Here's the bedrock reality of Washington's twenty-first-century conflicts, though: no matter what "strategy" is concocted to fight them, we'll always remain short-time tourists in long-term wars.
Imperial Tourism: A Surefire Recipe for Defeat
It's all so tragically predictable. When it's imperial tourists against foreign "terrorists," guess who wins? No knock on American troops. They have no shortage of can-do spirit. They fight to win. But when their imperial vacations (military interventions/invasions) morph into neocolonial staycations (endless exercises in nation-building, troop training, security assistance, and the like), they have already lost, no matter how many "having a great time" letters -- or rather glowing progress reports to Congress -- are sent to the folks back home.
By definition, tourists, imperial or otherwise, always want to go home in the end. The enemy, from the beginning, is generally already home. And no clever tactics, no COIN (or counterinsurgency) handbook, no fancy, high-tech weapons or robotic man-hunters are ever going to change that fundamental reality.
It was a dynamic already obvious five decades ago in Vietnam: a ticket-punching mentality that involved the constant rotation of units and commanders; a process of needless reinvention of the most basic knowledge as units deployed, bugged out, and were then replaced by new units; and the use of all kinds of grim, newfangled weapons and sensors, everything from Agent Orange and napalm to the electronic battlefield and the latest fighter planes and bombers -- all for naught. Under such conditions, even the U.S. superpower lacked staying power, precisely because it never intended to stay. The "staying" aspect of the Vietnam War was often referred to in the U.S. as a "quagmire." For the Vietnamese, of course, their country was no "big muddy" that sucked you down. It was home. They had little choice in the matter; they stayed -- and fought.
Combine a military with a tourist-like itinerary and a mentality to match, a high command that in its own rotating responsibilities lacks all accountability for mistakes, and a byzantine, top-heavy bureaucracy, and you turn out to have a surefire recipe for defeat. And once again, in the twenty-first century, whether among the rank and file or at the very top, there's little continuity or accountability involved in America's military presence in foreign lands. Commanders are constantly rotated in and out of war zones. There's often a new one every year. (I count 17 commanders for the International Security Assistance Force for Afghanistan, the U.S.-led military coalition, since December 2001.) U.S. troops may serve multiple overseas tours, yet they are rarely sent back to the same area. Tours are sequential, not cumulative, and so the learning curve exhibited is flat.
There's a scene at the beginning of season four of "Homeland" in which ex-CIA chief Saul Berenson is talking with some four-star generals. He says: "If we'd known in 2001 we were staying in Afghanistan this long, we'd have made some very different choices. Right? Instead, our planning cycles rarely looked more than 12 months ahead. So it hasn't been a 14-year war we've been waging, but a one-year war waged 14 times."
True enough. In Afghanistan and Iraq as well, the U.S. has fought sequentially rather than cumulatively. Not surprisingly, such sequential efforts, no matter how massive and costly, simply haven't added up. It's just one damn tour after another.
But the fictional Saul's tagline on Afghanistan is more suspect: "I think we're walking away with the job half done." For him, as well as for the Washington establishment of this moment, the U.S. needs to stay the course (at least until 2017, according to President Obama's recent announcement), during which time assumedly we'll at long last stumble upon the El-Dorado-like long-term strategy in which America actually prevails.
Of course, the option that's never on Washington's table is the obvious and logical one: simply to end imperial tourism. With apologies to Elton John, "sorry" is only the second hardest word for U.S. officials. The first is "farewell."
A big defeat (Vietnam, 1975) might keep imperial tourism fever in check for a while. But give us a decade or three and Americans are back at it, humping foreign hills again, hoping against hope that this year's trip will be better than the previous year's disaster.
In other words, a sustainable long-term strategy for Afghanistan is precisely what the U.S. government has failed to produce for 14 years! Why should 2015 or 2017 or 2024 be any different than 2002 or 2009 or indeed any other year of American involvement?
At some level, the U.S. military knows it's screwed. That's why its commanders tinker so much with weapons and training and technology and tactics. It's the stuff they can control, the stuff that seems real in a way that foreign peoples aren't (at least to us). Let's face it: past as well as current events suggest that guns and how to use them are what Americans know best.
But foreign lands and peoples? We can't control them. We don't understand them. We can't count on them. They're just part of the landscape we're eternally passing through -- sometimes as people to help and places to rebuild, other times as people to kill and places to destroy. What they aren't is truly real. They are the tourist attractions of American war making, sometimes exotic, sometimes deadly, but (for us) strangely lacking in substance.
And that is precisely why we fail.
William J. Astore, a retired lieutenant colonel (USAF) and professor of history, is a TomDispatch regular. He edits the blog the Contrary Perspective.
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