No, Saddam did not fall instantly, his military forces and his regime collapsing into shambles. Nor were United States and British forces initially greeted as liberators by smiling Iraqis waving American flags. Iraqi resistance was stiffer than anticipated, with fighters in some skirmishes holding out to the last man despite superior U.S. firepower. Irregular resistance took the form of suicide bombing attacks and fake surrenders. And more U.S. forces had to be deployed in preparation for the assault on Baghdad.
The gloom that attended these developments and the unseemly glee with which they were seized upon by the Bush administration's opponents are clear indications that somewhere along the line, the hope of a swift Iraqi collapse--which one might expect to be fairly widely shared among all those not actually rooting for Saddam--did indeed become an expectation of swift collapse. We need to take a serious look at what gave rise to that expectation and why it was wrong.
Saddam Hussein ran a thoroughly modern police state. Yet much of the prewar discussion described him as a tyrant in an almost classical mode. Of such characters, we know much, from Xenophon's description of Hiero of Syracuse to Shakespeare's Richard III. There is a radical disjunction between the one man who is the ruler and the people who are ruled. Tyrants are hated by their people. "Every tyrant knows full well," muses Hiero, "they are all his enemies, every man of them, who are despotically ruled by him."
Modern tyranny is more complicated. There remains, of course, a supreme ruler. But he presides over a network of repression consisting of functionaries in all government positions and an elaborate secret police. This extended cadre has reason to fear the leader, insofar as he may suspect the people around him of plotting against him, but it also profits from its association with him; it is vested in him. He is not alone. The people, meanwhile, are terrorized by this group. That has two main effects. First, people are cautious because they are afraid. Second, members of the repressive apparatus as a whole understand that they are all potentially in the position of Hiero--hated and safe only insofar as they preserve themselves in power.
The first blow of the war was an attempt to cut off the head of the regime by killing Saddam. This may or may not have been successful. It was surely a shot worth taking on the assumption that doing so would not unduly disrupt the war plan. But the death of Saddam and even of those closest to him in the bunker, including his sons, would not have meant the demise of the cadre that served him and benefited from his rule. On the contrary, that group would remain organized as well as exposed, and the most likely outcome under such conditions would be a swift and perhaps violent struggle that established a new leader followed by the continuation of repression as usual.
This would remain true even in extremis, with U.S. bombs falling. To put it another way, we were expecting surrender from someone who has risked his life to seize and hold power in an apparatus of repression in which he has long been complicit. Yet why would such a one surrender? What would be in store for him if he did? As Hiero notes of "despotic power,"
it is not possible . . . to be quit of it. How could the life of any single tyrant suffice to square the account? How should he pay in full to the last farthing all the moneys of all whom he has robbed? with what chains laid upon him make requital to all those he has thrust into felons' quarters? how proffer lives enough to die in compensation of the dead men he has slain? how die a thousand deaths?
And of course, in the modern context, what was true of Hiero is true of the whole Baathist apparatus of repression.
It is certainly possible that once this apparatus is truly tottering, thanks to the assault of U.S. and British forces, the Iraqi people will turn on it with fury. Already, we know from extensive accounts that Iraqis remained afraid of their rulers in the early days of the war and that the reception for U.S. and British forces improved markedly once the regime was no longer a factor in people's lives. The Iraqis rose up in 1991 after Gulf War I, only to be crushed by Saddam's forces while the United States and coalition forces did nothing. A certain wariness on the part of ordinary Iraqis is understandable. And we also know that Baathist loyalists have coerced resistance to the invasion from ordinary Iraqis by such means as hostage-taking and terror.
Still, the question of whether the ongoing apparatus of oppression fully accounts for stiffer-than-expected Iraqi resistance is another matter. Is there a nationalist Iraqi opposition, perhaps pro-Saddam, but also possibly anti-Saddam and anti-occupation? Is there a segment of ordinary Iraqi opinion that resents the arrival of the conquering outsiders, and, more to the point, is willing to risk death in violent struggle against them? Surely, the case of the suicide bomber who killed the two Marines at a checkpoint is alarming: He chose certain death to kill Americans. Likewise, the false surrenders that killed Americans but also surely cost those who played the trick their lives. In one press account, an Iraqi working in Jordan said he was returning in order to fight: "I can't bear to see my country occupied by foreign troops, I believe we can kick them out. They may have incredible weaponry, but the will of God is stronger."
I, like many others, have been heartened by the increasing warmth of the Iraqis (the baby named "America," for example). But one must be wary about once again letting hope turn into expectations that are out of hand. The sentiment of the Iraqi returning to fight deserves to be taken with utmost seriousness. It goes to the essential question, the answer to which is not yet known: At heart, how liberal, how modern, how bourgeois are the Iraqi people?
The introduction to the National Security Strategy of the United States restates a theme President Bush has laid out a number of times, including in his remarkable June 2002 speech at West Point and again at his speech before the American Enterprise Institute in February 2003: "People everywhere want to be able to speak freely; choose who will govern them; worship as they please; educate their children--male and female; own property; and enjoy the benefits of their labor. These values of freedom are right and true for every person, in every society--and the duty of protecting these values against their enemies is the common calling of freedom-loving people across the globe and across the ages."
The problem with the universalist vision Bush evokes (and with which I agree) is that he is describing an end state. The extent to which people share this vision in the here-and-now is an unsettled question. Implicitly, the president suggests that given the opportunity, people will join the liberal, modern, bourgeois world. I have no doubt that in many or even most cases, he is right. But in all? When someone wants to go to battle against superior weaponry in the conviction that God is stronger than mere weapons, we are not even operating on the same ontological plane. And, of course, history supports the proposition that terror campaigns can be highly effective against occupying powers.
The case for going to war against Iraq was never based on the supposed ease with which "regime change" could be imposed there. Nor is the case for making every effort to create a modern, liberal Iraq based on the presumptive ease of that task. On the contrary: The paradox is that the more resistance we encounter, the more urgent the task is revealed to have been. We don't want to live in a world in which people will risk and give up their lives in order to kill Americans. In seeking a bourgeois Iraq, we are trying to address the "root cause" of a problem whose size is not yet clear.
Contributing editor Tod Lindberg is a research fellow at the Hoover Institution, Stanford University, and editor of Policy Review.