Voice

A Little Humility

If Iraq has taught us anything, let it be this.

President Barack Obama has treated Iraq like a gambling debt inherited from a reckless uncle, steadily whittling down his exposure until he could finally walk away with a sigh of relief. That moment appeared to arrive earlier this month, when the U.S. withdrew its last combat troops from Iraq and the country's prime minister, Nouri al-Maliki, visited the White House, where Obama pronounced Iraq "sovereign, self-reliant, and democratic." Alas, events quickly proved that Iraq wasn't democratic, and possibly not self-reliant either. A better analogy for this tormented country might be the Shakespearean ghost that cannot be willed away.

In recent days, in fact, Iraq has oscillated between farce and tragedy. Maliki had no sooner returned to Baghdad than he issued an arrest warrant for his own vice president, Tareq Hashemi, on charges that he used his guards as a death squad. Hashimi promptly took refuge in Kurdistan, and Maliki demanded that the Kurds hand him over or face unspecified "problems." He also threatened to evict his coalition partners if they didn't end a boycott of the government, which was itself a consequence of his refusal to share power with them. And then came a dreadful reminder of Iraq's enduring vulnerability -- a wave of coordinated bombings in Baghdad that killed at least 63 people and bore the earmarks of al Qaeda.

Iraq has endured so much violence, and so much political chaos, that this week's calamities do not, by themselves, endanger the state. A senior administration official I spoke to insisted that this "latest spasm of political immaturity" was par for the course, and pointed out that Maliki's political opponents still "see more advantage in sticking with the system than walking away." Vice President Joe Biden, who more or less owns this unenviable portfolio, has been on the phone with Maliki and other senior officials, urging them to settle their differences in private, rather than in the press. But this official conceded that Iraq could descend back into sectarian warfare "if they don't reel this in."

The death toll in Iraq, which has now reached almost 4,500 American soldiers and over 100,000 Iraqis, as well as the cost in money and national prestige, is so staggering that no outcome, no matter how positive, could justify the original decision to go to war. But this week's events also show how unlikely it is that the war will ever come to be seen as a "transformational" event in the Middle East, as New York Times columnist Thomas Friedman recently suggested it still might. Iraq is likely to remain a "sovereign" state, in Obama's phrase, but also a deeply riven, violent, and quite possibly authoritarian one. It will be for other countries in the region to demonstrate that democracy and tolerance of difference is possible in the Arab world.

As the United States leaves this wreckage behind, or tries to, we need to ask, one last time, whether it could have been otherwise. Was the war itself the original sin, or was it the conduct afterwards? What if we had done ... what? In his 2006 book, Squandered Victory, Larry Diamond, a democracy promotion scholar who worked in Iraq (and whom I cited last week), confronts the original sin argument by asserting that "even with an unpopular occupation, the prospect for democracy was not foreclosed." The litany of subsequent mistakes Diamond cites is bottomless, and familiar: too few troops, too little civilian authority, criminally negligent planning, marginalization of the Sunnis, the dissolution of the Iraqi army, wholesale "de-Baathification," a compromised constitution, and above all the refusal to swiftly hand power over to an elected government. Each of these mistakes conditioned the environment in such a way as to limit the effect of subsequent positive developments, including the anti-extremist uprising by the "Sons of Iraq" in 2007, and Maliki's bold decision to take on Shiite militias in 2009.

I would like to believe this theory, and for several reasons. First, I don't accept the premise that American power is a blunderbuss that is destined to do harm rather than good. I'm glad the United States and the West acted in Libya, Bosnia, and Kosovo. While of course you can't "impose" democracy, whether through force or even coercive diplomacy, democracies have arisen in the aftermath of interventions -- not just in Germany and Japan, but in Panama and Grenada (not exactly commensurate examples, I acknowledge). It is profoundly in the U.S. interest to do what it can to nurture decent governance or even basic justice in places where Islamic extremism has taken hold, or is likely to. And we know now that the truism that "the Arab world isn't ready for democracy" is an excuse offered by, and for, Arab dictators.

I would like to believe it could have been otherwise in Iraq, but I think this modestly hopeful premise underestimates Iraq's afflictions and overestimates America's capacity to cure them. Iraq is not "the Arab world." The Arab Spring has made the most progress in relatively monolithic states like Tunisia and Egypt, and has met with the most violent resistance in places where a minority controls the majority population, as in Syria and Bahrain. Thomas Carothers, a democracy scholar at the Carnegie Endowment, told me that he calls this "the 80-20 problem." Democratization, he points out, is fundamentally about power-sharing; and minorities almost never give up power without a fight. Iraq's Sunni minority had clung to power through unexampled brutality over the half-century before the U.S. invasion. Carothers argues that even a larger American troop presence, and a more focused political role, would have been unlikely to have stemmed the rise of the Shiite militias of Moqtada al-Sadr and the Sunni extremists who provoked a civil war in 2006. The increasingly ugly infighting between Maliki, the Shiite leader, and his Sunni opponents, is another symptom of the 80-20 problem.

In the months before the war, liberal interventionists (like me) believed that Iraq could be a just war if the United States accepted the burden of post-war nation-building and political stewardship -- and then bitterly criticized President George W. Bush for failing to do so. Carothers' point -- which he and others made at the time -- was that you weren't likely to succeed by fashioning democratic institutions and then training Iraqis to run them, as liberals hoped. If you took power from the minority and handed it to the majority, the minority wouldn't accept it without being cut into the deal -- and perhaps not even then. In the event, Sunnis bitter at their fall from power boycotted Iraq's first elections, American administrators helped empowered a new Shiite leadership, and today Maliki has declared war on the leading Sunni members of his government.

Perhaps, then, the lesson of Iraq is not, "You must accept the burden of nation-building, with all it implies," but rather, "Even conscientious nation-building won't solve the zero-sum problem of political power." We should think long and hard about that before, say, we intervene in Syria. But I would suggest a yet broader moral: "We are ignorant." The world is so much more complicated, and so much more refractory, than we wish it to be; and our wishes all too often govern our understanding. It is the combination of limited understanding with immense power that ensures we will visit some measure of tragedy upon the world, and upon ourselves. It can't be otherwise, unless we choose to withdraw from the world, or to watch the worst misfortunes from a safe distance. We will act, and we will do harm despite ourselves. It behooves us, then, to act with humility, and to try as best we can not to confuse what we wish to be with what can be.

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Terms of Engagement

The Botched Ballot

Why even failed elections are good for democracy.

One of the enduring legacies of George W. Bush's magic-realist foreign policy was the discrediting of the word "freedom." The failure of Bush's "Freedom Agenda" made democracy promotion seem like a particularly inexcusable form of naiveté. Didn't he understand that elections are not democracy? Candidate Barack Obama seized on this self-evident proposition to belabor Bush. "We do need to stand for democracy," Obama declared in a 2007 speech. "But democracy is about more than a ballot box." FDR, he noted, hadn't even included voting in his famous 1942 "Four Freedoms" speech.

Well, he should have. The parliamentary elections in Egypt, which, despite widespread expectations, have been almost perfectly peaceful, have put that country's military rulers on the defensive in a way that the demonstrations in Tahrir Square have not. And, even more remarkably, the elections in Russia, which the ruling party managed to win through transparent fraud, have galvanized the public against their cynical and contemptuous rulers in a way no one could have predicted. Elections matter quite independently of who wins them. Elections don't make a democracy, but they can make a democratic citizenry.

Why did tens of thousands of people flood the streets of Moscow in the aftermath of Sunday's election? Because, as Foreign Policy's Julia Ioffe has written, they were insulted. The primary insult, as Ioffe notes, may not have been the brazen ballot-stuffing, but the nonchalant announcement six weeks earlier that Vladimir Putin and Dmitri Medvedev would be switching jobs, with the former becoming president once again and the latter, prime minister. That announcement provoked disgust, but it was the election -- by offering vivid and dramatic proof that Russia's leaders consider their own people irrelevant -- that brought people into the streets.

Elections are not just exercises in determining political majorities. "They're also a way to gauge how people are treated in society," says Ken Wollack, president of the National Democratic Institute. "Every institution in the country -- government, parties, the press, the judiciary, the military, police -- are working at the same time." That's why rigged elections can prove to be such electrifying, unifying events.

There's a very specific history of such events that begins in Nov. 1986, when Ferdinand Marcos, the Filipino kingpin, staged the kind of electoral farce he had long since mastered. Both domestic and American election observers exposed the fraud -- a first in the Philippines. Massive public demonstrations forced Marcos from office within four months. More recently, the "Color Revolutions" in Eastern Europe occurred in the aftermath of fraudulent elections. And last year, Laurent Gbagbo, the president of Côte D'Ivoire, provoked a civil war when he cheated his opponent out of office. Now his opponent is president and Gbagbo faces charges of crimes against humanity before the International Criminal Court.

The problem for the dictator is that he cannot know -- or in any case almost never does know -- when a ritualistic or rigged election will provoke fury rather than a resigned shrug. Autocrats depend on a sense of learned futility; as soon as people begin to hope for better, the election becomes a vehicle for those hopes. For decades, Egypt held non-competitive elections that sent government loyalists to parliament; turnout was often under 10 percent. Then semi-free elections in 2005 created a real parliamentary opposition in the form of 88 members of the Muslim Brotherhood. In the next election, late last year, President Hosni Mubarak simply eliminated the problem by ensuring that no member of the Brotherhood -- not one -- was returned to parliament. The sheer egregiousness of the fraud, the implicit sense that Mubarak felt he could get away with anything, shocked Egyptians, and stoked the fury which exploded just over a month later in Tahrir Square.

You have only to compare that election to the one now underway to see how far Egypt has come in a very short while. The analysis in the United States has focused on the outcome, with Islamists taking over 60 percent of the vote so far. But that may not be what matters most to the Egyptian people themselves, millions of whom have waited patiently for hours to cast the first ballot of their lives that actually matters. One rural voter told the New York Times' David Kirkpatrick, "We are saying, ‘Here is the will of the people,' and the people's will can stand up to any institution, including the military council." And the council, in fact, has suddenly reversed a policy that would have ensured it a major role in writing a new constitution. The election itself has created a new legitimacy the military government has felt compelled to acknowledge.

But yes, elections aren't democracy: An openly contested and fairly decided election is only a precondition to democracy. The political scientist Larry Diamond has distinguished between "electoral authoritarian" states, which stage meaningless ballots;  "electoral democracies," which grant power to electoral winners but offer few rights and protections to citizens, and "liberal democracies" like the United States. Despite the current hubbub, Russia may remain in the first category for quite some while, while Egypt will probably pass from the first to the second. And there far worse cases: Rabble-rousing leaders like Slobodan Milosevic have used elections to whip populations into a nationalist frenzy or have simply pocketed the results to legitimate a deeply undemocratic rule.

As it happens, I spoke to Obama right before his 2007 speech, and he told me that he had just read, and deeply admired, Fareed Zakaria's book, The Future of Freedom, which argues that states must first pass through a phase of liberalism, in which the rule of law takes root, before they can achieve a meaningful form of democracy. Obama had thus concluded that the United States needed to promote the "foundational freedoms" -- from "want" and from "fear," in FDR's words -- to then create "space for the kind of democratic regime that we want." And at least until the Arab Spring came along, the Obama administration's chastened, post-Bush view of democracy promotion was: economic and institutional development first, elections later.

But countries don't operate according to Hoyle. Sometimes elections -- even failed elections -- have to come first because they provide the liberatory spark that allows people to free themselves from the autocratic grip. Diamond points out that in the sub-category of "competitive electoral authoritarian" states, where elections do involve competing forces, "accidents can happen along the way." One of those states, Venezuela, is holding a presidential election next year, and Diamond believes that "there is better than a 50-50 chance that it will transition to democracy," probably in the wake of a rigged election. The balance of forces in Venezuela are more favorable than they are in Russia, because President Hugo Chávez is less popular, and less effective, than Putin. Also, he may die of cancer beforehand.

There is a small cabal of democracy promoters inside the Obama administration, and they have worked hard, often in the face of stiff opposition, to keep the issue alive. Chief among their number is Michael McFaul, a former academic and the author of Advancing Democracy Abroad. McFaul has been named as the next ambassador to Russia. (The nomination is now before the Senate Foreign Relations Committee.) Until recently, McFaul's credentials seemed only ironically related to his new post. Now, the welcome wagon of history has deposited a wonderfully apt gift at his doorstep. Let's hope it doesn't blow up when he opens it.

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