The War on Terrorism Began So Well. Then the Focus Changed. What Is the Bush Administration Aiming to Do Now?

By Robert G. Kaiser
Sunday, September 8, 2002; Page B01

Amid the hoopla surrounding the anniversary of Sept. 11, three questions seem apt: Why did the Bush administration veer off the course it set for itself a year ago, when President Bush promised to "rally the world" to fight a war against terrorism and then did so magnificently -- but only for a while?

Why has the administration now chosen to neglect its friends as it pursues its enemies -- or rather, the enemy most easily targeted, Saddam Hussein?

Why is the United States flirting with a new doctrine of preemptive war so radical it has no precedent in international law or American history -- and why hasn't this flirtation provoked our politicians to conduct a serious national debate, first of all in Congress?

We're still too close to these events to see them all clearly, but it's not too soon to see that the Bush administration's initial sure-footedness has given way to a stumbling clumsiness. This has been a bad summer for American diplomacy. It isn't easy for the world's leading power to alarm all of its allies in a matter of months, but this is what the United States has done, for purposes that remain mysterious.

The administration has accomplished this despite the successful beginning to the military campaign set off by the attacks on New York and Washington a year ago. Not only did President Bush rally allies on every continent to join an elaborate, efficient international coalition, but the Russian president, Vladimir Putin, used Sept. 11 to finally abandon the pretense that Russia and America could revive their Cold War rivalry. He allied his country firmly with the United States, then with the NATO alliance. Two Central Asian republics, Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan, former parts of the Soviet Union, welcomed U.S. bases on their territory, creating a new geopolitical reality. No government on Earth openly took the side of al Qaeda.

That first phase was triumphant. The anxiety of last fall that somehow America and its allies would be stymied in Afghanistan, as the Soviets were two decades earlier, now seems silly. Routing al Qaeda and its protector, the Taliban regime in Kabul, proved remarkably easy. Watching joyful Afghans dancing in the streets was a joyful experience.

The first phase has cost more than $30 billion and 51 American lives, but the initial mission was accomplished: no more Taliban, no more safe haven for al Qaeda. But the campaign stalled in early December, when American commanders decided not to send U.S. troops into the mountains around Tora Bora, and Osama bin Laden escaped -- at least that was the conclusion of American intelligence.

Since then the war hasn't gone very well. Key al Qaeda leaders remain at large, presumably including bin Laden, though he may be dead. With or without him, our enemy can still operate. A new U.N. study concludes that "al Qaeda is by all accounts 'fit and well' and poised to strike again at its leisure." It is sobering to consider how much we still don't know about al Qaeda. German investigators have apparently established that the Sept. 11 plot was hatched in Hamburg in a cell led by Mohammed Atta, pilot of one of the planes that hit the World Trade Center. Who was Atta's superior? Unknown. Who in al Qaeda's hierarchy helped plan the attack, or approved it? Unknown. What was bin Laden's personal role? Unknown. What did the plot's authors hope would be its result -- what are their strategic goals, if any? Unknown, though bin Laden's past comments suggest some answers, such as pushing the United States out of Saudi Arabia.

"Know your enemy," soldiers like to say, but we've still got a lot to learn about al Qaeda.

The U.S. government has repeatedly advertised its own inability to penetrate or understand al Qaeda by issuing any number of brightly colored alerts and warnings that a new attack was imminent. Those wrong predictions suggest grave deficiencies in American intelligence, a subject our public figures have generally avoided.

Multilateralism was critical to the administration's early successes in the war on terrorism, which makes it all the more surprising that the Bush administration abandoned it so quickly. Beginning with the December decision to withdraw from the 1972 Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty, a succession of policy choices revived the administration's reputation for unilateralism and infuriated old allies. Why did this happen?

The answer begins with the White House itself. If we know remarkably little about al Qaeda, we should also acknowledge ignorance about many of the inner workings of the administration. This is a secretive American government. In its eight months in office before Sept. 11, it took, out of public view, a series of decisions that made allies wonder if it cared about their concerns. One of those, shortly before Sept. 11, was to scuttle the long-negotiated enforcement protocol of the international convention on biological weapons -- ironically, now a dead letter as the world gets increasingly antsy about biological weapons.

The ABM Treaty decision particularly upset the French and Germans, who considered the pact the foundation of nuclear arms control. It was followed in January by Bush's announcement in his State of the Union speech that Iran, Iraq and North Korea constituted an "axis of evil." This infuriated Europeans trying to build bridges to Iran, and South Koreans and Japanese trying to work with North Korea. The administration stuck by the term, although it never explained how these three unconnected nations constituted an axis -- "an alliance of two or more countries to coordinate their foreign and military policies," according to one dictionary definition.

But the most important decision that fed our allies' anxiety about revived American unilateralism was last June's change of course on the Middle East. For many years the United States and its allies have differed on how best to achieve an Israeli-Palestinian peace; the United States has long been more sympathetic to Israeli governments than many Europeans have. But there was a qualitative change during the last year. The context for it was the war on terrorism.

President Bush has said from the outset that the terrorists responsible for the Sept. 11 attacks hated America because "they hate our freedoms." But the available evidence does not support this explanation. Bin Laden's own statements and the personal histories of participants in the Sept. 11 plot suggest there are more specific reasons for the terrorists' hatred. They include American support for regimes that they detest in the Arab world; American bases on Arab territory, especially in Saudi Arabia; and American support for Israel's occupation of Palestinian territory and for Israel's military campaign against the Palestinians. Psychological alienation from modern Western culture and a radical interpretation of Islam add spice to this deadly stew.

By ignoring the items on this list and denouncing an enemy that hates us for what we are, not for what we say and do -- or what they think we do -- President Bush has created an all-purpose bad guy whose existence allows him to sidestep any examination of American policy. But al Qaeda is led by Arabs from the Middle East and is deeply rooted in Middle Eastern politics and intrigue. Its grievances, however irrational, come from there.

The administration acknowledged the Arab connection early on by recognizing a need for improved "public diplomacy" in the Middle East, to better explain U.S. policy to Arabs and improve America's image in the region. But the problem, as American specialists and Arabs pointed out, went beyond imagery and explanation. Arabs have real grievances against the United States, first of all connected to the Arab-Israeli conflict.

This past spring, the intensification of violence from suicide bombings and Israeli retaliations created a Middle East crisis. Ariel Sharon and his colleagues used the crisis to press their view that the Palestinians killing Israelis were no different from the Egyptians and Saudis who flew airplanes into the World Trade Center and Pentagon. Yasser Arafat, the Palestinian leader, "is our bin Laden," Sharon said. Israel's objective, obviously, was to persuade America to make Arafat its enemy, too.

The Bush administration initially resisted, but by June, when Bush declared that Arafat had to be replaced, the United States had aligned its policy with Sharon's on virtually all operational questions. The administration continued to say it favored early creation of a Palestinian state and opposed Israeli settlements in occupied territory, but this rhetoric had no visible effect on Sharon, who has demonstrated no interest in a compromise with the Palestinians.

Judging by the public statements and published commentaries of Arab officials and analysts, they now see no significant difference between Bush and Sharon on the Palestinian issue. Bin Laden himself could have written this script, it so suits the goal of dividing the United States from the Arab world, including the Arab states that we have long considered our friends.

Potentially the most significant act of American unilateralism this year was President Bush's declaration -- at West Point, in June -- that the United States would reserve the right to act preemptively against groups or nations with terrorist intentions: "The war on terror will not be won on the defensive. We must take the battle to the enemy, disrupt its plans, and confront the worst threats before they emerge .... The only path to safety is the path of action. And this nation will act."

Thus began a summer of talk about preemptive war against Iraq. Israelis and Tony Blair of Britain showed some sympathy for the idea, but dozens of other international leaders expressed doubts. So, remarkably, did a long list of senior Americans who had served in earlier administrations, including George H.W. Bush's two secretaries of state, James A. Baker III and Lawrence Eagleburger, and his national security adviser, Brent Scowcroft. Their unusual public statements were evidence of profound disquiet in the upper reaches of the American establishment, where the idea of a unilateral, preemptive war caused deep alarm.

Last week the ground began to shift somewhat. Bush said he would make a speech on Iraq to the United Nations and would consult with the other permanent members of the Security Council. He promised to ask Congress to approve any military action, though his lawyers had argued earlier that such approval wasn't necessary. He also promised to build the case against Iraq in public, which politicians in both parties said he had to do. But all this had the flavor of after-the-fact cosmetics; Bush gave no hint he was prepared to change his mind about forcing "regime change" in Iraq.

What is the purpose of poking an American finger in the eye of just about every country in the world? What does the administration hope to gain by emphasizing unilateral options, from declaring war without Congress to telling other nations to sign up or get out of the way? Does such bullying ever pay off in politics, domestic or international?

In a democracy, voters want to participate. In a community of nations, governments want to participate. The issue isn't whether or not to fight terrorism -- a new poll of Europeans and American released last week showed strong support for military action against terrorists. But the same poll [see William Drozdiak's article today on Page B3] showed equally strong sentiment that any such action should be taken in concert with allies, and with the support of the United Nations.

The Americans questioned in this poll demonstrated a lack of enthusiasm for this administration's foreign policies, a warning in an election year. Only 20 percent of Americans favored invading Iraq without the support of our allies and the U.N. On question after question, large majorities preferred acting with allies to acting alone. But public opinion hasn't yet been a factor, because the country hasn't had a debate about its global status. The United States became the only great power a dozen years ago, but we have never really confronted the implications of this fact. Our political class has largely taken a bye on the biggest questions of our time: How should the United States relate to other countries, and to international institutions? On what terms should we engage with the rest of the world? With what kind of armed forces? And what sort of diplomacy? Has preemptive war become acceptable?

The attacks of Sept. 11 announced a profound change in the world. They set us on a new course. But our politicians have let us down by failing to engage the country in a great discussion of the huge questions we face. On Wednesday, when we mark the anniversary of the horror of last Sept. 11, we still won't know where we are going, or why.

Robert Kaiser is an associate editor and senior correspondent of The Post.

Real Battles and Empty Metaphors

By SUSAN SONTAG

ince last Sept. 11, the Bush administration has told the American people that America is at war. But this war is of a peculiar nature. It seems to be, given the nature of the enemy, a war with no foreseeable end. What kind of war is that?

There are precedents. Wars on such enemies as cancer, poverty and drugs are understood to be endless wars. There will always be cancer, poverty and drugs. And there will always be despicable terrorists, mass murderers like those who perpetrated the attack a year ago tomorrow as well as freedom fighters (like the French Resistance and the African National Congress) who were once called terrorists by those they opposed but were relabeled by history.

When a president of the United States declares war on cancer or poverty or drugs, we know that "war" is a metaphor. Does anyone think that this war the war that America has declared on terrorism is a metaphor? But it is, and one with powerful consequences. War has been disclosed, not actually declared, since the threat is deemed to be self-evident.

Real wars are not metaphors. And real wars have a beginning and an end. Even the horrendous, intractable conflict between Israel and Palestine will end one day. But this antiterror war can never end. That is one sign that it is not a war but, rather, a mandate for expanding the use of American power.

When the government declares war on cancer or poverty or drugs it means the government is asking that new forces be mobilized to address the problem. It also means that the government cannot do a whole lot to solve it. When the government declares war on terrorism terrorism being a multinational, largely clandestine network of enemies it means that the government is giving itself permission to do what it wants. When it wants to intervene somewhere, it will. It will brook no limits on its power.

The American suspicion of foreign "entanglements" is very old. But this administration has taken the radical position that all international treaties are potentially inimical to the interests of the United States since by signing a treaty on anything (whether environmental issues or the conduct of war and the treatment of prisoners) the United States is binding itself to obey conventions that might one day be invoked to limit America's freedom of action to do whatever the government thinks is in the country's interests. Indeed, that's what a treaty is: it limits the right of its signatories to complete freedom of action on the subject of the treaty. Up to now, it has not been the avowed position of any respectable nation-state that this is a reason for eschewing treaties.

Describing America's new foreign policy as actions undertaken in wartime is a powerful disincentive to having a mainstream debate about what is actually happening. This reluctance to ask questions was already apparent in the immediate aftermath of the attacks last Sept. 11. Those who objected to the jihad language used by the American government (good versus evil, civilization versus barbarism) were accused of condoning the attacks, or at least the legitimacy of the grievances behind the attacks.

Under the slogan United We Stand, the call to reflectiveness was equated with dissent, dissent with lack of patriotism. The indignation suited those who have taken charge of the Bush administration's foreign policy. The aversion to debate among the principal figures in the two parties continues to be apparent in the run-up to the commemorative ceremonies on the anniversary of the attacks ceremonies that are viewed as part of the continuing affirmation of American solidarity against the enemy. The comparison between Sept. 11, 2001, and Dec. 7, 1941, has never been far from mind.

Once again, America was the object of a lethal surprise attack that cost many in this case, civilian lives, more than the number of soldiers and sailors who died at Pearl Harbor. However, I doubt that great commemorative ceremonies were felt to be needed to keep up morale and unite the country on Dec. 7, 1942. That was a real war, and one year later it was very much still going on.

This is a phantom war and therefore in need of an anniversary. Such an anniversary serves a number of purposes. It is a day of mourning. It is an affirmation of national solidarity. But of one thing we can be sure. It is not a day of national reflection. Reflection, it has been said, might impair our "moral clarity." It is necessary to be simple, clear, united. Hence, there will be borrowed words, like the Gettysburg Address, from that bygone era when great rhetoric was possible.

Abraham Lincoln's speeches were not just inspirational prose. They were bold statements of new national goals in a time of real, terrible war. The Second Inaugural Address dared to herald the reconciliation that must follow Northern victory in the Civil War. The primacy of the commitment to end slavery was the point of Lincoln's exaltation of freedom in the Gettysburg Address. But when the great Lincoln speeches are ritually cited, or recycled for commemoration, they have become completely emptied of meaning. They are now gestures of nobility, of greatness of spirit. The reasons for their greatness are irrelevant.

Such an anachronistic borrowing of eloquence is in the grand tradition of American anti-intellectualism: the suspicion of thought, of words. Hiding behind the humbug that the attack of last Sept. 11 was too horrible, too devastating, too painful, too tragic for words, that words could not possibly express our grief and indignation, our leaders have a perfect excuse to drape themselves in others' words, now voided of content. To say something might be controversial. It might actually drift into some kind of statement and therefore invite rebuttal. Not saying anything is best.

I do not question that we have a vicious, abhorrent enemy that opposes most of what I cherish including democracy, pluralism, secularism, the equality of the sexes, beardless men, dancing (all kinds), skimpy clothing and, well, fun. And not for a moment do I question the obligation of the American government to protect the lives of its citizens. What I do question is the pseudo-declaration of pseudo-war. These necessary actions should not be called a "war." There are no endless wars; but there are declarations of the extension of power by a state that believes it cannot be challenged.

America has every right to hunt down the perpetrators of these crimes and their accomplices. But this determination is not necessarily a war. Limited, focused military engagements do not translate into "wartime" at home. There are better ways to check America's enemies, less destructive of constitutional rights and of international agreements that serve the public interest of all, than continuing to invoke the dangerous, lobotomizing notion of endless war.

Susan Sontag, a novelist and essayist, is author of the forthcoming "Regarding the Pain of Others.''