What the neocons failed to foresee about Iraq
By RUPERT CORNWELL
THE INDEPENDENT
It has taken more three years, the loss of tens of thousands of Iraqi and American lives, and the expenditure of $200 billion -- all to achieve a chaos verging on open civil war. But finally the neoconservatives who sold the United States on this disastrous war are starting to utter three small words.
We were wrong.
The second thoughts have spread across the conservative spectrum, from William Buckley, venerable editor of the National Review, to Andrew Sullivan, once editor of the New Republic, now influential commentator and blogmeister.
The patrician, conservative, Washington Post columnist George Will was gently skeptical from the outset. He now glumly concludes that all three members of the original "axis of evil" -- not only Iran and North Korea but also Iraq -- "are more dangerous than when that term was coined in 2002."
Neither Buckley nor Sullivan concedes that the decision to topple Saddam Hussein was intrinsically wrong. But "the challenge required more than (President Bush's) deployable resources," the former sadly recognizes. "The American objective in Iraq has failed."
For Sullivan, today's mess is above all a testament to American overconfidence and false assumptions, born of arrogance and naiveté. But he, too, asserted, in a column in Time magazine last week, that all may not be lost.
Of all the critiques, however, the most profound is that of Francis Fukuyama, in his forthcoming book "America at the Crossroads." Its subtitle is "Democracy, Power and the Neo-Conservative Legacy," and that legacy, Fukuyama argues, is fatally poisoned.
This is no ordinary thesis, but apostasy on a grand scale. Fukuyama, after all, was the most prominent intellectual who signed the 1997 "Project for the New American Century," the founding manifesto of neoconservatism drawn up by William Kristol, editor of The Weekly Standard, the house journal of the neoconservative movement.
The Project for the New American Century aimed to cement for all time America's triumph in the Cold War, by increasing defense spending, challenging regimes that were hostile to U.S. interests and promoting freedom and democracy around the world. Its goal was "an international order friendly to our security, prosperity and values." The war on Iraq, spuriously justified by the supposed threat posed by Saddam's weapons of mass destruction, was the test run of this theory. It was touted as a panacea for every ill of the Middle East.
The road to Jerusalem, the neocons argued, led through Baghdad. And after Iraq, why not Syria, Iran and anyone else who stood in Washington's way?
All that, Fukuyama now acknowledges, has been a tragic conceit. Like the Leninists of old, he writes, the neoconservatives reckoned that they could drive history forward with the right mixture of power and will. However, "Leninism was a tragedy in its Bolshevik version, and it has returned as farce when practiced by the United States."
But was it not Fukuyama who claimed in his most celebrated work, "The End of History and the Last Man," that the whole world was locked on a glide path to liberal, free market, democracy? Yes indeed. But that book, he points out, argued that the process was gradual, and must unfold at its own pace.
But not only were the neocons too impatient. A second error was to believe that an all-powerful America would be trusted to exercise a "benevolent hegemony." A third was the gross overstatement of the post-9/11 threat posed by radical Islam, in order to justify the dubious doctrine of preventive war.
Finally, there was the blatant contradiction between the neocons' aversion to government meddling at home and their childlike faith in their ability to impose massive social engineering in foreign and utterly unfamiliar countries like Iraq. Thence sprang the mistakes of the occupation period.
Some however are resolutely unswayed. In the latest Weekly Standard Kristol accuses Fukuyama of losing his nerve -- of wanting to "retrench, hunker down and let large parts of the world go to hell in a handbasket, hoping the hand basked won't blow up in our faces."
Christopher Hitchens, the one-time Trotskyist turned neocon fellow traveler and eternal polemicist, derides Fukuyama for "conceding to the fanatics and beheaders the claim that they are a response to American blunders and excesses," and for yearning for a return of Kissingerian realism in foreign affairs.
The fact, however, remains that future Bush policy-makers who signed the project manifesto nine years ago are now mostly gone. Paul Wolfowitz, the war's most relentless and starry-eyed promoter, has moved on to the World Bank, silent about the mess he did so much to create. Richard Perle, leader of the resident hawks department at the think tank the American Enterprise Institute, has vanished from the scene. Lewis Libby, meanwhile, has stepped down as Vice President Dick Cheney's chief of staff, to focus his energy on staying out of jail.
Yet another signatory was Zalmay Khalilzad, now the U.S. ambassador to Iraq.
Last week even he -- Afghan-born and the one original neocon who had the region in his blood -- admitted that the invasion had opened a Pandora's box that could see the Iraq conflict spread across the entire Middle East.
Those who are left in the administration -- primarily Cheney and Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld -- are not so much neoconservatives as Hobbesian unilateralists, concerned to protect and advance U.S. national interests in a lawless and violent world, whatever it takes.
As for Condoleezza Rice, never a signed-up member of the movement but mostly sympathetic to it when she was the president's security adviser, she has metamorphosed from hawk into pragmatist with her move from the White House to the State Department.
It is on George W. Bush's lips that neoconservatism most obviously survives -- in the commitment to spreading freedom and democracy that he proclaims almost daily, and most hubristically in his second inaugural in 2005, which promised to banish tyranny from the Earth.
But even the extravagant oratory of that icy January day cannot obscure the irony of America's Iraq adventure. The application of a doctrine built upon the supposed boundlessness of U.S. power has succeeded only in exposing the limits of that power.
Thus chastened, Fukuyama now wants to temper the idealism of the neoconservative doctrine with an acceptance that some things are not so easy to change and that the United States must cut its cloth accordingly. He calls it "realistic Wilsonianism." A better description might be neorealism. And if that brings a smile to the face of a certain former U.S. high priest of realism with a pronounced German accent, who can blame him?
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