Review Essay - Iraq: the Wrong War Wrongly Fought? A Review of Recent Literature on Iraq
George Packer, The Assassins’ Gate: America in Iraq, Faber and Faber, London, 2006, 467 pp.
Thomas E. Ricks, Fiasco: The American Military Adventure in Iraq, Penguin Books, Camberwell, 2006, 482 pp.
Bob Woodward, State of Denial: Bush at War, Part III, Simon & Schuster, New York, 2006, 560 pp.
In the aftermath of President George W. Bush’s now evidently premature ‘mission accomplished’ speech from the deck of the aircraft carrier USS Abraham Lincoln on 1 May 2003, journalists, historians and military professionals released a deluge of literature on the American conduct of the Iraq War. These books—such as Williamson Murray and Robert H. Scales Jr., The Iraq War: A Military History (Harvard University Press, 2003); Ray L. Smith and Bing West, The March Up: Taking Baghdad with the 1st Marine Division (Bantam Books, 2003); Karl Zinsmeister, Boots on the Ground: A Month with the 82nd Airborne in the Battle for Iraq (St. Martin’s Press, 2003); Oliver Poole, Black Knights: On the Bloody Road to Baghdad (HarperCollins, 2003); Paul McGeough, In Baghdad: A Reporter’s War (Allen and Unwin, 2003); and Tommy Franks, American Soldier (HarperCollins, 2004)—highlighted the prowess of American force of arms and the ease with which the United States had seemingly solved the Saddam Hussein problem.
Unfortunately, even before this initial surge of congratulatory works had moved to the remainder shelves, the conflict transformed into an insurgency and Iraq began its slide towards chaos. Still, some authors had been astute enough to include a final chapter on the war’s emerging phase, while others had appended postscripts that added a sense of future uncertainty. The rapidly changing situation in Iraq illustrates the pitfalls of an author’s rush to publish and the need for time to pass before crafting a narrative. The writing of history is not an art of immediate observation and those that win this ‘race to write’ run the risk of being ‘the first to be forgotten’.
In 2006, a new wave of more mature and deliberate reflection began to arrive in stores—books that told a far different story than those earlier volumes. The story they described was no longer one of a triumphantly waged conventional war, but one of a bogged-down superpower caught in a nasty and growing insurgency. These authors did not fault the skill, bravery or resolve of the average US soldier. Instead, their primary targets were the civilian and military commanders. The three books reviewed here—George Packer, The Assassin’s Gate; Thomas E. Ricks, Fiasco; and Bob Woodward, State of Denial—were all published in 2006 and present a considerably more critical account of the war to date, offer a far harsher assessment of American strategic thinking and warfighting competency, and conclude on a far grimmer note. In addition, these books possess a greater sense of detached observation than was possible to attain by those writing earlier. Three years, it seems, is a long time in the writing of history.
There is considerable similarity between The Assassins’ Gate, Fiasco, and State of Denial. Each in their own distinctive style takes America’s senior civilian advisors and military commanders to task. George W. Bush, Richard B. Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld, Paul Wolfowitz, George Tenet, General Tommy R. Franks, Lieutenant General Ricardo Sanchez, L. Paul Bremer and minor participants all come under harsh scrutiny. The authors draw attention to a series of key decisions and policy issues that shaped the course of the war. Throughout, they raise important questions on the processes of US decision-making, accountability, and depth of geopolitical understanding.
Bush initiated the conflict with great promise and conviction and expressed his objectives in terms of a noble crusade. The United States would, by force of arms, liberate Iraq from the dictator Saddam Hussein, eliminate Iraq’s stockpile of weapons of mass destruction, open a new front in the ‘War on Terror’, and establish a democratic beachhead in the Arab Middle East. The goals were far-reaching, comprehensive, and aimed at nothing less than the re-making of one of the world’s most dangerous regions. If successful, Bush’s program would shift the Middle East’s balance of power in a direction more favourable to US interests. That the outcome of the invasion was the disintegration of the pre-existing Iraqi state (at least to date) and the ensnaring of the American military in a protracted insurgency conflict does not discount the worthiness of the objectives stated above. The destruction of the Iraqi nation-state was a reasonable cost for the war and the improvement in American national security that these lofty goals promised. It does, however, highlight the vast gulf between the Bush vision and both his and the US Administration’s appreciation of the steps needed to achieve the desired outcome.
The overarching theme addressed in these three books is how the war’s direction was allowed to deviate so far from the clearly defined strategic objectives. There is a suggestion that Bush foresaw the war as a crusade, and like all crusades, it had an ideological underpinning that made the questioning of its purpose and management extremely difficult, if not impossible. In the long lead-up to the invasion, detailed and critical examination of intent—and the precise and thorough assessment of facts—gave way to the wishful authority of a neoconservative agenda. Bush’s vision for a reformed Middle East was not balanced by considered and provocative debate, well-reasoned assessment and argument, or imaginative contingency planning at the National Security Council, the Department of State, the Department of Defense, or Central Command. Nor was much effort made to understand the culture and values of Iraqi society, and how this might shape the local people’s reaction to the planned invasion.
This was a conflict in which the principles of war and realpolitik took second place to an idealistic agenda. There was only minor consideration of the reality of the situation in the coming conflict, a flaw that continues to haunt US efforts. In a sense, the rationale for the war was overtaken by the desire for the war.
Time and time again, Packer, Ricks and Woodward point to the absence of the most fundamental requirement for the prosecution of a war—a strategy for victory. From the perspective of the operational art, Franks crafted a plan that saw the comprehensive defeat of the Iraqi Army in a conventional war campaign, the American race to Baghdad, and the toppling of Saddam’s Baathist regime. Given the disparity between American and Iraqi military might, the outcome of the war was never in doubt.
However, little or no consideration was given in Washington or Tampa, the home of Central Command, to the maintenance of security following the defeat of Iraq’s conventional military forces. This was a clear oversight, given that, from the outset, regime change was one of the war’s primary objectives. The result was that, as looting and rioting erupted across Baghdad and then the countryside, and as the first signs of a nascent insurgency appeared, US soldiers stood by, unsure of what to do and without orders or direction. The United States surrendered the initiative to the insurgents because it had no plan, other than the spontaneous emergence of democracy, for the post–Saddam Hussein era. The United States had gone to war without a contingency for anything other than success, and left its fighting troops with no options if the war faltered.
Packer articulates the most convincing explanation for this omission to consider a strategy for the post-conflict—or to use military parlance, ‘Phase Four’—environment, although elements of his argument resonate through the other books. Bush, Cheney and Rumsfeld had little patience for peace making and peacekeeping missions, which they considered an inappropriate use of military forces and one that had been associated with a legacy of failure of the Clinton Administration. Instead, they focused on warfighting alone and neglected post-conflict nation-building. Moreover, there seemed to be an urgency to take on Saddam Hussein, as if it was unfinished business dressed up as a response to the terrorist attacks of 11 September 2001. Bush was no student of Clausewitz and, together with Rumsfeld, who led a Defense Department that had become enamoured with technology-driven transformation, they discarded the time-honoured maxim on the political nature of war. They chose instead to wage war in isolation from politics. In Iraq, this translated into a Central Command war plan that focused on the operational art at the expense of the strategic, and the bifurcation of the conflict’s direction into separate civilian and military spheres.
These books raise more questions than they answer; a consequence of their proximity to events and lack of access to the full scope of materials. In this sense, none can be considered definitive studies, but rather they act as pathfinders that sketch out the critical issues to be revisited at a later date. One question they raise is the part played by Bush in the design and conduct of the conflict. None of the authors have a precise fix on the President’s place in orchestrating the war. Even Woodward, who ascribes to Bush the most active role, still leaves the reader unsure of who exactly was in charge. The source of key decisions remains unclear, and at times it appears as if multiple power centres in Washington usurped the prerogatives of the Commander-in-Chief. Whether this was with or without Bush’s acquiescence (or even whether or not it is true) remains unclear. What is readily evident, however, is that Bush is not cast from the same mould as Britain’s great leader of the Second World War, Winston Churchill, or even Margaret Thatcher.
Another subject addressed by the authors is the US Administration’s reluctance to admit or assign blame for mistakes. While these books convincingly argue that the Bush White House is not a place where error is readily confronted, it is harder to explain the rationale or benefit derived from such a policy. It also remains uncertain whether it was a result of deliberate denial, self-delusion, political opportunism, or of messengers unwilling to deliver negative news to a commander who did not want to hear of failure.
Comparison with past administrations is unavoidable. Periodically during Harry S. Truman’s time in the White House there would appear on his desk a plaque inscribed with the phrase ‘the buck stops here’. This was Truman’s way of saying that he took responsibility for his Administration’s decisions. By contrast, such a metaphor would find no place in the Bush Administration, an observation made even more damning by the President’s limited admission of culpability in January 2007, when he announced his new strategy for Iraq. Instead of a plaque of Missourian directness, the symbol for the allocation of responsibility in the current White House would be a perpetually revolving merry-go-round. As long as it keeps moving, everyone can escape blame and mistakes can be disguised behind swirling motion and the illusion of progress.
At this point it is also hard to distinguish between what the war’s planners did not know and what they did know but chose to ignore when it did not fit their concept of the war. Understanding the distinction between the two is critical in determining the degree of culpability that individuals such as Bush, Rumsfeld, Wolfowitz and Franks must share.
The prime example of responsibility avoidance highlighted in these books is the actions of Bush’s proconsul in Iraq, Paul Bremer. It is with amazement that one reads of his imperious dismissal of the Iraqi Army and the purge of key government ministries, in consequence leaving no one in authority or with the skill to provide for the basic security and services of an entire nation, and throwing out onto the street several hundred thousand armed and angry men. Admittedly, the insurgency had already begun when Bremer implemented his purge, but the effect was to pour fuel on a fire and, as a result, the opposition to the American occupation exploded. This was one of the conflict’s turning points, but the authors do not offer an adequate explanation for Bremer’s actions. Whether he had authority from Washington or acted on his own remains unanswered.
Which book to choose when faced with over 1500 pages of potential reading? The two standouts for this reviewer were Packer’s The Assassins’ Gate and Ricks’ Fiasco. Both are excellent, and although the authors arrive at comparable conclusions, they are dissimilar enough that one may find value in reading both.
Assassins’ Gate is the more literary of the two. At times, Packer reaches the level of a well-written travelogue except that the route journeys through a nightmare. Packer undertook numerous trips to Iraq, over a lengthy period of time, and skilfully captures a nation’s descent into chaos. Throughout Assassins’ Gate it remains obvious that Packer has a deep respect for the region and people, and alone among these authors he is able to view the conflict, one might say, from an Iraqi perspective. In a war in which the basic military tenet of knowing your enemy has been systematically violated, Packer shows that it is possible to bridge cultural divides and come to understand the values and organisational structure of your adversary’s society. The result is a harrowing tale of American incompetence and Iraqi despair.
Fiasco is a painful book to read. Readers will react with shock as each page reveals yet another failure, mistake, or foolhardy decision committed by America’s civilian and military leaders. It is a primer on how not to run a war and should be mandatory reading for military professionals, defence bureaucrats, and any national leader considering military adventurism. This reviewer expects that it willstand for a long time on military professional reading lists.
Ricks spends more time than the other authors at the coal-face of the conflict, observing the war from the level of those who did the fighting. It is a sympathetic story, presented in a series of vignettes that does nothing to dishonour the troops. Yet one cannot help but become angry when reading Fiasco. The consequence of the hubris of leaders in Washington and the Middle East is now measured in an escalating death-toll of Americans and Iraqis.
For this reviewer, Woodward’s State of Denial is the weakest of the three books. Woodward has become a consummate Beltway insider and his viewpoint does not stray too far from the corridors of power in Washington. For him, the real war was waged in Washington, leaving Iraq a distant distraction and not the main story.
Woodward’s prose also contains numerous annoying idiosyncrasies to which dedicated followers may have become immune. It is never quite clear when he is quoting from an interview transcript or inventing a conversation from hearsay. Quote marks are used without discrimination. More annoyingly, an aspect of Woodward’s personality is a need to convince the reader of the breadth of his access. Bush and senior government officials, it must be admitted, gave generous amounts of their time. Yet Woodward crosses the line between a detached interviewer and an actor, becoming part of the story.
Woodward also cannot resist widespread name-dropping of tangential officials and personalities without follow-up or explanation. Judith Miller, the New York Times’ Weapons of Mass Destruction advocate, and Valerie Plame, the outed CIA operative, receive only passing comment, without connection to the wider narrative, while a page is spent on Bush’s Chief of Staff’s bout with influenza to no apparent purpose. The book reaches its climax at its half-way point when Woodward declares that ‘Bush was in denial about Iraq’. This is a less than surprising assertion given the book’s title, yet Woodward continues to plough on for another 200 plus pages subjecting his reader to irrelevant anecdotes and retelling now redundant conversations and interviews.
For Woodward loyalists their choice has probably been made, especially if they have already invested in his first two volumes on the Bush Presidency: Plan of Attack and Bush at War. This is unfortunate. State of Denial is not a trivial book, but readers would be better served by selecting the accounts of either Packer or Ricks.
That the differences in the conclusions of all three authors are more of degree than of substance is itself a cause for concern. Is the dire situation in Iraq and the cause of the insurgency’s growing strength so obvious that varied conclusions are not possible? Has the story of America’s war in Iraq already been definitively written, so soon after the conflict’s commencement? Instinctively, the answer must be no. These books are themselves still only interim assessments of the United States and its policies in and about Iraq. More time must pass and the full gamut of records made available before balanced and definitive conclusions are to be made. However, in the short term, each book makes important contributions to the public debate on Iraq, and points out the egregious errors by the United States in the lead-up to the 2003 Iraq War and in the overlapping periods of combat and nationbuilding. Each in its own way contains lessons that should receive considered attention.
More significantly, each presents startling and painful insights into how not to wage a war. In the final analysis, perhaps this is the Bush Administration’s most salutary legacy in its ‘War against Terror’. Whether victory or defeat is America’s future in Iraq is yet to be written, but in either outcome this war is likely to only be a small part of a broader fight against a terrorist agenda that has all the hallmarks of long-term conflict. If the lessons of US mistakes in Iraq are learned in this round, and institutionalised throughout US defence and military organisations, there will be greater opportunity for the United States to achieve its objectives in the next round.
