In Arab Spring, Foreign Militaries Make Unreliable Partners

U.S. News & World Report 2011-9-14 Earlier this month in The Nation, blogger Robert Dreyfuss contributed to the magazine's superb meditation on the Arab Awakening with a look at how the Obama White House responded to the popular revolt against Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak. As opposition to Mubarak reached its crescendo in February, according to Dreyfuss, senior White House aides frantically urged military leaders in Cairo to relieve themselves of him.

Read the entire post on the U.S. News & World Report website.

The Politics of American Militarism

The Atlantic Monthly  2011-9-2
Reviewed by Johsua Foust.

Most Americans would be shocked to learn that something like 95 percent of the foreign affairs budget of the federal government is devoted to the military. National security accounts for about twenty percent of the entire federal budget, but the public seems to have an altogether different perspective: According to a ahref="http://politicalticker.blogs.cnn.com/2011/04/01/cnn-poll-americans-flunk-budget-iq-test/">CNN/Opinion Research poll conducted in March of this year, Americans think foreign affairs make up forty percent of the budget, with thirty percent of the budget devoted to the military and the remaining ten percent devoted to foreign aid. Despite the high numbers given the military, the militarism built into the federal budget seems to spark very little concern.

It's no surprise that the average Americans doesn't realize how little we really spend on foreign assistance, or even how much we spent on the military. Foreign aid is a little under one percent of the federal budget, but the public discourse focuses on it so much it's easy to assume it takes up far more of our resources than it does. Similarly, the stupendous cost of the military--with its millions of employees and soldiers, 761 foreign bases, and thousands of U.S.-based facilities--simply doesn't compute with the public. Further, the military has a built-in constituency: supporting the soldiers is a patriotic duty; advocating on behalf civilians in foreign policy, like the State Department's Foreign Service Officers, is at best enabling limp-wristed decadence.

It is precisely that imbalance between the military and civilian parts of America's foreign policy that is the subject of Stephen Glain's new bookState vs. Defense: The Battle to Define America's Empire. "American militarism," he writes, "is unique for its civilian provenance." It didn't come at the point of a gun, or with the military formally declaring its control of the government. This militarism is no conspiracy, but is rather a natural consequence of "a uniquely American impulse to choose force over statesmanship."

Glain certainly makes for a compelling argument. The history he charts, which begins in 1947 and ends with the George W. Bush presidency, is extensive and well sourced. The popular perception that Bush was uniquely wrong to abdicate his foreign policy decisions to the military is simply not borne out by our own history. From almost the moment World War II ended, the military has exercised an outsized influence on foreign policy.

At the same time, the State Department is no hapless victim. While I understand Glain's desire to explain American militarism, he does not emphasize enough that the State Department's terrible leadership is as much to blame for the controlling prominence of the Defense Department as anything else. This happened almost regardless of the party in the White House. In the early 1960s, for example, Secretary of State Dean Rusk deliberately sought to remove Foreign Service Officers who rejected the Domino Theory, the idea that a wave of monolithic communism was sweeping across Southeast Asia. Rusk held on to provably false ideas of Maoist China as "a colonial Russian government" (which he proclaimed in 1951 and never rejected), and steadily removed the State Department officials and employees who used their deep knowledge of Asian politics to reject the anti-communist hyperventilation that had gripped Washington.

In many ways, the process Glain describes reminds me of how, post-2001, the Bush administration deliberately ignored its own regional experts when crafting the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. While Glain is certainly correct to note that this is a systemic problem, the State Department isn't exactly a good alternative to the military's overpowering presence in foreign policy. Even so, the military's gradual assumption of normally civilian roles in foreign policy has had disastrous consequences, and Glain deserves tremendous credit for arguing it so forcefully.

During the long run-up in 2002 to the invasion of Iraq, the State Department assembled the Future of Iraq Project, which assembled hundreds of experts and expatriates to plan how to handle the collapse of Iraq's government and society. The militarists in the Bush Whitehouse chose instead to hand responsibility for Iraqi reconstruction to the Department of Defense. When Lt. Gen. Jay Garner, who ran the Office of Reconstruction and Humanitarian Assistance, requested members of the Future of Iraq Project help him plan, Secretary Rumsfeld rejected it. The Iraqis would greet American might with roses, Dick Cheney famously said. There was no need for civilians to plan for much.

In Afghanistan, too, it was remarkable to see the government's long rejection of expertise in favor of militarism. Even today, the think tanks with the most access and media presence get that way through ablind advocacy of militarism, and in many cases an explicit rejection of knowledge. Advocating for a less intrusive or proactive military presence is simply not part of the discourse.

In 2003, the Pentagon looked at Afghanistan and decided it needed to be developed. Rather than reaching out to the civilians who are good at such things--not just NGOs but USAID and the State Department--they instead chose to create unique militarized reconstruction teams called Provincial Reconstruction Teams (PRTs).

PRTs inspired a wave of opposition from traditional relief groups. Since they were originally created, relief agencies have reacted strongly against the use of the military to perform non-military tasks.  Soon after, the Taliban did too: In 2004, the relief group Doctors Without Borders dramatically halted all its operations after five of its workers were slaughtered. In a statement, the group blamed not only intransigence on the part of the government in Kabul, but also the deliberate blurring of lines between military and relief work. They're not alone: Oxfam have become outspoken critics of the militarization of aid, as have scholars who focus on the topic. Even today, when they have re-established their presence in Afghanistan, Doctors Without Borders goes to elaborate lengths to highlight their refusal to participate in any military-funded activity.

The shift in military policy that fomented this militarization is remarkable, and is the consequence of the militarization of foreign policy Glain charts.

State vs. Defense is part of a growing body of literature on the military's evolving role in foreign policy decision-making. One of the best explorations about this is Washington Post reporter Dana Priest's 2004 book, The Mission. While well conceived and written (I loved it, in fact), Priest really only covers the 1990s and the first year or two of the Bush administration. Earlier this year, Wall Street Journal reporter Nathan Hodge wrote another book about the militarization of foreign policy, Armed Humanitarians. While I alsoliked that book, he too focused on very recent history.

Glain, in contrast, is much more comprehensive. By examining the impulse to default to the military as an artifact of American politics, rather than a recent evolution driven by confusion in the post-Cold War world, Glain brings much-needed insight into how, for the rest of the world, we really are a nation of soldiers (even if very few of us ever wear a uniform). It is only by understanding that history that we will have any hope of ever changing it.

Dining with a Sheik

The Investigative Fund  2011-8-25 Sheik Mohammed Farahat was waiting patiently for me when we met for dinner recently in downtown Cairo. He is a prominent Salafi cleric, which means he and his followers interpret Islam with a rather antique set of reference points. Specifically, they live and worship as they believe the Prophet Mohammed and his followers did during the formative years of Islam. The consequences of this are mixed: while the Muslim world during the Middle Ages was commendably tolerant and the epicenter of global commerce, it was also a brutal place with violent punishment for less than capital crimes such as adultery and theft.

Until my dinner with Farahat, I'd never come across a Salafi in a dozen years of reporting from Egypt. Egypt has no shortage of religious fundamentalists, including an architect or two of what would become Al Qaeda. But the Salafis are a different species entirely, more doctrinaire when it comes to social mores than the bourgeois Muslim Brotherhood, and emphatically opposed to the terrorism embraced by Al Qaeda and other radical groups. Their jihad, it seems, is to restore in their minds and communities what they believe is the purity and sanctity of Islam during its seventh-century genesis.

Since the eviction of dictator Hosni Mubarak in a non-violent coup seven months ago, Egypt's Salafis have enjoyed a spiritual as well as political revival. This was one of the more surprising byproducts of the uprising, as in principle Salafis confine themselves to religious study and generally eschew temporal affairs of state. Since the rebellion, however, several Salafi political parties have emerged and they are expected to field candidates in national elections in the fall. In late June, a demonstration promoted as a national unity rally was quickly overrun by tens of thousands of well-organized Salafis activists. Not only were secular protestors stunned by their numbers and discipline, they scandalized members of the entrenched Muslim Brotherhood, which is expected to garner a plurality of parliamentary seats in the upcoming elections. The comparably mainstream group had hoped to appeal to conservative voters by associating with Salafi leaders, only to alienate the vast Egyptian middle with the specter of bearded zealots in Tahrir Square, waving copies of the Koran and agitating for sharia law.

Until now a loose coalition of various congregations, political Salafism in Egypt is slowly cohering around clerics such as Magdi Hussein. In 2008, Hussein was arrested by Egyptian security forces for preaching in Israeli-blockaded Gaza after the crossing that links the Palestinian enclave and Egypt's Sinai Peninsula was briefly opened. Released after Mubarak's removal, he is now the leader of El Amal, the Islamic Labor Party.

Farahat himself is a Hussein acolyte. With Mubarak gone, he briefly considered launching his own party but instead joined El Amal. A well-known television personality, Farahat discusses religious affairs on two satellite channels financed by Saudi investors and he is frequently recognized on Cairo's busy streets. On his recommendation, we met on a temperate Friday evening in June at Felfela, a popular restaurant near Tahrir Square.

Farahat has the expansive charm typical of televangelists of all faiths and sects. With his long and thickly hennaed beard, intricately embroidered skullcap, and crisply starched and pressed dishdasha, he cut an elegant but conspicuous profile among Felfela's largely secular clientele. He took my hand and shook it vigorously, clearly relishing the chance to explain his faith to an infidel — and an American one at that.

"Islam is the only truly international religion," he began. "It is embraced by all the world and by all its minorities. Christianity espouses the killing of Jews, socialist ideology celebrates the group over the individual and capitalism does the opposite. Islam is equal across the board."

Fair enough, given Islam's Medieval ecumenicalism relative to Europe's. Advantage, Salafi.

Farahat then told me about the time he spent in Tahrir Square with thousands of fellow dissidents in defiance of Mubarak and his regime. He attended the protests daily throughout the eighteen-day siege, he said, sharing meals and stories of Mubarak's treachery with every spectrum of Egyptian humanity: Christians and atheists, rich and poor, young and old. "I was taken completely by surprise by this headless movement," he said. "Those who had been silent had risen together and when it was over it was a miracle."

But the revolution has given way to an increasingly opaque future. Political parties who lack the Islamists' social networks, a potent and highly deployable asset, are calling for postponement of the fall elections. The Salafis themselves have assumed a spoiler role; they may partner up with the Muslim Brotherhood — though the June demonstration clearly strained relations between the two groups — or they may remain independent and cherry-pick support from the Brotherhood's right flank.

"We all follow the same principles," Farahat said of the Salafis and the Ikhwan, as the Muslim Brotherhood is known in Arabic. "But whereas we follow the texts literally, the Ikhwan tends to maneuver politically. They are very Machiavellian, while we Salafis have not been smart about how we express our vision because we have been isolated."

Was isolation really the problem, I asked, or was it Salafism's  seventh-century answers for twenty-first century questions?

Salafis, Farahat assured me, were very much both in and of the post-modern world. He himself is a successful speculator in real estate and his daughter is an upwardly mobile executive in the information technology sector.

But what of the Salafis' extreme punishment for petty thievery, fraternizing among the sexes, and the drinking of alcohol? Would a Salafi Republic of Egypt render itself dry, thus all but bankrupting the tourism trade? (I had, by the way, checked my impulse to order a glass of Chablis with dinner. Wittingly or not, Farahat had chosen a restaurant that serves beer and wine.)

Farahat shook his head and smiled wryly. "There are things that are hadud or beyond debate," he said. "There is punishment for the sake of protecting the mind, such as the banning of alcohol, as well as constant things like family and honor. In this all religions agree. But you don't even begin to cut people's hands off for stealing until after a full inquiry into the felon's employment and financial situation can be held. If, for example, it can be proven that he could not find work and had no money and was forced to steal, his hand is spared. In the first 400 years of Islam, there were only ten such cases of hand chopping."

What of the ban on liquor? Why would westerners come to Egypt if they were forbidden to have a cocktail in their hotel bar and women were forced to cover themselves?

Again, the wry smile, uncluttered by doubt. "Islam is not against tourism," he said. "The foreigners who come here would be respected so long as they keep their alcohol concealed in their luggage and confine their drinking to their rooms. Otherwise, it's eighty lashes."

And the veil?

"Women must only reveal their faces and hands in order not to incite our shabab, or restless young men. Needless to say, there must be no public displays of affection either."

When you find yourself in a hole, so goes the old saying, stop digging. But deeper Farahat dug. Once in control of government, he said, Islamists would close down the international schools popular with Cairo's expatriate community and its well-to-do Egyptian families. "These schools have done nothing for us," he said. "Young people are being pulled into a culture that is not their own." Egypt's peace treaty with Israel, the country's foundation of economic stability for more than three decades, would be scrapped and a two-state solution to the Palestine question would be possible only if they were allowed an army of their own. "Otherwise, I will field an army of Mujaheddin," he said. "The solution will be imposed by force with five million volunteers." Egyptian Copts, the country's ancient Christian sect that accounts for ten percent of the population, would be allowed to co-exist with their Muslim compatriots "as long as they don't violate the constants of sharia law."

I asked for the bill. While we waited I asked Farahat to handicap the likely results of the upcoming election. In gathering his thoughts, he inhaled deeply and then exhaled, as if in preparation for a long-distance swim.

"In the end our government will be Islamist," he said finally. "The past era was one of secular liberalism and it was filled with nothing but crises."

Farahat may represent an important constituency in the nebulae of political persuasions now rotating around free Egypt, but I doubt it will prevail. For one thing, Salafi parochialism is very much at odds with Medieval Islam, which borrowed heavily from the Jews and Christians for its scripture, the Greeks for its philosophy, the Romans for its infrastructure, and the Persians and Chinese for its art and literature. To imply, as Farahat did, that the only good Christian is a prostrate one and to shut down centers of learning for their foreign provenance is profoundly un-Islamic, at least as Islam was practiced from the eighth century to the post-Ottoman era.

Some years ago, while eating breakfast at a hostel in Damascus, I watched on satellite television a retrospective of performances by Oum Kalthoum, the great Egyptian songstress who galvanized audiences worldwide throughout the mid-twentieth century. What struck me most about the broadcast, aside from Kalthoum herself, was the audience as it was occasionally panned by the camera. Of the thousands of attendees seated in what I assumed was the Cairo Opera House, not a single women was covered. Indeed, everyone was dressed in what seemed to be the latest fashions from Europe. Here was forensic proof of Egypt's native secularism, a tradition that predates the Islamist revival rooted in the Anglo-French partition of the Arab world after World War I. Free to express themselves in post-Mubarak Egypt, Farahat and his Salafi brethren would expel curiosity, empathy, irony, and aestheticism from the arsenal of human emotions that is the very foundation of Egyptian identity. And that is a lousy platform to run on.

The Investigative Fund is a project of The Nation Institute.