By Noah
Rothman
Tuesday,
September 26, 2023
Senator
J. D. Vance and I engaged in a contentious
exchange on
whatever you’re supposed to call Twitter these days. I don’t intend to rehash those
arguments here. I
do, however, want to take the opportunity to rebut the
senator’s primary claim — one that has been articulated by a number of Republican
politicians who cater to anti-Ukraine sentiments on the Right. That is the
notion that Russia’s war in Ukraine is in some meaningful way analogous to the
U.S.-led coalition’s ouster of Saddam Hussein from Iraq in 2003. At least
insofar as the West’s support for Kyiv’s defense is another expression of
American hubris that can only worsen conditions in the region. This is just
nonsense.
As Vance recently
told a local media outlet:
“In a lot of ways, John, this reminds me of 2003/2004 with Iraq, where
everybody seemed to want to rush towards a military conflict. I think, 20 years
now, we recognize what a terrible mistake that was. I don’t want us to get 20
years down the road before we realize what a catastrophic mistake we’re
making.”
Like many of his
fellow Republican critics of Ukraine’s cause, Vance relies on calcified narratives around
the fallacy of the coalition’s conflict in Iraq to do a lot of work for him.
Without the allegory, he would have to devote his efforts to making a
cognizable case against the defense of America’s interests and those of its
treaty-bound allies in Europe from an act of militaristic expansionism by its
historic adversary. It’s not immediately clear how Russia’s war of conquest in
Ukraine resembles the war in Iraq at all, save the highly literary sense that
all human conflict shares some lamentable parallels.
Russia
launched its second invasion of Ukraine by surprise. It neither cited nor even
bothered to manufacture a casus belli. Its primary prosecutor rambled on
about the ancient rights to the Black Sea coast secured by the tsars in their campaigns
against the Ottoman Turks before attempting the reconquest of Ukraine with the
aim of absorbing its territory into the Russian Federation and erasing the
distinct culture to which its people subscribe. In this, there are far more
contrasts with the Iraq War than similarities.
The U.S.
and its allies policed the skies over Iraq from 1991 to 2003 following
Hussein’s attempt to invade and annex neighboring territory, often encountering
resistance from forces loyal to Baghdad. On three occasions before the 2003
invasion, the West was compelled to mount punitive strikes on Iraqi targets in response
to its efforts to murder its minority populations and destabilize the region at
the expense of American interests. The 2003 invasion was preceded by months of
debate culminating in congressional authorization for the war — a legal
framework backed by a United Nations Security Council resolution finding Iraq
to have been in material breach of its international obligations. All this
occurred over the course of many months, throughout which the Hussien regime
blocked the work of international inspectors who might have provided proof that
the stockpiles of unconventional weapons that were
absolutely in Iraq’s possession were not the threat almost every
Western intelligence agency made them out to be.
This
isn’t an apples and oranges comparison. It’s a comparison between apples and
typewriters. They’re both carbon-based objects, I suppose, in the same way that
all wars are, in fact, wars. But their similarities end there.
The
comparison is morally fraught in other important ways. The Russians have
conducted their campaign in Ukraine similarly to how they conducted
intervention in Syria — brutally and with utter
disregard for civilian life. It has conducted a
systematic campaign of
ethnic cleansing.
It uses rape, summary execution, and child
abductions as
weapons of war. Practitioners of these crimes face nothing like the threat of
justice at home. Indeed, there’s evidence that these acts are encouraged by
Kremlin officials.
There is
no comparison here with the conduct of America’s armed forces, and it’s obscene
to draw one (as the senator himself might attest, given his own admirable
service in Iraq). To the extent that the U.S. and its soldiers were implicated in
criminal misconduct in
Iraq, we know that because their activities were uncovered either by
investigators or independent media outlets, and the implicated were punished in
accordance with the law. The distinction between a country that plans to
conduct war crimes and
one that suppresses the bestial spirits unleashed by war and punishes those who
succumb to their animal instincts isn’t particularly elusive.
The most
glaring distinction between the Iraq War of 2003 and Russia’s war in Ukraine is
that neither the U.S. nor its allies are doing the fighting. This is often
brushed aside by those who cling to the parallel as a temporary condition that
will disappear when the West is invariably drawn directly into the conflict.
Rather, the West’s posture is designed to prevent that
outcome. In the absence of American support for Ukraine’s independence, the
fighting wouldn’t stop. It would continue, but Ukraine would lose faster, its
people would be killed at accelerating rates, and Russia’s aggression would
draw ever closer to NATO’s borders.
Vance has long
maintained that
the U.S. could end the war tomorrow if it left Kyiv to its own devices —
presumably, leaving its people to make their peace with surrender and
subjugation. But America’s allies get a say in that outcome, and we have every
reason to expect that Poland, Romania, and the Baltics would be less
comfortable with that eventuality. Indeed, they may make their own
accommodations with the Russian bear at America’s expense or freelance
initiatives designed to secure their borders with Ukraine, or even inside
Ukraine, in ways that would threaten to draw the alliance into a broader
conflict with Russia. American support for Ukraine’s own defense preempts other
efforts by Europeans who retain a living memory of Russian domination to fend
for themselves.
As a
talking point, equating Russia’s war with the Iraq War pings painful emotional
centers in the American mind. That’s probably the entirety of the analogy’s
value proposition because the parallels don’t hold up amid anything resembling
logical scrutiny.
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