kepel and Milelli, Al Qaeda in Its Own Words, 60–65. 43.  Bin Laden, “Declaration of Jihad against the Americans Occupying the Land of the Two Holy Sanctuaries,” August 23, 1996, in Kepel and Milelli, Al Qaeda in Its Own Words, 48. 44.  Bin Laden, “Message to the American People,” October 30, 2004, in Kepel and Milelli, Al Qaeda in Its Own Words, 72. 45.  Bin Laden, “Tactical Recommendations,” in Kepel and Milelli, Al Qaeda in Its Own Words, 61–62. 46.  Bin Laden quoted in 9/11 Commission Report, 48; Bergen, Longest War, 6–7. 47.  Basil H. Liddell Hart, Strategy, 2nd rev. ed. (New York: Meridian, 1991), 3–6, 144– 147, 319–337; André Beaufre, An Introduction to Strategy (New York: Praeger, 1965). See also T. E. Lawrence, “Science of Guerrilla Warfare,” Encyclopaedia Britannica, vol. 10: Game to Gun-Metal, 14th ed. (London: Encyclopaedia Britannica, 1929), 950–953. 48.  Terry Terriff, Aaron Karp, and Regina Karp, eds., Global Insurgency and the Future of Armed Conflict: Debating Fourth-Generation Warfare (New York: Routledge, 2008); David Kilcullen, The Accidental Guerrilla: Fighting Small Wars in the Midst of a Big One (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 28–38. 49.  Bin Laden, “Second Letter to the Muslims of Iraq,” October 18, 2003, in Kepel and Milelli, Al Qaeda in Its Own Words, 69. 50.  Kepel and Milelli, Al Qaeda in Its Own Words, 291–292. See also “Message to the American People,” October 30, 2004, ibid., 74–75. 51.  Quoted in Kepel and Milelli, Al Qaeda in Its Own Words, 63. 52. Ibid., 64. 53. Ibid., 63. 54.  Audrey Kurth Cronin, “Behind the Curve: Globalization and International Terrorism,” International Security 27, no. 3 (Winter 2002–2003): 30–58; Audrey Kurth Cronin, “What Is Really Changing? Change and Continuity in Global Terrorism,” in The Changing Character of War, ed. Hew Strachan and Sibylle Scheipers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 134–148. This is not to argue that the “global” environment is always a blessing for terrorist groups in every strategic context and in all their activities. For some technical and tactical limits against smaller countries, see Justin V. Hastings, “Geography, Globalization, and Terrorism: The Plots of Jemaah Islamiyah,” Security Studies 17, no. 3 (2008): 505–530. 55. Gilpin, War and Change, 200–202. 56.  James Rosenau, Turbulence in World Politics: A Theory of Change and Continuity (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1990). 57. Roy, Globalized Islam. 58.  Ibid. See also Bernard Rougier, Everyday Jihad: The Rise of Militant Islam among Palestinians in Lebanon (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2008); Christina Hellmich, Al Qaeda: From Global Network to Local Franchise (London: Zed Books, 2011), 107–113.

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59.  Andrew C. Janos, “Paradigms Revisited: Productionism, Globality, and Postmodernity in Comparative Politics,” World Politics 50, no. 1 (October 1997): 124–128; Michael Mousseau, “Market Civilization and Its Clash with Terror,” International Security 27, no. 3 (Winter 2002–2003): 5–29. 60.  Hegghammer, “Abdallah Azzam, the Imam of Jihad,” 99–100. 61. Ibid. 62.  Thomas Hegghammer, “The Rise of Muslim Foreign Fighters: Islam and the Globalization of Jihad” International Security 35, no. 3 (Winter 2010–2011): 53–94. 63.  Seth G. Jones, “The Rise of Afghanistan’s Insurgency: State Failure and Jihad,” International Security 32, no. 4 (Spring 2008): 7–40. 64. Roy, Globalized Islam. 65.  John H. Herz, “Rise and Demise of the Territorial State,” World Politics 9, no. 4 (1957): 485–489. 66. Kilcullen, Accidental Guerrilla, 10. See also Ronald J. Deibert and Janice Gross Stein, “Social and Electronic Networks in the War on Terror,” in Bombs and Bandwidth: The Emerging Relationship between Information Technology and Security, ed. Robert Latham (New York: New Press, 2003), 157–174. 67.  David Martin Jones and M. L. R. Smith, “Whose Hearts and Whose Minds? The Curious Case of Global Counter-Insurgency,” Journal of Strategic Studies 33, no. 1 (2010): 81–121; John Nagl and Brian M. Burton, “Thinking Globally and Acting Locally: Counter-Insurgency Lessons from Modern Wars—A Reply to Jones and Smith,” Journal of Strategic Studies 33, no. 1 (2010): 123–138. 68. Kilcullen, Accidental Guerrilla, 146. See also John Mackinlay, Globalisation and Insurgency, Adelphi Paper no. 352 (London: International Institute for Strategic Studies, 2002); John Mackinlay, The Insurgent Archipelago from Mao to bin Laden (New York: Columbia University Press, 2009). 69.  Mao Tse-tung, Selected Military Writings of Mao Tse-Tung (Beijing: Foreign Language Press, 1966), 146. 70.  Assaf Moghadam, “Motives for Martyrdom: Al Qaida, Salafi Jihad, and the Spread of Suicide Attacks,” International Security 33, no. 3 (Winter 2008–2009): 46–78. 71.  Gilles Kepel, Jihad: The Trail of Political Islam (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002), 320. 72.  According to historian Russell Weigley, from the Civil War onward a distinct “American way of war,” characterized by a strategy of annihilation based on the destruction of the enemy’s armed force and its complete overthrow, has characterized the U.S. uses of force. Russell F. Weigley, The American Way of War: A History of United States Military Strategy and Policy (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1977), xxii, 128–152, 313. 73.  Eliot A. Cohen, “Kosovo and the New American Way of War,” in War over Kosovo, ed. Andrew J. Bacevich and Eliot A. Cohen (New York: Columbia University Press, 2001), 59. 74.  Stephen Biddle, “The New Way of War?” Foreign Affairs 81 (May–June 2002).

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75.  Hew Strachan, “Strategy and the Limitation of War,” Survival 50, no. 1 (2008): 51. See also Andrew J. Bacevich, The New American Militarism: How Americans Are Seduced by War (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 26–31, 34–68; Andrew J. Bacevich, The Limits of Power: The End of American Exceptionalism (New York: Holt Paperbacks, 2009), 124–169. 76.  Strachan, “Strategy and the Limitation of War,” 43. 77.  Theda Skocpol, “Will 9/11 and the War on Terror Revitalize American Civic Democracy?” PS: Political Science and Politics 35, no. 3 (September 2002): 537–540; Theda Skocpol, Diminished Democracy: From Membership to Management in American Civic Life, Rothbaum Lecture Series (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2003). 78.  Adrian R. Lewis, The American Culture of War: A History of US Military Force from World War II to Operation Enduring Freedom (London: Routledge, 2006), 381. 79. Ibid., 377. 80.  Skocpol, “Will 9/11 and the War on Terror Revitalize American Civic Democracy?” 540. 81.  Michael O’Hanlon, “A Flawed Masterpiece,” Foreign Affairs 81 (May–June 2002); Colin McInnes, “A Different Kind of War? September 11 and the United States’ Afghan War,” Review of International Studies 29 (2003): 165–184. 82.  Richard B. Andres, Craig Wills, and Thomas E. Griffith, “Winning with Allies: The Strategic Values of the Afghan Model,” International Security 30, no. 3 (Winter 2005–2006): 124–160; Stephen D. Biddle, “Allies, Airpower, and Modern Warfare: The Afghan Model in Afghanistan and Iraq,” International Security 30, no. 3 (Winter 2005–2006): 161–176. 83. Ibid. 84. O’Hanlon, “A Flawed Masterpiece,” 68; Carl Conetta, “Strange Victory: A Critical Appraisal of Operation Enduring Freedom and the Afghanistan War,” Project on Defense Alternatives (PDA) Research Monograph no. 6 (January 30, 2002), www.comw.org/pda/0201strangevic.html. 85.  Carole Pateman, Participation and Democratic Theory (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970); Albert Hirschman, Shifting Involvements: Private Interest and Public Action (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1982); Benjamin Barber, Strong Democracy: Participatory Politics for a New Age (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003); Pippa Norris, Democratic Phoenix: Reinventing Political Activism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002). 86.  Susan J. Pharr and Robert D. Putnam, eds., Disaffected Democracies: What’s Troubling the Trilateral Countries? (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2000); Robert Putnam, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2000); John R. Hibbing and Elizabeth Theiss-Morse, Stealth Democracy: Americans’ Belief about How Government Should Work (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 129–159; Skocpol, Diminished Democracy; Céline Braconnier and Jean-Yves Dormagen, La démocratie de l’abstention: Aux origines de la démobilisation électorale en milieu populaire (Paris: Gallimard-Folio-Actuel,

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2007); Colin Crouch, Post-Democracy (London: Polity, 2004); Guy Hermet, “Un régime à pluralisme limité? A propos de la gouvernance démocratique,” Revue française de science politique 54, no. 1 (2004): 159–178; Peter Mair, “Ruling the Void? The Hollowing of Western Democracy,” New Left Review 42 (November–December 2006): 25–51. On the evolving characteristics of societies’ political involvement, see Amitai Etzioni, The Active Society: A Theory of Societal and Political Processes (New York: Free Press, 1968). 87.  This formulation is inspired by Thomas E. Patterson, The Vanishing Voter: Public Involvement in an Age of Uncertainty (New York: Vintage, 2003). 88.  On political distrust, see also Seymour Martin Lipset and William Schneider, The Confidence Gap: Business, Labor, and Government in the Public Mind, rev. ed. (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1987); Pharr and Putnam, Disaffected Democracies; Russell J. Dalton, Democratic Challenges, Democratic Choices: The Erosion of Political Support in Advanced Industrial Democracies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004); Matthew R. Cleary and Susan C. Stokes, Democracy and the Culture of Skepticism: Political Trust in Argentina and Mexico (New York: Russell Sage Foundation, 2006). 89. Skocpol, Diminished Democracy, 153–161. Movements opposed U.S. involvement in the war in Vietnam and promoted a number of new public causes such as feminism and environmentalism (135–138). See Theda Skocpol, Rachael V. Cobb, and Casey Andrew Klofstad, “Disconnection and Reorganization: The Transformation of Civic Life in Late-Twentieth Century America,” Studies in American Political Development 19 (Fall 2005): 137–156. 90. Skocpol, Diminished Democracy, 158. 91. Ibid., 160–161. 92.  Theda Skocpol and Morris Fiorina, “Making Sense of the Civic Engagement Debate,” in Civic Engagement in American Democracy, ed. Theda Skocpol and Morris P. Fiorina (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Press–Russell Sage Foundation, 1999), 2–3. 93.  Nina Eliasoph, Avoiding Politics: How Americans Produce Apathy in Everyday Life (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 6–22. 94.  Jeffrey M. Berry, The New Liberalism: The Rising Power of Citizen Groups (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Press, 1999); Debra C. Minkoff, “Producing Social Capital: National Social Movements and Civil Society,” American Behavioral Scientist 40, no. 5 (March–April 1997): 606–619; Michael Schudson, The Good Citizen: A History of American Civic Life (New York: Free Press, 1998), 240–293; Robert Wuthnow, Loose Connections: Joining Together in America’s Fragmented Communities (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1998); Everett Carll Ladd, The Ladd Report (New York: Free Press, 1999); Norris, Democratic Phoenix; Pippa Norris, ed., Critical Citizens: Global Support for Democratic Government (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999); Pippa Norris, Critical Citizens Revisited (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011); Marcella Ridlen Ray, Changing and Unchanging Face of U.S. Civil Society (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction, 2002); Michael Schudson, “The Varieties of Civic Experience,” Citizenship Studies 10, no. 5 (November 2006): 591–606.

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95.  Elizabeth Theiss-Morse and John R. Hibbing, “Citizenship and Civic Engagement,” Annual Review of Political Science 8 (June 2005): 227–249. 96.  Giovanni Sartori, “Concept Misformation in Comparative Politics,” American Political Science Review 64, no. 4 (December 1970): 1033–1053. 97.  David Collier and James E. Mahon, Jr., “Conceptual “Stretching” Revisited: Adapting Categories in Comparative Analysis,” American Political Science Review 87, no. 4 (December 1993): 846–848. 98.  Scott Shane, “Open-Checkbook Era for U.S. Security Spending May Be Nearing an End,” International Herald Tribune, October 26, 2012. 99.  Andrew Mack, “Why Big Nations Lose Small Wars: The Politics of Asymmetric Conflict,” World Politics 27, no. 2 (January 1975): 175–200.

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h i s b o o k h a s e x p l o r ed t h e i d e a t h at t h e t er r o r i s t

attacks on 9/11, and the wars against Afghanistan and Iraq that followed, mark a turning point in the Western ways of war. The turn is away from states waging wars of general liability, relying on the mass mobilization of society and the use of overwhelming force to score victories over an enemy. The turn is toward states and nonstate actors waging wars of limited liability, mobilizing only in part, and relying as little as possible on the use of armed force to achieve more or less political stability. This turn is historically significant. After all, wars of general liability have dominated the state system since the Franco-Prussian War in 1870—if not before—and did so until the end of the Cold War in 1989. Since then, it has been debated what the Western ways of war should be. The wars of 9/11 have helped settle the debate. In Afghanistan and Iraq we see a failed attempt to use ground forces designed to wage wars of general liability. Iraq and Afghanistan could not be turned by largescale combat into Western-styled liberal democracies. Attempts to do so were abandoned in favor of wars based on strategies of limited liability. This has become more commonplace since 9/11’s wars, as seen in Libya in 2011, but also in Western reluctance to use force to influence ongoing conflicts in Syria or to meet the threat posed by Iran’s nuclear weapons program. This transition justifies calling 9/11 an “epoch-making event.” It is a bridge away from the Westphalian order of states, reaching toward a transnational global order. It recognizes the decline of “industrial wars” between states and

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the rise of insurgency wars, wars within states, or wars “amongst the people.”1 Other language could be used. Yet we should not fixate on choosing just the right slogan. Slogans overlook the confusion of historical transitions, making transitions seem too neat, as if there were a set path that the evolution of war must travel. This book avoids such simplicity. The various chapters have examined changes in the ways of war from a variety of perspectives, addressing normative as well as instrumental concerns. We want to know how changing ways of war affect our capacity to protect and sustain liberal democracies. But we do not pretend to answer every question. We hope to open a dialogue, not settle on dogma. This final chapter begins with an analytic summary of the book based on arguments in the substantive chapters. The aim is to identify areas of agreement and disagreement among the authors about how ways of war have changed in light of each of our three major themes—choosing war, using force, and mobilizing resources. To conclude, we briefly consider major instrumental and normative implications of our findings for facing future wars.

Changing Ways of War in Response to 9/11 We use the phrase “ways of war” in its broadest sense. It refers to core beliefs about when war is made, how wars are fought, and who pays the costs. It also refers to the relationship between the use of armed force and normative evaluations of that use made by the larger society. Indeed, increasingly, it encompasses evaluations made by world opinion. It recognizes that, for the United States and its North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) allies, the military has not only to protect the democratic state and its global interests. It has to do so in ways that sustain values central to a liberal democratic society.2 So the phrase incorporates an explicitly normative perspective and assumes that ways of war rest on a moral foundation, subject to the customs and laws of war. Yet it does not assume that ways of war are stable or unchanging. Even staunch beliefs are subject to change when the acts to which they give rise no longer work in practice. Dashed expectations interrupt the flow of experience. They feed doubts about whether current beliefs are adequate guides to the situations we face. They open us to consider new beliefs and new patterns of action to achieve our goals, although there are no guarantees that these will succeed. In the aftermath of 9/11, unexpected difficulties fighting in Afghanistan and Iraq gave rise to such doubts, leading us to change our ways of war



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and leaving us cautious about whether or how well our reconstructed ways will prepare us to meet the challenges of future war. Choosing War Immediately following 9/11, the United States elevated the seriousness of the terrorist threat in its grand strategy from a secondary to the highest level. Defeating terrorism was now as important as preventing the rise of a peer competitor, preventing the spread of weapons of mass destruction, and promoting the spread of democracy and free-market capitalism. Defeating al Qaeda was depicted as part and parcel of the other main objectives of American grand strategy. This elevation of the terrorist threat made it an easier choice to go to war against al Qaeda and those, like the Taliban, who gave al Qaeda support and shelter. But it is misleading to conclude that the choice to go to war was in any sense a simple one, however quickly the decision was made. The three chapters about this choice—by Andrew J. Bacevich, Stephen Biddle and Peter D. Feaver, and Ronald R. Krebs—agreed on only one (albeit an important) point. The choice for war was not immediate. It was not a reflexive response of brute retaliation taken in self-defense against an enemy that had surprisingly attacked and wounded the United States. The choice rather was mediated by other factors that stood between and gave meaning to the wounding and the war. The authors disagreed strongly about why the choice for war was significant. For Bacevich the choice for war was typical of a core belief held by the United States (and by Israel) that military force could solve problems in the way of achieving its foreign policy objectives. The bigger the problem, the more force was needed. This has been a central tenet of the Western way of war. Nevertheless, Bacevich believed this was an outdated belief, doubts about which had grown increasingly since the end of World War II, except for these global and regional hegemons who mistakenly clung to overwhelming military force as a tool for maintaining their hegemony. If not before, U.S. belief in the utility of force ran its course in the unwinnable conflicts following 9/11. The initial war policies pursued in Afghanistan and Iraq were defined in the light of a mediating frame that from the beginning could not succeed. Biddle and Feaver took a different view. The choice for war was mediated, they agreed. But the mediating framework was not an out-of-date belief that should be discarded. It was a well-defined institutional process at work within the national security establishment. Rather than the outcome of an outmoded tenet in the American war of war, the choice for war was reached by reasoned

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assessments of risks that terrorism posed; it was an assessment that those experienced in international affairs knew how to make. This does not mean that the choice for war was a matter of routine. Al Qaeda’s attack made it necessary to reconsider the risks that terrorism posed for the United States and for others elsewhere around the world. Still, the mediating framework through which grand strategy would be reassessed was not undermined by the terrorist attacks. The national security apparatus was able to adapt. Alternative courses of action were compared and, under trying circumstances, new policies were adopted that still seem reasonable even when judged with the benefit of hindsight. Krebs doubted that the choice for war was as rational as the Biddle and Feaver argument would have us believe. He noted that the meaning of the terrorist attacks was not immediately obvious. The meaning had to be constructed and, from a political standpoint, the sooner that was done the better. In this emergency, Krebs credited President Bush for creating the “terrorist narrative” that would define the filter through which people could understand the meaning of the terrorist threat (an attack against freedom) and America’s special calling to defeat that threat (as the world’s defender of freedom). The importance of the narrative, Krebs showed, was that it established a framework for public discourse about what justified the “war on terror.” The narrative was sufficiently strong that no proponents of alternative policies could successfully argue against it for over ten years. This strength for proponents of the current war policy was also a serious constraint on public discourse and incompatible with the aspirations of deliberative democracy. Not until after 2008 did the narrative begin to loosen its grip on public debate.3 Yet we should note that, despite all disagreements, the different mediating filters through which 9/11’s meaning could be established were not entirely incompatible. Discourse is layered. One could logically accept Bacevich’s claim that the United States was long-disposed to believe in the efficacy of war and so it was ready to promote a war against terror. At the same time, one could fit war on terror policy choices as critical elements within a revised grand strategy. Then, too, one might believe that the choice for war was morally justified as understood by the moral compass of President Bush’s terrorist narrative. While it was not inevitable that they should do so, in this case, the mediating frameworks reinforced one another. They wove a tight web that made alternative constructions of reality difficult to imagine and impossible to defend.4 When mediating frameworks accurately portray why war is needed and what



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war can accomplish, the result should be good statecraft, with strong states acting wisely in pursuit of a worthy purpose. But when debate is not open, good democratic statecraft—that is both morally justifiable and militarily effective—is harder to achieve. This was all the more true if force could not reliably attain national security goals, as Bacevich argued, or because the terrorist narrative that Krebs described wrongly depicted the United States as a victim with no choice other than to wage war following the 9/11 attacks. Using Force Can force be used to attain national security goals? The answer given in this volume is neither yes nor no, but sometimes, if used in certain ways for modest ends. All three contributors focusing on the use of force—Joseph Soeters, Christopher Dandeker, and James Burk—agreed that successful use of force was difficult to achieve, but that success was less difficult to the degree that the use of force was limited and the goals it sought were not too ambitious. Theirs is a position that supports waging wars of limited rather than of general liability. That they share this conclusion is remarkable as they examined the use of force from three different perspectives. Soeters considered the tactical use of force in situations where military force was required to moderate episodes of intrastate violence. He compared the performance of the British military with that of the Dutch in cases before and after 9/11. The cases were historically apt since both countries were experienced in these kinds of conflicts. Each had developed contrasting doctrinal approaches to handling them, with the British more prone than the Dutch to resort to force. Both also had experience in the post-9/11 conflicts, as they were charged to keep peace in two provinces of Afghanistan. As expected by his theory, higher levels of force used by the British did not equate with higher levels of success in meeting their security objectives. In almost every case, the opposite was true. Understandably, Soeters concluded that more limited military operations were a preferable way of war for armed forces to follow, at least in the case of intrastate conflicts. Like Bacevich, Dandeker argued that the post-9/11 interventions in Afghanistan and Iraq were high-water marks for the Western belief that force can achieve national policy goals. Experience with those conflicts helped turn belief into doubt. Unlike for Soeters, Dandeker’s doubt was not based on tactical assessments about what manner of force works best. His doubt lay rather with difficulties assessing military success over the course of a conflict. Lofty

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ambitions at a conflict’s beginning were replaced by more modest ideas. Such change can be good, resulting in more realistic management of a conflict. Nevertheless, changing goals create no blank slates for the use of force. Collective memories of force used to meet past goals may have unwanted consequences for how force can be used in the present. Western states, Dandeker concluded, should listen to their doubts about what force can do and be more cautious before intervening, as they were not after 9/11 but have been elsewhere since then. There are other limits on the use of force that Burk brings to the fore. He points to limits imposed on the use of force by ethical norms embedded in the customs and laws of war and underwritten by moral principles. To examine this matter, Burk asked what happens if ethical restraints on the use of force were undermined or ignored. He had in mind the Bush administration’s decision to use torture, which it called “enhanced interrogation.” The decision was based on questionable (and secret) legal opinions that were tailor-made to excuse the practice, getting around existing law. The administration believed that torture was a useful way of obtaining information from detainees that could help prevent another terror attack against the United States. Burk did not ask whether this use of force was justified. Rather, he pointed out the various harms done by the policy not only to the victims of torture and its perpetrators but also to the moral status of a government whose torture policy violated the rule of law, domestically and within the international community. While adopting unique perspectives, each chapter dealing with the use of force raised questions about whether force could achieve foreign policy outcomes. The chapters by Soeters and Dandeker told how, since 9/11 (or maybe sooner), leaders and the people had lost confidence in the supposed link between an unlimited use of force and successful military operations. Burk introduced an explicitly normative concern about the use of force when he described the harms done by torture and counted all the costs associated with this policy. Yet we should not reify the difference between instrumental versus normative valuations in the post-9/11 world. To the extent that contributors doubted what good using force may do, they also doubted whether using force is something we ought to do. Instrumental and normative arguments may lead to overlapping prescriptions for action. Implicit in this argument lurks an old idea that the use of force may be abused. Unfortunately, the contributors did not ask as forcefully as they might have done how the abuse of



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force might be prevented or curtailed. The classic response is that power must check power, with powers always separated, with none powerful over all.5 The question is how to accomplish this in the aftermath of 9/11. Mobilizing Resources First expectations after 9/11 were that the war on terror would be a big war, spanning the globe, and a long war, unlikely to end any time soon. Not surprisingly, it was also thought to be a war that would require a large-scale mobilization of resources, of people, and of money, more like wars of the world war era than like wars of limited liability. But it did not. During ten years of the war on terror, U.S. national defense outlays as a percent of gross domestic product (GDP) were always below levels commonly reached during the Cold War, and active-duty force size during the same period was roughly 30 percent smaller than it was in 1990.6 The chapters by Gerhard Kümmel, Deborah Avant, and Pascal Vennesson tackled this puzzle, offering three explanations for why the wars of 9/11 were wars of limited rather than large-scale mobilization. Kümmel expected that 9/11 would lead NATO nations to forge a common strategy to meet a common threat. He referred to this as a mimetic or an isomorphic response, following in the tradition of neo-institutional theory. But he found reality was more complex and less uniform than theory expected. A common response was surprisingly absent when it came to mobilizing money for a war on terror. Aggregated global data on defense outlays plotted a steady and significant increase in defense outlays after 9/11. Yet, when the data were disaggregated, it was obvious that NATO states were responsible for the increase. Within NATO, increased expenditures resulted almost entirely from increments to U.S. defense budgets. Mobilizing money for the war on terror was for most a limited liability. After the Great Recession of 2008, raising money for post-9/11 conflicts was more limited, with limitations felt even in the United States. It remains to be seen to what degree limits on defense outlays might affect the future use of force. In a similar way, Avant also discovered a surprisingly limited mobilization after 9/11, in this case having to do with the mobilization of people. Partly, this resulted from doubts in the Bush administration about whether it could mobilize a large force for the purpose. The limited mobilization was also due to faulty military planning. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were supposed to be short and decisive. Planners had not anticipated, once the initial

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battles were won, that the conflict would continue, taking the form of widespread insurgencies. Defeating insurgencies required a large logistical train to provide and supply a large occupation force camped in a hostile environment. There were not enough people to do the job. Confronted with a tight military recruiting market at home, it was not possible to increase U.S. force size to overcome the “mobilization gap.” Under such constraints, the United States adopted an ad hoc response. It hired private military contractors in large numbers. At the high point, there were nearly one and one-half private contractors for each soldier in the theater of operations. Use of private contractors was not ideal. They were less effective in their tasks than uniformed soldiers were and they posed problems of accountability and control. Yet, at the time, only they were available for the job. Like Kümmel and Avant, Vennesson was struck that the public—including some social science experts—thought 9/11 was an event that would revive the tradition of general mobilization for war. The tradition had been challenged in the decade after the end the Cold War by the rise of limited liability warfare, taking the form of humanitarian interventions and peacekeeping missions. In fact, however, the post-9/11 wars in Afghanistan and Iraq did not revive the tradition. Like humanitarian interventions in the 1990s, these too were characterized by a limited versus a general mobilization of people and money. Indeed, early in the conflicts, President Bush urged people to live normally and continue shopping as their contribution to the war effort. The Democratic contender for the presidency in 2004 promised, if elected, that he would not restore the draft for soldiers and would cut rather than raise taxes to pay for the wars. Sacrifice of any kind by the public seemed unnecessary and unwanted. Yet, Vennesson warned, diminished wartime sacrifice turned citizens into passive bystanders, at the expense of participatory and deliberative democratic politics. Mobilizing resources for war after 9/11 proved to be more complicated than expected. Each contributor to this topic noted that people at first thought 9/11 would lead to wars like the world wars, wars of general mobilization. That turned out to be wrong. The Western transition to a limited liability way of war was well established by 9/11. But the consequences of that transition for military effectiveness or for sustaining democratic values were not fully understood. The experience of 9/11 suggests that limited mobilization of people and money may have negative consequences. It may reduce military effectiveness, as Avant argued was a consequence of the use of private military



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contractors, or it may reduce commitments to democratic values, as Vennesson argued was a result of cultivating passive citizenship in the United States as a response to 9/11. Yet the consequences of limited mobilization were not only negative. Restricting 9/11 conflicts to wars of limited liability reduced the scale and the damage of war. Also, it allowed greater possibilities for political settlement of the conflicts, even if a political settlement offered less than leaders had hoped to gain when the wars were first begun.

Implications for Future Wars The terror attacks of 9/11 were a turning point in our Western ways of war. We have moved away from conflicts that incur a general liability toward conflicts that incur only limited liabilities. Prevailing over the enemy at all costs yields to accepting the best political deal that can be had in an ever-changing security environment. The change is one of outlook, of belief about what works in war. It is not a mechanistic change imposed, say, by the changing technology of war. The technology of war is important. It creates a setting in which certain ways of war are more likely than others to be adopted. But it remains our choice whether and how to use these weapons. In the wake of 9/11, it was our choice to adopt limited over unlimited ways of war. Of course, no wars are entirely unlimited. In all wars, political and military leaders must manage war, as best they can, within constraints that they (and sometimes others) impose on the number and aims of the wars they fight, the ways force is used, and the costs they are prepared to pay. But in this case there is a sharp difference, amounting perhaps to a difference in kind, distinguishing the virtually unlimited ways of war adopted in the world war era from the far more limited ways of war adopted after 9/11. To end, we apply what we have learned about our changing ways of war to consider (briefly) what these stricter limits imply for the conduct of future war. First, we have seen that the choice to go to war is mediated by narratives. These narratives give meaning to the choice. Speaking broadly, when the narrative works, it connects policy goals, chosen on the basis of power and interests, with widely accepted moral principles of action, like “defend freedom over tyranny.” This is what President Bush’s terror narrative did so successfully. Yet a mediation effort does not always succeed. Narratives about the use of armed force often compete with one another, offering support for different policies.

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Consider, for instance, the U.S. intervention in Somalia begun in 1993. The intervention was an early move after the Cold War toward adopting a limited liability way of war. But there were two competing narratives about what the intervention was supposed to do. One called for the military to distribute food to Somalis, preventing mass starvation among a people whose state and economy had failed. The other called for military force to reconstruct a failed state so its people could live again under the rule of law. There was strong public support for the first and more limited narrative that we should stop the starving. There was virtually no public support for the second narrative that we should engage in nation-building to repair failed states. So long as President Clinton used force in accord with the first narrative the military mission was judged a success. It was legitimate. Clinton later changed the mission, to use force in accord with the second narrative. Support for the mission evaporated. The mission was no longer thought legitimate, and it was not thought so even before dead American soldiers were dragged through the streets of Mogadishu. The Somali case is particularly clear. More often, narratives used to justify war contain an important caveat, a limit that cannot be ignored. The Kosovo War is one example. The Serbs could be attacked to stop their ethnic cleansing but only NATO air forces could be used in the fight—no ground troops. Similarly, NATO’s direct military intervention in Libya’s civil war, as in Kosovo, could only rely on aerial attacks—no ground troops. Unlike Kosovo, a further restriction was that U.S. contributions to the war would be strictly limited. These qualified narratives nicely illustrate the limited liability approach to war. The use of force aims at doing good, but the commitment to fight for the good is limited. Failure to abide by the caveats would delegitimize the mission. These are the kinds of choices that future conflicts will pose. As we write, Syria is mired in civil war. So far, no narrative justifies a direct military intervention in that conflict. Despite the tragedy, it is in the interest of no major power to risk transforming a relatively contained civil war into an unlimited regional war; even a limited intervention might have unwanted consequences. But the Syrian government might have prepared to use chemical weapons against the rebels. That possibility could redefine the security environment. It would violate the norm in international society against the use of weapons of mass destruction. When she was the American secretary of state, Hillary Clinton, publicly relied on this norm to construct an alternative narrative that might justify military strikes by the West to thwart Syria’s aims.7



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So far, we have emphasized limitations on the choice to go to war. We should also note that narratives are sometimes so effective that they swamp alternative narratives from entering public discourse and influencing policy outcomes if only by entering a caveat, drawing a line that cannot be crossed. That happened with the Bush terror narrative. But it is at best uncertain whether the lack of public discourse about the wisdom of alternative narratives strengthened Bush policies about the wars in Afghanistan or Iraq. Debating alternatives in public settings is an important democratic value. It supposes that open public discourse of alternative policies increases the likelihood that the war policies enjoy public support, which enhances military effectiveness over the long haul. Second, in limited liability conflicts, force is used in a variety of unexpected ways and by a variety of unexpected actors. Distinctions once clear are now blurred between state and nonstate actors, criminal and military organizations, conventional and irregular conflicts, and units specialized in one form of war and units that combine special operations and conventional capabilities. Nothing is ruled out. Future wars are expected to be asymmetric, unconventional contests, but they may not be. In future wars, we expect that the less powerful will use cheap and simple weapons while major powers use high-technology weapons. But, again, one cannot rule out the use of simple weapons by major powers or by an alliance of major and minor powers.8 The United States is not passive in the face of these emerging post-9/11 threats. It is active in the development and use of limited liability weapons. For instance, the United States and Israel have cooperated in the development of cyberattacks directed against an Iranian nuclear weapons program, taking out for a time 1,000 of 5,000 centrifuges that Iran used to purify uranium.9 The United States also adopted a policy of targeting al Qaeda’s leaders, which led to the assassination of Osama bin Laden by U.S. Special Forces in May 2011. Increasingly, the policy has been carried out by the indirect means of unmanned drone attacks. From April through May 2012, the United States killed 20 al Qaeda leaders, 14 in Yemen and 6 in Pakistan.10 The United States is also combining special operations and conventional forces, integrating their various capacities. This integration began as a direct result of tactical initiatives in Afghanistan and Iraq. It continues in part as an adaptation to budget cuts. More important is the strategic recognition that the military must be prepared to conduct the full range of its operations from civil affairs to heavy

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combat in the same place at the same time under a single command. Efforts are underway to formalize this innovation in U.S. training and doctrine.11 These developments in the use of force aim primarily to improve military effectiveness in nontraditional battle areas. They also limit the use of force required to achieve a particular security objective. Cyberattacks to slow development of Iran’s nuclear weapons program succeeded without use of lethal weapons. The use of targeted assassination programs allowed the United States to kill bin Laden without risking many casualties suffered in a largescale military operation. Future war will be characterized by the use of more precise, less destructive weapons. Yet whether their use sustains democratic values is a matter being debated. Targeted assassinations, for example, have long been considered a violation of the customary and international laws of war, and the U.S. military has long been directly prohibited by presidential executive order from engaging in the practice. The prohibition was based on the moral principle that such killing is treacherous and a threat to public order. The question is whether the prohibition will continue to attract assent. In 1991, the United States decided against assassinating Saddam Hussein. Might not more lives have been saved and one responsible for wrongdoing been brought to swifter justice had the assassination been allowed to take place? There is no simple answer to this question. What makes us sure that swift killing is also just? Can we have justice in liberal democracies without due process? This is not the place to answer these questions.12 We raise them only to show that progress in limiting the use of force may also pose moral conflicts about whether particular uses of force are compatible with democratic values. Third, and finally, mobilization for future war has been perhaps most difficult to comprehend. We are used to mass mobilizations for world wars. Whether it was for mobilization of money or people, the obligation to serve was hard felt and justified by existential threats understood through the grand narrative of nationalism and national service. We are so used to thinking in this way that we found ourselves relying on it to form our expectations about what 9/11 would require. We expected the state to mobilize more money to pay for the war on terror. We expected more people to enter military service, moved to serve by the seriousness of the terrorist threat and by the old ideals of civic participation. We wondered whether failure to mobilize pointed to a failure to live up to civic ideals.



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The surprise was that the 9/11 wars failed to meet our expectations. Large as they were, the 9/11 conflicts represented the new limited liability way of war. The limits showed up in the decline of defense spending, by all except the United States. They showed up in the United States when political leaders did not need and did not ask for citizens to join the military. Their war plans were too optimistic, not fully grasping how many were needed to serve when the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq turned into insurgencies. So, private contractors were used to an unprecedented degree. But their fundamental insight was correct. Mass mobilization of people into the military was never required. The lesson for future war is that the shift to limited liability ways of war imposes limits on the choice to go to war, on the use of force, and on mobilizing resources for war. These limits do not eliminate the need for public support in future wars. The continuing need for public support was shown in Somalia and Kosovo, Afghanistan and Iraq, and Libya and elsewhere. But the need is for limited support. This means support is given and withdrawn depending on the changing security landscape that makes some goals more reasonably possible to pursue than others. This means support is given or withdrawn depending on the quality of the narrative connecting our policy goals (our power and interests) with widely accepted moral principles. This means support is given or withdrawn depending on what force we would use and how we would use it. In sum, the shift to wars of limited liability redefines our ways of citizenship as it redefines our ways of war. Yet the goal remains the same: to protect and sustain our democratic values, even—or perhaps especially—when times of relative peace are unsettled by the collective violence of war.

Notes 1.  Sir Michael Howard, “Are We ‘At War?’” the Alastair Buchan Memorial Lecture, sponsored by the International Institute for Strategic Studies, Arundel House, London, April 2, 2008; General Sir Rupert Smith, The Utility of Force: The Art of War in the Modern World (New York: Knopf, 2007). 2.  For the theoretical basis of this claim, see James Burk, “Theories of Democratic Civil-Military Relations,” Armed Forces and Society 29 (Fall 2002): 7–29. 3.  This narrative was better suited for a war of general rather than of limited liability, a point also made by Pascal Vennesson in chapter 9 of this volume. 4.  For another description of the role rhetoric plays when political leaders choose war, see Philip Smith, Why War? The Cultural Logic of Iraq, the Gulf War, and Suez (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005).

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5. Montesquieu, The Spirit of the Laws, trans. and ed. Anne Cohler, Basia Miller, and Harold Stone (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), pt. 2, bk. 11, chap. 4. 6.  U.S. Census Bureau, Statistical Abstract of the United States: 2012, http://www .census.gov/compendia/statab/ (accessed December 5, 2012); see Tables 503 and 511. 7.  Peter Baker and Michael R. Gordon, “U.S. Warns Syria on Chemical Weapons,” New York Times, December 3, 2012, http://www.nytimes.com/2012/12/04/world/ middleeast/nato-prepares-missile-defenses-for-turkey.html?hp& _r= 0 & page wanted=print (accessed December 8, 2012). 8.  Frank G. Hoffman, Conflict in the 21st Century (Arlington, VA: Potomac Institute for Policy Studies, 2007). 9.  David E. Sanger, “Obama Order Sped Up Wave of Cyberattacks against Iran,” New York Times, June 1, 2012, http://www.nytimes.com/2012/06/01/world/middleeast/ obama-ordered-wave-of-cybreattacks-against-iran.html?_r=1&pagewanted=print (accessed June 4, 2012); Thomas Erdbrink, “Iran Confirms Attack by Virus That Collects Information,” New York Times, May 29, 2012, http://www.nytimes.com/ 2012/05/30/world/middleeast/iran-confirms cyberattack-by-new-virus-called-flame .html?ref=technology&pagewanted=print (accessed June 2, 2012). 10.  Jo Becker and Scott Shane, “Secret ‘Kill List’ Proves a Test of Obama’s Principles and Will,” New York Times, May 29, 2012, http://www.nytimes.com/2012/05/29/ world/obamas-leadership-in-war-on-al-qaeda.html?_r=1&pagewanted=all&page wanted=print (accessed June 1, 2012). The practice of targeted killing is morally controversial. See Claire Finkelstein, Jens Ohlin, and Andrew Altman, eds., Targeted Killings: Law and Morality in an Asymmetrical World (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012). More generally, questions are raised about the extensive development and use of robots in warfare. See “March of the Robots,” Economist, May 31, 2012, http://www .economist.com/node/21556103/print (accessed June 2, 2012). 11.  Thom Shanker, “Army Will Reshape Training, with Lessons from Special Forces,” New York Times, May 2, 2012, http://www.nytimes.com/2012/05/03/us/poli tics/odierno-seeks to-reshape-training-and-deployment-for-soldiers.html? r=4&page wanted=1&hp&pagewanted=all (accessed June 2, 2012); Ronald S. Mangum, “Linking Conventional and Special Operations Forces,” Joint Force Quarterly 35 (Autumn 2004): 58–62. 12.  See Michael L. Gross, Moral Dilemmas of Modern War: Torture, Assassination and Blackmail in an Age of Asymmetric Conflict (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010); Ward Thomas, The Ethics of Destruction: Norms and Force in International Relations (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2001), 47–85.



Index

Index

Italic page numbers indicate material in tables or figures. Abu Ghraib prison abuse: attributed to a few “bad apples,” 166; CPA regulatory response to, 224; Detainee Treatment Act in response to, 170; FBI reaction to, 164; photographs of, 150–151; private contractors implicated in, 222 Achille Lauro attack, 40 Achilles, 14, 90–91, 106, 109n11 “actionable intelligence,” 150, 159 “action at a distance” weaponry, 132 actors, shrinking distance between, 243 Afghanistan: alternate invasion strategies, 38–46; anti-Americanism in, 22; border with Pakistan, 42; and dark side of globalization, 241; decision to invade, 38; Dutch vs. British operations in, 94; and failure of general liability warfare, 261; frustration over, 65, 143n23, 262–263; hedging behaviors by, 42–43; increasing U.S. reliance on special forces, 132; initial



U.S. success in, 19; local anti-Taliban forces in, 226; under long-term U.S. occupation, 43–45; Obama exit strategy for, 122–123; political definition of defeat/success in, 122; poppy cultivation in, 101, 106, 114n68; private security jobs in, 212; R2P narrative in, 119; “responsible end” in lieu of victory, 121–122, 131; U.S. inability to win against, 20; U.S. invasion as war of necessity, 74–76; U.S. light footprint in, 248–249; U.S. lives lost in, 35, 38; U.S. punitive and restorative goals in, 117; U.S. use of Afghan and Pakistani fighters in, 249; withdrawal of armed forces from, 120 Afghan Model, 217–218 Africa, military expenditures in, 193, 194 aircraft carriers, 126, 129 Air Force, U.S., 32, 248 airport security measures post-9/11, 20

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air power: challenging “hard shell” of state, 245; dependent on land bases, 126; less dependent on public, 248; for suppressing not defeating enemy, 40 al Aqsa Mosque, 238 Albania, 188, 195, 199 Albright, Madeleine, 25 Algeria, 152–153, 244 al Jazeera, Western access to, 129 Allen, Charles, 66 all-volunteer force (AVF) in United States, 129–130, 248 al Qaeda: attacking United States by choice, 1; conflict with United States as hegemonic war, 236–239; dangers of alternate Bush responses to, 48–50; decline of, 48, 52–53n19; defeating United States through bankruptcy, 241–242; early relations with Saudi elite, 237; flight to Pakistan, 38; focusing on America as “universal enemy,” 238; “free of sovereignty,” 243; global power projection of, 240; grievances and goals of, 237–238, 244–245; hypothetical follow-on attacks by, 48–50, 53n21; loss of popularity, 76; as mindless evildoers or political agents, 61, 76; Obama “taking eye off the ball” warning, 69–70; Obama war with, 73; origins of, 232, 237; possible alliance with Iraq, 36; pre-9/11 attacks on United States, 4; quest for WMD by, 36, 53n24; and relations with Saudi Arabia, 61, 232, 237–238, 242; sanctuary under Taliban, 34, 38; seeing Twin Towers as America’s totems, 242; targeted assassinations against, 271–272; and “the people,” 246–247; threat of under terrorismsubordinate policy, 33–35; use of drones against, 271; use of mass media by, 246–247; “war” termi-

nology legitimizing, 66; Western recruits to, 243–244 “America” as innocent victim, 61, 74–76 “American way of war,” 2, 23, 218, 247– 249, 257n72 anthropologists as military resources, 5 anti-Americanism, 22, 23, 35–36, 237 antihegemony, 241–242 antiterrorism measures and legislation, by country, 188–189 apologies by United States, 74–75, 168–169, 172 Arab fertility rates, 18 Arab League, 143n29 Arab Spring, 24, 35, 53n22 Arar, Maher, 169 Arar v. Ashcroft, 169, 179n81 “arena of struggle,” 60 Argentina: “dirty war” in, 152; and universal jurisdiction, 167; U.S. favorability ratings in, 166 ArmorGroup, 211 Army Field Manual on Interrogation, U.S., 170 Ashcroft, John, 61, 156 Asia and Oceania, military expenditures in, 193, 194 assertion of right, 62 “assertive multilateralism,” 31 asymmetric conflict, 17, 212–213, 252 Atlantic Ocean as U.S. moat, 240 austerity, age of, 37, 139 Australia, 90, 105, 140n5 automated killing machines, 140 AVF (all-volunteer force) in United States, 129–130, 248 Axelrod, Robert, 90, 94–95, 101 Azzam, Abdallah, 239, 244 Baader-Meinhof gang, 237 Balkans, use of private contractors in, 227n2 Basra, Iraq, 115 Beck, Ulrich, 185



“Behavioral Science Combat Teams,” 163 Belfast, Northern Ireland, 97 Belgium, 126, 188, 199 BICC (Bonn International Center for Conversion), 196 Biden, Joseph, 39, 73, 82n58 bin Laden, Osama: and American unipolarity, 241–242; calling for expulsion of U.S. soldiers in Saudi Arabia, 232, 238; under conventional-force counterfactual, 41–42; defeating Soviet Union, 241; on Islam as under attack, 238; killing of, 74, 271; state­ ment to al Jazeera, 237; tacit Pakistani support for, 34; at Tora Bora, 41–42, 249; on Twin Towers as America’s totems, 242; war aims of, 237 “Blackhawk Down” scenario, 41 “black operations,” 132 “black sites,” 150. See also rendition Black Watch regiment, 97 Blackwater/Xe/Academi, 211–212 Blair, Tony, 117–118, 127 blasphemy as al Qaeda grievance, 238 “Bloody Sunday,” 97 Bonn International Center for Conversion (BICC), 196 Boot, Max, 2 “boots on the ground,” 21, 132 Bosnia: British strategy in, 90, 107, 109n8; MPRI in, 211; and panIslamism, 244; Rupert Smith and, 120; Russian position on, 141n10; and Srebrenica safe zone, 106–107; and U.S. failed-state policy, 31, 118–119 Bowman, Marion, 164 Bradbury, Steven G., 158–159, 175n35 Brazil, 127 Bremer, Paul, 219 Brennan, John O., 22, 141n13 BRIC countries (Brazil, Russia, India, and China), 133, 143n29 Britain. See United Kingdom Brooks, David, 59

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Brzezinski, Zbigniew, 63 Bulgaria, 188, 195, 199 Bush, George H. W.: obtaining UN resolution on Iraq, 117; Operation Desert Storm, 15–16 Bush, George W.: on Abu Ghraib, 178n67; Afghanistan strategy, 20; and alternative narratives on 9/11, 48, 77, 80n28; comments during 9/11, 117; defending rendition and secret prisons, 169, 173n3; Democrats’ acceptance of narrative from, 62–63; Detainee Treatment Act signing statement, 170; doctrine of preemption, 64; encouraging American return to normalcy, 216; erosion of trust in, 67; European approval ratings for, 190; as “first explainer,” 62; and “fiscal bomb,” 20; “Freedom Agenda,” 53n22; “mission accomplished” speech, 19, 219; posture toward China, 30; redefining torture, 153; seeing al Qaeda as existential threat, 213–214 Bybee (Jay S.) memo, 153–156, 164 CACI, 222, 224 Cairo, Obama speech in, 75–76 “calculus of risk,” 9/11 altering the, 118 Cambodia, 118, 140n5 campaign contributions, 24 Camp Bastion, 122 Canada: in Afghanistan, 101, 120, 134; citizen’s rendition to Syria, 169; interpretation of ISAF mission, 190; military expenditures (2000–2010), 193, 195, 199; post-9/11 antiterrorism laws, 187, 188 Carlos “the Jackal,” 237 Carroll, Lewis, 59 Carter Doctrine, 16 Catholics and Protestants in Northern Ireland, 96–98 Cato Institute, 65

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Index

Center for Constitutional Rights, 151, 173n6 Chechnya, 241, 244 Cheney, Dick, 178n67 Chernomyrdin, Viktor, 30 Chile, 167, 222 China: according to terrorism-dominant policy, 38; according to terrorism-subordinate policy, 35–36, 61; position on Libya, 127; position on Syria, 143n30; post-9/11 antiterrorism laws, 187; practicing “dollar diplomacy,” 24; U.S. pivoting toward, 138; velvet-covered iron fist approach to, 30 choosing war, 263–265; in immediate aftermath of 9/11, 3–4, 31–33, 46– 48; increase in, 129; Israel and, 15; Obama on, 74; progressives five years after 9/11, 60–65 Chora, battle of, 105 CIA: “black sites,” 150; enhanced interrogations by, 155, 158–159, 167, 170, 175n35, 179n83; internal objections to Bybee memo, 156; knowing interrogation of wrong prisoner, 171; paramilitaries within, 20; pre-Iraq war games, 218, 220; “prototypical interrogation” by, 158; special forces from, 146n50, 248; waterboarding by, 158–159, 175n35 Circular A-76, 214, 228–229n23 civic democracy in United States, 249–251 civic organizations, changing focus of in United States, 249–250 civilian casualties from drone strikes, 133, 139 civil liberty and use of torture, 163 civil rights movements, 98 civil society, torture’s harm to, 162–163 Clemente, Jim, 163–164 Clinton, Bill: and al Qaeda, 232; posture toward China, 30; and Somalia, 270; on “strategic coherence,” 29

Clinton, Hillary, 69, 270 Coalition Provisional Authority (CPA), 219–221, 223–224 Cochran, Kathryn, 52n18 Cohen, Eliot, 212–213, 247 COIN (counterinsurgency), 21–22; addressing political, social needs in, 105, 107–108; in Afghanistan, 45; Biden’s position on, 39, 73; British “COIN machine” in Helmand, 101– 103; cost of, 37, 49; Dutch negative connotations toward, 104; general European acceptance of, 198; technology required for, 191 cold peace, 24 Cold War: and “end of history,” 13; “fair share of the burden” of, 190; grand strategy during, 2, 29–30; mobilization during, 267; primary U.S. focus on Soviet Union, 32, 51n7, 71; as Vietnam central narrative, 57, 58; war on terror compared to, 69–71; and wars of general liability, 261, 268 collateral damage in war, 139 Commission on Wartime Contracting (CWC), 210, 212, 226, 227n5 concentration of forces post–Cold War, 146–147n52, 191 conceptual stretching vs. traveling, 251 “conditional sovereignty,” 119 conflict resolution: conflict as opposite of cooperation, 94; game theory and, 95; need to address social and political aspects, 107–108; numerical distribution and success of, 100 Congress, U.S.: as al Qaeda target, 238; apology to Japanese Americans, 168; broad support for Bush administration, 63, 68, 149; Commission on Wartime Contracting, 210, 212, 226, 227n5; Congressional Budget Office, 37, 209, 211; Congressional Research Service report, 216–217; and defense



spending, 37, 46, 145n47; Detainee Treatment Act (2005), 170; Israeli allies in, 75; and PMSCs, 222–223, 225; requiring data collection on private contractors, 222–223 Congressional Research Service (CRS), 216–217 Constitution, U.S., 164 constructivism, 239–240 containment, 29 contingency vs. equifinality, 50n2 contrite tit-for-tat, 110n27 cooperation, evolution of, 94 cost-benefit analysis, 62 counterfactual 1.1 terrorism-subordinate policy, 32, 33–36, 47 counterfactual 1.2 terrorism-dominant grand strategy, 32, 36–38, 47 counterfactual 2.1 counterterrorism alone in Afghanistan in 2001, 39–40, 47 counterfactual 2.2 large-force conventional invasion of Afghanistan in 2001, 41–46, 47 counterinsurgency. See COIN (counterinsurgency) counterterrorism, 22; as Afghanistan strategy, 22, 39–40, 47; and Biden Afghanistan proposal, 39; civilian casualties and anti-Americanism from, 22; and counterfactual 1.1, 32, 33–36, 47; and counterfactual 2.1, 39–40, 47–48; French tactics in Algeria, 152; ineffectiveness against committed opponent, 49; Obama narrowing of focus on, 72–76 covenants and swords, 95–96 CPA (Coalition Provisional Authority), 219–221, 223–224 “cracking on,” 107 “cramped confinement,” 158 Crawford, Susan J., 165–166 Crescent Security Group, 211 criminals, terrorists as, 66 Croatia, 188, 199

Index

281

CRS (Congressional Research Service), 216–217 Custer Battles, 211 CWC (Commission on Wartime Contracting), 210, 212, 226, 227n5 cyberattacks: in Estonia, 134; in Iran, 23, 271–272; and military spending, 145n47, 148n62; “pirates” in global cyberlanes, 138; use of hackers as military resources, 5 Czech Republic, 188, 199 Danner, Mark, 174n14 “dark side of globalization,” 241 Dean, Howard, 68–69 de-Ba’athification, 219 “decent society” and torture, 157 “decision superiority,” 19 de-culturalization, 243 defense spending: cost of war on terror, 35, 37; and cyberwar, 145n47, 148n62; and debt crisis, 116, 143n27, 148n62; and GDP, 53–54n27; in NATO, 186; potential savings by not invading Afghanistan/Iraq, 35; potential savings from lowering base budget, 37; and velvet-covered iron fist, 30; war on terror not prompting decrease in, 32 Delahunty, Richard, 173n4 democratic oversight and new technologies of war, 139 democratization: as antiterror measure, 36, 117–118; and Arab Spring, 35; as Pillar II of U.S. grand strategy, 30–31, 33, 36; and universal human rights, 140n4 Democrats: acceptance of terror narrative, 62–63, 68–71; criticizing Bush tactics, not first principles, 68–70; rhetorical inability to oppose Iraq War, 64, 65, 77. See also Clinton, Bill; Obama, Barack “demographic bomb,” 18, 24

282

Index

“demonstration effect” of globalization, 244 Denmark, 126, 188, 195, 199 Detainee Treatment Act (U.S., 2005), 170 “de-territorialized,” al Qaeda as, 243 DiMaggio, Paul J., 185–186 “dirty war” (Argentina), 152 disaffected democracy thesis, 249–250 doctrine of preemption, 64 dominant narrative, 57, 60 downsizing vs. concentration, 146–147n52 draft, lack of, 129–130, 248 “draining the swamp,” 118 drones, 22–23; future reliance on, 132– 133; possible launch from U.S. territory, 133; for real-time surveillance, 147n53; strikes against al Qaeda, 34; strikes in Yemen, 147n54 “Dutch approach,” 99, 103–107 Dyer, Hugh, 186 DynCorp International, 211, 221 Eagle Group International, 221 Eastern Europe, military expenditures in, 193, 194 East Timor, 118–119 economic globalization (Pillar III), 30–31, 33, 36 economy, U.S.: direct effect of 9/11 on, 35, 216; effect of federal debt on defense spending, 143n27, 145n47; indirect effects of 9/11 on, 216–217. See also defense spending Edelstein, David, 43–44 Edwards, John, 82n58 Egyptian members of al Qaeda, 232, 237, 254n26 Eliasoph, Nina, 250 El Salvador, 222 Emanuel, Rahm, 71 end of (military) history, 13–14, 23–24 enemy combatants, unlawful, 150 England, Gordon, 156

enhanced interrogation, 266; and Bybee memo, 154; to produce “actionable intelligence,” 150; “prototypical interrogation” described, 158; against “unlawful enemy combatants,” 150. See also torture “epoch-making event”/historical fissure, 61, 70–71, 261–262 equifinality vs. contingency, 50n2 Erinys, 221, 230n46 Estonia, 134, 188, 195, 199 EU (European Union), 30, 119, 187–188 European military transformation, 191 Euro-zone, 128–129, 137 evolution of cooperation, 94 exceptionalism, American, 61, 131 existential interests, 131–132, 135 F-22 fighter, 32 F-35 fighter, 32, 129 failed states, 31, 270 Fallows, James, 218 Fallujah incident, 212, 224 family resemblance categories, 251 fanatic label, 60 “far enemy” and “near enemy,” 254n26 Farrell, Theo, 101, 142n22, 143n23 fascism/communism vs. democratic capitalism, 13–14 FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit, 163–164 federal budget debt, 37 feeling of power by torturer, 161 Feith, Douglas, 218 Field Manual on Interrogation, U.S. Army, 170 fifth pillar, terrorism as, 32 Fiji, 222 “first explainer,” president as, 62 First Intifada, 18 “fiscal bomb” from Bush era, 20, 24 Fluor Intercontinental, 211 “food destruction operations,” 93 force, use of, 5, 265–267



“force transformation,” 132 foreign private contractors, 222 France: air role in Libya, 126; antiterrorism legislation, 188; interpretation of ISAF mission, 190; military expenditures (2000–2010), 195, 199; need for U.S. military support, 128; use of torture in Algeria, 152–153; use of universal jurisdiction against United States, 167; wars of hegemony by, 234; withdrawal from Afghanistan, 120–121 Franco-Prussian War, 261 freedom, 9/11 perpetrators as enemies of, 61 free trade, promoting, 30 French, Shannon, 90–91 Fukuyama, Francis, 13–14, 23 future wars, 269–273 Gaddis, John Lewis, 62 game theory, 94–96 Garner, Jay, 219 Gates, Robert, 135 Gaza, 18 GDP, military spending as percent of: in Afghanistan, 46; and growth, 53–54n27; in NATO, 195–196, 201–202; in United States, 267 general vs. limited liability war, 49, 261, 265, 267–273 generous tit-for-tat, 95 Geneva Conventions, 150, 165, 173n4 Georgia, 134 Germany, 126; antiterrorism legislation, 189; interpretation of ISAF mission, 190; military expenditures (2000– 2010), 199; post-9/11 antiterrorism laws, 187; Soviet Union as common enemy post–World War II, 43; use of universal jurisdiction against United States, 167 Ghaddafi/Qaddafi, Moamar, 23, 40, 124–126, 136–137

Index

283

Gilpin, Robert, 234–235, 243, 251 globalization, 252n2; and Bush mobilization strategy, 217; “dark side” of, 241; and globalized world, 185, 261; global security law, 187; and international recruits to al Qaeda, 243–244; promoting, 30; realist, liberal, and constructivist views of, 239–240; shaping effects of, 242– 245; under unipolarity, 232–233, 240, 251 Global Militarization Index (GMI), 196, 196–197, 197, 203–204 GMI (Global Militarization Index), 196, 196–197, 197, 203–204 goal displacement, 171 golden shield, Bybee memo as, 155 Goldsmith, Jack, 156 Gonzales, Alberto R., 153, 156 Gordon, Stuart, 101 Gore, Al, 30, 63 Gore-Chernomyrdin process, 30 “government in a box,” 21 grand strategy: during Cold War, 51n7; post-9/11, 31–38; post–Cold War, pre-9/11, 29–31 Gravel, Mike, 69, 82n58 Great Recession/financial crisis (post-2008), 37, 58, 71, 74 Greece, 95, 195, 199 Guantánamo Bay, enhanced interrogation at, 150, 156, 163–164 guided socialization of international organizations, 187 Gulf War (1991), 117–118, 247 hackers as military resources, 5 Hague, William, 145–146n48 Haiti, 31 Hakim, Mohammad Baqir al-, 220 Hall, Stuart, 59 Hamas, 18 Haqqani, Jalaluddin, 43–44 Haqqani, Sirajudin, 43–44

284

Index

harm caused by torture, 157; to inflictors of, 160–162; institutional, 162–166; to U.S. world standing, 166–167; to victims, 158–160 Hart, Liddell, 2, 242 Haynes, William J. II, 156, 164 health care budget needs, 129 “hegemonic projects,” 59. See also war(s) of hegemony Hekmatyar, Gulbuddin, 43–44 Helmand (province in Afghanistan), 101–103, 104–106 Hezbollah, 18 historical-political-moral world events, 205n3 historical rupture, 9/11 as moment of, 61, 70–71, 261–262 history as ideological competition, 13–14 Hoekstra, Peter, 66 Hoffman, Bruce, 52–53n19 Holder, Eric, 66 “homeland visits” by Moluccan leaders, 100 hostage taking, 99 Howard, Michael, 10n1, 129 human dignity and use of torture, 163 humanitarian intervention(s), 119, 135 Human Rights Watch, 151 “human security,” 185 “humble” foreign policy, 31 Hungary, 189, 199 ideology and the “end of history,” 13–14, 23 IEDs (improvised explosive devices), 103 Ignatieff, Michael, 151, 163 IISS (International Institute for Strategic Studies), 196 illusion of power, 161–162 IMF (International Monetary Fund), 196 improvised explosive devices (IEDs), 103 India, 51n8, 137 indigenous force, use of in occupation, 45–46

indirect approach, 242 Indonesia: Dutch decolonization of, 93; Moluccan troubles in, 98–100; post9/11 antiterrorism laws, 187; U.S. favorability ratings in, 166 “industrial war,” 120, 261 institutional isomorphism, 185–186, 190–191 instrumental mode, 62 “instruments of government,” armed forces as, 145n40 Intelligence, Surveillance, Target Acquisition, and Reconnaissance (ISTAR), 133, 147n53 interdependence, dangers of, 185 International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS), 196 International Monetary Fund (IMF), 196 international organizations and guided socialism, 187 international public, 185 International Security Assistance Force (ISAF), 102, 104, 120, 134, 190 international sources of al Qaeda/U.S. war, 239–245 international systems and hegemonic war, 235; al Qaeda/U.S. conflict, 237–238 “interrogatory torture,” 152–153 in-theater readiness and troop training, 220–221 IRA (Irish Republican Army), 98 Iran: alleged nuclear weapons program, 24, 138, 261, 271; complicating Syrian situation for United States, 138, 146n48; effect of Iraq War on U.S. relations, 85n92; Stuxnet virus attack against, 23, 271–272; U.S. attention toward, 138 Iraq War and aftermath: al Qaeda failure in, 246; attack on Baghdad UN Headquarters, 220; Bush deception to justify, 67; candidate Obama’s opposition to, 69–70; civilian



contractors dealing with insurgency, 221; Dutch vs. British operations in, 94; as failure of general liability warfare, 261; “Freedom Agenda,” 53n22; frustration over, 65, 262–263; hypothetical consequences of not invading, 35–36, 85n92; inability to win, 20; initial U.S. success in, 19, 219; Iraqi Facilities Protection Force, 221; “mission accomplished” declaration, 19, 219; mission terminated, not accomplished, 121; private security jobs in, 212; R2P narrative in, 119; surge in (2007–2008), 21, 121; and terrorism narrative, 63–64; use of Afghan Model in, 217–218; war games for, 218; withdrawal of armed forces from, 120 Irish Republican Army (IRA), 98 “iron wall” strategy, 18, 26n4 ISAF (International Security Assistance Force), 102, 104, 120, 134, 190 Islamic fundamentalism, 243 isomorphism within NATO: institutional, 185–186, 190–191; military expenditures, 192–197, 193, 194, 196, 197; military innovations, 186–192, 188–189 Israel: alliance with United States, 18, 61, 238, 271; and destabilization of Middle East, 24; facing “demographic bomb,” 18, 24; occupation of Lebanon, 17, 44; peace with Egypt and Jordan, 18, 24; people’s army in, 15; post-1979 dirty wars, 18; preoccupation with war, 15; retaining faith in war, 14; settlements and Greater Israel goal, 16–17; Suez and Six Day War, 15, 17; use of targeted assassination, 23 ISTAR (Intelligence, Surveillance, Target Acquisition, and Reconnaissance), 133, 147n53 Italy: antiterrorism legislation, 189; land bases used in Libyan action, 126;

Index

285

military expenditures (2000–2010), 199; operations in Basra, Iraq, 115n72 ius in bello/just war principles, 139–140 JAG (Judge Advocate General’s Corps), 164–166 Japan, 30, 43 Japanese Red Army, 99 Jewish American skepticism of Obama, 75 Jordan, 126 Judge Advocate General’s Corps (JAG), 164–166 just war, 139–140 Kandahar (province in Afghanistan), 101, 104 Karzai, Hamid, 38–39, 42–43, 47, 104 Kashmir, 143n22 KBR (Kellogg, Brown and Root), 210–211 Keane, Jack, 22 Kernell, Samuel, 63 Kerry, John, 68–69 Kershaw, Ian, 141n14 Khomeini, Ruhollah, 238 King, Anthony, 191 “knowledgeable opponents” of military, 130 Koh, Harold H., 156 Kosovo: current status of, 140–141n6; difficulties of intervention in, 118–119; as limited war, 270; reliance on air power in, 136; Russian position on, 141n10; and U.S. failed-state policy, 31 Krause, Peter, 41 Kucinich, Dennis, 69, 82n58 Kuwait, 117–118, 220, 237 “labor-lite” operations, 132–133, 138–139 Latin America, military expenditures in, 193, 194 Latvia, 189, 195, 199 law enforcement paradigm, 66

286

Index

leading from behind, 116, 126, 136, 146n48 leaking of Bybee memo, 155 Lebanon, 17–18, 241 legitimate force, 119, 142n15 legitimation, 60 Levin, Daniel, 175n29 Levy, Jack, 253n11 “liability of newness,” 64 liberal democracies: post–World War II faith in war, 14; and soft power, 134; and use of torture, 163 liberalism: and “end of history,” 13; internationalist/globalization arguments of, 140n4, 240; and military privatization, 213–215; and war with al Qaeda, 239 Libyan intervention (2011), 20, 23; Arab League preference for no-fly zone, 143n29; and attack on U.S. ambassador, 147n55; Chinese and Russian positions on, 141n10; concern over NATO-inflicted civilian casualties, 137; and future scenarios, 138; initial objectives for, 119–120; as limited liability strategy, 261; need for intervening force, 119; not a core U.S. interest, 131; post-Qaddafi situation and options, 127–128; preferences regarding regime change, 125–126; reliance on air power, 40, 124, 131, 136; shaped by public opinion, 124–126; shortage of UAVs in, 147n53; United States supporting, not leading, 124, 127, 131, 133 Lieberman, Joseph, 68 light of publicity, 172 limited vs. general liability war, 49, 261, 265, 267–273 Lindsay, Lawrence, 219 Lithuania, 189, 195, 199 LOGCAP (logistics civil augmentation contract), 210–211, 220 logic of war, 92

logistics civil augmentation contract (LOGCAP), 210–211, 220 logistics services contracts, 210–211 Londonderry, Northern Ireland, 97 Louis XIV, 234 low-level threats, 212–213 Luti, William, 218 Luxembourg, 199 Mackinlay, John, 138 mainstream media and terror narrative, 63 Malaya, decolonization of, 93 Manhattan Project, 4 Mao Tse-tung, 246 Margalit, Avishai, 157 market capitalism, promoting, 30 Marx, Karl, 60 mass media: media-induced world events, 205n3; use of by al Qaeda, 246–247 Mayer, Jane, 163 McCain (John) Amendment, 179n83 McNeill, Daniel, 160 Mearsheimer, John, 240 Mecca, 238 medical ethics and torture, 162–163 mercenaries, 20, 212–213 metis, 92 Michels, Robert, 111n31 microactors, 245 Middle East: military expenditures in, 193, 194; possible future wars in, 138 Miles, Steven H., 160, 163, 173n10 military dominance, 17 military expenditures, 192–197, 193, 194, 196, 197 military-industrial complex, 24 military innovations, 14, 186–192 “military-like” private security jobs, 212 military operations: and reorganization of military power, 137; as state simplifications, 92



military privatization. See private mobilization Miller, Geoffrey, 163–164 Miller, Seumas, 152, 174n14 Mindanao, 244 minimalism as alternate response to 9/11, 48–50 “mission accomplished” declaration, 19, 219 Mladic, Ratko, 107 mobilization: Bush strategy, 217, 248; of the people, 245–248, 267–268; of PMSCs in Iraq, 220–225; political, 246; vs. private forces, 213; of resources, 5, 267–269; of troops, 216–220; in U.S./al Qaeda conflict, 245; vs. use of private forces, 213. See also private mobilization modernization, U.S. defense, 32 Mohammed, Khalid Shaikh, 66 Moluccan troubles in the Netherlands, 98–100, 107–108 Mora, Alberto, 156 moral repair, 167–172 Morgenthau plan, 58 Moskos, Charles, 130 MPRI, 211, 220–221 Mullen, Mike, 21 Mumbai attacks, 71–72 Musharraf, Pervez, 55n37 Myers, Richard, 66 My Lai massacre, 168 Nagl, John, 93 Napoleonic Wars, 234 narrative revolution, 65 narrative(s): competition for in Somalia, 270; humanitarian/R2P, 119; human need for, 59; importance of, 7, 269; of Israeli military history, 18; and national security, 58–60, 76–77; need for open debate on, 271; 9/11 and crisis of, 62; none for torture, 162; search for Syrian, 270;

Index

287

“we were not defeated” as, 121–122, 143n23. See also terror narrative, U.S. national security: demanding military superiority, 14; lack of debate regarding, 64; narratives of, 58–60, 76–77; United States as a national security state, 15 National Security Strategy (2002), 64 National Security Strategy (2006), 36 National Security Strategy (May 2010), 73 National Strategy for Counterterrorism, 73–74 nation as spectator, 25 nation-building, 21; Biden’s position on, 39; at home, 123; in Somalia, 270 NATO (North Atlantic Treaty Organization), 119, 207–208n38; GMI, 196, 196–197, 197, 203–204; and Kosovo War, 270; Libyan campaign, 23, 124, 270; military expenditures as share of GDP, 195–196, 201–202; no post-9/11 general increase in defense spending, 186, 196–197; and organization theory, 185–186; relations within, 135, 137, 195; some members lacking counterinsurgency hardware, 191; values of and world opinion, 262. See also isomorphism within NATO; NATO response to 9/11 NATO response to 9/11: changes to security laws, 186–189; military expenditures, 192–197, 193, 194, 196, 197; military innovations, 186–192, 188–189 natural world events, 205n3 Navy, U.S., 32 Nazi Germany unconditional surrender requirement, 141n14 “near enemy” and “far enemy,” 254n26 negotiating with Moluccan activists, 99 neo-conservative goals in Iraq, 118 neo-fundamentalism, 243–244 neo-institutionalist theory, 198

288

Index

neorealist vs. sociological concerns, 6 Nepal, 222 Netanyahu, Benjamin, 18, 75 Netherlands: antiterrorism legislation, 189; defending Srebrenica safe area, 106–107; military expenditures (2000–2010), 195, 199; Moluccan troubles in, 98–100, 107–108; “No more Afghanistans” slogan, 134; opposition to war, 92–93; reconstruction mission in Uruzgan, 103– 108; withdrawal from Afghanistan, 120, 134 “network-centric warfare,” 247 “New Villages,” 93 “new world order,” 118 New York City Bar Association, 156 Nimitz-class carrier battle groups, 129 9/11 attacks: alternative reactions to, 32, 46–50; Bush comments during, 117; expectations regarding U.S. actions, 272–273; failure of competing narratives, 63; fixing the meaning of, 60–63; globalization enabling, 240; as historical fissure/“epoch-making event,” 61, 70–71, 261–262; “natural” interpretation of, 61–62; not a state action, 149; U.S. and al Qaeda views of, 238; as “world events,” 183, 184 Nisour Square, Baghdad, 212 Noelle-Neumann, Elisabeth, 58 nonproliferation pillar (IV), 31, 33, 36 normative mode, 62 North America, military expenditures in, 193, 194 North Atlantic Treaty Organization). See NATO (North Atlantic Treaty Organization) Northern Alliance, 38 Northern Ireland, the troubles in, 96–98, 109n8 North Korea, 138 Norway, 126, 200 Nowak, Martin, 95–96, 101

Obama, Barack: Cairo speech, 75–76; choice of international engagement, isolation, or overextension, 131; counterinsurgency strategy of, 21; domestic necessity of victimhood rhetoric, 75; dropping of terrorist narrative, 73; dropping of “war on terror” slogan, 56, 71–72; executive orders reversing Bush detention policies, 170; failure to apologize for renditions, 169; foreign policy statements as candidate, 69–72; foreign policy statements as president, 71–72; and Great Recession distraction from terror narrative, 58; and narrowing of torture definition, 174n15; nuclear proliferation work as senator, 71; on ordering assault on bin Laden, 50n1; political calculus of, 77; preference for soft power, 133–135; U.S. intervention policy in second term, 131–132 occupations by foreign troops, 43–46 Odysseus, 91–92, 106, 109n14 OEF (Operation Enduring Freedom), 102, 104, 248–249 “offensive realists,” 240 Office for Reconstruction and Humanitarian Assistance (ORHA), 219 Office of Legal Counsel, 169 O’Hanlon, Michael, 249 oil, 241 Omar (Mullah), 43–44 Omega Training Group, 221 “one-size-fits-all” intervention template, 135 Operation Anaconda, 249 Operation Cast Lead, 18 Operation Desert Storm, 15–17 Operation Enduring Freedom (OEF), 102, 104, 248–249 Operation Iraqi Freedom, 190, 220 Operation Motorman, 97–98



Operation Peace for Galilee, 17 Operation Restore Hope, 17 “option to protect,” 132, 145n48 Orange Marches, 97 organization theory, 185–186 ORHA (Office for Reconstruction and Humanitarian Assistance), 219 Ostrom, Elinor, 95–96 “outside-in” factors, 122 Pacific Ocean as U.S. moat, 240 Pakistan, 20; anti-Americanism from counterterrorism tactics, 22; hedging behaviors by, 43; and “new” American way of war, 23; relations with Taliban, 55n37, 102; tacit support for bin Laden, 34; U.S. drone attacks in, 271 Palestinians: birth rate within Israel, 18; frustration with Obama, 75; intifadas, 18; liberation of as al Qaeda goal, 239; and pan-Islamism, 244 pan-Islamism, 243–244 Parsons Corporation, 211 “patchy progress,” 143n23 patriotism post-9/11, 63 “peace” as code word, 14–15, 25 peacekeeping troops in Northern Ireland, 97 “peace through strength,” 15 Pearl Harbor attacks, 149 Peloponnesian War, 234 people, the: diminishing role of in United States, 249–251; no post-9/11 mobilization of, 247–248; possible response of to alternate 9/11 reactions, 50; al Qaeda’s inability to mobilize, 246–247; role of in politics and war, 233, 262. See also public opinion in United States Persian Gulf War (1990–1991), 15–17 Petraeus, David, 21–22, 25, 121 Philippines, 20, 222, 240

Index

289

pillars of post–Cold War strategy, 30–31, 33, 36, 46–47 “pirates” in global cyberlanes, 138 planned/repeated world events, 205n3 Plan of Action to Combat Terrorism (EU), 188 PMSCs (private military and security companies), 227n5; “census” of, 224; high salaries for, 142n16; Iraqi mobilization of, 220–225; not subject to military discipline, 221; numbers of in Iraq and Afghanistan, 209; origins of, 214–215; prevalence in Iraq, 223; as security details, 224; services provided by, 210–211; skills required for, 224; third-country national hires by, 212; use of locals in Afghanistan, 226 Poland, 189, 195, 200 political mobilization, 246 political support and use of torture, 165 politics of military failure, 58, 65, 67 “politics of sacrifice,” 130–131, 136 Pol Pot, 140n5 poppy cultivation in Afghanistan, 101, 106, 114n68 Portugal, 189, 195, 200 Posner, Richard A., 155–156 post–Cold War: grand strategy, 29–31; Western military interventions, 117–120 “post” democracy, 249 Powell, Walter W., 185–186 preemption doctrine, 64 preemptive attacks on Iraq, 118 preemptive attacks on Taliban, 102–103 Press, Daryl, 52n18 prisoner abuse: at Abu Ghraib, 150–151; at Guantánamo Bay, 150, 156, 163–164 prisoner of war status, 150, 165, 173n4 private military and security companies (PMSCs). See PMSCs (private military and security companies)

290

Index

private mobilization: Blackwater incidents, 222; “census” of, 224–225; deemed wasteful and ineffective, 226; essential to ability to wage war, 220; lack of White House awareness of, 225; of military contractors, 142n16; necessary, not better, 226; numbers and contractor:troop ratios, 209; optimistic troop projections leading to, 215–216; predictions for future use of, 226–227; proposed reasons for, 212–215; providing ad hoc surge capacity, 216, 223, 225, 227; public controversy over, 142n16; of security contractors, 20, 26n8; umbrella contracts for, 223–224; unreliable under violent conditions, 221; use of third-party nationals in, 226 Program Management Office, 224 propaganda as weapon, 245 prose of solidarity not information, 63 Protestants and Catholics in Northern Ireland, 96–98 Provincial Government House (Netherlands), 99 Provincial Reconstruction Teams (UK), 103 psychologists as negotiators, 99 public disclosure and accountability, 4 publicity, light of, 172 publicly minded discussions, 250 public opinion in United States: attitudes toward intervention, 129; and civilian casualties, 133; greater understanding of cost of intervention, 135; on involvement in Libya, 123, 126, 144n36; and lower-profile operations, 132–133; and nation as spectator, 25; 9/11 reversed indifference toward military, 130–131; powerless against secret actions, 171; shaped by end of conscription, 129–130; support for military action

after 9/11, 3; support for national security, 25; toward use of torture, 165, 172; war weariness, 4, 136, 143n23. See also people, the punitive retribution, 117 Qaddafi/Ghaddafi, Moamar, 23, 40, 124–126, 136–137 Qahtani, Mohammed al-, 164, 165–166 Qatar, 126, 143n29 R2P (responsibility to protect), 119; China and Russia suspicions regarding, 141n10; continuing influence of, 135; as evidence of globalized world, 185; interpreted as “option to protect,” 132, 145n48; justifying to public, 136 Reagan, Ronald: apology to interned Japanese Americans, 168; and narrowing of torture definition, 174n15; privatization revolution of, 214 realist tradition and 9/11, 239–240 realpolitik in intervention decisions, 135, 140n4 reconstruction mission in Uruzgan, 103–105 reconstruction services contracts, 211 Red Cross, 159 Reeve, Richard, 62 religious institutions, changing focus of in United States, 249–250 rendition, 169. See also “black sites” reorganization of military power, 137 “repeated measures,” 95 Republicans: divisions over national security in time of austerity, 74; support for retaining troops in Iraq, 121. See also Bush, George H. W.; Bush, George W.; Reagan, Ronald “responsible end” in lieu of victory, 121–122, 131 restricted liquid diet, 158 retaliation in tit-for-tat strategy, 94 retributive and restorative justice, 117



“revolution in military affairs,” 132, 247 rhetorical mode, 62–63 “risk transfer war,” 139 Rizzo, John A., 158 Romania, 189, 195, 200 Rosenau, James, 243 Roth, Alvin E., 111n30 Rueschemeyer, Dietrich, 111n31 rule of law, strengthening and weakening of, 169–170, 172 rules of conflict, 5 Rumsfeld, Donald, 66; on Abu Ghraib, 178n67; and Center for Constitutional Rights, 173n6; ignorance regarding private contractors in Iraq, 223; troop estimates for Iraq War, 218; and working group for military interrogations, 164–166 Rushdie, Salman, 238 Russia: intervention in Georgia, 134; position on Libya, 127; position on Syria, 143n30; threatening Estonia, 134; views of punishment in, 95. See also Soviet Union Rwanda, 31, 118, 167 Saddam Hussein, 15; and Bybee definition of torture, 156; surviving Desert Storm, 16; and terror narrative, 64; U.S. decision against assassinating, 272; WMD intentions of, 36 SAIC, 221 Sartori, Giovanni, 251 Saudi Arabia, 61, 238 Scarry, Elaine, 160–161 Schreer, Benjamin, 190 Schwarzkopf, H. Norman, 15–16 Scotland, 97 Scott, James, 60, 92 SDSR (Strategic Defence and Security Review; UK), 127, 128, 144n37 Second Intifada, 18 secrecy, need for in war, 4

Index

291

security conditions, 120, 121–122, 124–125, 135 security law, post-9/11 international changes in, 186–188, 188–189 security services contracts, 211 Senate Armed Services Committee, 218 Serbia, 136, 167 “severe,” definition of, 154 Seybolt, Taylor, 119 Shapley, Lloyd S., 111n30 shari’a law, 245 Sharrock, Justine, 161 Shaw, Martin, 2, 139 Shinseki, Erik, 218–219 “shock and awe,” 19, 26n6 “shopping” as public mobilization, 248 shrinking distance between actors, 243 Shue, Henry, 152–153, 170–171, 174n15 Sierra Leone, 118, 119 signing statements, Bush use of, 170 SIPRI (Stockholm International Peace Research Institute), 192, 196 Six Day War, 15, 17 Skelton, Ike, 223 Skocpol, Theda, 247, 249–250 sleep deprivation, 158 slogans, 262 Slovak Republic, 189, 200 Slovenia, 189, 195, 200 “small wars,” 20 Smith, Jordan Michael, 179n83 Smith, Rupert, 120–121 social infrastructure budget needs, 129 social media effect on public, 129 sociological vs. neorealist concerns, 6 SOF (special operations forces), 22, 38–39 soft power, 133–135 Somalia, 20, 31, 41; competing narratives in, 270; and “new” American way of war, 23; Operation Restore Hope, 17; targeted assassination in, 23; and U.S. failed-state policy, 31; U.S. withdrawal from, 241

292

Index

South Africa, 222 Southern Alliance, 38 Soviet Union: and al Qaeda, 239, 241; dissolution of, 213; as supreme threat, 31–32, 61, 71; as unifying common enemy, 43. See also Russia Spain, 167, 189, 195, 200 Special Forces: limited public profile of, 132; personnel involved in, 146n50; possible role in Libya, 147n55; possible role in Syria, 146n50; some NATO countries lacking, 191; UK reliance on, 125, 147n52, 148n62; U.S. reliance on, 132–133, 137, 145n47, 271 special operations forces (SOF), 22, 38–39 specific intent and torture, 153–154 “spiral of silence,” 58 Srebrenica, Bosnia, 106–107 state simplifications, 92 Stichweh, Rudolf, 184–185 Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI), 192, 196 Stone, Geoffrey R., 168–169 stopping power of water, 240 stories, human need for, 59 Strachan, Hew, 247 strategic choices in war on terror, 27–31 Strategic Defence and Security Review (SDSR; UK), 127, 128, 144n37 “strategic patience,” 136 “strategic raiding,” 132, 138 “Strategy of Enlargement and Engagement” (Clinton administration), 31 “stress positions,” 152, 158 Stuxnet virus, 23 success: determinants of for occupations, 43–44; judging in humanitarian interventions, 119 “sucker’s alternative,” 94, 107 Sudan, 31 Suez War, 15

“supporting the troops,” 23 surges, 21, 121, 216, 223, 225, 227 Surinam, 99 swords and covenants, 95–96 Syria: Chinese and Russian positions on, 141n10; concerns regarding public opinion on, 136; danger of Iranian involvement, 138; dangers for Israel of unrest in, 24; limited liability strategy in, 261; possible chemical weapons use by, 270; possible “leading from behind” strategy, 146n48; U.S. rendition to, 169 system-level factors, 122 tactical airlift, 191 Taiwan as U.S. “core interest,” 132 Taliban: British actions against in Helmand, 102; under conventionalforce counterfactual, 42–43; under counterterrorism-alone hypothetical, 40; differing goals from al Qaeda, 244; Dutch actions against in Uruzgan, 104; European and American opinion of actions against, 190; future prospects for, 142n22; under long-term U.S. occupation, 43–44; Obama position on, 72; providing sanctuary to al Qaeda, 34; recruitment by, 102; speed of initial victory against, 217; U.S. 2001 actions against, 38 talking then shooting them out, 99 targeted assassination, 23, 271–272 terrain of political contest, 60 terrorism: alternative reactions to 9/11, 32, 46–50; credible threats of in modern world, 47–48; elevation to first-rank threat, 31–38, 61; lethality of, 34; link to “ungoverned spaces,” 64; as recruiting/motivational tool, 34; strategic goals of, 33; and terrorism­-dominant alternative, 36–38; and terrorism-subordinate



alternative, 33–36; terrorists as undifferentiated mass, 66 “terroristic torture,” 152–153 terror narrative, U.S., 7; becoming dominant, 56–57, 60, 76; core components of, 61; endurance of, 65–71; legacy of, 76–77; Obama abandonment of, 73; potential critics of, 63, 65–67; value of ending, 73–74 Thirty Years’ War, 234 Thompson, Hugh, 168 Threats to International Peace and Security Caused by Terrorist Acts (UN), 187 Thucydides, 253n7 Titan, 222, 224 tit-for-tat strategy, 94–95, 110n27 Tocqueville, Alexis de, 162 Tora Bora, 41–42, 249 torture, 266; argument over harm caused by, 157; deaths caused by, 160, 176n39; definition of, 151–157, 174n14; enhanced interrogation as, 150–151; harm to inflictors of, 160–162; harm to U.S. standing in world, 166–167; harm to victims of, 158–160; institutional harms from, 162–166; leading to false information, 176n37; military restrictions against, 165; prospects for moral repair following, 167–172; purposes of, 152–153. See also enhanced interrogation train hijackings, 99 transnational global order, 261. See also globalization transnationalization of Europe, 191 transnational professional military networks, 133 transnational terrorism, 234, 243–247 Traub, James, 65 Trident submarine, 144n38 Triple Canopy, 211 troubles: in the Netherlands, 98–100; in Northern Ireland, 96–98

Index

293

Turkey, 24, 126, 137, 189, 200 “two-tier alliance,” 190 UAE (United Arab Emirates), 143n29 UAVs (unmanned aerial vehicles). See drones UCMJ (Uniform Code of Military Justice), 165 Ulster, 96 ummah, 244–245 UNAMI (United Nations Assistance Mission for Iraq), 220 unconditional surrender, 141n14 “ungoverned spaces,” 64 Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ), 165 unilateralism, 118 “uninformed sympathy” for military, 130 unipolarity: and antihegemony, 241–242; globalization under, 232–233, 240, 251; of international system, 238 United Arab Emirates (UAE), 143n29 United Kingdom: aircraft carrier capability, 126, 129; air role in Libya, 126; antiterrorism legislation, 189; “black hole” in spending commitments, 144n38; defending safe area of Gorazde, Bosnia, 106–107; divided public opinion on 2003 Iraq action, 118; force reductions in armed forces, 127; in Helmand, 101–103, 105–106; interpretation of ISAF mission, 190; military expenditures (2000–2010), 195, 200; need for U.S. military support, 128; and Northern Ireland troubles, 32, 96–98; operations in Basra, Iraq, 115n72; tensions between defense and international development, 134; terrorism threat from Northern Ireland, 32; timing Afghan departure with United States, 134; U.S. favorability ratings in, 166; views of punishment in, 95; as warrior nation, 92–94; way of war of, 2

294

Index

United Nations: authorization for 1991 Gulf War, 117–118; authorization for 2011 action in Libya, 124; Convention against Torture (1984), 151–156, 179n83; endorsement of R2P, 119; importance of authorizations by, 119, 135–136, 140n3; Resolutions 1483 and 1500 on Iraq, 220; Security Council Resolution 1373, 187; UNAMI, 220 United States: in Afghanistan compared to Dutch troops, 105; and “American way of war,” 2, 23, 218, 247–249, 257n72; antiterrorism legislation, 189; antitorture statute, 164; Carter Doctrine, 16; democratic oversight and new technology, 139; development of limited liability weapons, 271–272; economic constraints on military intervention, 128–129; increasing reliance on friends and allies, 133–135, 138–139; as innocent victim, 57, 66, 75–76; interpretation of ISAF mission, 190; and Iran, 23, 24, 85n92, 261, 271–272; Israelification of military policy of, 23; “labor-lite” and lower-profile operations, 132–133, 138–139; lack of self-reflection on actions, 75; “leading from behind” in Libya, 126, 128, 136; legitimacy problems with allies, 75–76; military expenditures (2000–2010), 193, 195, 200; Obama intervention policy post-Libya, 131–132; Operation Desert Storm, 15–16; pivoting to China deterrence, 138; public opinion constraints on military intervention, 128–129, 136; from R2P to “option to protect,” 132; retaining faith in war post–World War II, 14; role in Middle East, 61, 65, 75; selfhelp strategies for troubled countries, 133; and the stopping power of water, 240; struggle with al Qaeda as defining, global conflict, 238; two-

war capacity strategy, 145n47; use of soft power, 133–135; view of Vietnam removal of Pol Pot, 140n5; views of punishment in, 95; war on terror as special mission of, 61; wars as exclusive focus, 32 “universal enemy,” America as, 238 universal jurisdiction and torture, 167 “unlawful enemy combatants,” 150 unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs). See drones Uruzgan (province in Afghanistan), Netherlands mission in, 103–108 use of force, 5, 265–267 USIS, 211 U.S.-Israeli collaboration, 23 Utility of Force, The (Smith), 120 Vanuatu, 187 velvet-fist strategy (Pillar I), 30, 33, 36–37 victimhood rhetoric, 57, 66, 75–76 victory as absence of defeat, 20–22, 121 Vieira de Mello, Sergio, 220 Vietnam occupation of Cambodia, 44, 140n5 Vietnam War, 15; buried by Desert Storm, 16; Cold War narrative in, 57; exposure of My Lai massacre, 168; as nation-building, 21; “never lost a battle” mantra, 22 Vinnell, 211, 220–221, 230n46 “violent extremism” rhetoric, 72–75 virtual people, 245–251 Walker, Margaret Urban, 167 “walling,” 158 “war amongst the people,” 120 war crimes, 93, 155, 272 “war on terror” slogan: during Democratic presidential debates, 68–71, 82n58; dominant narrative of, 59–60; early objections to, 66; Obama and, 56, 70 warrior reflex, 91, 108



war(s): Afghanistan as war of necessity, 74–76; with al Qaeda, not Islam, 73; of choice, 3–4, 15, 31–33, 60–65, 129, 263–265; consequence of presidential label of, 40; crimes of, 93, 155, 272; danger of criticism during, 67–68; Dutch vocabulary for, 93; future, 269–273; of limited vs. general liability, 261, 265, 267–273; problemsolving­capacity of, 14; “war amongst the people,” 120. See also choosing war; “war on terror” slogan; war(s) of hegemony; “ways of war” war(s) of hegemony, 234; America vs. al Qaeda conflict as, 234, 236–239, 252; defined, 234–235; as family resemblance category, 251; not always total war, 239; realist, liberal, and constructivist views of, 239–240; and shrinking distance between actors, 243; theory and history, 235–236 Washington consensus, 30 water, stopping power of, 240 waterboarding, 152, 158–159, 175n35 “ways of war”: choice of war following 9/11, 263–265; in the future, 269–273; Hart’s use of term, 2; mobilizing resources, 267–269; post–Cold War debate over, 261; use of force to attain national security, 265–267; Weigley’s use of term, 2 weapons of mass destruction (WMD). See WMD (weapons of mass destruction) Weigley, Russell F., 2, 257n72 “well-informed support” of military, 130 west and central Europe, military expenditures in, 193, 194

Index

295

Westphalian order of states, 185, 261 Whitlock, Eugene, 190 WHO (World Health Organization), 196 Williams, Jay, 130–131 winless wars, 20–23 winning by not losing, 20–22 WMD (weapons of mass destruction), 31; possibility of al Qaeda access to, 35–36; possibility of Saddam’s possession of, 118; possible Syrian use of, 270 Wolfowitz, Paul, 218–219 Woolsey, James, 31 “world-destroying” pain, 160 world events, 184–185, 205n3 World Health Organization (WHO), 196 world Islamic front, 238 “World Islamic Front,” 232 world military expenditures, 193 “world risk society,” 185 World War I, 14, 234, 236 World War II, 14, 58, 234 WPPS (Worldwide Personal Protective Services), 211 Yemen: bin Laden and, 241; and “new” American way of war, 23; self-help strategy for, 133; “small war” in, 20; U.S. drone strikes in, 147n54, 271 Yoo, John, 153–156, 173n4 Yugoslavia, 118 Zabul (province in Afghanistan), 104 Zakheim, Dov, 54n34 Zawahiri, Ayman al, 232, 249, 254n26 Zelikow, Philip, 179n83