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Signing OFF on Human Rights (Standpoint, June 2010)

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Oslo Dispatch

There are not many occasions in life when you feel honoured to be in the same room as someone. However, it happened to me several times during the three days of the Oslo Freedom Forum (OFF). The first was when Mukhtar Mai arrived. She is the Pakistani woman whose gang rape was ordered by a local council in the Punjab after her brother allegedly dishonoured a neighbouring tribe. Rather than committing suicide afterwards as is customary, she defied threats and won in court. With her compensation she launched a women’s welfare organisation. 


Women of valour: Mukhtar Mai and Kasha Jacqueline 

Then there was Lubna al-Hussein. She is the Sudanese woman who was arrested and sentenced to 40 lashes for wearing trousers. As she told the forum, about 43,000 women were arrested in 2008 in Khartoum alone for such crimes. Unlike most of them, she had the money and influence to free herself. She chose instead to remain in prison and demand a full trial, knowing that because she was a UN employee, the case would get international attention. She said that what prompted her to choose that path — which has forced her into exile — was the sight of two teenage girls arrested with her. Both were Christians from the south with no family to call for help. “One of them was so frightened when they said she would get lashes that she wet herself.” The case was hugely embarrassing to Sudan’s Islamist government, which eventually freed her. 

Less well-known but just as inspiring were two other speakers. A Ugandan activist, Kasha Jacqueline, has been threatened with murder because she is battling a proposed law that would inflict the death penalty on homosexuals and imprisonment on those who fail to report homosexuals to the authorities. “I’m so glad I’m here,” she told me with a smile as we looked around the opening reception in Oslo’s town hall. “I just hope they don’t kill me when I go home.”

That sentiment was echoed by a short but redoubtable woman called Guadalupe Llori. She feared returning to Ecuador even though she is the elected governor of a large province and was a member of the same left-wing alliance as the country’s President, Rafael Correa, a staunch ally of Venezuela’s Hugo Chávez. Llori had made the mistake of supporting striking oil workers in her province who were protesting against the government’s failure to build promised roads. Correa responded by accusing her of terrorism, sabotage and corruption and sent commandos backed by tanks and helicopters to arrest her. Llori then spent nine months in prison where she was subjected to forced labour and beatings. The country’s human rights sector, much of which has long links to Correa and his party, did nothing to help her. Because Correa is seen as a progressive hero by the Western Left, international organisations largely ignored her. 

It is that kind of failure by the older, larger human rights establishment that led to the founding of the OFF two years ago. Essentially, it is an alternative human rights conference, in that it genuinely embodies what such organisations used to be about: it celebrates the fight for freedom of speech, belief and association and unlike some of the more politicised human rights groups, it highlights persecution regardless of the identity or ideology of the perpetrator. 

None of this may sound particularly “alternative”. But in recent years some in the “human rights community” have become so exercised about alleged or genuine victims of America, Britain and their allies in the “War on Terror” that they find it hard to become equally excited about Vietnamese Buddhist monks, North Korean concentration camps or Mauritanian slaves. Others have become less focused on supporting dissidents in distant dungeons, and more interested in wider “progressive” issues such as globalisation, economic inequality and environmental degradation.

When Irene Khan, the former secretary-general of Amnesty International, said in 2005 that Guantánamo Bay was “the gulag of our time”, it revealed a sad ignorance of the vast degradation machine that killed many millions of people. It also sent a signal to those in the real gulags of our time — the Laogai system in China and its equivalent in North Korea — that their plight might not be a priority for Amnesty. 

OFF aims to restore the balance and highlight causes that are too often ignored or forgotten. And unlike events such as the UN’s notorious “Durban II” conference at which Iran’s President Mahmoud 
Ahmadinejad railed against the US and Zionism, it provides an intimate space for dissidents and human rights defenders from around the world to meet each other, to talk to internet entrepreneurs, academics, politicians, journalists and to draw inspiration and encouragement. 

OFF is the brainchild of Thor Halvorssen, a 34-year-old Venezuelan-Norwegian filmmaker and head of the New York-based Human Rights Foundation (HRF). Halvorssen has been involved in free-speech causes since his days at the University of Pennsylvania, but founded HRF after his mother was shot and wounded by government agents at a peaceful demonstration in Caracas. He hopes that the OFF will become the “Davos of Human Rights”.

Among the two score speakers this year were Garry Kasparov, Rebiya Kadeer, the leader in exile of China’s Uighurs, Mart Laar, who led Estonia’s “Singing Revolution”, Wikipedia founder Jimmy Wales, North Korean defector Kang Chol-hwan, anti-slavery campaigner Benjamin Skinner, Yemeni  journalist and political prisoner Abdulkarim al-Khaiwani and the former Malaysian cabinet minister and now opposition figure Anwar Ibrahim, who was jailed on false charges of corruption and sodomy. 

Ibrahim was responsible for some of the event’s better moments of black humour, joking that Malaysia had “freedom of speech but not freedom afterspeech”. He also recalled being beaten by the country’s inspector general of police and admonished the audience: “If you’re going to take power, make sure that your inspector general is not too strong. That way if one day he beats you up it won’t be fatal.”

I had wondered if the event could possibly be as powerful as the first forum last year, when I had witnessed Tibetan monk Palden Gyatso take out his dentures and explain with a gummy smile that during his 30 years of imprisonment by Chinese occupation forces his torturers jammed an electric cattle prod into his mouth again and again until he lost all his teeth.


Lubna al-Hussein and Lubna al-Hussein

As it turned out it was almost too overwhelming. There may be a limit to how much suffering — and how much courage — you can hear about first-hand in a short space of time, even when delivered with remarkable calmness and modesty as was mostly the case. Indeed, one of the strange things about a gathering like this is how little anger and how much forgiveness you encounter. That said, there was outrage, especially in the presentation by Sophal Ear, a survivor of the Khmer Rouge killing fields, now a political scientist in California. His quiet fury was directed not so much at the regime that murdered his family and so many of his fellow countrymen but at those including Noam Chomsky who have defended the record of “Democratic Kampuchea” long after the truth was out. 

There is also surprising lightness and optimism to be found among these people whose lives — sometimes by choice — are so difficult or perilous. The Cuban blogger Yoani Sánchez is essentially confined to her house, has been beaten up in the street and has to upload her postings by texting them to supporters who can get internet access. Yet her videoed message from Havana could hardly have been more cheerful.

Norway has long been friendly to Cuba, and for some Norwegians, watching her and then listening to longtime political prisoner Armando Valladares was not a comfortable experience. Even the representative of Amnesty Norway looked twitchy when Valladares reminded listeners that all dictatorships are bad, whether in Chile or Cuba, and noted that he had been in prison for 18 years before Amnesty even recognised that there were political prisoners in Cuba and adopted his case.

At the first forum last year, a Norwegian author shocked me by asking if it was true that the forum was organised by “American Jews”. The agenda in front of us included speeches by a Turkish Kurd, a dissident from Uzbekistan and Greg Mortenson, the author of Three Cups of Tea. Then I realised that what made her sources suspicious of OFF was that it was not devoted to the usual suspects. As a local journalist explained to me, in Norway talk of human rights violations begins and ends with Guantánamo and Abu Ghraib. 

There is also the fact that Norway tends to be nervous and politically correct when it comes even to mentioning human rights violations in the Muslim world or in Islamic communities at home. OFF has no such bashfulness. As the North African human rights activist Nasser Weddady told me: “They are a new scene. They are very young and yet they have a real understanding of the challenges of human rights in the Muslim world. They’re not implicitly saying that Muslims are barbaric and backward and not be held to equal standards. They actually care about these nascent civil societies in places like Yemen, Sudan and Mauritania that no one pays much attention to. And that’s inspiring for people like me.”

Nevertheless, OFF seems to be overcoming the initial suspicion of Norway’s left-oriented government and human rights establishment. This year there were fewer newspaper articles wondering if the presence of Venezuelan opposition figures was proof of CIA sponsorship of the forum. Moreover, the country’s best-known author, Asne Seierstad, introduced some of the speakers, and the City of Oslo, the Norwegian Helsinki Committee, Amnesty International Norway and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs all lent support to this year’s event. 

Between sessions, the speakers and the audience had coffee on the terrace of the Grand Hotel, which Ibsen was said to visit twice a day. It overlooks the Norwegian parliament building and the square in front of it, which on most days hosts a small demonstration. Compared to London’s Parliament Square, there is little traffic and no visible security. The absence of walls, armed police and X-ray machines is startling, as powerful a reminder of how much life has changed in the UK as the sight of the gleaming royal yacht in Oslo’s harbour. 

Last year in front of the Parliament there were supporters of the Tamil Tigers, waving banners and shouting. This year, there were Iranian communists, though they were outnumbered by noisy gaggles of Norwegian students in bright red overalls taking part in “Russ“, the country’s traditional two-week celebration of high-school graduation. But all the activity in the square came to a halt when Russia’s President Dmitry Medvedev arrived at the Grand Hotel in a flurry of sirens, police motorcycles and black limousines for a meeting with the Norwegian government.

The presence of Medvedev’s security men during the Forum cannot have been pleasant for participants such as Kasparov, Vladimir Bukovsky and the Chechen lawyer Lidia Yusupova. One Russian critic at the conference felt sure that his room had been broken into and searched while Medvedev’s FSB were in town. 

I wondered if coming to a conference like this may have made Yusupova — whose former colleague Natalya Estemirova was assassinated last year — and others less vulnerable at home. However, on the second morning of the event Diego Arria, the courtly former Venezuelan ambassador to the UN and key witness in the trial of Slobodan Milosevic, discovered that Chávez had sent police to seize his farm. 

The grim past and uncertain future of so many of the delegates gave the final event of the conference all the more meaning. It was a speech by Lech Walesa. With characteristic simplicity and good cheer he assured his audience that the impossible really can be achieved, even by an ordinary electrician from Gdansk. As he spoke, I looked at Lubna Hussein, Yusupova and the others and they seemed to be growing in their seats.

http://standpointmag.co.uk/dispatches-june-10-jonathan-foreman-oslo-freedom-forum

Blandinavia! (Daily Mail September 2005)

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Oslo

Another day in paradise but no one is smiling. Winter, with its long hours of darkness, has not yet come to Norway. The sun is still shining on its breathtaking landscapes and stunning people. But a persistent gloominess pervades – a sense of discontent that prompts one to wonder just what it is that people need to be happy.

Norway is, after all, officially the best place in the world to live. A United Nations survey published this week ranks it first among 177 countries for the fifth year running – Britain managed a lowly 15th. But having spent a week among its charming population in their delightfully clean cities and fjordic idylls, I am not convinced the quality of life here is any better than elsewhere in Europe.

And it soon ceased to surprise me that Edvard Munch, the painter responsible for that iconic work of art, The Scream, was Norwegian. At times, I knew how he felt and agreed with one Australian expat who described Norway as ‘bloody Blandinavia’.

The first sign all is not well in the state of Norway comes at the elegantly-designed airport in Oslo, when all the tall, tanned, and apparently placid Norwegians on your flight from London descend on duty free like starving wolves.

Alcohol, like so many other things here, is taxed so highly – and is so vital to the native idea of a good time – that it would be simply unthinkable to cross a national border without your regulation two litres of booze.

The Norwegians drink like Vikings, in vast amounts, very noisily, before tumbling out of bars in the early hours, women as drunk as men –

perhaps the last remnant of Norse heritage.

Beer at £8 a pint

Yet, unlike our own binge drinkers, the Norwegians only give in to their thirst on the weekend – they cannot afford to do it more often. Beer, at £8 a pint, let alone wine or vodka, is a luxury.

The 4.5 million here may be among the richest in Europe, thanks to the profits of North Sea oil, but the cost of living is so high that anyone not on a Norwegian salary feels like a pauper.

Thousands cross to Sweden every weekend just to buy groceries. The land of the midnight sun is also the land of the £30 pizza, the £4 latte and the £6 sandwich. Cars cost two to three times as much as in the UK and petrol hit the equivalent of a pound a litre some time ago.

But the cost of living is ignored by the UN. It prefers to focus on access to education and medical care, welfare, high life expectancy and low infant mortality, good maternity and paternity leave, and strong pensions. Norwegians are by temperament and tradition obedient and law-abiding, accepting that their Government has their best interests at heart.

Despite this, any Norwegian will tell you that with a top tax rate of 64 per cent and VAT at 25 per cent, many are perplexed by the fact that children in state schools must pay for their own books, that there is a shortage of doctors, nurses and policemen, and waiting lists for medical treatment, while concerns about immigration are beginning to bite.

Some will also point out that the longevity of Norwegians (men live on average to 76; women to 82) doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with the healthcare system. This is a country populated by the staggeringly fit, who go hiking and biking all summer, and in winter enjoy cross-country skiing. Walk down any street here and the only fat people you are likely to see are foreign tourists.

This is all the more remarkable given what Norwegians eat. You can find traditional Norwegian food like elk, reindeer and salmon if you look hard enough, but this is a country that basically subsists on fast food. It’s no joke to say the national dish is pizza.

“I was amazed in my Norwegian class that one of the first words they taught me was ‘Grandiosa’ – the name of the leading brand of frozen pizza,” says Bruce Bawer, an American writer living in Oslo.

Trend towards foreign foods

On the other hand, having tried ‘torrfisk’, the ancient dried and salted cod snack, which smells evil and is like gnawing wood, the trend towards foreign foods becomes more understandable. The Norwegians may be wealthy but don’t live like it, due in part to the fact that, until recently, they were very poor. Until they discovered North Sea oil in the mid Sixties, Norway was one of the poorest countries in Europe. Even countries like Italy, theoretically much poorer, feel much richer.

With their tradition of la dolce vita, people eat, dress and drink far better. The Norwegians know this too well. I was told again and again how much they would like to live in countries like Greece and Spain where they flock on holiday. And many women – a startling number of whom would give your average supermodel a run for her money – have a distinct preference for Mediterranean men.

“The most beautiful girls here will sleep with any Greek waiter or Spanish taxi driver,” said Per Andre, a 33-year-old teacher. He says they are haunted by the belief their lives are dull and they do, indeed, inhabit Blandinavia.

On the surface, things look good. The Norwegian economy is thriving. Inflation is negligible, interest rates are at a record low of just 2 per cent, and unemployment (at 3.7 per cent) is the world’s lowest.

However, there are many hidden drains on the economy – one of the biggest being people taking bogus days off or ‘sickies’. It’s almost impossible to sack anyone under Norway’s social legislation, and when companies want to get rid of someone they end up having to negotiate costly sick leave.

Nor are Norwegians especially entrepreneurial. Many successful businesses are run and staffed by Swedes, Danes and other immigrants. This is particularly true of service industries.

And as in Britain, the Norwegians are just waking up to how some immigrants have exploited lax border controls. What was a taboo topic is now an incendiary issue as Norwegians confront the fact they have given asylum to extremists who despise their way life, men such as Mullah Krekar, the founder of an Al Qaeda-linked group called Ansar Al Islam.

The government has made moves to expel Krekar. In turn, he has threatened Norway with terrorist reprisal, telling the Arab Al Jazeera TV network that ‘Norway will be punished’ if it expels him to face trial in his native Iraq.

Bogus marriages are also a growing problem in Norway’s immigrant communities, with one Arab man caught undergoing ‘marriage’ to his own mother in order to get her into the country. The Norwegians are finding these growing problems difficult because they are proud of their tolerance and multiculturalism. They are also extraordinarily patriotic and fly the flag everywhere.

They may have surrendered their own cuisine to fast food, adore British TV and almost everyone speaks fluent English, but they have kept local dialects, costumes and traditions. Independence is key to their sense of nation. Having been ruled by Denmark from 1387 until 1814, by Sweden from 1814 to 1905 and then occupied by the Nazis for four-and-a-half bitter years in World War II, the Norwegians are not about to join anyone’s superstate.

They have repeatedly defied their own political elites to reject EU membership – the last time in 1994 – and would do so again. Not that refusing to get on the EU train has meant sacrificing prosperity, or the friendship of other countries. Norway enjoys brisk free trade with the eurozone.

Nor is there any rush to forget World War II for the sake of being ‘good Europeans’: the Norwegians are proud of their resistance movement – unfortunately more people are familiar with the Nazi collaborator Vidkun Quisling – and still grateful to the British and Americans for saving them. Norway has much going for it and the Norwegians are, on the whole, beautiful, prosperous and healthy. Millions of people would love to have what they have.

But I’ve seen more joy and laughter in desperately impoverished villages in Africa than I did in Oslo. And I found myself missing the chaos, bustle and even the scruffiness of Britain. Troubled we may be in many ways – but Bland Britannia we ain’t.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-362369/Blandinavia.html

 

 

COIN Wars - On Daniel Bolger's "Why We Lost":(Commentary Magazine, April 2015)

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Why We Lost: A General’s Inside Account of the Iraq and Afghanistan Wars
By Daniel P. Bolger
Eamon Dolan/Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 544 pages

The shooting wars may be drawing to a close, but the war about the wars continues to rage. The latest salvo is Why We Lost, a provocative book by Daniel P. Bolger, a U.S. Army lieutenant general who retired in 2013 after 35 years and three major commands in Iraq and Afghanistan. “I am a United States Army General, and I lost the Global War on terrorism,” Bolger writes in the preface. “It’s like Alcoholics Anonymous, step one is admitting you have a problem. Well, I have a problem. So do my peers, to wit: two lost campaigns and a war gone awry.”

Bolger’s confession may center on an arguably premature assertion of defeat but it certainly promises writing of a directness, self-awareness, and skill seldom encountered in books by former generals. What’s more, it suggests a bracing and much-needed critique. Is it?

Why We Lost turns out to be every bit as gripping as you would hope, thanks to a writing style that is sharp, astringent, and refreshingly jargon-free. (Bolger, who has a Ph.D. from Chicago and taught at West Point, was an accomplished author long before he received his star, having published a thriller as well as several works of military history). But it falls short as both a confession and an indictment. Although the book’s subtitle describes “A General’s Insider Account of the Iraq and Afghanistan Wars,” Bolger’s work is not autobiographical. Neither is it a treatise or policy argument. Instead Bolger offers a fast-moving narrative history of the two major military campaigns of the Global War on Terror, interspersed with vivid stories of “in the weeds” combat taken from various recent memoirs and histories. These tales, which include accounts of exhausted and enraged soldiers breaking the laws of war, seem intended not just to give a flavor of the fighting but to illustrate the agonizing difficulties of battling insurgents and therefore the supposed wrongheadedness of forcing American soldiers do it.

What the stories don’t do, however, is back up Bolger’s central claim: that the campaigns were lost, and that they were lost because of “poor strategic and operational leadership” by himself and his fellow generals. Nor does Bolger go into much detail discussing specific errors of judgment by his fellow generals. After a while, Bolger’s insistence that generals take the blame for political and strategic decisions—which were actually made in Washington by presidents, cabinet officers, or the joint chiefs—feels almost masochistic.

In fact, one of the odd things about Why We Lost is that Bolger’s talk of “losing” and “failure” tends to be undermined by a narrative that demonstrates how impressive the U.S. Army is at adapting and learning from its mistakes, at least compared with other large bureaucratic government organizations. Bolger himself admires how the Army rapidly developed a talent for combining intelligence with special operations in order to capture and kill terrorists.

He also touches on the impressive fact that junior commanders not only quickly realized that fresh approaches were needed in Iraq but also experimented with techniques that were eventually codified in the Counterinsurgency Strategy and Field Manual championed by General David Petraeus—which resulted in the Surge and the Sunni Awakening that turned around America’s fortunes in Iraq in 2007.

Even odder, Bolger’s own account suggests that some of the worst reverses of the Iraq war took place not because of poor strategy, poor structure, or poor decisions made by generals—but thanks to unpredictable mistakes made by less powerful individuals. Prime examples include the worldwide scandal that erupted as a result of a few prison guards and their horrible behavior at Iraq’s Abu Ghraib prison and the recklessness of private military contractors who brought about the first battle of Fallujah in April 2004.

But Bolger’s storytelling is so skillful that it almost doesn’t matter if his arguments contradict one another. The first half of the book, which deals with the war on terror before the 2003 invasion of Iraq, is especially entertaining, not least because it is free of political correctness and diplomatic scruple. After describing how General Norman Schwarzkopf, the chief commander of the 1991 Gulf War, acceded to Saudi demands that American troops based in Saudi Arabia abjure not only alcohol but also Christian and Jewish insignia, he explains that “the Saudis did not see themselves as hosts.” He continues:

In their own eyes they were customers, buying Americans and other defenders in much the same way they hired hundreds of thousands of Filipino, Bangladeshi, and Pakistani contract laborers to build their homes, run their oil wells, and clean their streets…Schwarzkopf agreed to the King’s directives, and the Americans accepted substantial Saudi financing and, later, material support…so the transactional relationship looked very clear to the Arab authorities…the House of Saud had rented the best armed forces in the world.

Bolger is also good on the attitudes and actions of Saddam Hussein in the wake of his 1991 defeat. The Iraqi dictator, he says, drew important lessons from the American victory, our rapid departure from the conflict, and Schwarzkopf’s naive decision to let Saddam’s regime continue to use its attack helicopters. Most critically, he understood the “operational importance” of propaganda and the possibilities of 24-hour cable news: It was relentless CNN footage of the “Highway of Death,” along which Iraq’s military retreated from Kuwait, that prompted the eventual cease-fire. As Bolger points out: “Rarely have rapists and pillagers garnered such thoughtful consideration.”

But when Bolger reaches the 9/11 attacks, he turns his sardonic wit on the U.S. government. Something had to be done, of course, but, he says, the question that planners didn’t want to confront was, “Who was the enemy?” While it was al-Qaeda rather than its Taliban hosts who still threatened America, “the quasi-conventional Taliban furnished a much more appropriate target set for U.S. firepower.”

And yet Bolger has little time for those who lambast the Bush administration and the military under Donald Rumsfeld for the fact that Osama bin Laden and his entourage were not killed or captured in the Afghan caves of Tora Bora in the winter of 2001. Given the terrain and the weather, America “could have deployed the entire 10th mountain division” and still been unable to close off every ratline” into Pakistan.

Bolger’s critique intensifies with his account of the first days after the fall of Baghdad on April 9, 2003. Some of the mistakes he highlights were unquestionably just that. One of the most astonishing was that General Tommy Franks, in charge of the invasion, and his staff failed to set up a clear chain of command in newly conquered Iraq. They envisaged a civilian headquarters called the Office of Reconstruction and Humanitarian Assistance (ORHA), to be run by retired general Jay Garner, which would “coordinate” with the Army’s V Corps headquarters during the six months or so it would take Iraqi society to get back on its feet. This meant no one was in charge.

As Bolger relates, this arrangement was soon replaced by an equally hazy one. Paul Bremer, a former ambassador to the Netherlands, took over the newly formed Coalition Provisional Authority. V Corps was replaced by a new military headquarters led by Ricardo Sanchez, a newly promoted lieutenant general who had never commanded a division in combat. According to Bolger, when Bremer issued his controversial orders dissolving the Baath Party and the country’s army, he did so without consulting his military opposite number.

Regardless of who was in charge, Bolger believes the underlying situation was impossible. “Replace Bremer with Henry Kissinger and Sanchez with Dwight Eisenhower, cancel the de-Baathification orders, and the stark facts on the ground still sat there oozing pus and bile,” he writes. “With Saddam gone, any voting would install a Shiite majority. The Sunni wouldn’t run Iraq again. That, at the bottom, caused the insurgency.” (Like many commentators on the war, Bolger often seems blasé about the oppression of Iraq’s Kurds and Shia under the Baathist regime and the dominance of the Sunni minority.)

Bolger has a peculiar soft spot for General John Abizaid, who commanded the U.S. Central Command during that first vital year of the occupation. Given Abizaid’s inability to see that the heavy-handed, crudely “kinetic” approach of the U.S. military was quickly fomenting an insurgency, Bolger’s regard is hard to understand. The reason only becomes apparent in subsequent chapters, when Bolger reveals his loathing for David Petraeus, who took over the American effort in early 2007. It’s a loathing so intense that it targets not only Petraeus’s person but also the counterinsurgency doctrine he championed and everyone associated with it. At the same time, any general, who, like Abizaid, prominently opposed Petraeus and his team of maverick soldier scholars, or who opposed the surge, gets an automatic high rating from Bolger, no matter how unsuccessful his command really was.

Much of this animus seems to be a matter of personality. Petraeus, as Bolger points out, had risen quickly thanks in part to what he sees as shameless networking. “He had more connections than ten of his peers, and he wasn’t shy about using them,” he writes. Petraeus possessed “inordinate” ambition and was a skilled and assiduous “self-promoter.” Indeed, according to Bolger, Petraeus was a member of “the AAA club,” which he defines as “that careerist self promotion society that hung out near the military throne rooms: Aides, Adjutants, and Assholes.” Bolger makes sure to remind the reader of Petraeus’s relative lack of height, as if that might be the key to his character flaws.

This antipathy corrupts Bolger’s analysis of the Iraq war. After he condemns the generals for trying the same failing policies year after year, he pours scorn on those such as Petraeus who not only tried something different but were so successful that the war was virtually won when the Obama administration decided to abandon it.

That said, when Bolger’s perspective is not distorted by this odd animus, he points out problems most civilian authors have failed to notice. These include the fact that the Army underwent a major structural reorganization—becoming a force based on “brigade combat teams” rather than divisions—in the middle of the war, and that its personnel-rotation policies undermined unit cohesion until 2004.

Bolger is particularly perceptive about the way “information warfare” turned out to be a force multiplier for the other side in Iraq. He considers the grotesque photographs from Abu Ghraib the equivalent of a huge battlefield defeat. And he explains how the Marine Corps’ efforts to retake Fallujah in April 2004 were essentially defeated by Al Jazeera news teams. The Qatar-based network’s carefully curated footage of destruction and suffering so rattled both the Tony Blair government and Iraqi politicians that the United States had little choice but to halt the operation.

Unfortunately, insights like these play a smaller role in the book than do attacks on COIN and its champions. Though Bolger himself once advocated for more COIN training, he now insists that the military must pursue only “short, decisive conventional wars, for limited ends.”

It’s a view that mirrors a way of thinking that first became Army orthodoxy in the aftermath of the Vietnam War. Apologists for that failure, led by the historian Russell Weigley, maintained that the “American way of war” was “big war” involving the use of overwhelming force and high technology to annihilate the enemy. COIN, they argued, is incompatible with our national character and talents, and should not be studied, lest familiarity lead to use.

This was and is nonsense: The United States has successfully fought many “small wars”—starting with the campaign against the Barbary Pirates.

It is understandable that commanders of Bolger’s vintage would dislike tricky “low-intensity operations” and prefer that the military be used only in Desert Storm–style pitched battles against easily crushable Third World armed forces. Unfortunately, U.S. interests may require riskier forms of military action, especially now that America’s enemies are often too smart to challenge her in conventional army-to-army battles. And the fact is that in Iraq many U.S. commanders—and their troops—turned out to be very adept at using forms of warfare that required cunning, cultural awareness, intellectual flexibility, a willingness to delegate authority, and the skillful application of relatively limited force.

Bolger may have a point, however, when he says that one of the greatest mistakes our generals made was to assume that the politicians at home would go along with a decades-long military presence in Iraq and Afghanistan. Americans, he maintains, don’t do long-term active military commitments. Bolger believes the generals should have argued for immediate pullouts after overthrowing the Taliban and Saddam regimes.

Some experienced and thoughtful people in the military share Bolger’s view. It’s an understandable argument given the tremendous difficulty and cost of Afghan nation-building. It seems likely, however, that had the United States and her allies pulled out in 2002 after installing Karzai in Kabul, Afghanistan would have returned quickly to the chaos and civil war that characterized the pre-Taliban era. And Pakistan probably would have ensured that its favorite fundamentalist terror groups and the rump Taliban retained power. This would have cast a pall over America’s swift victory and might have emboldened other regimes giving sanctuary to anti-American terrorists.

It is also far from clear that the campaign in Afghanistan has been lost. America and her coalition allies have achieved much there despite various mistakes. And there are encouraging signs from Afghanistan, despite the opportunities offered to the insurgents by the premature drawdown of coalition forces and President Obama’s insistence on a 2016 withdrawal. We could still lose in Afghanistan. But if the campaign ends in defeat, it is likely to be a self-inflicted and unnecessary one, like the one the Obama administration oversaw in Iraq. Although Bolger’s book was completed before ISIS took Mosul, ISIS’s rise to power surely casts doubt on his belief that an even more premature withdrawal from Iraq by U.S. forces would have had more benign results for the region or American interests.

Despite all these caveats, Why We Lost serves an important purpose as one of the first salvos in the military’s historiographical battle to make sense of the past decade. It also sets a high literary bar for the books that will follow and answer it.

 

https://www.commentarymagazine.com/article/coin-wars/

What American Sniper Gets Right (Weekly Standard.com Jan.25 2015)

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American Sniper is easily the most authentic looking and sounding movie that Hollywood has made about American troops at war since Black Hawk Down.

You can tell within minutes of its beginning that the filmmakers cared to get the details right, that their military consultants weren’t the usual Vietnam veterans that the studios often turn to, and that Clint Eastwood and his team actually listened to what their advisers had say.

Troops “stack” correctly outside buildings before they charge in to clear them.

Army, Navy and Marine uniforms are in the correct camouflage pattern for each of the lead character’s deployments (the U.S. Army alone has changed pattern four times since 9/11).

Thanks to careful research by screenwriter Jason Hall, the language is up to date and sounds real: There are no anachronistic references to “FNGs,” “Spec 4s” or “foxholes,” no-one says “embrace the suck” and almost every phrase spoken by the troops on the ground rightly uses the f-word as an adjective or adverb.

Both background details and the course of the plot feel equally authentic. Soldiers chew tobacco. SF guys spend lots of time pumping iron. Elite troops who have been issued with satellite phones for work purposes only, habitually use them to call their families. No one runs off and finds himself alone in an Iraqi city or has no apparent chain of command as in The Hurt Locker.

And the Baghdad of the movie looks considerably more like the real city than the versions depicted in that movie or Generation Kill.

Moreover, the makers of American Sniper took care to capture some of the (fascinating) technical aspects of real-life sniping (unlike the team behind Jarhead, a lazy, smug film that foolishly and shamelessly borrowed tropes from Vietnam war films like Full Metal Jacket).

 The movie gives you at least some sense of the extent to which a sniper’s talent and skills are about considerably more than mere coordination of hand and eye. They are mental and psychological: hence the yoga-style breathing techniques that snipers use to counteract adrenaline spikes and to slow their heartbeats. (Anyone interested in the art and science of sniping should read John Plaster’s classic book on the subject.)

American Sniper is also pretty accurate in its all-too-brief depiction of certain types of Post Traumatic Stress. In particular it gets right that aspect of PTS that is fed by regret and guilt at not being able to save comrades who were grievously wounded or killed. (Oddly enough it does not try to catch another aspect—one captured brilliantly by The Hurt Locker—namely, the overwhelming sense of anticlimax many soldiers feel on returning to a civilian existence unlikely to provide the intensity, camaraderie, and meaning that they felt while on deployment.)

None of this is to say that American Sniper is perfect as a depiction of real-life Navy SEAL sniper Chris Kyle, as a depiction of the campaigns in which he took part, or as a depiction of the work of Special Forces. For one thing it weirdly shortchanges Kyle’s impressive commitment to helping other veterans with PTSD—Eastwood refers to it with just one brief scene featuring mutilated soldiers on a firing range.

For another, the movie unrealistically gives little sense of the Iraqi military role in the later years of the war and the extent to which U.S. units worked side by side with Iraqi forces. In a strong piece for the Guardian, one American veteran complained that the film makes the usual Hollywood error of depicting special forces troops as quasi-supermen. That seems an unfair charge, though the film does perhaps exaggerate the superiority of SEALs over ordinary Marine infantry, in particular in a sequence that shows Kyle teaching Marines the basics of clearing buildings.

Oddly enough Jason Hall’s version of Kyle makes the sniper rather more of an unthinking or intolerant patriot than he really was. In real life Kyle was a thoughtful man who apparently did not blame his fellow-sniper Mark Lee’s death on the latter’s disillusionment with the war as expressed in a letter read out at his funeral.

Even more significant, the film invents an incident in which Kyle has to shoot a child carrying a grenade. While Kyle did, according to his memoir, once have to shoot a woman with a grenade, he actually wrote in the book “I wasn’t going to kill a kid, innocent or not. I’d have to wait until the savage who put him up to it showed himself on the street.”

However, all that said, by the standards of Hollywood movies, American Sniper is all but unique in the way it combines effective storytelling with rigorous authenticity. 

***

It may well be the former—the fact that the movie is so well-made and has been so popular—that has caused American Sniper to be the subject of much more ideologically-based criticism than either last year’s cruder Lone Survivor or Hurt Locker.

A considerable number of American commentators and Hollywood voices, not all of them as consistently foolish (or irrelevant) as the dishonest documentarian Michael Moore, have lambasted Sniper as jingoistic or propagandistic.

This may say more about the political culture in which those critics operate than the film. After all, in the U.K., liberal and left-leaning critics have tended to like the film and to see it as carrying a powerful anti-war message.

Much of the disapproving reaction to the film by the likes of New York magazine’s David Edelstein seems to have more to do with what the film does not show than what it does.

Most importantly, Eastwood’s movie does not depict American troops raping or murdering civilians, torturing prisoners, killing each other, or committing any obvious war crimes. This is of course a departure from movieland norm (as represented by Redacted, Stop-Loss, In the Valley of Elah, etc.) in which such things are presented as the norm. Nor are U.S. military personnel portrayed as valiant victims exploited and betrayed by a ruthless conspiracy of Washington chickenhawks, as in Green Zone.

It is true that the film makes no overt effort to show Iraqis in a positive light and doesn’t even feature any members of the Iraqi armed forces with whom hundreds of thousands of American troops routinely worked after 2004. Eastwood is clearly less interested in painting a representative picture of the real war than in crafting something akin to a Western, albeit a modern, revisionist Western in the tradition of his own Unforgiven.

On the other hand it is surely an exaggeration to argue that the Iraqis in the film are merely threats, targets and dangerous savages—even if the lead character does use that term.

The scenes in which Marines break into houses and terrify families make for very uncomfortable watching. They are clearly intended to evoke sympathy for the Iraqis, even those who are working with the insurgency. You’d have to be a fool not to see that Eastwood is, subtly or by implication, evoking the inherent brutality and cruelty of any occupation and counter-insurgency, no matter how well-intended or lawfully carried out.

Moreover the fictional Iraqi super-sniper against whom Kyle carries out a kind of duel is not depicted as especially evil or villainous: He’s just an enemy soldier doing his job extremely well. 

On the other hand, the al Qaeda commander and his henchmen—who are based on real people—are depicted as men of astonishing cruelty and ruthlessness. They use the blackest methods of intimidation to compel civilians to support them; at one point you see a child murdered by electric drill in front of his father.

Unfortunately there is nothing exaggerated or untrue about this scene. AQ and its insurgent allies frequently did that kind of thing and worse.

If some critics are uncomfortable with or ignorant of that reality, or would just prefer a simple narrative in which Americans are murderous fascists and the insurgents are victims/good guys/Middle Eastern Minutemen, then it is surely they not Eastwood who have a taste for propaganda.

But it would be surely be more constructive for them to calm down and see American Sniper for what it is: an exciting, moving film based on one man’s rather unusual military career, one that also highlights the postwar difficulties faced by even the most fortunate, best-trained and most effective warriors.

Jonathan Foreman was an embedded war correspondent with U.S. forces in Iraq in 2003 and 2005.

http://www.weeklystandard.com/blogs/what-american-sniper-gets-right_826426.html

The Warthog Lives! (The Weekly Standard Jan. 25, 2015)

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Happily, the Air Force has failed again in its crusade to kill off a great plane

This December saw the climax of one of the more peculiar conflicts in Washington. It was a battle over an Air Force plane. But it was not one of those standard-issue Washington procurement battles in which congressional bean counters seek to kill off a hugely expensive project that the relevant military branch insists is vital for American security. It was almost the opposite: The politicians were trying to save a weapon system, and the service brass, together with one of America’s aerospace giants, were trying to get rid of it.

The ungainly but effective A-10 Warthog

 

The weapon in question is the A-10 ground attack plane, officially the “Thunderbolt II” but widely known as the “Warthog.” It has been around for more than three decades. It’s one of the outstanding successes of modern American military aircraft, and its effectiveness in recent wars has made it beloved by American and allied troops.

The effort of the Air Force to retire prematurely this storied plane has few parallels, not just because it has faced dogged, and ultimately successful, resistance from well-informed members of Congress, but because it has lasted 25 years and has its origin in what looks like a troubling moral and intellectual crisis among Air Force leadership.

Every service has its cultural eccentricities, its strategic fashions, its technological fetishes that cause it to see defense priorities in terms of its parochial interests. But the obsessional Air Force campaign to get rid of the A-10 suggests an especially perverse set of priorities. After all, the A-10 has been one of the great airborne success stories of the last two wars, and even now is enabling the United States to battle ISIS in Iraq in a way that is not just far more economical than flying fast jets from distant aircraft carriers or bases at the other end of the Gulf, but highly effective.

Ask anyone who has served on the ground—or worked near ground troops in Iraq and Afghanistan—what aircraft they would prefer to come and give them close air support and they will say the A-10. They don’t just love the Warthog because it is deadly, though the distinctive “Brrrap” sound of its 30 mm cannon is dreaded by the likes of the Taliban. Ground troops prefer it because planes like the F-16, the French Mirage, and the British Typhoon are just too fast to carry out genuine close air support efficiently and safely and are much more likely to kill them—or civilians—by mistake.

Even early in the Iraq war when U.S. forces called for air support, some 80 to 90 percent of the requests specifically asked for the A-10. In 2006 a leaked email from a British Army officer involved in fierce fighting in Afghanistan’s Helmand Province prompted a political storm in the U.K. by talking about near misses of his own troops by RAF fast jets and praising the Warthog. “I’d take an A-10 over a Eurofighter [Typhoon] any day,” said Maj. James Loden of the Parachute Regiment. U.S. soldiers have similar stories. One experienced NCO in Afghanistan told National Defense magazine, “The A-10s never missed, and with the F/A-18s we had to do two or three bomb runs to get them on the target.”

The pilots of fast jets, no matter how good they are, simply have less time to see what is happening on the ground. They are more reliant on technology that can go wrong, and there is little question that they are more likely to inflict friendly fire and collateral damage casualties.

USAF brass don’t like to admit this. That’s partly because they tend to look down on both the A-10 and the mission for which it is so suitable, but also because it implicitly undermines their massive, desperate public relations campaign on behalf of the troubled, hugely over-budget F-35 Joint Strike Fighter, a high-tech multirole plane that they claim, unconvincingly, will be able to replace the A-10 as a close air support aircraft.

Quite apart from the unlikelihood that the Air Force would ever want to risk a fragile $200 million stealth jet “down in the weeds” on low-level missions against ISIS, the Taliban, or their equivalents, it makes little sense to replace a plane designed specifically for a task with one that may be fundamentally unsuited for it. As Pierre Sprey, who played a key role in designing the F-16 and the A-10, has written, “As a ‘close air support’ attack aircraft to help U.S. troops engaged in combat, the F-35 is a nonstarter. It is too fast to see the tactical targets it is shooting at; too delicate and flammable to withstand ground fire; and it lacks the payload and especially the endurance to loiter usefully over U.S. forces for sustained periods as they manoeuvre on the ground.”

This is not to say that there are no valid arguments for replacing the A-10 at some point—especially if America’s armed forces start facing different enemies using more effective antiaircraft technology than the Taliban or even Syria have at hand. But it’s surely bizarre to go to the mattresses to get rid of an aircraft without having anything in the pipeline that can truly replace it.

The A-10’s original purpose was to give U.S. forces a chance of stopping vast Soviet tank armies if the Warsaw Pact invaded Western Europe. Accordingly, the engineers at Republic-Fairchild built a uniquely rugged aircraft around a powerful automatic cannon. The plane is ugly and ungraceful, but it can take off and land on rough airstrips close to the combat zone and requires relatively little maintenance. It has a long “loiter time,” making it ideal for search and destroy missions. It can take an astonishing amount of punishment from ground fire, its cockpit offers unparalleled visibility, and its pilot is well protected by a titanium armored “bathtub.”

The USAF, however, never embraced the A-10. It hadn’t really wanted the plane in the first place, but it had to field something like it or face the probability that the Army would demand the right to field its own fixed-wing aircraft. (Theoretically the Army has been forbidden to fly fixed-wing planes since the so-called Key West Agreement of 1947, which divided permission to field aviation assets between the older armed services and the new U.S. Air Force.)

As the Cold War came to an end, the Air Force saw an opportunity to mothball its 300 A-10s. But then Iraq invaded Kuwait, and the A-10 was deployed against Saddam’s armored divisions. Its success was so dramatic—even as other, faster, more expensive jets like the British Tornado failed—that its retirement had to be postponed.

The A-10 then turned out to be equally useful in the Balkan bombing campaigns, during which primitive Serbian air defenses were able to shoot down one of the latest, stealthiest, most expensive U.S. aircraft.

By 2003 the USAF had managed to hand off its A-10 fleet to the Air National Guard. Once the second invasion of Iraq had begun, however, there could be no question of not using the Warthog to provide close air support to coalition ground forces.

In the next few years, A-10s, mostly flown by Air National Guard pilots, became the mainstay of these missions both in Iraq and Afghanistan. The Air Force and Navy used plenty of other aircraft types, and the Army and Marine Corps used their Apache and Cobra attack helicopters in support of ground troops, but the A-10 turned out to be the ideal counterinsurgency tool.

Even more frustrating for those who wanted to get rid of it, efforts to dismiss the A-10 as merely a “single-mission airframe” have been undermined by its surprising utility for other missions besides tactical ground attack.

In the Balkans it proved to be useful for combat search and rescue. During the first Gulf war, besides shooting up thousands of Iraqi tanks, the A-10 also shot down enemy helicopters, making it a star of what the military calls -“Battlefield Air Interdiction.” In Iraq and Afghanistan the A-10 turned out to be excellent for Forward Air Control (guiding other aircraft and artillery fire) in the tradition of Vietnam-era planes like the Mohawk and Bronco.

Right now in Iraq, A-10s are carrying out not just close air support but also the search and destroy sorties that the Air Force calls strike coordinated armed reconnaissance (SCAR) missions, for which it is ideally suited, unlike fragile, fuel-guzzling F-35s or even F-16s.

In 2013 the Air Force brass thought they could exploit the sequester to finally retire the A-10. Sure there was still fighting in Afghanistan, and mothballing the A-10 would mean using fast jets in its place, with all of the attendant downside, but the political opportunity was too good to miss. Indeed, it looked for a while like the A-10 was doomed. It didn’t help that the plane has no big aerospace lobby behind it, the last A-10 having been built in 1984 by a company that no longer exists. But Senator John McCain, supported by the Army and veterans’ groups, began a congressional insurrection on its behalf.

It was an uneven struggle. The Air Force and the Pentagon as a whole, including Defense Secretary Chuck Hagel, pushed for the plane’s mothballing. Again and again they assured Congress that the A-10’s retirement would be no great loss as the soon-to-be-ready F-35 is more than capable of doing everything the A-10 does. Of course, the Air Force knows perfectly well that supersonic jet fighters are not well-suited to the down and dirty jobs that the A-10 does so well. But admitting that might mean admitting the shortcomings of the troubled F-35.

Certainly the ruthlessness of the USAF’s efforts to retire the A-10 during the last two years seems to be a byproduct of the service’s ardent commitment to the F-35 and its terror that the latter might be canceled or cut. You can see this in the way that the Air Force has dishonestly redefined “close air support” so that the term includes dropping bombs from high above the clouds, and also in its shiftiness about when the F-35 will be deployable.

The Air Force, like the Navy and Marine Corps, has plenty to be nervous about when it comes to the F-35. It is not only already the most expensive weapons project in history and late by almost a decade, there are many people within the defense establishment and even the Air Force who think it a misconceived and wasteful procurement catastrophe. 

Part of the problem is that the F-35 was marketed on “commonality”—one airframe for all three services—but built around the Marine Corps’s demand for a jet that can take off and land vertically like the Harrier jump jet. The resulting design compromises meant what should have been the best fighter in the world is slower than and aerodynamically inferior to the modern Russian and Chinese designs it might come up against. As a 2008 RAND Corporation study put it, the F-35 “can’t turn, can’t climb, can’t run.”

Perhaps the Air Force should have realized this earlier, and fought for a top-of-the-line plane without a fat waist that makes it slow to cross the sound barrier and all but incapable of agile maneuver. Instead it has put all its trust in the F-35’s “stealth” characteristics—i.e., its low observability by certain kinds of radar, and the way its sensors enable it to engage enemy aircraft beyond visual range. If everything works well, the F-35 can spot an enemy far away and then destroy it with a long-range missile and not have to worry about being slow and ungainly.

However, the F-35 is only stealthy from the front, and even then its cross section is readily observable by old-fashioned low-frequency radars, still used by the Russians and many other countries. Moreover, while stealth technology was exciting and seemed as unbeatable as a Harry Potter invisibility cloak back in the 1980s when the F-35 was conceived, in the 30 years since, adversaries have been working on clever countermeasures and/or developing their own stealth planes.

But even before the F-35 program, with all its implications for the reputations, promotions, and future employment of USAF brass became publicly problematic, the Air Force disliked the A-10, for reasons that had little to do with mission effectiveness and much to do with considerations like aesthetics, self-image, and interservice rivalry.

The A-10 is an ugly, unglamorous aircraft and therefore unappealing to those whose world is steeped in the “knights of the air” mythology of air-to-air combat. It is relatively simple and inexpensive—and therefore has little added value for officers who might want to curry favors with the aerospace industry.

Moreover, despite its age, the A-10 is relatively inexpensive to fuel and operate. That sets a bad precedent for an organization that has struggled to justify the purchase of fragile high-tech aircraft like the F-22 and F-35 that often need days of repair after each mission.

Finally (and perhaps most damning of all), the point of the A-10’s existence is to support personnel from rival services: The Warthog does the grubby job of assisting soldiers and Marines in their work. But the USAF is traditionally and primarily interested in two missions far removed from such tasks—strategic bombing and air-to-air combat.

It may sound extraordinary that senior Air Force officers could be almost unconcerned with the safety and success of American ground troops, or that they would make such a fetish of the purchase of expensive, glamorous, high-tech pointy-nosed toys as to undermine the overall military capacity of the United States, but that seems to be the case.

Last fall, the Air Force tried a final gambit. Its spokesmen claimed that the F-35 program would be even more over budget and delayed if the A-10 weren’t “divested.” The latter’s defenders responded that getting rid of all 280-odd A-10s would save enough money to buy just 12 F-35s.

But the USAF wasn’t done yet. It claimed in November that the F-35’s crisis was a matter of maintenance personnel shortages and that the program could not flourish without the 800-odd maintenance people who currently work on the A-10. This was not true. As the well-informed War is Boring website quickly pointed out, there are thousands of maintenance personnel working on other aircraft types (including rarely used B-1B bombers and F-15 interceptors) who could easily be diverted to support the F-35.

Fortunately, Congress wasn’t gulled, and the latest National Defense Authorization Act forbade the USAF from retiring the A-10. It helped that the politicians fighting for the A-10 included not just McCain but also Sen. Kelly Ayotte from New Hampshire, whose husband flew A-10s in Iraq, and Representative Martha McSally, a retired Air Force colonel who herself flew A-10s in combat. 

ISIS also played a role in saving the A-10. A single squadron of Warthogs would have been enough to stop the ISIS blitzkrieg into northern Iraq—especially given that during the summer the Islamist force moved in long, vulnerable convoys of pickup trucks. Though it will be harder to dislodge ISIS forces now that they are hiding in Iraq’s towns, the Pentagon has deployed an Indiana National Guard A-10 air wing to Iraq, where it has been in action supporting Kurdish forces.

While the A-10’s supporters have won for now, the underlying problems with the Air Force remain. There’s an argument to be made that if it is institutionally unwilling to take seriously the mission of delivering close air support to American troops, as seems to be the case, then it would make sense to abolish its near-monopoly on fixed-wing aircraft and hand the A-10 over to a resuscitated U.S. Army Air Corps that would be pleased to have it.

 And perhaps the USAF should also give up other unglamorous tasks that are about supporting soldiers, sailors, and Marines. It could become a smaller force that operates interceptors, strategic bombers, tankers, and America’s strategic missiles. It’s a solution that could keep the fighter jockeys happy (at least until they are all replaced by unmanned aircraft) without undermining the effectiveness of America’s military as a whole. Of course, it would be far better if the service simply came to its senses and made the national interest, rather than the promotion of the F-35, its first priority.

Afghanistan, We Hardly Knew You (The Daily Beast, Dec 8, 2014)

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It took more than a dozen years for the Afghan and NATO forces to really understand each other, but all that will soon be history.

KABUL, Afghanistan — One of the first things you notice at an Afghan National Army training base is that there are roses everywhere. There are lovingly tended flower beds along each road and surrounding every barrack. The machismo of Afghan male culture apparently coexists with a little-noted passion for gardening. Not only are the center dividers of Kabul’s traffic-choked main avenues lined with well-kept rose bushes, but when you stop at checkpoints in the capital’s “Ring of Steel” you often see brightly colored flowers growing out of the top of Hesco barriers, the giant blast-proof sandbags that are one of the transforming technologies of the “War on Terror.”

 It’s the sort of juxtaposition that makes you wonder, when you first see it, whether the ways of the Afghan soldiers and those of the Westerners who’ve trained them can ever really fit together. And the announcement Saturday that the United States will be keeping an extra thousand troops on the ground in Afghanistan for a little longer than planned—a total of 10,800 troops in the first few months of the new year—makes the question seem just a bit more critical. There have been so many stories of “green on green” and “green on blue” killings, when Afghan soldiers and police have opened fire on their fellow troops or their Western colleagues in ISAF, the International Security Assistance Force.

 But the blast barriers themselves, like the roses, are so ubiquitous that once you’ve spent some time here you forget to register them or what their presence may imply about how people and institutions deal with the ordinary insecurity of life. The same applies to other visual cues that tend to go unremarked.

 For instance, another thing you might notice at an Afghan National Army (ANA) training base is that very few Afghan soldiers on it are carrying weapons. There will be some sentries with American-supplied M16 rifles, and the foreign trainers may be carrying guns, but the great mass of troops are unarmed.

 By contrast, at ISAF installations almost everyone you see is armed, including civilian contractors. Men and women who have never gone “outside the wire” at ISAF HQ in Kabul (except to travel to or from the airport), who are unlikely ever to do so, and who are protected by multiple layers of carefully designed military security, nevertheless carry pistols strapped to their hips.

The rules that allow the bearing of arms even by civilians at ISAF bases—and the fact that almost everyone who can chooses to do so—presumably expresses not just a rather extreme and fearful approach to “force protection” but also an understandable desire on the part of rear-echelon folk to look and feel warlike and badass. Both sartorial tendencies also reflect one of the most striking aspects of life in Afghanistan and that is a lack of trust, or rather a lack of trust of anyone who is not an immediate member of your family and tribe.

 You don’t need a deep knowledge of Afghan history to have a sense that this is not a new or recent phenomenon: all you have to do is fly over the country. The big visual difference between Afghanistan (and Pakistan’s Pashtun frontier lands) and similarly mountainous or desert regions in, say, India, is that here there are high walls around everything. Every dwelling of any size, every farm outside the city (and it’s true also of many houses inside the city) is a fortress, a castle and perhaps a jail, too, at least for some of the females within.

 In Kabul you rarely see people shouting at each other or getting angry in public.

It’s hard to know if this mistrust is justified, if without walls and weapons no man could expect to live undisturbed regardless of traditional honor codes. But of course, many middle aged and older Afghans have more than enough experience of violence and disorder to be cautious.

On the other hand, one of the striking things about urban life here is that it is much quieter and more civil than its equivalent in Pakistan or India.

 In Kabul you rarely see people shouting at each other or getting angry in public. When on another trip here I once started to lose my temper with an Afghan colleague, the young Afghan fixer who was showing me around cautioned me to calm down, explaining that it would be dangerous to make an Afghan man lose face publicly. It is a bit like the stories you hear from American prisons in which inmates are surprisingly polite or at least careful not to bump into each other in the line for lunch, because any kind of perceived insult has to be answered with extreme violence. When I was in Kabul last year I was told about a female staffer at one of the big foreign aid organizations who publicly reprimanded one of her house servants. Her agency had to take her out of the country that very evening after it was made clear that the servant had sworn to kill her.

Some of the more notorious “green on blue” attacks have their origin in such outraged honor. rather than in ideology or Taliban infiltration. The foreign advisers engaged in training troops long ago learned that Afghans can take mortal offense at the use of obscenity and certainly at being called “motherfuckers” or something similar. But unfortunately some of the foreign troops performing guard duty can be less culturally sensitive: last year an Australian soldier provoked a fatal incident at a joint training base just outside Kabul by insulting an Afghan soldier.

 In general, though, one of the things that is abundantly obvious if you visit the many bases where ISAF troops are training and advising the Afghan military and police, is that at this point, the NATO-led forces really do “get” their clients and are profoundly familiar with Afghan culture in all its good and bad manifestations.

 Many officers and men from the 48-odd ISAF countries have done multiple tours, speak some Dari or Pashto, and have developed a deep affection for Afghanistan along with a relatively intimate knowledge of local ways. It makes it seem all the more unfortunate, that having finally achieved such understanding, most of those personnel are leaving.

 ISAF is shrinking and will be gone by the end of the year; already only 30,000 foreigners remain from a force that once numbered 150,000. To the dismay of Afghanistan’s newly elected President Ashraf Ghani, and of many other people here ranging from ISAF commanders to leaders of Afghan civil society, the follow-on NATO-led mission, named “Resolute Support,” will have a maximum of only 12,000 troops and will itself be shut down within two years, regardless of the political, military and economic situation in the country.

It took years and many costly, bruising lessons to cultivate in the blighted soil of this country, the trust and mutual respect that you now encounter between Afghans and Internationals; soon these hard-won connections will become irrelevant and fade away like, well, like roses withering in blast barriers.

The Afghan Handover (The Weekly Standard Nov.17, 2014)

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It’s not too late for the president to rethink his arbitrary end date

Kabul

With less than two months to go until the end of the mission, the International Security Assistance Force headquarters in Kabul can feel a little forlorn. You still encounter an amazing mix of uniforms, headgear, ethnicities, and accents, with Macedonian troops brushing shoulders with soldiers from Mongolia. The gym is still packed at all hours. There are still civilian contractors walking around with pistols strapped importantly to their hips. But the national support element clubhouses are empty, the PXs are closing, and some major ISAF participants like the Canadians are long gone. An organization that was once so large its operational command hadits own separate base at Kabul airport and was in command of 150,000 troops from 48 nations—a quarter of the world’s countries—is shrinking rapidly.

U.S. Army Black Hawk at Kabul airport

In a huge and complicated engineering operation, vast bases are being closed and stripped, or handed over along with their power and water plants to Afghan forces who may or may not be able to staff and operate them effectively. ISAF, which had already largely shifted during the course of 2014 from a combat mission to one described as “train, assist, advise,” is now down to 34,000 personnel; there will be less than 12,000 by the end of the year.

Of course, the war is not over. Come January, ISAF will morph into a NATO-led partnership called Resolute Support Afghanistan. “A noncombat mission in a combat environment” as one foreign colonel called it, Resolute Support is supposed to train, advise, and assist Afghan security institutions in what you might call their higher functions: budgeting, corruption oversight, civil-military relations, recruitment, strategy and planning, and intelligence gathering.

The plan is to have a hub in Kabul or Bagram and four or five spokes. The Germans will run the training and advisory command at Mazar in the North, the Italians will do the same in Herat in the West, and the United States will be in charge of the other bases, which are likely to be in Kandahar, Jalalabad, and Bagram.

Planning for the new mission, including raising the required number of troops, was severely delayed by ex-president Karzai’s refusal to sign a Status of Forces Agreement and Bilateral Security Agreement, and also by the election crisis over the summer. NATO is now frantically trying to ensure that it has the 12,000 soldiers it calculates are the minimum needed for the mission to work. If it doesn’t get the full complement of troops from NATO and 14 partner states, Resolute Support will be cut down to only four spokes. That would not be a good thing, either for the training mission or for the wider goals of the alliance in Afghanistan.

After all, America and its allies need their own sources of intelligence in Afghanistan. This is not simply because Afghan corps commanders have a tendency to exaggerate Taliban numbers in an effort to get more funds and more support. It’s also because the drawdown has prompted neighboring states—some concerned about the vacuum, others malevolent—to increase their activity in Afghanistan.

The Resolute Support advisers also need to be able to defend themselves should things go wrong. Although the safety of the foreign advisers will ultimately depend on the Afghan Security Forces, there is a “force protection” element built into Resolute Support; it is not clear if it is nearly large or strong enough.

The rebranded NATO-led organization will shift the training, advice, and assistance from the tactical realm to Afghanistan’s ministries and corps commands. The hope is to make the Afghan government and military leadership capable of sustaining their 350,000-strong forces in the field.

This will be a considerable challenge. For a host of cultural, political, and historical reasons, it can be much easier to teach Afghan soldiers infantry tactics and weapons handling than to impress the essentials of modern logistics, joint operations, and fire support on their senior commanders, or to get the generals and politicians to ensure that soldiers and police are consistently, adequately paid and supplied with food, water, and fuel.

On the other hand, one of the things that quickly becomes apparent if you spend time at ISAF headquarters in Kabul or in the regional commands, or if you visit 
the specialized bases where ISAF personnel are “training the trainers,” is that after more than a decade in the country, and many mistakes, ISAF’s advisers really “get” Afghans and Afghanistan.

The learning curve was long and was not helped by rotations of troops and units that all but ensured the frequent loss of hard-earned institutional knowledge. The ISAF personnel you meet these days, however, are not only impressively able and experienced (it’s common to meet officers, enlisted troops, and civilians who have done multiple tours) but also movingly devoted to Afghanistan.

As you might expect, they have few of the illusions that beset many of the first commanders and aid workers who arrived here in 2002; but neither do they tend to be so cynical about getting things done “the Afghan way” that they’re willing turn a blind eye to rank incompetence and corruption.

On the Afghan side, if you speak to the generals about international assistance you inevitably hear a litany of requests and complaints—they need more heavy weapons, more close air support, and of course more money. Relay those complaints and requests to ISAF commanders and you’re likely to hear depressing and comical anecdotes, such as the recent discovery by an ISAF officer of an Afghan Army warehouse filled with brand new NATO-supplied high-tech anti-IED devices. The Afghan National Army did not know it had been supplied with these devices because the troops that accepted delivery were essentially illiterate and had no idea what was in the boxes.

As time goes on, though, such debacles seem to be less frequent, not least because illiteracy is dramatically lower both in the army and in Afghanistan in general. It’s now easier for the government and the military to hire people who can fill out the forms upon which tasks like the supply of spare parts depend and use the computers that are the basis of all the management systems that ISAF has tried to teach.

A combination of accumulated effort and accumulated cultural awareness has enabled ISAF to transform the way the Afghan Army is paid. Some 85 percent of the soldiers now have salaries paid directly into personal bank accounts they can access through ATMs installed at all the big Afghan bases. This is a revolutionary change, as formerly they were paid in cash from money supplied to their corps commanders—with all the potential for mischief that you might expect. Many Afghan soldiers are said to believe that they were given a 25 percent pay raise this year; they weren’t, it was just that for the first time they got their full salaries unaffected by the generals’ skimming.

It’s not a foolproof system. It’s possible that some generals and defense officials will figure out a way to input nonexistent personnel or whole ghost units into the system and take their salaries. But it’s one of several instances in which ISAF advisers have come up with mechanisms that make government more efficient while removing opportunities to steal or otherwise abuse the power of the state.

Another example is the way the British officers who set up and advise the Afghan National Officers Academy (sometimes called the “Sandhurst in the Sand” after the U.K.’s equivalent of West Point) established a selection system highly resistant to the usual nepotism and tribal influence. All candidates who come to the academy at Qargha are given randomly assigned identity numbers before they take a week of physical and academic tests. Only one person on the entire base has the list that matches numbers to names—the British colonel in charge of the training team. That means that the Afghan commander and his staff can honestly tell any powerful individual who contacts them hoping his influence will ensure the selection of a particular candidate that they are simply unable to game the system for him.

On the purely military side of things, thanks to years of hard work by NATO and ISAF trainers and advisers, units of the Afghan National Army not only can fight in an organized and effective way, but are often more proactive than they used to be. This, along with the shift to “Afghan-led” operations, is one of the reasons why Afghan Security Forces suffered higher casualties this year. Not only was the 2014 “fighting season” Afghan-led and largely successful, but the security forces managed to protect a massive double election process that the Taliban had sworn to disrupt.

On the other hand, the United States and ISAF allowed the ANA’s better units to get used to being ferried to the battlefield in American helicopters and to have highly effective ISAF close air support on speed dial; next year they will have to do without both. They do have helicopters of their own—and will have more, along with a score of Tucano ground attack planes—but beginning in 2015 the Afghan Army and police will no longer have even the possibility of consistent support and backup from first-world air forces, and no one knows how they will do.

In general, Afghan realities are complex and confusing. The more you talk to people here, the more contradictory stories you hear, and the harder it is to get a sense of how things are really going. Some people say with confidence that the Taliban is increasingly fractured and has lost much of its raison d’être with the departure of most foreign forces; others insist that Mullah Omar’s Quetta Shura retains enough influence to be a useful interlocutor. Some foreign officials scoff at the way their Afghan counterparts blame insurgency and terrorism on Pakistan’s intelligence service; others regret the failure of Washington and its allies to put more pressure on Islamabad to stop sponsoring terror groups like the Haqqani network. 

On the one hand, corruption, incompetence, and a leadership culture shaped by a toxic combination of Soviet-style and Central Asian warlordism are rife in the Afghan military establishment. On the other hand, the tactical skill and courage of much of the Afghan Army is undeniable. Some senior ISAF and Afghan Army commanders insist that the Afghan Local Police program, which enlists villagers in local defense forces, has generally been a success; others are equally convinced that the ALP are unreliable at best and prone to banditry and moonlighting for the Taliban.

Still, even off the record, the ISAF commanders both at the top and in the training missions tend to be relatively optimistic about the direction Afghanistan is going. They draw considerable comfort from the performance of the Afghan Security Forces during the 2014 fighting season, and in particular during the two elections. If there was ever a time in which the Afghan military might have split along ethnic and regional lines it would have been in between the two elections. The fact that nothing of the sort took place arguably outweighs an ongoing lack of cooperation between the army and the country’s many police forces and the ability of insurgent groups to carry out high-profile attacks in some areas.

They can see that in terms of trends within Afghanistan time is on their side. With every passing year the proportion of the adult population that is young, literate, and either urban or connected to the world beyond the village by mass media, mobile phone, and Internet grows by leaps and bounds, while the backward conditions that created warlordism and then the Taliban are becoming a distant memory.

Some see signs of an osmotic influence. Many Afghans have had more than a decade of exposure to professionalism, to a modern, Western style of military leadership, to the advantages of merit-based promotion, and to organizational cultures that prize individual responsibility.

If you go to, say, the Afghan special forces training base at Camp Commando on the outskirts of Kabul, you can see the effect of this. The officers there from the commanding general down are fit and serious with little sign of that well-fed indolence that indicates high status in many Middle Eastern and Asian societies. While there are still some older generals in the Afghan Army who sport airborne or ranger patches in empty imitation of American advisers, the officers and NCOs here wear patches they have actually earned at elite schools in the United States or Europe. They come back from those crucibles with fundamentally altered ideas of rank and hierarchy.

That said, the ISAF and NATO leaders here were all shaken to some degree by the election crisis and by the way that Karzai’s delay in signing the Status of Forces and Bilateral Security agreements risked a total pullout of foreign forces. The fact that the Taliban was unable to obstruct the election and the dispute was finally resolved in the form of a nascent national unity government was therefore reassuring.

They are also all well aware of the political problems here that will require international involvement and large-scale donation for decades to come. For instance, there is no way that Afghanistan with its limited government revenue could by itself sustain security forces of any significant size for decades to come. They fear, as do many Afghan politicians, that without foreign military forces on the ground, and with new crises emerging in the Middle East and Africa, Western donors may lose interest in the country.

They also think that the timeline of the new mission is far too short. NATO has not specified an end date for Resolute Support. Theoretically it could last until the end of the Bilateral Security Agreement two decades from now. But in practice it is set to finish by the end of 2016, because of President Obama’s insistence that all U.S. troops be gone by then. His plan for half of the U.S. contingent to be pulled out by the end of 2015, regardless of conditions on the ground, essentially rips the heart out of the whole exercise. It will leave the training mission understaffed and largely undefended.

The president’s politically determined end date for Resolute Support, like his previous 2014 deadline, undermines the mission in several ways. It will encourage the insurgents, who know they just have to hold on for two years. It discourages ambivalent allies and supporters in Afghanistan and abroad. It will demoralize soldiers and civilians who know they will have to leave regardless of where their mission stands. And it may well encourage a cynical “screw-it” attitude on the part of personnel who understandably don’t want to be killed or maimed for a cause that the U.S. government clearly does not believe in.

The new president, Ashraf Ghani, has indicated that the duration of Resolution is too short. Senior NATO leaders, both military and civilian, Afghan government officials, and members of civil society, the people at the top of the international aid effort here, and even the reflexively cynical Kabul press corps, all agree. Even the governments of India and even Pakistan have expressed their concerns about the 2016 pullout to the U.S. government. All of them are hoping against hope that the disaster of Iraq will inspire the president to revise his decision. Certainly you would think that all that has happened in Syria and Iraq might prompt the administration and its supporters in the U.S. media and think-tank world to be less complacent about the fate of Afghanistan.

The one thing that has given hope to many people here at ISAF is that Germany’s Angela Merkel is said to have given a classified briefing to the Bundestag in which she said that Germany would push for a longer mission. If President Obama could be persuaded by her example to go for a condition-related date of departure, rather than the rigid deadline he has so far embraced, then perhaps the vast amount of effort and sacrifice, blood and treasure, spent in Afghanistan will not have been given in vain.

Enemies, Allies and Kurdistan (Weekly Standard, Nov. 03, 2014)

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The Case For a Major New US Military Base

It is not clear at the time of writing if Turkey will or will not allow the United States to use the NATO air base at Incirlik for airstrikes against ISIS forces in Syria and Iraq. On October 13, national security adviser Susan Rice announced that Turkey had finally agreed to the use of the base, only to be contradicted the very next day by Turkey’s foreign minister. A subsequent press report claimed that the Turks were allowing their American allies to fly reconnaissance drones from Incirlik but no manned aircraft.

The brouhaha exemplifies a troubling downward trend in America’s ability to project power in the Middle East, a trend that goes beyond Turkey and its peculiar, complicated, sometimes hostile relationship with America. The ISIS crisis and the feebleness of the current air campaign don’t just provide evidence that only a foolish leader would preclude putting at least some “boots on the ground” in a military campaign. They also show that the countries that have long given us basing rights in the region may not be as cooperative or as trustworthy as our planners assume them to be, and that this is likely to get worse.

Given this unfortunate development, it is time for America’s planners to consider breaking with tradition and setting up new bases in countries that are likely to remain reliable allies—even if they are not yet recognized as independent states. 

Iraqi Kurdistan is just such a place (another is the Somaliland Republic, just across the Gulf of Aden from Yemen). It is not technically an independent state, as it has not seceded from the battered, unraveling republic of Iraq. But at this point that doesn’t really matter. Baghdad is hardly in a position to object to any deal between the United States and the autonomous Kurdistan Regional Government (KRG). Indeed, any hope that Iraq has of remaining a single state, federal or confederal, once ISIS has been defeated would depend on Baghdad and whoever controls it (likely a Shiite-dominated government), giving the KRG something very close to de facto independence.

Similarly, the only way Iraqi Kurdistan will feel really safe from invasion by Baghdad-controlled forces, an ISIS-Sunni alliance, a Turkey that has returned to its old anti-KRG ways, or Iran (Syria is unlikely to be a threat for a long time to come) is if there is a U.S. military presence in the country.

For both the Iraqi Kurds and the United States, then, a U.S. base in Kurd-istan—which already has airfields with long military-spec runways—would offer the United States tremendous strategic advantages.

These are all the more important in a region where U.S. influence has diminished, and in which the United States may well lose access to some of its biggest air, land, and naval bases in the medium or long term.

In the short term it obviously makes sense. There has been much talk about the need for the United States and its allies to stand up effective local forces in the war against ISIS. But the 5,000-strong Syrian rebel force that U.S. military leaders think they can stand up within a year or two is nowhere near adequate.

A proper alliance with Iraqi Kurdistan, one that includes the training and equipping of more effective Kurdish armed forces, offers perhaps the only hope of defeating ISIS without having to cooperate militarily with Iran (which would demand nuclear concessions and continue to undermine U.S. interests in Iraq) or Syria’s Assad regime (which has much American as well as Syrian and Iraqi blood on its hands).

Despite the Obama administration’s reflexive hostility to Kurdish aspirations and the official U.S. government preference for dealing only with Baghdad, the airports of Iraqi Kurdistan have reportedly become U.S. military installations as a matter of simple necessity. Some of the big air bases in Iraq proper like Balad and Taji are either too vulnerable to ISIS attack to be used by coalition aircraft or have already been captured. As for bases further south like the Rasheed base in Baghdad, the Iranian military is already using them to launch surveillance drones, and U.S. military officials are rightly nervous about the security implications of sharing an air base with, and being studied by, the Iranian Revolutionary Guard.

 But quite apart from the immediate value of Iraqi Kurdistan in the ISIS campaign, it would make sense for the United States to form a closer military partnership with the KRG. Unlike several of the countries from which we fly our aircraft or base our ships, its leaders and people are pro-American, its ruling regime is not a monarchy ripe for Arab Spring-style overthrow, it’s not trying to replace the United States as a regional hegemon, it does not sponsor Islamist terrorism, and if we did ally with it, we would be guaranteeing its freedom and security in such a way as to bind it to us by the strongest cords of self-interest and gratitude.

Currently, American military efforts in the region are dependent on Qatar, which hosts CENTCOM’s forward HQ and the huge al-Udeid air base, Kuwait, home of the Ali-al-Salem airfield, the UAE, location of the Al-Dhafra air base, and Bahrain, which is the headquarters of the U.S. Navy’s Fifth Fleet.

Qatar is said to sponsor Islamism and jihadist militancy around the world: Its financial beneficiaries have allegedly included Hamas, Egypt’s Muslim Brotherhood, Somalia’s al Shabab, the al Qaeda-allied Nusra Front in Syria, and finally the Afghan Taliban. Alleged Qatari support for ISIS has prompted the U.S. Treasury to single out the kingdom as an especially “permissive jurisdiction” for terrorist financing.

Kuwait, too, has sponsored the Muslim Brotherhood as well as more radical Islamist groupings around the world. It was revealed by WikiLeaks to have been a key transit point for al Qaeda financing.

Moreover, the Arab Spring showed that even the most stable-seeming authoritarian monarchies and dictatorships can be more vulnerable than they look. It should be clear to U.S. planners that it is risky to assume that the rulers of the Gulf States will continue in power or that they will continue to be on America’s side.

Certainly violence in Bahrain, where members of the Shiite majority protested against Sunni rulers and were brutally repressed with Saudi assistance, should have the Pentagon making plans for the day when the regime has been overthrown and neither CENTCOM nor the Navy can use the country as a base.

As for Turkey, now that it sees itself as potential top dog in a region from which America withdrew, it is unlikely ever to give us free rein at Incirlik, regardless of the destination or mission of U.S. aircraft. And even if the Erdogan government were inclined to be more cooperative in the matter of ISIS, the Turkish military has on several occasions shown itself willing to sacrifice the U.S. alliance on the altar of its anti-Kurdish obsession.

There is a strong argument that gaining a permanent U.S. base in Iraq, preferably in Kurdistan, always ought to have been a primary U.S. goal after the 2003 invasion, and not just because such a boon might have quieted those “realist” opponents of the Iraq mission who abhorred talk of fostering democratic government in the Middle East.

The United States has lost several key bases in recent years, the most significant one being the Kharshi Khanabad base in Uzbekistan (thanks to Russian pressure). At the very least, the existence of a major modern U.S.-equipped air base in Kurdistan would offer redundancy for whenever Turkey refuses permission for the use of Incirlik, or for the day when Turkey might cease being even a nominal ally.

A U.S. air base in Iraqi Kurdistan would give America the ability to influence events in the immediate region and also in the Caucasus. Just the reconnaissance capability would be transformative. After all, Sulaymaniyah is only 330 miles from Tehran and 500 miles from Damascus.

A U.S. base in Kurdistan could make all the difference to Washington’s military options when dealing with the Iranian nuclear program. The fact that airstrikes would be significantly less difficult—not to mention the potential for inserting special forces by air or land—might well have a salutary effect on Tehran and therefore make such an action less necessary and less likely.

Iraqi Kurdistan is one of the few places in the world where both the government and the population actively desire an American military presence. Indeed the KRG has been quietly lobbying for more than a decade for the United States to establish a base in its territory.

The Kurdistan Regional Government certainly has its flaws and would continue to have them even if the country asserted its independence and became a formal U.S. ally. Its key institutions are dominated by two rival clans, there are serious problems with corruption, and also periodic problems with press freedom. Still, the country is more democratic and much more religiously tolerant than most others in the region. A formal, quasi-permanent arrangement for a U.S. base in Kurd-istan could transform for the better America’s position in the region. It would also be a good thing for all the Kurds (not just those in Iraq), a good thing for Iraq, and arguably a good thing for a region that otherwise will be a proxy battleground for Iran and Turkey.

 http://www.weeklystandard.com/articles/enemies-allies-and-kurdistan_817077.html

Britain's Heart of Darkness (Commentary, October 2014)

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The Rot in Rotherham

A scandal involving rape, ethnicity, religion, and the willful failure of Britain’s public authorities to protect thousands of girls from horrific exploitation has become international news. But while some of the revelations of the barbarities practiced in the town of Rotherham in South Yorkshire and elsewhere in England are fresh, the story is not new. It has taken some 15 years for this scandal to reach critical mass and get the attention of the British political class. This delay was due to a toxic combination of pathologies on the part of the authorities and the British media. And it all boiled down to a deliberate and even bizarrely principled refusal to speak the truth, no matter the consequences to the innocent.

These pathologies include 1) endemic official terror of seeming “racist” or being labeled as such, 2) an obsession with not giving ammunition to the country’s weak and tiny extreme right, 3) the requirement that all liberal middle-class British people ignore or pretend not to see any negative fallout from mass immigration, and 4) the persistence of multiculturalist dogma that prescribes a morally relativistic response to cultural difference.

But other, less well-known forces were also at play. Among them is one of the few politically correct forms of social prejudice in the UK: a disdain for the white working class, and in particular the part of it that has been degraded by welfarism and family breakdown. But perhaps equally important, and all but unnoted by the mainstream press, is the problematic role played by a misguided and ineffective British counterterrorism strategy based on winning the cooperation of self-appointed Muslim community leaders and Pakistani immigrant “elders.”

The large-scale targeting of vulnerable white (and also Sikh) girls by networks of Muslim men and the massive institutional failure that allowed such exploitation to flourish reveal some dark truths about British society and the British state. One can only hope that the lessons to be learned are lessons the United States will not need to heed.

The tipping point came in late August with the publication of the Jay report. Based on an independent inquiry commissioned by Rotherham Borough Council, Professor Alexis Jay’s report recounted in harrowing detail the sexual exploitation of at least 1,400 girls by gangs of men, almost all of Pakistani origin, between 1997 and 2013 in the Yorkshire town. (Rotherham has a population of 250,000 and is a satellite of the city of Sheffield.) The report was commissioned in the wake of, and provided independent evidence to support the findings of, a devastating 2012 investigation by Andrew Norfolk, a reporter for the Times (London). Norfolk had revealed confidential police files suggesting a nationwide pattern of exploitation of girls ages 12 to 16 by “Asian males.”

Norfolk’s articles had demonstrated a pattern of “grooming” and sexually exploiting children—not only in Rotherham but also in cities with large Pakistani communities such as Derby, Oldham, and Rochdale. They revealed that all across the economically depressed midlands and north of England, and in some other more prosperous towns (including Oxford), there had developed a criminal phenomenon in which vulnerable, mostly white teenage and preteen girls had become subject to “grooming” by men from Pakistani and Bangladeshi immigrant communities.

“Grooming” is code for a process by which rebellious, alienated young girls from the white working class and underclass—of whom there are many—are seduced with alcohol, drugs, and sometimes a degree of affection and attention, and then raped and forced to become sex slaves and prostitutes.

Many of the girls are in what the British authorities ironically call government “care”—wards of the state—or else are known delinquents. Often they are initially targeted by young men whom they consider their boyfriends but are then broken in by gang rapes and passed around groups of related older men. These criminal endeavors are based around taxi companies and associated with late-night fast-food and kebab restaurants of a kind that abound in the UK’s poorer neighborhoods.

To give a flavor of the phenomenon of sexual grooming and the official response to it, let me quote at some length from the executive summary of Alexis Jay’s report:

It is hard to describe the appalling nature of the abuse that child victims suffered. They were raped by multiple perpetrators, trafficked to other towns and cities in the north of England, abducted, beaten, and intimidated. There were examples of children who had been doused in petrol and threatened with being set alight, threatened with guns, made to witness brutally violent rapes and threatened they would be next if they told anyone. Girls as young as 11 were raped by large numbers of male perpetrators…

Over the first twelve years covered by this Inquiry, the collective failures of political and officer leadership were blatant….Within social care, the scale and seriousness of the problem was underplayed by senior managers. At an operational level, the Police gave no priority to CSE [child sexual exploitation] regarding many child victims with contempt and failing to act on their abuse as a crime.

By far the majority of perpetrators were described as “Asian” by victims, yet throughout the entire period, councilors did not engage directly with the Pakistani-heritage community to discuss how best they could jointly address the issue. Some councilors seemed to think it was a one-off problem, which they hoped would go away. Several staff described their nervousness about identifying the ethnic origins of perpetrators for fear of being thought racist; others remembered clear direction from their managers not to do so.

One of Jay’s sources was a Home Office researcher who as early as 2002 provided Rotherham authorities with information about incidents of exploitation by networks of Anglo-Pakistani men. As a result of her report she was told, “You must never refer to that again, you must never refer to Asian men” and then made to go on a “two-day ethnicity and diversity course to raise my awareness of ethnic issues.”

The Times’s 2012 investigation had detailed a 10-year history of Rotherham’s police and social services failing to act on specific evidence about predation by organized groups of sex offenders from the Pakistani community. Like the Jay report, it included stories that are hard to read and even harder to fathom.

It was apparently representative that Rotherham social services allowed one 14-year-old child, who had been put into state care after her parents had tried unsuccessfully to end her relationship with an older Pakistani man who had twice impregnated her, to have daily contact with her abuser (a violent ex-convict) on the ground that the relationship was consensual. A father in a town near Manchester told social workers that his 15-year-old daughter had been lured into an underage sex ring based at a local kebab shop; they told him that the girl had simply made a “lifestyle choice.”

Another Home Office researcher, who produced a 2001 report on the crisis and wrote without result to the local police chief, had described a horrific case: “One girl’s social worker invited her abuser to attend ante-natal meetings as if this was some kind of normal relationship. This was a 14-year-old and an adult abuser, married with children and a pregnant wife.”

The police were even more derelict in their duties. Again and again they chose to ignore the complaints of the girls and their parents, often because they believed the girls were “slags” and “trash.” One Rotherham detective interviewing a girl who had been gang-raped by five men refused to list the case as one of sexual abuse as he believed it to be “consensual”: The girl was 12. If that doesn’t sound bad enough, in two cases cited by the Jay report, “fathers tracked down their daughters and tried to remove them from houses where they were being abused, only to be arrested themselves when police were called to the scene.”

Mike Hedges, the now retired chief constable of South Yorkshire, recently claimed that the sexual grooming of children was “never raised” while he was in office. It has since been revealed that he was sent letters detailing accounts of such abuse, including one from the anguished parents of a 13-year-old girl who had been raped.

The problem was so bad, and so well known in the town, that according to Jay, “Schools raised the alert over the years about children as young as 11, 12, and 13 being picked up outside schools by cars and taxis, given presents and mobile phones and taken to meet large numbers of unknown males in Rotherham, other local towns and cities, and further afield.”

The Jay report’s revelations have resulted in a media firestorm, a handful of reluctant apologies and resignations in Rotherham itself, and, in the past few weeks, the first admissions by the BBC that a specific ethnic group played a massively disproportionate role in a pattern of crime that it had worked hard to play down or ignore.

The latter is important. Until recently, the norm in covering the Rotherham incidents, and many similar ones in the north of England, had been to either avoid any mention by the victims of the ethnicity of the perpetrators, or to refer to them nebulously as “Asian” men. In the UK, “Asian” is used to describe people whose ancestors come from the Indian Subcontinent (i.e., Indians, Pakistanis, Afghans, Nepalis, and Sri Lankans) rather than people from Southeast Asia.

The use of this word in these cases is troubling because it is animated by racism—racism in the service of cowardice and political correctness.

Labeling the perpetrators as “Asians” was an attempt to disguise the fact that the men involved were almost all Muslims of Pakistani or Bangladeshi descent, plus a few Turks, Kurds, Arabs, and Afghans. No Sikhs or Hindus or Buddhists have been linked to the crimes, so to use the term “Asian” (as is still the norm on the BBC) is to introduce race without the slightest honest justification.

The anguish about ethnicity and terminology actually goes to the heart of the overall problem. According to the both the Jay report and the best journalism on the subject, one reason the perpetrators were able to flourish for so long was that those in authority were much more concerned with denying or deflecting attention from the existence of Pakistani rape gangs than they were with the safety of thousands of brutally abused girls.

One serious question surrounding the scandal is the extent to which these crimes have a racial or religious motivation or are somehow connected to the remarkably consistent ethnic and cultural background of the perpetrators. Put simply, were these girls targeted because they were white? Because they were infidels? Both? And what, if anything, does it signify that the perpetrators are almost all of Pakistani background?

Rotherham and similar cases are highly unusual in that “ordinary” child sexual abuse involves perpetrators and victims who come from the same ethnic group. Moreover, there is no equivalent phenomenon of Pakistani and other Muslim girls being specifically targeted for grooming and pimping by non-Muslims, or white men, or black men, or Sikh and Hindu men. This doesn’t mean, of course, that all Muslim men are a threat to girls from those groups; most sexual abuse and rape in Britain is a white-on-white problem.

No one seems to know the degree to which the perpetrators are motivated by racism or religious bigotry when they speak, as they have, of their victims as “white trash” and “white whores,” because almost all white girls in the UK are non-Muslims. But the fact that Sikh girls were also targeted would seem to imply some kind of vengeful religious animus.

One young Muslim leader, Mohammed Shafiq, who received death threats for discussing the matter in public, explained it thus: “The reality is that there is a small minority of Pakistani men who think white teenage girls are worthless and can be abused with impunity. Part of the problem is related to the fact that they should not have extra-marital sex with Pakistani girls inside their own tightly knit communities. Not only would such behavior be quickly uncovered via the local grapevine and their close family networks, but it would also offend their own twisted code of honor.  So, instead, they turn to vulnerable Western girls, whom they regard as more easily available because of greater social freedoms.”

There is other circumstantial evidence to bolster the case that religion has played a central role. As  right-wing British pundit Milo Yiannopoulos pointed out, a similar pattern involving gang rapes by Lebanese Muslim men in Sydney, Australia, led to race riots in 2000. And the Netherlands has struggled to deal with a widespread pattern of Moroccan and Turkish gangs “turning out” white Dutch girls, with a particular emphasis on underage virgins.

There is nothing in the Koran or in Islam as a whole that mandates rape and sexual exploitation, still less anything that suggests that one race is more deserving of mistreatment than another. However, as is now well known due to widely reported cases of gang-rape punishments in Pakistan’s North-West Frontier, tribal traditions of rape and misogynistic violence are often justified on religious grounds and even seen as a form of Islamic hygiene by certain communities.

There is also in Islam, as in variants of Orthodox Judaism and some Hindu traditions, a traditional concern with female purity that can lead some devotees to assume that women from other communities are unchaste, unclean, and unworthy of respect.

Which raises another horrifying aspect of the Rotherham cases—one that does not involve the perpetrators. It is the degraded character of white-underclass and even working-class life in Britain’s cities. It is hardly surprising that immigrants from conservative parts of the subcontinent and their strictly brought-up children might be shocked by some behaviors of the indigenous population.

Public drunkenness has long been a British tradition for all classes, but it is far from uncommon on a Saturday night in any English town to see puking-drunk girls staggering around or collapsed half-naked in the gutter, not to mention public sex and public urination. These are not spectacles that invite assimilation into British culture or that inspire respect. That is certainly not to say that the unattractiveness of British street culture is any excuse for grooming or raping, or that these girls, many of them under 13, are in any way responsible for their abuse by these predators.

It is also important to note that certain behaviors that are utterly normal, respectable, and dignified in Western terms—such as a post-pubescent woman going about her business with her hair uncovered and without being accompanied by a male relative for protection—are in some parts of the subcontinent (especially the parts of Pakistan from which many British immigrants come) considered immoral.

In Pakistan, Afghanistan, and parts of India, I have often heard women who leave their houses without a father, brother, son, or cousin being described as “prostitutes.” The men who say that are not claiming that the women are literally selling sex but that they are as undeserving of respect as prostitutes, fair game for abuse, and perhaps even deserving of some kind of punishment. 

Still, you would expect even conservative Muslim immigrants who have been in Britain for a long time, and certainly their offspring, to have made some kind of accommodation with Western ideas of female freedom and appropriate dress. But Britain is not America, and here, as in other European countries, cultural assimilation has proved to be a problematic process, especially with Muslim immigrants from certain countries.

While many immigrant groups, such as West Indians or the South Asians who fled persecution in Africa in the 1970s, have become part of the British mainstream despite having had to battle considerable racism and intolerance, many Pakistani and Bangladeshi neighborhoods have successfully resisted assimilation. They sometimes look and feel not like a normal immigrant ghetto, but like colonies, inhabited by people who despise the culture around them. Part of this contempt may be rooted in a sense that their religion and traditional sense of honor render them inherently superior to the English, but it may also have something to do with a reaction to the social and economic degradation of the English underclass. After all, many of these communities live alongside English people who have lived on welfare benefits for generations and among whom radically dysfunctional families are the norm.

The second major question raised by the scandal is this: Why were the social workers and police so reluctant to go public with or do much about the Rotherham crimes?

Ineptitude and laziness certainly played a role. But the notorious, sometimes deadly incompetence of many of Britain’s social workers is often connected to political correctness. The most infamous recent example of this was the case of Victoria Climbié, an eight-year-old girl originally from the Ivory Coast who was tortured and murdered by her great aunt and the aunt’s boyfriend. During the 10 months the eight-year-old was beaten, bound, burned, and starved, she was seen by the police, the social services of four local authorities, the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children, and workers at National Health Service hospitals. All failed to investigate or help. Race apparently played a role, not just because Climbié’s guardians were black, as were the primary social workers and police officers who dealt with her case, but because social workers were afraid of being seen as culturally insensitive to African-Caribbean family practices.

It was all too typical that the “Rotherham Safeguarding Children Board” would write in a confidential report discovered by Andrew Norfolk that grooming cases had “cultural characteristics…which are locally sensitive in terms of diversity.” The report went on to say: “There are sensitivities of ethnicity with potential to endanger the harmony of community relationships. Great care will be taken in drafting…this report to ensure that its findings embrace Rotherham’s qualities of diversity. It is imperative that suggestions of a wider cultural phenomenon are avoided.”

In 2002, after the Rotherham council was given a draft of a report for the Home Office on child exploitation in the town, the council actually ordered a raid on its own frontline provider of children’s services to remove and destroy files that documented abuse cases, the names of suspects, and the specific locations where Pakistani exploitation networks were targeting children. According to Bindel, the police and social workers “feared race riots” if the truth were to be known.

The horrifyingly lax conduct of law-enforcement authorities should not surprise anyone who has witnessed the steady decline of British policing. Given the endemic laziness that underlies their visible withdrawal from the streets, the unhealthy enthusiasm in senior ranks for pursuing thought crimes such as “racist” speech, and the incompetence and institutional cowardice on display during the London riots of 2011, it would have been foolish to have high expectations of British police.

Julie Bindel, an expert on the grooming phenomenon, and a Northerner herself, is convinced that the local officials who betrayed the girls of Rotherham were not at all “politically correct” in terms of their own beliefs, or worried about offending Pakistani opinion. “It’s just a matter of covering their own behinds in case they were accused of racism,” she says.

Indeed, the dominant emotion of those who failed to do their jobs here was fear—fear of being accused of social evils and  fear of criminal disorder that might follow the revelations of uncomfortable truths about minority populations defended by well-funded and aggressive public-interest organizations. And it was mirrored by the deep ideological discomfort of the mainstream media in Britain with telling the truth about what has been going on. A handful of brave investigators had been trying to expose the sexual grooming of children for many years. But such was the pressure to ignore or keep quiet about it that those fighting to reveal the truth often found themselves with odd bedfellows. The first journalist to break the Rotherham story was the left-wing lesbian feminist writer Julie Bindel—and she did it, of all places, in Standpoint, the conservative English monthly.

In a 2010 article called “Girls, Gangs and Grooming: The Truth,” Bindel laid bare not only the practice of targeting and seducing vulnerable young girls and then “breaking them in” as prostitutes, but also the extreme reluctance of charities, social services, and law-enforcement authorities to admit that the perpetrators came from a particular ethnic and religious background.

Bindel was compelled to publish the piece in Standpoint because “progressive” outlets such as the Guardian would not touch the issue. After writing about “Asian” grooming for another paper in 2007, she had been deemed a “racist” and her name was included on a website called “Islamophobia Watch: Documenting anti-Muslim Bigotry.” Similarly aggressive denunciations had greeted the Labor Party politician Ann Cryer, who had gone public with complaints from constituents whose daughters had been victimized.

At times, the informal system of media censorship has been very sinister indeed. In 2004, Britain’s Channel 4 made the television documentary “Edge of the City” about parents trying to stop groups of young “Asian” men from grooming preteen girls for sex. However, the thenchief constable of West Yorkshire fought successfully, in alliance with a radical leftist group called United Against Fascism, to have its broadcast canceled, lest the program strengthen the neo-Nazi British National Party in an imminent election.

So much attention has been paid to the troubling role of political correctness and multiculturalism on one side, and bigotry, misogyny, and anti-white racism on the other that it’s easy to miss another factor in the failure to confront “grooming.” That factor is the essential but largely unspoken element of the UK’s  counterterrorism strategy, which is premised on cultivating key figures in certain communities, even if that means making unsavory compromises. Put simply, in order to get information on potential jihadist terrorists, government authorities have tried to curry favor with selected Muslim community leaders by turning a blind eye to various morally abhorrent or illegal practices.

Abandoning low-status white girls to the cruelties of local sex traffickers is arguably only one disturbing manifestation of this policy. Muslim women and girls have also been deprived of the equal protection of the law in order to win the support of elders and self-appointed leaders whom the authorities foolishly believed might help them root out young jihadists.

For many years now, as authors including Theodore Dalrymple have pointed out, the police and social services have systematically ignored the illegal removal of Muslim girls from school once they reach their mid-teens. Despite rhetoric to the contrary, they have also largely ignored the forced marriages (i.e., rapes and kidnappings) that often follow such truancy. They have failed to stop the widespread practice of female genital mutilation. And they have been accessories to the effective abolition of female suffrage in Muslim communities. (The latter works by means of a postal voting system that allows conservative men to keep their wives, daughters, and sisters at home on polling day—and, in reality, to cast their votes for them.) And it goes almost without saying that sexual and other abuse within these communities takes place with little chance of the authorities or the law becoming involved.

This grotesque group betrayal, like the sacrifice of thousands of vulnerable teenage white girls, has not resulted in intelligence triumphs or effective measures to neutralize the threat of British-born jihadists. But it has indulged the most reactionary, unassimilated, and misogynistic elements within relevant communities. Meanwhile, the long refusal to discuss the truth has indulged the worst instincts among the British elites and left in its wake a moral stain on the nation that may be impossible to remove.

Britain’s Heart of Darkness

Why Americans (And the West) Should Care About Scottish Secession (TWS Sept. 18 2014)

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This week’s referendum on Scottish independence may seem like an obscure, perhaps even Ruritanian quarrel to many Americans, but it has profound implications not just for the U.K. and Europe but also for the United States.

Most of the debate in the U.K. and elsewhere about Scottish secession has concentrated on whether an independent Scotland could survive or thrive, with a particular focus on whether Scotland would be immediately allowed to join the EU and if it would become a member of NATO despite the official anti-nuclear stance of the Scottish National Party. Very little attention has focused on the likely impact of secession—culturally, psychologically, and economically on the rump United Kingdom.

Great Britain—or whatever the country may be named after the loss of the North of that island—would the only Western European country to lose significant territory since the Second World War. (Various Eastern European countries have split since then, but all of them were relatively recent concoctions, put together in the aftermath of World War I and the destruction of the Austro-Hungarian empire.)

If the British union is dissolved after 300 years, you can expect the impact to be considerably greater than that felt in Russia when the USSR collapsed after a mere 82 years. And we are only beginning to appreciate the extent to which the Soviet collapse affected the morale of the Russian population, prompting a tidal wave of social ills ranging from alcoholism and suicide to catastrophically low birth rates to the rise of virulent ethnic nationalism.

With regard to the latter, it’s worth bearing in mind that “British nationalism” has generally tended to be relatively inclusive and non-racial. However, “English nationalism”, if awakened by Scotland’s secession, is likely to mirror its Scottish and Welsh equivalents and be explicitly racial, with significant potential for ethnic, social and political strife.

Until the last couple of weeks the U.K.’s political class has been remarkably complacent about the referendum, partly because polls had showed a victory for the “No” vote and few had thought much about the possible consequences of secession.

It didn’t help that the commentary in the U.K. press has not been informed by a historical awareness of what happened in other countries when secession was threatened or territory was lost. The Brits seem unaware or to have forgotten that democratic countries like the United States and India have fought bloody wars to prevent secession, or that the loss of Alsace to Germany poisoned French society and politics for more than a generation.

Nor, for that matter, have they noticed that foreign countries, including Britain’s friends and allies, are baffled by the very idea that the U.K. would willingly allow itself to be dismembered.

But, arguably, the most important factor in the inappropriate calmness and inertia of the establishment has been its inability or unwillingness to talk about Britishness. The U.K.’s political class is so uncomfortable with overt expressions of patriotism, and so infected by the multiculturalist critique of British history as simply a narrative of racist, sexist, imperialist violence and exploitation, that it can neither promote nor fight for the union.

Even if a post-referendum secession process were to go as smoothly as that of Czechoslovakia (1918-1992), you can be sure Scotland’s separation from the rest of the U.K. would radically transform and weaken America’s most important military and political ally, perhaps to the point that it might give up its nuclear weapons, its key role in organizations like NATO, and its traditional advocacy of free trade. Such a diminished, demoralized U.K. would not be able, and perhaps not be willing to provide the essential diplomatic or military back-up that Washingon has long taken for granted.

As it is, deep cuts to Britain’s armed forces by the Cameron coalition have eroded the U.K.’s capacity and will to partner with the United States. That decline might become irreversible and permanent if the country is split in two. As for Scotland itself, given the past record of the Scottish National Party, it is likely to join the anti-American chorus at the U.N. and in other international organizations.

Moreover, a U.K. that has let Scotland go (together with its only nuclear submarine base at Faslane) and which could be confronted by more secessionist movements, might soon lose its place as a permanent member of the U.N. Security Council. No likely replacement—be it India, Brazil, or even Germany or Japan—can be counted on to be remotely as supportive of America’s strategic interests.

A “Yes” vote for secession would also set in motion a whole series of political crises across the continent and further afield. Not only is the referendum being closely watched by various nationalist, often left-leaning, secessionist movements around Europe, especially in Spain, Italy and France, but there are representatives of those movements in Scotland helping the nationalists.

If the latter should win, then Catalonia, Corsica, the Basque Country and the Veneto—all of which have well-established separatist parties—will only be the first regions to draw inspiration from the outcome. In Belgium—a relatively recently invented country (est. 1830) that has never succeeded in reconciling its French-speaking (Walloon) and Flemish (Dutch-speaking) populations—Dutch-speaking Flanders is almost certain to seize the moment and set in motion its separation.

Some of these countries are already confronting crises of national identity provoked by the pooling of sovereignty in the European Union, by the euro’s problems, and by mass immigration, in particular from the Muslim world. If more than one of these states is plunged into political, economic or social chaos by invigorated secessionist movements, Europe will become even more of a busted flush than it is already. It’s willingness to resist threats and bribes from Russia will decrease, and its ability to support military campaigns like that in Afghanistan will be even more diminished.

Canada too might experience a resurgence of Quebecois nationalism and simultaneous separatism in its Western states, despite having only just regained its leading position among the liberal democracies.

Finally, Scottish independence could present an immediate security threat to the West and the NATO alliance. The Scottish National Party, though it now talks vaguely about Scotland becoming another Norway (a NATO member which takes seriously its vulnerability to Russian adventurism), has long favored neutrality and unilateral nuclear disarmament. Its instincts, as shown by its reaction to U.S. foreign policy over the last decades are not at all pro-American (the SNP even opposed the NATO interventions to prevent ethnic cleansing in former Yugoslavia).

Worse still, it is believed by Baltic intelligence services that Russia has discreetly lent a hand to Scottish nationalism (Scottish politics are notoriously corrupt by British standards) in the hope of causing as much trouble as possible to the Western alliance.

It is not at all far-fetched to imagine Vladimir Putin offering financial aid to a post-independence Scotland that will inevitably face severe economic challenges.

The price for that aid might include, among other things, basing rights for Russian military and naval forces. Certainly there would be little or nothing that the United Kingdom could do if an independent Scotland decided to rent its deep water submarine port at Faslane to Russia’s Northern fleet or if it let Russian maritime air patrols fly out of former RAF air bases.

That would essentially mean a shifting of NATO’s frontier hundreds of miles to the West and a revolutionary change in the balance of power in Europe.

As was clear from the discussions at the recent NATO summit in Wales, the U.S.-led alliance is already struggling to confront instability and danger in far off Afghanistan, in the chaos of Iraq and Syria, and in nearby Ukraine. Its members will therefore be watching the September 18 vote closely, and hoping for a result that doesn’t gratuitously bring uncertainty and peril to a corner of the world that has, among other virtues, long been a byword for stability, unity and calm.

 http://www.weeklystandard.com/blogs/why-americans-and-west-should-care-about-scottish-secession_805274.html