I recently finished reading Rajiv Chandrasekaran's Little America: The War within the War for Afghanistan. The entire book is terrific. I highly recommend it. But one chapter in particular—Chapter 7, "Deadwood"—spoke to some of the things that my colleagues and I have written over the years concerning America's nation-building problems.
Most Americans have by now moved on from the war in Afghanistan (even though the U.S. military has not) and are focused on, in President Obama's words, "nation building here at home." But we still haven't closed the book on the theories of nation building that arose after 9/11, including the belief that the United States needs to repair failed states, or rescue failing ones, lest terrorists from these states travel thousands of miles to attack Americans. Last month, for example, Mitt Romney's senior foreign policy adviser Richard Williamson praised Bill Clinton's nation-building adventures in Bosnia and Kosovo. Williamson told NPR's Audie Cornish that the U.S. government must "help in reconciliation, reconstruction, helping institutions of law and order, security be built" after authoritarian regimes collapse. From the belief that we must repair failed states flows logically the belief that we can.
These beliefs are, in fact, myths. Cato has published many different papers, articles, and book chapters challenging the claim that fighting terrorism, or preserving U.S. security generally, requires us to engage in nation building abroad. We have been equally emphatic on the point that our efforts are likely to fail, no matter how well intentioned. Little America provides additional evidence to support that argument, although I doubt that was Chandrasekaran's object.
Take, for example, the case of Summer Coish, the striking and extraordinarily motivated woman who wanted to go to Afghanistan so badly that she appealed directly to Richard Holbrooke. She got her wish—eventually. Despite the fact that the president's designated point person on Afghanistan and Pakistan had marked her for the fast track, it took 14 months before she was cleared to travel to there.
Once she arrived, Coish's dream of helping the Afghans emerge from decades of war and desperate poverty crashed against the reality of a soul-crushing bureaucracy. Security regulations made it nearly impossible for Coish and other civilians to regularly interact with Afghans, and few embassy staffers exhibited any desire to do so. "It's rare that you ever hear someone say they're here because they want to help the Afghans," Coish told Chandrasekaran after she had been there a few months. Instead, Chandrasekaran observes, "everyone seemed bent on departure."
The work itself was painfully dull. Coish concluded that most of it could have been accomplished in Washington, at far less cost to the taxpayers. The reason for the costly in-country presence? The need to count them as part of the vaunted "civilian surge."
Coish and a handful of other dedicated civilians that Chandrasekaran writes about—including Kael Weston, an experienced political adviser to Marine General Larry Nicholson, and Carter Malkasian, the State Department's representative in Helmand's Garmser district—could not make up for the lack of ability (or desire) on the part of many other civilians (i.e. the deadwood). "It seems our best and brightest have burned out long ago and we're getting the straphangers these days," Marc Chretien, a senior State Department official in Helmand province, wrote to the embassy. "Or, as one wag put it, 'they're just along for the chow.' No need to go into details here—let's just say that there's enough deadwood here that it's becoming a fire hazard."
At times, Chandrasekaran's assessment of the civilian surge exhibits an oddly optimistic tone. I say "odd" because this is the same person who brilliantly documented the dysfunction of the Bush administration's nation-building fiasco in Iraq (in Imperial Life in the Emerald City), but who can't bring himself to say that Obama's mission in Afghanistan couldn't possibly succeed. Despite everything that he has seen, Chandrasekaran often reflects a belief that it all could have worked out (or that it still might) were it not for the "lack of initiative and creativity in Washington."
Instead of scouring the United States for top talent to fill the crucial, well-paying jobs that were a key element of Obama's national security agenda, those responsible for hiring first turned to State Department and USAID officers in other parts of the world. But the best of them had already served in Iraq or Afghanistan. Many of those who signed up were too new to have done a tour in a war zone or too lackluster to have better career options.
Pray-tell, where would the government have found such people? Or, more precisely, how would the government convince those already gainfully employed to set aside their careers, homes, and families to embark upon an Afghan adventure? What additional incentives—or threats—might have sufficed to mobilize the vast army of talented agronomists, lawyers, biologists, teachers, doctors, civil engineers, etc. who were not already motivated (as Coish, Weston and Malkasian were)?
Several years ago, I co-authored with Ben Friedman and Harvey Sapolsky a paper on the lessons of Iraq. Our research was informed by Chandrasekaran's narrative from the Iraqi Green Zone, and a number of other books on the Bush administration's signature foreign policy initiative. Here is what we said (the prose in this case is almost certainly Friedman's; I'm not this clever) about the American people's disinclination to embark on nation-building missions abroad.
A concerted effort to improve our collective nation-building skills would require "a foreign policy at odds with our national character."
Reading through the proposals for rapidly deployable bureaucrats to help run failing states, one usually searches in vain for the pages where the author justifies the creation of an empire and a colonial service to run it. Whatever else changed after September 11, [Americans]...are ill-suited for stabilizing disorderly states and achieving success in protracted foreign wars.
The State Department's budget, including the U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID), we explained, "is tiny because its aim is to relate to foreign nations, not to run them."
National security organizations are formed by decades of budgets and decisions. Their organizational politics...reflect...lasting national interests, namely a disinclination to subjugate foreign peoples and lose unnecessary wars....Americans have historically looked askance at the small wars European powers fought to maintain their imperial holdings, viewing those actions as illiberal and unjust. Misadventures like Vietnam are the exceptions that make the rule. It is no accident that U.S. national security organizations are not designed for occupation duties. When it comes to nation building, brokering civil and ethnic conflict, and waging counterinsurgency, we are our own worst enemy, and that is a sign of our lingering common sense.
To repeat, Little America is a first-class read, and I hope that the book receives the attention it deserves. The anecdotes about Coish, Weston, and Malkasian, as well as countless stories about brave soldiers and Marines trying their best every day to make Afghanistan a better place, are heartwarming. We honor their service, and we should find other avenues for these people to perform their work, chiefly through NGOs, unencumbered by the massive federal bureaucracy.
But good intentions cannot distract us from the bleak reality: building a functioning nation-state in Afghanistan would require hundreds of thousands of equally dedicated civilians, to go along with a massive troop presence to protect them, tens of billions of dollars every year, and a commitment to remain in country for decades.
We aren't going to do that. We should stop pretending that we will.