Andrew J Bacevich: Illusions of Victory. This is an excerpt from Bacevich's new book, The Limits of Power: The End of American Exceptionalism (2008, Metropolitan Books). At least at a high level, Bacevich calls into question just what the US military can do. The following seems a pretty fair synopsis of the last seven years:

In the aftermath of September 11, 2001, Bush conceived of a bold, offensive strategy, vowing to "take the battle to the enemy, disrupt his plans, and confront the worst threats before they emerge." The military offered the principal means for undertaking this offensive, and U.S. forces soon found themselves engaged on several fronts.

Two of those fronts -- Afghanistan and Iraq -- commanded priority attention. In each case, the assigned task was to deliver a knockout blow, leading to a quick, decisive, economical, politically meaningful victory. In each case, despite impressive displays of valor, fortitude, durability, and technological sophistication, America's military came up short. The problem lay not with the level of exertion but with the results achieved.

In Afghanistan, U.S. forces failed to eliminate the leadership of Al Qaeda. Although they toppled the Taliban regime that had ruled most of that country, they failed to eliminate the Taliban movement, which soon began to claw its way back. Intended as a brief campaign, the Afghan War became a protracted one. Nearly seven years after it began, there is no end in sight. If anything, America's adversaries are gaining strength. The outcome remains much in doubt.

In Iraq, events followed a similar pattern, with the appearance of easy success belied by subsequent developments. The U.S. invasion began on March 19, 2003. Six weeks later, against the backdrop of a White House-produced banner proclaiming "Mission Accomplished," President Bush declared that "major combat operations in Iraq have ended." This claim proved illusory.

Writing shortly after the fall of Baghdad, the influential neoconservatives David Frum and Richard Perle declared Operation Iraqi Freedom "a vivid and compelling demonstration of America's ability to win swift and total victory." General Tommy Franks, commanding the force that invaded Iraq, modestly characterized the results of his handiwork as "unequalled in its excellence by anything in the annals of war." In retrospect, such judgments -- and they were legion -- can only be considered risible. A war thought to have ended on April 9, 2003, in Baghdad's al-Firdos Square was only just beginning. Fighting dragged on for years, exacting a cruel toll. Iraq became a reprise of Vietnam, although in some respects at least on a blessedly smaller scale.

How did the US get into this mess? Bacevich identifies three illusions. The first was the idea that "The Pentagon had devised a new American Way of War, investing its forces with capabilities unlike any the world had ever seen." You know: technology, speed, precision, like that. The second was that "American civilian and military leaders subscribed to a common set of principles for employing their now-dominant forces" -- the Weinberger-Powell Doctrine, which was meant to prevent politicians from flying off half-cocked and landing us into future Vietnams, in large part by the politically loaded need to call up reserves in order to implement any significant military action. The third illusion was that "the military and American society had successfully patched up the differences that produced something akin to divorce during the divisive Vietnam years." This was accomplished by switching to an All-Volunteer Force, although the end result of that was to make future military operations optional and incidental to all but the few Americans who volunteered to be in harm's way.

When it came to the Weinberger-Powell Doctrine, civilian willingness to conform to its provisions proved to be highly contingent. Confronting Powell in 1993, Madeleine Albright famously demanded to know, "What's the point of having this superb military that you're always talking about, if we can't use it?" Mesmerized by the prospects of putting American soldiers to work to alleviate the world's ills, Albright soon enough got her way. An odd alliance that combined left-leaning do-gooders with jingoistic politicians and pundits succeeded in chipping away at constraints on the use of force. "Humanitarian intervention" became all the rage. Whatever restraining influence the generals exercised during the 1990s did not survive that decade. Lessons of Vietnam that had once seemed indelible were forgotten.

For Bush, 9/11 was an opportunity to make a clean break with all past inhibitions against using military force. In a neat trick, all past U.S. policies were vindicated by the terrorist attack, as opposed to being called into question:

With the president denying any connection between the events of September 11th and past U.S. policies, his declaration of a global war nipped in the bud whatever inclination the public might have entertained to reconsider those policies. In essence, Bush counted on war both to concentrate greater power in his own hands and to divert attention from the political, economic, and cultural bind in which the United States found itself as a result of its own past behavior.

Conclusion:

Between what President Bush called upon America's soldiers to do and what they were capable of doing loomed a huge gap that defines the military crisis besetting the United States today. For a nation accustomed to seeing military power as its trump card, the implications of that gap are monumental.

It is refreshing to look at the failures of the Bush administration as failures of the US military itself. That's a view that no electable Democrat can disclose since "the troops" have been turned into an unquestionable icon. The antiwar side may be most guilty of this. By "support our troops" the prowar side always meant "support our mission"; instead of just pointing out that the hawks are hiding behind the uniforms, and going on to the real front of contention, the mission, too many antiwar spokesfolk have tried to co-opt the slogan, arguing that the best way to support the troops would be to get out of stupid, senseless wars. True enough, but those wars -- the only kind there are -- are the troops' bread and butter.

Bacevich may try to tone down his critique by praising the valor, courage, discipline, etc., of the soldiers, but the key point is that they're not fit for their assigned mission. Again, you can see all aspects of this misfit in HBO's Generation Kill, even without factoring in that what's being shown is pretty much a best case scenario: the early days of the war when there were still clear enemies, a relatively disciplined elite group of Marines, etc. I don't yet know how far Bacevich will go with his critique, but I do know that there is plenty of terrain for someone to light up.