I’ve posted some questions about the looming air strikes against Syria over at the Duck of Minerva.
A fresh article on its way in Infinity, stay tuned!
I’ve posted some questions about the looming air strikes against Syria over at the Duck of Minerva.
A fresh article on its way in Infinity, stay tuned!
In the old old question of why the weak occasionally beat the strong, my favourite metaphor is the Ham Omelette. In a Ham Omelette, the chicken is involved but the pig is committed.
In a clash over the Taiwan Strait, who would be the pig, who the chicken? This matters, because in the end predicting the outcome of a China-Taiwan clash would not be about the absolutes of military victory narrowly conceived, but about the issue of cost tolerance and the fear of a Pyrrhic result.
Relations between Taiwan and Beijing have eased in the latest ‘detente.’ But some worry that their mutual aims regarding Taiwan’s ultimate sovereignty are still irreconcilable and that they could still deteriorate. One thing driving this anxiety is the shifting military balance between the two, moving in China’s favour. But assessments of the clash are still predominantly quantitative. The debate should focus primarily not just on China’s superior mass and technology, but on whether it would be willing to absorb the costs of an invasion compared to the Taiwanese’ willingness to tough it out.
Some of the most prominent studies of the cross-strait military balance pay little heed to the question of relative will. Which side would be more cost-tolerant? Would the prospect of a Pyrrhic victory deter China? Conversely, would the Taiwanese have the stomach for an all-out clash after a saturation bombing and massed invasion?
The annual ‘Military Balance‘ produced by the International Institute of Strategic Studies is an example. At a mere £300 or so ($467) it is surely a bargain at twice the price (!). But its assessment is overshadowed by the issue of who has the biggest and strongest battalions.
In 2012, it had this to say about Taiwan’s defences:
the ability of such a small military to withstand a concerted invasion from across the Taiwan Strait is doubtful. Moreover, a growing reluctance on the part of the US to furnish Taiwan with advanced military equipment means that China is closing the technology gap with Taiwan. Taipei is currently emphasising the procurement of early warning systems and missile defence to enable the island to withstand an assault for as long as possible, with the goal of buying time for US intervention.
In 2013, here was the verdict, revised only semantically:
the capacity of such a small armed forces [sic] to withstand a concerted Chinese offensive from across the Taiwan Strait is doubtful. Moreover, a growing reluctance on the part of the US to furnish Taiwan with the most advanced military equipment means that China is rapidly closing the technology gap. Taipei is currently emphasising the procurement of early-warning and missile-defence systems to enable the island to withstand an assault for as long as possible, with the goal of buying time for US intervention.
Its not surprising that the MB focuses on weapons and defence budgets, rather than second-guessing the calculus of regimes and speculating on mass psychology. And it does have a point on the narrow ‘capabilities’ question. Measured pound for pound for combat power in any straight two-sided fight, China probably could seize back control of the island if both sides went to the matt. It seemingly, increasingly, has the ‘physical’ capability edge, particularly in the air and missile competition. It has strengthened its arsenal of short range ballistic missiles, for example, and though both sides are modernising their forces, observers fear that Taiwan will suffer in the ‘fighter gap’ with its failure so far to acquire F-16C/Ds.
This is not just a dyadic issue given America’s interests in the question. With its strengthening access and area denial capabilities that might seriously raise the costs of any US intervention, Beijing could plausibly threaten to fight a localised war against an isolated and overmatched Taipei.
Realistically, China’s exploitation of the military gap could take several forms short of outright war. Beijing might hope to deter Taiwan from unilaterally declaring independence and/or to coerce Taiwan to settle on its terms. But in the remote but severe worse case scenario, China might be emboldened by its military strength and doubts about the credibility of America’s commitment to strike.
Equally, as some incisive commentaries argue, it is probable that even a Taiwan being defeated in the air and on the ground would inflict some serious stings that make the question of political will vital. When it had the greater qualitative military edge, Taiwan defined victory in offensive terms – to win in a direct clash for control of seas and skies, overpowering China’s larger but less advanced forces. It designed its defences accordingly, around capital ships and advanced planes and matching its adversaries’ investments. Judging by its own published doctrine, the National Defence Report of 2011, Taiwan recognises that victory in these terms is no longer realistic and it is switching accordingly. Taiwan now defines victory as ensuring the survival of enough forces and preventing land forces establishing a foothold on Taiwan. The same logic that enables China with today’s tools to raise the costs of US intervention into its maritime space to unpalatable levels, also enables Taiwan to do the same at a price more suited to its limited GDP expenditure on defence.
Taiwan could carry out a range of active defence measures to make any invasion attempt a bloody proposition. To turn the nautical approaches to the island into contested zones, it could exploit ‘swarming’ methods by using small-attack craft armed with anti-ship cruise missiles as light guerrillas at sea. To turn the point of amphibious landing into a shooting gallery, it could use entrenched anti-ship and anti-air missile sites. To make both the approach and the beachhead more perilous, it could use sea and land mines. All of these would need to be coordinated by surviving command-and-control and C4ISTAR network. To resist further incursions by Chinese forces, Taiwan could stress small-unit tactics and prepare for urban combat by civilian militias as well as professionals. And through passive defensive measures, Taiwan would aim to keep its forces survivable: through mobility, redundancy, and the hardening and camouflage of its assets, as well as the stockpiling of food and fuel. These would not prevent large-scale damage to Taiwan’s military and civilian property but could preserve enough combat power to keep material costs on following-on invading force high. Once it takes delivery of and stands up its expanded Anti-Ballistic missile system, this could also shield it further, though there seems to be a wide array of opinion about how effective this would be against a saturation missile attack. Anyway, this doctrine properly applied would help it raise costs on amphibious force as it approached and as it reached the shore in the following phases.
Now that Taiwan shows signs of adopting a more achievable doctrine of raising costs on the invader by giving its forces greater survivability (through hardened underground shelters, for example) and dispersing them to hit back after the initial onslaught, China might have to reckon, amongst other things, with grievous losses of transport ships packed with troops and equipment. It would probably seize some kind of air superiority, but not enough to prevent mobile artillery and infantry turning the landing beaches into a deadly zone, or to prevent even a few air assets like Apache helicopters and planes being shifted from air bases and being able to land some heavy blows.
And then there is the preparation/surprise dilemma. For China to hit Taiwan with a surprising knockout blow from the air, it would not be able to conduct a large-scale preparation of invading forces beforehand to give the game away. The interval between the first strike and the follow-on invasion attempt would give Taiwan time to recover and prepare to defend its ground. On the other hand, were China to prepare an invasion force for days before, this would give Taiwan time to prepare, disperse its forces, and hunker down. No amount of technological advancement can eliminate this tradeoff, and if anything, advances in surveillance technology give defenders a wider and deeper ‘gaze’ if they are paying attention. Taiwan also has the geographic advantage of knowing roughly where troops would have to land, given the small amount of shoreline hospitable to invasion, and could prepare to concentrate its forces there.
But even given optimum diplomatic circumstances for China – having enough strategic ‘sealift’ to transport troops, a localised war, a growing technological edge, a devastating first strike giving it command of the skies, and everything going ‘right’ militarily on the night, there are good reasons to expect that Taiwan could make it expensive. What costs would the assailant willingly bear? What about the Taiwanese population, even after the PLA marched on Taipei? Curiously, in the sophisticated treatments of the issue, the prospect of an insurgency after the end of the conventional war hardly comes up. As Michael Cole argues, there are good reasons to suppose that Taiwanese nationalism would prove robust in a war. If so, there would be an excellent chance of resistance and some heavy urban fighting around one of the questions that Taiwanese national life and politics revolves around:
While the Iran-Iraq War is an imperfect analogy for the situation in Taiwan, it nevertheless forces us to revisit the assumption that Taiwanese — especially those who identify as Nationalists or “mainlanders” — would not fight Chinese invaders. With few exceptions, almost every member of the armed forces today was born in Taiwan. The effect of one’s identification with land and nation cannot be ignored, even among those who are direct descendants of Chinese who fled across the Taiwan Strait in 1949. All, regardless of their “ethnic” identification, are the result of, and were shaped by, the idiosyncratic social forces that prevail in Taiwan, such as its culture and democratic way of life. Consequently, few are those who, when the abstracts of hostility are replaced by the harsh realities of war, would willingly abandon Taiwan, let alone refuse to fight for what makes it their home. In the end, there is little doubt that once bombs and missiles, however precise, began raining down on Taiwan, killing family members, friends, and neighbors, most Taiwanese would rally round the flag. And that flag bears one white sun, not five yellow stars.
Its understandable that debate in Washington is largely about how much material assistance and commitment Washington should provide. Hence the focus on measurable physical capabilities (though there are some very good treatments of the ‘skill’ gap between PLAAF and ROCAF pilots) and on the cause-and-effect questions of alliances, deterrence and security dilemmas. Unlike the in-depth and sophisticated debate about US casualty tolerance and aversion, there is little in the way of recent data to draw on about the populations’ political will in a China-Taiwan clash, because both sides have hardly fought any wars for some time, let alone fighting each other.
But for obvious recent historical reasons, it is worth considering the possibility of ‘post-conflict’ resistance and the greater cost tolerance of local insurgents versus foreign fighters. The prospect of combating a bloody uprising, on top of taking the steep costs of an amphibious invasion, should play against China’s hope that if it did strike, it could be quick and cheap.
This also should reassure US policymakers: that Taiwan can present an ominous defence to an invader without America going to the trouble of ramping up its security assistance and arms trade with Taiwan, and the escalation and deterioration of relations with China that this would probably create. If America is to persist in its dubious ‘Asian pivot’, trying to contain and deter a rising China and getting it to peacefully accept Washington’s hegemony without things kicking off, it would be wise not to exaggerate Taiwan’s vulnerability.
General David Petraeus advises Americans and their allies to be coldly realistic about what force can achieve. Oddly, he also advises them to prepare for a future where small wars are pretty much inevitable, where America must intervene early to prevent worse things happening later on, and where ‘stabilisation’ is a core part of war itself. Because, ultimately we sometimes have no choice.
Looking back on the ‘lessons’ that have been ‘written in blood’ in America’s wars since 9/11, Petraeus thinks he can see the greatest lesson, but repeats a common fallacy:
Our enemies will typically attack us asymmetrically, avoiding the conventional strengths that we bring to bear. Clearly, the continuation of so-called “small wars” cannot be discounted. And we should never forget that we don’t always get to choose the wars we fight.
To the contrary, countries like the United States almost always do get to choose. Not only the wars they fight, but how they fight them. That’s the thing about being an offshore superpower with a nuclear arsenal, friendly neighbours, overwhelming naval and air power shields and a strong army and marine corps to boot. If ever a state existed that usually, emphatically, does not have to accept war being imposed by others, it is this one. ‘Vital’ interests should mean just that – interests that are necessary for life.
Societies also choose how to commemorate wars and what lessons to divine in them. If there are lessons to be detected in others’ blood, if we are going down the dark path of claiming to speak for the dead, maybe the best response is that once again, its time to put an end to liberal crusading.
There is a mythology at the heart of the COIN movement, not only that small wars are a decent idea if only we get our tactics right, but that we have no choice in the matter. Following the words of those who argue for war in Afghanistan or Iraq, or Libya, that mythology carries with it the facile distinction between ‘good wars of need’ or ‘necessity’, and ‘bad wars of choice.’ World War Two, a war in which and about which America made conscious choice after conscious choice, is trotted out as the gold standard in terms of war being inflicted upon America, while Iraq for Bush’s critics becomes the wicked elective war.
At the risk of stating the obvious, it takes two to tango. War is a political act and a political choice, not a state of being that one power can inflict on another. Short of another state directly trying to annihilate you, there is always a calculus. Britain did not have to make guarantees to Poland in 1939, nor did it have to choose to resist Hitler in May 1940 at the great expense to its economic strength and its empire. Franklin Roosevelt, as Marc Trachtenberg shows, knew very well that getting into an escalating struggle with Imperial Japan in the late 1930’s with crippling sanctions might well draw it into hostilities, while at the same time, he wanted a clash with Nazi Germany if only opinion could turn and America could be prepared, and he took steps to extend America’s defensive perimeter across the Atlantic and draw the country in. The virtue and wisdom of these and all decisions can be debated. What cannot be is the role that at each turn, belligerents decide for themselves what is at stake and what is worth bleeding for. To deny this is to sidestep the difficult and ancient question, and ultimately to deny responsibility.
The small wars that Petraeus found himself taking command of were not foisted on Washington. 9/11 did not speak for itself. It had to be interpreted. And in response, the President with the support of Congress elected to invade countries, overthrow and install regimes, and then stay in the face of violent resistance, to embark on an ambitious project to spread liberalism at the point of a bayonet. The whole point of the Bush Doctrine and its embrace of anticipatory war was to choose conflict supposedly on America’s terms, and wage preventive wars instead of postponing struggles Bush’s team presumed were inevitable. Obama chose to rededicate America in the short term to Afghanistan, and four years, billions of dollars and many deaths afterwards, that ‘necessary’ commitment has not broken the Taliban nor tilted the balance.
Neither does the folly end there. Petraeus argues that America should get into the habit of prevention. He thinks he is making the case for a sober and restrained concept of force. But in fact he embraces a very presumptuous confidence about American power and foreknowledge. Picking dangerous places that should be ‘fixed’ in advance, with advisors and experts and investment…commitments that can have perverse results, unintended consequences and deepen entanglement. Petraeus counsels caution, but his policy agenda is one where the West still casually interferes and thinks it knows best.
There is in fact an alternative. One marker for it is the decision of President Ronald Reagan in October 1983, after the US Marine Barracks was bombed in Beirut, killing 241 people, one of the bloodiest days for America’s military forces since World War Two. Reagan denounced the attack, pledged to stay, ordered retaliatory bombings but only months afterwards withdrew US Marines offshore. In response to Islamists using asymmetric methods, Reagan did not decide that America had no choice but to get into an ambitious land war of regime change and armed nationbuilding. He pulled his forces out. A disciplined and prudent choice was available and Washington took it. We can only imagine the pleas of the small wars faction to act differently under similar circumstances.
Begging to differ with the clique of coindanistas that build their careers around the movement to turn America’s armed forces into an imperial constabulary, a truly
‘coldly realistic’ prudent appraisal of political violence should turn America away from peripheral wars and towards a far tighter and more restrained strategic vision. In other words, America and its allies really don’t have to go abroad in search of soup to eat with a knife.
PS: Thanks to my colleague Andreas Behnke for pointing out the important distinction between ‘coldly realistic’ and ‘prudent’ – for what its worth, this post wasn’t intended to strike a false pose of amoral Realpolitik.
What, if anything, does President Barack Obama believe about America’s role in the world? Beyond taking boots off the ground, being more polite and the Asia Pivot?
Does he believe in American exceptionalism? Does he believe America’s power is limited or limitless?
Its just not clear, nor would an amateur psychological appraisal be very useful. But we can see in his statements about the world two conflicting traditions.
Consider two of his speeches. At the Air Force Academy in May 2012, he announced:
I see an American Century because of the character of our country-the spirit that has always made us exceptional. It’s that simple yet revolutionary idea-there at our Founding and in our hearts ever since-that we have it in our power to make the world anew; to make the future what we will. It’s that fundamental faith-that American optimism-which says no challenge is too great, no mission is too hard. It’s the spirit that guides your class-“never falter, never fail.”
But about a year later, he struck a different chord at the National Defence University:
So America is at a crossroads. We must define the nature and scope of this struggle, or else it will define us, mindful of James Madison’s warning that “No nation could preserve its freedom in the midst of continual warfare.” Neither I, nor any President, can promise the total defeat of terror. We will never erase the evil that lies in the hearts of some human beings, nor stamp out every danger to our open society.’
In May 2012, nothing was beyond Americans, who were exceptional and whose transformational power is limitless, and Obama invoked Thomas Paine to drive the point home. In May 2013, the world is one of tragic limits. America cannot alter the fallen nature of humankind. There are limits to its power, and it had to learn to live with insecurity.
Its tempting to regard these words purely as the opportunistic rhetorical shifts of a man who wanted to get re-elected by ramping up exceptionalist and nationalist rhetoric, and then dialled it down to justify bringing the war on terror to a close in favour of a leaner, quieter, and cheaper programme of counter-terrorism.
But Obama’s different rhetoric reflects something deeper – the combination in his world view of the spirit of Henry Luce, the magazine magnate and early visionary of the Pax Americana, and the Christian pessimist Rheinhold Niebuhr.
In a Life Magazine article in 1941, Henry Luce prophecied that the coming era would be an American Century, and that the struggle against the Axis was also a struggle for liberal democratic values worldwide, one that knew no frontiers.
In spirit, Obama has echoed that logic of a world state with an unbounded domain. At times, he has talked about the expansive extent of America’s security interests. He is, after all, a ruler who authorises assassinations at a record scale. He escalated a war in Afghanistan. He bombed Libya. And he invites emerging powers of the future to play by American rules and accept American leadership. Rhetorically, he defies pessimists never to bet against America. He spoke of ‘red lines’ in Syria that the American-led world would not tolerate tyrants like Assad crossing. More on that in a minute.
But Rheinhold Niebuhr is also an important intellectual and moral influence on Obama. For the anti-utopian Niebuhr, American exceptionalism was flawed because it lost sight of the fallen nature of creation, the tragic and imperfect nature of international relations, and the ironic patterns of unintended consequences to be found in history.
In this vein, Obama talks of prudence, the elusive quality that recognises the conflicted nature of political problems and the need to negotiate and trade off between competing things – a far cry from the sense of unlimited power of the indispensable nation. In his Nobel Prize acceptance speech, he dwelt in an almost Augustinian way on the dilemmas and agonies of making policy in a world fallen from grace.
In practice, Obama was conspicuously restrained in his handling of the Iranian uprisings of 2009 and the Arab Spring revolts in Egypt, Tunisia and beyond, and at a time when the Wilsonian family of liberal hawks and neoconservatives was calling for a full-throated Reaganesque embrace of the democratic movements. They were deeply disappointed with Obama’s caution. As for red lines, it seems he won’t enforce them after all, and the Syrian rebels with beheaders and chemical weapons users in their ranks might also be crossing them.
He twists and turns. Note his awkward dealing with the question of whether the republic is truly ‘special’, a sentiment that at times he embraces, but at other times dilutes and parses.
Obama feels entitled to talk of limits, prudence and humility…just don’t use the word ‘decline’, in which case you ‘don’t know what you’re talking about’, even in an era of astronomic debt.
Instead of looking for the true Obama essence, we should recognise that the age of financial crisis and the brutal exposure of the limits of American power have reintroduced an alternative American tradition of pessimism and self-doubt, to sit uneasily alongside the bright talk of American moments, centuries and new revolutions.
Who could better reflect the clash of the visions of Luce and Niebuhr than the part-idealist, part-cold pragmatist, part assassin-in-chief, part preacher of norms and laws, part messianic agent of change, part bank-bailouting defender of the status quo, part bomber and part boots-off-the-ground, part man of the Harvard educated establishment, part community organiser and outsider?
It ultimately reflects the gap between a persistent rhetoric about America being the guardian of world order that will always rise again – a standard vocabulary that presidential candidates must nod to- and the bleak material condition of a superpower that it seems will struggle more and more to pay the bills.
In defence, as in life, there are no free lunches. This is so especially in an age of defence inflation, as the price of weapons systems spirals almost out of control. But even if the relationship between government and industry were perfectly efficient, defence would still cost serious dollars.
In decades past, this did not seem to matter much. Australia lived in a relatively benign environment. America underwrote the security of the Asia-Pacific. Washington’s primacy was unchallenged. Australia could keep its defence spending low as a percentage of GDP, banking on its alliance with an overdog and the stability of the American-led order in Asia. Defence priorities were so low that the Hawke government commissioned frigates that were left to be equipped with weapons later.
Now, the region is more fearful and more uncertain. Countries like Indonesia, China, the Philippines and Singapore invest serious money in modernising and expanding their defence forces. This money flows from a cocktail of nationalism and fear. They want a commercial peace. But they also want a military insurance that is increasingly expensive. The nuclear ambitious and crisis diplomacy of ‘Rogue states’ such as North Korea also drives fears, as do the spirals of insecurity that such states could trigger.
Looking out on this world, critics accuse the Gillard government of pursuing security on the cheap. They point the finger at the latest White Paper as a sign of Canberra’s unwillingness to invest. The Paper backs away from the earlier investment envisaged in the 2009 Paper and de-emphasises being militarily prepared for a clash with China, preferring conciliation and diplomacy. The government promises world class hi-tech defence forces. According to executive director of the Australia Strategic Policy Institute, Peter Jennings, it is unclear how these programmes can be afforded. Defence spending is at 1.56 per cent of GDP, the lowest since 1937.
The easy response is to insist that we spend more. At a minimum, Australia’s strategic priority is to be sufficiently well armed to be able to inflict heavy costs on any would-be aggressor. Australia may never be a giant in Asia. It would never be able to go the matt and win outright against a giant. But as Professor Ross Babbage once put it, it can be a Beowulf, with the capacity to rip the arm off a giant. Combined with prudent diplomacy, this would hopefully make any attack on Australia or its maritime approaches unattractive.
The aspiration to do this would mean investing in hi-tech planes such F/A 18 Super Hornets or the F-35 Joint Strike Fighter, stealthy and long-range submarines, and an army large enough to make any invader drive up the forces it puts at risk. According to standard estimates, this would mean raising defence spending to 3-4% of GDP.
To be sure, there are things that matter apart from money. Better doctrine, greater efficiency and more coordination of government departments are all very well. But deterring and responding to major threats will take more dollars than the current budget allows.
The harder question is where do we get the money? Any government today recognises that there is little public appetite for increased defence spending. According to the Australian Strategic Policy Institute, the proportion of Australians willing to spend more on defence has dropped from its climax of 60% in 2001 down to 45% in 2010. Anxiety in the years immediately after 9/11 led to a brief demand for more spending. But the jihadist wave seems spent. While few (10%) wish to reduce defence spending, only 15% believe ‘much more’ should be spent, and a rise to 3-4% of GDP would be much more.
For the minority of Australians who do want more defence spending, its not clear where they believe that should come from.
From public services, such as health, education or transport, where public demand is increasing? What about taxation? Offering better defence at the price of more taxes would be a courageous step, which is a Westminster euphemism for political death. The Liberal-National coalition, one of the most vocal critics of the Gillard defence policy, does not boast of many tax enthusiasts. More borrowing and higher deficits? That would also be hard. In Australian politics at present, one of the battlegrounds is the issue of fiscal prudence and budget surpluses.
Given the limited domestic demand for more defence spending, what should Canberra do? It could continue to fudge the issue, keeping spending low, postponing funding decisions about new programmes, hedge between conciliating China and aligning with America, and muddle through.
Unfortunately, this approach offers the worst of all worlds. It would make the country more vulnerable to any predators, and has already begun alienating its major ally while irritating Beijing. That path could lead to a dangerous, gradual isolation. It would disqualify Australia from the ranks of ‘Middle Powers’ that the government thinks we have joined.
Alternatively, Canberra could take a clearer decision and adjust its policy to the reality of limited defence budgets. It could consciously choose to accept the risk of under-investing. Like many European states, it could abandon talk of being a Middle Power, and rely on its alliance with America and hope that unlikely but worse case scenarios do not happen. This would lower expectations and save money. But by increasing reliance on diplomacy and allies and abandoning self-reliance, this would place Australia’s security -and destiny- dangerously in others’ hands.
Or the government, and the political class, could try to change opinion. It could encourage the people to want more defence spending, increased over time, and to be willing to pay for it. This would require bold leadership and an unusual level of cross-party consensus. It would mean following the spirit of Edmund Burke, offering the electorate their judgement rather than their obedience.
The one option Canberra does not have is the only certain way to revive Australia’s defences- dissolving the electorate, and appointing another.
The Strategic Studies Institute of the US Army War College has just published my latest effort, a study of America’s strategic choices and the prospects for a grand strategy based on the two principles of Concert and Balance.
The PDF is free to download. Enjoy!
Some further thoughts on why the United States invaded Iraq in 2003. We’ve had a few posts already now that the tenth anniversary has come. But given the magnitude of the decision and since even its most vocal defenders were caught off guard by how costly, lethal and protracted it was, it is worth lingering on the question.
In varying degrees of sophistication, there is a recurrent argument that the Iraq war flowed out of pre-9/11 developments, with 9/11 itself merely functioning as an enabling event deftly exploited by the war party in Washington. But against the grain of some interpretations, some contingencies and one important individual also mattered.
It is tempting to trace the war back to the rise of the muscular nationalists/neoconservatives in the 1990′s who became influential in the Bush Administration and their view that American foreign policy should be about restoring a martial politics of heroic greatness. The War on Terror became their opportunity to reassert American hegemony. Though they were not particularly haunted by the spectres of terrorism and rogue states before 9/11, these figures readily adapted, framing the new threats as a manifestation of a lack of American presence and power, and the market democracy that is its main export, especially in the Arab-Islamic world.
Accordingly, the Bush II Administration used the sense of security crisis to ram through an idea long in the bloodstream – that Saddam’s existence should never have been tolerated, that the US should have blasted on from the border all the way to Baghdad in 1991, and that it was time for so many reasons to settle accounts. More immediate fears such as WMD were a pretext for a long-held ambition.
There are, however, several reasons to limit this argument. WMD was not a mere pretext – the evidence doesn’t permit that judgment. In fact, it was the one thing that disparate pro-war advocates could agree on, as Paul Wolfowitz has claimed, though as Jeffrey Record has shown, it served more as a totem for a whole range of other agendas, such as creating a pro-American democratic ally in Baghdad and in a vital strategic oil-rich position, removing the main rejectionist Arab regime, avenging the humilitations he had meted out, and restoring fear of American power. While Washington and London presented ambiguous, tentative and uncertain evidence as cast-iron certainty, the record suggests that both governments assumed that whatever the evidence, Saddam had a WMD programme.
And as Jon argued yesterday, to translate the ideas of the Vulcans into a concrete policy decision took a lot of persuasion. It took Democrat votes in the Congress – and they voted for war mostly without even looking at the body of evidence that was available for them to inspect. It took the public to buy it. And it took others in the government to be persuaded that Iraq was an achievable thing. The focus on the neocon cabal can also work as an insidious alibi for liberal hawks to shield themselves with, deflecting blame rather than questioning their own judgment.
And, I would argue, it took a President to change his mind. Along with Colin Dueck and others, there is a case that the individual calculations of Presidents matter in foreign policy decisions, and certainly in this case. Before 9/11, President Bush had shown little interest in statecraft or foreign policy questions. He was an adrift President without any serious unifying ideas about the world, beyond a generalised plea for more humility while also asserting a kind of impolite unilateralism on questions of arms control and striking some tough poses on China. If he privately harboured a serious ambition to attack Iraq, it must have been very secret. Neither was Bush a mere cipher for his wicked advisors, as some seem to argue. On important matters he could stubbornly do what he wanted, defying Vice President Cheney to appoint Colin Powell as Secretary of State, for example.
The question should be – how did the resilient idea of launching a war with Iraq attract the most elite sponsorship?What changed? Putting it crudely, 9/11 changed Bush’s mind about the world and about American security. He concluded that in the volatile and fragile security environment brutally unveiled on 9/11, in the world of fanatical irrational opponents who struck without warning, you have to strike your enemies first. Bush’s evolving world view marked the long erosion of faith in classical doctrines of deterrence and containment.
But that only gets us so far. With that world view, one could also be tempted to attack other perceived rogues, whether Iran or North Korea. Bush chose Saddam for another reason: he had grown more and more confident that he could. Why?
Putting it simply, the Bush Administration was pleasantly surprised at how the war was going in Afghanistan after an autumn of fighting, and drew big conclusions from this particular single campaign. Though Bush spoke publicly of a bold and concerted war effort after 9/11, privately the Administration was scared about fighting in Afghanistan. At an NSC meeting on 15 September after 9/11, Paul Wolfowitz argued that Afghanistan was ‘uncertain’, fearing that 100,000 troops could be bogged down in mountain fighting in six months time, whereas Saddam was breakable. There was great apprehensiveness about Afghanistan’s history of ‘rebuffing outside forces’ and the prospect of mountain fighting, quagmire and even overspill into Pakistan. Afghanistan, so the cliché went, was the graveyard of empires.
Iraq, by contrast and according to well organised Iraqi and Kurdish lobbies in America, was a more modern, more politically centralised, more urban and more middle class society that would embrace the market, free elections and constitutional government. Saddam represented a ramshackle impediment- all that had to be done was remove him, and it would turn out that Iraqis were deep-down Ohio republicans waiting to get out. There were, in fact, reform minded and democratic and capitalist Iraqis. But there was also a far deeper, more penetrating B’aath party system and apparatus, leaving a fractured and frightened society behind. But the Bush Administration believed that because the impulse towards the American way would be natural, it could unleash these forces at its will and timetable.
To get confident enough that America could do this at acceptable cost in Iraq, we should look to the ‘first war’ of the war on terror.In the opening rounds of the war in the graveyard of empires in Central Asia, the US suffered only four combat deaths, smashed and scattered the Taliban with a supposedly new ‘way of war’, marrying air power, cash, special forces and indigenous troops as their spearhead.
Jeffrey Record and Bob Woodward have related how the administration was captivated by its speedy and easy destruction of the Taliban regime and believed it could gain a quick and decisive victory in Iraq. On 21 Nov. 2001, the day Bush instructed Rumsfeld to prepare plans for Iraq, he declared that the Taliban were ‘on the run.’
It was also reflected in the extraordinarily narrow and short-termist war planning, in which the complex and long-term business of birthing a new nation-state out of the B’aathist status quo was reduced to a series of essentially tactical and operational questions of the tempo and direction of invasion, the response to any use of chemical or biological weapons, and how to optimise the physical campaign with the lightest possible footprint. The big picture, of power transition, post-conflict order, political reconciliation and rebuilding would…take care of itself.
So crucially, it took the effects of contingencies (9/11 and the pulse of the Afghan campaign) to turn an unfocused president into a war president with a growing belief in the instrument he commanded. That was the cocktail – a mix of fear (Saddam as intolerable enemy) and confidence (Saddam as easy target).
If there is one pattern worth noting, and if this portrait is useful, it is the wild swing from pessimism to optimism, and the unwise mapping of one war onto another and the hasty flight into a hubristic sense of overwhelming power. Iraq pessimists in 2003 would be wrong because they had been wrong in 1991, even though there was a substantial difference between fighting a limited war of territorial expulsion out of Kuwait and fighting a war of regime change in Iraq. Iraq would succeed because a much harder experiment in Afghanistan was succeeding (a mite too early to make that judgment about Afghanistan in 2001), and a wild misreading of the internal communal politics of Iraq, in which the removal of the brutal Saddam Leviathan might not unleash forces for federal democracy, but under the anarchical conditions of a badly-conceived occupation, could ignite fears that one group would turn on another.
There are plenty of other things of course to say about what caused the war. But the emotions and shifting calculations of war matter. Bush, on one hand, was scared in 2003. But he was also not scared enough.
The Global War on Terror in its first decade was marked by a disregard for costs. As Stephen Biddle defined it, the effort to eliminate terrorism (a method of war) of the world-reaching variety through a global liberal crusade. This amounted to the pursuit of ‘absolute security’ – and at almost any price. This was not just an American ideology about pursuing security through launching ambitious wars. It was also articulated strongly by British Prime Minister Tony Blair.
But since the Global Financial Crisis and the wider debt-deficit problem afflicting the Euro-Atlantic world, new austerities mean that the formula has changed. The stated aims and rhetoric are still similar. But now that resources are scarce, the commitment of resources is far more limited.
So in response to the appearance of Al Qaeda offshoots in Algeria and Mali, Prime Minister David Cameron calls Al Qaeda an ‘existential threat’, a ‘generational’ one and a ‘global one.’ So few limits are recognised on the scope and stakes involved, and there is little discrimination or ranking of interests. The ultimate aim of this struggle is not to contain the Al Qaeda network until it becomes a marginal nuisance. It is eradication, or in Cameron’s words ‘ ‘not containment but trying over time to completely overcome them.’ A threat spawning in North Africa, it seems, directly threatens British existence, though it isn’t clear how.
Yet the extent of his commitment to this epochal war is modest. A spyplane, a few advisors, a few hundred troops. Cameron may be the hawkish idealist who has discovered Africa as a haven of terrorism, bloodshed and chaos that the West must rescue and help pacify. But he is also the austerity Prime Minister who continues to cut the defence budget seriously. Cameron might respond that he is trying also to galvanise an international coalition. But short of American or African political will, we know that it will be the Western Atlantic guardians who will be expected to do most of the heavy lifting.
This contradiction – between Cameron’s maximalist rhetoric and limited material commitment – is his response to security crises. Its not necessarily imprudent to scale back on resources, or to have far-reaching aims. But it is a mistake to unbalance the relationship between the two. The size of the policy should be proportionate to the resources and capabilities in hand, and vice versa.
It was not a good thing to conduct a war on terror regardless of cost. But its also disturbing that Cameron apparently disregards the proper relationship between ends and means.
First, rhetoric can trap those who utter it. Bellicose warnings and calls to arms generate expectations of commitment and can create a standard against which one is judged. Cameron announces, effectively, a world war while seriously weakening the country’s ability to conduct (and especially sustain) military operations. The service chiefs have noticed.
Secondly, one of the reasons that the War on Terror has been so exhausting and so costly has been our habit of speaking about the adversary without proportionality, the failure to measure risks and costs soberly. To speak of Al Qaeda, an increasingly marginal, incapable network whose flair for mass casualty terrorism has been weakened, which increasingly loathed in the Muslim world and which was irrelevant to the Arab Spring as an ‘existential threat’ is perverse, but it is precisely that misperception that gives Al Qaeda its most serious basis for future mischief. We are still open to reacting to their provocations in a self-defeating way.
Thirdly, we continue to speak as though the violent chaos of the world is an external thing ‘out there’ that must be tamed by our active intervention as an agent of order. It isn’t actually clear that the world is more dangerous, as Cameron and others keep telling us, than during the Cold War. But isn’t it time we recognised that we are part of that violent chaos? Britain’s war in Libya, which some warned would have unintended consequences, helped to empower the Islamists now threatening Mali and indeed cause a proliferation of Islamist militias, just as it turned Libya over to new torturers and vengeful partisans, a place where black Africans are unsafe to go.
Liberal hawks derided us at the time for catastrophising from the experience of the Iraq war, just as they now urge us to sharpen our swords for a good hard crack at Syria. They blithely move from war to war, revisiting their tactical doctrines and lessons learned, but their idealistic and moralistic conception of the West as Saviour is never in doubt, despite the mounting evidence of the limitations on our power and on our knowledge, and the deadliness of our good intentions.
Finally, this word ‘global.’ What does it mean? Does it mean that Al Qaeda’s power and capabilities are evenly distributed throughout the world. Well, they aren’t. The best they can usually do in the West’s backyard is blow up their underwear. Does it mean that events somewhere must implicate and threaten us? Well, now that we’re watching, its quite difficult to project power from the third world against western core interests, and most jihad is local, not global. What it means most of all is that to question these crusades is to be, gasp, provincial. What globalists call provincial, we might instead call strategic.
One of the most repeated, and most dubious, axioms about strategy is the notion that being proactive is wiser than being reactive, and that reactivity is something we should be allergic to. In the words of Briain’s foreign secretary William Hague, ‘the nation that is purely reactive in foreign policy is in decline.’
Likewise, written into the folklore of the US foreign policy establishment is the notion that the ‘strategic shocks’ that struck America – such as Imperial Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor or 9/11 – happened because Washington was passively sleeping. A quick read of Presidential speeches on the anniversary of that attack shows how powerful the creed of active vigilantism lives on, even if it doesn’t power all of America’s day to day behaviour.
Never mind that a prehistory of activism triggered both crises, whether an escalating conflict in the form of economic warfare with Japan, or deep entanglement with the very regimes that galvanised Al Qaeda to take its war to the far enemy. The logic still goes: it is wiser to be active, shape the environment so that it precludes threats.
The trouble with being proactive is that it implies a confidence about forecasting the future. What if world politics is too chaotic to anticipate? Can we make strategy if we can’t predict? This problem is implicit within many ‘strategic’ documents and general theories of strategy – which start by announcing that the future is unpredictable, before going on to…predict it.
This post runs a little against the spirit of the year 2012. After all, what a year it has been for the issue of prognostication in politics. As in moneyball, when the scientific statisticians and big-data interpreters triumph over the primitive ‘gut instinct’ scouts of the Oakland A’s, so too in US domestic politics have the ‘quants’ such as Nate Silver shown that voting behaviour can be forecast with spooky accuracy with big enough data and rigorous enough method.
But let’s assume, for the sake of argument, that international life isn’t as open to being forecast, that for a range of reasons, the world can’t have a Nate Silver, or at least not yet. Triggering events that precipitate revolutions are by definition hard to foretell. The little contingencies that tilt actors towards and away from conflict likewise. As for surprise attacks, often it isn’t a lack of data, but too much information and too much noise, and too much deception, out of which it is hard to extract meaningful intelligence. If that weren’t difficult enough, sometimes the experience of intelligence failure, such as the invasion that doesn’t happen, can desensitise regimes to the actual one. Warning failure has a long and dispiriting history.
In wider political contexts, expert prediction also apparently has a dismal record, roughly at the accuracy rate of dart throwing monkeys. Some of the liveliest expert minds have gotten big things so very wrong, such as the CIA regional guru praising the Shah’s stabilising rule six months before the Revolution. As for the fall of the Berlin Wall, not many scholars could say I told you so.
The belief in noble activism above futile ‘reactivism’ does not just flow from an overconfidence about the knowability of the future. It can also be symptomatic of an ideology about one’s own place in world order. Some documents, such as the National Security Strategies on both sides of the pond, tend to portray a world that is chaotic and dangerous, but cast their own nations as bringers of order into that chaos, rather than unwitting agents of it. Being proactive – or indeed pre-emptive -in itself can generate trouble and blowback.
So what? If international life is too full of surprises, and if foreign policy activism can generate chaos that it never imagined, where does that leave strategy? Two contrasting responses might be that we should refine our predictive tools and methods. Alternatively, as some diplomats say quietly behind the scenes, we should abandon strategic planning as a fictitious and unrealistic exercise, and just react as we go along.
But there is a third response: maybe we can get better at horizon scanning up to a point, at least to be more aware of warning signals in general if not in particular, and to have a better idea of the spectrum of possibilities. But waybe we should also reconcile ourselves to the inevitability of shock as a constant feature of international life.
In that case, there is a form of strategy that deserves more serious thinking. It is what Walter Lippmann referred to as building up a ‘comfortable surplus of power’ in reserve. We can’t know exactly when or how shocks will turn up, whether on the Korean peninsula or in the Persian Gulf. But less activism and obsession with controlling the environment in advance would free up resources and time to deal with the unexpected and unknown. A reconception of military power not as an instrument to be continually expended and used, but as an insurance policy that is valuable even if it is mostly in the background, would help. And, in a measure, an acceptance of chaos and a touch more reactivism would help us resist the very ideology of confident hyper-activism that makes us so shock-able in the first place.