[continued]
Similarly, the constriction of legal rights which followed September 11, particularly those related to personal privacy, are beginning to spark debate. The initial assumption was that the public and Congress would defer to the Executive and accept whatever actions it deemed necessary. The uproar over the Administration's initial unwillingness to adhere to the 1970 Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act demonstrated that this may not hold. So the dilemma persists: by casting the conflict with terror and violent Islamic extremism as a war, the Bush administration indicated that it held the right to constrict personal privacy rights. But by describing a war with no end point (or at least one far in the future), it broke with the tradition of approaching such constrictions as temporary expedients. It is not clear at this point that the public and Congress are willing to accept a permanent shift in traditional privacy rights, particularly without open debate on it. But the tension remains: if the “war on terror” is a war without end, must the United States accept a permanent wartime restriction of privacy rights?
Logically, casting the conflict as war militarized it. This, as Andrew Bacevich persuasively argues, amplified the militarization of American statecraft which had been underway for several decades. While the American public is accustomed to metaphorical uses of the word "war"—the "war on poverty," the "war on drugs"—the war on terror was not presented that way. It was portrayed as a real war. By definition, real wars are primarily resolved by military force. This logic train forced American strategy in a particular direction—toward a heavy emphasis on state support of transnational terrorism, including the provision of funding, sanctuary, intelligence, and, potentially, advanced technology. If state support was not vital to transnational terrorism, then the utility of military force was limited. But the idea of a real war where military force had limited utility was counterintuitive. The only way to reconcile this logical discontinuity was to emphasize state support even though there was little evidence that al Qaeda depended on state support.
America’s state-centric approach to strategy goes even further. To make the case that a state of war exists with Islamic extremists, American policymakers portrayed them as potential states. Hence the frequent mention of al Qaeda’s quest for a "new caliphate" which would, in President Bush's words, be "a unified, totalitarian Islamic state." In other words, to justify a state of war against a non-state enemy, we have cast them as a potential state. And not just any state, but a totalitarian one. We have, in other words, as new Hitlers, Stalins, or Saddam Husseins. One example of this thinking is the use of the term "Islamofascism" which is often used in right wing talk radio, by neoconservatives, administration policymakers, and others attracted to the idea of defining America’s purpose by a moral crusade against evil. Given that fascism is defined by hyper-nationalism, corporatist economics, the militarization of society, and the concentration of political power in the hands of a single dictator, the Islamic extremists, however vile and evil they may be, are most certainly not fascists by the normal definition of that emotion-laden word. While bin Laden may not yet be a Hitler, Stalin, or even Saddam Hussein, the thinking goes, he wants to be even in the absence of evidence. It is not enough for America’s enemy to be evil (which al Qaeda certainly is) but it also has to be a familitar type of evil—an aggressive, “fascist” movement. This has emotional appeal to Americans but gives foreign audiences—including the Islamic populations that we seek to influence—the impression that we do not truly understand the threat, thus undercutting our effectiveness in the “war of ideas.” Repeating the word “Islamofascism” does not increase its resonance in the Islamic world.
Certainly the leaders of al Qaeda have mentioned the idea of a restored caliphate. When Islam was politically unified, they believe, it was strong; when it fractured into nation states, it was vulnerable to interference and domination by non-Muslims, particularly the West. Hence it should be unified again. But there is little sign that al Qaeda has any sort of real strategy or program to create a unified Islamic state, or that the extremists could, in fact, rule one should it be created. Most of Al Qaeda's thinking derives from the salafi tradition in Islam. One of its characteristics is that "warriors"—which is the way the members of al Qaeda perceive themselves—do not rule Islamic states. Clerics, scholars, and jurists do. The role of the warrior is to please God by defending Islam, leaving the construction and administration of governments to others.
Ultimately al Qaeda can kill and destroy but cannot create or administer. As salafists, al Qaeda has no executable political plan or strategy. They are not like the Bolsheviks and Nazis who had explicit political plans and strategies even before they seized power. Recent history suggests that even should al Qaeda's allies or affiliates take power somewhere, they stand little chance of unifying the Islamic world, much less creating a super-state which can challenge the United States. It is hard to imagine, for instance, the benighted Afghan Mullah Mohammed Omar, whom Osama bin Laden considered the paragon of an Islamic leader, ruling a modern, powerful state which could challenge the West. It is equally hard to imagine that Indonesians, Bangladeshi, Indians, Afghans, Iranians, Turks, Kurds, Chechen, Uzbeks, and others would accept an Arab-dominated super state, or that Arabs would accept a caliphate ruled by one of these other nationalities. To the extent that we can glean any sort of political program or plan from the Islamic extremists, it is a recipe for a failed state. The "new caliphate" is, like the medieval European idea of "Christendom," a fantasy, clung to by both some Islamic extremists and some Americans. It is a rhetorical and ideological device, not a realistic strategic objective. To build American strategy on the delusions of our opponents rather than their capabilities is a mistake. To distort al Qaeda into the type of enemy we know and understand—a Hitler, Stalin, or Saddam Hussein who can be defeated by war—may be emotionally appealing, but it does not reflect reality. And by pretending that the threat from Islamic extremists is something it is not, we are less able to deal with the threat that it is.
Today we portray the conflict with violent Islamic extremists it as war but have not put the United States on a war footing. There has been little call for sacrifice by the American people. While the “war on terror” is now second in cost only to World War II, there is no rationing, no war-related tax increases, and no military draft. The costs have either been deferred by the combination of tax cuts and deficit spending, muted by the narrow range of American society which provides the bulk of the U.S. military, or so abstract that they matter little to the public (for instance, most Americans are unconcerned with constrictions of personal privacy because they feel that since they are not involved with terrorism, the constrictions do not affect them).
This dissonance between the rhetoric of war and the reality of sustaining the nation on a non-war footing creates confusion and undercuts the effectiveness of American strategy. Even Americans who would like to contribute to the effort have little idea of how to do so. This dissonance has international dimensions as well. Many of America’s partners, particularly the Europeans, do not consider war the appropriate or most effective response to Islamic extremism. Most partner states do not believe terror is an enemy that can be defeated in war or is amenable to military force. The result is a maelstrom of mutual frustration. Americans become frustrated with partners and friends who critique our actions and refuse support during what we see as a time of war. The partners are frustrated by what they see as the American desire to resolve a problem not amenable to military force via military force, and to demand acquiescence. So long as the United States assumes the conflict with terror and violent Islamic extremism is a war and key partners do not, this dissonance can only increase.
In the early days of the “war on terror” Michael Howard warned:
...to use, or rather the misuse the term “war” is not simply a matter of legality or pedantic semantics. It has deeper and more dangerous consequences. To declare that one is at war is immediately to create a war psychosis that may be totally counterproductive for the objective being sought. It arouses an immediate expectation, and demand, for spectacular military action against some easily identifiable adversary, preferably a hostile state—action leading to decisive results.
The war against Iraq is a perfect illustration. No one thought that removing Saddam Hussein would deal a serious blow to the transnational terrorist network which attacked the United States on September 11. But because we portrayed the conflict as war, we were compelled to undertake warlike actions. Saddam Hussein was not the most dangerous opponent the United States faced, but he was the one who looked the most like our traditional image of an enemy. There is an old saying that when all one has is a hammer, every problem begins to look like a nail. Saddam Hussein was an annoying and convenient nail.
Originally Posted by Global Scout
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