Finals...

Percentage Threats

A while back, I asked an educated individual why the Russians were equipping their strategic bombers with rearward-firing turret cannons at a time when the United States was developing aircraft with the capability to down them at over a hundred miles away. His answer was succinct:

A Tu-22M "Backfire."  A 23 mm autocannon turret can be seen just above the engines.

"The Russian "percentage" threat does not come from the U.S.  It comes from various countries throughout Asia.  These countries fly aircraft that mainly shoot guns/old IR missiles and first gen radar missiles.  The range of a tailgun shooting aft is equal to the range of most IR missiles fired in the rear quarter.  Also, the Russians have great confidence that they can defeat any radar/radar missile with the EW suite on their bombers and most IR missiles with an impressive array of flares.  The one thing for which there is no defense is a brick hurled at you at three times the speed of sound..."

In other words, the Russians were preparing to fight a war against the threats they thought were most likely: their Asian neighbors. That doesn't mean that they weren't prepared to take on America, if push came to shove, but they were certainly taking other threats into consideration.

Originally, this random fact was not going to make it into a blog post at all. However, over the last few weeks I've been noticing a common theme throughout some of my random research.

The wars you prepare for are the wars you are likely to fight. 
The old adage "you fight like you train," means a lot in this situation. If you think you're going to go to a specific conflict, you train for that conflict.
But the converse is also true: The wars you fight become the wars you are prepared for.

An excellent example is the military of the Philippine islands. At one point, they had a balanced fighting force, including all-weather capable F-8 Crusaders for their fledgling air force and a well-ordered navy. Over the years, however, the Filipino government's focus end up concentrated almost entirely on defeating Communist rebels. Funding and training flowed to the army. Now their navy is composed of ex-US Coast Guard cutters and an air force focused entirely on close air support and ground attack missions.
All this means that the Filipino military may be absolutely fantastic at fight guerrillas, but its capacity to fight a war against even small near-peer nations is practically nil. Indonesia's handful of Su-27/Su-30 class fighters alone could probably sink their fleet and down every aircraft in their air force without losses.

I find all of this quite interesting when I read articles with headlines like this: "Sequestration Leaves Army With Only Two Brigades Ready To Fight."A quick perusal of the article will reveal that brigades deployed to Afghanistan are trained to conduct support and advisory operations, not fight a modern war, and thus they are not factored into the Army's panicky brigade-count.

Which makes me curious: after more than a decade of fighting low-intensity warfare against adversaries whose most sophisticated equipment is an RPG or an IED, are we ready for a modern war against a near-peer foe?

Of course, one could argue that near-peer foes are not our percentage threat. We are much more likely to be conducting combat operations against terrorists than we are against large foreign enemies.
But, at least in my mind, there is another percentage threat: the percentage of lethality. Putting it simply, throughout American history, what has been more deadly: conventional warfare or small-scale interventions?
The answer, of course, is conventional warfare. The Civil War, if my memory serves me correctly, was the most deadly war in American history. Large-scale confrontations may be rare, but they are also much, much more dangerous than terrorist threats. Given the propensity of conventional conflicts to develop despite our best efforts to the contrary, let's not ignore the unique dangers that come with our emphasis on terrorism.

The Power of Perception

Bear with me here.

A few days ago, I was up with my classmates at a place called "Bear's Den." As far as I could figure out, there were actually no bears. Instead, there was a massive jumble of rocks overlooking a beautiful landscape. Great place to take pictures, and such.
But I'm not mentioning it because of this; instead, I found it interesting because I overheard someone say "This would be a great place to go if the world, you know, got really bad."I found this interesting...and if you'll bear with me, I'll explain why.


I came to realize something very discouraging this summer.
In a democracy, perception is more important than reality. And since the perceivers make the decisions in a democracy, in a very strange way, the perception is more real than the reality. For people are not acting on what is true, but rather what they perceive to be true...and so, slowly, the perception supplants the reality.

Think of the Soviet Union during the Cold War. During the Reagan era, they became afraid that the United States might carry out a preemptive first strike against them in an attempt to wipe the USSR off the map. Their fears were heightened by the "Star Wars" initiative that promised to shoot down incoming ICBMs. Such a system would allow the US to attack the Russians with impunity.

In reality, Reagan had no such intentions. But because the Soviets perceived a first strike threat, their perception influenced their decisions, and their actions were influenced, not by reality, but by their perceptions.

I read a recent article on how poorly the American public is informed on just one vitally important issue (hat-tip to the very interesting Defense and Freedom blog.) Now, what ends up influencing American voters isn't the reality about the deficit–it is and will continue to be what their perception about the reality of the deficit is.

What, do you think, is our perception about our country? Is it possible that many Americans feel that our political system is deeply dysfunctional and corrupt beyond all hope of repair? Is that the reason that less than 60 percent of Americans voted in the 2012 presidential election? Is that why Congress ranks lowest on the list of different public institutions surveyed, hitting an all-time low for any public institution? And is it telling that the church/organized religion ranks behind the military, which is the most trusted institution in the United States?

Does it tell us something about ourselves that I hear college students talking about a place to retreat to in case the "world goes bad?" Or that ladies in their 60s are getting amateur radio licenses to be prepared for an imminent societal collapse? Because they are. I've met one.

Is it odd that the DHS is buying ammunition in bulk? Or that .22 ammunition, a cheap and plentiful round, has been scraped from the store shelves, and that ammunition in general has been generally incredibly hard to find? Or, for that matter, that our sitting president is often enshrined in gun shops–as a master gun salesman?

Why is the demand for tactical gear so high among civilians?
And why are quiet country towns buying armored vehicles? Isn't it strange that the local police think that "the way things are going in this country, you'll probably be using it a lot?"

Really? What way are things going in this country?

I think that's a good question to be asking at this point. During the Cold War, people stockpiled for a nuclear apocalypse. Now, it seems that people are stockpiling for some sort of widespread violence. Certain sections of the population seem to believe that a societal collapse is imminent, or at least possible, and they are preparing for it. Interestingly enough, my own experiences have told me that military members, those public servants most trusted by the citizens of the United States of America, tend to rank foremost among these people. Practically every officer I've spoken to within the past few years is deeply apprehensive about the near future of the country. They're also cynical about national politics to a man, and they've sworn oaths to the US Constitution, not their leaders.

Don't get me wrong, I understand and respect someone's right to prepare for whatever disasters they like. Indeed, one would be remiss not to be prepared for what one sees as an imminent danger. One has a responsibility to protect and defend oneself and one's family, and I see the reasons people are worried about the collapse of society, or a civil war.

But it does concern me that the nation is so deeply divided that people see the need to prepare for a potential crisis. What worries me is that such perceptions may lead to reality–become, in effect, a self-fulfilling prophecy. Preparation for civil war may end up sparking one.

On July 3rd, 1988, the USS Vincennes, a guided missile cruiser, launched two surface-to-air guided missiles at an Iranian airliner, swatting it from the air and killing everyone onboard. The crew of the ship believed that the aircraft was an Iranian F-14, conducting an attack run.

Why anyone would want to down one of these beauties is beyond me...

After the shootdown, members of the Vincennes crew testified to facts that were blatantly contradicted by onboard instrument records. Why?

The explanation from Wikipedia is relevant here:

"When questioned in a 2000 BBC documentary, the U.S. government stated in a written answer that they believed the incident may have been caused by a simultaneous psychological condition amongst the 18 bridge crew of the Vincennes called 'scenario fulfillment', which is said to occur when persons are under pressure. In such a situation, the men will carry out a training scenario, believing it to be reality while ignoring sensory information that contradicts the scenario. In the case of this incident, the scenario was an attack by a lone military aircraft."

This is why the attitudes I have detailed above bother me. Should we, as a nation, be more focused on the truth, and less on our partisan perceptions? Is this why the Founding Fathers deemed education essential for well-ordered people? Have we as a nation allowed our partisan rhetoric to become so heated that we feel that someone–"us," or "them" is going to resort to violence? Are the citizens of this nation really concerned that the government might crack down on them? Is the government really afraid of an armed revolt? Has our distrust brought us to this point? Is it possible that "scenario fulfillment" will trigger a first shot sometime, somewhere?

Are we, as a nation, are allowing our perceptions to drag us inexorably into a horrific reality from which there is no turning back?

What is Truth?

What is Truth?

Of all the supporting cast in the New Testament, I think Pontius Pilate is probably my favorite. We know little about him, of course, but it is interesting to speculate. If one wants to imagine what Pilate was like "off duty," then I think that perhaps the most revealing thing he said during the trial is the cynical question he posed to Jesus in John 18:38: "What is truth?"

Despite this callous remark, Pilate unhesitatingly told the Jews that "I find in him no fault at all." But when the Jewish mob agreed to take responsibility for Jesus' death, Pilate acquiesced, perhaps believing that "it was expedient that one man should die for the people," (John 18:14) rather than risking a bloody riot. Ironically, while the Jewish crowd, schooled in tradition and well aware of the words of the prophets, failed to recognize their Messiah, the Romans on the scene were less blind. (See John 19:19-22 and Mark 15:39)

I find no fault in this man...

It seems to me that in the final analysis, Pilate realized that the truth did not matter to the mob, and rather than give them justice, he granted them what they desired. Perhaps this prompted his cynical query and his equally cynical treatment of the Jewish authorities after the crucifixion. His cynicism seems justified when the priests later stage a cover-up of Jesus' resurrection. What is truth, indeed?

Regrettably, I feel I have to sympathize with Pilate. As a journalist, the truth is important to me. Yet today, I sense that the crowd is not interested in the truth, only in what they want to hear. I live in a democratic society, after all, and democracies tend to devolve into mobs. Like the one before Pilate, the mob today is only interested in appeasing its own wants. The truth is irrelevant because it does not satisfy those wants. Instead, it becomes replaced by pundits and opinion pieces and columnists and studies telling people what they want to hear. Why? Because in a democratic society, telling people what they want to hear works. 

For instance, one frequently hears people, especially conservatives, decrying the bias and incompetence of the media and blaming it for various ills, accusing it of "manipulating facts" and distorting people's views. The truth is that the media rarely changes people's perspectives (the recent acquittal of Zimmerman, despite the poltergeist of racism raised by the media, can attest to this fact) and in today's pundit-filled world, I suspect people are most likely to pick and choose the mouthpieces that reenforce their preexisting views. But it is more convenient to accuse the "liberal media" of "brainwashing America" than it is to conclude that the liberal media is merely a Pilate before the mob, producing what sells. To come to this conclusion would be to undermine the fundamental notions of our modern democratic beliefs, the beliefs that the common man is decent and smart and knows what is right and will vote accordingly, as long as he is not lied to by the television. To hold any beliefs to the contrary is to imply that we, not them, are to blame for the problems. And (heaven forbid) it might even imply that democracy doesn't work, and that is unthinkable.

Along with the media, "corrupt politicians" and "the president" as long as he is on the opposing side of the two-party divide, are also held equally accountable for the "mess America is in." Actually, they are blamed for the mess, but not held accountable. They are instead reelected, or they are shuffled out and other political puppets are put in place.

Perhaps the truth is that deep down, we Americans like being lied to by those in power because, like Pilate, we feel we can wash our hands of the guilt. But those in Congress, you will notice, blame the President with appalling frequency while letting more power slide into his hands. What little power Congress retains appears to exist merely to allow the President to blame his failures on them.

"As nations cannot be rewarded or punished in the next world they must be in this."
-George Mason

Perhaps the truth is that those in Congress want the president to have more power so that he, like a lightning rod, will attract the wrath of the people once his eight years are up and they will be unscathed.

"It is expedient that one man should die for the people..."

Perhaps the truth is, that like any mob, our impatient desires and thoughtless attitude render us unfit for governance.  We call upon our Pontius Pilates to release our Barabbas and then are shocked when we find who is crucified. Too late we realize that the blood is on our hands and on the hands of our children forever, and Pilate's guilt is ignorable compared to the massive weight of our own.

"He that delivered me unto you hath the greater sin."

How We Lost the War on Terror: Part III

How We Lost the War on Terror

Part III: The Right Men in the Wrong Place

"The right man in the wrong place can make all the difference in the world."

-The G-Man, Half-Life 2

For those of you who are not Half-Life aficionados, the G-Man is speaking of Dr. Gordon Freeman, a theoretical physicist with an inexplicable knack for functioning as a one-man army and using whatever he can find to get out of the sticky situations he finds himself in.

For the purposes of examining the War on Terror, a lesson in Half-Life mythology is not necessary. For this article, should suffice to understand that the G-Man has a habit of inserting Freeman into "the wrong place" intentionally, letting Freeman wreak havoc on his foes.    

I bring all this up because I like the idea behind the G-Man's thinking, and I'd like to look at a some other cases of "the right men in the wrong place."

Case Study Number One: A young man named Ahmed Bouchiki is gunned down by assassins in Lillehammer, Norway as he walks home from a theatre. The Norwegian police capture five people in connection to the murder, all agents of Israel's secretive intelligence organization, Mossad. Bouchiki had been mistaken for a terrorist involved in the Munich massacre. 

Case Study Number Two: May 2, 2011. Navy SEALs and CIA operatives scoot across the Pakistani border in helicopters, crash one of them in Osama bin Laden's front yard, kick in the door and shoot bin Laden. They then scoot back across the border, mission accomplished without any friendly casualties.

Both operations are examples of covert operations, "black ops," as it were. Israel's Operation Wrath of God is a prime example of that country's longstanding policy of "terrorizing the terrorists," carrying out assassinations and sabotage far beyond their borders. Israel is not as militarily strong as the United States, and it does not have the luxury of invading nations because it believes terrorists have taken up residence there, which is why it relies heavily on intelligence and targeted killings.

But even the Mossad makes mistakes, as the Lillehammer Affair makes clear. The killing of bin Laden and the assassination of Bouchiki are almost polar opposites, in this regard: one a worst-case scenario, a mistake ending in compromise and embarrassment; the other a carefully-planned and well-executed raid that eliminated the world's most wanted terrorist. In both events, a government sent "the right men," spies and special forces, to "the wrong place," another state, to exact retribution for crimes committed against its citizens. 

This, in my opinion, is how we should carry out our counter-terrorism operations. Sure, I have some reservations, but before we delve into the downside of black-ops, let's look at some of the plusses.

1) Special Operations is just Cool

This is cool!

Let's just all admit it: special operations is really, really cool. This is possibly the worst reason for using these guys to do all our dirty work, but things like this matter to some people.

2) The Cost is Lower

It's not hard to make a case that running around whacking people with secret commando assassins and a secretive intelligence organization costs less money than, say, invading a couple of nations, killing a bunch of their people and blowing up their cities, then rebuilding the cities and bribing all of their leaders to get along with us. But that's not the only cost involved.

This is also cool. 

Looking back at the Lillehammer affair, we realize that the Mossad's massive blunder resulted in a single innocent death. Far be it from me to minimize this tragic loss of life, or present the Mossad as a squeaky-clean paradigm of niceness and butterflies. But, to put things in perspective, a similar "oops" moment carried out by conventional forces–say, drones–could very likely result in ten to twenty dead. Not only do drone strikes tend to cause a lot of collateral, but they are also comparatively easy to carry out (once you've invaded a country, or smooth-talked their leaders into thinking it's a great idea.) I suspect that the ease associated with drone strikes and our suspect methods means that we've had quite a lot of "my bad" moments in the War on Terror so far, even leaving out cases where genuine targets have been successfully killed along with a whole lot of "collateral damage." To put it shortly, we kill fewer people by putting boots on the ground. And I think that's a good thing.

Knives don't create collateral damage.
Usually.

3) Wise Investing

Our current tool of choice when dealing with terrorists is a drone. Drones are cheap, they can stay in the air for practically forever, and they never have to use the restroom or suffer conscience attacks. They are pretty effective as long as you are killing people whose best anti-air weapon is an AK-47 (and even then they are so predictable that said people will scrape together a must-read list of ways to deal with them.)

This is not cool. But it is cheap.

However, once you start fighting anyone with modern technology like refrigerators and 1960s era surface-to-air missiles or jet aircraft your drone is probably going to die like this one:

(The exception would seem to be Iran, but I suspect strafing one of our recon drones with a ground-attack aircraft was probably a spur-of-the-moment-Republican-Guard-macho sort of a thing.)

My point to all of this is that drones are of limited use outside of the narrow spectrum of terrorist killing.  That's not a call to scrap every last one of them by any means, but I suspect most of the drones we use now will be superfluous once (and if) the War on Terror winds down. Special Forces, on the other hand, are as useful in a conventional war as they are in asymmetrical combat. 

Besides their lack of flexibility, drones also bother me for another reason: they represent (in my mind) an increasing focus on technology-centered intelligence operations. From the NSA to the NRO, American intelligence is often derived from satellite pictures, intercepted communications, and, of course, drone surveillance videos. That's not to say that such technology is bad, but HUMINT should not be neglected. While traditional spycraft has its own shares of pitfalls, the more technical types of intelligence-gathering can be circumvented with amazing ease, especially by a technologically advanced enemy. (Or, to use Al-Qaeda's phrase, an enemy with $2500 and someone who is a "computer know-how.") 

In summary, I believe that running counter-terrorism operations using Special Forces and the like builds a robust capability that does not go away in a time of conventional war. Rather than planning around America's traditional "dissect-the-state-looking-for-baddies" model, I think that the US Military should be building and cultivating tactics and resources–including human ones–that are robust and versatile and can weather a conventional conflict with a well equipped and modern foe.

Some disadvantages:

I've laid out some reasons why I think that using Special Forces to, er, impede terrorist activities is a better idea than invading multiple nations in a clumsy and ham-handed attempt to catch a handful of perps, so I'd like to set aside some time for the downsides of targeted killings, midnight raids and the like.

Obviously, it is both expensive and it requires a capable intelligence network to selectively target terrorists in the way I am suggesting, but I dealt with those issues above. So let's start off with what I think is the biggest problem with the strategy I am suggesting.

1) It Takes Time

It's called extraordinary rendition, and the CIA is good at it.*

It seriously does take a lot of time. We ran around pacifying whole nations for a decade before we finally caught up to bin Laden. Now, I don't mind waiting ten years if that is what it takes to get the job done–and I would prefer to see the job done with as few casualties as possible–but some people care about these things. It's really pretty simple. People want justice (or revenge) after a terrorist attack, and they want it now! It looks weak to say "we're gonna pursue these terrorists to the ends of the earth, if necessary, and we will bring them to justice, if they don't die of old age first." It looks much better to say, "Oh look! Afghanistan! He's hiding in Afghanistan! Let's invade it!"

*Most of the time.

If you stop to think about it, of course, it's pretty stupid–we wouldn't invade any state that could stand up to us if we thought they harbored a terrorist–we would ask nicely, and if they said no, we would grumble about it and take him anyway, or grumble about it and decide it wasn't worth it. But, because Afghanistan and Iraq were kinda the equivalent of a large-scale live-fire exercise to invade, we had no problems doing so. This means two things. One, a lot of people die. Two, politicians look like they are doing something.

I, personally, dislike this method of capturing individuals by invading countries and would much rather we wait and take the time needed to do the job right. (Don't worry, your ratings will probably plummet that second term anyway.)

2) It Violates National Sovereignty

Nations take their territorial integrity pretty seriously, so flying in a couple of helicopters to shoot somebody you don't like is a great way to start a war, or at least get a couple of towel shipments canceled. Knocking somebody off by having a spy (or other non-military asset) do it is a little less odious (especially if you don't tell anyone it was you) but it's still a great way to lose that embassy and a bit of your pride if you get caught doing it. However, it is generally considered a lot less offensive than actually invading a sovereign nation. It is also less expensive and fewer people get shot. 

To be clear, I don't think we should make a general habit of kidnapping or killing people in other people's countries without their permission. But I think that doing it when it is absolutely necessary, and with the full understanding that they are well within their rights to take action against us when their sovereignty is violated, is a much better approach to combating terrorism than, well, invading random nations and forcing them to adopt democracies.

How covert operations would fit into a broader counter-terror strategy

If the United States is really serious about reducing the threat of terrorism to its country, attacking terrorists should be viewed as only part of a larger counter-terrorism strategy. It is often not difficult to discern the motives of terrorists, and, as I pointed out previously, simple things like not bombing innocent people can contribute to undermining terrorist recruitment. This can be taken a step further. For instance, one could ask the following questions:
Is the US military presence in said country [e.g. Saudi Arabia] a factor in terrorist violence against the United States? 
If the answer is "yes," then
Does the US military have a compelling national security interest or obligation to be in said country? Is the US military presence there making the US more or less secure?
If the answer is "no," and "less secure," then perhaps a move is in order. Similarly, US foreign aid shipments, treaty proposals, etc. can all be scrutinized.

Of course, this sounds very much like "caving to terrorists." But objectively, any government that deliberately puts its citizens in harm's way just to appear "tough" is not doing a good job of protecting them. To draw the analogy further, who supports inviting war with foreign nations merely to keep up appearances?

I do think, as well, that distinctions should be drawn between being soft on terrorism and undermining terrorist propaganda and recruiting techniques. Disarming all of our nuclear warheads in response to a terrorist threat is one thing, but conducting US foreign policy in such a way as to render the US less likely to create enemies is another. Certainly some people will aways be at odds with the United States, but to give their complaints the air of legitimacy is unwarranted and unwise.

Some final thoughts:

Before I wrap this post up, I'd like to throw in a few closing reminders.

1) The United States of America is the only nation on Earth that has the luxury of being able to invade other nations halfway across the globe. Every other nation has to deal with terrorists by doing arduous things like not letting them into their country or asking other nations to please send them back to be tried for their crimes, thank you. Every single one.  And many other nations have far worse terror problems than the US.

We have 10 of these...

2) Terrorism is a big deal because it kills people. However, all people die, so terrorist's achievements are limited unless they can force a society to change its behaviors and capitulate to their goals. To return to Clausewitz, terrorists "win" by forcing a society to bend to its will. As long as people react–as long as citizens or governments freak out when a terrorist attack happens–the terrorists are winning. In my humble opinion, ignoring them, hoping they will go away, and shooting them quietly in the face are good ways to deal with terrorists, and should be used in concert.

3) This series is not a book, and it is not exhaustive. I'm sure I missed some stuff. However, I welcome feedback, questions, comments, or concerns, and if enough of them pile up, perhaps I can scrape together another blog post full of the stuff I missed.

The right man in the wrong place.

How We Lost the War on Terror: Part II

How We Lost the War on Terror

Part II: The Costs Outweigh the Benefits

I remember when I was still in high school doing team policy debate. That was Russia year (the resolution we were arguing had to do with changing the US policy towards Russia) and the affirmative team was arguing something or the other that basically boiled down to spending a lot of money doing stuff in cooperation with Russia to counter terrorism. 

My partner and I rolled in quickly, citing statistics proving that bathtubs were more dangerous than terrorists. Our point was simple: is it really worth all this money to institute another counter-terrorism plan?

Of course, the rebuttal is simple: "Any amount of money spent is worth a human life!" And the argument is a good one: compared to a human being, money is worthless.

Unfortunately, that argument suffers from a fatal reaction to reality. In the real world, human life is not our greatest priority, simply because there are some things that we value above human life. (And, in my opinion, rightfully so.) At the best, safety is balanced by economy and practicality. 

For starters, we don't have unlimited money. We have to make do with what we have. That's why the IRST was deleted from the F-22. Sure, it's a valuable tool. But someone, somewhere, decided that we didn't have the money. 

But even if we did have infinite money, there are some things that we wouldn't do. One of these is institute a Health Safety Force to deploy Safety Officers to your home every time you prepared to take a bath. We hold that privacy and freedom are more important than safety.

(Or at least we should. Today, I sometimes think that we are becoming more like Nietzsche's Last Men, men who claim to have "invented happiness." They live safe, comfortable lives, but lives not really worth living because they involve nothing approaching a challenging or discomforting experience.)

However this may be, the point remains that safety is not, or should not be, the main focus of our lives. I think this is borne out by both our founding fathers ("They who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety") and Scripture, which continually emphasizes the fact that the days are not our own, and that we do not know what tomorrow will bring. 

With all this being said, however, it must be remembered that one of the duties of the federal government is to "Provide for the common defense." I believe this should remain one of the US Government's primary duties, but I think we should all be asking whether the methods the United States government has used to protect the American people are actually causing more harm than good.

To fight the War on Terror, the US invaded two sovereign states, Afghanistan and Iraq.  The motivations for invading Iraq were more complicated than Afghanistan, (what with the whole WMD arguments and UN resolutions.) Afghanistan, on the other hand, was invaded because it refused to extradite bin Laden without seeing evidence of his involvement in the 9/11 attacks/because they harbored and aided terrorists, something the United States and Israel both have done in the past. 

In invading Afghanistan, the United States committed to months (as it turns out, years) of strenuous, low-intensity conflict with next to little return. Remember, Afghanistan is the "Graveyard of Empires," the country that put the Soviet Union in the grave. Since the invasion of Afghanistan, US operations have expanded to include Yemen and Pakistan. 


Now, I don't pretend to be on the inner circles of worldwide terrorism, but from my perspective, the actions of the United States could not have been better tailored to further the goals of the Islamic terrorists who perpetrated the attack. In short, we were playing right into Al-Qaeda's strategy. By invading Afghanistan, we not only gave them further grounds for recruitment with every civilian that we killed, we also engaged them on their terms. We played into their battlefield and allowed ourselves to be bogged down to a protracted, long-term war...in Asia, no less.


Sun Tzu was quite explicit on this kind of warfare. He actually waxes wordy on this particular issue, saying in part:


"When you do battle, even if you are winning, if you continue for a long time it will dull your forces and blunt your edge...then others will take advantage of your debility and rise up. Then even if you have wise advisers you cannot make things turn out well in the end. Therefore I have heard of military operations that were clumsy but swift, but I have never seen one that was skillful and lasted a long time. It is never beneficial for a nation to have a military operation continue for a long time."

Obama recently declared an "end" to the War on Terror. I agree with Sun Tzu: we did not make things turn out well in the end. Aside from the thousands of innocent lives lost in the conflict and the billions of dollars (that we don't have) spent to fight in the war, the cost must be measured in those things that we hold more dear than life. The War on Terror may be over, but the vigorous and prolonged efforts to erode constitutional rights in the name of national security, however well-intentioned, have brought forth fruit that is here to stay. American noncombatants have been killed without a trial. Expansive and invasive data mining programs have been enacted, and Americans cannot even board an airplane without being virtually strip-searched. Our international status as a world leader in human rights and the rule of law has become a joke.

We should not be surprised by this, of course. In the modern age, war is directly linked both to the expansion of government and the profits of many individuals in the private and public sector. 


Instead of remaining unmoved in the face of adversity, we reacted to terrorists; we changed our ways of life and we spent vast swaths of time and money to achieve little besides the wholesale slaughter of a number of our "enemies."  In the long term, however, the heavy casualties we have inflicted on terrorist organizations around the globe are irrelevant, because the enemy we are fighting are not loyal to a political system or an organization; they are motivated by a vibrant and thriving ideology that set down its roots long before the Constitution was penned. An ideology can only be defeated by another ideology; force of arms or military action is rarely effective.


I am reminded of the story of the US officer who, while engaged in negotiations with the North Vietnamese, told his counterpart from Vietnam that the US had never lost a single battle in the war. "That is true," replied the Vietnamese officer, "but that is also irrelevant." 


Similarly, our killing of "terrorists" is irrelevant inasmuch as it will never defeat America's enemies and terrorists worldwide. Did we know this before we went into Afghanistan and Iraq? Whether we did or not, our approach determined the outcome: before the war began, we committed ourselves into an unending and fruitless conflict. 

In short, I believe that the overall effect of the War on Terror has done little towards the ultimate defeat of militant Islam, has played into the hands of Al-Quada by involving the US in a number of exhausting and financially draining military operations worldwide, and has eroded the civil liberties and rights that Americans ought to hold dear.


However, nothing is not exactly an appropriate response to a terrorist attack on the level of 9/11. So in my next post in this series, I'll try to outline what I believe would have been an appropriate response.

How We Lost the War on Terror

How We Lost the War on Terror:

Part I: Not Winning is Losing

Therefore a victorious army first wins and then seeks battle; a defeated army first battles and then seeks victory. -Sun Tzu

Sun Tzu may have written long before "terrorism" was a word, but his words live on today because of their enduring applicability to even the most modern of conflicts. Despite changes in technology and politics, human nature remains the same.

Sun Tzu believed that a talented general did not go to battle without first understanding the strategic balance between himself and his enemy and ensuring that it was in his favor. "Therefore," said Sun Tzu, "the victories of good warriors are not noted for cleverness or bravery. Therefore their victories in battle are not flukes. Their victories are not flukes because they position themselves where they will surely win, prevailing over those who have already lost."

Today, I would like to examine Sun Tzu's contentions in the context of the War on Terror. It is my contention that the United States of America lost the battle before the first shots were fired in Iraq or Afghanistan.

Before we begin, however, we must first define our terms. Because I dislike the rather oxymoronic idea of a "War on Terror," let's specifically outline what kicked off this worldwide party.

Most (if not all) of the United State's military actions against terrorists stem from the Authorization for Use of Military Force, a Congressional Resolution (and not a declaration of war.) The AUMF gives the president the authority to "use all necessary and appropriate force against those nations, organizations, or persons he determines planned, authorized, committed, or aided the terrorist attacks that occurred on September 11, 2001, or harbored such organizations or persons, in order to prevent any future acts of international terrorism against the United States by such nations, organizations or persons." For the purposes of defining the War on Terror, then, let us treat the AUMF and the Patriot Act, as well as subsequent actions taken by the United States government to stamp out terrorism, as the parameters of the "War." Thus the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and the current drone wars in Yemen and Pakistan would presumably fall under this category, but efforts to eradicate poachers in Africa would not.

There is one more thing we must understand: genuine war is fundamentally an extension of politics. Carl Von Clausewitz, who laid the foundations for much of Western strategic thought with his hefty On War, dealt with this truth well when he said "war is simply a continuation of political intercourse, with the addition of other means...war itself does not suspend political intercourse or change it into something entirely different." Fundamentally, then, war is the effort to compel one's opponent make political decisions. Now that that's out of the way, let's dive in.

The War on Terror renders true victory impossible simply because it is too broad. With the AUMF, Congress essentially surrendered decision making authority to the president to determine against whom and where the war will be conducted. Without any real predetermined goals that can be achieved, the war becomes an ongoing operation carried out at the whim of the president. Although one could hold to the view that an elimination of the primary sponsors of the 9/11 attacks would be considered "winning," this path has not been taken by the government. Instead, under the auspices of "prevent(ing) any future acts of international terrorism against the United States," the war has been expanded and shows every sign of carrying on. Our efforts to fight pretty much any terrorist who dislikes us, anywhere, guarantee that the end of the War on Terror will be a political decision, not a military reality.

We said before, of course, that war is an extension of politics, so it does seem appropriate for a war to end with a political decision. But war also has goals that should be fulfilled to win. Clausewitz defines war as "an act of force to compel our enemy to do our will," and although he acknowledged the theory of war often differed from the practice, it is hard to imagine a war that does not abide by this definition. According to Clausewitz, in theory a pure war is over when one side has an "inability to carry on the struggle," but says that in practice, this can "be replaced by two other grounds for making peace: the first is the improbability of victory; the second is its unacceptable cost." The important point to note here is not any of these alternatives: after all, we will never force the enemy to "do our will," he is often firmly and religiously convinced of ultimate victory, and an enemy that will sacrifice himself is unlikely to find any cost unacceptable. The important point is the Clausewitz concludes that a war ends with peace.

Terrorism, like piracy, never "ends," it merely drifts from public consciousness. True peace is impossible. It seems, then, that the United States has declared war on an enemy that cannot be defeated, merely combated. In my mind, this is a poor approach. While it is stirring to declare that a "country is at war!" a war is meant to be won or lost–and to fight a war with no intention of winning is to fight a losing fight. The War on Terror, then, was lost before it began because it initiated a conflict that can never end with an enemy that cannot be defeated. The subsequent US expansion of the war to encompass terrorists who were not directly responsible for the 9/11 attacks made this inevitable.

I realize that at this point, however, I've merely hammered in why calling the War on Terror a "war" was a terrible idea. It is easy to agree with the actions taken and merely suggest that the operation be given a different name, like "Overseas Contingency Operations" or "Efforts to Counter Violent Extremism." So in Part II of this post, I'm going to assess the actions of the War on Terror and whether it was really worthwhile.

On Old Age

I visited my grandfather today. We toured his new house–downsized from the 13 acres he used to inhabit–and examine his dwindling firearms inventory. A .38 caliber revolver. A silvery 1911-style .45 manufactured in Argentina.

“I’ve got a Saturday night special under my pilla,” my granddad declares. He checks near the head of his bed, then tosses the sheets about, looking for the firearm. “I moved it to make it less conspicuous,” he comments.

I eye the bedside desk. “Is it in here, Papa?” I ask, opening the top drawer and removing an ancient gray revolver loaded with rat-shot.

My grandfather may be 85, but he is still mentally acute and physically fit, as I discovered when I stepped into his house and found myself caught in his crushing handshake. I haven’t seen him shoot recently, but I remain confident that his revolver is in the hands of a capable user.

We’re in the process of collecting some of his paraphernalia. He has a list compiled of some of his more important items and who is to have them, “In case I die without permission,” as he laconically puts it.

I hope I’ll be like that when I’m his age.

My generation seems to fear old age. Youth is something to be relished and enjoyed, but with old age comes a dysfunctional body, it seems. Beauty fades. Money is no longer spent on pleasures and instead spent on hospital bills. Old people become disagreeable, self-centered, walking surgeries.

I’ve never really been keen on keeping up physical appearances, myself. Perhaps, for me, that would be a case of crying over spilt milk. But I understand the natural fear of growing old and the various health problems associated with it.

That’s another reason I want to grow up like my grandfather; he’s exceptionally healthy. If I live on 13 acres tending a garden until I’m in my mid-eighties, I’ll be pleased.

But the one real benefit that I believe comes with old age is experience. That seems sort of obvious and trite, I suppose, but I don’t believe my generation understands or appreciates that.

I find this forgivable, however, because I believe many members of my grandfather’s generation have become self-centered and petty in many ways. In part, I think we encourage that–we worry about them, ask them how they’re doing, and then wait patiently for the never-ending list of medical information that we really don’t want to hear about in the first place. We ought to be asking the right questions if we want to learn from our elders.

But I also believe that many of my grandfather’s generation have succumbed to believing they deserve something. They’ve adopted a selfish attitude because they’re old, they’ve done their part for society, nobody really cares about how they feel–and quite frankly, they feel a lot of pain. There is nothing like pain, physical or emotional, to turn people into themselves. It is, after all, the body literally screaming, crying for our attention. And we are a captive audience.

And all this makes me wonder, what will I be like when I am a grandfather? Will I be a selfish, crotchety old man? Will I be disillusioned because I put my hope in money or fame or my appearance or my relationships? Will I be selfish because I am in continual pain?

Or will I live instead to pass my wisdom onto the next generation?

I spend a lot of time looking at my grandfather’s collection of cups and baseball caps. A CIA glass. Rumor has it that agency aggressively conducted a fruitless pursuit for my grandfather’s talent in his younger days. I sometimes wonder if they succeeded.

A Nimitz cap. My father’s carrier. A VF-211 cap. My father’s squadron. An F-35 JSF cap. My father’s job.

So much of the life of a parent–in this case, my mother’s father–is wrapped up in their children. I can see that my grandfather’s son-in-law–my father–seems to have contributed much to his life.

My grandfather has contributed much to mine. Besides his direct contribution in the form of my mother, my grandfather’s resilience and advice has made a lasting impression on me.

Sleeping the night before a test will do you more good than staying up all night studying for it, he wrote in his spidery, thin handwriting when I first arrived at college. I’ve found his advice to be sound.  Some of my friends should try this novel idea.

My grandfather is even more stoic than I am, which makes it difficult to tell if he realizes how much I look up to him. It also feeds my own reticence, making me unwilling to say something like that directly. As I’m saying goodbye, I comment that I hope I’m able to crush my grandson’s hands when I’m his age. He shows me how to exercise my wrist.

“I’ll start doing that when I start getting grandkids,” I say.

“If you wait until then, it’ll be too late,” he replies.

My grandfather is right.  If I want to grow up to be like him, I’d better start now.

The Good Life

     "What is the good life?" This, one of the simplest and most basic questions in philosophy, is also one of the most disputed. (It is complicated by the fact that it is often impossible to tell if someone has truly lived a good life until they are dead, thus bringing into question whether one can really be said to be "living the good life.")

     Recently, I was struck by De Tocqueville's description of the American Indians. "The Indian," he said, "knew how to live without needs, to suffer without complaining, to die singing." 

     His characterization of the Indians reminds me of Epictetus, a Stoic philosopher.  "...if you seek to avoid sickness, or death, or poverty, you will be miserable," said Epictetus. "Therefore, remove altogether your aversion for anything that is not in our power and transfer it to those things contrary to nature that are in our power." For Epictetus, the good life was not about making things go your way. The good life was about contentedness and acceptance of life, even in the middle of what Kipling calls "those two impostors," Triumph and Disaster, in his poem If.

     For Kipling, too, the life worth lived is not a successful or happy one. It is a life where 


"you can make one heap of all your winnings

    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings    

And never breathe a word about your loss..."


That's because Kipling is unconcerned with winnings or losings. For him, life is about more than material gain. It is about the ability to 


"talk with crowds and keep your virtue,       

Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,"


If, says Kipling, 


"neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,    

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute    

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,       

And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!"


We see here that Kipling's idea of a Man is independent of one's station in life, one's education or career or fame or wealth or even dreams. It is about an inner moral fiber that is untainted by the world around it.      
     Epictetus had similar advice for men. He advised his readers never to blame or be moved by outside circumstances, but rather to "keep guard over themselves as though they are their own enemy lying in wait."     
     "For no one," he says, "can harm you unless you wish it. You will be harmed only when you think you are harmed." For Epictetus, virtue is about an inner self-control that is unaffected by external circumstances. "These inferences are invalid," he says. "'I am richer than you, therefore I am better than you'; 'I am more eloquent than you, therefore I am better than you.'...For you, of course, are neither property nor speech."


     But I could boil down all these ideas on the good life into three simple goals to achieve, it would be a return to De Tocqueville (with a slight tweak for the musically challenged.)


     1. Live without needs     


     2. Suffer without complaints    


     3. Die without regrets


     To live without needs does not mean that one should live in a tent hunting buffalo. It indicates the kind of mental independence that is required to "walk with Kings" without losing the common touch, and it means that one should not be attached to the things in one's life, whether they be material possessions, property, ideas, or relationships. "Never say of anything, 'I have lost it,' but rather 'I have given it back," says Epictetus. "What concern of yours by whose hand the Giver asks for its return? For the time that these things are given to you, take care of them as things that belong to another, just as travelers do an inn." The idea that our things are not ours, but belong to God, enables one to truly live without needs–and in so doing, better serve those around us.

     To suffer without complaints is a rare skill–certainly one I have not mastered. But a complaint is a sure sign of a self-absorbed person, and not the sign of a "someone who has been assigned to this post by God," as Epictetus says. To only care about one's own self is pride, and pride leads to the worst kind of self-deceit. To have an inaccurate and twisted view of the world should be avoided in all circumstances, but to place yourself at the center of your world is to lose your focus on the things that really matter.

     To die without regrets–"to die singing," as De Tocqueville put it, is perhaps the hardest task of all. Perfection is a virtue not found in human beings on this side of heaven, and "If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us." (1 John 1:8, KJV) To die without regrets, then, is perhaps the most arrogant and dishonest gesture a man can make in his own strength.

     But our lives are not our own. "Remember that you are an actor in a play of such a kind as the playwright chooses: short, if he wants it short, long if he wants it long," says Epictetus. "For this is your business, to play well the part you are given; but choosing it belongs to another." Thus, in a strange twist of circumstance, to have no regrets–not because of one's pride in one's role, but because of a confidence in the abilities of the Playwright–can perhaps be the most humble and truthful gesture a man can make. It is not the mark of a proud man, but the mark of a man living in total surrender. It is a telling acknowledgment of the ability of God to make "all things work together for good." (Romans 8:28, KJV)


     To live, to suffer, to die. These things are common to us all, and to set goals based on those things is not an aspiration to greatness, as the world measures such things. But it is an aspiration to a good life that can be had for the taking. All it requires is that we conduct ourselves as actors in the hands of a playwright. Our intended role may be that of a cripple or a beggar, but our reward will be a "peace that passeth all understanding" (Philippians 4:7) and an unshakeable confidence that you can return your life to the Giver singing.

Make Trust, Not War

Yesterday was Valentine’s Day. Hoorah. I probably owe everyone a blog post on “love,” because that’s what is expected, but I looked love up in my dictionary—which defined it as “an intense feeling of deep affection,” at which point I decided I was underqualified for the task.

So I would like to talk about trust instead. Trust is intimately related to love, because it is harder to love people if you don’t trust them. This is why people write breakup songs and/or jump off of bridges, because a deep trust they had in someone else was shattered so completely it took their own foundations with it in the blast. I refer these people to Epictetus: “Exercise yourself, therefore, in what you are able to do.”

            This certainly applies to romantic relationships—you can at least try to prevent yourself from becoming so invested that you will write poorly-worded breakup music if the relationship fails—but it also has broader applications in society.

            I live in a day and age where serious discussions of disarming the American people are commonplace. Usually these discussions are couched in terms of who should be able to access what types of firearms. Often, the argument made is something like this: “Bob doesn’t need an assault rifle because they are good at killing people, and that’s not Bob’s job!”

            I’d like to examine that and rephrase it in the language of trust: “I don’t want Bob to have an assault rifle because I don’t trust Bob with it!”

            That’s actually not unreasonable. I don’t trust Bob either, simply because I think most humans are flawed. Bob’s not a felon—in fact, he loaned me his lawnmower—but I’m convinced that human nature tends towards evil. Even if I do trust Bob, there are a lot of other people just like him that I don’t know that might be worse than he is. Because I’m going to a liberal arts college, I consult Epictetus to solve my dilemma.

            “If you seek to avoid sickness, or death, or poverty, you will be miserable.” Well, gosh. My neighbor, Bob, has an assault rifle, and because I don’t want to die, I’m going to be miserable?

Because I like his romantic advice, I’m not going to give up on Epictetus so quickly. He is right—if Bob and his assault rifle don’t kill me, I’ll die some other way—for instance, I’ll be attacked by RNA-injecting viruses and explode. I can’t be paranoid about death. But I don’t think that Epictetus is going to go so far as to advise that I ignore clear threats to my life—like Bob. (Or RNA-injecting viruses, for that matter.) So I’m going to go back to Epictetus’ prime principle: “Exercise yourself, therefore, in what you are able to do.”

So, there are a couple of things I can do here. One of them is to lobby my polis to ban assault rifles. “I don’t trust people with assault rifles,” I could say. “In fact, I think that people like Bob here should have their assault rifles taken away from him.”

I’m pretty sure, however, that Epictetus would be displeased by my actions. “The essence of good lies in what is in our power,” he says. By asking my polis to confiscate my neighbor’s assault rifle, I’m delegating that power to other men of the polis, not taking action myself. Secondly, in an exercise of what Epictetus would term “sophism,” I’ve just made a really hypocritical request. Let me read it again, with the understood premises: “In fact, I think that people like Bob here should have their assault rifles taken away from him by people with assault rifles.” Epictetus would find this so foolish he would laugh, if he wasn’t a Stoic philosopher. Apparently I don’t actually distrust people with assault rifles—I just distrust Bob, and people like him. For some reason, I trust other people that are somehow different from Bob with assault rifles. I’m not really sure why, and neither is Epictetus.

Fine. So I won’t do that. Instead, I’ll go buy my own rifle—it’s bigger than Bob’s, with a flashlight—and I’ll stockpile ammunition. I’ll spend days watching Bob through my blinds, waiting to see if he gets more weapons. I will constantly be prepared.

But on this front, I’ve failed again. Now not only am I living in fear—something which would probably exasperate Epictetus if he wasn’t a Stoic—my distrust of my neighbor has reached the point where I am preparing to fight an all-out war with him when previously we had been on good terms.

Hopefully, patient reader, you’ve forgiven my brief whimsy. Bob isn’t real, of course, but he represents our friends, neighbors, and countrymen. And yet, this trap is a real one. On one hand, my distrust of my countrymen reached the point where I am preparing to kill them. On the other hand, my distrust reached the level where I am unwilling to allow them to defend themselves.

This is a serious condition. A society composed of individuals that distrust each other so deeply they are prepared to frivolously jeopardize each other’s lives by commission or omission is no longer a society. It is Hobbes’ state of nature: a state of individuals, all fearing nothing more than violent death. No trust, no love, no society. For a society to survive, we must be able to trust one another.

But, it is also undeniable that even in the best of societies, there are individuals who act “contrary to the law of nature.” Sometimes, our trust in our fellow man is unfounded.

But there is someone else we can trust: ourselves. When the time comes that our trust in other men has failed, we must be willing to trust ourselves to do the right thing. Some people don’t trust themselves enough to protect themselves, and they live in constant fear of a violent death, trusting instead in the strength of other men.

But what kind of a life is it, to live constantly mistrusting oneself? To forever wish another to have control, to incessantly trust in men you’ve never met to protect you and tell you what to do? Perhaps it natural for men without God to live in this state, but even those who claim to place their faith above often seem to forget what that really means.

As fallen humans, a certain amount of self-doubt is good; it serves as an internal check on our individual power. But as Christians, to wish others to assume responsibility that should be ours is to mistrust God. For if God is our strength, then whom shall we fear? If God promised us His Comforter, and we believe His promise, then how dare we shirk our responsibilities? For God, of course, is the only one who can never fail us; He will never let us down, even when we disappoint ourselves. And if we believe that He lives in us, we would never ask fallen men to bear our burdens, but instead shoulder them ourselves, confident in His promise to sustain us.

That’s not to say, by the way, that I endorse forming a dictatorship of Spirit-filled Christians. Rather, it is an admonition to those—including myself—who would rather defer the tasks God has given them to someone else. Even Epictetus agrees with me on this.

“Remember,” he says “that you are an actor in a play of such a kind as the playwright chooses: short, if he wants it short, long if he wants it long. If he wants you to play the part of a beggar, play even this part well; and so also for the parts of a disabled person, an administrator, or a private individual. For this is your business, to play well the part you are given; but choosing it belongs to another.”

Spiritual aspects aside, I deeply fear a society that so mistrusts itself that it is unwilling to allow its members to be responsible men. I have specifically discussed this issue through the lens of gun control, but I believe strongly that what I have discussed applies in all areas of society, from the government to our private relationships. So do me a favor, and from time to time, ask yourself these questions:

1.                    Can my fellow-citizens and I do this? Don’t I trust myself and my fellow men enough to accomplish this task?

2.                    Am I helping or hurting what should be the relationship of trust between citizens, or am I instead sending my fellow men the message that I don’t trust them with what they have been given?