Well, two posts ago, my friend
Mercurious has gone off on a self-described rant on the subject of U.S.
–Syria relations—and for a change he makes total sense. He also seems to
have struck a nerve with the readership. As a designated know-it-all (professor)
I can’t resist my itchy fingers…I’ve got to try to work through something
regarding our very problematic place in the geo-political world. As an
early commentator so appropriately asked: where do we go from here?
Where indeed? American foreign policy
has a long history of getting itself into complicated situations that when
analyzed later have beginnings that are difficult to understand and exits that
are almost impossible to comprehend. The situation in Syria is only the most
recent/current of these dilemmas. If we “connect the dots” of post WWII
foreign policy, is there anything we can see as an illuminating pattern?
If pressed about where to look for root
problems with our view of the world and their influence on foreign policy
decisions, I would offer two seemingly unrelated observations:
• We can be a wonderfully, maddeningly
optimistic people;
• We have, over our time as a nation,
fetishized freedom.
Clearly these take some explaining.
First things first.
Even people who roundly dislike the United
States tend to be amazed , even awed by our general optimism that every problem
can be solved and the energy that radiates from such a world-view. If
they are not awed, they are certainly impressed (either positively or
negatively, but they are impressed nonetheless). It’s one of the fundamental
keys to our greatness as a nation.
So what’s the problem with optimism?
Optimism becomes a problem when the critical mass of citizens (and subsequently
their elected leaders) become convinced that there must be a solution for every
social, political, or military ill in the world and, hence, if we are to be a
great nation (or if a person is to be looked at as a great leader) SOLUTIONS
MUST BE FOUND.
I sympathize with the disgust Mercurious feels
when he observes the reprehensible conduct of Assad (who by most accounts is
mild and reasonable in comparison with his father, who reigned over Syria for
decades.) He’s a terrible guy; so is the Taliban; so was Gadhafi; and
yes, Saddam was an absolute horror; (for that matter “our man” Karzai is no
stand-up man in Afghanistan.) We’re doing not a lot about Assad; we
did a little bit in Libya; we expended vast amounts of life and treasure in
Iraq; ditto Afghanistan.
The question to ask is: did our huge
interventions result in appropriately greater social, political and personal
progress than did our minimal interventions? It simply doesn’t make sense
to invest massive amounts of precious resources for little (or no?) net
gain. Yet we do it. Time and time again. We assume that
if we invest the kind of resources overseas comparable to what we might invest
domestically, that comparable progress will be made.
Why? Because we are optimists. I
share the amazement that we went to Vietnam in the absence of precious natural
resources (such as oil.) Why did we then? As another commentator
observed, the “domino theory” was dubious. Might many of the “best and
brightest” who got us into that mess genuinely have thought that they could
make things better? It would be consistent with our Achilles heal:
optimism.
And what was going to make things better in
Vietnam? Among other things, we were going to save them from their “oppressor”,
Ho Chi Minh (who was a natural hero to many). Why oppressive? He was a
communist. Why is communism so oppressive? It takes away freedom.
This takes us to our second point: if you look
at both our domestic and our foreign policy, the abstract idea of “freedom” can
be heard loudly and seen clearly. It lies underneath our inability to
understand how Vladimir Putin has been able to consolidate power. How can this
happen, we ask? He has taken away so much freedom from his
citizens. The answer—seen without looking through the strangely colored
glasses of the cult of freedom—is obvious: Russians, as a group, value other
things—particularly stability—more than freedom.
The “Arab Spring” obtained such a lofty name
because we assumed that the arrival of freedom for these previously dominated
populations would bring a flowering of civic engagement, cooperative
decision-making, and social well being. We assumed that freedom would be
the solution; we were optimistic. We were wrong. It appears that
many in Egypt question whether the freedom implicit in democratic elections is
worth the cost of theocratic oppression. The army taking power does not
confer freedom; it can confer stability and many, if not most, Egyptians seem
to value stability. We don’t seem to understand this, though.
There is good reason for the prominence of
freedom in our national psyche: it is woven through so many of our foundational
national myths that by now it is impossible for us not to consider it among the
things that make us a great, distinctive nation. But just as a person has
to guard against the assumption that others are going to view the world the way
we do, nations must guard against the assumption that others are going to value
what we value with the same intensity.
But we can and do fall prey to this way of
thinking. A small, subtle example of this can be seem with the issue of
security cameras in a city I dearly love: London. Many of us as
freedom-loving Americans react with shock and disgust when presented with the
statistics outlining just how many security cameras are at work in
London. “What about your freedom?” we ask Brits incredulously.
Amazing as it sounds, Londoners seem to prefer personal safety to our somewhat
abstract notion of “freedom.” How can you enjoy freedom if you are in
fear of your life?
Good question, unfortunately
the fetish of freedom in America doesn’t seem to be hindered by such practical considerations. We’re more
interested in the freedom as an abstraction.
The ultimate absurd devotion
to the fetish of freedom in the abstract is seen in America’s devotion to what
is normally called “second amendment rights.”
Sandy Hook with its bloody devastation made barely a dent in our
national conversation regarding gun violence; the Maryland mall shooting over
the weekend will be yesterday’s news by the end of the 48-hour news cycle. We won’t be hearing about how gun violence
infringes on our practical freedom to
be safe for very long; what we will be
hearing is more and more of a seemingly endless flow of verbiage starting with
the word “freedom” and ending with the words “second amendment.”
There is large sub-component
of our society that is seemingly more invested in an abstract notion of “freedom” (and unrestricted access to guns, which
apparently serves as a symbol for this abstract freedom) than they are in the practical and real freedom of being safe
from gun violence. This abstract notion
of “freedom” seems to be getting in the way of more rational approaches to a
significant social and political problem.
So what is the bottom line?
I’d love to see a political culture in which a bit of world-weary wisdom is
viewed as a good quality for leadership—wisdom that regrettably accepts that,
sometimes, there is just probably no good answer. And lacking good
answers, maybe we can put our can-do
optimism on hold for a while and just wait.
I’d love to see an America that sees freedom as our incredible,
distinctive luxury and legacy, but doesn’t offer it or force it on others as
some social cure-all.
This fetish for freedom may
great for us, but we’re a very privileged nation. We were founded by people who viewed
religious liberty as something worth fighting (or at least travelling long
distances) for. For us it is quite
prominent on our hierarchy of needs; but for others, economic opportunity,
social stability or personal safety might be placed higher. When someone starts
thinking so much about something that it consistently gets in the way of clear
thinking and healthy decision- making, it can be regarded as a fetish
(potentially, anyway).
Mercurious has made a fetish
of Scarlett Johansson; America has made a fetish of freedom. Freedom is great, but it won’t solve all
problems—especially those problems for which there is no solution.
