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On September 11th, 22 years later, what are we to make of it all? Who even remembers that, as the Pentagon burned, then-Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld picked up a scrap of hijacked American Airlines Flight 77 from the smoking ruins of that building. Soon after, he would tell his aides (as one of them scribbled down): "Near term target needs go massive sweep it all up, things related and not." That "and not" meant, among other matters, Saddam Hussein, the autocratic ruler of Iraq who had been a Rumsfeld target before 9/11 ever happened.
Of course, the invasion of Afghanistan came first, but that "or not" arrived in the spring of 2003 and the rest is the worst and saddest sort of history imaginable. In a sense, so much should have been so obvious so fast. After all, within days of those suicide attacks, Vice President Dick Cheney was already swearing that al-Qaeda's Osama bin Laden would face the "full wrath" of American military might and Rumsfeld was making it clear that such wrath could involve "a large multi-headed effort that probably spans 60 countries."
Today, that never-ending disaster known as "the war on terror" has resulted in the deaths of nearly a million people and the "indirect deaths" of perhaps 3.6 million more. That certainly gives Rumsfeld's "and not" a deeper meaning, as does today's author Norman Solomon's new book, War Made Invisible: How America Hides the Human Toll of Its Military Machine (which Noam Chomsky called "gripping and painful"). In it, he describes how the U.S. turned much of the planet into a global free-fire zone. With that in mind, consider with Solomon just what that war has meant for the rest of us. Tom
How 9/11 Bred a "War on Terror" from Hell
America's Response to 9/11 in the Lens of History
[Today's piece is adapted from the introduction to Norman Solomon's book War Made Invisible: How America Hides the Human Toll of Its Military Machine (The New Press, 2023).]
The day after the U.S. government began routinely bombing faraway places, the lead editorial in the New York Times expressed some gratification. Nearly four weeks had passed since 9/11, the newspaper noted, and America had finally stepped up its "counterattack against terrorism" by launching airstrikes on al-Qaeda training camps and Taliban military targets in Afghanistan. "It was a moment we have expected ever since September 11," the editorial said. "The American people, despite their grief and anger, have been patient as they waited for action. Now that it has begun, they will support whatever efforts it takes to carry out this mission properly."
As the United States continued to drop bombs in Afghanistan, Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld's daily briefings catapulted him into a stratosphere of national adulation. As the Washington Post's media reporter put it: "Everyone is genuflecting before the Pentagon powerhouse" America's new rock star." That winter, the host of NBC's Meet the Press, Tim Russert, told Rumsfeld: "Sixty-nine years old and you're America's stud."
The televised briefings that brought such adoration included claims of deep-seated decency in what was by then already known as the Global War on Terror. "The targeting capabilities, and the care that goes into targeting, to see that the precise targets are struck, and that other targets are not struck, is as impressive as anything anyone could see," Rumsfeld asserted. And he added, "The weapons that are being used today have a degree of precision that no one ever dreamt of."
Whatever their degree of precision, American weapons were, in fact, killing a lot of Afghan civilians. The Project on Defense Alternatives concluded that American air strikes had killed more than 1,000 civilians during the last three months of 2001. By mid-spring 2002, the Guardian reported, "as many as 20,000 Afghans may have lost their lives as an indirect consequence of the U.S. intervention."
Eight weeks after the intensive bombing had begun, however, Rumsfeld dismissed any concerns about casualties: "We did not start this war. So understand, responsibility for every single casualty in this war, whether they're innocent Afghans or innocent Americans, rests at the feet of al-Qaeda and the Taliban." In the aftermath of 9/11, the process was fueling a kind of perpetual emotion machine without an off switch.
Under the "war on terror" rubric, open-ended warfare was well underway "as if terror were a state and not a technique," as Joan Didion wrote in 2003 (two months before the U.S. invasion of Iraq). "We had seen, most importantly, the insistent use of September 11 to justify the reconception of America's correct role in the world as one of initiating and waging virtually perpetual war."
In a single sentence, Didion had captured the essence of a quickly calcified set of assumptions that few mainstream journalists were willing to question. Those assumptions were catnip for the lions of the military-industrial-intelligence complex. After all, the budgets at "national security" agencies (both long-standing and newly created) had begun to soar with similar vast outlays going to military contractors. Worse yet, there was no end in sight as mission creep accelerated into a dash for cash.
For the White House, the Pentagon, and Congress, the war on terror offered a political license to kill and displace people on a large scale in at least eight countries. The resulting carnage often included civilians. The dead and maimed had no names or faces that reached those who signed the orders and appropriated the funds. And as the years went by, the point seemed to be not winning that multicontinental war but continuing to wage it, a means with no plausible end. Stopping, in fact, became essentially unthinkable. No wonder Americans couldn't be heard wondering aloud when the "war on terror" would end. It wasn't supposed to.
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