The Post-Cold War story, according to some, goes like this: The United States spent decades, after the World War II, wielding its economic, political, and military might to protect the world from expansionist communism. It lifted high the torch of liberty and dazzled the earth with its light. It opened the reservoirs of freedom so an ocean of opportunity could inundate the planet, restoring peace and prosperity to the parched land. Even the moon proudly waved a star-spangled banner. American submarines and spy-planes governed the sea and the sky; and American troops filled the earth. Heroically, and at great cost, they subdued communism. As the dust from the Berlin Wall settled in the last decade of the twentieth century, the United States finally emerged from the Cold War as the world’s only superpower. Then—now!—the American people surveyed the work of their hands and what they had toiled to achieve, and they saw that it was good.

Good for business. The United States did not seek the mission of defending the free world against communism, but it rose to history’s calling. And history gave the United States its due reward. The American economy was the most powerful, productive, and competitive economy that the world had ever seen. Of course, some people likened America to the erstwhile European colonial empires. But these people overlooked the facts—the United States didn’t occupy foreign countries and oppress millions of people. On the contrary, it encouraged free market capitalism, democracy, and the information revolution. These were the things would usher in a new era of peace, prosperity, and freedom for all people. Sure, the United States would benefit from its superpower status, but so would the rest of the world.

Andrew J. Bacevich tells a different story in his book American Empire. He vividly portrays the United States as a “globe-straddling colossus� (23). A colossus that cultivated superpower status through whatever means the situation warranted. The American colossus’ insatiable appetite for prosperity and wealth necessitated perpetual economic growth. Sure, it was a colossus with a different mechanism than traditional colonialism—but ultimately one whose purpose was the same. It cared primarily for itself, and any benefit that the rest of the world derived from its behavior was purely incidental.

Bacevich begins by debunking “the myth of the reluctant superpower.� This myth asserts that the United States ascended to superpower status through altruistic, humanitarian maneuvers exercised on behalf of the rest of the world. It claims that the Monroe Doctrine nobly defended Latin America from bloodthirsty Spanish colonizers, that American intervention in World War II was an act of selfless humanitarianism, and that America’s role in the Cold War was to defend the ideals of freedom against the ravenous, expansionist appetite of communist Russia.

Not so, writes Bacevich, quoting Theodore Roosevelt, “Our whole national history has been one of expansion� (7). Altruism has rarely—if ever—been the sole purpose of American military intervention. Take the Monroe Doctrine—while it asserted Latin America’s independence from Spain, it also led to American adventurism in the region. Or World War II—the United States helped liberate Europe from the Nazis, but it concurrently installed itself as the leading power in Europe. And, by thwarting communism during the Cold War, the United States practiced its own flavor of economic and military expansionism.

In fact, Bacevich argues that the United States has always unhesitatingly defended and expanded its extra-territorial interests. This was the case during the colonization of America, the American-Mexican War, NATO intervention in the Balkans, and the fi rst Iraq War. Superpower status was cultivated, not accidental. It was deliberate, not the unsought reward of altruistic self-sacrifice.

According to Bacevich, the colossus is egged on by the growth imperative—which is the product of “far-reaching changes in the nation’s culture� and the fraying of American civic identity. After the Cold War, the American identity that was forged in the “melting pot� gave way to a culture where the “self� reigns sovereign and “conformity� and “nationalism� are profanities. Americans languish in political apathy—they can’t motivate themselves to go to the polls, let alone fathom dying for their country. Instead, they obstinately assert individualism and personal freedom. Thus, writes Bacevich:

In a society in which citizens were joined to one another by little except a fetish for shopping, professional sports, and celebrities along with a ravenous appetite for pop culture, prosperity became a precondition for preserving domestic harmony. 80

If prosperity equals domestic harmony, then a lapse in the economy would be disastrous. Elected officials worry about economic downturns not only because they jeopardize their jobs, but also because they “stoke discontent, and bring to the surface old resentments� (80). Perpetual economic growth is necessary to sustain the American standard of living. It is the single thread by which America dangles above the fires of civil unrest. “For the would-be statesman,� writes Bacevich, “the implications were clear: an ever-expanding pie satisfying ever more expansive appetites was the only ‘crusade’ likely to command widespread and durable popular enthusiasm� (84).

Perpetual economic growth requires opening new markets overseas and developing existing ones. Accordingly, the American imperial engine is powered by a policy of “openness�— the free movement of capital, goods, people, and ideas. It is not based on “ownership or even administrative control but commercial access� (25). Open markets abroad translate into higher profits for American industry. Removing trade barriers facilitates access to raw materials and cheep labor. Just like traditional colonialism, American Empire works to enrich the homeland. It differs in form only—not function.

Bacevich critiques the proponents of openness and globalization who paint an exaggeratedly rosy picture of American Empire. These people say that it will inevitably benefit the rest of the world—that globalization bestows American ideals of individual liberty and personal freedom on all people. Open markets produce open minds. Free-fl owing capital leads to free-fl owing freedom. The information revolution will act on economies and minds alike. Then, as freedom and ideas spread, democracy will spread. As democracy spreads, peace will prevail. “The ultimate promise of globalization,� writes Bacevich, “was of peace, prosperity, and democracy, all reinforcing one another in a self-perpetuating cycle� (42). Thus, the economic and ideological interests of American Empire coincide. Openness is the justification of Empire, not merely its mechanism.

The tacit presumption is that the United States “owns� globalization. “Openness would benefit the entire world economically and politically, but it would benefit the United States most of all,� writes Bacevich (97). As rule-maker of the new world order, the United States shapes the system to its advantage. Take, for instance, Washington’s brainchild and puppet, the World Trade Organization. The WTO stipulates that all players must follow the same rules. Therefore, the United States, as the world’s most powerful and productive economy can out-compete all other countries—especially small countries in the developing world.

In addition to being the rule-maker, the United States is also the rule-enforcer. The end of the Cold War didn’t mark a mass conversion of weapons into plowshares. Instead, it saw an unprecedented increase in American military intervention abroad. Bacevich cites a 1999 report that stated: “since the end of the Cold War, the United States has embarked upon nearly four dozen military interventions . . . as opposed to only 16 during the cold war� (142). Bush pere set the tune, but Clinton and Bush fils enthusiastically played along, amplifying it. It was thought that “military intervention was simply a part of the inevitable price of doing business� (105). Of course, they took care not to endanger the lives of American troops—a lesson from Mogadishu. Instead, they stuck to pre-emptive cruise-missile attacks, bombings, and outsourcing American wars to foreign armies.

However, Bacevich points out that the United States only enforces the rules in proportion to American interest in the region. In places of significant interest, the United States uses all its military, political, and economic muscle. The reworking of NATO is a good example. With the end of the Cold War, NATO’s raison d’être was called into question—and along with it American military presence in the region and its status as “Europe’s leading power� (102). The United States responded by transforming NATO from an alliance against communism to one against “creeping instability� (103). NATO promptly demonstrated its new purpose—and the American military’s capacity to shock-and-awe—in the Balkans. By reworking NATO, the United States justifi ed and reasserted its military presence in Europe.

The United States takes an indirect approach to regions where it has substantial interest but inadequate leverage. Bacevich uses the example of pre-September 11, 2001 Middle East. The Gulf War established an American presence in the region but it didn’t translate into enough leverage to “open� the region. Therefore, “through arms sales, advisory programs . . . military to- military contacts, and the continuing presence of U.S. forces . . . the United States sought to preserve the favored position it had won by liberating Kuwait� (106). The United States bided its time, waiting for the bug of democratic capitalism to infect the region.

Finally, in areas of slim interest, the United States makes liberal use of rhetoric but little use of cash. Rwanda is a prime example. Following the botched intervention in Somalia, the United States proceeded to turn a blind-eye to Rwanda. Later, even after Clinton apologized to Rwanda for “the sin of neglect and ignorance� (107), the United States continued to ignore massacres in Sudan and other parts of the continent. “To put it bluntly,� writes Bacevich, “conditions that in the Balkans or the Persian Gulf the United States found intolerable were in Africa merely unfortunate� (108).

Bacevich, a retired Army officer, devotes a significant portion of American Empire to critiquing the military’s expanding role in implementing and formulating foreign policy. He writes that after the Vietnam war:

the ideal of the soldier as self-effacing servant of the state guided by an austere military professional ethic no longer explained the actual behavior of increasingly partisan officers who did not consider themselves bound by the once-hallowed tradition of remaining aloof from politics. 171

This is not only a matter of military officers crossing into civilian government as in the case of Colin Powell. More disturbing is the increasing role that regional commander in chiefs (CINC) play in shaping and executing U.S. foreign policy. In fact, Bacevich cites General Anthony Zinni, former CINC of United States Central Command, as comparing the job of CINC to the proconsuls of the Roman empire (175).

First, CINCs are increasingly willing to publicly take sides against the State Department and the White House. Sometimes they even prevail. Such was the case with Zinni dismissed Clinton’s support for overthrowing Saddam Hussain as “stupid� (180). Or, when Admiral Dennis Blair, CINC of the Pacific Ocean and East Asia, trumped the ambassador to Indonesia’s call to sever military relations with that country because of it’s behavior in East Timor.

Second, CINCs actively form and execute their own policy of engagement though “mil-to-mil contacts� (177) such as multilateral military exercises, ship visits, and training programs. For instance, in Alaska the United States recently hosted multilateral training exercises with the air forces of several other countries, including India. This went off without a hitch. Not so with the USS Cole’s 1998 refueling stop in Yemen as part of Zinni’s engagement plan. While there, suicide bombers in a rowboat inflicted massive damages on the Cole. However, as Bacevich writes,

in all the investigation, analysis and second-guessing that ensued, virtually no one questioned either the propriety of having military commanders formulate regional policy under the guise of ‘engagement’ or their qualifications for doing so. The absence of attention to these questions was telling: by the end of the 1990s a militarized foreign policy was something that most Americans took for granted. 181

CINCs go as far as to involve themselves with diplomacy by maintaining extensive contacts with heads of state, politicians, and the media of the regions they supervise—a job the State Department is supposed to handle. For example, in 2001 and 2002, Admiral Dennis C. Blair, CINC of the Pacific Ocean and East Asia, gave press conferences in ten countries over a nine month interval. CINCs not only act as diplomats, they do so with:

resources vastly greater than those possessed by other government agencies such as the State Department . . . not just military assets . . . but executive jets, instantly available secure communications, retinues of attentive aides, and lavish budgets for discretionary spending that no mere ambassador dared even to dream of. 178

American Empire is a poignant critique of post-Cold War American foreign policy. For example, it helped illuminate the United States’ most recent invasion of Iraq. The Bush administration invaded Iraq on specious evidence of weapons of mass destruction and Iraqi links with al Qaeda. According to Bacevich’s rules, the United States uses substantial resources to encourage openness in regions where it has substantial interest. Thus, the “liberation� of Iraq is actually a strong indicator that the Bush administration sees substantial American interest in the gulf region. And what could be of the source of that interest? Archeological treasures? Groves of date trees? Oil?

Bush denies it, but Bacevich’s description of the militarization of American Foreign Policy make that denial sound ludicrous. Even if Bush believed the yarns about weapons of mass destruction and al Qaeda—the invasion of Iraq is an undeniable further extension of American Empire.

As Bracivich concludes, so too will I:

The question that Americans can no longer afford to dodge—is not whether the United States has become an imperial power. The question is what sort of empire they intend theirs to be. For policymakers to persist in pretending otherwise—to indulge in myths of American innocence or fantasies about unlocking the secrets of history—is to increase the likelihood that the answers they come up with will be wrong. That way lies not just the demise of the American empire but great danger for what used to be known as the American republic. 244

Works Consulted

Bacevich, Andrew J. American Empire: The Realities and Consequences of U.S. Diplomacy. Cambridge: Harvard, 2002.