Turning on axis distorts aim: The US should exercise restraint and prudence in its mission against the evils of terrorism

As far as American foreign policy is concerned, there have been, and still are, two very different traditions existing alongside each other: realism and American exceptionalism.

From George Washington's warning that ‘no nation is to be trusted farther than it is bound to its interest’ to the Cold War struggle between two great powers, the US has a long and healthy realist tradition. But the doctrine of American exceptionalism—the belief that the US is exceptional, in the double sense that it is superior and that it is different, not only in degree but in kind—has also been a powerful force in the country.

After World War I, American idealism and realism clashed head on; after World War II, they were in balance; after the third conflict, the Cold War, they have to a considerable extent merged to produce a kind of oxymoron—a crusading realism, Wilsonianism with muscle. So the foreign policy of the US can be understood only in terms of a complicated and fluctuating interaction between these two traditions.

But how do the events of September 11 fit into this conceptual framework?

First, they have re-energised America's sense of mission. Those who advocate assertiveness and dominance and a reshaping of the world have been greatly strengthened.

‘American imperialism’, hitherto a term of abuse used by the Left, is now embraced with approval by some influential figures. The sense of mission is expressed in universal, unlimited terms, not just as destroying the perpetrators of the acts of September 11, but as destroying all terrorist groups, everywhere: ‘It will not end until every terrorist group of global reach has been found, stopped and defeated’.

The world is conceptualised in simple Manichean terms as a global conflict between good and evil, in which there is no room for neutrality or prevarication: ‘Every nation, in every region, now has a decision to make. Either you are with us, or you are with the terrorists’.

Second, the events of September 11 have changed the emphasis of that mission from a positive one to a negative one: from promoting good to crushing evil. Pace John Quincy Adams, America is now precisely and avowedly going abroad ‘in search of monsters to destroy’.

Third, and following from this, the emphasis has shifted from changing the world by example and influence to changing it by force. The key governmental institution in America's dealings with the rest of the world is now not the State Department but the Department of Defense. There have been statements at the presidential level indicating the possibility of intervention in countries considered ‘timid in the face of terror’ and the possibility of first use of nuclear weapons, even against countries that do not possess those weapons.

Fourth, for a nation that considers itself ‘a city on a hill’, the sense of violation and outrage now prevailing in Washington is vast. Many other countries—Britain, France, Germany, Russia, Japan, Italy—have suffered much, much greater damage by violence in living memory, but the sense of violation, of an upsetting of the natural order of things, in the US is almost certainly greater than it was in any of those.

Fifth, one should also bear in mind the American capacity for ruthless action against those it regards as its violators. (In the last five months of World War II alone, US bombing raids killed more than 900,000 Japanese civilians—and that was before the dropping of the two atom bombs.)

Sixth, the monsters that the US is committed to destroy, the monsters of terrorism, are particularly elusive and amorphous ones who hide behind facades either manufactured by themselves or provided by others. This makes things more complicated and increases greatly the likelihood that the US will make mistakes, probably serious mistakes, in its war against terrorism, particularly if it becomes frustrated by lack of success.

Finally, the tendency for the US to set aside the restraints of multilateralism and to act unilaterally—a tendency always latent in American exceptionalism—has been increased significantly. Asked by CNN television interviewer Larry King, ‘Is it important that the coalition hold?’ (that is, the coalition to fight al-Qa'ida), Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld serenely replied ‘No’, going on to say ‘the worst thing you can do is allow a coalition to determine what your mission is’.

During the 1990s, I spent a lot of time arguing with a lot of conservative friends in Washington that the US should use its position of dominance, its vast power, with restraint, discrimination and prudence. I argued that anything resembling a ‘democratic crusade’ or the imposition of a ‘new world order’ was a bad idea. After all, democracy is not an export commodity but a do-it-yourself enterprise that requires special conditions. Besides, an assertive, interventionist policy was bound to generate widespread hostility, suspicion, and if historical precedence meant anything, concerted political opposition to the US.

I, and others who argued along these lines, did not have much success. We were met with assertions, either conscious or unconscious, of American exceptionalism. If other dominant powers that had thrown their weight around—the Spain of Philip II; the France of Louis XIV and Napoleon; the Germany of Kaiser Wilhelm II and Hitler—had been met by hostile coalitions, the US would not, because its nature and motives were different (because the American people were different) and others would realise that they were.

If my warnings had any validity five or 10 years ago, they might have more today. The great sympathy felt for the US after September 11 has evaporated and is quickly being replaced by suspicion and hostility. Rosemary Righter, chief editorial writer of The Times, has observed: ‘America-bashing is in fashion as it has not been since Vietnam’, and she is talking not of Asia and the Middle East, but of London and Paris and Berlin. And she observes that it is not just a case of the usual suspects on the Left, but that a ‘resurgent anti-Americanism’ exists across the political spectrum.

The danger in this is not of a hostile military response. The US is too strong for that. It is rather of a gathering political hostility which leaves America both dominant and increasingly disliked and isolated. This would be an extremely unhealthy state of affairs, not just for the US but for the world.

Let me be clear: After the outrage of September 11, I do not believe that the US could have reacted in any way other than as it did. But doing so will carry a cost. The long-term significance of what happened some months ago may be that it has driven America decisively along a road that—by emphasising its military dominance, by requiring it to use its vast power conspicuously and intrusively, by making restraint and moderation virtually impossible, and by making unilateralism an increasing feature of American behaviour—is bound to generate widespread and increased criticism and hostility. That may turn out to be the greatest tragedy of September 11.
 
 

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About the Author:
Owen Harries, a Senior Fellow at The Centre for Independent Studies in Sydney, was Editor of The National Interest in Washington from 1985 to 2001. This is an extract from his address at ABN-Amro in Sydney on April 3, 2002