INDONESIA IS A nation of islands—more than seventeen thousand in all, spreadalong the equator between the Indian and Pacific Oceans, between Australia and theSouth China Sea. Most Indonesians are of Malay stock and live on the larger islands ofJava, Sumatra, Kalimantan, Sulawesi, and Bali. On the far eastern islands like Ambonand the Indonesian portion of New Guinea the people are, in varying degrees, ofMelanesian ancestry1. Indonesia’s climate is tropical, and its rain forests were onceteeming with exotic species like the orangutan and the Sumatran tiger. Today, those rainforests are rapidly dwindling2, victim to logging, mining, and the cultivation3 of rice, tea,coffee, and palm oil. Deprived of their natural habitat, orangutans are now anendangered species; no more than a few hundred Sumatran tigers remain in the wild.
With more than 240 million people, Indonesia’s population ranks fourth in the world,behind China, India, and the United States. More than seven hundred ethnic4 groupsreside within the country’s borders, and more than 742 languages are spoken there.
Almost 90 percent of Indonesia’s population practice Islam, making it the world’slargest Muslim nation. Indonesia is OPEC’s only Asian member, although as aconsequence of aging infrastructure7, depleted8 reserves, and high domestic consumptionit is now a net importer of crude oil. The national language is Bahasa Indonesia. Thecapital is Jakarta. The currency is the rupiah.
Most Americans can’t locate Indonesia on a map.
This fact is puzzling to Indonesians, since for the past sixty years the fate of their nationhas been directly tied to U.S. foreign policy. Ruled by a succession of sultanates andoften-splintering kingdoms for most of its history, the archipelago became a Dutchcolony—the Dutch East Indies—in the 1600s, a status that would last for more thanthree centuries. But in the lead-up to World War II, the Dutch East Indies’ ample oilreserves became a prime target of Japanese expansion; having thrown its lot in with theAxis powers and facing a U.S.-imposed oil embargo10, Japan needed fuel for its militaryand industry. After the attack on Pearl Harbor, Japan moved swiftly to take over theDutch colony, an occupation that would last for the duration of the war.
With the Japanese surrender in 1945, a budding Indonesian nationalist movementdeclared the country’s independence. The Dutch had other ideas, and attempted toreclaim their former territory. Four bloody11 years of war ensued. Eventually the Dutchbowed to mounting international pressure (the U.S. government, already concerned withthe spread of communism under the banner of anticolonialism, threatened theNetherlands with a cutoff of Marshall Plan funds) and recognized Indonesia’ssovereignty. The principal leader of the independence movement, a charismatic,flamboyant figure named Sukarno, became Indonesia’s first president.
Sukarno proved to be a major disappointment to Washington. Along with Nehru ofIndia and Nasser of Egypt, he helped found the nonaligned movement, an effort bynations newly liberated12 from colonial rule to navigate13 an independent path between theWest and the Soviet14 bloc15. Indonesia’s Communist Party, although never formally inpower, grew in size and influence. Sukarno himself ramped16 up the anti-Westernrhetoric, nationalizing key industries, rejecting U.S. aid, and strengthening ties with theSoviets and China. With U.S. forces knee-deep in Vietnam and the domino theory still acentral tenet of U.S. foreign policy, the CIA began providing covert18 support to variousinsurgencies inside Indonesia, and cultivated close links with Indonesia’s militaryofficers, many of whom had been trained in the United States. In 1965, under theleadership of General Suharto, the military moved against Sukarno, and underemergency powers began a massive purge19 of communists and their sympathizers.
According to estimates, between 500,000 and one million people were slaughteredduring the purge, with 750,000 others imprisoned21 or forced into exile.
It was two years after the purge began, in 1967, the same year that Suharto assumed thepresidency, that my mother and I arrived in Jakarta, a consequence of her remarriage toan Indonesian student whom she’d met at the University of Hawaii. I was six at thetime, my mother twenty-four. In later years my mother would insist that had she knownwhat had transpired23 in the preceding months, we never would have made the trip. Butshe didn’t know—the full story of the coup24 and the purge was slow to appear inAmerican newspapers. Indonesians didn’t talk about it either. My stepfather, who hadseen his student visa revoked25 while still in Hawaii and had been conscripted into theIndonesian army a few months before our arrival, refused to talk politics with mymother, advising her that some things were best forgotten.
And in fact, forgetting the past was easy to do in Indonesia. Jakarta was still a sleepybackwater in those days, with few buildings over four or five stories high, cyclerickshaws outnumbering cars, the city center and wealthier sections of town—with theircolonial elegance26 and lush, well-tended lawns—quickly giving way to clots27 of smallvillages with unpaved roads and open sewers29, dusty markets, and shanties30 of mud andbrick and plywood and corrugated31 iron that tumbled down gentle banks to murky32 riverswhere families bathed and washed laundry like pilgrims in the Ganges.
Our family was not well off in those early years; the Indonesian army didn’t pay itslieutenants much. We lived in a modest house on the outskirts33 of town, without air-conditioning, refrigeration, or flush toilets. We had no car—my stepfather rode amotorcycle, while my mother took the local jitney service every morning to the U.S.
embassy, where she worked as an English teacher. Without the money to go to theinternational school that most expatriate children attended, I went to local Indonesianschools and ran the streets with the children of farmers, servants, tailors, and clerks.
As a boy of seven or eight, none of this concerned me much. I remember those years asa joyous34 time, full of adventure and mystery—days of chasing down chickens andrunning from water buffalo35, nights of shadow puppets and ghost stories and streetvendors bringing delectable36 sweets to our door. As it was, I knew that relative to ourneighbors we were doing fine—unlike many, we always had enough to eat.
And perhaps more than that, I understood, even at a young age, that my family’s statuswas determined37 not only by our wealth but by our ties to the West. My mother mightscowl at the attitudes she heard from other Americans in Jakarta, their condescensiontoward Indonesians, their unwillingness38 to learn anything about the country that washosting them—but given the exchange rate, she was glad to be getting paid in dollarsrather than the rupiahs her Indonesian colleagues at the embassy were paid. We mightlive as Indonesians lived—but every so often my mother would take me to theAmerican Club, where I could jump in the pool and watch cartoons and sip39 Coca-Colato my heart’s content. Sometimes, when my Indonesian friends came to our house, Iwould show them books of photographs, of Disneyland or the Empire State Building,that my grandmother had sent me; sometimes we would thumb through the SearsRoebuck catalog and marvel40 at the treasures on display. All this, I knew, was part of myheritage and set me apart, for my mother and I were citizens of the United States,beneficiaries of its power, safe and secure under the blanket of its protection.
The scope of that power was hard to miss. The U.S. military conducted joint41 exerciseswith the Indonesian military and training programs for its officers. President Suhartoturned to a cadre of American economists42 to design Indonesia’s development plan,based on free-market principles and foreign investment. American developmentconsultants formed a steady line outside government ministries44, helping45 to manage themassive influx46 of foreign assistance from the U.S. Agency for InternationalDevelopment and the World Bank. And although corruption48 permeated49 every level ofgovernment—even the smallest interaction with a policeman or bureaucrat50 involved abribe, and just about every commodity or product coming in and out of the country,from oil to wheat to automobiles51, went through companies controlled by the president,his family, or members of the ruling junta—enough of the oil wealth and foreign aidwas plowed52 back into schools, roads, and other infrastructure that Indonesia’s generalpopulation saw its living standards rise dramatically; between 1967 and 1997, per capitaincome would go from $50 to $4,600 a year. As far as the United States was concerned,Indonesia had become a model of stability, a reliable supplier of raw materials andimporter of Western goods, a stalwart ally and bulwark53 against communism.
I would stay in Indonesia long enough to see some of this newfound prosperityfirsthand. Released from the army, my stepfather began working for an American oilcompany. We moved to a bigger house and got a car and a driver, a refrigerator, and atelevision set. But in 1971 my mother—concerned for my education and perhapsanticipating her own growing distance from my stepfather—sent me to live with mygrandparents in Hawaii. A year later she and my sister would join me. My mother’s tiesto Indonesia would never diminish; for the next twenty years she would travel back andforth, working for international agencies for six or twelve months at a time as aspecialist in women’s development issues, designing programs to help village womenstart their own businesses or bring their produce to market. But while during my teenageyears I would return to Indonesia three or four times on short visits, my life andattention gradually turned elsewhere.
What I know of Indonesia’s subsequent history, then, I know mainly through books,newspapers, and the stories my mother told me. For twenty-five years, in fits and starts,Indonesia’s economy continued to grow. Jakarta became a metropolis55 of almost ninemillion souls, with skyscrapers56, slums, smog, and nightmare traffic. Men and womenleft the countryside to join the ranks of wage labor58 in manufacturing plants built byforeign investment, making sneakers for Nike and shirts for the Gap. Bali became theresort of choice for surfers and rock stars, with five-star hotels, Internet connections,and a Kentucky Fried Chicken franchise59. By the early nineties, Indonesia wasconsidered an “Asian tiger,” the next great success story of a globalizing world.
Even the darker aspects of Indonesian life—its politics and human rights record—showed signs of improvement. When it came to sheer brutality60, the post-1967 Suhartoregime never reached the levels of Iraq under Saddam Hussein; with his subdued61, placidstyle, the Indonesian president would never attract the attention that more demonstrativestrongmen like Pinochet or the Shah of Iran did. By any measure, though, Suharto’s rulewas harshly repressive. Arrests and torture of dissidents were common, a free pressnonexistent, elections a mere62 formality. When ethnically63 based secessionist movementssprang up in areas like Aceh, the army targeted not just guerrillas but civilians65 for swiftretribution—murder, rape57, villages set afire. And throughout the seventies and eighties,all this was done with the knowledge, if not outright66 approval, of U.S. administrations.
But with the end of the Cold War, Washington’s attitudes began to change. The StateDepartment began pressuring Indonesia to curb67 its human rights abuses. In 1992, afterIndonesian military units massacred peaceful demonstrators in Dili, East Timor,Congress terminated military aid to the Indonesian government. By 1996, Indonesianreformists had begun taking to the streets, openly talking about corruption in highoffices, the military’s excesses, and the need for free and fair elections.
Then, in 1997, the bottom fell out. A run on currencies and securities throughout Asiaengulfed an Indonesian economy already corroded69 by decades of corruption. Therupiah’s value fell 85 percent in a matter of months. Indonesian companies that hadborrowed in dollars saw their balance sheets collapse70. In exchange for a $43 billionbailout, the Western-dominated International Monetary71 Fund, or IMF, insisted on aseries of austerity measures (cutting government subsidies72, raising interest rates) thatwould lead the price of such staples73 as rice and kerosene74 to nearly double. By the timethe crisis was over, Indonesia’s economy had contracted almost 14 percent. Riots anddemonstrations grew so severe that Suharto was finally forced to resign, and in 1998 thecountry’s first free elections were held, with some forty-eight parties vying75 for seats andsome ninety-three million people casting their votes.
On the surface, at least, Indonesia has survived the twin shocks of financial meltdownand democratization. The stock market is booming, and a second national election wentoff without major incident, leading to a peaceful transfer of power. If corruptionremains endemic and the military remains76 a potent77 force, there’s been an explosion ofindependent newspapers and political parties to channel discontent.
On the other hand, democracy hasn’t brought a return to prosperity. Per capita income isnearly 22 percent less than it was in 1997. The gap between rich and poor, alwayscavernous, appears to have worsened. The average Indonesian’s sense of deprivation78 isamplified by the Internet and satellite TV, which beam in images of the unattainableriches of London, New York, Hong Kong, and Paris in exquisite79 detail. And anti-American sentiment, almost nonexistent during the Suharto years, is now widespread,thanks in part to perceptions that New York speculators and the IMF purposelytriggered the Asian financial crisis. In a 2003 poll, most Indonesians had a higheropinion of Osama bin80 Laden81 than they did of George W. Bush.
All of which underscores perhaps the most profound shift in Indonesia—the growth ofmilitant, fundamentalist Islam in the country. Traditionally, Indonesians practiced atolerant, almost syncretic brand of the faith, infused with the Buddhist83, Hindu, andanimist traditions of earlier periods. Under the watchful84 eye of an explicitly85 secularSuharto government, alcohol was permitted, non-Muslims practiced their faith free frompersecution, and women—sporting skirts or sarongs as they rode buses or scooters onthe way to work—possessed86 all the rights that men possessed. Today, Islamic partiesmake up one of the largest political blocs87, with many calling for the imposition ofsharia, or Islamic law. Seeded by funds from the Middle East, Wahhabist clerics,schools, and mosques88 now dot the countryside. Many Indonesian women have adoptedthe head coverings so familiar in the Muslim countries of North Africa and the PersianGulf; Islamic militants89 and self-proclaimed “vice squads90” have attacked churches,nightclubs, casinos, and brothels. In 2002, an explosion in a Bali nightclub killed morethan two hundred people; similar suicide bombings followed in Jakarta in 2004 and Baliin 2005. Members of Jemaah Islamiah, a militant82 Islamic organization with links to AlQaeda, were tried for the bombings; while three of those connected to the bombingsreceived death sentences, the spiritual leader of the group, Abu Bakar Bashir, wasreleased after a twenty-six-month prison term.
It was on a beach just a few miles from the site of those bombings that I stayed the lasttime I visited Bali. When I think of that island, and all of Indonesia, I’m haunted bymemories—the feel of packed mud under bare feet as I wander through paddy fields;the sight of day breaking behind volcanic91 peaks; the muezzin’s call at night and thesmell of wood smoke; the dickering at the fruit stands alongside the road; the frenziedsound of a gamelan orchestra, the musicians’ faces lit by fire. I would like to takeMichelle and the girls to share that piece of my life, to climb the thousand-year-oldHindu ruins of Prambanan or swim in a river high in Balinese hills.
But my plans for such a trip keep getting delayed. I’m chronically92 busy, and travelingwith young children is always difficult. And, too, perhaps I am worried about what Iwill find there—that the land of my childhood will no longer match my memories. Asmuch as the world has shrunk, with its direct flights and cell phone coverage93 and CNNand Internet cafés, Indonesia feels more distant now than it did thirty years ago.
I fear it’s becoming a land of strangers.
IN THE FIELD of international affairs, it’s dangerous to extrapolate from theexperiences of a single country. In its history, geography, culture, and conflicts, eachnation is unique. And yet in many ways Indonesia serves as a useful metaphor94 for theworld beyond our borders—a world in which globalization and sectarianism, povertyand plenty, modernity and antiquity95 constantly collide.
Indonesia also provides a handy record of U.S. foreign policy over the past fifty years.
In broad outline at least, it’s all there: our role in liberating96 former colonies and creatinginternational institutions to help manage the post–World War II order; our tendency toview nations and conflicts through the prism of the Cold War; our tireless promotion97 ofAmerican-style capitalism98 and multinational99 corporations; the tolerance100 and occasionalencouragement of tyranny, corruption, and environmental degradation101 when it servedour interests; our optimism once the Cold War ended that Big Macs and the Internetwould lead to the end of historical conflicts; the growing economic power of Asia andthe growing resentment102 of the United States as the world’s sole superpower; therealization that in the short term, at least, democratization might lay bare, rather thanalleviate, ethnic hatreds103 and religious divisions—and that the wonders of globalizationmight also facilitate economic volatility104, the spread of pandemics, and terrorism.
In other words, our record is mixed—not just in Indonesia but across the globe. Attimes, American foreign policy has been farsighted, simultaneously105 serving our nationalinterests, our ideals, and the interests of other nations. At other times American policieshave been misguided, based on false assumptions that ignore the legitimate106 aspirationsof other peoples, undermine our own credibility, and make for a more dangerous world.
Such ambiguity107 shouldn’t be surprising, for American foreign policy has always been ajumble of warring impulses. In the earliest days of the Republic, a policy of isolationismoften prevailed—a wariness108 of foreign intrigues109 that befitted a nation just emergingfrom a war of independence. “Why,” George Washington asked in his famous FarewellAddress, “by interweaving our destiny with that of any part of Europe, entangle110 ourpeace and prosperity in the toils111 of European ambition, rivalship, interest, humor orcaprice?” Washington’s view was reinforced by what he called America’s “detachedand distant situation,” a geographic112 separation that would permit the new nation to“defy material injury from external annoyance113.”
Moreover, while America’s revolutionary origins and republican form of governmentmight make it sympathetic toward those seeking freedom elsewhere, America’s earlyleaders cautioned against idealistic attempts to export our way of life; according to JohnQuincy Adams, America should not go “abroad in search of monsters to destroy” nor“become the dictatress of the world.” Providence114 had charged America with the task ofmaking a new world, not reforming the old; protected by an ocean and with the bountyof a continent, America could best serve the cause of freedom by concentrating on itsown development, becoming a beacon115 of hope for other nations and people around theglobe.
But if suspicion of foreign entanglements116 is stamped into our DNA117, then so is theimpulse to expand—geographically, commercially, and ideologically118. Thomas Jeffersonexpressed early on the inevitability119 of expansion beyond the boundaries of the originalthirteen states, and his timetable for such expansion was greatly accelerated with theLouisiana Purchase and the Lewis and Clark expedition. The same John Quincy Adamswho warned against U.S. adventurism abroad became a tireless advocate of continentalexpansion and served as the chief architect of the Monroe Doctrine120—a warning toEuropean powers to keep out of the Western Hemisphere. As American soldiers andsettlers moved steadily121 west and southwest, successive administrations described theannexation of territory in terms of “manifest destiny”—the conviction that suchexpansion was preordained, part of God’s plan to extend what Andrew Jackson called“the area of freedom” across the continent.
Of course, manifest destiny also meant bloody and violent conquest—of NativeAmerican tribes forcibly removed from their lands and of the Mexican army defendingits territory. It was a conquest that, like slavery, contradicted America’s foundingprinciples and tended to be justified122 in explicitly racist123 terms, a conquest that Americanmythology has always had difficulty fully124 absorbing but that other countries recognizedfor what it was—an exercise in raw power.
With the end of the Civil War and the consolidation125 of what’s now the continentalUnited States, that power could not be denied. Intent on expanding markets for itsgoods, securing raw materials for its industry, and keeping sea lanes open for itscommerce, the nation turned its attention overseas. Hawaii was annexed126, givingAmerica a foothold in the Pacific. The Spanish-American War delivered Puerto Rico,Guam, and the Philippines into U.S. control; when some members of the Senateobjected to the military occupation of an archipelago seven thousand miles away—anoccupation that would involve thousands of U.S. troops crushing a Philippineindependence movement—one senator argued that the acquisition would provide theUnited States with access to the China market and mean “a vast trade and wealth andpower.” America would never pursue the systematic127 colonization128 practiced by Europeannations, but it shed all inhibitions about meddling129 in the affairs of countries it deemedstrategically important. Theodore Roosevelt, for example, added a corollary to theMonroe Doctrine, declaring that the United States would intervene in any LatinAmerican or Caribbean country whose government it deemed not to America’s liking130.
“The United States of America has not the option as to whether it will or it will not playa great part in the world,” Roosevelt would argue. “It must play a great part. All that itcan decide is whether it will play that part well or badly.”
By the start of the twentieth century, then, the motives131 that drove U.S. foreign policyseemed barely distinguishable from those of the other great powers, driven byrealpolitik and commercial interests. Isolationist sentiment in the population at largeremained strong, particularly when it came to conflicts in Europe, and when vital U.S.
interests did not seem directly at stake. But technology and trade were shrinking theglobe; determining which interests were vital and which ones were not becameincreasingly difficult. During World War I, Woodrow Wilson avoided Americaninvolvement until the repeated sinking of American vessels132 by German U-boats and theimminent collapse of the European continent made neutrality untenable. When the warwas over, America had emerged as the world’s dominant134 power—but a power whoseprosperity Wilson now understood to be linked to peace and prosperity in farawaylands.
It was in an effort to address this new reality that Wilson sought to reinterpret the ideaof America’s manifest destiny. Making “the world safe for democracy” didn’t justinvolve winning a war, he argued; it was in America’s interest to encourage the self-determination of all peoples and provide the world a legal framework that could helpavoid future conflicts. As part of the Treaty of Versailles, which detailed135 the terms ofGerman surrender, Wilson proposed a League of Nations to mediate137 conflicts betweennations, along with an international court and a set of international laws that would bindnot just the weak but also the strong. “This is the time of all others when Democracyshould prove its purity and its spiritual power to prevail,” Wilson said. “It is surely themanifest destiny of the United States to lead in the attempt to make this spirit prevail.”
Wilson’s proposals were initially138 greeted with enthusiasm in the United States andaround the world. The U.S. Senate, however, was less impressed. Republican SenateLeader Henry Cabot Lodge139 considered the League of Nations—and the very concept ofinternational law—as an encroachment140 on American sovereignty, a foolish constraint141 onAmerica’s ability to impose its will around the world. Aided by traditional isolationistsin both parties (many of whom had opposed American entry into World War I), as wellas Wilson’s stubborn unwillingness to compromise, the Senate refused to ratify142 U.S.
membership in the League.
For the next twenty years, America turned resolutely143 inward—reducing its army andnavy, refusing to join the World Court, standing144 idly by as Italy, Japan, and NaziGermany built up their military machines. The Senate became a hotbed of isolationism,passing a Neutrality Act that prevented the United States from lending assistance tocountries invaded by the Axis9 powers, and repeatedly ignoring the President’s appealsas Hitler’s armies marched across Europe. Not until the bombing of Pearl Harbor wouldAmerica realize its terrible mistake. “There is no such thing as security for any nation—or any individual—in a world ruled by the principles of gangsterism,” FDR would sayin his national address after the attack. “We cannot measure our safety in terms of mileson any map any more.”
In the aftermath of World War II, the United States would have a chance to apply theselessons to its foreign policy. With Europe and Japan in ruins, the Soviet Union bledwhite by its battles on the Eastern Front but already signaling its intentions to spread itsbrand of totalitarian communism as far as it could, America faced a choice. There werethose on the right who argued that only a unilateral foreign policy and an immediateinvasion of the Soviet Union could disable the emerging communist threat. Andalthough isolationism of the sort that prevailed in the thirties was now thoroughlydiscredited, there were those on the left who downplayed Soviet aggression145, arguingthat given Soviet losses and the country’s critical role in the Allied146 victory, Stalinshould be accommodated.
America took neither path. Instead, the postwar leadership of President Truman, DeanAcheson, George Marshall, and George Kennan crafted the architecture of a new,postwar order that married Wilson’s idealism to hardheaded realism, an acceptance ofAmerica’s power with a humility147 regarding America’s ability to control events aroundthe world. Yes, these men argued, the world is a dangerous place, and the Soviet threatis real; America needed to maintain its military dominance and be prepared to use forcein defense148 of its interests across the globe. But even the power of the United States wasfinite—and because the battle against communism was also a battle of ideas, a test ofwhat system might best serve the hopes and dreams of billions of people around theworld, military might alone could not ensure America’s long-term prosperity orsecurity.
What America needed, then, were stable allies—allies that shared the ideals of freedom,democracy, and the rule of law, and that saw themselves as having a stake in a market-based economic system. Such alliances, both military and economic, entered into freelyand maintained by mutual149 consent, would be more lasting—and stir less resentment—than any collection of vassal150 states American imperialism151 might secure. Likewise, itwas in America’s interest to work with other countries to build up internationalinstitutions and promote international norms. Not because of a naive152 assumption thatinternational laws and treaties alone would end conflicts among nations or eliminate theneed for American military action, but because the more international norms werereinforced and the more America signaled a willingness to show restraint in the exerciseof its power, the fewer the number of conflicts that would arise—and the morelegitimate our actions would appear in the eyes of the world when we did have to movemilitarily.
In less than a decade, the infrastructure of a new world order was in place. There was aU.S. policy of containment153 with respect to communist expansion, backed not just byU.S. troops but also by security agreements with NATO and Japan; the Marshall Plan torebuild war-shattered economies; the Bretton Woods agreement to provide stability tothe world’s financial markets and the General Agreement on Tariffs154 and Trade toestablish rules governing world commerce; U.S. support for the independence of formerEuropean colonies; the IMF and World Bank to help integrate these newly independentnations into the world economy; and the United Nations to provide a forum155 forcollective security and international cooperation.
Sixty years later, we can see the results of this massive postwar undertaking156: asuccessful outcome to the Cold War, an avoidance of nuclear catastrophe157, the effectiveend of conflict between the world’s great military powers, and an era of unprecedentedeconomic growth at home and abroad.
It’s a remarkable158 achievement, perhaps the Greatest Generation’s greatest gift to us afterthe victory over fascism. But like any system built by man, it had its flaws andcontradictions; it could fall victim to the distortions of politics, the sins of hubris159, thecorrupting effects of fear. Because of the enormity of the Soviet threat, and the shock ofcommunist takeovers in China and North Korea, American policy makers160 came to viewnationalist movements, ethnic struggles, reform efforts, or left-leaning policiesanywhere in the world through the lens of the Cold War—potential threats they feltoutweighed our professed161 commitment to freedom and democracy. For decades wewould tolerate and even aid thieves like Mobutu, thugs like Noriega, so long as theyopposed communism. Occasionally U.S. covert operations would engineer the removalof democratically elected leaders in countries like Iran—with seismic162 repercussions163 thathaunt us to this day.
America’s policy of containment also involved an enormous military buildup, matchingand then exceeding the Soviet and Chinese arsenals164. Over time, the “iron triangle” ofthe Pentagon, defense contractors165, and congressmen with large defense expenditures166 intheir districts amassed167 great power in shaping U.S. foreign policy. And although thethreat of nuclear war would preclude168 direct military confrontation169 with our superpowerrivals, U.S policy makers increasingly viewed problems elsewhere in the world througha military lens rather than a diplomatic one.
Most important, the postwar system over time suffered from too much politics and notenough deliberation and domestic consensus170 building. One of America’s strengthsimmediately following the war was a degree of domestic consensus surrounding foreignpolicy. There might have been fierce differences between Republicans and Democrats171,but politics usually ended at the water’s edge; professionals, whether in the WhiteHouse, the Pentagon, the State Department, or the CIA, were expected to makedecisions based on facts and sound judgment172, not ideology173 or electioneering. Moreover,that consensus extended to the public at large; programs like the Marshall Plan, whichinvolved a massive investment of U.S. funds, could not have gone forward without theAmerican people’s basic trust in their government, as well as a reciprocal faith on thepart of government officials that the American people could be trusted with the factsthat went into decisions that spent their tax dollars or sent their sons to war.
As the Cold War wore on, the key elements in this consensus began to erode174. Politiciansdiscovered that they could get votes by being tougher on communism than theiropponents. Democrats were assailed175 for “losing China.” McCarthyism destroyed careersand crushed dissent176. Kennedy would blame Republicans for a “missile gap” that didn’texist on his way to beating Nixon, who himself had made a career of Red-baiting hisopponents. Presidents Eisenhower, Kennedy, and Johnson would all find their judgmentclouded by fear that they would be tagged as “soft on communism.” The Cold Wartechniques of secrecy177, snooping, and misinformation, used against foreign governmentsand foreign populations, became tools of domestic politics, a means to harass178 critics,build support for questionable179 policies, or cover up blunders. The very ideals that wehad promised to export overseas were being betrayed at home.
All these trends came to a head in Vietnam. The disastrous180 consequences of thatconflict—for our credibility and prestige abroad, for our armed forces (which wouldtake a generation to recover), and most of all for those who fought—have been amplydocumented. But perhaps the biggest casualty of that war was the bond of trust betweenthe American people and their government—and between Americans themselves. As aconsequence of a more aggressive press corps181 and the images of body bags floodinginto living rooms, Americans began to realize that the best and the brightest inWashington didn’t always know what they were doing—and didn’t always tell the truth.
Increasingly, many on the left voiced opposition182 not only to the Vietnam War but alsoto the broader aims of American foreign policy. In their view, President Johnson,General Westmoreland, the CIA, the “military-industrial complex,” and internationalinstitutions like the World Bank were all manifestations183 of American arrogance,jingoism, racism184, capitalism, and imperialism. Those on the right responded in kind,laying responsibility not only for the loss of Vietnam but also for the decline ofAmerica’s standing in the world squarely on the “blame America first” crowd—theprotesters, the hippies, Jane Fonda, the Ivy185 League intellectuals and liberal media whodenigrated patriotism186, embraced a relativistic worldview, and undermined Americanresolve to confront godless communism.
Admittedly, these were caricatures, promoted by activists187 and political consultants43.
Many Americans remained somewhere in the middle, still supportive of America’sefforts to defeat communism but skeptical188 of U.S. policies that might involve largenumbers of American casualties. Throughout the seventies and eighties, one could findDemocratic hawks189 and Republican doves; in Congress, there were men like MarkHatfield of Oregon and Sam Nunn of Georgia who sought to perpetuate191 the tradition ofa bipartisan foreign policy. But the caricatures were what shaped public impressionsduring election time, as Republicans increasingly portrayed192 Democrats as weak ondefense, and those suspicious of military and covert action abroad increasingly made theDemocratic Party their political home.
It was against this backdrop—an era of division rather than an era of consensus—thatmost Americans alive today formed whatever views they may have on foreign policy.
These were the years of Nixon and Kissinger, whose foreign policies were tacticallybrilliant but were overshadowed by domestic policies and a Cambodian bombingcampaign that were morally rudderless. They were the years of Jimmy Carter, aDemocrat who—with his emphasis on human rights—seemed prepared to once againalign moral concerns with a strong defense, until oil shocks, the humiliation193 of theIranian hostage crisis, and the Soviet Union’s invasion of Afghanistan made him seemnaive and ineffective.
Looming perhaps largest of all was Ronald Reagan, whose clarity about communismseemed matched by his blindness regarding other sources of misery194 in the world. Ipersonally came of age during the Reagan presidency22—I was studying internationalaffairs at Columbia, and later working as a community organizer in Chicago—and likemany Democrats in those days I bemoaned195 the effect of Reagan’s policies toward theThird World: his administration’s support for the apartheid regime of South Africa, thefunding of El Salvador’s death squads, the invasion of tiny, hapless Grenada. The moreI studied nuclear arms policy, the more I found Star Wars to be ill conceived; the chasmbetween Reagan’s soaring rhetoric17 and the tawdry Iran-Contra deal left me speechless.
But at times, in arguments with some of my friends on the left, I would find myself inthe curious position of defending aspects of Reagan’s worldview. I didn’t understandwhy, for example, progressives should be less concerned about oppression behind theIron Curtain than they were about brutality in Chile. I couldn’t be persuaded that U.S.
multinationals and international terms of trade were single-handedly responsible forpoverty around the world; nobody forced corrupt47 leaders in Third World countries tosteal from their people. I might have arguments with the size of Reagan’s militarybuildup, but given the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, staying ahead of the Sovietsmilitarily seemed a sensible thing to do. Pride in our country, respect for our armedservices, a healthy appreciation196 for the dangers beyond our borders, an insistence197 thatthere was no easy equivalence between East and West—in all this I had no quarrel withReagan. And when the Berlin Wall came tumbling down, I had to give the old man hisdue, even if I never gave him my vote.
Many people—including many Democrats—did give Reagan their vote, leadingRepublicans to argue that his presidency restored America’s foreign policy consensus.
Of course, that consensus was never really tested; Reagan’s war against communismwas mainly carried out through proxies198 and deficit199 spending, not the deployment200 of U.S.
troops. As it was, the end of the Cold War made Reagan’s formula seem ill suited to anew world. George H. W. Bush’s return to a more traditional, “realist” foreign policywould result in a steady management of the Soviet Union’s dissolution and an ablehandling of the first Gulf68 War. But with the American public’s attention focused on thedomestic economy, his skill in building international coalitions201 or judiciously202 projectingAmerican power did nothing to salvage203 his presidency.
By the time Bill Clinton came into office, conventional wisdom suggested thatAmerica’s post–Cold War foreign policy would be more a matter of trade than tanks,protecting American copyrights rather than American lives. Clinton himself understoodthat globalization involved not only new economic challenges but also new securitychallenges. In addition to promoting free trade and bolstering204 the international financialsystem, his administration would work to end long-festering conflicts in the Balkansand Northern Ireland and advance democratization in Eastern Europe, Latin America,Africa, and the former Soviet Union. But in the eyes of the public, at least, foreignpolicy in the nineties lacked any overarching theme or grand imperatives205. U.S. militaryaction in particular seemed entirely206 a matter of choice, not necessity—the product of ourdesire to slap down rogue207 states, perhaps; or a function of humanitarian208 calculationsregarding the moral obligations we owed to Somalis, Haitians, Bosnians, or otherunlucky souls.
Then came September 11—and Americans felt their world turned upside down.
IN JANUARY 2006, I boarded a C-130 military cargo209 plane and took off for my firsttrip into Iraq. Two of my colleagues on the trip—Senator Evan Bayh of Indiana andCongressman Harold Ford210, Jr. of Tennessee—had made the trip before, and theywarned me that the landings in Baghdad could be a bit uncomfortable: To evadepotential hostile fire, military flights in and out of Iraq’s capital city engaged in a seriesof sometimes stomach-turning maneuvers211. As our plane cruised through the hazymorning, though, it was hard to feel concerned. Strapped212 into canvas seats, most of myfellow passengers had fallen asleep, their heads bobbing against the orange webbingthat ran down the center of the fuselage. One of the crew appeared to be playing a videogame; another placidly213 thumbed through our flight plans.
It had been four and a half years since I’d first heard reports of a plane hitting the WorldTrade Center. I had been in Chicago at the time, driving to a state legislative214 hearingdowntown. The reports on my car radio were sketchy215, and I assumed that there musthave been an accident, a small prop136 plane perhaps veering216 off course. By the time Iarrived at my meeting, the second plane had already hit, and we were told to evacuatethe State of Illinois Building. Up and down the streets, people gathered, staring at thesky and at the Sears Tower. Later, in my law office, a group of us sat motionless as thenightmare images unfolded across the TV screen—a plane, dark as a shadow, vanishinginto glass and steel; men and women clinging to windowsills, then letting go; the shoutsand sobs217 from below and finally the rolling clouds of dust blotting218 out the sun.
I spent the next several weeks as most Americans did—calling friends in New York andD.C., sending donations, listening to the President’s speech, mourning the dead. And forme, as for most of us, the effect of September 11 felt profoundly personal. It wasn’t justthe magnitude of the destruction that affected219 me, or the memories of the five years I’dspent in New York—memories of streets and sights now reduced to rubble220. Rather, itwas the intimacy221 of imagining those ordinary acts that 9/11’s victims must haveperformed in the hours before they were killed, the daily routines that constitute life inour modern world—the boarding of a plane, the jostling as we exit a commuter222 train,grabbing coffee and the morning paper at a newsstand, making small talk on theelevator. For most Americans, such routines represented a victory of order over chaos223,the concrete expression of our belief that so long as we exercised, wore seat belts, had ajob with benefits, and avoided certain neighborhoods, our safety was ensured, ourfamilies protected.
Now chaos had come to our doorstep. As a consequence, we would have to actdifferently, understand the world differently. We would have to answer the call of anation. Within a week of the attacks, I watched the Senate vote 98–0 and the House vote420–1 to give the President the authority to “use all necessary and appropriate forceagainst those nations, organizations or persons” behind the attacks. Interest in the armedservices and applications to join the CIA soared, as young people across Americaresolved to serve their country. Nor were we alone. In Paris, Le Monde ran the bannerheadline “Nous sommes tous Américains” (“We are all Americans”). In Cairo, localmosques offered prayers of sympathy. For the first time since its founding in 1949,NATO invoked224 Article 5 of its charter, agreeing that the armed attack on one of itsmembers “shall be considered an attack against them all.” With justice at our backs andthe world by our side, we drove the Taliban government out of Kabul in just over amonth; Al Qaeda operatives fled or were captured or killed.
It was a good start by the Administration, I thought—steady, measured, andaccomplished with minimal225 casualties (only later would we discover the degree towhich our failure to put sufficient military pressure on Al Qaeda forces at Tora Boramay have led to bin Laden’s escape). And so, along with the rest of the world, I waitedwith anticipation226 for what I assumed would follow: the enunciation227 of a U.S. foreignpolicy for the twenty-first century, one that would not only adapt our military planning,intelligence operations, and homeland defenses to the threat of terrorist networks butbuild a new international consensus around the challenges of transnational threats.
This new blueprint228 never arrived. Instead what we got was an assortment229 of outdatedpolicies from eras gone by, dusted off, slapped together, and with new labels affixed230.
Reagan’s “Evil Empire” was now “the Axis of Evil.” Theodore Roosevelt’s version ofthe Monroe Doctrine—the notion that we could preemptively remove governments notto our liking—was now the Bush Doctrine, only extended beyond the WesternHemisphere to span the globe. Manifest destiny was back in fashion; all that wasneeded, according to Bush, was American firepower, American resolve, and a “coalitionof the willing.”
Perhaps worst of all, the Bush Administration resuscitated231 a brand of politics not seensince the end of the Cold War. As the ouster of Saddam Hussein became the test casefor Bush’s doctrine of preventive war, those who questioned the Administration’srationale for invasion were accused of being “soft on terrorism” or “un-American.”
Instead of an honest accounting232 of this military campaign’s pros54 and cons6, theAdministration initiated233 a public relations offensive: shading intelligence reports tosupport its case, grossly understating both the costs and the manpower requirements ofmilitary action, raising the specter of mushroom clouds.
The PR strategy worked; by the fall of 2002, a majority of Americans were convincedthat Saddam Hussein possessed weapons of mass destruction, and at least 66 percentbelieved (falsely) that the Iraqi leader had been personally involved in the 9/11 attacks.
Support for an invasion of Iraq—and Bush’s approval rating—hovered234 around 60percent. With an eye on the midterm elections, Republicans stepped up the attacks andpushed for a vote authorizing235 the use of force against Saddam Hussein. And on October11, 2002, twenty-eight of the Senate’s fifty Democrats joined all but one Republican inhanding to Bush the power he wanted.
I was disappointed in that vote, although sympathetic to the pressures Democrats wereunder. I had felt some of those same pressures myself. By the fall of 2002, I had alreadydecided to run for the U.S. Senate and knew that possible war with Iraq would loomlarge in any campaign. When a group of Chicago activists asked if I would speak at alarge antiwar rally planned for October, a number of my friends warned me againsttaking so public a position on such a volatile236 issue. Not only was the idea of an invasionincreasingly popular, but on the merits I didn’t consider the case against war to be cut-and-dried. Like most analysts237, I assumed that Saddam had chemical and biologicalweapons and coveted238 nuclear arms. I believed that he had repeatedly flouted239 UNresolutions and weapons inspectors240 and that such behavior had to have consequences.
That Saddam butchered his own people was undisputed; I had no doubt that the world,and the Iraqi people, would be better off without him.
What I sensed, though, was that the threat Saddam posed was not imminent133, theAdministration’s rationales for war were flimsy and ideologically driven, and the war inAfghanistan was far from complete. And I was certain that by choosing precipitous,unilateral military action over the hard slog of diplomacy241, coercive inspections242, andsmart sanctions, America was missing an opportunity to build a broad base of supportfor its policies.
And so I made the speech. To the two thousand people gathered in Chicago’s FederalPlaza, I explained that unlike some of the people in the crowd, I didn’t oppose allwars—that my grandfather had signed up for the war the day after Pearl Harbor wasbombed and had fought in Patton’s army. I also said that “after witnessing the carnageand destruction, the dust and the tears, I supported this Administration’s pledge to huntdown and root out those who would slaughter20 innocents in the name of intolerance” andwould “willingly take up arms myself to prevent such tragedy from happening again.”
What I could not support was “a dumb war, a rash war, a war based not on reason buton passion, not on principle but on politics.” And I said:
I know that even a successful war against Iraq will require a U.S. occupation ofundetermined length, at undetermined cost, with undetermined consequences. I knowthat an invasion of Iraq without a clear rationale and without strong internationalsupport will only fan the flames of the Middle East, and encourage the worst, ratherthan the best, impulses of the Arab world, and strengthen the recruitment arm of AlQaeda.
The speech was well received; activists began circulating the text on the Internet, and Iestablished a reputation for speaking my mind on hard issues—a reputation that wouldcarry me through a tough Democratic primary. But I had no way of knowing at the timewhether my assessment243 of the situation in Iraq was correct. When the invasion wasfinally launched and U.S. forces marched unimpeded through Baghdad, when I sawSaddam’s statue topple and watched the President stand atop the U.S.S. AbrahamLincoln, a banner behind him proclaiming “Mission Accomplished,” I began to suspectthat I might have been wrong—and was relieved to see the low number of Americancasualties involved.
And now, three years later—as the number of American deaths passed two thousandand the number of wounded passed sixteen thousand; after $250 billion in directspending and hundreds of billions more in future years to pay off the resulting debt andcare for disabled veterans; after two Iraqi national elections, one Iraqi constitutionalreferendum, and tens of thousands of Iraqi deaths; after watching anti-Americansentiment rise to record levels around the world and Afghanistan begin to slip back intochaos—I was flying into Baghdad as a member of the Senate, partially244 responsible fortrying to figure out just what to do with this mess.
The landing at Baghdad International Airport turned out not to be so bad—although Iwas thankful that we couldn’t see out the windows as the C-130 bucked245 and banked anddipped its way down. Our escort officer from the State Department was there to greetus, along with an assortment of military personnel with rifles slung246 over their shoulders.
After getting our security briefing, recording247 our blood types, and being fitted forhelmets and Kevlar vests, we boarded two Black Hawk190 helicopters and headed for theGreen Zone, flying low, passing over miles of mostly muddy, barren fields crisscrossedby narrow roads and punctuated248 by small groves249 of date trees and squat250 concreteshelters, many of them seemingly empty, some bulldozed down to their foundations.
Eventually Baghdad came into view, a sand-colored metropolis set in a circular pattern,the Tigris River cutting a broad, murky swath down its center. Even from the air the citylooked worn and battered251, the traffic on the streets intermittent—although almost everyrooftop was cluttered252 with satellite dishes, which along with cell phone service had beentouted by U.S. officials as one of the successes of the reconstruction253.
I would spend only a day and a half in Iraq, most of it in the Green Zone, a ten-mile-wide area of central Baghdad that had once been the heart of Saddam Hussein’sgovernment but was now a U.S.-controlled compound, surrounded along its perimeterby blast walls and barbed wire. Reconstruction teams briefed us about the difficulty ofmaintaining electrical power and oil production in the face of insurgent254 sabotage;intelligence officers described the growing threat of sectarian militias255 and theirinfiltration of Iraqi security forces. Later, we met with members of the Iraqi ElectionCommission, who spoke5 with enthusiasm about the high turnout during the recentelection, and for an hour we listened to U.S. Ambassador Khalilzad, a shrewd, elegantman with world-weary eyes, explain the delicate shuttle diplomacy in which he wasnow engaged, to bring Shi’ite, Sunni, and Kurdish factions258 into some sort of workableunity government.
In the afternoon we had an opportunity to have lunch with some of the troops in thehuge mess hall just off the swimming pool of what had once been Saddam’s presidentialpalace. They were a mix of regular forces, reservists, and National Guard units, frombig cities and small towns, blacks and whites and Latinos, many of them on their secondor third tour of duty. They spoke with pride as they told us what their units hadaccomplished—building schools, protecting electrical facilities, leading newly trainedIraqi soldiers on patrol, maintaining supply lines to those in far-flung regions of thecountry. Again and again, I was asked the same question: Why did the U.S. press onlyreport on bombings and killings259? There was progress being made, they insisted—Ineeded to let the folks back home know that their work was not in vain.
It was easy, talking to these men and women, to understand their frustration260, for all theAmericans I met in Iraq, whether military or civilian64, impressed me with theirdedication, their skill, and their frank acknowledgment not only of the mistakes that hadbeen made but also of the difficulties of the task that still lay ahead. Indeed, the entireenterprise in Iraq bespoke261 American ingenuity262, wealth, and technical know-how;standing inside the Green Zone or any of the large operating bases in Iraq and Kuwait,one could only marvel at the ability of our government to essentially263 erect264 entire citieswithin hostile territory, self-contained communities with their own power and sewagesystems, computer lines and wireless265 networks, basketball courts and ice cream stands.
More than that, one was reminded of that unique quality of American optimism thateverywhere was on display—the absence of cynicism despite the danger, sacrifice, andseemingly interminable setbacks, the insistence that at the end of the day our actionswould result in a better life for a nation of people we barely knew.
And yet, three conversations during the course of my visit would remind me of just howquixotic our efforts in Iraq still seemed—how, with all the American blood, treasure,and the best of intentions, the house we were building might be resting on quicksand.
The first conversation took place in the early evening, when our delegation266 held a pressconference with a group of foreign correspondents stationed in Baghdad. After theQ&A session, I asked the reporters if they’d stay for an informal, off-the-recordconversation. I was interested, I said, in getting some sense of life outside the GreenZone. They were happy to oblige, but insisted they could only stay for forty-fiveminutes—it was getting late, and like most residents of Baghdad, they generallyavoided traveling once the sun went down.
As a group, they were young, mostly in their twenties and early thirties, all of themdressed casually267 enough that they could pass for college students. Their faces, though,showed the stresses they were under—sixty journalists had already been killed in Iraqby that time. Indeed, at the start of our conversation they apologized for beingsomewhat distracted; they had just received word that one of their colleagues, a reporterwith the Christian268 Science Monitor named Jill Carroll, had been abducted269, her driverfound killed on the side of a road. Now they were all working their contacts, trying totrack down her whereabouts. Such violence wasn’t unusual in Baghdad these days, theysaid, although Iraqis overwhelmingly bore the brunt of it. Fighting between Shi’ites andSunnis had become widespread, less strategic, less comprehensible, more frightening.
None of them thought that the elections would bring about significant improvement inthe security situation. I asked them if they thought a U.S. troop withdrawal270 might easetensions, expecting them to answer in the affirmative. Instead, they shook their heads.
“My best guess is the country would collapse into civil war within weeks,” one of thereporters told me. “One hundred, maybe two hundred thousand dead. We’re the onlything holding this place together.”
That night, our delegation accompanied Ambassador Khalilzad for dinner at the homeof Iraqi interim271 President Jalal Tala-bani. Security was tight as our convoy272 wound itsway past a maze273 of barricades274 out of the Green Zone; outside, our route was lined withU.S. troops at one-block intervals275, and we were instructed to keep our vests and helmetson for the duration of the drive.
After ten minutes we arrived at a large villa28, where we were greeted by the presidentand several members of the Iraqi interim government. They were all heavyset men,most in their fifties or sixties, with broad smiles but eyes that betrayed no emotion. Irecognized only one of the ministers—Mr. Ahmed Chalabi, the Western-educatedShi’ite who, as a leader of the exile group the Iraqi National Congress, had reportedlyfed U.S. intelligence agencies and Bush policy makers some of the prewar informationon which the decision to invade was made—information for which Chalabi’s group hadreceived millions of dollars, and that had turned out to be bogus. Since then Chalabi hadfallen out with his U.S. patrons; there were reports that he had steered276 U.S. classifiedinformation to the Iranians, and that Jordan still had a warrant out for his arrest afterhe’d been convicted in absentia on thirty-one charges of embezzlement277, theft, misuse278 ofdepositor funds, and currency speculation279. But he appeared to have landed on his feet;immaculately dressed, accompanied by his grown daughter, he was now the interimgovernment’s acting280 oil minister.
I didn’t speak much to Chalabi during dinner. Instead I was seated next to the formerinterim finance minister. He seemed impressive, speaking knowledgeably281 about Iraq’seconomy, its need to improve transparency and strengthen its legal framework to attractforeign investment. At the end of the evening, I mentioned my favorable impression toone of the embassy staff.
“He’s smart, no doubt about it,” the staffer said. “Of course, he’s also one of the leadersof the SCIRI Party. They control the Ministry282 of the Interior, which controls the police.
And the police, well…there have been problems with militia256 infiltration257. Accusationsthat they’re grabbing Sunni leaders, bodies found the next morning, that kind ofthing…” The staffer’s voice trailed off, and he shrugged283. “We work with what wehave.”
I had difficulty sleeping that night; instead, I watched the Redskins game, piped in livevia satellite to the pool house once reserved for Saddam and his guests. Several times Imuted the TV and heard mortar284 fire pierce the silence. The following morning, we tooka Black Hawk to the Marine285 base in Fallujah, out in the arid286, western portion of Iraqcalled Anbar Province. Some of the fiercest fighting against the insurgency287 had takenplace in Sunni-dominated Anbar, and the atmosphere in the camp was considerablygrimmer than in the Green Zone; just the previous day, five Marines on patrol had beenkilled by roadside bombs or small-arms fire. The troops here looked rawer as well, mostof them in their early twenties, many still with pimples288 and the unformed bodies ofteenagers.
The general in charge of the camp had arranged a briefing, and we listened as thecamp’s senior officers explained the dilemma289 facing U.S. forces: With improvedcapabilities, they were arresting more and more insurgent leaders each day, but likestreet gangs back in Chicago, for every insurgent they arrested, there seemed to be twoready to take his place. Economics, and not just politics, seemed to be feeding theinsurgency—the central government had been neglecting Anbar, and maleunemployment hovered around 70 percent.
“For two or three dollars, you can pay some kid to plant a bomb,” one of the officerssaid. “That’s a lot of money out here.”
By the end of the briefing, a light fog had rolled in, delaying our flight to Kirkuk. Whilewaiting, my foreign policy staffer, Mark Lippert, wandered off to chat with one of theunit’s senior officers, while I struck up a conversation with one of the majorsresponsible for counterinsurgency strategy in the region. He was a soft-spoken man,short and with glasses; it was easy to imagine him as a high school math teacher. In fact,it turned out that before joining the Marines he had spent several years in thePhilippines as a member of the Peace Corps. Many of the lessons he had learned thereneeded to be applied290 to the military’s work in Iraq, he told me. He didn’t have anywherenear the number of Arabic-speakers needed to build trust with the local population. Weneeded to improve cultural sensitivity within U.S. forces, develop long-termrelationships with local leaders, and couple security forces to reconstruction teams, sothat Iraqis could see concrete benefits from U.S. efforts. All this would take time, hesaid, but he could already see changes for the better as the military adopted thesepractices throughout the country.
Our escort officer signaled that the chopper was ready to take off. I wished the majorluck and headed for the van. Mark came up beside me, and I asked him what he’dlearned from his conversation with the senior officer.
“I asked him what he thought we needed to do to best deal with the situation.”
“What did he say?”
“Leave.”
THE STORY OF America’s involvement in Iraq will be analyzed291 and debated for manyyears to come—indeed, it’s a story that’s still being written. At the moment, thesituation there has deteriorated292 to the point where it appears that a low-grade civil warhas begun, and while I believe that all Americans—regardless of their views on theoriginal decision to invade—have an interest in seeing a decent outcome in Iraq, Icannot honestly say that I am optimistic about Iraq’s short-term prospects293.
I do know that at this stage it will be politics—the calculations of those hard,unsentimental men with whom I had dinner—and not the application of American forcethat determines what happens in Iraq. I believe as well that our strategic goals at thispoint should be well defined: achieving some semblance294 of stability in Iraq, ensuringthat those in power in Iraq are not hostile to the United States, and preventing Iraq frombecoming a base for terrorist activity. In pursuit of these goals, I believe it is in
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ancestry
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dwindling
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cultivation
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ethnic
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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cons
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infrastructure
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depleted
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axis
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embargo
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bloody
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liberated
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navigate
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Soviet
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bloc
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ramped
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rhetoric
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covert
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purge
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slaughter
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imprisoned
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presidency
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transpired
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coup
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shanties
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corrugated
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murky
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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34
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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35
buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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36
delectable
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| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
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37
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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38
unwillingness
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| n. 不愿意，不情愿 | |
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39
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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40
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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41
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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42
economists
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| n.经济学家，经济专家( economist的名词复数 ) | |
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43
consultants
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| 顾问( consultant的名词复数 )； 高级顾问医生，会诊医生 | |
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44
ministries
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| （政府的）部( ministry的名词复数 )； 神职； 牧师职位； 神职任期 | |
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45
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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46
influx
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| n.流入，注入 | |
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47
corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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48
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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49
permeated
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| 弥漫( permeate的过去式和过去分词 )； 遍布； 渗入； 渗透 | |
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50
bureaucrat
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| n. 官僚作风的人，官僚，官僚政治论者 | |
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51
automobiles
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| n.汽车( automobile的名词复数 ) | |
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52
plowed
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| v.耕( plow的过去式和过去分词 )；犁耕；费力穿过 | |
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53
bulwark
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| n.堡垒，保障，防御 | |
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54
pros
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| abbr.prosecuting 起诉；prosecutor 起诉人；professionals 自由职业者；proscenium （舞台）前部n.赞成的意见( pro的名词复数 )；赞成的理由；抵偿物；交换物 | |
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55
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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56
skyscrapers
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| n.摩天大楼 | |
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57
rape
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| n.抢夺，掠夺，强奸；vt.掠夺，抢夺，强奸 | |
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58
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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59
franchise
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| n.特许，特权，专营权，特许权 | |
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60
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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61
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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62
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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63
ethnically
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| adv.人种上，民族上 | |
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64
civilian
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| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
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65
civilians
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| 平民，百姓( civilian的名词复数 )； 老百姓 | |
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66
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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67
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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68
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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69
corroded
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| 已被腐蚀的 | |
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70
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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71
monetary
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|
| adj.货币的，钱的；通货的；金融的；财政的 | |
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72
subsidies
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| n.补贴，津贴，补助金( subsidy的名词复数 ) | |
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73
staples
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| n.（某国的）主要产品( staple的名词复数 )；钉书钉；U 形钉；主要部份v.用钉书钉钉住( staple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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74
kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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75
vying
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|
| adj.竞争的；比赛的 | |
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76
remains
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|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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77
potent
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|
| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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78
deprivation
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| n.匮乏；丧失；夺去，贫困 | |
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79
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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80
bin
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|
| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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81
laden
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|
| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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82
militant
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| adj.激进的，好斗的；n.激进分子，斗士 | |
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83
Buddhist
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|
| adj./n.佛教的，佛教徒 | |
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84
watchful
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|
| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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85
explicitly
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| ad.明确地，显然地 | |
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86
possessed
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|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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87
blocs
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| n.集团，联盟( bloc的名词复数 ) | |
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88
mosques
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| 清真寺； 伊斯兰教寺院，清真寺； 清真寺，伊斯兰教寺院( mosque的名词复数 ) | |
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89
militants
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| 激进分子，好斗分子( militant的名词复数 ) | |
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90
squads
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|
| n.（军队中的）班( squad的名词复数 )；（暗杀）小组；体育运动的运动（代表）队；（对付某类犯罪活动的）警察队伍 | |
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91
volcanic
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|
| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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92
chronically
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| ad.长期地 | |
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93
coverage
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| n.报导，保险范围，保险额，范围，覆盖 | |
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94
metaphor
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|
| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
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95
antiquity
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|
| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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96
liberating
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| 解放，释放( liberate的现在分词 ) | |
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97
promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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98
capitalism
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| n.资本主义 | |
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99
multinational
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| adj.多国的，多种国籍的；n.多国籍公司，跨国公司 | |
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100
tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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101
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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102
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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103
hatreds
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| n.仇恨，憎恶( hatred的名词复数 )；厌恶的事 | |
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104
volatility
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| n.挥发性，挥发度，轻快，（性格）反复无常 | |
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105
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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106
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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107
ambiguity
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| n.模棱两可；意义不明确 | |
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108
wariness
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| n. 注意,小心 | |
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109
intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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110
entangle
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| vt.缠住，套住；卷入，连累 | |
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111
toils
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| 网 | |
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112
geographic
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| adj.地理学的，地理的 | |
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113
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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114
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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115
beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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116
entanglements
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| n.瓜葛( entanglement的名词复数 )；牵连；纠缠；缠住 | |
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117
DNA
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| (缩)deoxyribonucleic acid 脱氧核糖核酸 | |
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118
ideologically
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| adv. 意识形态上地，思想上地 | |
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119
inevitability
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| n.必然性 | |
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120
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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121
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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122
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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123
racist
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| n.种族主义者，种族主义分子 | |
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124
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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125
consolidation
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| n.合并,巩固 | |
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126
annexed
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| [法] 附加的，附属的 | |
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127
systematic
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| adj.有系统的，有计划的，有方法的 | |
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128
colonization
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| 殖民地的开拓，殖民，殖民地化； 移殖 | |
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129
meddling
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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130
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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131
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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132
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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133
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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134
dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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135
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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136
prop
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| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
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137
mediate
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| vi.调解，斡旋；vt.经调解解决；经斡旋促成 | |
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138
initially
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| adv.最初，开始 | |
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139
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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140
encroachment
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| n.侵入，蚕食 | |
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141
constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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142
ratify
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| v.批准，认可，追认 | |
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143
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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144
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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145
aggression
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| n.进攻，侵略，侵犯，侵害 | |
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146
allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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147
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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148
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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149
mutual
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|
| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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150
vassal
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| n.附庸的；属下；adj.奴仆的 | |
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151
imperialism
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| n.帝国主义，帝国主义政策 | |
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152
naive
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| adj.幼稚的，轻信的；天真的 | |
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153
containment
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| n.阻止，遏制；容量 | |
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154
tariffs
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| 关税制度； 关税( tariff的名词复数 )； 关税表； （旅馆或饭店等的）收费表； 量刑标准 | |
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155
forum
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| n.论坛，讨论会 | |
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156
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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157
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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158
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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159
hubris
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| n.傲慢，骄傲 | |
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160
makers
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| n.制造者，制造商（maker的复数形式） | |
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161
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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162
seismic
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| a.地震的，地震强度的 | |
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163
repercussions
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| n.后果，反响( repercussion的名词复数 )；余波 | |
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164
arsenals
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| n.兵工厂，军火库( arsenal的名词复数 )；任何事物的集成 | |
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165
contractors
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| n.（建筑、监造中的）承包人( contractor的名词复数 ) | |
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166
expenditures
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| n.花费( expenditure的名词复数 )；使用；（尤指金钱的）支出额；（精力、时间、材料等的）耗费 | |
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167
amassed
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| v.积累，积聚( amass的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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168
preclude
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| vt.阻止，排除，防止；妨碍 | |
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169
confrontation
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| n.对抗，对峙，冲突 | |
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170
consensus
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| n.(意见等的)一致，一致同意，共识 | |
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171
democrats
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| n.民主主义者，民主人士( democrat的名词复数 ) | |
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172
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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173
ideology
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| n.意识形态，(政治或社会的)思想意识 | |
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174
erode
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| v.侵蚀，腐蚀，使...减少、减弱或消失 | |
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175
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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176
dissent
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| n./v.不同意，持异议 | |
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177
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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178
harass
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| vt.使烦恼，折磨，骚扰 | |
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179
questionable
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| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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180
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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181
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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182
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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183
manifestations
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| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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184
racism
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| n.民族主义；种族歧视(意识) | |
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185
ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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186
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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187
activists
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| n.（政治活动的）积极分子，活动家( activist的名词复数 ) | |
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188
skeptical
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| adj.怀疑的，多疑的 | |
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189
hawks
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| 鹰( hawk的名词复数 )； 鹰派人物，主战派人物 | |
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190
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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191
perpetuate
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| v.使永存，使永记不忘 | |
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192
portrayed
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| v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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193
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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194
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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195
bemoaned
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| v.为（某人或某事）抱怨( bemoan的过去式和过去分词 )；悲悼；为…恸哭；哀叹 | |
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196
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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197
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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198
proxies
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| n.代表权( proxy的名词复数 )；（测算用的）代替物；（对代理人的）委托书；（英国国教教区献给主教等的）巡游费 | |
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199
deficit
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| n.亏空，亏损；赤字，逆差 | |
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200
deployment
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| n. 部署,展开 | |
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201
coalitions
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| 结合体，同盟( coalition的名词复数 )； （两党或多党）联合政府 | |
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202
judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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203
salvage
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| v.救助，营救，援救；n.救助，营救 | |
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204
bolstering
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| v.支持( bolster的现在分词 )；支撑；给予必要的支持；援助 | |
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205
imperatives
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| n.必要的事( imperative的名词复数 )；祈使语气；必须履行的责任 | |
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206
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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207
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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208
humanitarian
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| n.人道主义者，博爱者，基督凡人论者 | |
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209
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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210
Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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211
maneuvers
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| n.策略，谋略，花招( maneuver的名词复数 ) | |
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212
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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213
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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214
legislative
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| n.立法机构，立法权；adj.立法的，有立法权的 | |
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215
sketchy
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| adj.写生的，写生风格的，概略的 | |
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216
veering
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| n.改变的；犹豫的；顺时针方向转向；特指使船尾转向上风来改变航向v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的现在分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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217
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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218
blotting
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| 吸墨水纸 | |
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219
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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220
rubble
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| n.（一堆）碎石，瓦砾 | |
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221
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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222
commuter
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| n.(尤指市郊之间)乘公交车辆上下班者 | |
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223
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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224
invoked
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| v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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225
minimal
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| adj.尽可能少的，最小的 | |
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226
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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227
enunciation
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| n.清晰的发音；表明，宣言；口齿 | |
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228
blueprint
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| n.蓝图，设计图，计划；vt.制成蓝图，计划 | |
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229
assortment
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| n.分类，各色俱备之物，聚集 | |
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230
affixed
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| adj.[医]附着的，附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 )；粘贴；加以；盖（印章） | |
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231
resuscitated
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| v.使（某人或某物）恢复知觉，苏醒( resuscitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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232
accounting
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| n.会计，会计学，借贷对照表 | |
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233
initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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234
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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235
authorizing
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| 授权，批准，委托( authorize的现在分词 ) | |
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236
volatile
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| adj.反复无常的，挥发性的，稍纵即逝的，脾气火爆的；n.挥发性物质 | |
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237
analysts
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| 分析家，化验员( analyst的名词复数 ) | |
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238
coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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239
flouted
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| v.藐视，轻视( flout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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240
inspectors
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| n.检查员( inspector的名词复数 )；（英国公共汽车或火车上的）查票员；（警察）巡官；检阅官 | |
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241
diplomacy
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|
| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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242
inspections
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| n.检查( inspection的名词复数 )；检验；视察；检阅 | |
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243
assessment
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| n.评价；评估；对财产的估价，被估定的金额 | |
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244
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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245
bucked
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| adj.快v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的过去式和过去分词 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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246
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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247
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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248
punctuated
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的过去式和过去分词 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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249
groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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250
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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251
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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252
cluttered
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| v.杂物，零乱的东西零乱vt.( clutter的过去式和过去分词 )；乱糟糟地堆满，把…弄得很乱；（以…） 塞满… | |
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253
reconstruction
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| n.重建，再现，复原 | |
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254
insurgent
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| adj.叛乱的，起事的；n.叛乱分子 | |
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255
militias
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| n.民兵组织，民兵( militia的名词复数 ) | |
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256
militia
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| n.民兵，民兵组织 | |
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257
infiltration
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| n.渗透；下渗；渗滤；入渗 | |
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258
factions
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| 组织中的小派别，派系( faction的名词复数 ) | |
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259
killings
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| 谋杀( killing的名词复数 )； 突然发大财，暴发 | |
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260
frustration
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| n.挫折，失败，失效，落空 | |
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261
bespoke
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| adj.（产品）订做的；专做订货的v.预定( bespeak的过去式 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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262
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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263
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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264
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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265
wireless
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| adj.无线的；n.无线电 | |
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266
delegation
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| n.代表团；派遣 | |
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267
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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268
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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269
abducted
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| 劫持，诱拐( abduct的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（肢体等）外展 | |
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270
withdrawal
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| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
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271
interim
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| adj.暂时的，临时的；n.间歇，过渡期间 | |
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272
convoy
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| vt.护送，护卫，护航；n.护送；护送队 | |
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273
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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274
barricades
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| 路障，障碍物( barricade的名词复数 ) | |
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275
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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276
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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277
embezzlement
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| n.盗用，贪污 | |
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278
misuse
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| n.误用，滥用；vt.误用，滥用 | |
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279
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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280
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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281
knowledgeably
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| adj.知识渊博地，有见识地 | |
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282
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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283
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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284
mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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285
marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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286
arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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287
insurgency
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| n.起义；暴动；叛变 | |
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288
pimples
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| n.丘疹，粉刺，小脓疱( pimple的名词复数 ) | |
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289
dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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290
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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291
analyzed
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| v.分析( analyze的过去式和过去分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析 | |
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292
deteriorated
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| 恶化，变坏( deteriorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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293
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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294
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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