In early April 2018, a series of seismic
events, each at precisely one o’clock in the afternoon on four successive days,
were detected in the desert of southern Iran.
The Islamic Republic announced that I had tested four nuclear devices,
and that it would not hesitate to share them with Hezbollah. The scale of the
test suggested that Iran’s total arsenal was several times larger, and that it had
fielded it over the space of several years even as it pretended to abide by the
terms of the nuclear agreement
Reprinted
from AMERICA IN RETREAT : The New Isolationism and the
Coming Global Disorder with permission of Sentinel, a member of Penguin Group
(USA) LLC, A Penguin Random House Company. Copyright (c) Bret Stephens, 2014.
Introduction
***
The World’s Policeman
In the nearly nine years that I
have been the foreign affairs columnist for The Wall Street Journal, I have
received tens of thousands of letters from readers, many of them warm, a few of
them rude, others critical or constructive. I publish my e‑mail address,
bstephens@wsj.com, at the foot of my column, read every note, and try to answer
as many of my readers as I can. But there are times when a letter deserves a
more extended reply than I have time for in the course of an ordinary workday.
One reader, responding to a March 2014 column advocating a muscular U.S. stance
against Russia’s seizure of the Crimean peninsula, wrote me just such a letter.
In response to your editorial
today, please repeat after me: “We should not be the world’s policeman.” Repeat
again. And again. apparently, you just do not get it that an overwhelming
majority of Americans would agree with this declaration. Unfortunately, you do
not. So, given that, I encourage you to form your own volunteer army to police
the hotspots around the globe. Please do not remit any bills to the U.S.
government.
Barack Obama agrees with my
reader. “We should not be the world’s policeman,” he told Americans in
September 2013. So does Rand Paul: “America’s mission should always be to keep
the peace, not police the world,” the Kentucky Republican told an audience
of veterans earlier that year.
This book is my answer to that
argument.
In formulating the answer, it’s
important to acknowledge that the wish not to be the world’s policeman runs
deep in the American psyche. “For wee must Consider that wee shall be as a
Citty upon a Hill, the eies of all people are uppon us,” John Winthrop warned
his fellow Massachusetts Bay colonists in 1630 as they were aboard the
Arbella on their way to the New World,
soe that if wee shall deale
falsely with our god in this worke wee have undertaken and soe cause him to
withdrawe his present help from us, wee shall be made a story and a byword
through the world, wee shall open the mouthes of enemies to speake evill of the
wayes of god and all professours for Gods sake; wee shall shame the faces of
many of gods worthy servants, and cause theire prayers to be turned into
Cursses upon us till wee be consumed out of the good land whether wee are
going. . . .
Though the phrase “city upon a
hill” is taken from Jesus’s Sermon on the Mount (“A city that is set on a hill
cannot be hid”), Winthrop’s admonition is pure Old Testament. The Lord’s
blessing depends not on our worldly striving but on our moral performance.
The fate of the enterprise rests on the virtue of its people. A bad reputation
in the opinion of mankind can be fatal. The great task for Americans is to be
supremely mindful of our business, not of someone else’s. Our security as well
as our salvation lie in the proper care of our souls, not the acquisition or
exercise of power.
To study American history is to
understand that Winthrop’s admonition has been honored mainly in the breach.
The citizens of a city upon a hill may be in “the eies of all people.” But
those citizens, in turn, will be able to see far over the surrounding lowlands.
At a glance, they will see rich plains stretching in every direction. They will
seek dominion over those plains and their scattered inhabitants, whether
through purchase and treaties or confiscation and war. Beyond the plain they
will find
oceans to harvest and traverse. They will meet enemies on the seas, and to
defeat those enemies they will build a navy. In faraway ports they will find
wealth and wonders but also double- dealing and cruelty, arousing their
appetite and greed— but also their conscience and charity.
And in mixing with the world they
will become part of the world. Yet they shall still think of themselves as a
city upon a hill.
So it is that America’s encounter
with the world has always been stamped with ambivalence about the nature, and
even the necessity, of that encounter. It is an ambivalence that has often been
overcome—because the temptation was too great, as it was with the war with Mexico, or
because the danger was too great, as it was during the Cold War. But the
ambivalence has never been erased. Nearly 240 years after our birth, we
Americans haven’t quite made up our minds about what we think of the rest of
the world. Every now and then, we’re tempted to return to our imaginary city,
raise the gate, and leave others to their devices.
It says something about the
politics of our time that I have no idea whether the reader who wrote me that
letter is a Republican or a Democrat, a Tea Party activist or a lifelong
subscriber to Mother Jones. This is new. Until recently, the view that “we
should not be the world’s policeman”
was held mainly on the political left. Yes, the view also found a home on the
fringes of the right, particularly among small- government libertarians
and latter- day Father Coughlins such as Pat Buchanan. But it was
typically the left that wanted America out: out of Southeast Asia,
Central America, the Middle East, even Europe. And it was usually the left
that made the case for a reduced role for the United States in global
politics and for a radical rebalancing of spending priorities from guns to
butter.
The case for “America Out” is
still common on the left. But now it’s being made from within the
mainstream of the conservative movement. Many things account for this change,
including the deep mistrust, sometimes slipping to paranoia, of the Obama
administration’s foreign policy aims. Many conservatives have also conceded the
argument that the wars they once ardently supported in Iraq and Afghanistan
were historic mistakes, and that imbroglios in Central Asia, Eastern Europe, or
the South China Sea are other people’s problems, best kept at arm’s length.
The upshot is that there is a new
foreign policy divide in the United States cutting across traditional partisan
and ideological divides. It’s no longer a story of (mostly) Republican hawks
versus (mostly) Democratic doves. Now it’s an argument between neoisolationists
and internationalists: between those who think the United States is badly
overextended in the world and needs to be doing a lot less of everything—both
for its own and the rest of the world’s good—and those who believe in Pax
Americana, a world in which the economic, diplomatic, and military might of the United
States provides the global buffer between civilization and barbarism.
Some readers of this book will
reject these categories. They will note that there are vast differences between
liberal and conservative internationalists;between, say, Samantha Power,
President Obama’s ambassador to the United Nations, and John Bolton, her
predecessor in that job under George W. Bush. Or they will claim that the term
“neoisolationist” is a slur on people who really should be thought of as
“noninterventionists” or simply “Realists.” They will point out that labels often
do more to cloud thinking than to clarify it. They’re right, up to a point. But
labels also capture emotional reflexes, ideological leanings, and tendencies of
thought that in turn help predict policy preferences and political behavior.
Where do you fall on the spectrum
between internationalists and
neoisolationists? Ask yourself the following questions:
• Does the United States have a
vital interest in the outcome of
the civil war in Syria, or in Israel’s relationship with the Palestinians,
or in Saudi Arabia’s contest with Iran?
• Should Americans take sides
between China and Japan over
which of them exercises sovereignty over the uninhabited
Senkaku Islands? Similarly, should we care whether Ukraine
or Russia controls Crimea?
• Is America more secure or less
secure for deploying military
forces in hot spots such as the Persian Gulf and the South
China Sea?
How you answer any one of these
questions will likely suggest how you answer most if not all of the others. And
how you answer all of the questions will be an excellent indicator of how you
are likely to think about other foreign policy crises, now or in the future.
This book takes a side in this
debate. No great power can treat foreign policy as a spectator sport and hope
to remain a great power. A world in which the leading liberal-democratic nation
does not assume its role as world policeman will become a world in which
dictatorships contend, or unite, to fill the breach. Americans seeking a return
to an isolationist garden of Eden—alone and undisturbed in the world, knowing
neither good nor evil—will soon find themselves living within shooting range of
global pandemonium. It would be a world very much like the 1930s, another
decade in which economic turmoil, war weariness, Western self-doubt, American
self-involvement, and the rise of ambitious dictatorships combined to produce
the catastrophe of World War II. When Franklin Roosevelt asked Winston
Churchill what that war should be called, the prime minister replied “the
unnecessary war.” Why? Because, Churchill said, “never was a war more easy to
stop than that which has just wrecked what was left of the world from the
previous struggle.” That’s an error we should not wish to repeat.
A final preliminary: To say
America needs to be the world’s policeman is not to say we need to be its
priest, preaching the gospel of the American way. Priests are in the business
of changing hearts and saving souls. Cops merely walk the beat, reassuring the
good, deterring the tempted, punishing the wicked. Nor is it to say we should
be the world’s martyr. Police work isn’t altruism. It is done from necessity
and self-interest. It is done because it has to be and there’s no one else to
do it, and because the benefits of doing it accrue not only to those we protect
but also, indeed mainly, to ourselves.
Not everyone grows up wanting to
be a cop. But who wants to live in a neighborhood, or a world, where there
is no cop? Would you? Should the president?