Two weeks ago, on a Sunday, the last U.S. Army ground troops left Iraq, transferring responsibility for military action to the Iraqi government and its army. The U.S. presence there is still substantial with the largest American embassy in the world (think Fort Knox without the gold) , 15,000 contractor personnel, and an unknown number of counterinsurgency forces, our newest answer to military force projection. But this is not the first time we left a country after a protracted war with a dubious outcome. Our inability to learn our lessons from the Vietnam War led directly to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Why are we so damn dumb about war?
Almost forty years ago our long ordeal in Vietnam finally came to an end. After the North Vietnamese New Year Tet Offensive of 1968, American opinion began to turn against the War. As American casualties mounted, and predictions of eminent success waned, a transition from the U.S. Army to the South Vietnamese army began, a process called Vietnamization. This ineffective effort failed to stabilize South Vietnam leading to the Paris Peace Accords of 1973 and total capitulation of their government in 1975.
In the immediate aftermath of the War, even the war hawks were silenced by the U.S. defeat. Incredibly, polling showed that many who had favored military action claimed they had never supported the war. The U.S. public realized that the Vietnam War had been a monumental failure and a strong backlash emerged suggesting that we would not make such a grievous error again. Losing the War, and that’s what we did, was an unprecedented national embarrassment and major blow to our collective ego. Vietnam had been a tremendous waste of national will and resources but at least an important lesson had been learned, or at least it seemed at the time.
Then came the election of Ronald Reagan. A mythology was developed, beginning on the extreme right but eventually spreading to the public at large via the mainstream media, which claimed that the U.S. would have prevailed if we had only kept up the military pressure on the North, or if the Democrats had not sabotaged the effort by eliminating funding, or if antiwar protests had not turned the tide of public opinion. None of these fantasies was true: the U.S. phase of the War had gone on for more than nine years, plenty long enough for a military victory if such a thing were possible. Except for a few courageous Democrats and Republicans the War drew little public criticism from establishment elites. After the student deaths at Kent State University and Jackson State University in 1970, the antiwar protests withered and eventually died out.
Thirty years later came the Iraq and Afghanistan Wars. Though often denied by American elites, there were striking similarities to the Vietnam War: an inept and corrupt government was established and maintained with the use of U.S. military force; the massive use of airpower temporarily outweighed the fierce resistance encountered on the ground; the failed Iraqization (and Afganization) of the War paralleled Vietnamization; and it was again said that U.S. opponents used “unfair” methods, such as IEDs, to offset the huge military advantages the U.S. possessed. Unlike the Vietnam War, American elites in opposition to the Iraq War were much less visible. Like the Vietnam War, student and other popular protests against the Iraq War sputtered and then died as the public acquiesced before the monolithic power of the Bush administration and its “Global War on Terrorism”.
As with the Vietnam War, coverage by the mainstream news media, rife with misinformation and outright disinformation, offered uncritical acceptance of the military course of action in Iraq. The media’s narrative of the War focused on the personal costs of deploying troops for multiple enlistments, frustrating any meaningful public discussion or criticism of the War. Tearful airport scenes of reuniting families were televised frequently, especially during the holidays, but there was never any serious public questioning of why sacrifice was necessary. Unlike the Vietnam War, no Walter Cronkite emerged to speak truth to power. Similar to the Tet Offensive, when the Iraq War developed into a civil war instead of a conflict between competing systems of economic or philosophical beliefs, the American public began to lose interest in the war they had initially supported.
As with the Vietnam War, national hubris carried with it a huge price. Having badly stubbed our toe on an immovable object we will be understandably reluctant to do the same thing again, at least for a while. But when the painful memories have subsided will we be ready for another thoughtless, destructive rampage? The past suggests that our answer to this question will be yes.
So, why are we so damn dumb about war? Why do we keep making the same mistakes?
Since the Spanish American War, the arbitrary and capricious use of military power has become deeply engrained in the American psyche. At least a quarter of the public is ready to go to war against any “evil” opponent for nearly any reason, at any time, and at any cost. The psychological thrill and sociological unity of supporting an aggressive military behemoth remains attractive in the U.S. as it has been in many nations in the past.
Will the U.S. missions in Iraq and Afghanistan be deemed successes or failures? Clearly, in the terms originally set out by their initiators, these wars are both failures. But just as a mythology was created about the U.S. loss in Vietnam, another generation of apologists for war will emerge to rationalize the Iraq and Afghan Wars as being either outright successes or excusable failures. As with the Vietnam War, the key to wide acceptance of these arguments lies not in their inherent validity but in the receptiveness of the American people to believe them. Folks like their stories. Tales that make them feel better about themselves and the country they live in. Fictions that make them feel individually and collectively powerful.
The trick to driving on muddy roads is to steer in the deep ruts made by previous traffic. Any attempt to leave the existing ruts is met with resistance and instability. It is so much easier to travel the well-worn path even when it’s not really where we should go. These deep ruts are what made it so easy for George Bush to lure us into war and what makes it so difficult for Barack Obama to lead us in a new direction. As Frost suggests, we must learn to take the road less traveled.