Mr. Speaker, anyone interested in why there has been such chaos in post-war Iraq needs to read the article I am inserting in the Record by James Fallows which appeared in the most recent issue of the Atlantic Monthly. [From the Atlantic…
Mr. Speaker, anyone interested in why there has been such chaos in post-war Iraq needs to read the article I am inserting in the Record by James Fallows which appeared in the most recent issue of the Atlantic Monthly.
[From the Atlantic Monthly, January/February 2004]
Blind Into Baghdad
(By James Fallows)
On a Friday afternoon last November, I met Douglas Feith in
his office at the Pentagon to discuss what has happened in
Iraq. Feith's title is undersecretary of defense for policy,
which places him, along with several other undersecretaries,
just below Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld and Deputy
Secretary Paul Wolfowitz in the Pentagon's hierarchy.
Informally he is seen in Washington as ``Wolfowitz's
Wolfowitz''--that is, as a deputy who has a wide range of
responsibilities but is clearly identified with one
particular policy. That policy is bringing regime change to
Iraq--a goal that both Wolfowitz and Feith strongly advocated
through the 1990s. To opponents of the war in Iraq, Feith is
one of several shadowy, Rasputinlike figures who are shaping
U.S. policy. He is seen much the way enemies of the Clinton
Administration saw Hillary Clinton. Others associated with
the Bush Administration who are seen this way include the
consultant Richard Perle; Lewis ``Scooter'' Libby, the chief
of staff for Vice President Dick Cheney; and the Vice
President himself. What these officials have in common is
their presumably great private influence and--even in the
case of the Vice President--their limited public visibility
and accountability.
In person Douglas Feith is nothing like Rasputin. Between a
Reagan-era stint in the Pentagon and his current job he was a
Washington lawyer for fifteen years, and he answered my
questions with a lawyer's affability in the face of presumed
disagreement. I could be biased in Feith's favor, because he
was the most senior Administration official who granted my
request for an interview about postwar Iraq. Like Donald
Rumsfeld, Feith acts and sounds younger than many others of
his age (fifty). But distinctly unlike Rumsfeld at a press
conference, Feith in this interview did not seem at all
arrogant or testy. His replies were relatively candid and
unforced, in contrast to the angry or relentlessly on-message
responses that have become standard from senior
Administration officials. He acknowledged what was ``becoming
the conventional wisdom'' about the Administration's failure
to plan adequately for events after the fall of Baghdad, and
then explained--with animation, dramatic pauses, and
gestures--why he thought it was wrong.
Feith offered a number of specific illustrations of what he
considered underappreciated successes. Some were familiar--
the oil wells weren't on fire, Iraqis didn't starve or flee--
but others were less so. For instance, he described the
Administration's careful effort to replace old Iraqi dinars,
which carried Saddam Hussein's image (``It's interesting how
important that is, and it ties into the whole issue of
whether people think that Saddam might be coming back''),
with a new form of currency, without causing a run on the
currency.
But mainly he challenged the premise of most critics: that
the Administration could have done a better job of preparing
for the consequences of victory. When I asked what had
gone better than expected, and what had gone worse, he
said, ``We don't exactly deal in `expectations.'
Expectations are too close to `predictions.' We're not
comfortable with predictions. It is one of the big
strategic premises of the work that we do.''
The limits of future knowledge, Feith said, were of special
importance to Rumsfeld, ``who is death to predictions.''
``His big strategic theme is uncertainty,'' Feith said. ``The
need to deal strategically with uncertainty. The inability to
predict the future. The limits on our knowledge and the
limits on our intelligence.''
In practice, Feith said, this meant being ready for
whatever proved to be the situation in postwar Iraq. ``You
will not find a single piece of paper . . . . If anybody ever
went through all of our records--and someday some people
will, presumably--nobody will find a single piece of paper
that says, `Mr. Secretary or Mr. President, let us tell you
what postwar Iraq is going to look like, and here is what we
need plans for.' If you tried that, you would get thrown out
of Rumsfeld's office so fast--if you ever went in there and
said,`Let me tell you what something's going to look like in
the future,' you wouldn't get to your next sentence!''
``This is an important point,'' he said, ``because of this
issue of What did we believe? . . . . The common line is,
nobody planned for security because Ahmed Chalabi told us
that everything was going to be swell.'' Chalabi, the exiled
leader of the Iraqi National Congress, has often been blamed
for making rosy predictions about the ease of governing
postwar Iraq. ``So we predicted that everything was going to
be swell, and we didn't plan for things not being swell.''
Here Feith paused for a few seconds, raised his hands with
both palms up, and put on a ``Can you believe it?''
expression. ``I mean--one would really have to be a
simpleton. And whatever people think of me, how can anybody
think that Don Rumsfeld is that dumb? He's so evidently not
that dumb, that how can people write things like that?'' He
sounded amazed rather than angry.
No one contends that Donald Rumsfeld, or Paul Wolfowitz, or
Douglas Feith, or the Administration as a whole is dumb. The
wisdom of their preparations for the aftermath of military
victory in Iraq is the question. Feith's argument was a less
defensive-sounding version of the Administration's general
response to criticisms of its postwar policy: Life is
uncertain, especially when the lid
comes off a long-tyrannized society. American planners did
about as well as anyone could in preparing for the
unforeseeable. Anyone who says otherwise is indulging in
lazy, unfair second-guessing. ``The notion that there was a
memo that was once written, that if we had only listened to
that memo, all would be well in Iraq, is so preposterous,''
Feith told me.
The notion of a single memo's changing history is indeed
farfetched. The idea that a substantial body of knowledge
could have improved postwar prospects is not. The
Administration could not have known everything about what it
would find in Iraq. But it could have--and should have--done
far more than it did.
Almost everything, good and bad, that has happened in Iraq
since the fall of Saddam Hussein's regime was the subject of
extensive pre-war discussion and analysis. This is
particularly true of what have proved to be the harshest
realities for the United States since the fall of Baghdad:
that occupying the country is much more difficult than
conquering it; that a breakdown in public order can
jeopardize every other goal; that the ambition of patiently
nurturing a new democracy is at odds with the desire to turn
control over to the Iraqis quickly and get U.S. troops out;
that the Sunni center of the country is the main security
problem; that with each passing day Americans risk being seen
less as liberators and more as occupiers, and targets.
All this, and much more, was laid out in detail and in
writing long before the U.S. government made the final
decision to attack. Even now the collective efforts at
planning by the CIA, the State Department, the Army and the
Marine Corps, the United States Agency for International
Development, and a wide variety of other groups inside and
outside the government are underappreciated by the public.
The one pre-war effort that has received substantial recent
attention, the State Department's Future of Iraq project,
produced thousands of pages of findings, barely one paragraph
of which has until now been quoted in the press. The
Administration will be admired in retrospect for how much
knowledge it created about the challenge it was taking on.
U.S. government predictions about postwar Iraq's problems
have proved as accurate as the assessments of pre-war Iraq's
strategic threat have proved flawed.
But the Administration will be condemned for what it did
with what was known. The problems the United States has
encountered are precisely the ones its own expert agencies
warned against. Exactly what went wrong with the occupation
will be studied for years--or should be. The missteps of the
first half year in Iraq are as significant as other classic
and carefully examined failures in foreign policy, including
John Kennedy's handling of the Bay of Pigs invasion, in 1961,
and Lyndon Johnson's decision to escalate U.S. involvement in
Vietnam, in 1965. The United States withstood those previous
failures, and it will withstand this one. Having taken over
Iraq and captured Saddam Hussein, it has no moral or
practical choice other than to see out the occupation and to
help rebuild and democratize the country. But its missteps
have come at a heavy cost. And the ongoing financial,
diplomatic, and human cost of the Iraq occupation is the more
grievous in light of advance warnings the government had.
before september 11, 2001: the early days
Concern about Saddam Hussein pre-dated the 9/11 attacks and
even the inauguration of George W. Bush. In 1998 Congress
passed and President Bill Clinton signed the Iraq Liberation
Act, which declared that ``it should be the policy of the
United States to support efforts to remove the regime headed
by Saddam Hussein from power.'' During the 2000 presidential
campaign Al Gore promised to support groups working to unseat
Saddam Hussein. In the week before Bush took office, Nicholas
Lemann reported in The New Yorker that ``the idea of
overthrowing Saddam is not an idle fantasy--or, if it is,
it's one that has lately occupied the minds of many American
officials, including people close to George W. Bush.'' But
the intellectual case for regime change, argued during the
Clinton years by some Democrats and notably by Paul
Wolfowitz, then the dean of the Johns Hopkins School of
Advanced International Studies, shifted clearly toward
operational planning after the destruction of the World Trade
Center.
For much of the public this case for war against Iraq
rested on an assumed connection (though this was never
demonstrated, and was officially disavowed by the President)
between Saddam Hussein's regime and the terrorist hijackers.
Within the government the case was equally compelling but
different. September 11 had shown that the United States was
newly vulnerable; to protect itself it had to fight
terrorists at their source; and because Saddam Hussein's
regime was the leading potential source of future ``state-
sponsored'' terrorism, it had become an active threat,
whether or not it played any role in 9/11. The very next day,
September 12, 2001, James Woolsey, who had been Clinton's
first CIA director, told me that no matter who proved to be
responsible for this attack, the solution had to include
removing Saddam Hussein, because he was so likely to be
involved next time. A military planner inside the Pentagon
later told me that on September 13 his group was asked to
draw up scenarios for an assault on Iraq, not just
Afghanistan.
Soon after becoming the Army Chief of Staff, in 1999,
General Eric Shinseki had begun ordering war-game exercises
to judge strategies and manpower needs for possible combat in
Iraq. This was not because he assumed a war was imminent. He
thought that the greater Caspian Sea region, including Iraq,
would present a uniquely difficult challenge for U.S. troops,
because of its geography and political tensions. After 9/11,
Army war games involving Iraq began in earnest.
In his first State of the Union address, on January 29,
2002, President Bush said that Iraq, Iran, and North Korea
were an ``axis of evil'' that threatened world peace. ``By
seeking weapons of mass destruction, these regimes pose a
grave and growing danger. They could provide these arms to
terrorists, giving them the means to match their hatred. They
could attack our allies or attempt to blackmail the United
States.''
By the time of this speech efforts were afoot not simply to
remove Saddam Hussein but also to imagine what Iraq would be
like when he was gone. In late October of 2001, while the
U.S. military was conducting its rout of the Taliban from
Afghanistan, the State Department had quietly begun its
planning for the aftermath of a ``transition'' in Iraq. At
about the time of the ``axis of evil'' speech, working groups
within the department were putting together a list of postwar
jobs and topics to be considered, and possible groups of
experts to work on them.
one year before the war: the ``future of iraq''
Thus was born the Future of Iraq project, whose existence
is by now well known, but whose findings and potential impact
have rarely been reported and examined. The State Department
first publicly mentioned the project in March of 2002, when
it quietly announced the lineup of the working groups. At the
time, media attention was overwhelmingly directed toward
Afghanistan, where Operation Anaconda, the half-successful
effort to kill or capture al-Qaeda and Taliban fighters, was
under way.
For several months before announcing the project the State
Department had been attempting to coordinate the efforts of
the many fractious Iraqi exile organizations. The Future of
Iraq project held the potential for harnessing, and perhaps
even harmonizing, the expertise available from the exile
groups.
It was also in keeping with a surprisingly well established
U.S. government tradition of preparing for postwar duties
before there was a clear idea of when fighting would begin,
let alone when it would end. Before the United States entered
World War II, teams at the Army War College were studying
what went right and wrong when American doughboys occupied
Germany after World War I. Within months of the attack on
Pearl Harbor, a School of Military Government had been
created, at the University of Virginia, to plan for the
occupation of both Germany and Japan. In 1995, while U.S.
negotiators, led by Richard Holbrooke, were still working at
the Dayton peace talks to end the war in the Balkans, World
Bank representatives were on hand to arrange loans for the
new regimes.
Contemplating postwar plans posed a problem for those who,
like many in the State Department, were skeptical of the need
for war. Were they making a war more likely if they prepared
for its aftermath? Thomas Warrick, the State Department
official who directed the Future of Iraq project, was
considered to be in the antiwar camp. But according to
associates, he explained the importance of preparing for war
by saying, ``I'm nervous that they're actually going to do
it--and the day after they'll turn to us and ask, `Now what?'
'' So he pushed ahead with the project, setting up numerous
conferences and drafting sessions that would bring together
teams of exiles--among them Kanan Makiya, the author of the
influential anti-Saddam book, Republic of Fear, first
published in 1989. A small number of ``international
advisers,'' mainly from the United States, were also assigned
to the teams. Eventually there would be seventeen working
groups, designed systematically to cover what would be
needed to rebuild the political and economic
infrastructure of the country. ``Democratic Principles and
Procedures'' was the name of one of the groups, which was
assigned to suggest the legal framework for a new
government; Makiya would write much of its report. The
``Transitional Justice'' group was supposed to work on
reparations, amnesty, and de-Baathification laws. Groups
studying economic matters included ``Public Finance,''
``Oil and Energy,'' and ``Water, Agriculture and
Environment.''
In May of 2002 Congress authorized $5 million to fund the
project's studies. In the flurry of news from Afghanistan the
project went unnoticed in the press until June, when the
State Department announced that the first meetings would take
place in July. ``The role of the U.S. government and State
Department is to see what the Iraqis and Iraqi-Americans
want,'' Warrick said at a conference on June 1, 2002. ``The
impetus for change comes from [Iraqis], not us. This is the
job of Iraqis inside and outside.''
That same day President Bush delivered a graduation speech
at West Point, giving a first look at the doctrine of pre-
emptive war. He told the cadets, to cheers, ``Our security
will require all Americans to be forward-looking and
resolute, to be ready for pre-emptive action when necessary
to defend our liberty and to defend our lives.'' Later in the
summer the doctrine was elaborated in a new
National Security Strategy, which explained that since
``rogue states'' could not be contained or deterred, they
needed to be destroyed before they could attack.
Whenever National Security Adviser Condoleezza Rice was
interviewed that summer, she talked mainly about the thinking
behind the new policy. When Vice President Dick Cheney was
interviewed, he talked mainly about Saddam Hussein's defiance
of international law. But when Secretary of State Colin
Powell was interviewed, he constantly stressed the value of
an international approach to the problem and the need to give
UN arms inspectors adequate time to do their job.
War with Iraq was not inevitable at this point, but it
seemed more and more likely. Daily conversation in
Washington, which usually reverts to ``So, who do you think
will be the next President?,'' switched instead to ``So, when
do you think we're going to war?''
It was in these circumstances that the Future of Iraq
project's working groups deliberated. Most of the meetings
were in Washington. Some were in London, and one session, in
early September, took place in Surrey, where representatives
of a dozen mutually suspicious exile groups discussed
prospects for democratic coexistence when Saddam Hussein was
gone. (Along with Chalabi's INC the meeting included several
rival Kurdish groups, Assyrian and Turkomen organizations,
the Iraqi Constitutional Monarchy Movement, and others.)
The project did not overcome all the tensions among its
members, and the results of its deliberations were uneven.
Three of its intended working groups never actually met--
including, ominously, ``Preserving Iraq's Cultural
Heritage.'' The ``Education'' group finally produced a report
only six pages long, in contrast to many hundreds of pages
from most others. Some recommendations were quirky or
reflected the tastes of the individual participants who
drafted them. A report titled ``Free Media'' proposed that
all Iraqi journalists be taken out of the country for a
month-long re-education process: ``Those who `get it' go back
as reporters; others would be retired or reassigned.'' A
group that was considering ways of informing Iraq about the
realities of democracy mentioned Baywatch and Leave It to
Beaver as information sources that had given Iraqis an
imprecise understanding of American society. It recommended
that a new film, Colonial America: Life in a Theocracy, be
shot, noting, ``The Puritan experiments provide amazing
parallels with current Moslem fundamentalism. The ultimate
failures of these US experiments can also be vividly
illustrated--witch trials, intolerance, etc.''
But whatever may have been unrealistic or factional about
these efforts, even more of what the project created was
impressive. The final report consisted of thirteen volumes of
recommendations on specific topics, plus a one-volume summary
and overview. These I have read--and I read them several
months into the occupation, when it was unfairly easy to
judge how well the forecast was standing up. (Several hundred
of the 2,500 pages were in Arabic, which sped up the reading
process.) The report was labeled ``For Official Use Only''--
an administrative term that implies confidentiality but has
no legal significance. The State Department held the report
closely until, last fall, it agreed to congressional requests
to turn over the findings.
Most of the project's judgments look good in retrospect--
and virtually all reveal a touching earnestness about working
out the details of reconstructing a society. For instance,
one of the thickest volumes considered the corruption endemic
in Iraqi life and laid out strategies for coping with it.
(These included a new ``Iraqi Government Code of Ethics,''
which began, ``Honesty, integrity, and fairness are the
fundamental values for the people of Iraq.'') The overview
volume, which appears to have been composed as a series of
PowerPoint charts, said that the United States was
undertaking this effort because, among other things,
``detailed public planning'' conveys U.S. government
``seriousness'' and the message that the U.S. government
``wants to learn from past regime change experiences.''
For their part, the Iraqi participants emphasized several
points that ran through all the working groups' reports. A
recurring theme was the urgency of restoring electricity and
water supplies as soon as possible after regime change. The
first item in the list of recommendations from the ``Water,
Agriculture and Environment'' group read, ``Fundamental
importance of clean water supplies for Iraqis immediately
after transition. Key to coalition/community relations.'' One
of the groups making economic recommendations wrote,
``Stressed importance of getting electrical grid up and
running immediately--key to water systems, jobs. Could go a
long way to determining Iraqis' attitudes toward Coalition
forces.''
A second theme was the need to plan carefully for the
handling and demobilization of Iraq's very sizable military.
On the one hand, a functioning army would be necessary for
public order and, once coalition forces withdrew, for the
country's defense. (``Our vision of the future is to build a
democratic civil society. In order to make this vision a
reality, we need to have an army that can work alongside this
new society.'') On the other hand, a large number of Saddam's
henchmen would have to be removed. The trick would be to get
rid of the leaders without needlessly alienating the ordinary
troops--or leaving them without income. One group wrote,
``All combatants who are included in the demobilization
process must be assured by their leaders and the new
government of their legal rights and that new prospects for
work and education will be provided by the new system.''
Toward this end it laid out a series of steps the occupation
authorities should take in the ``disarmament, demobilization,
and reintegration'' process. Another group, in a paper on
democratic principles, warned, ``The decommissioning of
hundreds of thousands of trained military personnel that [a
rapid purge] implies could create social problems.''
Next the working groups emphasized how disorderly Iraq
would be soon after liberation, and how difficult it would be
to get the country on the path to democracy--though that was
where it had to go. ``The removal of Saddam's regime will
provide a power vacuum and create popular anxieties about the
viability of all Iraqi institutions,'' a paper on rebuilding
civil society said. ``The traumatic and disruptive events
attendant to the regime change will affect all Iraqis, both
Saddam's conspirators and the general populace.'' Another
report warned more explicitly that ``the period
immediately after regime change might offer these
criminals the opportunity to engage in acts of killing,
plunder and looting.'' In the short term the occupying
forces would have to prevent disorder. In the long term,
according to a report written by Kanan Makiya, they would
need to recognize that ``the extent of the Iraqi
totalitarian state, its absolute power and control
exercised from Baghdad, not to mention the terror used to
enforce compliance, cannot be overestimated in their
impact on the Iraqi psyche and the attendant feeling of
fear, weakness, and shame.'' Makiya continued, ``These
conditions and circumstances do not provide a strong
foundation on which to build new institutions and a modern
nation state.''
Each of the preceding themes would seem to imply a long,
difficult U.S. commitment in Iraq. America should view its
involvement in Iraq, the summary report said, not as it had
Afghanistan, which was left to stew in lightly supervised
warlordism, but as it had Germany and Japan, which were
rebuilt over many years. But nearly every working group
stressed one other point: the military occupation itself had
to be brief. ``Note: Military government idea did not go down
well,'' one chart in the summary volume said. The ``Oil and
Energy'' group presented a ``key concept'': ``Iraqis do not
work for American contractors; Americans are seen assisting
Iraqis.''
Americans are often irritated by the illogic of ``resentful
dependence'' by weaker states. South Koreans, for example,
complain bitterly about U.S. soldiers in their country but
would complain all the more bitterly if the soldiers were
removed. The authors of the Future of Iraq report could by
those standards also be accused of illogical thinking, in
wanting U.S. support but not wanting U.S. control. Moreover,
many of the project's members had a bias that prefigured an
important source of postwar tension: they were exiles who
considered themselves the likeliest beneficiaries if the
United States transferred power to Iraqis quickly--even
though, precisely because of their exile, they had no obvious
base of support within Iraq.
To skip ahead in the story: As chaos increased in Baghdad
last summer, the chief U.S. administrator, L. Paul ``Jerry''
Bremer, wrestled constantly with a variant of this exile
paradox. The Iraqi Governing Council, whose twenty-five
members were chosen by Americans, was supposed to do only the
preparatory work for an elected Iraqi government. But the
greater the pressure on Bremer for ``Iraqification,'' the
more tempted he was to give in to the council's demand that
he simply put it in charge without waiting for an election.
More than a year earlier, long before combat began, the
explicit recommendations and implicit lessons of the Future
of Iraq project had given the U.S. government a very good
idea of what political conflicts it could expect in Iraq.