Cover:

Top Photo: Sandinos colors captured at Ocotal,

Nicaragua. (USMC Official Photo.)

Bottom Photo: Marines and Iraqi Police distribute

school supplies and toys to Iraqi children outside

the Fallujah Civil-Military Operations Center, 28

June 2005. (Photo by LtCol David A. Benhoff,

USMCR.)


U.S. MARINES AND

IRREGULAR WARFARE,

1898-2007:

ANTHOLOGY AND

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY

Compiled by

Colonel Stephen S. Evans

U.S. Marine Corps Reserve

Marine Corps University

United States Marine Corps

Quantico, Virginia

2008
PCN

160 00000 500

11
Foreword

This anthology presents a collection of 27 articles on counterinsurgency warfare

and includes a broad bibliography that collectively describe the role played by the

United States in various counterinsurgency and irregular warfare efforts from 1898

until 2007, with a particular emphasis on the role of the Marine Corps in the conduct

of such efforts. Like other previously published USMC History Division anthologies

on earlier wars, the purpose of this volume is to provide readers with a general

overview and introduction to the topic of counterinsurgency and irregular warfare.

Designed essentially as a primer, this volume is intended to serve as an initial educational resource that provides Marine officers and other national security professionals

with the historical basis for modern-day USMC counterinsurgency strategy and operational doctrine.

Using a broad range of historical and contemporary examples of U.S. involvement

in counterinsurgency and irregular warfare, this particular anthology has drawn its

articles from an equally wide range of publishers. As such, I would like to thank the

editors of the Naval Institute Press, Parameters, Military Review, Marine Corps

Gazette, Strategic Forum, Aerospace Power Journal, Revista/Review Interamericana,

Orbis, US. Naval Institute Proceedings, Hispanic American Historical Review, Center

for Strategic and International Studies, Washington Quarterly, Royal United Services

Institute Journal, and Foreign Service Journal for permitting the reproduction of the

articles that comprise this volume. Their valued support has made the creation of this

volume possible.

Dr. Charles P. Neimeyer

Director of Marine Corps History

111

Preface

This anthology joins a growing number of works whose topic is counterinsurgency

and irregular warfare. Continuing discussion and study of these subjects is of critical

importance to the ongoing efforts of the United States and its allies in the Global War

on Terrorism.

The 27 articles presented here, as well as the works referenced in this book's

"Selected Bibliography," represent only a small fraction of the enormous body of literature written about these subjects. Especially since the tragic events of 9/11 and the

consequent advent of the Global War on Terrorism, there has been a remarkable

surge of interest in counterinsurgency, reflected most notably in the very large number of recent articles, monographs, studies, and reports that are found in a variety of

highly divergent sources. These run the academic gamut from traditional military,

government, and university studies and publications to those produced by a host of

think tank and nongovernmental organizations. The articles selected for inclusion in

this anthology all help to illustrate the complexity involved in conducting counterinsurgency and irregular war efforts, both historically and in the contemporary Global

War on Terrorism.

The anthology is divided broadly into two halves: the first half presents historical

examples of counterinsurgency involving the United States, while the second half

addresses the nation's contemporary efforts in this regard. Part One contains three

articles on counterinsurgency doctrine and theory. Parts Two through Six present articles about historical counterinsurgency efforts by the United States, with particular

emphasis on the role played by the Marine Corps. Specifically, Part Two recounts the

United States' first taste of fighting a prolonged, overseas counterinsurgency—the

Philippine Insurrection. The experience gained in this conflict soon came to be

employed on numerous occasions and at various locations in the Caribbean during

the course of the "Banana Wars"; most prominently in the long-term military occupations of Nicaragua (Part Three), Haiti (Part Four), and the Dominican Republic (Part

Five). Because of its all-too-frequent involvement in a range of counterinsurgency

efforts, the United States in general, and the Marine Corps in particular, became quite

proficient in conducting a variety of civil and military counterinsurgency operations.

In fact, many of the experiences and lessons garnered from the Philippines and the

Banana Wars eventually came to be incorporated into one of the Marine Corps' seminal publications—the Small Wars Manual—in 1940. Regrettably, some of these lessons had to be relearned for America's involvement in Vietnam (Part Six).

After a 30-year hiatus, the United States once again finds itself engaged in several

prolonged counterinsurgencies and a number of related counterterrorism efforts, all

part of the ongoing, overarching Global War on Terrorism (Part Seven). The princiV
pal—though certainly not the exclusive—focus of these contemporary counterinsurgency and counterterrorism efforts is on al-Qaeda and other proponents of radical

Islamist ideologies (Part Eight). While the Global War on Terrorism is truly global in

scale, with operations stretching from Columbia to Indonesia and the Philippines, the

main battlefields are in Afghanistan (Part Nine), Iraq (Part Ten), and the Horn of

Africa (Part Eleven). Compared with America's counterinsurgency operations of the

previous century, contemporary counterinsurgency and counterterrorism efforts are

far more likely to be multinational, joint-service, interagency affairs that are correspondingly far more difficult to plan and to coordinate successfully.

Although further details can be found in the initial section of the volume's "Selected

Bibliography," several things should be noted here in regard to the rationale and

development of the bibliography. First, like the anthology itself, the bibliographic

entries deal with topics concerning counterinsurgency and irregular warfare involving only the United States; the experiences of European nations, the Soviet Union,

and others are left largely unexplored. Beyond this, because it is intended primarily

as an introduction and educational resource, the entries comprise English-language

and secondary sources only. Lastly, because the cutoff for research for this volume

was mid-2007, the impact of the surge in Iraq is not addressed. Despite these constraints, the references manage to address a broad range of subjects: on higher-end

operational/strategic level of war considerations, on geopolitical context, and on a

varied array of related topics—political theory, historical case studies, failed states,

cultural studies and analysis, and many others—that all provide context or play a role

in conducting a counterinsurgency and achieving success in the realm of irregular

warfare.

My sincere thanks to Dr. Charles Neimeyer, Director of the Marine Corps History

Division, for granting me wide latitude in determining the scope of the project, in

organizing the topics to be addressed, in selecting the articles that would be included in the anthology, and in compiling and selecting the bibliographic entries. Thanks

also to Captain C. Cameron Wilson for researching various photo collections and

helping to select the photographs contained in this volume. Major Valerie Jackson's

Editing and Design section at History Division, and in particular W. Stephen Hill and

Greg Macheak, were responsible for transforming an eclectic array of electronic files,

photocopies, and photographs into a manageable format, Additional guidance and

advice was provided by Colonel Patricia Saint, Deputy Director, by Charles D.

Melson, Chief Historian, and by Kenneth H. Williams, Senior Editor. Wanda J. Renfrow

aided with the editing, and Emily D. Funderburke, an Editing and Design intern,

helped re-create many of the graphics from the articles.

Stephen S. Evans, PhD

Colonel, U.S. Marine Corps Reserve

vi
Table of Contents

Foreword .iii

Preface iv

Partl

Counterinsurgency Doctrine and Theory

Insurgency: Modern Warfare Evolves into a Fourth Generation

Thomas X. Hammes 1

Back to the Street Without Joy: Counterinsurgency Lessons from Vietnam and

Other Small Wars

RobertM. Cassidy 13

Countering Irregular Threats: A Comprehensive Approach

Marine Corps Combat Development Command 23

Part II

Philippine Insurrection, 1899—1902

Lessons from a Successful Counterinsurgency: The Philippines, 1899—1902

Timothy K Deady 29

We Will Go Heavily Armed: The Marines' Small War on Samar, 1901—1902

Brian McAllister Linn 41

Part III

Nicaragua, 1909—1933

Airpower and Restraint in Small Wars: Marine Corps Aviation in the Second Nicaraguan

Campaign, 1927—1933

WrayR.Johnson 55

U.S. Marines and Miskito Indians: The Rio Coco Patrol in 1928

David C. Brooks 67

Lessons from Yesterday's Operations Short of War: Nicaragua and the Small Wars Manual

RichardJ. Macak Jr 79

vii
Part IV

Haiti, 1915—1934

The American Occupation of Haiti: Problems and Programs, 1920—1928

Robert Debs HeinlJr. and Nancy Gordon Heini 89

Administering the Protectorates: The U.S. Occupation of Haiti and the Dominican Republic

Richard Millett and G. Dale Gaddy 101

Part V

Dominican Republic, 1916—1924

Caudillos and Gavilleros versus the United States Marines: Guerrilla Insurgency During the

Dominican Intervention, 1916—1924

BruceJ. Calder 117

Cacos and Caudillos: Marines and Counterinsurgency in Hispanolia, 1915—1924

Graham A. Cosmas 135

Part VI

Vietnam

A Feather in Their Cap? The Marines' Combined Action Program in Vietnam

Lawrence A. Yates 147

CORDS/Phoenix: Counterinsurgency Lessons from Vietnam for the Future

Dale Andrade and James H. Wilbanks 159

Part VII

Global War on Terrorism: Overview and Strategy

Challenges in Fighting a Global Insurgency

David W. Barno 175

Countering Evolved Insurgent Networks

Thomas X. Hammes 187

Advances in Predeployment Culture Training: The U.S. Marine Corps Approach

Barak A. Salmoni 197

Part VIII

Islamism, Islamists, and Insurgency

A Clash of Systems: An Analytical Framework to Demystify the Radical Islamist Threat

viii
Andrew Harvey, Ian Sullivan, and Ralph Groves .209

The Concept and Practice of Jihad in Islam

Michael G. Knapp 221

Part IX

Afghanistan

Understanding the Taliban and Insurgency in Afghanistan

Thomas H. Johnson and M. Chris Mason 231

Afghanistan Four Years On: An Assessment

Sean M. Maloney 247

PartX

Iraq

Assessing Iraq's Sunni Arab Insurgency

Michael Eisenstadt and Jeffrey White 257

Insurgency and Counterinsurgency in Iraq

Steven Metz 283

Part XI

Combined Joint Task Force — Horn of Africa (CJTF-HOA) and the

Horn of Africa

Around the Horn

Davidf Danelo 293

The War on Terrorism in the Horn of Africa

Tom Dubs 301

Recognizing Somaliland: Forward Step in Countering Terrorism?

Kurt Shillinger 309

Fighting Terrorism in East Africa and the Horn

David H. Shinn 317

Selected Bibliography 325

Permissions and Acknowledgments 341

ix

Insurgency: Modern Warfare Evolves into a 

Fourth Generation 

by Thomas X Hammes 

Strategic Forum, January 2005 

Fourth-generation warfare, which is now 

playing out in Iraq and Afghanistan, is a 

modern form of insurgency. Its practitioners seek to convince enemy political leaders that their trategic goals are either 

unachievable or too costly for the perceived benefit. The fundamental precept i 

that superior political will, when properly 

employed, can defeat greater economic 

and militalY power. Because it is organized 

to ensure political rather than militalY succes this type of warfare is difficult to 

defeat. 

Strategically, fourth-generation warfare 

remains focused on changing tlle minds of 

decisionmakers. Politically, it involves 

transnational, national, and subnational 

organizations and networks. Operationally, 

it LI es different messages for different audiences, all of which focus on breaking an 

opponent's political will. Tactically, it utilizes materials present in tlle society under 

attack-to include industrial chemical , liquefied natural gas, or fertilizers. 

Although tllese modern insurgencie are 

tlle only type of war that the nited States 

has 10 t (Vietnam, Lebanon, and Somalia), 

tlley can be overcome-witness Malaya 

(1950s), Oman (1970s), and EI Salvador 

1980s). Winning, however requires coherent, patient action tllat encompasse tlle 

full range of political, economic, social, and 

military activities. The United States cannot 

force its opponents to fight the short, hightechnology wars it easily dominates. 

Instead the nation must learn to fight 

fourtll-generation wars anew. 

1 

On 1 May 2003, President George W. Bush 

declared the end of major combat in 

Iraq. While most Americans rejoiced at 

this announcement, students of history understood that it simply meant the easy part was over. 

In the following months, peace did not break out, 

and the troopS did not come home. In fact, Iraqi 

insurgents have struck back hard. Instead of 

peace, each day Americans read about the death 

of another soldier, the detonation of deadly car 

bombs, the assassination of civilians, and Iraqi 

unrest. 

Barely three months later, in August, a series of 

bombs hit a police academy graduation ceremony, the Jordanian Embassy, and United Nations 

(UN) headquarters in Baghdad. The Ayatollah 

Mohammed Bakr aI-Hakim (leader of the 

Supreme Council for Islamic Revolution in Iraq) 

was killed, and an attempt was made to kill the 

Baghdad chief of police. These attacks marked 

the opening of the anti-coalition campaign that 

continued through the turnover of authority to 

the Interim Iraqi Government. As of this writing, 

the violence continues as Iraqi authorities struggle to provide security for their people and work 

to rebuild their country. Unfortunately, Iraq has 

become the scene of another fourth-generation 

war. 

At the same time things were degenerating in 

Iraq, the situation in Afghanistan was moving into 

fourth-generation conflict. While al-Qaeda and 

the Taliban were not attacking U.S. troops directly, they were moving aggressively to defeat the 

U.S.-supported Hamid Kharzai government. 

Decisively defeated in the conventional campaign 

by a combination of U.S. firepower and Northern 

Alliance troops, the anti-coalition forces have 

returned to the style of warfare that succeeded 
against the Soviets. The Taliban's emphasis on

derailing the recent presidential elections shows

they understand that fourth-generation warfare is

a political rather than military struggle. By trying

to prevent Afghans from voting, they sought to

undermine the legitimacy of whoever won the

elections. Instead of defeating the government's

security forces, they plan to destroy its legitimacy.

While polling for the presidential election proceeded without major incident, it remains to be

seen whether this positive step has set the Taliban

hack politically—and much more contentious

legislative elections are just over the horizon.

In Iraq, the attacks on and threats against oil

pipelines are economic and political in nature.

The insurgents are assessing a tax on the entire

world's economy by raising the price of oil. They

hope such attacks will weaken the Iraqi government while simultaneously bringing economic

and political pressure to bear on the United

States. Shi'ite cleric Moqtada al-Sadr's shift from

military action to the political arena most likely

means no real change in goals, only methods. He

can use his political and social networks in conjunction with his militias to advance his goals.

In Saudi Arabia, Turkey, and Spain, al-Qaeda

and its affiliates managed a series of high-profile

attacks and are promising a major attack on the

United States. Despite the Bush administration's

declaration of victory in Iraq and Afghanistan, the

war on terror has not been an entirely one-sided

fight.

As debilitating and regular as these attacks are,

this kind of warfare is not new but rather has

been evolving over the last seven decades. The

wars in Afghanistan and Iraq have moved from

third-generation warfare, America's forte, to

fourth-generation warfare. It is much too early to

predict the outcome of either fight, but the anticoalition forces in Afghanistan and Iraq are

attempting to tie their fourth-generation tactics

into integrated strategic campaigns. At the same

time, al-Qaeda is maintaining its own strategic

campaign: to defeat the United States and its

allies.

Opponents in various parts of the world know

that fourth-generation warfare is the only kind the

United States has ever lost—and not just once,

but three times: in Vietnam, Lebanon, and

2

Somalia. This form of warfare also defeated the

French in Vietnam and Algeria and the Soviet

Union in Afghanistan. It continues to bleed Russia

in Chechnya and the United States in Iraq,

Afghanistan, and other areas where it is engaged

in the war on terror. This record of defeat of

major powers by much weaker fourth-generation

opponents makes it essential to understand this

new form of warfare and adapt accordingly.

Mao Zedong was the first to define modern

insurgency as a political struggle and use it successfully. Each practitioner since has learned,

usually through a painful process of trial and

error, from his predecessors or co-combatants.

Each then has adjusted the lessons to his own

fight and added his own refinements. The cumulative result is a new approach to war. The anticoalition forces in Iraq, the Taliban in

Afghanistan, the Chechens, and the al-Qaeda network are simply the latest to use an approach that

has been developing for decades.

Since World War II, wars have been a mixed

bag of conventional and unconventional conflicts. Conventional wars—the Korean War, the

Israeli-Arab wars of 1956, 1967, and 1973, the

Falklands (Malvinas) War, the Iran-Iraq war, and

the first Gulf War—generally have ended with a

return to the strategic status quo. While some territory changed hands and, in some cases, regimes

changed, each state came out of the war with

largely the same political, economic, and social

structure with which it entered. In short, the

strategic situation of the participants did not

change significantly.

In contrast, unconventional wars—the

Communist revolution in China, the first and second Indochina wars, the Algerian war of independence, the Sandinista struggle in Nicaragua,

the Iranian revolution, the Afghan-Soviet war of

the 1980s, the first intifada, and the Hizbullah

campaign in South Lebanon—display a markedly

different pattern. Each ended with major changes

in the political, economic, and social structure of

the territories involved. While the changes may

not have been better for the people, they were

distinct. Even those unconventional wars where

the insurgents lost (Malaya, Oman, El Salvador)

led to significant changes. The message is clear

for anyone wishing to shift the political balance
Fourth-Generation Warfare in Perspective 

The term fourth-generation warfare came into use among military strategists and planners in the late 1980s 

as a way to characterize the dynamics and future direction of warfare. This corruuunity posntlated the evolution of warfare in several distinct phases. The first generation of modern (post-Westphalian) war was dominated by massed manpower and culminated in the Napoleonic Wars. Firepower characterized the second generation, which culminated in World War I. The third generation was dominated by maneuver as developed by 

the Germans in World War II. The fourth generation has evolved in ways that take advantage of the political, 

social, economic, and technical changes since World War II. It makes use of the advantages those changes offer 

an unconventional enemy. For background and a compilation of paper and articles on the subject, see the 

Defense and the National Interest Web site at <http://www.d-n-i.net/dni/category/strategy-and-force-employment/4gw-articles/> . 

of power: only unconventional war works against 

established powers. 

Strategic Aspects 

Fourth-generation warfare attempts to change 

the minds of enemy policymakers directly. But this 

change is not to be achieved through the traditional first- through third-generation objective of 

destroying the enemy's armed forces and the 

capacity to regenerate them. Both the epic, decisive battles of the Napoleonic era and the wideranging, high-speed maneuver campaigns of the 

20th century are irrelevant to this new warfare. 

More relevant is the way in which specific messages are targeted toward policymakers and those 

who can influence them. Although tailored for various audiences, each message is designed to 

achieve the basic purpose of war: to change an 

opponent's political position on a matter of national interest. 

The struggles in Iraq and Afghanistan show 

these characteristics. In each, the insurgents are 

sending one message to their supporters, another 

to the undecided population, and a third to the 

coalition decisionmakers. Supporters are told that 

they are defending the faith and their country 

against outside invaders. The message to uncommitted or pro-coalition countrymen is to stay out 

of the fight between the insurgents and the 

invaders, who will eventually leave. Finally, the 

coalition, particularly the Americans, is advised to 

withdraw or be engaged in an endless, costly fight. 

Fourth-generation warfare is not bloodless. As 

shown in the chart on page 6, the casualties we 

3 

have sustained in fighting insurgents in Iraq long 

ago passed those we sustained in the comparatively short, high-intensity phase that toppled Saddam. 

And even then, most casualties will tend to be 

civilian, a pattern borne out by fighting in Iraq, 

Chechnya, Palestinian areas, and elsewhere. 

Further, many of those casualties will be caused 

not by military weapons but rather by materials 

made available within society. Thus, the opponent 

does not have to build the warfighting infrastructure reqUired by earlier generations of war. 

As displayed in the Beirut bombings, the 

Khobar Towers bombing, the Northern Ireland 

campaign, the American Embassy bombings in 

Africa, the 9/11 attacks, and the ongOing bombing 

campaign in Iraq, fourth-generation warfare practitioners are increasingly using materials made 

available by the society they are attacking. This 

allows them to take a very different strategic 

approach. It relieves the practitioners of the necessity of defending core production assets and frees 

them to focus on offense rather than defense. It 

also relieves them of the burden of moving supplies long distances. Instead, only money and 

ideas-both of which can be digitized and moved 

instantly-must be transported. 

Furthermore, even at the strategic level, the 

importance of the media in shaping the policy of 

the participants will continue to increase. This was 

demonstrated when U.S. interest in Somalia, previously negligible, was stimulated by the repeated 

images of thousands of starving Somali children. 

Conversely, the images of U.S. soldiers being 

dragged through the streets ended that commitment. The media will remain a major factor from 
the strategic to the tactical level. In fact, worldwide media exposure can quickly give a tactical 

action strategic impact. 

Political Aspects 

Fourth-generation warriors exploit international, transnational, national, and subnational 

networks politically for their own purposes. A 

growing variety of international conduits are 

available: the United Nations, the North Atlantic 

Treaty Organization (NATO), the World Bank, the 

Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries, 

and dozens of others. Each organization has a 

different function in international affairs, but 

each has its own vulnerabilities and can be used 

to convey a political message to its leadership 

and then to target capital cities. While these international organizations may not be able to change 

the minds of national leaders directly, they can 

be used to slow or paralyze an international 

response. 

The prime objective of the fourth-generation 

practitioner is to create political paralysis in both 

the international organizations (usually not a difficult task) and the target nation (difficulty varies 

with the nation being targeted). In addition to 

normal political attacks, planners can influence 

other aspects of the target society. For instance, 

they know that the security situation in a country 

has a direct effect on the ability of that nation to 

get loans. This gives the attacker a different 

venue to affect the position of a nation-the 

mere threat of action may be enough to impact 

the financial status of the target nation and 

encourage it to negotiate. Thus, if the objective is 

to paralyze the political processes of a target 

nation, a number of methods can be used. 

Attacks by the al-Sadr militia on oil production 

infrastructure in southern Iraq have illustrated 

this fact. Nigerian rebels have also used the 

threat to oil production to force negotiation on 

the Nigerian government. The fact that oil prices 

were at a record high gave the rebels more leverage because each day's delay increased the costs 

to the Nigerian government. As the world 

becomes ever more interconnected, the potential 

for varied approaches increases, and the effects 

may reinforce each other. 

A coherent fourth-generation warfare plan 

always exploits transnational elements in various 

ways. The vehicles may include not only extremist belief-based organizations such as Islamic 

Jihad, but also nationalistic organizations such as 

the Palestinians and Kurds, mainline Christian 

churches, humanitarian organizations, economic 

structures such as the stock and bond markets, 

and even criminal organizations such as narcOtraffickers and arms merchants. The key traits of 

transnational organizations are that none are 

contained completely within a recognized 

nation-state's borders; none have official members that report back to nation-states; and they 

owe no loyalty to any nation-and sometimes little to their own organizations. 

The use of such transnational elements will 

vary with the strategic situation, but they offer a 

number of possibilities. They can be a source of 

Insurgencies throughout History 

Insurgency, often referred to as guerrilla warfare, is not new. The very name guerrilla ("little war") dates 

back to the Spanish resistance against Napoleon's occupation of Spain (1809-1813). In fact, insurgency far predates that campaign. Darius the Great, King of Persia (558-486 BC), and Alexander the Great (356-323 BC) 

both fought insurgents during their reigns. Insurgency continued as a form of war through the ages. The Irish 

nationalist, Michael Collins, drove the British out of Ireland with an insurgent campaign during 1916-1921. In 

all cases, the weaker side used insurgent tactics to counter the superior military power of its enemies. 

However, in the 20th century, the political aspects of insurgency came to dominate these struggles. The goal 

became the destruction of the enemy's political will rather than the exhaustion of his conventional military 

power. Advances in communications technology and the growth of formal and informal networks have greatly increased the ability of the insurgent to attack the will of enemy decisionmakers directly. 

4 
recruits. They can be used (at times unwittingly)

as cover to move people and assets. They can be

an effective source of funds; charitable organizations have supported terrorist organizations as

diverse as the Irish Republican Army (IRA) and

al-Qaeda. During the 1970s, for example, Irish

bars on the east coast of America often had jars

where patrons could make donations, ostensibly

to provide support to Irish families, but in fact

much of the money went directly to support IRA

insurgent operations.

At times, entire organizations can be used

openly to support the position of the fourth-generation warfare operator. Usually this is done

when the organization genuinely agrees with the

position of one of the antagonists, but false flag

operations are also viable. Such support can lend

legitimacy to a movement and even reverse longheld international views of a specific situation.

National political institutions are primary targets for fourth-generation messages. Insurgents

fighting the United States—whether the North

Vietnamese, the Sandinistas, or the Palestinians—

know that if Congress cuts off funds, U.S. allies

would lose their wars. Thus, congressmen have

been targeted with the message that the war was

unwinnable and it made no sense to keep fighting it. The Sandinistas even worked hard to make

individual congressmen part of their network by

sponsoring trips for congressional aides and

mainline church groups to insurgent-held areas

in Nicaragua. If they could convince their guests

that Anastasio Somoza's government was indeed

corrupt, they would actively lobby other aides

and the congressmen themselves to cut off aid to

Somoza. Nongovernmental national groups—

churches, diaspora associations, business groups,

and even lobbying firms—have been major players in shaping national policies. The United

States must assume its opponents will continue

these efforts.

Subnational organizations can represent both

groups who are minorities in their traditional

homelands, such as the Basque, and those who

are self-selecting minorities, such as Sons of

Liberty and Aryan Nation. These groups are in

unusual positions; they can be either enemies or

allies of the established powers. It simply

depends upon who best serves their interests.

5

Even more challenging is the fact that since they

are not unified groups, one element of a subnational group may support the government while

another supports the insurgents.

Political alliances, interests, and positions

among and between insurgents will change

according to various political, economic, social,

and military aspects of the conflict. While this has

been a factor in all wars (Italy changed sides in

the middle of World War II, the largest conventional war), it will be prevalent in fourth-generation war. It is much easier for nonstate entities

(tribes, clans, businesses, criminal groups, racial

groups, subnational groups, and transnational

groups) to change sides than it is for nationstates or national groups. A government usually

ties itself to a specific cause. It has to convince

decisionmakers or its people to support it. Thus,

it can be awkward for that government to change

sides in midconflict without losing the confidence of its people. Often, the act of changing

sides will lead to the fall of the government. In

contrast, nonstate entities get involved only for

their own needs, and, if these needs change,

they can easily shift loyalties.

Operational Techniques

To influence this wide variety of networks

effectively, the fourth-generation warfare operational planner must seek different pathways for

various messages. Traditional diplomatic channels, both official and unofficial, are still important hut are no longer the only route for communication and influence. Other networks rival the

prominence of the official ones. The media have

become a primary avenue, as seen in places such

as Vietnam, the West Bank, and Iraq. However,

the sheer diversity and fragmentation of the

media make it much more challenging for either

side to control the message. Professional lobbying groups also have proven effective.

An increasingly important avenue is the

Internet and the power it provides grassroots

campaigns. Whether it is the international campaign to ban landmines or Abu Musab alZarqawi's terror campaign in Iraq, the Internet

provides an alternative channel for high-impact

messages unfiltered by editors or political influ-
u.s. Military Casualties in Iraq: Higher Against the Insurgents Than Against Saddam's Armed Forces 

'tl 

Q) 2,500 'tl 150 III 

Q) 'tl 0 c: 

::J 

0 2,000 

~ 

'tl 

Q) 120 

1:: 

0 

Q. (J) 

::J 1,500 Q) 

90 0:: 

:0 

Q) 

1,000 E 60 III 

Z 

u) 

::J 30 500 

• Major Combat Phase Insurgency Phase 

Source: Based on U.S. Government data compiled on the Global Security Web site . available at http://globalsecurity.orgimilital'jlops/iraq_casualties.htm 

ence. It can also be used to raise money. 

A key factor in a fourth-generation warfare 

campaign is that the audience is not a unified target. It is increasingly fragmented into interest 

groups that may realign or even shift sides 

depending on how a particular campaign affects 

their issues. During the first intifada, the 

Palestinians tailored messages for different constituencies. The Israelis have used the same technique during the al-Aqsa intifada, and the anticoalition forces are doing so today in Iraq and 

Afghanistan. 

The United States has been slow to understand 

the importance of these communications. As 

recently as last year [2004], military spokesmen 

insisted that the insurgent attacks on U.S. troops in 

Iraq were "militarily insignificant." This was at a 

time when each attack was on the front page of 

major daily newspapers in the United States and 

Europe. While the actual casualties may have been 

few, each story reached the decisionmakers in 

Congress and the public. 

To succeed, the fourth-generation operational 

planner must determine the message he wants to 

send; the networks best suited to carry those messages; the actions that will cause the network to 

send the message; and the feedback system that 

will tell him if the message is being received. In 

Bosnia, the seizure of UN hostages by Serb forces 

6 

during the NATO bombing campaign of 1995 was 

the first step of a cycle. The media were used to 

transmit images of the peacekeepers chained to 

bUildings. Then the Serbs watched television to 

determine the response of the various governments. It allowed them to commit the act, transmit 

it via various channels, observe the response, and 

then decide what to do next. All this occurred 

much faster than the bureaucratic reporting 

processes of NATO could complete the same 

cycle. 

During the first intifada, the Palestinians made 

an operational decision to limit the use of violence. They confronted the Israeli Army not with 

heavily armed guerrillas but with teenagers armed 

only with rocks. Thus, they neutralized U.S. support for Israeli action, froze Israeli defense forces, 

and influenced the Israeli national election, which 

led to the Oslo Accords. 

Similarly, the series of bombings conducted by 

the Iraqi insurgents throughout the fall and winter 

of 2003-2004 carefully targeted the organizations 

most helpful to the Coalition Provisional 

Authority-police, the United Nations, nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), coalition 

partners, the Kurdish political parties, and Shia 

clerics. Each event was tactically separated by time 

and space, but each fit together operationally to 

attack America's strategic position in the country. 
In Iraq, the United States has found no evidence of central direction at this early date in the

insurgency, yet the pattern of the attacks has represented a coherent approach to driving the

coalition out of the country. The question is:

With no coordination, how could the insurgents

reinforce each others' actions?

The insurgents could track each attack and, to

a degree, measure its effectiveness by monitoring

the Iraqi, U.S., and international media. Those

attacks that succeeded were quickly emulated;

those that failed ceased to be used. The insurgents

showed many of the characteristics of a selforganizing network. Each attack is designed to

prevent a stable, democratic government from

emerging. Not all attacks have succeeded, but

they have kept UN presence to a minimum and

have driven many NGOs out of the country.

Further, the coalition is shrinking, and the insurgency has clearly affected the price of oil. And the

threat of instability spreading to the rest of the

Persian Gulf increases the upward pressure on oil

prices.

To complicate matters, fourth-generation warfare will incorporate elements of earlier generations of war. Even as the Israelis struggled with

the intifada, they had to remain aware that major

conventional forces were on their border. In

Vietnam, the United States and later South

Vietnam had to deal with aggressive, effective

fourth-generation guerrillas while always being

prepared to deal with major North Vietnamese

conventional forces. Clearly, the new generation

of warfare seeks to place an enemy on the horns

of this dilemma. Just as clearly, this is an intentional approach that reaches all the way back to

Mao.

Action in one or all of the fields above will not

be limited to the geographic location (if any) of

the antagonists but will take place worldwide.

From New York to Bali and Madrid, al-Qaeda and

its affiliates have forcefully illustrated this to their

enemies. Though some elements will be more

attractive as targets, no element of American society, no matter where it is in the world, is off limits to attack. The Bush administration actions in

Afghanistan and elsewhere against the al-Qaeda

network show that effective counters must also be

worldwide.

7

The range of possible fourth-generation opponents is broad. It is important to remember that

such an opponent does not need a large command and control system. At a time when U.S.

forces are pouring more money and manpower

into command and control, commercial technology makes worldwide, secure communications

available to anyone with a laptop and a credit

card. It also provides access to 1-meter-resolution

satellite imagery, extensive information on U.S.

troop movements, immediate updates on national

debates, and international discussion forums.

Finally, it provides a worldwide financial network

that is fairly secure. In fact, with the proliferation

of Internet cafes, one needs neither the credit card

nor the laptop—only an understanding of how email and a browser work and some basic human

intelligence tradecraft.

Ideas and funds can be moved through a variety of methods from e-mail to surface mail to personal courier to messages embedded in classified

advertisements. The opponent will try to submerge his communications in the noise of the

everyday activity. He will use commercial sources

and vehicles to disguise the movement of material and funds as commerce. His people will do

their best to merge into whatever civil society they

find themselves in. As a result, detecting the operational-level activities of a sophisticated opponent

will be extraordinarily difficult.

Tactical Considerations

Fourth-generation warfare takes place in the

complex environment of low-intensity conflict.

Every potential opponent has observed the Gulf

War, Operation Iraqi Freedom, and operations in

Afghanistan. They understand that if the United

States is provided clear targets, no matter how

well fortified, those targets will be destroyed. Just

as certainly, they have seen the success of the

Somalis and the Sandinistas. They have also seen

and are absorbing the continuing lessons of

Chechnya, Bosnia, Afghanistan, and Iraq. They

will not fight with conventional means.

In attempting to change the minds of key decision makers, antagonists will use several tactical

paths to get their message through to presidents,

prime ministers, cabinet members, legislators, and
even voters. Immediate, high-impact messages

will probably come via visual media—and the

more dramatic and bloody the image, the stronger

the message. Longer term, less immediate, but

more thought-provoking messages will be passed

through business, religious, economic, academic,

artistic, and even social networks. While the messages will be based on a strategic theme, the

delivery will he by tactical action such as guided

tours of refugee camps, exclusive interviews with

insurgent leaders, targeted kidnapping, beheadings, car bombings, and assassinations.

This warfare will involve a mixture of international, transnationai, national, and subnational

actors. Since the operational planner of a fourthgeneration campaign must use all the tools available, the United States probably will have to deal

with actors from all these arenas at the tactical

level as well. Even more challenging, some will

be violent actors and others nonviolent. In fact,

the term noncombatant applies much more readily to conventional conflicts between states than

to fourth-generation war involving state and nonstate actors. Nonviolent actors, while being legally noncombatants, will be a critical part of tactical

actions. By using crowds, protesters, media interviews, Internet Web sites, and other nonviolent

methods, fourth-generation warriors can create

tactical dilemmas for opponents. Tactical

resources in police, intelligence, military, propaganda, and political spheres will be needed to

deal with the distractions they create.

Tactical military action (for example, terrorist,

guerrilla, or, rarely, conventional) will be tied to

the message and targeted at various groups. The

19 August 2003 bombing of the UN headquarters

in Iraq convinced the organization that continuing

to operate in Iraq would be too costly. The 19

August 2004 burning of southern Iraq oil buildings had an immediate effect on the per- barrel

price of oil. These were two tactical actions with

different messages for different target audiences,

yet they both support the strategic goal of increasing the cost to the United States of staying in Iraq.

WMD Attacks

Only by looking at current conflicts as fourthgeneration warfare events can America's true vul8

nerahilities to an attack with weapons of mass

destruction (WMD) be seen. Even a limited biological attack with a contagious agent, such as

plague, will result in a shutdown of major segments of air travel, shipping, and trade. Smallpox

will require a total quarantine of the affected areas

until the incubation period has passed. The

potential for billions of dollars in losses to disrupted trade is obvious, as well as years of continuing

loss due to subsequent litigation.

WMD attacks may not focus Ofl physical

destruction but rather on area denial or disruption. The ability of a single person to shut down

Senate office buildings and post offices with two

anthrax letters is a vivid example of an area denial

weapon. Disruption can easily he made even

more widespread. The use of containerized

freight to deliver either a WMD or a high-yield

explosive will have more far-reaching and costly

effects on the international trade network than the

shutdown of international air routes. Security for

airliners and air freight is easy compared to the

problem of inspecting seaborne shipping containers. Yet containers are the basic component for

the majority of international trade today, and the

United States has no current system to secure or

inspect them. By taking advantage of this vulnerability, terrorists can impose huge economic costs

with little effort. They do not have to limit their

actions to the containers but can also use the

ships themselves. Ships flying flags of convenience do so to minimize the ability of government

efforts to regulate or tax them. It is logical to

assume the same characteristics will appeal to terrorists.

Finally, terrorists do not even have to provide

the materials for simple chemical attacks. The

1984 chemical plant disaster in Bhopal, India,

killed more people than 9/11 and left more with

serious long-term injuries. While Bhopal was an

accident, it presents a precedent for a devastating

chemical attack.

The existence of chemical plants and the

movement of toxic industrial chemicals needed to

support the American lifestyle ensure the raw

material for a chemical attack is always present. In

addition to the widely recognized potential for

chemical attack, it is fairly certain terrorists are

today exploring how to use liquid natural gas
tankers, fuel trucks, radioactive waste, and other

available material for future attacks. These are just

a few of the resources available to an intelligent,

creative opponent.

Long Timelines

Fourth-generation warfare timelines, organizations, and objectives are very different from those

of conventional war, Of particular importance is

the fact that timelines are much longer. Failure to

understand that essential fact is why many

observers do not fuily appreciate the magnitude

of the challenge presented by a fourth-generation

enemy.

When the United States has to fight, it prefers

to wage short, well-defined wars. For the United

States, a long war is five years—which, in fact,

was the duration of major U.S. involvement in

Vietnam (1965—1970). The nation entered when

the war was already under way and left before it

was over. Even then, the U.S. public thought the

country had been at war too long.

But fourth-generation wars are long. The

Chinese Communists fought for 28 years; the

Vietnamese Communists for 30; the Sandinistas

for 18. The Palestinians have been resisting Israeli

occupation for 37 years so far—and some would

argue they have been fighting since 1948. The

Chechens have been fighting over 10 years—this

time. AI-Qaeda has been fighting for their vision

of the world for 20 years since the founding of

Maktab al-Khidamar in 1984. Numerous other

insurgencies in the world have lasted decades.

Accordingly, when getting involved in this type of

fight, the United States must plan for a decadeslong commitment. From an American point of

view, duration may well be the single most

important characteristic of fourth-generation warfare. Leadership must maintain the focus of effort

through numerous elections and even changes of

administration to prevail in such an effort.

The United States must understand that fourthgeneration organizations are different. Since Mao,

they have focused on the long-term political viability of the movement rather than on its shortterm tactical effectiveness. They do not see themselves as military organizations but rather as webs

that generate the political power central to this

9

type of warfare. Thus, these organizations are unified by ideas. The leadership and the organizations are networked to provide for survivability

and continuity when attacked. And the leadership

recognizes that their most important function is to

sustain the idea and the organizations, not simply

to win on the battlefield.

These opponents focus on the political aspects

of the conflict because they accept that war is ultimately a political act. Since the final objective is

changing the minds of the enemy's political leadership, the intermediate objectives are all milestones focused on shifting the opinion of the various target audiences. They know that time is on

their side.

Noted military strategist Harry Summers

recounted how he once told a North Vietnamese

colonel that the United States had never been

beaten on the battlefield. The officer replied,

"That may be so, but it is also irrelevant."

Because of the long timelines and its political

nature, the objectives are different. Fourth-generation opponents do not seek the defeat of the

enemy forces. They seek the erosion of the

enemy's political will and can win even if the

opposing military force is largely intact. They

focus on winning wars, not battles.

U.S. Response

Fourth-generation opponents are not invincible. They can be beaten, but only by coherent,

patient actions that encompass all agencies of the

government and elements of the private sector.

Their warfare encompasses the fields of diplomacy, defense, intelligence, law enforcement, and

economic and social development. American

efforts must be organized as a network rather than

in the traditional vertical bureaucracies of Federal

departments. This interagency process will have

to exert its influence for the duration of the war—

from the initiation of planning to the final withdrawal of forces.

Besides dealing with the long timelines, developing genuine interagency networks will be the

most difficult U.S. problem in fighting a fourthgeneration opponent. This will require fundamental changes in how national security leadership

trains, develops, promotes, deploys, and employs
personnel across the Federal Government. The

current system, which is based on 19th-century

bureaucratic theory, cannot support 21st-century

operations. In particular, the United States must

be able to:

• train personnel in a genuine interagency

environment. From the classroom to daily operations to interagency training exercises, personnel

must think and act as part of a network rather

than a hierarchy.

• develop personnel through the equivalent of

military joint tours. As in the military, these tours

must be an essential step for promotion.

• deploy interagency personnel from all segments of the U.S. Government overseas for much

longer tours. The current 3- to 12-month overseas

tours in a crisis cannot work in fights lasting

decades.

• operate as interagency elements down to the

tactical level. This means abandoning the agencyspecific stovepipes that link operations overseas

to their U.S. headquarters. The British War

Committee system used in the Malaya emergency

provides one model that eliminated the

stovepipes and ensured unified effort at every

level of government. Starting in peacetime, personnel must be trained to be effective linking into

the interagency process, and those who do so

should be rewarded. The current process of

rewarding those who work entirely within a specific agency prevents effective networking.

• eliminate the detailed, bureaucratic processes that characterize peacetime government actions

(particularly contracting and purchasing). People

have to be trusted and held accountable. Longer

tours of duty will be essential, both to ensure that

personnel understand the specific situation well

enough to make decisions and can legitimately be

held accountable for their actions. The current

short tours mean no one masters his or her job,

the records are incomplete, and accountability

cannot be maintained.

• develop procedures for fully integrating the

range of international organizations, NGOs, allies,

and specialists necessary to succeed against an

adept, agile insurgent.

10

These are major challenges, but a model exists

with which to work. Presidential Decision

Directive 56 provides an excellent starting point.2

Based on lessons learned from U.S. involvement

in multiple crises and complex contingencies during the 1990s, it provides guidance for both training and operations in an interagency environment

that can be adapted for the purpose of waging

fourth-generation warfare.

Yet this is only a starting point. In the same

way that the Armed Forces had to learn to fight

jointly to master third-generation war, the entire

government must learn to operate in a genuine

interagency fashion to master fourth-generation

conflict. There are no simple, one department,

one-dimensional solutions to these wars. Even

with a fully functioning interagency process, the

assumption must be made that fourth-generation

wars will last a decade or more.

Conclusion

As German military strategist Carl von

Clausewitz once observed: "The first, the

supreme, the most far-reaching act of judgment

that the statesman and commander have to make

is to establish by that test the kind of war on

which they are embarking; neither mistaking it

for, nor trying to turn it into, something that is

alien to its nature."3 Fourth-generation war, like its

predecessors, will continue to evolve in ways that

mirror global society as a whole. As the United

States moves away from a hierarchical, industrialbased society to a networked, information-based

society, its political, socioeconomic, and technological bases will also evolve.

With this evolution come opportunity and hazard. The key to providing for security lies in recognizing these changes for what they are. In

understanding the kind of war being fought, the

United States must not attempt to shape it into

something it is not. Opponents cannot be forced

into a third-generation war that maximizes

American strengths; they will fight the fourth-generation war that challenges U.S. weaknesses.

Clausewitz's admonition to national leaders

remains as valid as ever, and it must guide the

planning for future wars
Notes

1. Harry G. Summers, On Strategy: A Critical Analysis

of the Vietnam War (Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1982),

1.

2. Presidential Decision Directive 56 was developed by

the Clinton administration to manage complex contingency operations. Although canceled by the Bush

administration, it still provides a well-thought-out

model for insurgency operations.

3. Carl von Clausewitz, On War, trans. Peter Paret and

11

Michael Howard (Princeton: Princeton University

Press, 1976), 88.

About the Author

Thomas X. Hammes, Colonel, USMC (Ret.), is the author of The Sling

and the Stone: On Warfare in the 21st Century (2004), an influential

book on fourth-generation warfare, a subject on which he has been publishing since 1989. At the time this article was published, he was a senior

military fellow at the Institute for National Strategic Studies at National

Defense University in Washington, D.C. In his 30 years in the Marine

Corps, Hammes served at all levels in the operating forces and participated in stabilization operations in Somalia and Iraq.

Back to the Street

without Joy:

Counterinsurgency

Lessons from

Vietnam and Other

Small Wars

by Robert M Cassidy

Parameters, Summer 2004

"The deplorable experience in Vietnam overshadows American thinking about guerrilla insurgency." — Anthony James Joes1

"Fools say they learn from experience; I prefer to

learn from the experience of others."

Otto von Bismark2

n 1961, Bernard Fall, a scholar and practitioner of war, published a book entitled The

Street Without Joy. The book provided a

lucid account of why the French Expeditionary

Corps failed to defeat the Viet Minh during the

Indochina War, and the book's title derived

from the French soldiers' sardonic moniker for

Highway 1 on the coast of Indochina—

"Ambush Alley," or the "Street without Joy." In

1967, while patrolling with U.S. Marines on the

Street without Joy in Vietnam, Bernard Fall was

killed by an improvised explosive mine during

a Viet Cong ambush. In 2003, after the fall of

Baghdad and following the conventional phase

of Operation Iraqi Freedom, U.S. and Coalition

forces operating in the Sunni Triangle began

fighting a counter-guerrilla type war in which

much of the enemy insurgent activity occurred

along Highway 1, another street exhibiting little

joy. Learning from the experience of other U.S.

counterinsurgencies is preferable to the alternative.

13
The U.S. military has had a host of successful

experiences in counterguerrilla war, including

some distinct successes with certain aspects of

the Vietnam War. However, the paradox stemming from America's unsuccessful crusade in

the jungles of Vietnam is this—because the

experience was perceived as anathema to the

mainstream American military, hard lessons

learned there about fighting guerrillas were neither embedded nor preserved in the U.S. Army's

institutional memory. The American military

culture's efforts to expunge the specter of

Vietnam, embodied in the mantra "No More

Vietnams," also prevented the U.S. Army as an

institution from really learning from those lessons. In fact, even the term counterinsurgency

seemed to become a reviled and unwelcome

word, one that the doctrinal cognoscenti of the

1980s conveniently transmogrified into "foreign

internal defense." Even though many lessons

exist in the U.S. military's historical experience

with small wars, the lessons from the Vietnam

War were the most voluminous. Yet these lesSons were most likely the least read, because

the Army's intellectual rebirth after Vietnam

focused almost exclusively on a big conventional war in Europe—the scenario preferred by the

U.S. military culture.3

Since the U.S. Army and its coalition partners

are currently prosecuting counterguerrilla wars

in Iraq and Afghanistan, it is useful to revisit the

lessons from Vietnam and other counterinsurgencies because they are germane to the wars

of today and tomorrow. Capturing all or many

of these lessons is beyond the scope of this article and is most likely beyond the scope of a single-volume book. However, this article aims to

distill some of the more relevant counterinsurgency lessons from the American military's

experiences during Vietnam• and before. A bigger goal of this article, however, is to highlight

some salient studies for professional reading as

the U.S. Army starts to inculcate a mindset that

embraces the challenges of counterinsurgency

and to develop a culture that learns from past

lessons in counterinsurgency. This analysis also

offers a brief explanation of U.S. military culture

and the hitherto embedded cultural obstacles to

learning how to fight guerrillas. To simplify and

14

clarify at the outset, the terms counterinsurgency, counterguerrilla warfare, small war, and

asymmetric conflict are used interchangeably. It

is a form of warfare in which enemies of the

regime or occupying force aim to undermine

the regime by employing classical guerrilla tactics.4

The U.S. Army and the broader American

military are only now, well into the second

decade after the end of the Cold War, wholeheartedly trying to transform their culture, or

mindset. Senior civilian and military leaders of

the defense establishment realize that military

cultural change is a precondition for innovative

and adaptive approaches to meet the exigencies

of a more complex security landscape, one in

which our adversaries will most likely adopt

unorthodox strategies and tactics to undermine

our technological overmatch in the Western,

orthodox, way of war. Military culture can generally be defined as the embedded beliefs and

attitudes within a military organization that

shape that organization's preference on when

and how the military instrument should be

used. Because these institutional beliefs sometimes tend to value certain roles and marginalize others, military culture can impede innovation in ways of warfare that lie outside that

organization's valued, or core, roles.5

For most of the 20th century, the U.S. military

culture (notwithstanding the Marines' work in

small wars) generally embraced the big conventional war paradigm and fundamentally

eschewed small wars and insurgencies. Thus,

instead of learning from our experiences in

Vietnam, the Philippines, the Marine Corps'

experience in the Banana Wars, and the Indian

campaigns, the U.S. Army for most of the last

100 years has viewed these experiences as

ephemeral anomalies and aberrations—distractions from preparing to win big wars against

other big powers. As a result of marginalizing

the counterinsurgencies and small wars that it

has spent most of its existence prosecuting, the

U.S. military's big-war cultural preferences have

impeded it from fully benefiting—studying, distilling, and incorporating into doctrine—from

our somewhat extensive lessons in small wars

and insurgencies. This article starts by briefly
examining some of the salient lessons for counterinsurgency from Vietnam and lists some of

the sources for lessons from that war that have

been neglected or forgotten. This article also

examines some sources and lessons of counterinsurgencies and small wars predating

Vietnam.

Vietnam—The "Other War" and

Valuable Lessons

If and when most Americans think about

Vietnam, they probably think of General William

C. Westmoreland, the Americanization of the war

that was engendered by the big-unit battles of

attrition, and the Tet Offensive of 1968. However,

there was another war—counterinsurgency and

pacification—where many Special Forces,

Marines, and other advisers employed small-war

methods with some success. Moreover, when

General Creighton Abrams became the commander of the war in Vietnam in 1968, he put an

end to the two-war approach by adopting a onewar focus on pacification. Although this came

too late to regain the political support for the war

that was irrevocably squandered during the

Westmoreland years, Abrams' unified strategy to

clear and hold the countryside by pacifying and

securing the population met with much success.

Abrams based his approach on a study prepared by the Army staff in 1966 that was entitled A Program for the Pacification and LongTerm Development of South Vietnam (PROVN

Study). The experiences of the Special Forces in

organizing Civilian Irregular Defense Groups

(CIDG), the Marines' Combined Action Program

(CAP), and Abrams' PROVN Study-based expansion of the Civil Operations and Revolutionary

(later Rural) Development and Support

(CORDS) pacification effort under Military

Assistance Command Vietnam (MACV) all offer

some valuable lessons for current and future

counterinsurgencies ,6

For much of the Vietnam War, the 5th Special

Forces Group trained and led CIDG mobile

strike forces and reconnaissance companies that

comprised ethnic minority tribes and groups

from the mountain and border regions. These

15

strike forces essentially conducted reconnaissance by means of small-unit patrols and

defended their home bases in the border areas,

denying them to the Viet Cong and North

Vietnamese regular units. What's more, during

1966—67 American field commanders increasingly employed Special Forces-led "Mike" units

in long-range reconnaissance missions or as

economy-of-force security elements for regular

units. Other CIDG-type forces, called mobile

guerrilla forces, raided enemy base areas and

employed hit-and-run guerrilla tactics against

regular enemy units. The Special Forces also

recruited heavily among the Nung tribes for

"Delta," "Sigma," and "Omega" units—Special

Forces-led reconnaissance and reaction forces.

To be sure, the CIDG program provided a significant contribution to the war effort. The

approximately 2,500 soldiers assigned to the 5th

Special Forces Group essentially raised and led

an army of 50,000 tribal fighters to operate in

some of the most difficult and dangerous terrain

in Vietnam. The CIDG patrolling of border

infiltration areas provided reliable tactical intelligence, and the units secured populations in

areas that might have been otherwise conceded

to the enemy.7

Another program that greatly improved the

U.S. military's capacity to secure the population

and to acquire better tactical intelligence was

the U.S. Marine Corps' combined Action

Program (CAP). The CAP was a local innovation

with potential strategic impact—it coupled a

Marine rifle squad with a platoon of local

indigenous forces and positioned this combined-action platoon in the village of those

local forces. This combined Marine/indigenous

platoon trained, patrolled, defended, and lived

in the village together. The mission of the CAP

was to destroy the Viet Cong infrastructure

within the village or hamlet area of responsibility; protect public security and help maintain

law and order; protect friendly infrastructure;

protect bases and communications within the

villages and hamlets; organize indigenous intelligence nets; participate in civic action; and

conduct propaganda against the Viet Cong.

Civic action played an important role in efforts

to destroy the Viet Cong, as it acquired impor-
tant intelligence about enemy activity from the

local population. Because of the combinedaction platoon's proximity to the people and

because it protected the people from reprisals,

it was ideal for gaining intelligence from the

locals. The Marines' emphasis on pacifying the

highly populated areas prevented the guerrillas

from coercing the local population into providing rice, intelligence, and sanctuary to the

enemy. The Marines would clear and hold a village in this way and then expand the secured

area. The CAP units accounted for 7.6 percent

of the enemy killed while representing only 1.5

percent of the Marines in Vietnam. The lessons

from CAP provide one model for protracted

counterinsurgencies, because the program

employed U.S. troops and leadership in an

economy of force while maximizing indigenous

troops. A modest investment of U.S. forces at

the village level can yield major improvements

in local security and intelligence.8

Although CORDS was integrated under

MACV when Abrams was still the Deputy

Commander in 1967, it was Abrams and William

Colby, as the Director of CORDS, who expanded and invested CORDS with good people and

resources. Under the one-war strategy, CORDS

was established as the organization under

MACV to unify and provide single oversight of

the pacification effort. After 1968, Abrams and

Colby made CORDS and pacification the main

effort. The invigorated civil and rural development program provided increased support,

advisers, and funding to the police and territorial forces (regional forces and popular forces).

Essentially, this rural development allowed military and civilian U.S. Agency for International

Development advisers to work with their

Vietnamese counterparts at the province and

village level to improve local security and

develop infrastructure. Identifying and eliminating the Viet Cong infrastructure was a critical

part of the new focus on pacification, and

Colby's approach—the Accelerated Pacification

Campaign—included the Phuong Hoang program, or Phoenix. The purpose of Phoenix was

to neutralize the Viet Cong infrastructure, and

although the program received some negative

attention in the instances when it was abused,

16

its use of former Viet Cong and indigenous

Provisional Reconnaissance Units to root out

the enemy's shadow government was very

effective. The CORDS' Accelerated Pacification

Campaign focused on territorial security, neutralizing Viet Cong infrastructure, and supporting programs for self-defense and self-government at the local level.9

The Accelerated Pacification Campaign

began in November 1968, and by late 1970 the

government of the Republic of Vietnam controlled most of the countryside. The "other

war"—pacification—had essentially been won.

"Four million members of the People's SelfDefense Force, armed with some 600,000

weapons" constituted a powerful example of

the commitment of the population in support of

the Republic of Vietnam and in opposition to

the enemy. Expanded, better advised, and better armed, the Regional Forces and Popular

Forces represented the most significant

improvement. Under CORDS, these forces

became capable of providing close-in security

for the rural population. The Hamlet Evaluation

System, though imperfect and quantitative, indicated that from 1969 to 1970, 2,600 hamlets

(three million people) had been secured. Other

more practical measures of the Accelerated

Pacification Campaign's success were a reduction in the extortion of taxes by the Viet Cong,

a reduction in recruiting by the enemy in South

Vietnam, and a decrease in enemy food provisions taken from the villagers.

In addition to the MACV and CORDS pacification efforts, other factors contributed to South

Vietnam's control of the countryside. First, the

enemy's Tet Offensive in January 1968 and

Mini-Tet in May 1968 resulted in devastating

losses to Viet Cong forces in the south, allowing MACV/CORDS to intensify pacification.

Second, the enemy's brutal methods (including

mass murder in Hue) during Tet shocked the

civilian population of South Vietnam, creating a

willingness to accept the more aggressive conscription required to expand indigenous forces.

Last, one can surmise that Ho Chi Minh's death

in September 1969 may have had some negative effect on the quality and direction of the

North Vietnamese army's leadership.1°
In and of themselves, the CIDG, CAP, and

CORDS programs met with success in prosecuting key aspects of the counterinsurgency in

Vietnam. Each program expanded the quality

and quantity of the forces conducting pacification and counterinsurgency, improved the

capacity for dispersed small-unit patrolling, and

consequently improved the scope and content

of actionable intelligence. One can only postulate, counterfactually, how the war might have

gone if both CAP and CIDG had been harmonized and unified under CORDS and MACV,

with Colby and Abrams at the helm, back in

1964. Ironically, Abrams had been on the short

list of those considered for the MACV command

in 1964. The lessons and successes of these programs are salient today because in both

Afghanistan and Iraq, improving the quantity

and capabilities of indigenous forces, ensuring

that there is an integrated and unified civil-military approach, and the security of the population all continue to be central goals.'1

None of these Vietnam-era programs, however, was without problems. The CIDG program

was plagued by two persistent flaws. First, continuous hostility between the South Vietnamese

and the ethnic minority groups who comprised

CIDG strike forces impeded the U.S. efforts to

have Republic of Vietnam (RVN) Special Forces

take over the CIDG program. Second, partly as

a consequence of that, 5th Special Forces

Group failed to develop an effective indigenous

U.S. counterpart organization to lead the

CIDG—the RVN Special Forces proved ineffective in this role. Moreover, U.S. Marines themselves who have written studies that generally

laud the benefits of the CAP model also reveal

that the combined-action platoons were not all

completely effective. In some instances the

effects of CAP "were transitory at best" because

the villagers became dependent on the Marines

for security. In other instances, especially

before General Abrams ushered-in a new

emphasis on training popular forces, the local

militia's poor equipment and training made

them miserably incapable of defending the villages without the Marines. As for CORDS, the

one major problem with rural development was

that until 1967 it was not integrated under

17

MACV, which seriously undermined any

prospect of actually achieving unity of effort

and unity of purpose. Abrams' influence

resolved this by allowing MACV to oversee

CORDS as well as regular military formations.12

Three works written during or about the

Vietnam era are highly relevant to fighting

counterinsurgencies: The Guerrilla and How to

Fight Him, edited by Lieutenant Colonel T.N.

Greene; the U.S. Army's 1966 PROVN Study;

and Lewis Sorley's A Better War, published in

1999. The Guerrilla and How to Fight Him is a

great single-volume compendium on the nature

and theory of guerrilla warfare. The most germane chapter the book is "The Theory and the

Threat," which includes a primer on guerrilla

warfare by Mao; an analysis of Mao, time,

space, and will by Edward Katzenbach; and a

section on guerrilla warfare by Peter Paret and

John Shy. This book also includes two sections

on why the French lost the first Indochina War,

one written by Vo Nguyen Giap and the other

by Bernard Fall. The PROVN Study and A Better

War offer valuable insights on pacification and

the command and control required for integrating the civil and military efforts in counterinsurgency. A Better War is the shorter and more

readable of the two, but the executive summary, the "resume," and chapter five of the PROVN

Study merit reading because this analysis

formed the foundation of the approach

explained in A Better War.

Lessons from Counterinsurgencies before Vietnam

Before Vietnam, both the Army and the

Marine Corps had much experience fighting

guerrilla-style opponents. The Army seemed to

learn anew for each counterinsurgency, while

the Marines codified their corpus of experience

in the 1940 Small Wars Manual. In fact, the

Marines' lessons from leading Nicaraguan

Guardia Nacional indigenous patrols in counterguerrilla operations against Sandino's guerrillas

may very well have served as the basis from

which to design their CAP model in Vietnam.

Nonetheless, there are a host of good works
and lessons from the Banana Wars, from the

Philippine Insurrection, and from the Indian

Wars. This section encapsulates some of the

common lessons from these wars and recommends some key books that cover them. The

Hukbulahap Rebellion in the Philippines following World War II is excluded because the

U.S. role there was essentially limited to providing money and the advice of Edward Lansdale.

From the Marines' experience in Haiti, the

Dominican Republic, and Nicaragua during the

first part of the 20th century, they learned that

small wars, unlike conventional wars, present

no defined or linear battle area and theater of

operations. While delay in the use of force may

be interpreted as weakness, the Small Wars

Manual maintains, the brutal use of force is not

appropriate either. "In small wars, tolerance,

sympathy, and kindness should be the keynote

to our relationship with the mass of the population." For small wars, the manual urges U.S.

forces to employ as many indigenous troops as

practical early on to confer proper responsibility on indigenous agencies for restoring law and

order. Moreover, it stresses the importance of

focusing on the social, economic, and political

development of the people more than on simpie material destruction. It also underscores the

importance of aggressive patrolling, population

security, and the denial of sanctuary to the

insurgents. An overarching principle, though, is

not to fight small wars with big-war

methods—the goal is to gain results with the

least application of force and minimum loss of

civilian (non-combatant) life.

The 1940 Small Wars Manual and the draft

of its 2004 addendum, Small Wars, are the best

sources for distilling the Marines' lessons from

the Banana Wars and beyond. While the logistical and physical aspects of the 1940 manual

have become obsolete, the portions that

address the fundamentals and principles of

small wars are still quite relevant. One indication of this manual's continued relevance is the

fact that the 2004 draft, Small Wars, is not

intended to supplant the earlier version but to

complement it by linking it to the 21st century.13

During the Philippine insurgency, the

18

American military won a relatively bloodless

but unambiguous victory in three and a half

years in a way that established the basis for a

future friendship between Americans and

Filipinos. Anthony James Joes, a scholar on

American and guerrilla warfare, succinctly

explains why:

There were no screaming jets accidentally bombing helpless villages, no B-52s,

no napalm, no artillery barrages, no collateral damage. Instead, the Americans conducted a decentralized war of small

mobile units armed mainly with rifles and

aided by native Filipinos, hunting guerrillas who were increasingly isolated both by

the indifference or hostility of much of the

population and by the concentration of

scattered peasant groups into larger settlements.14

During the Philippine Insurrection from 1899

to 1902, the U.S. military learned to avoid bigunit search and destroy missions because they

were counterproductive; to maximize the

employment of indigenous scouts and paramilitary forces to increase and sustain decentralized patrolling; to mobilize popular support by

focusing on the improvement of schools, hospitals, and infrastructure; and to enhance regime

legitimacy by allowing insurgents and former

insurgents to organize anti-regime political parties. In Savage Wars of Peace, an award-winning

study on America's role in small wars, Max Boot

attributed American success in the Philippine

Insurrection to a balanced and sound application of sticks and carrots; the U.S. military used

aggressive patrolling and force to pursue and

crush insurgents; it generally treated captured

rebels well; and it generated goodwill among

the population by running schools and hospitals, and by improving sanitation. In addition to

Boot's book, America and Guerrilla Warfare by

Anthony James Joes and America's Forgotten

Wars by Sam C. Sarkesian both offer insightful

chapters on U.S. military counterinsurgency

methods in the Philippines.'5 Sarkesian writes

There is a need to learn from history, analyze American involvement and the nature
of low-intensity conflict, and translate

these into strategy and operational doctrines. Without some sense of historical

continuity, Americans are likely to relearn

the lessons of history each time they are

faced with a low intensity conflict. 16

When Brigadier General Jack Pershing

returned to the Philippines to serve as military

governor of the Moro Province between 1909

and 1913, he applied the lessons he had learned

as a captain during the Philippine Insurrection

to pacify the Moros. He established the

Philippine Constabulary, comprising loyal

Filipinos from the main islands and serving as a

police force, to assist in the campaign to pacify

the Moros. Pershing did not attempt to apply

military force alone to suppress the Moro rebellion. "Pershing felt that an understanding of

Moro customs and habits was essential in successfully dealing with them—and he went to

extraordinary lengths to understand Moro society and culture." Pershing understood the

imperative of having American forces involved

at the grass-roots level. He also comprehended

the social-political aspects and knew that military goals sometimes had to be subordinated to

them. "He scattered small detachments of soldiers throughout the interior, to guarantee

peaceful existence of those tribes that wanted

to raise hemp, produce timber, or farm." To

influence and win the people, there had to be

contact between them and his soldiers. During

his first tour there as a captain, he was allowed

inside the "Forbidden Kingdom" and as an

honor not granted to any other white man, he

was made a Moro Datu.17

More removed in time and context, the

Indian Wars of the 19th century nonetheless

provide some lessons for counterinsurgency.

These lessons also demonstrate that the overarching fundamentals for fighting small wars are

indeed timeless. With little preserved institutional memory and less codified doctrine for

counterinsurgency, the late-l9th-century U.S.

Army had to adapt on the fly to Indian tactics.

A loose body of principles emerged from the

Indian Wars: to ensure the close civil-military

coordination of the pacification effort, to pro19

vide firm but fair and paternalistic governance,

and to reform the economic and educational

spheres. Good treatment of prisoners, attention

to the Indians' grievances, and the avoidance of

killing women and children (learned by error)

were also regarded as fundamental to any longterm solution. Additionally, General George

Crook developed the tactic of inserting small

teams from friendly Apache tribes into the sanctuaries of insurgent Apaches to neutralize them,

to psychologically unhinge them, and to sap

their will. This technique subsequently emerged

in one form or another in the Philippines, during the Banana Wars, and during the Vietnam

War. 18

One of the better books on the U.S. Army's

role in counterguerrilla warfare against the

Indians is Andrew J. Birtle's U.S. Army

Counterinsurgency and Contingency Operations Doctrine, 1860—1941. It includes some

interesting and relevant sections entitled

"Indian Warfare and Military Thought," "U.S.

Army Counter-guerrilla Operations on the

Western Frontier," and "The Army and Indian

Pacification." Birtle describes one of the few

manuals published during the era on how to

operate on the Plains, The Prairie Traveler, as

"perhaps the single most important work on the

conduct of frontier expeditions published under

the aegis of the War Department." Captain

Randolph Marcy's The Prairie Traveler was a

"how-to" manual for packing, traveling, tracking, and bivouacking on the Plains. More

important, it was also a primer on fighting the

Indians.

In formulating principles for pacification,

Marcy 'looked at his own experiences on the

frontier as well as the French and Turkish experiences conducting pacification operations in

North Africa to arrive at three lessons: over-dispersion strips the counterinsurgent force of initiative, increases its vulnerability, and saps its

morale; mobility is an imperative (mounting

infantry on mules was one way of increasing

mobility during that era); and the best way to

counter an elusive guerrilla was to employ

mobile mounted forces at night to surprise the

enemy at dawn. However, The Prairie Traveler

conveys one central message that is still salient
Notes

1 Anthony James Joes, America and Guerrilla Warfare

(Lexington: Univ. Press of Kentucky, 2000), 325.

2. Cited in Samuel B. Griffith II, "Guerrilla, Part I,"

Marine Corps Gazelie, July 1950, 43.

3. For an explanation of this rebirth, see Robert M.

Cassidy, "Prophets or Praetorians: The Uptonian

Paradox and the Powell Corollary," Parameters, 33

(Autumn 2003), 132—33.

4. For a lengthier explanation of counterinsurgency,

small war, or asymmetric conflict, see Robert M.

Cassidy, "Why Great Powers Fight Small Wars Badly,"

Military Review, 82:43 (September—October 2002). For

a definition of guerrilla insurgency, see Joes, 333.

5. For a short discussion on military culture and bigwar preferences, see Robert M. Cassidy, Russia in

Afghanistan and Chechnya: Military Strategic Culture

and the Paradoxes of Asymmetric Conflict (Carlisle, Pa.:

U.S. Army War College, Strategic Studies Institute,

2003), 8, 54-60.

6. U.S. Department of the Army, A Program for the

Pacfica1ion and Long-Term Development of South

Vietnam (Washington: Department of the Army, 1966),

1—9; and Lewis Sorley, A Better War (New York:

Harcourt Brace, 1999), 10—125. Some analysis in this

article derives from a briefing produced by the

USAREUR Commanding General's Initiatives Group

(CIG). The briefing was distributed to USAREUR units

in Iraq in December 2003.

7. Jeffrey J. Clarke, Advice and Support: The Final Years

(Washington: U.S. Army Center of Military History,

1988), 196—207.

8. Frank Pelli, "Insurgency, Counterinsurgency, and the

Marines in Vietnam," unpublished paper, USMC

Command and Staff College, Quantico, Va., 1990,

13—16; and Brooks R. Brewington, "Combined Action

Platoons: A Strategy for Peace Enforcement," unpublished paper, USMC Command and Staff College,

Quantico, Va., 1996, 13—19.

9. Sorley, 22—23, 64—67. 10. Ibid., 64—.67, 72—73, 217—24.

11. Ibid., 1. 12. Clarke, 207; Keith F. Kopets, "The Combined Action

Program: Vietnam," Military Review, 82:78—79

(July—August 2002).

13. U.S. Marine Corps, Small Wars Manual

(Washington: GPO, 1940), 1-1 to 1-31; Marine Corps

Combat Development Command, Small Wars (Draft)

(Quantico, Va.: U.S. Marine Corps, 2004), iii—iv; and

Max Boot, "A Century of Small Wars Shows They Can

be Won," New York Times Week in Review, 6 July 2003.

14. Joes, 120—23.

15. Max Boot, Savage Wars of Peace.. Small Wars and

the Rise of American Power (New York: Basic Books,

2003), 126.

16. Sam C. Sarkesian, America's Forgotten Wars: The

Counterrevolutionary Past and Lessons for the Future

and germane today: it urges soldiers to be adaptive by coupling conventional discipline with

the self-reliance, individuality, and rapid mobility of the insurgent.19

A Mindset for Winning the

"War of the Flea"

In The War of the Flea: Guerrilla Warfare in

Theory and Practice, author Robert Taber

wrote:

Analogically, the guerrilla fights the war of

the flea, and his military enemy suffers the

dog's disadvantages: too much to defend;

too small, ubiquitous, and agile an enemy

to come to grips with. If the war continues

long enough—this is the theory—the dog

succumbs to exhaustion and anemia without ever having found anything on which

to close its jaws or to rake with its claws.20

The "war of the flea" is harder than fighting

against enemies who opt, imprudently, to fight

the U.S. military according to the conventional

paradigm it has historically preferred and in

which it is unequaled. Our current and future

adversaries in the protracted war on terror are

fighting—and will continue to fight—the "war

of the flea." Employing hit-and-run ambushes,

they strive to turn Coalition lines of communication and friendly regime key roads into

"streets without joy." However, the lessons from

previous U.S. military successes in fighting the

elusive guerrilla show that with the right mindset and with some knowledge of the aforementioned methods, the war of the flea is in fact

winnable.

The U.S. Army is adapting in contact, learning and capturing lessons anew for beating the

guerrilla. As it transforms and develops a mindset that places much more emphasis on stability operations and counterinsurgency, the books

listed in this article are ones that should appear

on reading lists and in the curricula of professional schools, beginning with the basic courses.

20
(Westport, Conn. Greenwood Press, 1984), 245.

17. Ibid., 178—80.

18. AndrewJ. Birtle, US. Army Counterinsurgency and

Contingency Operations Doctrine, 1860-1941

(Washington: U.S. Army Center of Military History,

1988), 55—92.

19. Ibid., 64—66.

20. Robert Taber, The War of the Flea: Guerrilla

Warfare in Theory and Practice (New York: Lyle Stuart,

1965), 27—28.

21

About the Author

Robert M. Cassidy, Lieutenant Colonel, USA, holds a doctorate from the

Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy. He has served in various leadership and staff positions, including S3, 4th Aviation Brigade, 4th Infantry

Division (Mechanized), in Operation Iraqi Freedom, and as troop commander, 1-17 Cavalry, 82d Airbome Division. Cassidy has published

numerous articles and two books, Peacekeeping in theAbyss: British and

American Doctrine and Practice after The Cold War (2004), and

Counterinsurgency and The Global War on Terror. Military Culture

and Irregular War (2006).

A Concept for

Countering Irregular

Threats: A

Comprehensive

Approach

by Marine Corps Combat Development

Command, 2006

Introduction

ailed and failing states that harbor

transnational terrorists, foment insurgencies against friendly governments, or

promote irregular warfare against our allies

present problems whose resolution is critical to our national well-being. However, the

history of the last hundred years demonstrates

that we cannot reasonably expect to solve these

problems by military action alone. The Marine

Corps must take a broader approach to the

defense of the United States and of its national

interests overseas in an age of irregular threats.

People hungry for release from tyranny,

poverty, and despair are susceptible to manipulation by the unscrupulous and the ideological

fanatic, who combine age-old strategies of insurgency and subversion with technological savvy

and rapid global access to information to make

themselves into information age enemies. This

requires military and civilian agencies of the U.S.

Government to join together in the strongest

interagency partnership to help the local people

and their governments relieve the immediate crisis, reduce existing internal contradictions, and

move toward a condition that will preserve them

against further trouble. Only this kind of holistic

response can help a state quell the violence and

chaos that provide fresh opportunities for those

who would exploit a people's frustration in order

to threaten the United States.

In many efforts to counter Irregular

Threats, the political and cultural aspects of the

conflict rather than combat will be primary, and

23
Marines will be asked to do many things 

other than combat operations to beat our 

adversaries. This means that the "commander" 

of some interventions may not be a serving military officer but could be an Ambassador, a U.S. 

Foreign Service officer, or a police officer, each 

with a heavily civilian staff that ties together the 

political and military strategy. Marines need to be 

educated and trained to support humanitarian 

and development initiatives as well as perform 

combat operations to protect the civilian population. With this mix of skills and abilities, the 

Marine Corps will have the means to more effectively apply its maneuver warfare-based 

warfighting philosophy to irregular threats and to 

attack our enemies from many angles at once, 

wearing them down and drawing away their 

popular support. The U.S. military will contribute 

to winning wars against our irregular enemies 

with kinetic and non-kinetic means, diminishing 

the conditions that create instability while 

destroying or pushing into irrelevance those who 

seek to promote chaos, disorder, and suffering. 

Concept 

The nature of war has not changed since 

ancient times, and insurgencies present complex 

irregular threats which military force alone cannot 

resolve. The 19th century military theorist Carl von 

Clausewitz described a trinity of war consisting of 

the military, the state, and the popUlation. He proposed a triangular relationship in which each of 

these elements is equally relevant and in which all 

three must remain in balance to achieve successful resolution of a conflict. In the past, we have 

concentrated on destroying the enemy's military. 

But in non-industrial, counterinsurgency wars, our 

strategic objective is the hearts and minds of the 

people. Though the Clausewitzian Trinity remains 

relevant, the focus must be re-balanced as the 

fight to win the people becomes central. In these 

savage wars of peace, modern technology has 

greatly enhanced the insurgent's speed, reach, and 

power. Marines need to learn when to fight 

with weapons and when to fight with information, humanitarian aid, economic advice, 

and a boost toward good governance for the 

24 

The Single Campaign 

Countering irregular threats requires a holistic 

application of the elements of national power to 

maintain or re-establish a friendly government's 

legitimacy in the eyes of its people. 

local people. This ability to adapt resembles a 

group of jazz musicians improvising on a theme. 

To do that, Marines need to understand that 

defeating an insurgency is first about winning the 

support of the local people. We may use violence 

to suppress an insurgency for a time, but the only 

way to destroy it is by changing the way people 

think about the insurgency. 

Two elements are required for an effective 

insurgency. Underlying social grievances result in 

a popUlation that is dissatisfied with the status 

quo. The insurgent leadership provides catalysts 

to move a population from dissatisfaction with its 

government or ruling authority to active support 

of the opposition. These two elements mean that: 

• Countering insurgency requires us to develop a comprehensive understanding of the complex character of a conflict, of its social, political, 

historical, cultural, and economic contexts, and of 

its participants. If we are going to fight among the 

people, we must understand them. 

• Popular support for insurgency is always 

about the people's seeking a better life or relief of 

suffering by overthrowing the existing regime. 

• Human beings hesitate to move to radical 

action, so popular support for an insurgency is 

evidence that the people consider that any hope 

for government or societal reform is futile. 

With clarity and sincerity, we must communicate to the local population through every decision and action that our intervention's purpose is 

to support the needs of the people and to ensure 

stability. It is important to remember that, if we 

treat the people as our enemies, they will become 

our enemies. Treat them as friends, and they may 

become our friends. 

We can rally the local people to our side and 

undermine the insurgency that torments them and 

threatens U.S. interests by designing a campaign 
The Six Lines of Operation

Line of Operation Desired effect in

Counterinsur ency

E Governance .Q

c.

is a:

w

$: .Q Information Operations 0 E CL

-'

«

z

0 Combat Operations

Z

LL Train and Employ 0

I- Forces Z

w

::i:

w Essential Services -' W 0

E0

c Economic

8 Development w

of inclusion. Today, real power is not about armaments-it is about collaborative relationships.

First, we must include U.S. Government civilian

agencies with Marine planners and with units in

the field. Second, we must develop a fully collaborative partnership with personnel from the local

government and its military. Only by genuine

inclusion of all of these players can we hope to

produce and implement a campaign that is perceived as legitimate by the local populace, earns

the support of the American people, and poises us

to defeat or destroy the insurgents and eliminate

their cause.

This approach elevates the Marine Corps to a

position as a full partner in the humanitarian,

development, and nation building work of civilian

agencies. It also makes those agencies full partners in the Marine Corps' planning, preparation,

and implementation of combat and security operations. The most direct method of guiding our

efforts to achieve national objectives is to focus on

Lines of Operation.

Operational Approach to the

Six Lines Governance

''For the People. " The rule of law and effective

public administration are essential to a functioning society. There can be no lasting stability in

25

a nation that lacks effective enforcement of its

national laws and sound management of the work

of the government. Re-establishing these capacities in a country will go a long way to preventing

the need for further U.S. intervention. In partnership with local authorities, the counterinsurgent

team will need to assess the state of the existing

government's legal and administrative systems

and refurbish or return them to effectiveness. As

underlying social grievances, often expressed by

the insurgents in ideological terms, are key to an

insurgency, the local government must be assisted

in ameliorating grievances and resolving the internal contradictions that became the root causes of

the insurgency. To do this, our diplomats and

civilian agency personnel will need to become

expeditionary, as comfortable in flak jackets as

they are in business suits, and will need to stand

ready to serve on the front lines.

Information Operations

''Nothing but the Truth." Information Operations are key to the success of all the other Lines

of Operation and must be viewed from both the

internal and external perspective. Externally, the

information campaign must aim at two things: isolation of the insurgents from their support and

rebuilding the credibility of the government with

the local population. These aims should never be

put at risk by deception. Falsehoods serve no purpose for U.S. objectives and are too easily discovered in this information age. Only information

campaigns built on truth, no matter how

painful that truth may be for us, can help undermine an insurgency. Marines at every level need

to know how to use the information campaign to

improve civil-military relations, develop intelligence, and shape local attitudes in advance of

operations. Internally, information is key to keeping high the morale of the individual Marine.

Overcoming the often frustrating environment of

counterinsurgency can be achieved through

understanding the people, the enemy, and the

mission. This understanding will help maintain the

morale upon which military efficiency and discipline often rest. Both internally and externally,

legitimacy is fundamental to information operations. Legitimacy can only be fostered if the mes-
sage that is transmitted is reinforced by the actions

of the Marines who interact directly with the population. Our words and actions must be mutually

supporting to win the goodwill of the people and

destroy the insurgency. We must show the people

how bad the insurgents are and how good our

forces are.

Combat Operations (Protecting

the Civil Populace)

"War of the Stiletto." An insurgent, fighting a

war of ideas in a guerrilla style, does not need to

win any battles to achieve his objective of persuading a population to accept his cause.

Counterinsurgency demands a decentralized

operational approach built on a strong foundation of comprehensive understanding and rapid

distribution of information in order to "out

adapt" the enemy. This will demonstrate that

the insurgents are not able to defend themselves

and the people they claim to want to protect.

Large units and large bases rarely are effective in

this kind of struggle. Large unit operations often

create animosity in the population, and guerillas

are only too happy for us to provide them big,

fixed targets for theatrical attacks. CounterguerrilIa warfare requires distributed units adapted for

fast, agile, and multi-axis attacks and for conducting combat operations aimed at developing

intelligence. Small unit leaders must he trained to

carry much more of the burden of combat decision making, supported by a rapid flow of tactical information and cultural intelligence.

Properly trained and disciplined, our small units

will out adapt the insurgents by moving asymmetrically to isolate them, attack their command

and control, and demonstrate a determination to

help address the legitimate grievances of the

population. In this war among the people, collateral damage must be seen as unacceptable as it

will undermine the intervention's objectives to

win popular support and to restore security and

stability. Any misuse of force feeds the insurgents' propaganda campaign and makes the

intervention more difficult and risky. Even more

so in a counterinsurgency environment, combat

operations demand the discriminate and precise

26

use of force. This line of operation provides the

wall of security behind which all of the other

lines are free to operate to positive effect and a

windbreak behind which the host nation can

gather its resources to restore stability for its people.

Train and Employ Forces

"Breathing Room. " Well-trained and energetic

indigenous security forces can so narrow the

geographic terrain available to the insurgents as

to squeeze them out of their area of operations

and nullify the insurgency by keeping them on

the run. It is critical that we tailor security programs and train security forces in a manner that

can be sustained by the indigenous government

and in ways that are politically and socially

acceptable to the people. This work should not

be delayed as it is tied to the departure of U.S.

military forces, an action that is critically important to the legitimacy of the local government in

the eyes of its people, Americans at home, and

the world community. Imposing U.S. models on

indigenous security forces rarely succeeds. We

must find ways to do things the local way. This

demands exquisite understanding of local conditions, tactical maturity, and cunning by all unit

leaders down through the squad level.

Essential Services

"Stop the Bleeding." The provision of essential

services must be an interagency effort as it ultimately will reduce grievances of the local population and allow mission success. With their

resource and logistic capabilities, Marines will be

key players with their interagency, coalition, and

local partners. Often, Marines will need to be

the first providers or coordinators of food,

power, water, and rudimentary medical care until

civilian agencies arrive to take up the task. This

must be done in collaboration with the local

people to assure that their needs are met in culturally acceptable ways and can be sustained by

the indigenous government. The local population must be included as early as possible in

order to bolster the economy, build self-esteem,

and to place authority where it naturally should
USMC Small Wars Manual (1940) 

Small Wars are operations w1dertaken under executive authority, wherein military force is combined with 

diplomatic pressure in the internal or external affairs of another state whose government is unstable, inadequate, or unsatisfactory for the preservation of life and of sllch interests as are determined by the foreign policy of our Nation.The application of purely military means may not by itself restore peace and orderly government because the fundamental causes of the condition of unrest may be economic, political, or social. There 

may be many economic and social factors involved completely beyond military power. Peace and industry cannot be restored permanently without appropriate provisions for the economic weU"<tre of the people. The 

efforts of the different agencies must be cooperative and coordinated to the attainment of the common end. 

lie-in the hands of local leaders. Establishing 

essential services is critical to the establishment 

of local security. 

Economic Development 

"Toward a Better Life." This line of operation 

has implications that last far beyond the departure of an intervention force. Reinvigorating or 

creating a sustainable local economy requires 

planning for immediate relief and for long-term 

economic well-being. Marine commanders and 

their staffs must work with U.S. civilian agencies 

to further stop the bleeding by stabilizing the 

local economy with public works projects that 

relieve unemployment, micro-finance programs 

that put back on their feet small businesses and 

farms, and by seeking the help of those nongovernmental and charitable organizations capable of helping to get things moving. While the 

long-term plan largely will be managed by civilian agencies, Marines will need to provide security and support in identifying those economic 

activities in which the host nation has comparative advantage and which ought to be promoted, 

encouraging the host nation to engage with the 

U.S. and other countries in trade agreements that 

open jobs and promote business, persuading the 

host nation to encourage U.S. and other countries' industry to move in, and expanding Peace 

Corps, other countries' advisory programs, and 

educational exchanges. The complexity of this 

work means that, more than in any other Line of 

Operation, Economic Development demands 

that Marines and U.S. civilian agencies work in 

intimate partnership with local authorities to 

develop the culturally appropriate, sustainable 

programs that can restore economic well-being. 

27 

Implications for Force 

Development 

To meet the requirements of this concept, the 

Marine Corps should: 

• Develop the fullest mutual understanding 

and collaboration with U.S. Government civilian agencies, by sharing in training exercises and 

war games, to assure intin1ate cooperation in a counterinsurgency effort. 

• Train Marines to be both fighters and peace 

builders, capable as ever in combat operations but 

able to support humanitarian and development 

activities as well. 

• Train Marines in foreign languages, cultural 

intelligence, negotiation, and dispute resolution. 

• Develop a counterinsurgency campaign 

and operations planning program to mentor and 

evaluate operational headquarters, from battalion to 

Marine Expeditionary Force levels, in campaign 

planning along the Lines of Operation approach. 

Conclusion 

While traditional Marine combat power remains 

essential to victory over an insurgency, it is unlikely to be decisive in defeating an adversary that 

relies for its own power on the grievances and 

aspirations of the local population. Winning and 

preserving the goodwill of the people is the key to 

victory. That can be achieved by deftly applying 

the six Lines of Operation in partnership with the 

other U.S. Government civilian agencies and the 

indigenous government. War is war but, in counterinsurgency, it often is best fought with the tools 

of peace. 

Lessons from a Successful Counterinsurgency:

The Philippines, 1899-1902

by Timothy K Deacly

Parameters, Spring 2005

"It should be the earnest and paramount

aim of the military administration to win

the confidence, respect, and affection of

the inhabitants of the Philippines . . . and

by proving to them that the mission of the

United States is one of benevolent assimilation, substituting the mild sway of justice

and right for arbitrary rule."

—President William McKinley,

21 December 1898

he United States topples an unsavory

regime in relatively brief military action,

suffering a few hundred fatalities. America

then finds itself having to administer a country

unaccustomed to democratic self-rule. Caught

unawares by an unexpectedly robust insurgency, the United States struggles to develop

and implement an effective counterinsurgency

strategy. The ongoing U.S. presidential campaign serves as a catalyst to polarize public

opinion, as the insurrectionists step up their

offensive in an unsuccessful attempt to unseat

the incumbent Republican President.

These events—from a century ago—share a

number of striking parallels with the events of

2003 and 2004. The Philippine Insurrection of

1899—1902 was America's first major combat

operation of the 20th century. The American

policy of rewarding support and punishing

opposition in the Philippines, called "attraction

and chastisement," was an effective operational

strategy. By eliminating insurgent resistance, the

campaign successfully set the conditions necessary for achieving the desired end-state.

After a brief review of the conflict, this article

will examine the strategic and operational lessons of America's successful campaign. It will

consider the belligerents' policy goals, strategies,

29

and their centers of gravity. (While neither side

planned their campaign using these strategic

concepts, these terms will be used in analyzing

the campaign to facilitate understanding.)

Without addressing the considerations of any

particular ongoing campaign, the article will

identify lessons applicable for winning today's

counterinsurgencies.

In order to determine the relevance of the

campaign today, this article will consider

changes in the international environment that

mitigate the direct application of methods successfully employed in the Philippines. To apply

some lessons, one must identify alternative ways

more appropriate for modern norms that

achieve the same ends.

Historical Overview

Annexation

Unfamiliar to many, the major events of the

insurrection that followed America's victory in

the Spanish-American War bear review. Admiral

George Dewey's May 1898 naval victory over the

Spanish fleet was followed in August by a brief,

face-saving Spanish defense and surrender of

Manila. Filipino forces had vanquished the

Spanish from the rest of the country, but the

Spanish surrendered the capital to U.S. Army

forces under Major General Wesley Merritt.

Filipino forces were under the command of

Emilio Aguinaldo, a 29-year-old member of the

educated class known as the illustrados. Having

led an insurrection against Spanish rule in 1896,

Aguinaldo, the self-proclaimed president, was

wary hut hopeful that the American victory

would facilitate Philippine independence.

U.S. President William McKinley decided to

annex the archipelago for two principal reasons,

one ideological, the other interest-based. He

announced his decision to a group of missionaries, citing America's duty to "educate the

Filipinos and uplift them and Christianize

them."1 Like many, he believed the Filipinos
were too backward to capably govern themselves.2 The practical consideration in an era of

unbridled colonialism was that a weak, independent Philippines would be a tempting acquisition for other colonial powers.

Insurrection

Filipinos were shocked when it became

known that the Treaty of Paris provided for the

United States to purchase the islands from Spain

for $20 million. Buoyed by their success in

defeating nearly all of the Spanish garrisons,

Filipino insurgents under Aguinalclo attacked

American forces in Manila on 4 February 1899.

The failure of this and subsequent conventional

battles with the Americans caused the rebel

leader to disband the field army and commence

guerrilla operations in November 1899. Almost

captured in December, Aguinaldo fled to northern Luzon.

The Philippine geography had a significant

effect on the conduct of the campaign. An archipelago of over 7,000 islands with few roads and

dozens of languages, the Philippines is diverse.

In 1900 the population was 7.4 million. It consisted of 74 provinces, 34 of which never experienced rebel activity.3 Luzon, the largest island

in the archipelago and site of the capital, was

home to half the population. As such, Luzon's

military operations were the most extensive in

the insurrection. Communications between

insurgent forces, never great, broke apart after

Aguinaldo's flight. Significant centers of resistance after his escape included those led by

General Vincente Lukban on the island of Samar

and General Miguel Malvar in southern Luzon.

Most insurgent leaders were illustrados from the

Tagalog ethnic group; Aguinaldo himself was

Tagalog and Chinese. As author Brian Linn

emphasizes, the insurrection was conducted differently in different regions. Resistance was fragmented and varied from island to island.

Estimates of the insurgent forces vary

between 80,000 and 100,000, with tens of thousands of auxiliaries.4 Lack of weapons and

munitions was a significant impediment to the

insurgents. U.S. troop strength was 40,000 at the

start of hostilities and peaked at 74,000 two

years later. Typically only 60 percent of

30

American troops were combat troops. With a

field strength ranging from 24,000 to 44,000, this

force was able to defeat an opponent many

times its size.5

Major General Elwell Otis, the U.S. commander at the start of hostilities (Merritt had joined the

Paris negotiations), initially focused his pacification plan on civic action programs, targeting

action at the municipal level.6 When he relinquished command of his 60,000 troops in May

1900, he believed the insurrection to be broken.

Later in the summer of 1900, Aguinaldo began to

urge his followers to increase their attacks on

Americans. His goal was to sour Americans on

the war and ensure the victory of the anti-imperialist William Jennings Bryan in the presidential

election.7 Concentrating forces for attacks in

September 1900, the guerrillas achieved successes against company-sized American units.

McKinley's reelection sapped motivation from

the resistance that had anticipated his defeat. On

the heels of this setback came another blow in

December 1900 with the reinvigorated pacification efforts of Otis's successor, Major General

Arthur MacArthur. MacArthur declared martial

law and implemented General Orders 100, a

Civil War-era directive on the law of war that,

among other tough provisions, subjected combatants not in uniform, and their supporters, to

execution. This program forced civilians to take

sides and served to increasingly isolate guerillas

from popular support. After more than a year on

the move, Aguinaldo was captured in March

1901.

The war's final year witnessed increased

atrocities on both sides. In southern Luzon,

Brigadier General J. Franklin Bell set up "concentration camps" for the regions 300,000 civilians.8 Modeled on Indian reservations, the

camps isolated the guerrillas from their supporters. Bell then sent his troops to hunt clown the

region's insurgents and destroy their supply

caches. On the island of Samar, a bob

(machete) attack killed 48 of the 74 American

soldiers in the garrison at Balangiga in August

1901. A punitive expedition on Samar was conducted so brutally that the island's commander,

Brigadier General Jacob Smith, was subsequently convicted at court-martial. Nonetheless, the
increasingly fiagmenteci resistance continued to

wither. Lukban surrendered in February 1902

and Malvar two months later, effectively ending

resistance. President Roosevelt, who had succeeded McKinley after his assassination, waited

until the 4th oFJuly to declare victory. The insurrection resulted in 4,234 American fatalities, over

tenfold the 379 soldiers killed worldwide in the

relatively quick victory over Spain.

Strategy

American Policy and Centers of Gravity

Initially the U.S. policy toward the Philippines

was undetermined. McKinley directed Merritt to

provide order and security while the islands

were in U.S. possession, without defining their

eventual disposition. The President appointed a

Philippine Commission to evaluate and report

on the islands and recommend a disposition.

The chairman, Jacob Schurman, president of

Cornell University, concluded the natives were

not yet capabLe of self-government hut should

eventually become independent. The desired

end-state was determined to be a stable, peaceful, democratic, independent Philippines allied

to the United States.9 Key to this were preventing a power vacuum (which could lead to colonization by another developed country), improving the country's education and infrastructure,

and implemen:ing and guiding the development

of democracy. The method decided upon to

achieve the end-state was annexation.

Strategy is the manner in which a nation

employs its national power to achieve policy

goals and a desired end-state. The "center of

gravity" is an important concept for understanding how and where to employ the elements of

power. The concept's originator, Carl von

Clausewitz, identified it as the source of the

enemy's "power and movement, upon which

everything cie pends."1° Current U. S. doctrine

extends the concept to both belligerents in a

conflict and differentiates between strategic and

operational levels of the center of gravity.11 The

essence of strai:egy then is to apply the elements

of power to ati:ack the enemy's centers of gravity and to safeguard one's own.

The Filipino insurgents accurately targeted

31

the U.S. strategic center of gravity—the national

willpower as expressed by tile Commander-inChief and supported by his superiors, tile voting

public. The American populace's will to victory

was the powerful key that brought the nation's

formidable elements of power to hear.

America's source of operational power, its

operational center of gravity, was the forces

fielded in the Philippines. Particularly important

were the small garrisons. Their ability to eliminate local resistance pacified regions and kept

them peaceful. From 53 garrisons in May 1900

when Otis departed, American presence had

expanded to over 500 by the time Aguinaldo

was captured.12 Largely isolated from higherechelon control, small garrisons lived and

worked in communities. They tracked and eliminated insurgents, built rapport with tile populace, gathered intelligence, and implemented

civil works. The process was slow, hut once an

area was pacified it was effectively denied to tile

insurgency.

Filipino Policy and Centers of Gravity

Although a full evaluation of Filipino insurgent strategy is beyond tile scope of this article,

its effect on the United States must he considered. The goal, or end-state, sought by the

Filipino insurgency was a sovereign, independent, socially stable Philippines led by the

illustrado oligarchy.

Local chieftains, landowners, and businessmen were the principales who controlled local

politics. The insurgency was strongest when

illustrados, principales, and peasants were unifiedl in opposition to annexation. The peasants,

who provided the hulk of guerrilla manpower,

had interests different from their illustrcido leaders and the princiales of their villages. Coupled

with the ethnic and geographic fragmentation,

unity was a daunting task. The challenge for

Aguinaldio and his generals was to sustain unified Filipino public opposition; this was the

insurrectos' strategic center of gravity.

The Filipino operational center of gravity was

the ability to sustain its force of 100,000 irregulars in the field. Tile Filipino General Francisco

Macabulos dlescrihed the insurrection's aim as,

"not to vanquish tile [U.S. Army] hut to inflict on
them constant losses."13 They sought to initially

use conventional (later guerrilla) tactics and an

increasing toll of U.S. casualties to contribute to

McKinley's defeat in the 1900 presidential election. Their hope was that as President the

avowedly anti-imperialist William Jennings

Bryan would withdraw from the Philippines.

They pursued this short-term goal with guerrilla

tactics better suited to a protracted struggle.

While targeting McKinley motivated the insurgents in the short term, his victory demoralized

them and convinced many undecided Filipinos

that the United States would not depart precipitately.14

American Strategy

American strategy effectively targeted both

the insurgents' strategic and operational centers

of gravity. The oft-repeated observation of Mao

Zedong, arguably the most successful insurgent

leader of the 20th century, bears repeating: "The

people are the sea in which the insurgent fish

swims and draws strength." The American pacification program targeted the sea in which the

insurgents swam. It lowered the water level until

the sea became hundreds of lakes. As American

garrisons drained the local lakes, the insurgent

fish became easier to isolate and catch. When

the insurgents were unable to sustain a formidable force in the field, confidence in victory—and

hence unified opposition—withered.

The elements of power America employed in

the Philippines were diplomatic, legal, informational, military, and economic. These instruments were adapted to local conditions, sometimes without the permission of the Office of the

Military Governor. While there is some discretion as to the category under which an activity

should be discussed (for example, the United

States concluded an agreement with the Vatican

that exercised both diplomacy and economic

power), the aggregate effect shows the United

States successfully employed its power to target

the Filipino centers of gravity.

After the role of the original Philippine

Commission was complete, McKinley appointed

a second Philippine Commission under William

Howard Taft, which arrived in June 1900. The

presidential charter to this body was to transition

32

the Philippines from military to civilian rule. As

implemented, the policy transferred control of

each province from the jurisdiction of the Office

of the Military Governor to the commission once

the province was pacified. When MacArthur

departed command in July 1901, all administrative responsibility was transferred to the commission, with Brigadier General Adna Chaffee

taking command of the army. Taft added

Filipino members to the commission. He also

organized local governments so the elected

Filipino officials were under close American

supervision. 15

Taft supported formation of the Federal Party,

a group founded by Manila illustrados and former revolutionary officers that advocated recognition of U.S. sovereignty as a step toward representative government. The party channeled

Filipinos' desires for independence into a peaceful, democratic undertaking. Party members also

negotiated the surrender of a number of insurgent leaders.16

The famous baseball manager Casey Stengel

once described the secret of managing as being

able to "keep the guys who hate you away from

the guys who are undecided." Realizing that a

unified opposition would be more difficult to

quash, the United States exploited the natural

divisions within Filipino society. Given its geographic and cultural divides, tile Philippines was

more easily divided than unified. Whereas Otis

had cultivated the elite, MacArthur assumed all

principales not publicly committed to the United

States were guilty of collaboration.17 They had

the most to lose, and once convinced of their

personal safety, were the most willing to cooperate with the Americans. It was 80 Filipino

scouts from the Macabebe ethnic group—under

four American officers—who served as a Trojan

horse that was admitted to Aguinaldo's camp.

Presenting themselves as insurgents, upon entering the camp they captured the insurgent leader

and his local supporters.

The United States employed political power

to make cooperation lucrative. As Filipinos' participation in government grew, so did the autonomy the United States granted. Army garrison

commanders approved local government officials, including mayors and town councils.18 By
checking civihans' passes and providing labor,

local politicians earned the right to offer patronage and licenses.19 As commanders, Otis and

MacArthur headed both the army and the Office

of the Military Governor. Even commanders of

the smallest detachments were dual-hatted, with

their civil governance roles gradually assuming

primary importance as regions were pacified.

The Office of the Military Governor established

civil government and laws, built schools and

roads, and implemented other civic actions.

With time, more Filipinos came to believe in the

promise of democratic government, and a

tutored transition.

Often considered a subset of diplomatic

power, the law enforcement and judicial power

employed were significant. While there were

some abuses, prisoners generally were treated

well by the standards of the day.20 Three months

after the end of the revolt, the U.S. Congress

extended most of the protections of the U.S.

Constitution to Filipinos.21

The United States employed collective punishments that involved families and communities.22 Municipal officials or princiales were

held responsible for events that occurred in their

towns. Prisoners were held until they—or family or friends—-provided information, weapons,

or both. Crops, buildings, and other property

could be confiscated or destroyed as punishment. General Orders 100 lifted some restrictions on courts, resulting in more prisoners

being executed. Rebel leaders were deported to

Guam.23 Filipino police under American control

were an extension of U.S. law enforcement powers. The 246 rative Manila police officers were

responsible for arresting 7,422, including three

revolutionary generals.24

In an era that preceded mass media, informing the people of events and progress was key

to winning Filipinos over to America's goals. The

teaching of Spanish had been restricted during

Spain's 300 years of occupation. Only 40 percent

of the population could read any language.25

English instruction served as a unifying force, a

lingua franca that compensated for differences in

tribal speech and the lack of written languages.

Education was one of the few points of agreement between Americans who opposed and

33

those who supported annexation. It clemonstrated goodwill and made a lasting contribution to

the Philippines. Major John Parker credited the

18 soldiers he employed as teachers in Laguna

as being more valuable in the classroom than if

they had been used more traditionally. Parker's

wife ran schools for 2,000 students, which he

believed tranquilized the country more "than a

thousand men."26 In a forerunner of the Peace

Corps, 1,000 Americans came to the Philippines

to teach.27 The United States also founded a university in Manila. The commitment to education

supported American goals by indicating steadfastness and the intent to build for the long term.

Education was the most popular civic-action

mission that did not offer a direct military benefit.28

When General Orders 100 was implemented,

it was proclaimed in English, Spanish, and

Tagalog. It clarified that civic works were a secondary priority to "punitive measures against

those who continued to resist."29 Over time,

information operations convinced an increasing

number of Filipinos that their interests were best

served by the American administration and not

the principales.

While it was clear that positive incentives

might "reconcile the Filipinos to American rule

in the long run, the insurgency could . . . he

defeated in the short term [only] by military

means."3° The additional garrisons, Filipino

troops, and effective use of the Navy all were

important to expanding the reach of American

military power.

General Otis had resisted creating large formations of Filipino troops. Faced with the imminent departure of U.S. volunteer units whose

term of service would expire in December 1900,

General MacArthur authorized the recruitment

and training of indigenous Filipino formations.31

Filipino scouts, police, and auxiliaries often

were recruited from social and ethnic groups

hostile to the wealthier Tagalog supporters of

Aguinaldo. With time it became clear that local

police were "some of the most effective counterinsurgency forces the Army raised."32 The military auxiliary corps of Filipinos loyal to the

United States grew to 15,000.

As befits a campaign in an archipelago, a pri-
mary Navy role was interdiction of arms and

other shipments. Beyond that, the Navy provided coastal fire support and supported amphibious landings. The embargo's success is shown in

a number of facts. The insurgents' primary

weapon source was captured rifles and ammunition. Guerrillas outnumbered firearms. This

led to the unusual order that if unable to save

both, rifles were a higher priority than comrades. Successful interdiction meant that most

insurgent ammunition was reloaded cartridges,

up to 60 percent of which misfired.

The military power employed went beyond

American troops engaged in fighting guerrillas.

Soldiers contributed to diplomatic and economic activities as well as civic works. Even in

remote locations, American troops supervised

road construction. The Army built and ran

schools and clinics, administered vaccines, and

"conducted sanitation programs and other charitable works."34

As has become characteristic of the American

way of war, the economic power employed was

significant. Infrastructure improvements such as

road-building and laying telegraph lines aided

both military operations and the local economy.

In a single two-month period near the end of

the conflict, 1,000 miles of roads were built.35

Another program of dual benefit to soldier and

citizen alike was disease eradication. The

Philippines was plagued with malaria, smallpox,

cholera, and typhoid.36 Army garrison commanders worked with local leaders to ensure

clean water and waste disposal.37 Civil servants

were paid relatively high wages.38 These and

other policies convinced the populace of

America's sincere desire to improve the lot of

the average Filipino.

Taft negotiated the purchase of 400,000 acres

of prime farmland from the Vatican for $7.2 million, more than its actual value. Although the

land could have been appropriated, the purchase kept the church, which had performed

many municipal government functions under

the Spanish, from resisting the U.S. administration. Filipino peasants gained a significant benefit by purchasing parcels of land from the

American administration. The U.S. land purchase

and resale was astute. It offered benefits that

34

could not be matched by the insurgents to two

constituencies. It also served as a wedge issue

that separated the interests of the peasant guerrillas from their land-owning principale leaders.39

Sometimes curbing economic power aided

U.S. efforts. Congress barred large landholdings

by American citizens or corporations.4° By

avoiding even the appearance of any ulterior

motive or conflict of interest, America strengthened its claim to benevolence.

The weapon collection policy also merits a

mention. When implemented in 1899, a 30-peso

bounty was initially a dismal failure, with only a

few dozen weapons turned in nationwide. By

1901, when coupled with other successful pacification policies, it was common for hundreds of

rifles to he surrendered by disbanding insurgent

groups. The lesson is that any given tactic, technique, or procedure employed in isolation may

fail, but as part of a comprehensive mix of carrots and sticks can be part of an effective program.

In summarizing the application of the tools of

American power, it bears repeating that they

were not uniformly employed. They varied by

region and evolved over time. One district commancler, Brigadier General J. Franklin Bell, iclentified his civil functions as head of the police,

judiciary, civil administration, mail, telegraph,

tax collection, and road construction activities.41

Having unified control of the elements of power

enabled Bell and his counterparts to effectively

orchestrate the counterinsurgency.

Lessons Learned

The campaign holds a number of lessons at

the strategic and operational levels that are valuable for those planning and conducting stability

operations.42 Pacifying the Philippines proved to

he more difficult than anyone had predicted. A

total of 126,468 U.S. soldiers served there, with

troop strength averaging 40,000.

Negligible insurgent activity did not mean victory. Major General Otis headed home in May

1900 convinced that he had succeeded in suppressing the insurrection; yet the war continued

for more than two years. Rebel sources subse-
quently revealed that the early 1900 lull was a

period of reorganization and reconstitution.

Effective strategy and tactics took time to

develop. There was considerable local variation

in the tactics, techniques, and procedures used.

American officers implemented forms of civil

government often contrary to guidance from the

Office of the Military Governor. Some permitted

elections; when none were willing to serve,

other commaniers appointed Filipino leaders.

Strategic and Operational Errors

American victory came about despite a number of strategic and operational errors. President

McKinley had not determined U.S. policy toward

the Philippines when Admiral Dewey was dispatched and had still not done so after General

Merritt arrived. There was no unity of command

in political and military channels until MacArthur

relinquished his posts and General Chaffee was

subordinated to Taft.43 Various generals prematurely announced victory—attained or imminent—a number of times. Theodore Roosevelt

prudently waited until a few months after field

forces had surrendered before declaring the war

over. Clearly, one does not need to execute perfectly to prevai:..

The insurgents made a number of political

and military errors that helped the Americans.

Their support was too narrowly based; it rested

principally upon a relatively small princ4ale oligarchy and the Tagalog-speaking regions of

Luzon.44 Their military errors were substantial.

They failed to attack Manila after they had

already seized the rest of the country, and then

attempted to fight a conventional war. They

delayed implementing unconventional tactics.

Having adopted the guerrilla tactics of protracted warfare, Aguinaldo and his generals mistakenly led their followers to expect a quick victory with McKinley's defeat. The pre-election peak

of guerrilla act:vity in late 1900 cost soldiers,

equipment, weapons, and morale that were

never replaced.

Changes in the International Environment

The 20th century saw the greatest technological and social changes in history. Some of these

clearly mitigate the direct application of methods

35

successfully employed in the Philippines. One

need only consider Kipling's poetic admonition

to "Pick up the White Man's Burden" for a quick

jolt into how different the prevailing standards

of acceptable discourse are today. It was an era

when the major powers often acted, either unilaterally or in alliance, to secure colonial advantages.45 Changes in human rights, the media,

and international organizations are among those

that most significantly limit direct application of

the tactics, techniques, and procedures applied

in the Philippine Insurrection to early 21st-century stability operations.

The standards for acceptable treatment of

prisoners of war and non-combatants also have

changed considerably. In the 19th century,

General Orders 100 was considered such a

model for the humane conduct of war that it was

adapted for use by European nations. Yet it provided for sanctions such as suspension of civil

rights, deportation, and summary execution 46

American soldiers moved hundreds of thousands

of Filipino civilians into concentration camps to

separate them from the guerrillas. The camps

served to separate the insurgents from their

source of strength, the general populace. While

incidents of torture and murder by U.S. troops

were recorded, they were not widespread.

Corporal punishment and physical hazing of

American soldiers was still permitted, including

use of the stockade. One American soldier was

tied, gagged, and repeatedly doused with water

as punishment for drunkenness. Though he

died, his superiors were found not to have used

excessive force.47

As unseemly as some treatment of Filipinos

may be to modern sensibilities, American soldiers generally acted benevolently. The best testimony to this comes from the Filipinos themselves. Manual Quezon was an officer of

Aguinaldo's who later became President of the

Philippines. He complained of the difficulty the

insurgents faced in fostering nationalism under

their colonial master, "Damn the Americans!

Why don't they tyrannize us more?"48 The lesson

here is not merely that prevailing standards have

changed. Rather, Americans found legal means

to separate the population from the guerrillas

and did so while acting more humanely than the
generally accepted standards of the time.

Telecommunications did not exist in 1902.

One need only consider the visibility of the 2004

prisoner abuse scandal in Iraq to appreciate the

ubiquity and impact of global news and electronic mail today. News coverage influences

multiple audiences; the American people, opposition forces, the undecided population of the

occupied territory, and third parties such as current and potential allies.

Discussing the impact of the modern media

on combat operations could fill volumes.

Considerations that particularly deserve mention

are the U.S. populace's famous impatience and

aversion to casualties. Americans prefer quick,

decisive, and relatively bloodless victories like

Urgent Fury and Desert Storm. The United States

suffered 4,234 dead and 2,818 wounded in the

Philippine Insurrection.4 Filipino casualties

dwarfed those of the Americans. Combat losses

exceeded 16,000, while civilian casualties numbered up to 200,000 due to disease, starvation,

and maltreatment by both sides.50 In today's 24-

hour news cycle, every combatant and collateral death is grist for at least one day's news mill.

At the time of this writing, Operations Iraqi

Freedom and Enduring Freedom are in their second and third years, respectively. America is

unlikely to accept years of trial and error to

develop the proper mix of tactics, techniques,

and procedures if the casualty flow remains

steady. Future planners will be expected to

engage more troops, sooner, to speed pacification.

The United States acted alone in the

Philippines. One marked change in the international environment in the past century is the

increase in the prominence of international

organizations. The United Nations and NATO

are two of the most prominent institutions which

may aid or hinder U.S. objectives, but which

cannot be ignored. No such organizations existed in 1900.

Today's strategic planner must account for the

ubiquitous presence of international and nongovernmental organizations (NGOs). Credibility

is more freely granted to an alliance than to a

nation acting unilaterally. The challenge is to

incorporate the inevitable presence of interna36

tional organizations and NGOs into U.S. goals.

Ideally this can he done in ways that channel

their elements of power toward American ends.

At the least, it requires minimizing effects contrary to U.S. aims.

Applying the War's Lessons

Warfare, culture, and geography vary over

time and place. No plan can be transposed

unchanged from one context to another. The

key for the military planner is to glean the proper lessons from principles and history, then

apply them to the challenge at hand. By focusing on the strategic and operational lessons of

the Philippine Insurrection, this article seeks to

identify those higher-level lessons most likely to

retain relevancy across centuries and hemispheres.

What then does one take away as the overriding lessons of the Philippine Insurrection? At the

strategic level, two flaws in the Philippine experience are easily avoided. Joint force commanders today can expect clearer mission guidance

than General Merritt had and a better understanding of the strategic end-state. Political and

military elements operating together today,

while not free of friction, will be much more

closely integrated than those of Taft and General

MacArthur.

At the operational level, one observes that

each of the elements of national power was

effectively employed for at least one of three

purposes: separating the guerrillas from the

populace, defeating the guerrillas, and gaining

the cooperation of the populace. These lessons

are comparable to other compilations of generally accepted counterinsurgency principles.51

Separation denies support to insurgents and

facilitates protecting noncombatants from coercion. Cooperation is best gained by a mix of

positive and negative inducements.

Incentives without sanctions, largely the case

before December 1900, are much less effective.

Unlike General Otis, General MacArthur made

known that there were limits to American

benevolence. As the cost and risks of supporting

the insurrection increase, support will decrease.

To return to Mao's metaphor, as the water
becomes hotter, it evaporates from around the

fish. While these principles are simple and constant, the appropriate tactics, techniques, and

procedures must be developed, adapted to local

conditions, constantly reassessed, and permitted

to evolve.

Civic action and benevolent treatment alone

were unable 1:0 win the Philippine campaign.

Armed only with good deeds, soldiers were

unable to either protect Filipino supporters from

retribution or deny support to the insurgents. It

was only with the addition of the chastisement

tools—fines, arrest, property destruction and

confiscation, population concentration, deportation, and scorching sections of the countryside—that soldiers were able to separate guerrillas from their support. The proper mix of tactics

and techniques appropriate for each local situation was deter:rnined by officers in hundreds of

garrisons throughout the archipelago.52

During the peak of the insurrection, the

United States had 74,000 soldiers deployed

there—one for every 110 Filipinos. By 1903, a

year after America's victory in the Philippines,

the number of U.S. troops garrisoning the archipelago had been reduced to 15,000—a ratio of

about one soldier for every 500 residents. This

timeline and troop level transposed to Iraq

would see the U.S. garrison there reduced to

44,000 soldiers by 2008. Although this would

represent a significant reduction from current

troop levels, it is still the equivalent strength of

three Army divisions. A segment of the

American populace has been expecting its soldiers to return home as rapidly and casualty-free

as they did after Desert Storm. Most Americans

do not expect Iraq to remain America's largest

overseas presence for years to come.

Some lessons can be adopted almost directly:

Take care of supporters. Exploit differing

motives and competition between social, ethnic,

and political groups. Identify where to insert,

and how to hammer, wedges between insurgent

leaders and potential supporters. Control or

deny the complex terrain where the guerrillas

find sanctuary—-in the Philippines it was jungle;

elsewhere it may be desert, urban, or mountain

terrain.

Separating gierrillas from the general popu37

lace needs to be done, but camps are unlikely to

he acceptable in our current era. Cordoning off

neighborhoods, implementing regional pass systems, and enforcing curfews are some techniques that can help accomplish the same end.

In winning the Filipino population, 600 small

garrisons were more effective than 50. Today's

soldiers will never be as isolated from support

or communications as the Philippine garrisons

were. The proper size of a garrison, whether

company or squad, must depend on the situation. But the broader the range of benefits—

medical, educational, or economic—and sanctions—political, judicial, or military—over which

the local leaders have control, the better they

will be able to effectively mold the local population to behaviors that accord with mission

accomplishment.

No diplomat, soldier, or pundit can know

with total accuracy which tactics, techniques,

and procedures will succeed in quelling a given

insurrection. What is clear is that the odds of

success decrease the further one strays from the

basic, oft-tested principles of counterinsurgency:

separate the population from the insurgents,

give them more reasons to support the counterinsurgents, and deny the insurgents safe

haven or support from any quarter.53 Having

empirically shown these lessons in the

Philippines, one might add another: empower

leaders with the freedom to experiment with

tactics, techniques, and procedures that achieve

the mission while adapting to local conditions. It

was the initiative by soldiers at different levels

that derived the principles and techniques that

won America's first victory in quelling an overseas insurrection.

In the past century there have been tectonicscale changes in technology, human rights, and

the prevailing world order. Despite this, the

strategic and operational lessons of the successful Philippine counterinsurgency remain valid

and are worthy of study. Those who disparage

today's employment of the Army in peace operations and other stability and support operations

may be experiencing historical myopia.

Although more officers are able to cite the campaign lessons of Douglas MacArthur, it may well

be that the successful counterinsurgency cam-
paigns of his father Arthur hold more valuable

historical lessons for operations in the coming

decades.

At the strategic level there is no simple secret

to success. Victory in a counterinsurgency

requires patience, dedication, and the willingness to remain.4 The American strategic center

of gravity that Aguinaldo identified a century

ago remains accurate today.

Notes

1. Max Boot, The Savage Wars of Peace: Small Wars

and the Rise of American Power (New York: Basic

Books, 2002), 105. Boot characterizes McKinley's

statement, ignoring the fact that most Filipinos were

Catholic, as reflecting the "twin currents of Protestant

piety and American jingoism that defined the turn of

the century zeitgeist."

2. Rudyard Kipling's poem "Pick up the White Man's

Burden: The United States and the Philippine Islands"

also captures the spirit of the times. Originally published in the February 1899 edition of McClure's magazine, it admonishes the United States to "Fill full the

mouth of Famine, And bid the sickness cease," for

"Your new-caught sullen peoples, Half-devil and halfchild." The title of Boot's book comes from a line in

the poem.

3. Brian McAllister Linn, The Philippine War,

1899—1902 (Lawrence: Univ. Press of Kansas, 2000),

185.

4. Glenn A. May, A Past Recovered (Manila: New Day

Publishers, 1987), 157, quoted in Linn, 325.

5. Boot, 126, puts the figure at 80,000. Linn, 325, cites

80,000 to 100,000 and the auxiliary strength.

6. Linn, 200.

7. John Morgan Gates, Schoolbooks and Krags: The

United States Army in the Phil4pines, 1898—1902

(Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1973), 162—63.

8. Although the term's use is tainted by its Nazi-era

usage, this is what the camps were called. They were

temporary villages, similar in scope and function to

the reservations familiar to some of the Army's old

hands who had campaigned against the Plains

Indians.

9. Stability did not mean the end of all opposition. The Muslim Moros on the southern island of

Mindanao remained in resistance as they had during

300 years of Spanish rule, and as they continue today

under Abu Sayef.

10. Carl von Clausewitz, On War, trans. and ed.

Michael Howard and Peter Paret (Princeton, N.J.:

Princeton Univ. Press, 1976), 595—96.

11. U.S. Department of Defense, Joint Doctrine for

Campaign Planning, Joint Publication 5-00.1

(Washington: U.S. Department of Defense, 25 January

2002).

38

12. The number of garrisons expanded to 639 by

September 1901 under MacArthur's successor, Major

General Adna Chaffee.

13. Linn, 187.

14. Gates, 273.

15. Oscar Theodore Barck, Jr., and Nelson Manfred

Blake, Since 1900: A History of the United States in

Our Times (New York: MacMillan 1974), 86. The commission's success enhanced Taft's reputation as a sound administrator and helped him attain the White

House.

16. Linn, 215.

17. Ibid., 213.

18. Ibid., 128.

19. Ibid., 206.

20. Boot, 127.

21. Barck and Blake, 86.

22. Linn, 213.

23. Deportation continued a practice of the Spaniards.

Aguinaldo himself had been deported following the

collapse of the 1896 revolution.

24. Linn, 128.

25. Gates, 31.

26. Linn, 203.

27. Boot, 115.

28. Linn, 258.

29. Ibid., 214.

30. Boot, 115.

31. Linn, 215.

32. Ibid., 204.

33. Ibid., 128.

34. Boot, 126.

35. Linn, 258. The period was April—May 1902.

36. Ibid., 15—16.

37. Ibid., 128—29.

38. Ibid., 275.

39. Ibid., 196.

40. Boot, 125.

41. These were in addition to military roles such as

fighting guerrillas and bandits, destroying supply

caches, gathering intelligence, and supporting the district's garrisons.

42. The campaign in the Philippines included combat

as well as stability and support operations. While

Americans forces conducted what would be categorized today as the full spectrum of operations

(offense, defense, stability and support), the stability

operations predominated.

43. From their first meeting, MacArthur had treated

Taft as an unwelcome intrusion. It was due largely to

Taft's influence in Washington that Arthur MacArthur

was recalled.

44. Linn, 323.

45. During the midst of the Philippine rebellion, the

United States, Britain, Germany, Japan, Russia,

France, Italy, and Austria acted together to relieve

their Peking legations besieged in the Boxer

Rebellion.

46. Linn, 211—14.
47. Ibid., 221.

48. Boot, 125.

49. Ibid.

50. Ibid.

51. Robert R. Tomes, "Relearning Counterinsurgency

Warfare," Parameters, 34 (Spring 2004). Tomes identifies the principLs of counterinsurgency as separating

guerrillas from the civil populace to deny them assistance, denying them safe havens, and preventing Outside support.

52. Linn, 237.

53. Edward J. Filiberti, "The Roots of U.S.

39

Counterinsurgency Doctrine," Military Review, 68

(January 1988). Although Filiberti credits Franklin Bell

with having invented counterinsurgency doctrine, like

26 of the 30 U.S. generals to serve in the insurrection,

he had counterinsurgency experience fighting American Indians.

54. Gates, 285

About the Author

Timothy K. Deady, Colonel, USAR, commanded the 2d Simulations

Exercise Group in the 1st Brigade, 85th Division, at the time this article

was published in 2005.

"We Will Go Heavily 

Armed": The Marines' 

Small War on Samar, 

1901-1902 

by Brian McAllister Linn 

New Interpretations in Naval Hist01y: 

Selected Papers from the Ninth Naval 

History Symposium, 1989 

The actions of Major Littleton W. T. 

Waller and his battalion in the American 

conquest of Samar have provoked controversy for almost a century. In this essay 

Professor Linn draws on Filipino sources as 

well as army, navy, and Marine operational 

records to integrate the Marines' experiences into the context of the entire campaign. Challenging those scholars who 

have portrayed Waller as a hero and scapegoat, Linn argues that his poor leadership 

contributed greatly to the uneven performance of the Marine Corps on Samar. 

O n28 September 1901 villagers and guerrillas attacked the 74 officers and men of 

Company C, Ninth U.S. Infantry at the 

town of Balangiga, Samar Island, in the 

Philippines. Surprising the men at breakfast, the 

Filipinos killed 48 soldiers, "mutilating many of 

their victims with a ferocity unusual even for 

guerrilla warfare."l The "massacre," which 

occurred when many believed the fighting 

between U.S. military forces and Filipino nationalists was virtually over, shocked Americans. 

Amidst public cries for vengeance, U.S. patrols, 

under orders to "make a desert of Balangiga," 

soon did such a thorough job that "with the 

exception of the stone walls of the church and a 

few large upright poles of some of the houses, 

there is today not a vestage [sic] of the town of 

Balangiga left."2 Determined to crush the resistance on Samar, the Army poured in troops, the 

Navy sent gunboats, and a battalion of 300 

41 
Marines was dispatched under the command of

Major Littleton W. T. Wailer. Some of these

Marines had served with the victims of Balangiga

in the Boxer Rebellion a year earlier. Their attitude may have been best summarized by Private

Harold Kinman: "we will go heavily armed and

longing to avenge our comrades who fought side

by side with us in China."3

Although only a small part of the total U.S.

manpower on the island, the Marine battalion

soon became the most famous, or notorious, military force in the campaign—which in turn

became one of the most famous, or notorious,

episodes of the Philippine War. Even college

freshmen may have read of Brigadier General

Jacob H. Smith's orders directing Waller to take

no prisoners, to treat every male over ten as an

enemy, to make the interior of Samar a "howling

wilderness," and to "kill and burn. The more you

kill and burn, the better you will please me."4

Equally controversial are the Marines' own

exploits. Campaigning on Samar was such a hellish experience that for years afterwards, veterans

would be greeted in mess halls with the toast,

"Stand Gentlemen: He served on Samar." Yet in

an early blunder, the Marines lost ten men in one

expedition without encountering a single enemy

guerrilla. In another incident, Wailer had eleven

Filipino guides summarily executed, an action

that President Theodore Roosevelt believed "sullied the American name" and led to Wailer's

court-martial for murder.5 Thus, both because it

proved so controversial and because it represented the Marines' first encounter with twentiethcentury guerrilla warfare, the Samar campaign

serves as an excellent starting point for a discussion of the small wars heritage of the U.S. Marine

Corps.

Charles E. Callwell, the contemporary British

expert in irregular warfare, noted that in small

wars, climate and terrain were often greater

obstacles than the enemy forces. His observation

is particularly true of Samar, where, as one saturnine Marine noted, there was no need for the

orders to turn the interior into a "howling wilderness" because "nature had done it for us."6 In

the local dialect, the name "Samar" means

"wounded" or "divided"—an apt description for

an island whose 5,200 square miles are replete

42

with rugged mountains, jungles, tortuous rivers,

razor-sharp grasses, swamps, and parasites.

Because the mountains confined most of its population to a narrow coastal region, for most of its

colonial history Samar was "an island of dispersed settlements only loosely bound together

by a common religion, a lightly felt administrative structure, and a few ties between pueblos."7

In the towns and barrios, authority was wielded

by a few priests, merchants, landowners, and

municipal officials; and in the mountains, scattered groups practiced primitive slash-and-burn

agriculture. The Samarenos exported abaca

(Manila hemp) and coconuts from Calbayog,

Catbalogan, and other ports; but they were

unable to grow sufficient rice to meet their needs

and suffered periodic food shortages. Although

contemporary American officers described the

population of the island as "savages" with a long

and violent history of resistance to any authority,

the Spanish praised the natives' docile acceptance of foreign rule.

Samar was untouched by the fighting between

the Filipino nationalists and the Spanish in 1896;

but with the declaration of Philippine independence by Emilio Aguinaldo on 12 June 1898, the

Filipino revolutionaries, based predominantly on

the island of Luzon, moved to secure the rest of

the archipelago. On 31 December 1898, a month

before the outbreak of the Philippine War

between Filipino forces and the Americans,

Brigadier General Vicente Lukban (or Lucban)

arrived and with some 100 soldiers formally

placed Samar under Aguinaldo's Philippine

Republic. Although he demonstrated commendable energy, Lukban was greatly hampered in his

efforts to mobilize the Samarenos by the fact that

he was an outsider. Moreover, a U.S. naval blockade prevented him from obtaining reinforcements or sending the money and supplies he collected to Aguinaldo. The blockade compounded

Samar's precarious food situation: "Famine

appeared as early as 1899 and Lukban wrote in

1900 that his troops were close to mutiny

because of it."8

The American infantrymen who landed on the

island on 27 January 1900 had little idea of either

the precariousness of the insurgents' situation or

the trouble that Samar was later to give them.
Their mission was to secure the island's hemp

ports and prevent a cordage crisis in the United

States, a task they accomplished by brushing

aside Lukbans forces and garrisoning a few

towns. The soldiers' rapid seizure of the ports

and the apparent collapse of the revolutionaries

convinced the army high command that Samar

was secured. With more important islands to

pacify, army leaders quickly decided Samar was

of minimal vallue. For the next eighteen months

after their arrival, the isolated companies stationed on the island would cling precariously to

little more tha:i a few ports and river towns.

The weak occupation force allowed the

Filipino revolutionaries, termed insurrectos by

the Americans, to recover and counterattack.

From the beginning, the insurrectos attempted to

confine the soldiers to the Catbalogan-Calbayog

area while mobilizing the inhabitants against the

invaders. In some places the revolutionaries

depopulated entire areas, setting fire to villages

and barrios and driving civilians into the mountains. They informed the Samarenos that the U.S.

A:rmy came for the purpose of raping, pillaging,

and "annihila':ing us later as they have the

Indians of America."9 To support their military

forces, the guerrillas confiscated crops and

engaged in extensive smuggling, seeking both to

continue the hemp trade and to bring in rice.

Filipinos who collaborated with the soldiers or

lived in the towns risked kidnapping or assassination, often in the most grisly manner. One U.S.

officer complained, "The Insurgents have been

guilty of all kinds of cruelty to those persons

friendly to us, such as burying them alive, cutting

off parts of the body, killing them, etc."10

Although the guerrillas lacked modern

weapons, they showed remarkable tactical ingenuity and ability. They made cannons Out of

bamboo wrapped with hemp, gunpowder from

community niler pits, and cartridges from brass

fittings soldered with silver taken from churches.

Their primitive firearms made the guerrillas more

than able both to harass the soldiers and to force

compliance from civilians. Against American

patrols, they relied on an ingenious variety of

booby traps: covered holes filled with poisoned

bamboo, spring-loaded spears set off by carefully hidden trip wires, and heavy timbers or bas43

kets of rocks hung over trails and rivers. One soldier who painstakingly removed dozens of

obstacles from a trail returned in two weeks to

find dozens more in place, "and such traps one

could not imagine could be made and set so

cunningly."11 The ubiquitous traps, supplemented by an extensive system of pickets and vigilantes who signaled the approach of an

American patrol through bells, bamboo and

carabao horns, or conch shells, effectively precluded surprise. Occasionally the insurrectos

would go on the offensive. From carefully concealed trenches, bamboo cannons or rifles would

fire on American patrols struggling along narrow

trails or river beds. This sniping might be followed by a sudden "bob rush" of machetewielding guerrillas pouring out of the thick grass

or jungle to overwhelm detachments.12

It was not until May 1901 that the Army began

to give Samar more than a cursory interest, and

then only because the end of military rule on

neighboring Leyte Island made the continued

turmoil on Samar intolerable. With much of the

Philippines pacified, the Army was able to reinforce Brigadier General Robert P. Hughes on

Samar and by September he had 23 companies

of infantry stationed in some 38 towns located

throughout the northern and central parts of the

island. Hughes established two bases deep in the

interior to allow U.S. troops to operate inland,

and he ordered patrols to converge at Lukban's

headquarters on the Gandara River, in the

process crossing the island and sweeping the

countryside. He expanded the Army's area of

operations, stationing garrisons in heretofore

ignored southern towns such as Basey and

Balangiga. Through the laborious process of constructing roads, building supply camps, securing

boats and porters, and constant patrolling, the

Americans brought the war to the interior of the

island.

Frustrated because the guerrillas rarely stood

and fought, Hughes became convinced that the

resistance would continue as long as the enemy

could secure sufficient food. He determined to

cut off smuggling and to destroy the guerrilla

logistical base in order to give his soldiers "a fair

opportunity to kill off the bands of utter savages

who have hibernated in the brush."13 He ordered
the Navy to step up its blockade and closed all

ports in Samar, authorizing Army and naval officers to seize all boats not deemed necessary for

fishing and to arrest anyone found carrying food

without a pass. To increase the pressure further,

he ordered U.S. expeditions in the interior and

along the coast to destroy crops, houses, and

fields. Although Hughes did not formally implement a policy of concentrating the population

into protected zones or camps, it was common

for his soldiers to deport all Filipino civilians

found in the interior to the coast. The result was

that the towns, often already burned by the

insurrectos, soon filled up with destitute

Filipinos with no access to food. Within two

months after Hughes's policies took effect,

hunger was widespread, and by September the

situation was so critical that he had to authorize

post commanders to purchase rice for the

refugees. 14

At the town of Balangiga, the American policies provoked a violent response. Despite his

alleged sympathy for the Filipinos, the post commander, Captain Thomas Connell, destroyed

much of the town's livestock, fishing supplies,

and crops. In addition, he confined 70 townspeople in two tents designed for 16 men each,

forcing them to work all day in the sun and

refusing to pay them or give them adequate

food. His men also behaved poorly, taking food

without payment and probably committing at

least one rape. Such abuses, coupled with weak

security measures, provoked a retaliatory attack

by townspeople and local guerrilla forces who

slaughtered most of the garrison on 28

September. 15

The Balangiga "massacre" provoked an equally enraged American response. In what was

undoubtedly one of the worst decisions of the

war, Major General Adna R. Chaffee, the commanding officer of the Army in the Philippines,

selected Brigadier General Jacob H. Smith to take

tactical command of the pacification of Samar. A

product of the Army's seniority system, Smith

owed his general's stars to his longevity, his

physical bravery, and the mistaken belief that he

planned to retire. Having spent most of his life

commanding little more than a company, he was

bewildered by the complexity of handling the

44

4,000 soldiers, Marines, and native scouts in his

6th Separate Brigade. To compound his problems, Smith displayed symptoms of mental instability and was subject to outbursts in which he

urged the most violent and irresponsible

actions 16

Unfortunately, among Smith's subordinates

was an officer who himself was prone to rash

and violent action: Major Littieton W. T. Walier,

commander of the Marine battalion. At first

glance Wailer would seem to have made an ideal

commander. He was a 22-year veteran whose

combat exploits in Egypt, Cuba, and China had

shown that he possessed several characteristics

vital to a counterinsurgency fighter: he had

tremendous powers of endurance and was personally brave, aggressive, and charismatic. These

qualities would later make him a legendary combat leader in tile Marines' small wars in Latin

America. Nevertheless, Wailer consistently relied

oii physical courage and endurance to nlake up

for deficiencies in planning and judgment. In

China, for example, he had engaged a vastly

superior enemy force and had been driven back,

losing an artillery piece and a machine gun, suffering eleven casualties, and leaving his dead

behind. Prone to both braggadocio and self-pity,

he was convinced that his services in the Boxer

Rebellion had not been properly recognized.

Moreover, he arrived in Samar under a personal

cloud, having recently gone on an alcoholic

binge that culminated in a 10-day suspension

from duty. This disciplinary action does not

appear to have cured him: one Marine later

remembered that on operations in tile field,

Wailer "had a bottle of liquor for his own use,

and when it gave out he was in bad shape."17

His drinking may explain his boastfulness and

irritability, his willingness to blame his superiors,

and his inability to accept the consequences of

his actions.

It is not surprising that the Marines' organizational status within the 6th Separate Brigade is

still the subject of much misunderstanding, given

the confusion engendered by Smith's instability

and Wailer's penchant for acting rashly. Assigned

to the two southern towns of Basey and

Balangiga, the Marines fell under both Army and

Navy authority. Not until after the campaign did
the U.S. Army's judge advocate general rule that

the Marines on Samar were not detached from

the Navy but only engaged in a "cooperative"

venture with the Army.'8 Equally confused was

Waller's area of responsibility. From 27 October

1902 on, he apparently believed he was in

charge of an independent command he referred

to as "Subdistrict South Samar," consisting of all

territory south of a line from Basey on the west

coast to Hernani on the east coast, an area totaling some 600 square miles and including two

Army posts. A careful reading of the extensive

US. Army operational correspondence concerning Wailer makes it clear, however, that he commanded the Marines at Basey and Balangiga

alone and that his Army superiors never considered him more than the "Commanding Officer,

Basey." The actual extent of Waller's authority

would later become a major issue, but at the

time, nearly every army garrison and navy gunboat suffered from equaHy tangled command

relations.19

The organizational vagueness surrounding

Wailer's command was compounded by his

operational orders. Upon the arrival of the

Marines at Balangiga and Basey, Smith ordered

Waller to "kill and burn," take no prisoners, and

regard every male over 10 as a combatant. In

spite of these grim directives, Waller's own

orders to the Marine battalion on 23 October

conformed to Army policies already current on

Samar. In common with American military efforts

since June 1901, Waller focused on denying food

to the guerrillas and ordered his Marines to confiscate all rice, allowing families only a small

daily ration on which to survive. In an effort to

break up the guerrillas' extensive smuggling

organization in the south of the island, he

ordered all hemp confiscated and all boats registered and painted red. Waller attempted to

organize the population into similarly identifiable

groups by allowing a short grace period for male

civilians to corrie into the towns and register or

be treated henceforth as hostile. His orders

emphasized that the Samarenos were "treacheroi.s, brave, and savage. No trust, no confidence

can be placed in them." Therefore, civilians were

required to perform all manual labor and Filipino

guides were to walk at the head of military

45

columns with long poles and probe for pits and

traps. The area around Balangiga, garrisoned by

some 159 Marines under Captain David D.

Porter, was to be "cleared of the treacherous

enemy and the expeditions, in a way, are to be

punitive." Finally, Waller stressed that the

Marines were to "avenge our late comrades in

North China" and "must do our part of the work,

and with the sure knowledge that we are not to

expect quarter."2° There were also disturbing

indications that Smith's illegal orders were

passed on unchanged to the men. one Marine

wrote home that he and his comrades were "hiking all the time killing all we come across," and

another veteran remembered that "we were to

shoot on sight anyone over 12 years old, armed

or not, to burn everything and to make the

Island of Samar a howling wilderness."2' Captain

Porter later explained that although Smith had

meant that the Marines were only to "kill and

burn" insurrectos, it was "understood that everybody in Samar was an insurrecto, except those

who had come in and taken the oath of allegiance."22

Under these guidelines, Waller pursued the

objectives of destroying insurrecto supplies,

bringing the guerrillas to battle, and establishing

a defensive cordon. His men completed the

destruction of the area around Balangiga and

extended the devastation—between 31 October

and 10 November the Marines burned 255 houses and destroyed one ton of hemp, one-half ton

of rice, 13 carabao, and thirty boats while killing

39 men and capturing 18. Waller also learned

from a Filipino who had escaped from the insurrectos that the insurgents had established a base

about fifteen miles up the Sojoton River. The first

attempt up the river on 6 November resulted in

the death of two Marines and the loss of fifteen

rifles. A second expedition was more successful.

After 10 days of struggling through the jungles,

the Marines launched an assault on 17 November

that killed 30 guerrillas and drove the rest from

their entrenchments. As congratulations poured

in, Waller boasted that the "operations in the

Sojoton were the most important of the whole

campaign as far as their effect on the insurgents

were concerned."23

This apparent success on the Sojoton River
may have led Wailer to overlook some of the

campaign's hard lessons. He underestimated the

crucial role the Navy had played in supplying

and transporting his expedition. Once separated

from their waterborne logistical lifeline, his

Marines could neither carry enough food nor live

off the country. Despite their victory, they had to

withdraw from the Sojoton immediately, and

within a month, the area was again a guerrilla

stronghold. Waller could take pride in the fact

that his men "can and will go where mortal men

can go," but he apparently disregarded the

human cost inflicted on them.24 He seems to

have drawn no lesson from the fact that after its

10-day ordeal, his battalion was immobilized for

almost a week.

Convinced that the Sojoton Valley was

cleared, Wailer launched operations into the interior to destroy other reputed guerrilla strongholds. He resolved the persistent problem of

supply by ignoring it; in one telegram he arbitrarily decided that six days' rations could sustain his

men for nine days. Unfamiliar with all of the

deleterious effects of service in the Philippines

and ignoring the lessons of the Sojoton campaign, he drove both himself and his men

unmercifully. The Marines slogged through

Samar's swamps and muddy trails, climbed the

razor-backed mountains, and cut their way

through jungles and congon grass. Constant

rains, inadequate maps, and poor communications dogged them, and patrols often wandered

lost. One Marine complained that "sometimes we

do not have any thing to eat for 48 hours and

never more than 2 meals per day. Our feet are

sore, our shoes worn out and our clothes torn. It

rains [and] half of the time we sleep on the

ground with nothing but a rubber poncho to

cover us."25

In December, asserting that Smith had

requested him to find a route for a telegraph line,

Wailer decided to march from the east coast to

Basey, "belting the southern end of Samar."26

Although the planned march covered only some

30 miles in a direct line, an earlier Army expedition had already determined that no route existed in the region that Waller intended to cross.

Not only would the Marines be marching at the

height of the monsoon season, but most of their

46

journey would be over narrow, jungle-covered

valleys, necessitating the constant crossing of

both mountains and rivers. Between climbing the

steep hills, cutting a path through the vegetation,

and fording the swollen and treacherous streams,

the Marines would have to display epic stamina

simply to cover a few miles on the map. The

local army officers, far more experienced with

the treacherous interior, urged Waller not to

undertake the operation without establishing a

secure supply line. Another officer who recently

had returned from the very area Waller planned

to explore warned the Marine commander immediately before he departed "of the hardships of

mountain climbing, even when he had a supply

camp and shelters for his men."27

The ensuing march of six officers, 50 Marines,

two Filipino scouts, and 33 native porters from

Lanang to Basey between 28 December 1901 and

19 January 1902 has been described by Allan R.

Millett as "a monument to human endurance and

poor planning."28 The trail quickly disappeared,

and the expedition slowed to a crawl as each

foot of the way had to he cut through the sodden and steaming jungle. As Waller's men

crossed and recrossed rivers and inched up hills

so sheer they were almost perpendicular, their

shoes and clothes became little more than torn

and rotting rags. The constant immersion, parasites, razor-sharp tropical grasses, and piercing

rocks literally peeled their skin off in layers.

Although the survivors' recollections of the

march are vague and contradictory, it is clear that

after only five days of marching, supplies ran

dangerously low and the men were exhausted.

On about 2 January, Wailer and his officers

decided to abandon their objective and return to

the east coast along the Suribao River. The

Marines cut down trees and made rafts, but the

water-logged timbers sank immediately. Making

a controversial decision, Wailer took two officers

and 13 of his strongest men and set out in an

attempt to blaze a trail to the Sojoton Valley. By

6 January they managed to cut their way through

to a Marine base camp. In the meantime, the rest

of the expedition disintegrated. Captain Porter,

receiving no word from Wailer, hacked his way

back to Lanang with seven Marines and six

Filipinos. The remaining Marines and Filipino
porters were left on the trail under the command

of Lieutenant Alexander Williams. Starving and

suffering from prolonged exposure, Williams and

several of his men became convinced that the

porters not only had access to a large supply of

food, but also that they were plotting against the

Marines. The lieutenant later claimed that he was

attacked by three of the porters, though his

account of the event was somewhat confused.

An Army relief force, battling heavy floods,

reached Williams's men on 18 January, but by

that time 10 Marines had either died or disappeared and an eleventh was to die shortly afterwards. Starving, barefoot, and their clothes in

rags, the Marines who survived were literally

helpless, and their rifles and ammunition had to

be carried by the Filipino porters. Some of the

Marines were even crazed by their exertions.

Although the expedition cost him over 20 percent of his command, Waller admitted: "As a military movement it was of no other value than to

show that the mountains are not impenetrable to

us."29

One result of Wailer's ill-considered march

was the virtual collapse of his battalion as an

effective combat force. After they returned to

their familiar quarters at Basey and Balangiga,

the Marines were incapable of further sustained

operations. Instead of the large and protracted

expeditions taey had launched in the fall, the

Marines now sent between 20 and 40 men out

on "hikes" that seldom moved more than a day

from camp. Marine patrols continued to destroy

food and shelter and occasionally skirmished

with guerrillas, but the real fighting of the campaign occur:red elsewhere. Southern Samar

returned to the backwater status it had enjoyed

before Balangiga, and Wailer's battalion may

have been content to let the war be won elsewhere. Certainly neither Waller nor his men

rriade any protest when the shattered battalion

was withdrawn from Samar and returned to

Cavite on 29 February.3°

A second, more serious result of the march

was the execution of 12 Filipinos without benefit of trial or even the rudiments of an impartial

investigation. The first killing occurred on 19

January; the victim was a Filipino whom the

mayor, or presidente, of Basey denounced as a

47

spy. Because Waller was running a temperature

of as high as 105 degrees, the camp surgeon

judged him incompetent to command. As a

result, authority in Basey fell to Lieutenant John

H. A. Day. Through the use of "a real third

degree," or torture, Day secured a confession,

the specifics of which he later had trouble

remembering. Acting "on the spur of the

moment," he decided that the Filipino's confession warranted his immediate execution.

Although Waller denied authorizing a summary

execution, in a few minutes Day organized a firing squad, personally shot the suspect, and left

his body in the Street as a warning. Court-martialed for murder, Day was acquitted on the

grounds that he was obeying Waller's orders.31

The following day saw an even bloodier incident. Williams and many of the survivors were in

the hospital on Leyte Island; and no one at

Waller's headquarters at Basey appears to have

been certain of the magnitude of the disaster that

had befallen their comrades. Some believed that

not 10 but 20 Marines had died, and nearly

everyone accepted the rumor that the porters

had acted treacherously. Although Basey was

connected by telephone with brigade headquarters on Leyte, Waller neither requested an investigation nor brought charges against the suspects.

Instead, hovering between delirium and lucidity,

he ordered that the surviving porters be brought

over from Leyte and executed. He then apparently collapsed. When these men arrived, it fell to

Private George Davis to pick out those who had

been guilty of specific crimes. Davis identified

three porters whom he recalled had hidden potatoes, stolen salt, failed to gather wood, and disobeyed orders. He then selected another seven

men on the grounds that, as he later claimed,

"they were all thieves, sir, that I know of; and

they were all worth hanging, if I had anything to

do with it."32 Solely on the basis of this reasoning, 10 civilians were promptly shot by Day's firing squad. At Wailer's insistence, a final victim

was executed later that afternoon—providing

through his grim arithmetic a total of 11 Filipino

victims in exchange for the 11 men he had lost

on the march.

In a report written three months after the incident, Wailer gave a variety of reasons for the
executions: the hostility of the townspeople of

Basey, an inquiry with his officers, "reports of

the attempted murder of the men and other

treachery by the natives," his own weakened

physical condition, as well as his power of life

and death as a district commander. He concluded: "It seemed, to the best of my judgment, the

thing to do at that time. I have not had reason to

change my mind."33 Even after conceding him an

unusual measure of moral obtuseness, it is hard

to follow his reasoning. Clearly, he engaged in

no procedure that either a civil or military court

would recognize as an inquiry or investigation.

Neither then nor since has any evidence

emerged to prove that his victims were guilty of

"attempted treachery" or any other action that

warranted the death penalty under the laws of

war. General Chaffee, who believed that Wailer's

actions were those of a man suffering from

"mental anguish," drew attention to the fact that

"no overt acts were committed by the cagadores

[portersi; on the contrary, those sent to their

death continued to the last to carry the arms and

ammunition after they [the Marines] were no

longer able to bear them, and to render in their

impassive way, such service as deepens the conviction that without their assistance many of the

Marines who now survive would also have perished." Noting that the laws of war only justified

summary executions in "certain urgent cases,"

Chaffee pointedly commented that after the

march was over, "there was no overwhelming

necessity, no impending danger, no imperative

interest and, on the part of the executed natives,

no overt acts to justify the summary course pursued."34 Chaffee drew attention to the fact that in

executing the porters, Wailer had assumed powers that both the "military laws of the United

States and the customs of the service, confer only

upon a commanding general in time of war and

on the field on military operations." What made

Wailer's crime even more heinous was that he

"was in telephonic communication with his

Brigade Commander, but deliberately chose not

to consult him regarding his contemplated

action."35 Concluding that Wailer's acquittal was

"a miscarriage of justice," the general chastised

the major's illegal actions and publicly condemned the killings as "one of the most regret48

table incidents in the annals of the military service of the United States."6

The subsequent court-martial of Wailer for

murder is almost as controversial today as it was

90 years ago. Taking place against the background of the last death throes of the Philippine

War, the trials seem to embody the brutality,

ambiguity, and frustration of the Marines' first

Asian guerrilla conflict. Wailer's revelation that he

had been ordered by General Smith to make the

interior of Samar a "howling wilderness" and to

regard every male Samareno over 10 as a combatant provoked national outrage. American

opponents of Philippine annexation, who had

suffered a crushing defeat in the presidential

election of 1900, now rallied behind the issue of

atrocities to attack U.S. military policy in the

Philippines.37 Wailer's acquittal did little to

resolve the controversy, for both the military

authorities who examined the trial transcript and

the commander in chief himself condemned

Wailer's actions as illegal and immoral. For years

afterward, Wailer was known as the "Butcher of

Samar," and many attributed his being passed

over for commandant to the notoriety he gained

on the island.

Wailer's supporters have since claimed that he

was a scapegoat, a victim of politics, a Marine

forced to stand trial for crimes that the U.S. Army

committed with impunity in the Philippines.

Joseph Schott entitled one of the chapters in The

Ordeal of Samar "The Scapegoat"; Paul Meishen

cites Wailer's "high moral courage"; Stuart Miller

praises him as an "honorable warrior" and a "sacrificial victim"; and Stanley Karnow terms Wailer

"a scrupulous professional" and a "scapegoat."38

The charge that Wailer was a victim of interservice rivalry is difficult to sustain. His conduct

cannot be defended on the grounds that he was

only following orders. In the first place, Wailer

claimed that as a Marine, he did not fail under

U.S. Army authority. Moreover, he clearly understood that Smith's instructions to take no prisoners and regard all males over 10 as enemies were

illegal, for by Wailer's own testimony he immediately told Captain Porter that despite Smith's

instructions, the Marines had not come to make

war on women and children.39 The excuse that

Wailer did nothing that the U.S. Army had not
been doing for years is not only morally bankrupt but factually incorrect. Although the Army's

operational records give ample evidence that

throughout the Philippine War, far too many

Filipinos were indiscriminately fired on or shot

"attempting to escape," the premeditated execution of prisoners was neither a common nor an

accepted practice among American soldiers in

the archipelago. Even on Samar, where both a

thirst for vengeance and a lack of supervision led

to war crimes and unnecessary cruelty, soldiers

were expected to follow the laws of war. Smith,

who openly advocated illegal policies, was

relieved, court-martialed, found guilty, and

immediately retired in disgrace. Army officers on

Samar suspected of atrocities were investigated,

courtmartialed, and, as in the case of Wailer,

either acquitted or given mild reprimands. Given

the nature of :heir offenses and the lightness of

their punishments, it is hard to view any of these

men, soldiers or Marines, as scapegoats.4°

A third result of the Marines' march and the

tragic events that followed was that Wailer's

court-martial and the charges of American brutality overshadowed Lukban's capture in February

and the surrender of the last prominent guerrilla

leader on 28 April. Despite Smith's attempts to

turn his men into mindless butchers, the victory

was due to careful planning, detailed organizati()n, and persistence. In order to combat the

guerrillas in Samar's rugged interior, the army

constructed a string of supply dumps from which

long-ranging columns could sweep the countryside. Through a combination of large expeditions

and hundreds of small patrols that operated from

towns and field camps, the soldiers demonstrated to the population that the Americans intended to stay. By recruiting Filipino volunteers,

promising local autonomy, and offering generous surrender terms, the Army began providing

attractive alternatives to resistance. These methods, along wi:h the destruction of most of the

island's foodstuffs, eventually convinced all but

the most intransigent rebels to accept American

authority.

The brutality and excesses that characterized

the conduct cf soldiers and Marines on Samar

represented a radical departure from the pacification methods employed elsewhere in the

49

Philippines. Too often lessons that had been

painfully learned in the previous three years of

warfare were disregarded, and only the most

primitive elements were retained. Barring the

first few months of American occupation, there

was little attempt to found schools, build roads,

or win over the population—methods that

proved effective in other areas where the topography was only a little less daunting and the

guerrillas better organized. Nor did the

Americans on Samar later take advantage of their

vastly expanded intelligence capabilities or seek

to exploit the deep and bitter divisions among

various sections and classes in Samareno society.

With some exceptions, pacification methods

remained crude and undeveloped. In part, this

was the result of Samar's isolation and topography, which cannot he overemphasized. Yet it

should not be forgotten that Samar's topography

was equally harsh to the guerrillas, who, despite

having little more experience of the interior than

the Americans and being led by a "foreigner"

from another island and culture, learned to control an unruly populace and to fight effectively

with small units and with limited supplies. The

Marines, of course, fresh from China, could hardly be aware of this mass of tested lore; and in following their Army superiors down the path of

directionless retaliation, they wrote one of the

most painful chapters in the history of the

corps.4'

In assessing the Marines' performance in their

first modern small war, it is essential to recognize

that in the early 20th century, before most

Marines had any experience with expeditionary

warfare and interventions and before the emergence of a specific doctrine for fighting "small

wars," the character of the commanding officer

was all important. Certainly the physical stamina

and rugged endurance that the Marines displayed on their disastrous attempt to march

across the island may be sufficient justification

for the old U.S. Marine Corps toast, "Stand

Gentlemen. He served on Samar." Yet this glorification of suffering and tenacity should not

obscure the fact that they did not display much

expertise in their first modern guerrilla war.

Inexperienced and, in the case of Wailer, unwilling to learn, the Marines' tactics were as physi-
cally devastating to themselves as they were

punishing to their opponents.

Whether this ambiguous performance led to

institutional growth or lessons learned is beyond

the scope of this work. The Marine Corps took

no action against Wailer, and there is no indication that he displayed any remorse for his

actions. He went on to become the mentor of a

generation of counterinsurgency experts who

emerged within the corps to fight the small wars

of the Caribbean. Perhaps much of Waller's physical courage and endurance, his charismatic leadership, and his love of combat found their way

into the Marines' expeditionary forces. Yet it is

important to note that his junior officers rejected

Waller's headlong individual aggressiveness,

choosing instead to discuss, disseminate, and

eventually codify their experiences in the Small

Wars Manual of the Marine Corps.

Research for this article was made possible

through a U.S. Marine Corps Historical

Center Research Fellowship and a research

grant from Old Dominion University. The

author wishes to thank V. Keith Fleming,

Jack Shulimson, Patricia Morgan, and the

rest of the staff of the US. Marine Corps

Historical Center for their professionalism,

their willingness to discuss Marine Corps

history, and their many helpful suggestions

of sources to consult. He would also like to

thank Daniel P Greene and James R. Linn

for their comments on drafts. The views

expressed in this paper are the author's own

and should not be taken to represent those

of the US. Marine Corps Historical Center.

Notes

1. Richard E. Welch, Jr., Response to Imperialism: The

United States and the Philippine-American War,

1899—1902 (Chapel Hill, 1979), 41. For the Balangiga

"Massacre," see Eugenio Dazay Salazar, "Some

Documents on the Philippine-American War in Samar,"

Leyte-Samar Studies 17 (1983): 165—87; Fred R. Brown,

History of the Ninth US. Infantry 1 799-1909

(Chicago, 1909), 578—96; James 0. Taylor, The

Massacre of Balangiga (Joplin, Mo., 1931); Brig.

General Robert P. Hughes to Adjutant General, 30

November 1901, Records of U.S. Army Overseas

50

Operations and Commands, 1898—1942, Record Group

395, 2483, Box 39, no. 7825, National Archives,

Washington, D.C. (hereafter cited as RG 395, NA);

Edward C. Bumpus, In Memoriam (Norwood, Mass.,

1902); Joseph Schott, The Ordeal of Samar

(Indianapolis, 1964), 35—55.

2. Quote "make a desert" from Hughes to Colonel

Issac D. DeRussy, 29 September 1901, RG 395, 2551,

NA. Quote "with the exception" from Captain R. M.

Blackford to Adjutant General, 8 October 1901, RG

395, 2571, Box 1, no. 164, NA. Captain Edwin V.

Bookmiller to Adjutant General, 1 October 1901,

Annual Reports of the War Department, 1902,

1:9:625—27; DeRussy to Adjutant General, 5 October

1901, RG 395, 2552, NA. For the reaction to Balangiga,

see Major General Adna R. Chaffee to Major General

Henry C. Corbin, 25 October 1901, Henry C. Corbin

Papers, Box 1, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.;

Testimony of William H. Taft, Senate Committee on

the Philippines, Affairs in the Philippine Islands, 57th

Cong., 1st Sess., 1902, Sen. Doc. 331, 363—64; John

Morgan Gates, Schoolbooks and Krags. The United

States Army in the Philippines, 1898—1902 (Westport,

Ct., 1973), 248—51.

3. Harold Kinman to Sister, 18 October 1901, Harold

Kinman Papers, U.S. Marine Corps Historical Center,

Washington, D.C. (hereafter cited as USMCHC). Cf.

Kinmans sentiment with Major Littleton W. T. Wailer's

23 October 1901 orders to his command, located in

typescript copies of much of the Marines' official correspondence during the Samar campaign, Wailer File,

USMCHC (hereafter referred to as Wailer Report).

4. Records of the Office of the Judge Advocate

General, Record Group 153, General Courts-Martial

[G.C.M.I 30739, Brig. General Jacob H. Smith, National

Records Center, Suitland, Md.; Richard N. Current, T.

Harry Williams, Frank Friedel, Alan Brinkley.

American History—A Survey, 7th ed. (New York,

1987), vol. 2, Since 1865, 592.

5. General Orders 80, Headquarters of the Army, 16

July 1902, Records of the Bureau of Insular Affairs,

Record Group 350, File 3490—27, National Archives,

Washington, D.C.

6. John H. Clifford, History of the Pioneer Marine

Battalion at Guam, LI. and the Campaign in Samar,

P.1. 1901 (Portsmouth, N.H., 1914), 36; Charles E.

Callwell, Small Wars: Their Principles and Practice, 3d

ed. (London, 1906), 44.

7. Bruce Cruikshank, Samar: 1768—1898 (Manila,

1985), 106. For Samar's topography, see Anon, to

Adjutant, 2d Battalion, April 1900, Records of the

Adjutant General's Office, Record Group 94, 117, 43d

Inf., U.S.V., Co. "G," no. 8, National Archives,
Washington, D.C. (hereafter cited as RG 94, NA);

Captain Murray Baldwin to Adjutant General, Sixth

Separate Brigade 6SB], 21 November 1901, RG 395,

3750, Book 1, no. 5, NA; Captain E. R. Tilton to

Commanding Officer, 1st District, February 1900,

Henry T. Allen Papers, Box 32, Library of Congress,

Washington. D ; John R. M. Taylor, The Philippine

Insurrection against the United States, 1899-1903, galley proof (Washington, 1903), 81 HS.

8. E. M. Holt, "esistance on Samar: General Vicente

Lukban and the Revolutionary War, 1899—1902,"

Kabar Seberang Sulating Maphilindo 10 (December

1982): 1—14; Brig. General Vicente Lukban to Antonio

Luna, 8 July 1899, in Taylor, Philippine Insurrection,

Exhibit 1321, 58—59 HK.

9. Lukban to Local Residents of the Province of Saniar,

14 February 1900, Charles G. Clifton File, 43d Inf.,

U.S.V. Box, U.S. Army Military History Institute

(USAMHI), Carlisle, Pa.; Testimony of Lieutenant G. A.

Shields, RG 153, G.C.M. 30739, NA; Lukban to presidente of Catubig, 15 September 1900, Philippine

Insurgent Records, Select Document 502.8, National

Archives Microfilms, Microcopy 254 (hereafter cited as

PIR SD); "Copy of Lukban's Speech on his Birthday,"

1 February 1901, PIR SD 824.1; Colonel Arthur Murray

to Adjutant General, 4 June 1900, RG 94, 117, 43d Inf.,

Report No. 6, na.

10. Major John C. Gilmore to Adjutant General, 30

June 1900, RG 94, 117, 43d Inf., 2d Battalion, NA.

11. Charles G. Clifton Diary, 10 January 1902 entry,

43d Inf., U.S.V, USAMHI; Major R. A. Brown,

"Inspection of the Post and Troops at Laguan, Samar,"

31 March 1901, RG 395, 2483, Box 31, NA; Captain

William M. Swairie to Adjutant, 5 August 1901, RG 395,

3450, Box 1, no. 478, NA; Clifford, Pioneer Marine

Battalion, 28—29; Brown, Ninth Infantry, 563; Taylor,

Philippine Insurrection, 82—83 HS; Lukhan to Local

Chief of Cabalian, 3 March 1899, PIR SD 928.8; Major

Narisco Abuke to Anon., 7 October 1900, PIR SD

846,1; Lieutenant Colonel Francisco Rafael to

Lieutenant Jorge Langarra, 16 July 1901, PIR SD 808.3;

Hughes to Chief of Staff and Adjutant General, 3 June

1901, RG 395, 2550, Box 1, NA.

12. "Statement of Private Luther Jessup," in Major John

J. O'Connell to Department Commander, 30 June 1901,

RG 395, 2483, Box 36, NA; Captain John S. Fair to

Gilmore, 29 March 1900, RG 94, 117, 43d Inf., Co. "E,"

no. 38, NA; Gilmore to Adjutant General, 18 May 1900,

RG 94, 117, 43d Inf., 2d Battalion, NA; Brown, Ninth

Irfantiy, 573, 594—95.

13. Hughes to Smith, 15 October 1901, RG 395, 2483,

Box 49, NA; Hughes Testimony, Senate, Affairs, 553.

14. Hughes to Chief of Staff and Adjutant General, 14

51

May 1901, RG 395, 2483, Box 28, NA; Captain A. B.

Buffington to Captain Leslie F. Cornish, 14 June 1901,

RG 395, 3447, no. 90, NA; Hughes to Adjutant General,

10 September 1901, RG 395, 2550, Box 1. NA.

15. Hughes to Adjutant General, 30 November 1901,

RG 395, 2483, Box 39, no. 7825, NA; Schott, Ordeal of

Samar, 16—17; Holt, "Resistance on Samar," 9;

Interrogation of Joaquin Cabanes, 1 January 1902, RG

395, 2571, Box 3, no. 360, NA; Salazar, "PhilippineAmerican War," 165—87; Richard Arens, "The Early

Pulahan Movement in Samar," Leyte-Samar Studies 11

(1977): 59—66; Testimony of William Gibbs, Senate,

Affairs, 2284—2310.

16. Chaffee to Hughes, 30 September 1901, RG 94,

AGO 406865, NA; Chaffee to Adjutant General, 8

October 1901, Senate, Affairs, 1599; Chaffee to Corbin,

28 November and 9 December 1901, Corbin Papers,

Box 1; Manila American (7 January 1902); Lieutenant

W. R. Shoemaker to Senior Squadron Commander, 5

November 1901, Naval Records Collection of the

Office of Naval Records and Library, Record Group 45,

Area File 10, National Archives, Washington, D.C. For

Smith's mental instability, see Captain William M.

Swaine Testimony, RG 153, G.C.M. 30739, Brig.

General Jacob H. Smith, NA; Allen to Taft, 7 February

1902, Allen Papers, Box 7; Luke Wright to Taft, 13

January 1902, William H. Taft Papers, Ser. 3, Library of

Congress, Washington, D.C.; Chaffee to Corbin, 5 May

1902, Corbin Papers; David L. Fritz, "Before the

'Howling Wilderness': The Military Career of Jacob

Kurd Smith, 1862—1902," Military Affairs 43 (1979):

186—90.

17. Harry C. Adriance, "Diary of the Life of a Soldier in

the Philippine Islands During the Spanish-American

War by a Sergeant in the U.S.M.C.," photocopy in the

USMCHC. For other evidence of Wailer's alcoholism,

see entries of 15 November 1900 and 14—16 February

1901, Henry Clay Cochrane Diary, USMCHC; Ben H.

Fuller Papers, Box 1, Folder 9, USMCHC; "Record of

Wailer, Littieton Wailer Tazewell," USMCHC. For the

incident in China, see Wailer to Second in Command,

U.S. Naval Force, China, 22 June 1900, and Wailer to

Brig. General Commandant, 28 June 1900, Annual

Report of the Brigadier-General Commandant of the

United States Marine Coips to the Secretary of the Navy,

62—66. For the Marines' deployment, see Brig. General

Robert Hail to Hughes, 19 October 1901, RG 153,

G.C.M. 30313, Major Littleton W. T. Wailer, NA; Hughes

to Chaffee, 21 and 25 October 1901, Corbin Papers;

Manila American (20 October 1901); Rear Adm.

Frederick Rodgers to Commander in Chief, Asiatic

Squadron, 5 November 1901, RG 45, Area File 10, NA.

18. Brig. General George Davis to Secretary of War, 27
June 1902, RG 153, G.C.M. 30313, NA.

19. Wailer Report, 8—10. Wailer's defenders have perpetuated the confusion over his authority by claiming

he was in charge of all of southern Samar or even the

entire island. Paul Meishen, "He Served on Samar,"

Proceedings 105 (1979): 45; Staniey Karnow, In Our

Image: America's Empire in the Philippines (New York,

1989), 191.

20. Headquarters, Marine Battalion, Samar, 23 October

1901, Wailer Report, 6—7.

21. Quote "hiking all the time" from Harold Kinman to

Sister, 23 December 1901, Kinman Papers; quote "we

were to shoot" from Modesto Bee, 31 May 1965.

22. "Testimony of Captain David D. Porter, RG 153,

G.C.M. 30313, NA. Wailer to Smith, 31 October 1901,

Wailer Report, 10—12; Porter to Wailer, 2 November

1901, Wailer Report, 15—16; Wailer to Anon., 10

November 1900, Wailer Report, 21.

23. "Wailer to Anon., 10 November 1900, Wailer

Report, 25. See also ibid., 23—31; Wailer to Adjutant

General, 6 November 1901, RG 395, 2571, Box 1, no.

129, NA; Kinman to Sister, 23 November 1901, Kinman

Papers.

24. Wailer to Adjutant General, 6SB, 19 November

1901, WaIler Report, 26. Clifford, Pioneer Marine

Battalion, 34; RG 153, G.C.M. 10196, Lieutenant John

H. A. Day, NA.

25. Kinman to Sister, 23 December 1901, Kinman

Papers; Wailer to Adjutant General, 6SB, 30 November

1901, RG 395, 3451, Box 1, NA; Wailer to Adjutant

General, 6SB, 6, 18, and 20 December 1901, Wailer

Report, 43—48; Waller to Rodgers, 17 December 1901,

RG 45, Area File 10, NA.

26. WaIler to Smith, 19 November 1901, RG 395, 3451,

Box 1, NA. For the confusion over Wailer's mission,

see Wailer to Smith, 31 October 1901, and Judge

Advocate's Summary, RG 153, G.C.M. 30313, NA;

Wailer Report, 42; Schott, Ordeal of Samar, 104—106;

Smith to Chief Signal Officer, 2 November 1901, RG

395, 3451, Box 1, NA; Adjutant General, 6SB, to

Adjutant General, Division of Philippines, 1 December

1901, RG 395, 2571. Box 1, no. 1188, NA; Smith to the

adjutant general, 11 December 1901, RG 395, 2573,

Box 1, no. 166, NA.

27. Wailer to Adjutant General, 6SB, 25 January 1901,

Wailer Report, 49. For the Army's 1901 expedition, see

WarDepartment, 1902, 1:9:601; Brown, Ninth Infantry,

561. It should be noted that judged by the campaign

conditions on Samar, Wailer's march was neither over

particularly difficult terrain nor of more than moderate

distance.

28. Allan R. Miilett, Semper Fidelis: The Histoiy of the

US. Marine Corps (New York, 1980), 154.

52

29. WaIler to Adjutant General, 6SB, 25 January 1902,

Wailer Report, 58. See also Commander William Swift

to Smith, 20 December 1901, RG 395, 2574, Box 1, NA;

Lieutenant Kenneth P. Williams to CO., Lanang, 19

January 1902, War Department, 1902,1:9:446; Porter to

Wailer, 8 February 1902, Wailer Report, 60—64;

Lieutenant A. S. Williams to WaIler, 18 February 1902,

Wailer Report, 64—68; Schott, Ordeal of Samar, chap.

5.

30. Wailer Report, 68—88; Lieutenant Commander J. M.

Helms to Swift, 6 January 1902, RG 395, 2571, Box 2,

no. 43, NA; Wailer to Adjutant General, 8, 9, 18, and

20 February 1902, RG 395, 2573, Box 1, NA; 1902

entry, 1902, Charles G. Clifton Diary; Clifford, Pioneer

Marine Battalion.

31. Quotations from Testimony of Lieutenant John H.

A. Day, RG 153, G.C.M. 10196, NA. The identity of the

victim was unknown at the time of the killing, but it

was later alleged that lie was an insurrecto leader

named Captain Victor.

32. Testimony of Pvt. George Davis, RG 153, G.C.M.

30313, NA. Despite voluminous correspondence and

records, the events of 19—20 January 1902 are still

unclear and the evidence is inconclusive as to how

many Filipinos were executed on 20 January. The

above is based on the correspondence in the Wailer

Reports; RG 153, G.C.M. 30313 and G.C.M. 10196, NA;

and General Orders 93, Headquarters, Division of the

Philippines, 7 May 1902, RG 395, 2070, NA. For the

confusion over the number of U.S. Marine deaths, see

RG 153, G.C.M. 10196, NA; and Schott, Ordeal of

Samar, 139, 142.

33. WaIler Report, 76—77.

34. General Orders 93, Headquarters, Division of the

Philippines, 7 May 1902, RG 395, 2070, NA.

35. For Wailer's incapacity for comniand, see

Testimony of Dr. George A. Ling, RG 153, G.C.M.

10196, NA.

36. General Orders 93, Headquarters, Division of the

Philippines, 7 May 1902, RG 395, 2070, NA. For the

judge advocate's ruling that Wailer's acts were illegal

and contrary to the laws of war, see Brig. General

George Davis to Secretary of War, 27 June 1902, RG

153, G.C.M. 30313, NA.

37. Miliett, Semper Fidelis, 154; Gates, Schoolbooks

and Krags, 256; Welch, Response to Imperialism,

138—41.

38. Schott, The Ordeal of Samar, chap. 9; Melshen, "He

Served on Saniar," 45; Stuart C. Miller, Benevolent

Assimilation: The American Conquest of the

Philippines, 1899—1903 (New Haven, 1982), 227;

Karnow, In Our Image, 193.

39. RG 153, G.C.M. 30313, NA.
40. Major Charles H. Watts to Adjutant General, 1 April

1902, RG 94, AGO 482616, NA; RG 153, G.C.M. 30756,

Lieutenant Julien E. Gaujot, NA; RG 153, G.C.M. 34401,

Major Edwin F. Glenn, NA; RG 153, G.C.M. 30757,

Lieutenant Norman E. Cook, NA.

41. An excellent discussion that demonstrates that the

Samar campaign was an anomaly in Army pacification

in the Philippine War can be found in Gates,

Schoolbooks and Krags, chap. 9. For a study of Army

53

pacification on Luzon, see Brian McAllister Linn, The

U.S. Army and Counterinsurgency in the Philippine

War, 1899-1902 (Chapel Hill, N.C., 1989).

About the Author

Brian McAllister Linn is professor of history at Texas A/kM University. His

books include The US. Army and Counterinsurgency in the Philippine

War, 1899-1902 (1989), Guardians of Empire: The US. Army and the

Pac(tIc, 1902-1940 (1997), The Philippine War 1899-1902 (2000),

and The Echo of Ba/tie: The Army's Way of War (2007).

Airpower and 

Restraint in Small 

Wars: Marine Corps 

Aviation in the 

Second Nicaraguan 

Campaign, 1927-33 

by Wray R. Johnson 

Aerospace Power Journal, Fall 2001 

Air control, as exhibited by the Royal Air 

:f<orce during the British occupation of Iraq, 

is often cited as the consummate example 

of the successful and effective use of airpower. However, the u.s. military need 

look no further than its own Marine Corps 

for an equally compelling example. As Dr. 

Johnson argues, unlike their European 

counterparts, Marine air leaders understood 

the need for restraint in using airpower for 

air control in Nicaragua during the first half 

of the 20th century. 

I

T IS ONE of the peculiarities of airpower history that proponents have often claimed airpower to be a more humane instrument of 

war, whereas many critics have claimed that 

bombs dropped from the air are somehow more 

immoral than an artillery barrage or economic 

sanctions-even if the latter results in a greater 

number of civilian deaths. 1 Yet, it is rare to find 

historical examples of airmen accused of war 

crimes, much less tried for the same. This has 

created a paradox of sorts. For example, following revelations that U.S. troops deliberately fired 

upon civilian refugees at No Gun Ri during the 

Korean War, James Webb, a Marine Corps combat veteran and former secretary of the Navy, 

wrote in The Wall Street Journal, "Perhaps the 

gre'atest anomaly of recent times is that death 

55 
delivered by a bomb earns one an air medal,

while when it comes at the end of a gun it earns

one a trip to jail."2 If we were to take this line of

reasoning to its logical extreme, the tragedy at

My Lai would have been regarded differently in

history had a pair of F-4 fighter-bombers

napalmed the village. Of course, the distinction

appears to be that Lieutenant William Galley and

his soldiers killed Vietnamese women and children face to face whereas the F-4 pilots would

have been, to use popular jargon, simply "servicing a target."

According to Colonel Phil Meilinger, former

dean of the School of Advanced Airpower

Studies at Maxwell Air Force Base (AFB), Alabama, "Whether women and children are blown

to bits by artillery, starved to death as a result of

blockade, or killed in a bombing attack is a distinction the victims would not trouble themselves

to make."3 But airpower theorists and airmen

themselves have over the years invariably pointed to the distinct psychological impact of airpower as being potentially far greater than the

actual physical destruction wrought. If that is

true, then civilians do in fact make a distinction

between death by artillery fire and death by

bombs. Giulio Douhet certainly believed in the

efficacy of aerial terror to weaken, if not wholly

undermine, the will of civilian populations, and

as recently as 1997, the director of Defence

Studies at the Royal Air Force Staff College

averred that "airpower when used properly can

he a devastatingly effective psychological

weapon.

A basic premise of classical airpower theory,

then, has always been that people targeted from

the air—whether combatants or noncombatants—react with much greater fear to aerial bombardment than to surface attack.5 Apparently,

this is equally true among guerrillas and other

irregulars. In his book Viet Cong Memoir, Truong

Nhu Tang described B-52 strikes as "undiluted

psychological terror." Despite having been hunted by South Vietnamese and American ground

forces and having endured all of the privations

and hardships associated with the life of a guerrilla, Truong Tang noted that "nothing the guerrillas had to endure compared with the stark terrorization of the B-52 bombardments."6 Thus,

56

since the advent of the airplane, airpower enthusiasts have noted the psychological dimension of

airpower and sought to exploit it. In that light,

the use of the airplane by Great Britain to police

its empire in the early part of the 20th century

serves as a case in point.

As Dr. Jim Corum has noted in his article "The

Myth of Air Control," the British long relied upon

terror in the form of punitive expeditions to

bring rebellious native populations to heel.7

Indeed, Colonel C. E. CalIwell, in his seminal

work Small Wars, first published in 1896, considered what we today would think of as wanton

acts of destruction perpetrated against civilians to

be a sound military principle:

It is so often the case that the power

which undertakes a small war desires to

acquire the friendship of the people which

its armies are chastising, that the system of

what is called "military execution" is illadapted to the end in view. The most satisfactory way of bringing such foes to reason

is by the rifle and the sword, for they

understand this mode of warfare and

respect it. Sometimes, however, the circumstances do not admit of it, and then their

villages must be demolished and granaries

destroyed.8

Although Colonel CalIwell acknowledged "a

limit to the amount of license in destruction" in

small wars, he nevertheless acceded to a certain

expediency in such "havoc" and noted that,

despite the fact that burning crops and killing

civilians was something "the laws of regular warfare do not sanction," it was oftentimes a necessary, albeit unfortunate, characteristic of small

wars.9

The Royal Air Force (RAF) advanced air control as a substitute for the traditional punitive

expedition on the ground. In short, such expeditions by air were relatively cheap, could inflict

serious casualties upon recalcitrant natives without exposing English soldiers to any harm, and

capitalized on the fact that primitive people were

quite often terrified by airplanes. Thus, when

combined with surface operations conducted by

native levies or other non-English imperial

troops, these operations were quite successful,
and the RAF exploited the results to its own

political ends. But in keeping with the nature of

punitive expeditions in general, these aerial

operations also tended to be quite brutal. For

example, at the time, Wing Commander J. A.

Charnier of the RAP insisted that airplanes were

to he used relentlessly, carrying out attacks "on

houses, inhabitants, crops, and cattle."10

Although repugnant to modern sensibilities, such

an attitude was wholly in keeping with an imperial policy intended to crush native resistance to

British authority as quickly and effectively as

possible. Moreover, Great Britain was not alone

in this matter, as the French displayed an equal

disregard for the lives and property of native

peoples.

French imperial policy was similar to that of

the British, and the French use of airpower to

police their own colonial possessions was no

less brutal—perhaps greater. The French air

force played a significant role in the colonial

fighting in Morocco and Tunisia prior to, during,

and after World War I. Aerial bombardment of

civilians by the air force in policing the French

Empire was the norm. In fact, at Naihout,

Tunisia, in the fall of 1916, the French used

chemical weapons against civilian targets, including mosques. Apparently, the French made no

distinction between combatants and noncombatants in punitive operations; therefore, the use of

gas was not regarded as particularly unethical or

immoral—or even counterproductive. French

use of aircraft in colonial warfare increased during the 1920s, with 21 squadrons operating in

Morocco alone. According to Dr. Bill Dean, a

professor on the faculty at Air Command and

Staff College at Maxwell AFB, "As had been the

case a decade before, the French had no qualms

about bombing villages that were strictly civilian

targets."11 They even used American mercenary

aviators at one point.12

Ironically, the British public was not especially outraged by their own soldiers or other soldiers in the employ of the empire torching villages in Iraq or Yemen, but they were moved to

protest the use of airplanes for the same purpose. Early RAP reports on air-control operations

stressed effectiveness and lethality, but later

statements emphasized the use of airplanes in a

57

more humane and less lethal manner. The proximate cause of this shift in emphasis was the rising chorus of protest in the British press and in

Parliament. It would appear, however, that no

such compunction developed about matters on

the ground because punitive expeditions continued as before, and British troops repeatedly

shelled villages without warning. But tile

restraint claimed by the RAF was probably mostly fiction, especially in the more isolated outposts of tile British Empire. Contrast this state of

affairs with the operations of United States

Marine Corps aviation elements in Nicaragua

during roughly the same time frame.

In Qu/ote on a Burro, a privately published

classic on American intervention in Nicaragua

between 1912 and 1934, Lejeune Cummins wrote

in 1958 that "perhaps the only subject regarding

the American intervention . . . upon which all

authorities are able to agree is the efficacy with

which the Marines employed the air power at

their disposal."13 Indeed, Secretary of the Navy

Curtis Wilbur reported in 1929 that Marine Corps

aviation was "of inestimable value" in

Nicaragua.14 Cummins was thus moved to

observe that "it is probably not an exaggeration

to say that the marine occupation . . . could not

have been accomplished" without Marine Corps

aviation. 15

Beginning in 1919, the Marine Corps had

employed airplanes against the cacos in Haiti

and "bandits" in the Dominican Republic, but tile

accompanying air units were added to these

expeditions mostly as an afterthought and, therefore, generally operated without a clear idea of

their role in each undertaking.16 Six Curtiss JN4B "Jennies" of the 1st Air Squadron, commanded by Captain Waiter McCaughtry, deployed in

February 1919 to San Pedro de Macoris, the

Dominican Republic, while another six Jennies

and six Curtiss HS-2L flying boats of the 4th

Squadron under Captain Harvey Mims began

operations at Port-au-Prince, Haiti, on 31

March.17 Although some of these aircraft took

part in active combat operations—experimenting

with improvised bombing tactics against the

indigenous irregular forces—it was not until

improved radios became available in 1921 that

air-to-ground cooperation proved at all practica-
ble. Consequently, in both the Dominican

Republic and Haiti, Marine Corps aviation

proved its worth mostly in combat-support operations such as scouting, communications, mapping, transportation, and medical assistance.

Nevertheless, as one Marine Corps aviator concluded afterwards, "We were there and they used

us, and they used us to their advantage, and consequently we became a useful and integral part

of the Marine Corps."8 In fact, not unlike the

British and the French, the Corps became

increasingly aware of the facility of close airground counterguerrilla operations. And in

Nicaragua, the Marine Corps began to perfect

these techniques in a manner that ultimately laid

the foundation for the highly effective system of

close air support still in use by that service today.

United States interests in Nicaragua did not

arise suddenly with the emergence of the revolutionary disturbances of the 1920s; this small

country had been of strategic importance to the

U.S. government since the war with Mexico,

when, along with the Isthmus of Panama,

Nicaragua became vital to transcontinental communications. Suffice it to say that as a result of

the Roosevelt Corollary to the Monroe Doctrine,

the United States took on the role of hemispheric gendarme in order to protect American commercial interests throughout Latin America.

President William Howard Taft subsequently

made "dollar diplomacy" the paramount strategic

consideration in Latin America, and when

American capital investment was threatened in

Nicaragua in 1926, the United States sent in the

Marines.19

In February 1927, Marine Observation

Squadron 1, commanded by Major Ross "Rusty"

Rowell, landed at Corinto, Nicaragua, with eight

officers, 81 enlisted men, and six de Havilland

DH-4B aircraft. In May, Marine Observation

Squadron 4, with seven officers, 78 enlisted

Marines, and six Boeing 02B-ls (a metal-fuselaged derivative of the venerable DH-4B) also

arrived and were placed under Major Rowell's

command. Combined, the two units were designated Aircraft Squadrons, 2d Brigade.20 Major

Rowell, an experienced pilot who had received

instruction in dive-bombing during exercises

conducted by U.S. Army fliers at Kelly Field in

58

San Antonio, Texas, was quick to appreciate the

value of dive-bombing: "[Iti seemed to me that it

would be an excellent form of tactics for use in

guerrilla warfare."21 Thus, when he took command of the 1st Squadron in San Diego in 1924,

Rowell had U.S. Army A-3 bomb racks installed

on the squadron's DH-4Bs and set about training

his pilots in the technique.

Dive-bombing—more accurately, what we

would today describe as glide bombing—had

earlier been employed in Haiti. During the intervention there in 1919, Lieutenant Lawson

Sanderson of the 4th Squadron realized that the

usual practice of horizontal release of bombs by

the rear observer was inaccurate, to say the least.

By trial and error, Lieutenant Sanderson settled

upon the technique of dropping the nose of his

aircraft in what was then considered a steep dive

of 45 degrees. Flying directly at the target,

Sanderson then released the bomb himself at an

altitude of roughly 250 feet. The tactic proved

considerably more accurate than horizontal

bombing, and the other pilots in the squadron

soon abandoned the old method in favor of the

new one. Such accuracy would prove its worth

to the Marine Corps in Nicaragua.22

Although much has been written about

Marine Corps aviation in Nicaragua during what

officially became known as the Second

Nicaraguan Campaign, none of it is considered

definitive. General Vernon McGee, a Marine

Corps aviator, wrote one of the better essays on

the topic in 1965. A veteran of the Second

Nicaraguan Campaign, General McGee helped

author his service's Small Wars Manual, perhaps

the finest doctrine ever written regarding counterrevolutionary warfare. The general was convinced that concepts learned in Nicaragua were

applicable to the ongoing counterinsurgency

effort in Vietnam. His essay emphasized the technological aspect—specifically, the characteristics

of airplanes useful in a counterguerrilla campaign—but his larger idea of looking to the

Nicaraguan experience as a model for airpower

in small wars bears consideration, particularly in

contrast to the British air-control example.

Perhaps there is no better starting point than

to examine what Major Rowell had to say regarding the lessons of Nicaragua. In an article pub-
lished in the Marine Corps Gazette in September

1929, he acknowledged the examples set by the

British and French (as well as the Italians and

Spanish) with respect to the use of aircraft in

"bush, or guerrilla warfare" but went on to assert

that "no broader experience has been gained, or

greater success achieved through the employment of aircraft in minor warfare, than that which

attended the operations of [the] Marines during

the Nicaraguan campaign of 1927 and 1928."23

Major Rowe!! spent the bulk of his artic!e detailing organization, tactics, and so forth, but, particularly, his remarks regarding the unique character of the conflict warrant our attention in the

context of airpower and restraint.

The Marine Corps had been dispatched to

Nicaragua to aid the Conservative government of

Adolfo Diaz and to protect Americans and their

property from Liberal opposition forces led by

Dr. Juan Sacasa. The Liberal army had disintegrated as a unified force but was rep!aced by

small bands of guerrillas, the most prominent of

which was led by Augusto C. Sandino. Although

in rebellion against the government, Sandino

also set about to rid the country of the American

presence that had dominated it since the Taft

administration. Waging a ruthless guerrilla war,

Sandino presented the Marine Corps with an

unprecedented challenge. Whereas in earlier

conflicts in Central America and the Caribbean,

the Corps had faced nominally guerrilla formations ranging from organized criminals to politicized, disgruntled elements of society, in

Nicaragua it faced a different kind of guerrilla

opponent—one schooled and educated by

Mexican Marxists and enjoying international support. The Marine Corps, therefore, was among

the first regular forces in the 20th century to face

the "revolutionary guerrilla." Whereas in Haiti

and the Dominican Republic the Corps functioned as an occupation force, invoking martial

law and having a free hand in the conduct of

military operations in the field, in Nicaragua it

supported the extant government and was thus

constrained by political limitations that its predecessors in the Caribbean as well as British and

French counterparts would have regarded as

unthinkable.

Major Rowell in particular was sensitive to the

59

limitations imposed on his operations, not the

least of which was the impact of public opinion

back home in the United States: "Public opinion,

always to be respected, is sensitive to bloodshed

and the newspapers are prone to publish rumors

of scandals or abuses. . . . The practical effects

are numerous. For example: we may not

1)0mb towns because it would not be consistent

with a policy advocated at some international

convention. . . . The safety of noncombatants

becomes a matter of prime importance."24

It is important to note that Major Rowell's

comments were offered in the context of a complaint: "We are required to conform to all of the

rules of civilized warfare, while the enemy will

torture prisoners, murder the wounded and mutilate the dead." Nevertheless, Major Rowell was

bound by the restraints imposed upon him and

at least grudgingly conceded to their political

necessity. In a subsequent essay, he recounted

how, in the earliest stages of the Marine Corps

intervention, "the American mission was to stop

the war—not to become involved in it."25 This

necessarily led to certain operational constraints.

Major Rowell, therefore, "appealed to all pilots to

avoid hostilities and to return fire only when

necessary to save their own lives."26

But neutrality soon gave way to active combat

operations as Sandino deliberately attacked

Marine Corps patrols and garrisons as well as

other Americans and their property. As the

American role in Nicaragua became wider and

deeper, operational constraints on the Corps

were loosened but never approximated the freedom its aviators enjoyed in the Caribbean—and

certainly bore no similarity to the freedom of

European air arms in their air-policing roles. For

example, despite the fact that Major Rowell and

other Marine Corps authors argued for the use of

nonlethal chemicals such as tear gas (in contrast

to the French use of lethal chemicals), U.S. policy forbade such usage.27

It became clear to diplomats and Marine

Corps commanders in Nicaragua that direct and

even indirect infliction of casualties on the civilian population was not only contrary to policy,

but also carried negative value. Whereas British

and French aviators routinely bombed villages

and strafed collections of suspicious men—as
well as women, children, and animals—the

Corps clearly understood that this was counterproductive and modified its tactics. Major Rowell,

therefore, encouraged the service's pilots to use

their best judgment when attempting to tell guerrillas from civilians on the ground: "It is sometimes rather difficult to distinguish between the

hostile groups and the noncombatants. No fixed

rules can be laid down in such cases. The aviators must have an intimate knowledge of the

characteristics of and habits of each group.

[However,] pilots will always bear in mind that

innocent people will sometimes flee upon the

approach of airplanes."28 Contrast this statement

with that of an RAF pilot who stated that nine

unidentifiable people in a group constituted an

illegal assembly, so he dropped bombs on

them.29

All of the above is not to say that innocent

civilians did not die in Nicaragua as a result of air

action. In his classic account of the Marine Corps

fight with Sandino, Neill Macaulay described the

service's tactics as "aerial terrorism."30 Citing a

particular mission led by Major Rowell, Macaulay

noted that after observing several horses around

a large house, Rowell and the pilot of another

aircraft dropped bombs on the house and in the

yard. Unknown persons were seen darting from

the house into a nearby grove. Major Rowell

strafed the grove but apparently to no effect.

Macaulay, however, fails to mention the indicators that the Marine Corps recognized as pointing

to probable guerrilla activity and the often

extraordinary lengths to which its aviators would

go to ensure that suspicious persons were

indeed guerrillas.

Major Rowell instructed his pilots to fly no

higher than 2,000 feet and generally 1,500 feet or

lower—well within small-arms range—in order

to distinguish between men and women, horses

and cattle, and so forth.31 He also stressed that

pilots and their observers should become expert

in the "organization, equipment, and habits of

the enemy" through careful study. "Basically," he

wrote, "reconnaissance consists of distinguishing

between the normal and the abnormal."32 When

something on the ground seemed out of the

ordinary, Marine pilots would swoop down to

investigate. Towns that appeared to be aban60

doned were especially regarded as suspicious: "If

the enemy is hiding there, some member of the

party will probably decide to find a better place

and make a dash for it. This may be induced by

the patrol making a feint to attack. Under some

circumstances, it will be possible to develop the

situation by use of a few bursts from the front or

rear guns. Occasionally a bomb may be expended for the same purpose."33

Several points of this statement are noteworthy. Major Rowell insisted that his pilots be able

to distinguish between guerrillas and civilians in

order to avoid harming the latter. In circumstances in which all indications pointed to guerrilla activity, attempts to flush them out were

graduated (feint, then use guns, then maybe a

bomb or two) and employed when civilians

were unlikely to be in the way.34 If the town

were abandoned by the civilian populace, the

expenditure of bombs was certainly less problematic than if the area were bustling with activity. Such restraint certainly appears to refute any

accusation of aerial terrorism and seems almost

magnanimous compared to the British propensity to bomb any suspicious activity.

As alluded to earlier, the Marine Corps went to

improbable lengths to determine the nature of

suspicious activity in order to avoid unnecessary

civilian casualties. In his annual report dated 20

June 1928, Major Rowell recounted how Marine

aircraft would approach suspicious locales "from

behind hills or mountains, the planes gliding in

with throttled engines," whereupon the pilots

would fly low enough to the ground that the

observer in the rear of the aircraft could "look

into windows and doors." As a counter to this

extraordinary tactic, the guerrillas often included

women and children among their parties, "secure

in the knowledge that the women [would] not be

attacked."35 This is not surprising, given that

Major Rowell and his pilots were often (although

not always) under standing orders not to attack

towns and villages at all, even if the presence of

guerrillas was indisputable. In February 1928, for

example, Rowell discovered Sandino and his

main column in the town of Rafael del Norte. His

fully armed patrol flew within a few feet of the

building in which Sandino was being interviewed by an American journalist, at a level
"where the pilots and observers looked into the

muzzles of the enemy rifles." But Major Rowe!!

did not attack. He later wrote that "this rare

opportunity was passed by because it was the

policy of the Commanding General to avoid the

possibility of injury to the lives and property of

innocent persons by refraining from attacks on

towns."6

Unquestionably, Sandino and his guerrillas

respected and feared the Marine Corps lanzabombas, as they were called by the Sandinistas.37 Not only were Marine aircraft useful and

lethal weapons in counterguerrilla warfare, but

also they facilitated the political process crucial

to counterrevolutionary warfare. To that end,

these aircraft supported the national elections in

1928 at the height of the guerrilla war, especially in remote areas of the country:

It was necessary to ferry by plane most

of the American personnel to outlying districts, to supply them there, to maintain

communication with them, to patrol the

towns and mesas on registration and election days, and, finally, to bring to Managua

the ballots. In order to accomplish this

work, flying time generally reached its

peak during the weeks immediately before

and after the election periods. . . . [In 19281

on election day 237 cantons were visited by

airplanes. 38

As the war wound down, leading to eventual

withdrawal of the Marine Corps in 1933, aviation

continued to play a significant role in the political process. Because of an earlier agreement

with the government and the insurgents, the

United States agreed to oversee national elections again in 1932. The assistance provided by

Marine aviators was invaluable, constituting the

most extensive use of aviation in a political-support role during the intervention in Nicaragua.39

With the close of this chapter in Marine Corps

history, much of what the corps had learned in

Nicaragua was synthesized and eventually codified in the Small Wars Manual, first published in

1935 and revised in 1940.40 As noted earlier,

General McGee and other Marine Corps aviators

participated in this effort, and an entire chapter

of the manual was devoted to aviation.41

61

Although the chapter was limited mostly to the

composition of the aviation element, organization, types of missions, and so forth, the Small

Wars Manual as a whole represented a major

departure in the history of American military

doctrine for small wars.

The 1935 edition was written by Major Harold

Utley, who had commanded Marines in Eastern

Nicaragua, as well as other Marines experienced

in small wars. The work was informed by the

research of U.S. Army officers and foreign

experts in colonial warfare—including Colonel

Callwell of the British army.42 The 1940 edition

was an encyclopedic work with over 400 pages

of text comprising detailed treatments regarding

organization, tactics, intelligence, propaganda,

and a host of other topics, including the care and

feeding of pack animals. But its treatment of revolutionaiy guerrilla warfare was groundbreaking

and remarkably prescient regarding the nature of

emerging revolutionary warfare: "After a study

has been made of the people who will oppose

the intervention, the strategical plan is evolved.

Strategy should attempt to gain psychological

ascendancy over the outlaw or insurgent element

prior to hostilities. [The] political mission . . . dictates the military strategy of small wars."43 This

statement is quite remarkable in that this was the

first time that U.S. military doctrine placed the

political mission ahead of military requirements.

It also illustrates the extent to which the Marine

Corps recognized the "new" guerrilla threat,

including the realization that "the motive in small

wars is not material destruction; [it] is usually a

project dealing with the social, economic, and

political development of the people."44

The authors of the Small Wars Manual gave

special consideration to the underlying socioeconomic and political grievances that gave rise to

insurgency and thus defined the theory of victory in such situations as relying upon an accurate

assessment of the root causes of internal rebellion. For example, "the application of purely military measures may not, by itself restore peace

and orderly government because the funclamental causes of the condition of unrest may he economic, political, or social." Consequently, "the

solution of such problems being basically a political adjustment, the military measures to be
applied must be of secondary importance and

should be applied only to such an extent as to

permit the continuation of peaceful corrective

measures."45 Given the primacy of the nonmilitary dimension, it is not surprising that the

Marine Corps would acquiesce to the need for

restraint—including the application of airpower.

If the operational objective is to detach popular

support from the guerrillas and reattach it to the

central government, deliberately bombing civilians from the air is counterproductive.

In contrast to the service's recognition of the

political dimension of small wars, the British,

French, and other European powers of the same

period continued to regard small wars as exclusively a military problem. Indigenous peoples

were regarded as "inferior races" who understood only the sword and fire.46 Resistance was

to be smashed. European officers failed to discern and appreciate the manner in which ideologies borne Out of Marxism, nationalism, Islam,

and so forth, served to focus discontent and

unify native peoples in a social, political, and

military organization capable of resisting the regular armies of Europe. One must remember that

the period encompassing the Marine Corps experience in Nicaragua (1910—33) and the British aircontrol experience between the world wars gave

rise to such revolutionary figures as Mao Zedong,

Ho Chi Minh, and Emiliano Zapata, among others. The Corps appears to have understood the

emergent political nature of small wars in the

20th century, including the need for restraint in

the application of airpower, better than their

European counterparts.

But as Dr. Comm pointed out in his article,

the United States Air Force retains a certain fascination with the British concept of air control. It

goes without saying that Air Force officers pay

less attention to the airpower experience of the

Marine Corps in Nicaragua in the 1920s. This is

unfortunate because in the context of the emerging challenge of small wars in the 21st century,

the model provided by the Corps in the Second

Nicaraguan Campaign is probably more appropriate. One must wonder, then, why the British

concept is often stressed in the U.S. Air Force

and the Marine experience is largely ignored.

One answer, perhaps the best one, is that

62

Marine Corps aviation in Nicaragua does not

serve the interests of autonomous operations and

institutional independence held sacrosanct by

the U.S. Air Force. The RAF was one of the first

major air forces to attain institutional independence, and air control served to solidify that independence as well as advance the timeless idea of

achieving victory through airpower alone. Using

the British example appears to validate theoretical and doctrinal propositions that the U.S. Air

Force has long held dear. Marine Corps aviation,

on the other hand, has always been subordinate,

and the Nicaragua experience in fact laid the

foundation for this relationship between the air

element and the ground commander. As General

McGee wrote, "Undeterred by any necessity for

counterair operations, and untempted by any

'wild blue yonder' schemes of semi-independent

strategical forays, the Marines buckled down to

their primary mission of supporting Marine

ground forces."47 The fact of the matter, however, is that airpower in a counterinsurgency environment is probably best suited to a supporting

role, but this flies in the face of the airman's conviction that airpower is decisive.

Ironically, during the post-World War II counterinsurgency era, the RAF generally found itself

subordinate to a ground-force commander—a

fact often overlooked by people who promote

the idea of air control. For example, during the

10-year war against communist Dhofari guerrillas

in Oman, the air element "defied a time-honoured Royal Air Force principle in that it came

under the command of [ani Army brigadier." But

as the British commander of the Dhofar Brigade

pointed out, "all its work was in close support of

the Army . . . and few disapproved of the

arrangement. "48

Compare this disposition with that of the

Marine air element in Nicaragua. Based upon

that experience, Major Rowell recommended the

following:

The senior air officer should have the

same dual staff and command status that is

given the artillery commander in the

infantry division. In other words, the senior

air officer should actively command the air

organization and at the same time serve as
the advisor to the [overall] commander on

air matters. . . . The air squadrons will operate in support of ground organizations and

also independently. In certain special situations, planes may be attached temporarily

to ground units. As a general rule this practice should be discouraged. Better support

can be given in most cases if the control is

centralized.49

The similarity between this ordering of control

and authority to the relationship between the

joint force air component commander and the

joint force commander today is so obvious as to

require no further elaboration. In short, Major

Rowell was advocating a structure not unlike

what stands as current joint doctrine.50

Nevertheless, the RAP concept of air control is

generally held up as a model for "air constabulary" missions, and the Marine Corps example in

Nicaragua is ignored.51

In closing, Air Force officers over the years

have advanced various schemes by seeking to

capitalize on the British air-control example, but

much of the analysis regarding air control tended to ignore certain inconvenient facts—such as

the presence of British ground forces and the

apparent brutality of punitive expeditions conducted by British airmen. One must also note

that these latter-day American studies tended to

eschew any analysis of the political dimension—

something also ignored by the British during the

heyday of air control and something the U.S. military has struggled with since the end of World

War II. A primary weakness of C. E. Callwell's

book as a useful guide for today has always been

its emphasis on military operational solutions to

political and social problems. In that sense, the

Marine Corps Small Wars Manual is better doctrine. By the same token, the Marine airpower

experience in Nicaragua is a better model for airpower in small wars.

Notes

1. For an excellent discussion of ethics, morality, and

aerial bombardment, see Louis Manzo, "Morality in

War Fighting and Strategic Bombing in World War

Two," Air Power History, Fall 1992, 35—50. For a contrasting view, see Phillip Meilinger, "Winged Defense:

63

Airwar, the Law and Morality," Armed Forces and

Society, Fall 1993, 103—23. Another excellent discussion of the law of war and airpower can be found in

W. Parks, "Air War and the Law at War," AirForce Law

Review 32, no. 1 (1990): 1—55.

2. James Webb, "Making Sense of No Gun Ri," Wall

Street Journal, 6 October 1999.

3. Col Phillip S. Meilinger, letter to the editor, Air

Power History, Winter 1992, 58.

4. Group Captain Andrew P. N. Lambert, "Shattering

Impact: The Psychology of Air Attack," in Air Power

Confronts an Unstable World, ed. Richard Hallion

(London: Brassey's, 1997), 105.

5. In fact Group Captain Lambert asserts, "The evidence suggests that the psychological responses of a

civilian population to bombing mirror almost exactly

the reactions of soldiers to enemy fire." Ibid., 94.

6. Truong Nhu Tang, Viet Cong Memoir: An Inside

Account of the Vietnam War and Its Aftermath, with

David Chanoff and Doan Van Toai (New York: Vintage

Books, April 1986), 167. The B-52 was equally feared

by Iraqi soldiers during the Gulf War. Consequently,

one of the most successful psychological-operations

(PSYOP) leaflets of the war displayed a photo of a B52 unloading its deadly cargo, accompanied by text

warning of continued B-52 strikes. Regrettably, many

observers concluded that the "B-52 leaflet" was a universally applicable leaflet in PSYOP, forgetting that,

although the Vietcong were terrified by B-52 strikes,

they rarely surrendered as a result.

7. Dr. James S. Corum, "The Myth of Air Control:

Reassessing the History," Aerospace Power Journal 14,

no. 4 (Winter 2000): 61—77.

8. Col C. E. Callwell, Small Wars: Their Princzples and

Practice, 3d ed. (London: Printed for Her Majesty's

Stationery Office by Harrison and Sons, 1906), 41.

9. Ibid., 41—42.

10. Wing Comdr J. A. Chamier, "The Use of Air Power

for Replacing Military Garrisons," Journal of the Royal

United Services Institute, February—November 1921,

210.

11. William Dean, "The Colonial Armies of the French

Third Republic: Overseas Formation and Continental

Deployment, 1871—1920" (PhD diss., University of

Chicago, 1999), 3 15—24.

12. The Escadrille Cherifienne flew 470 missions—

often attacking towns that had already submitted to

French authority—before being disbanded. Ibid., 324.

13. Lejeune Cummins, Quijote on a Burro: Sandino

and the Marines, A Study in the Formulation of

Foreign Policy (Mexico City: Distrito Federal: La

Impresora Azteca, 1958), 54

14. Annual Report of the Secretary of the Navy, Fiscal
Year 1928 (Washington, D.C.: Department of the Navy,

1920), 50, cited in ibid.

15. Ibid., 55.

16. By 1910, revolutions in Haiti followed a well-established pattern. A military strongman would form a

caco army, consisting mostly of military adventurers

and conscripts. The caco army would seize the capital

city of Port-au-Prince, surround the legislature, and

oversee the election of the insurgent leader as the new

president. When the Marine Corps landed in July 1915,

a number of caco armies supporting Rosalvo Bobo

resisted. Suppressing these irregular forces became the

primary military objective of the Marine Corps in Haiti.

Likewise, when the United States intervened in the

Dominican Republic in 1916, armed clashes between

Marines and various irregulars erupted almost immecliately. Generally lumped together as "bandits," these

irregular forces actually comprised professional highwaymen known as gavilleros, ordinary criminals, discontented politicians who used banditry to advance

their own ambitions, unemployed laborers, and peasants, the latter generally impressed into service.

17. Lt Col Edward Johnson, Marine 6'ops Aviation.

The Early Years, 1912—1940 (Washington, D.C.:

History and Museums Division, Headquarters U.S.

Marine Corps, 1977), 49—51.

18. Major General Ford 0. Rogers, USMC, retired, transcript of oral histoiy interview, Oral History Collection

(Washington, D.C.: History and Museums Division,

Headquarters U.S. Marine Corps, 3 December 1970),

25, cited in ibid., 49.

19. For a full treatment, see Ivan Musicant, The

Banana Wars: A History of United States Military

Intervention in Latin America from the SpanishAmerican War to the Invasion 0/Panama (New York:

Macmillan, 1990).

20. Johnson, 55—56.

21. Ibid., 53.

22. The use of aircraft to support Marines on the

ground is an important yet much overlooked aspect of

airpower history. It is beyond the scope of this article

to address the topic in the detail it deserves, but every

student of airpower history should spend time examining the tactics, techniques, and procedures developed by the Marine Corps in Nicaragua, as it laid the

groundwork for our concept of close air support

today.

23. Major Ross Rowell, "Aircraft in Bush Warfare,"

Marine Corps Gazette, September 1929, 180.

24. Ibid., 181.

25. Major Ross Rowell, "The Air Service In Minor

Warfare," United States Naval Institute Proceedings,

October 1929, 872.

64

26. Ibid.

27. Rowell, "Aircraft in Bush Warfare," 195. See also

Captain H. Denny Campbell, "Aviation in Guerilla

Warfare," Marine Corps Gazette, Pt. 3 (November

1931): 33. In both articles, the authors advocated the

use of nonlethal chemicals ("a sneezing gas, a lachrymatory gas, a laughing gas, a cholic-producing gas or

even a simple and harmless anaesthetic") over lethal

compounds. According to Captain Campbell, such use

"humanizes bullet warfare" (33).

28. Rowell, "Aircraft in Bush Warfare," 193—94.

29. Robin Cross, The Bombers: The Illustrated Story of

Offensive Strategy and Tactics in the Twentieth

Century (New York: Macmillan, 1987), 70.

30. NeilI Macaulay, The Sandino A/fair (Durham, N.C.:

Duke University Press, 1985), 116.

31. As a result, Marine aircraft were struck by ground

fire on virtually every mission.

32. Rowell, "Aircraft in Bush Warfare," 191—92.

33. Ibid., 193.

34. Macaulay recounts one incident, however, in

which Major Rowell machine-gunned purported guerrillas in a house in a town where women and children

were present. Sarcastically, Macaulay wrote, "The

women and children were presumably not endangered by the machine gun fire." But one can argue

persuasively that at such low altitude and speed and

with the superior marksmanship prevalent among the

Marine aviators at the time, Rowell took the women

and children into account when he made his decision

to open fire. Given the absence of reported civilian

casualties associated with this incident. Major Rowell

apparently took a calculated risk and succeeded. See

Macaulay, 116.

35. Major Ross Rowell, "Annual Report of Aircraft

Squadrons, Second Brigade, U.S. Marine Corps, July 1,

1927, to June 20, 1928," Marine Corps Gazette,

December 1928, 250—51.

36. Ibid., 254.

37. Cummins, 54.

38. Captain Francis Mulcahy, "Marine Corps Aviation

in the Second Nicaraguan Campaign," United States

Naval Institute Proceedings, August 1933, 1131.

39. Cummins, 45.

40. In addition to Major Rowell, who left Nicaragua in

August 1928, three other Marine aviators commanded

the air element in Nicaragua: Major Louis Bourne

(August 1928 to December 1929), Major Ralph Mitchell

(December 1929 to July 1931), and Captain Francis

Mulcahy (July 1931 to January 1933). As a colonel,

Rowell rose to become director of Marine Corps

Aviation from 1 April 1936 to 10 March 1939 and as a

major general was at one point the senior Marine
Corps aviator in the Pacific during World War II. But

following a disagreement with the commandant of the

Marine Corps and Adm Chester Nimitz regarding the

use of Marine aircraft on escort carriers (as opposed to

supporting Marines on the ground), he was relieved

and sent to Lima, Peru, as chief of the Naval Air

Mission. It was a sorry end to the career of an otherwise illustrious and dedicated Marine Corps aviator.

See Mulcahy, 1122; Marine Coips Aircraft, 1913—1965, rev. ed. (Washington, D.C.: Historical Branch, G-3

Division, Headquarters U.S. Marine Corps, 1967), 49;

and Peter Mersky, U.S. Marine Corps Aviation: 1912 to

the Present, 3d ed. (Baltimore: Nautical & Aviation

Publishing Company of America, 1997), 98.

41. See Small Wars Manual (1940; reprint,

Washington, D.C.: Department of the Navy, 1987), 9-

1-1 to 9-36-24.

42. Much of what the U.S. Army had learned in terms

of "pacification" came from its own experience in the

Philippines at the turn of the century. During the guerrilla phase of that war, the official U.S. policy under

President William McKinley was one of "benevolent

assimilation," emphasizing conciliation over military

solutions. See Brian McAllister Linn, The Philippine

War, 1899—1902 (Lawrence: University Press of

Kansas, 2000), 30.

43. Small Wars Manual, 1-8-13.

44. Ibid., 1-10-18

45. Ibid., 1-9-15, 1-9-16.

46. In truth, the Marines of the time were no less racist

than the British or French. In his article on the use of

aircraft in small wars, Captain H. Denny Campbell

regarded the use of propaganda to he an "effective

weapon . . . against races of uneducated, uncivilized,

indolent and superstitious peoples." The distinction,

however, is that Marines recognized that mistreatment

and brutality—even directed at what they considered

65

to be inferior peoples—made success in counterrevolutionary war all the more difficult and perhaps impossible. (For the specific reference cited, see Campbell,

pt. 3 [note 261, 33.)

47. General Vernon McGee, "The Evolution of Marine

Aviation," Marine Corps Gazette, Pt. 1 (August 1965):

24.

48. John Akehurst, We Won a War Campaign in

Oman, 1965—1975 (Wilton, Salisbury, Wiltshire,

England: Michael Russell [Publishingl, 1982), 38.

49. Rowell, "Aircraft in Bush Warfare," 203.

50. According to Joint Publication 1-02, Department of

Defense Dictionary qf Military and Associated Terms,

12 April 2001, "the joint force air component commander derives authority from the joint force commander who has the authority to exercise operational

control, assign missions, direct coordination among

subordinate commanders, redirect and organize forces

to ensure unity of effort in the accomplishment of the

overall mission" (222). Centralized control in support

of the overall commander's objectives is at the heart of

the joint force air component commander concept and

was the principal concern of Major Rowell and the

Aircraft Squaclrons, 2d Brigade.

51. See, for example, Carl H. Builder, "Doctrinal

Frontiers," Aiipower Journal 9, no. 4 (Winter 1995):

6—13.

About the Author

Wray R. Johnson, Colonel, USAF (Ret.), is professor of military history at

the School of Advanced Warfighting, Marine Corps University, Quantico,

Virginia. He was professor of military history at the School of Advanced

Airpower Studies, Maxwell Air Force Base, at the time he wrote this article.

Johnson is author of Vietnam and American Doctrine for Small Wars

(2000) and coauthor (with James S. Corum) ofAirpower in Small Wars:

Fighting Insurgents and Terrorists (2003). He holds a doctorate in U.S.

history from Florida State University.

u.s. Marines and 

Miskito Indians: The 

Rio Coco Patrol of 

1928 

by David C Brooks 

Marine Corps Gazette, November 1996 

While most military histories of the Marine 

involvement in Nicaragua have focused on 

light infanuy tactics, it's the political aspects 

of the Second Nicaragua Campaign that 

might provide the more relevant lessons. 

W en it comes to the history of the U.S. 

Marine Corps, few names stand out 

more than Major General Merritt A. 

"Red Mike" Edson's. Famous for winning the 

Medal of Honor on Guadalcanal, Edson is also 

recognized for his leadership during the Rio 

Coco patrol during the Second Nicaragua 

Campaign 0926-33). Although several historians 

have treated the Rio Coco patrol, they mostly 

have emphasized Edson's composure in the face 

of natural hazards and determined opposition 

from Sandinista guerrillas or his creativity in 

employing light infantry tactics. 1 Most of these 

accounts have not dealt with the unique political 

aspect of the mission. Yet this "other side" of the 

Rio Coco patrol is perhaps the more Significant 

for today's Marines. Edson's story illustrates how 

the many campaigns of that era, together known 

by the trivializing term "Banana Wars," may have 

much to say to the Marines of today. 

Though the link between the 1920s and the 

1990s may not be obviOUS, the two eras share a 

basic similarity: The collapse of the United States' 

great power rival (in the earlier case imperial 

Germany, in the latter the Soviet empire) has led 

to a period of prolonged peace characterized by 

limited war and multiple forms of small-scale 

military engagement. Historically, the burden of 

these messy kinds of political-military missions 

has fallen heavily upon the U.S. Marines. Like 

67 
their Banana Wars' ancestors, today's Marines

have to carry out a variety of complex tasks—

peacekeeping, hostage rescue, refugee support,

drug interdiction, counterinsurgency, and combinations thereof—on the shoestring budgets typical of these periods of military retrenchment. In

its own way, Edson's Rio Coco patrol illustrates

how Marines in the past successfully adapted to

similar exigencies. The full story of the patrol,

however, also shows some of the stickier and

unanticipated difficulties that accompany any

effort at foreign intervention, even a relatively

successful one.

Background to Intervention

Before discussing Edson's mission, it is important to recall the circumstances that brought

about the Second Nicaragua Campaign. In 1926, a vicious civil war broke out in Nicaragua

between the country's two rival political parties,

the Liberals and the Conservatives. Washington

responded, as it so often had in the past, by

sending Marines to Nicaragua to establish neutral

zones and protect U.S. lives and property.

Along with the Marines came Special

Presidential Envoy Henry Stimson in May 1927.

Stimson put forward a plan to get the warring

factions to move their struggle from the battlefield to the ballot box. U.S. Marines would both

train a new, nonpartisan Nicaraguan army, the

Guardia Nacional, and would supervise a free

election. Under pressure from Stimson, Liberal

and Conservative leaders agreed to the American

representative's plan—all save one. In May of

that year, Liberal General Augusto C. Sandino

rejected the U.S. sponsored scheme as unwarranted Yankee interference in his country's

affairs and retreated into the mountains of the

Nicaraguan north with about 200 men to launch

an early "war of national liberation" against what

he called Nicaragua's vendepatria (country-selling) elites and the U.S. Marines.

Within a year, the conflict had become a stalemate, locking itself into a pattern familiar to students of counterinsurgency. The Marines easily

controlled the cities and towns of western

Nicaragua. Sandino and his men, however, were

masters of the rugged hills of Nueva Segovia. In

68

addition, when pressed from Marine patrols, the

Sandinistas could cross the mountains that divide

Nicaragua and descend the Coco River, or Rio

Coco as it is known in Spanish, which forms the

border between Honduras and Nicaragua, and

attack the country's Caribbean side—the site of

many important U.S. and foreign investments.

This region of Nicaragua, known locally as the

Atlantic Coast, served as a kind of strategic rear

for the insurgents.

The Marines recognized the military significance of the Atlantic Coast and moved into this

zone in 1928, establishing the Eastern Area,

under the command of Major Harold H. Utley.

Working under Utley was an innovative young

captain named "Red Mike" Edson. In the weeks

before landing, Ecison and his shipmates aboard

the USS Denver eagerly followed the campaign

in Nicaragua by studying a Christian Brothers

map of the country that hung from the bulkhead

of the ship's mess. At that time, Edson noted how

the Rio Coco dominated the northern part of the

country. A kind of Nicaraguan Mississippi, the

Coco begins in Nueva Segovia, in the heart of

what was then Sandinista territory, and runs

more than 300 miles to empty into the Caribbean

Sea at Cabo Gracias a Dios. Edson reasoned that

the Marines might use the mighty Central

American waterway to penetrate Nicaragua's difficult terrain and blindside Sandino, hitting him

from a previously secure flank.

The Marines Land on the

Atlantic Coast

Utley, Edson, and about 150 other Marines

came ashore in January 1928. Almost immediately, Edson and several of Utley's other officers

began a series of riverine penetrations, an experience that gave Edson the chance to try out his

ideas about navigating the Coco. These first

efforts became a test that his Marines would fail

decisively. Edson himself later recalled what happened when the "can-do" attitudes of his men

clashed with the realities of Central America's

most formidable river. As he wrote:

While here [at Livings Creek on the Rio

Cocol two men of the patrol made their
first attempt at navigating a native dugout

ith a pole and paddle as they had seen

the Indians do. [The two Marinesi pushed

out into the river, both paddling frantically,

first on one side, then the other. The boat

went round and round in circles until finally the current washed it ashore a mile or so

down stream and the two men gave up the

attempt and walked back. It was ludicrous

enough but it was a fair example of what

might be expected from men whose only

experience with water craft had been as

passengers in a ship's motor sailer.2

In contrast to the early and rather humbling

efforts of the Marines, the Indians were masters

of the Rio Coco. As Eclson described them:

[Theyl were taught to swim as soon as they

were taught to walk, and once they could

stand erect they found a pole and paddle

thrust into their hands so that they could

learn to navigate the native pitpan [dugout

canoe].3

The natives that Edson referred to were

Miskito Indians, members of an indigenous

group that, along with their neighbors, the Sumu

and the English-speaking black Creoles, made up

the population of Nicaragua's Atlantic Coast.

These different peoples constituted more than

just a series of Nicaraguan ethnic groups. In fact,

the Atlantic Coast was (and, some would argue,

remains) a kind of submerged nation within

Nicaragua that possessed distinct history, languages, and cultural rhythms from the rest of the

country.

A Nation within a Nation-State

At the time of the intervention, the Miskito

made up the largest and most important population group along the Rio Coco. As a people, they

have a singular and proud history. Unlike other

Central American Indian groups, the Miskito successfully resisted Spanish conquest in the 16th

century. Later, in the 1600s they made common

cause with British buccaneers who found them

useful allies in raids against the Spanish for their

canoeing and maritime skills. This de facto

69

Indian-English alliance would receive official

expression in 1687 when British naval officers in

Jamaica crowned the Miskitos' most prominent

chief, Jeremy I. King of the Mosquito (the

spelling commonly used by British of that time,

as in Mosquito Coast).

For a little over two centuries, the Mosquitia, a separate kingdom with its own monarch,

would remain independent from Nicaragua.

Over time, the Indian society lost its military coloration as Moravian missionaries from

Bethlehem, Pa., and American and British companies like Standard Fruit moved into the area.

Along with the foreign companies and the missionaries came small businessmen—many of

them Britons, Germans, and Americans—who

settled in the interior of the Rio Coco. They settled into the region, married Indian women, and

set up trading posts, ranches, boat yards, and

lumber supply areas along the river. These people, called "bamboo whites" by the Marines,

shipped raw wood from inside Nicaragua to

sawmills located at Puerto Cabezas on the coast.

Both politically and economically, they would

prove critical in the war with Sandino.

As a result of all these developments—missionary activity, the development of foreignowned "big businesses" along the coast, and the

addition of a new strata of "bamboo businessmen" to the area's social structure—the

Mosquitia remained more connected to the

United States and the English-speaking Caribbean than to Hispanic Nicaragua. But if local history and economics pushed the coast in one

direction, geopolitics moved it in another.

Backed by pressure from the United States, Great

Britain dropped the coast from protectorate status and officially ceded the area to Nicaragua in

1860. Since Nicaragua was too weak to exercise

its claim, the coast remained in political limbo for

decades until Nicaraguan President Jose Santos

Zelaya sent troops into the area to capture

Bluefields in 1894. Despite military occupation

by Spanish-speaking troops, the Indians continued to resent the Nicaraguans. The inhabitants of

the coast also kept looking to Great Britain for

support. In the years following the 1894

takeover, Black Creoles and Miskito Indians

would pepper the British Foreign Office with
petitions that asked the British to retake their territory, a tradition that would continue until the

late 1950s.

Competing for Contacts

From the first, Edson worked hard to create a

network of contacts that could help him win the

cooperation of the local people. Fortunately, the

area's social structure provided him with a natural "in" with the natives. Benny Muller, a bamboo

businessman, was an American logger who had

lived in the area since 1895. Through Muller,

Edson:

met all of the influential people in this section and the chiefs of the larger settlements,

and they in turn assisted in inculcating the

ordinary Indian with the idea that we

meant them no harm. .

. These same local notables also related to

Edson the essentials of the Indians' history and

culture, and he was quick to appreciate their

implications for his own mission. As he wrote

years later in the Marine Corps Gazette:

The Miskitos were inculcated from the time

of their birth with a hatred of the Nicaraguans whom they called 'Spaniards' and

so were potential allies if properly

approached and handled. . . . By learning

enough native words to make my wants

known to them; by showing an interest in

their mode of living; and by always treating

them fairly, I believe that I succeeded in

that part of my mission to establish cordial

relations with the inhabitants.5

Despite his advantages, Edson's task would

not be an easy one. Sandino, too, had recognized the Indians' importance and had taken

steps to win their trust. In addition, the people of

the coast had historically supported the Liberal

Party, of which Sandino was a member, albeit a

dissenting one. As Edson later recalled:

In his journey up the river in 1927,

Sandino had treated the inhabitants of the

river in a friendly and conciliatory manner

so that the feeling, not anti-American, was

70

certainly not anti-Sandinista. Through his

agents, Sandino exerted a distinct influence

throughout the whole valley and he received tribute of both money and food

from as far east as Bocay.6

Sandino, like the Marines, depended on

Miskito help to move up and down the Rio Coco.

One sign of the importance that the Nicaraguan

guerrilla attached to the Indians' assistance was

the able lieutenants whom he appointed to oversee his operations in this part of Nicaragua—

Abraham Rivera and Adolfo Cockburn. Both

were intimately familiar with the Rio Coco and

performed services for Sandino that resembled

those Muller carried out for Edson. Thus, the

miniwar for the Rio Coco quickly became less a

contest for territory and more a political one for

the loyalty of people whose skills either side

would need to control the region.

When in the Mosquitia, Do as

the Indians Do

Soon after arriving on the Atlantic Coast,

Edson suggested his idea for a long-range patrol

up the Rio Coco, but this was at first rejected by

the Marine command. In the meantime, he

worked to extend his relations with the local

people. Perhaps the most interesting facet of his

efforts at this stage was his attempt to imitate the

Indians and get other Marines to do the same.

When he had the opportunity, Edson traveled

with the Miskito in their canoes. In letters home,

he recounted how he enjoyed shooting the Rio

Cocos white-water rapids with the Miskito. As

his correspondence shows, however, canoeing

with the Indians constituted more than mere

sport. By learning how to handle a fast-moving

piante, Edson and his men were later prepared

when local help proved hard to find. As he wrote

to his wife in early June 1928:

On the 2d . . Linscott, eight enlisted and

myself left Kalasanoki by boat and came

down to Bocay. There is no trail down the

river, so we came down to look it over.

Due to the shortage of Indians, a corporal

of my outfit and I paddled down in a small
boat. . . You should have seen us shooting rapids—almost as good as Indians. It

was a great trip and rather thrilling in

spots.7

Patrols overland also benefited from the

Miskito example. In a letter to his son, Austin,

written in May 1928, Edson described how the

Marines had adopted camping techniques from

the Indians:

You are probably asking if these Indians

live in tents, aren't you? They do not use

tents, hut lean-toos (sic) when stopping for

only a few days. These lean-toos are made

like this. Four bamboo poles are cut and

tied together at the top. Then on the side

towards the wind where the rain will come,

they put up a roof or a wall of leaves something like this. [Illustrated in letter.] The

floor is the sand, and their beds are made

of big green banana leaves laid on the

sand. Then they put down a blanket from

the bark of a tree, and that is their sleeping

plan. It is not a bad bed either, for your

Daddy has slept several nights just like

that.8

The Rio Coco Patrol

In July 1928, the Marine command decided to

launch a patrol up the Rio Coco to take Poteca,

Sand:ino's headquarters 350 miles into the interior of Nicaragua. This was a formidable task. First,

the mission would take place at the height of the

rainy season, when the Coco becomes a raging

torrent that can rise as much as 20 feet, often

tearing trees from its banks and hurtling them

downstream with deadly force. All supply would

be cut off except by air, and even that contact

would be intermittent during stormy weather. In

addition to natural obstacles, the Marines would

also face the prospect of ambush by Sandinista

guerrillas in the interior, On 26 July 1928, Edson

set out with 46 other Marines and their Indian

guides and oarsmen from Bocay to take Poteca.

Under these conditions, it became essential to

win local cooperation if the mission was to succeed. Edson found that despite his successes

with the Indians down the river, those who lived

71

closer to Poteca were more wary of the Marines.

This often resulted in a shortage of willing Indian

boatmen, and forced the Marines into a "stop

and go" pattern in their advance.9 Still, Edson

instructed his men to approach the river people

in a friendly way, even though some had aided

Sandino in the past.1°

Utley backed Edson's patient approach.

Although this slowed the advance, he realized

that the Marines had to consider the Miskitos'

delicate political situation, sandwiched as the

Indians were between the forces of the intervention and those of Sandino. In a letter to the

Marine command in Managua written in August

1928, he justified Edson's slow pace in political

terms:

It appears that we are approaching one of

the delays due to lack of transportation

which while I anticipated, are nevertheless

heartbreaking. . . . We are. . . handicapped

by two factors; the lack of boats and the

disinclination of the indians (sic) to go into

the zone of operations. We can get enough

to operate all the boats we have as far up

as Bocay but it is difficult to get them to go

farther then that. Impressment only serves

to kill the goose that laid the golden egg, as

it means that in the future the approach of

Marines is the signal for abandoning of the

towns and houses. We have been at some

pains to establish a feeling of confidence

among the indians (sic) and hope that the

situation will improve. The fact that Edson

did not have any of his indians hurt was an

important factor and I took pains to broadcast that information down the river as well

as at Bocay.11

Delay was a small price to pay for good relations. Edson did resort to impressment on occasion, but his general treatment of the Indians

appears to have been good. As he moved into

the interior and captured Indians who had

worked for Sandino, he had them disarmed,

questioned, and then released in keeping with

his attempts to win their favor. 12

Edson and Utley's gradual and humane

approach to the Indians of the Rio Coco contrasted markedly with the way that at least some
Marines treated Sandinista "collaborators" in

Nueva Segovia on the other side of Nicaragua.

There, the burning of the houses of guerrilla

sympathizers and the loss of many prisoners

"shot while attempting to escape" took place frequently enough that it compelled the Marine

command to issue orders in 1928 and 1931 asking for restraint in dealing with the locals and

prohibiting the destruction of homes.'3 In 1930,

the Marines in this region also tried to resettle villagers by force into secured zones, an effort that

was called off when Matagalpa and Jinotega

became flooded with refugees.14 In part, the

Marines in Nueva Segovia resorted to harsher

policies because they were engaged in a shooting war when Edson and Utley faced primarily a

political situation. Nonetheless, the contrast

between the Marine approaches to these two different regions of Nicaragua is noteworthy.

Although the differences in Marine methods used

is only one variable in a complex situation, it

seems that Edson's patience contributed importantly to his ultimate success along the Rio Coco

and that the harsher measures used in Nueva

Segovia probably aggravated an already bad situation in the Sandinistas' home area.15

The patience of tile Eastern Area Marines

would pay off handsomely in strategic terms.

After foiling an ambush by Sandinista guerrillas

on 7 August, Edson and his men captured

Sandino's headquarters at Poteca 10 days later

and sent the Nicaraguan guerrilla forces scattering into the interior of the country. This action

not only threw the Sandinistas off balance, it also

prevented them from massing to disrupt the U.S.

supervised election in the fall of 1928.

Edson's Rio Coco patrol would represent, in

the words of Major Utley, the "elastic limit" of the

Marines' penetration of Nicaragua from its eastern shore.16 Along the river, behind Edson's

base, Marines began to set up strong points that

secured the area from further Sandinista attacks.

Both the Miskito and the region's bamboo whites

benefited from the added security. The Marine

presence and careful treatment of the locals had

won the Indians' trust. After an initial period of

wariness, more Indians began to cooperate freely

with the Marines and many returned to their villages from the woods where they had hidden.17

72

The stability achieved along tile upper reaches of the Rio Coco did not endure, however. In

March 1929, the Marine command in Managua

ordered a pullback from the interior of the Rio

Coco for later that year. Major Utley protested

these orders in the name of a people whose

friendliness he had cultivated. As he put it, the

Indians of the interior:

have gained confidence in our ability

and willingness to afford them protection.

To abandon Bocay will leave the entire

north eastern (sic) part of the province of

Jinotega open to any small band of

marauders who—when organized bands

are broken up—may be expected to continue their depredations.'8

In fact, the Indians had gained more than just

confidence in the Marines. Some decided to

serve alongside the Marines by joining the

Guardia Nacional. Although it has proven impossible to pin down exact numbers, one Marine

report from 1930 that describes Guardia recruiting stated that, "On the Atlantic Coast a considerable number of Mosquito Indians are enlisted."9 Evidence also exists that Marine trainers

appreciated the special abilities of their Indian

recruits. As one Marine instructor working at

Bluefieids in 1929 commented:

I can conceive of no more valuable soldier

than a property [sic] trained and disciplined

Mosquito boy with his knowledge of

woodcraft and tracking and at tile same

time an ability to read a simple map and

perhaps make a simple sketch.2°

While young Indians joined tile Guardia

Nacional, their community leaders looked at the

Americans in new ways as well. In particular,

they saw them as potential deliverers from the

abuses and depredations of the "Spaniard"

regimes in Managua, a development that added

another wrinkle of complexity to the MarineMiskito connection. Indians involved in land disputes with the Nicaraguan Government protested to Major Utley in 1929, and to a Marine

Colonel Wynn in the Guardia Nacional in 1931.21

The concluding words to the petition sent to

Colonel Wynn show how at least some Miskito
We Miskito Indians are clamoring for the

Americans to sever us from our bonds,

from this Nicaraguan yoke, [to] give us as

before our reservation, and hold the sole

rights of protectorate, given by us.22

Washington, however, viewed the problem

from a different perspective. The administration

hoped to wrap up an unpopular intervention as

soon as possible and so the planned withdrawal

of the Marines took place. Soon after, the

Sandinistas regained control of Bocay and used

this as a staging area to rebuild their position

along the upper reaches of the Rio Coco. In

February 1931, Indian spies told Guardia Nacional Intelligence that the Sandinistas were once

again gathering forces at their old headquarters.

Driven from Jinotega and Matagalpa in the west

by aggressive Marine patrols, they were preparing a strike downriver with the aid of agents

located as far down as Puerto Cabezas. A critical

part of the insurgents' preparations had involved

successful political work among the Bocay

Indians. As the report said:

A deliberate effort has been made to gain

73

favor with the Bocay Indians with a view to

having their support, and has met with

considerable success. The Indians in this

reason professing (sic) themselves ready to

take part in any attack on Guardia or expedition to Puerto Cabezas or Cabo Gracias [a

Diosi. What means, exactly, has been used

to gain the confidence of the Bocay Indians

is not known, but their feelings and sympathies have been clearly brought over to the

side of the bandits.23

The United States' precipitous pullback combined with the effects of the global economic

depression set the stage for a devastating guerrilla retaliation. In April 1931, the Sandinistas

launched an offensive against the Atlantic Coast.

Striking down the Rio Coco, they captured Cabo

Gracias a Dios and assaulted Puerto Cabezas, the

headquarters of the Standard Fruit Company and

the home of hundreds of its American employees. The Sandinista raids caused panic within the

city and disrupted Indian communities all along

the river.24

Despite these later reversals, Edson's and

Utley's careful work would not be completely

undone. Miskito Indians, particularly those located on the lower Rio Coco and those along the

had come to view the Marines and, by extension,

the United States. It read:
Caribbean coast, served in the Guardia Nacional

alongside Marine officers and helped thwart

these same attacks.25 At least one reason for the

Miskitos' continued loyalty to the Marine-led

Guardia was a new-found fear of the Sandinistas.

Although Sandino's lieutenants would still enjoy

the help of some Indians from deep inside the

Rio Coco region,26 they abandoned the guerrilla

general's earlier careful treatment of the inhabitants and resorted to terrorism in dealing with

the Indians and bamboo whites. They beheaded

a Moravian missionary for allegedly operating as

a Guardia spy and burned his village because its

inhabitants had helped Edson. In addition. Sandinista guerrillas roved the Rio Coco with hit lists

of bamboo whites condemned to death for having aided the Marines. Finally, the insurgents

captured and killed a number of employees of

Standard Fruit, dismembering their bodies with

machetes.

Despite their violence, these measures would

do the guerrillas little good. Far from their logistical base, they became vulnerable to Marine

counterattacks by aircraft and by ground patrols.

After one of Sandino's top lieutenants, Pedro

Blandon, was killed in the attack on Puerto

Cabezas, the insurgents had to retreat back up

the river. In the end, the depredations they carried out only turned the inhabitants against the

insurgents and earned the earlier Sandinistas a

reputation as "bandits" among the Indians, a perception that persists to this day and helps explain

Miskito resistance to the Sandinista Government

of the 1980s.27

Lessons Learned

Soldiers are inclined to view history in a very

technical fashion. Frequently, they want to know

what tactic or gambit can be borrowed from the

past and used in the future. This view, however,

better fits large, conventional battles than it does

small wars, interventions, and counterinsurgency

campaigns, which rarely turn on a single dazzling

maneuver. Instead, such endeavors prove the

truth of the old cliché about presidential campaigns in the United States that "all politics is

local." Small wars most often turn on local factors,

and they are consummately political contests.

74

On this score, both Edson and Sandino have

to be given high marks. Each possessed an ability to "read" the local situation and put that

knowledge to effective use. If, in the end,

Sandino "lost" the Atlantic Coast, this would

appear to have happened not through any blunder of his own, but rather because he failed to

control his lieutenants—a problem not uncommon to armies fighting guerrilla wars, as the

examples of Marine tactics in Nueva Segovia

cited above indicate. As the conflict with the

Americans dragged on and as their frustration

mounted, Sandino's lieutenants seemed to view

the complex bamboo white social structure of

the Atlantic Coast through the lens of their own

militant Hispanic nationalism. Thus, missionaries

and bamboo whites friendly to the Marines,

many of them American, appeared as foreigners

or vendepatrias, deserving only death. These

actions only alienated the Miskito who looked

upon these foreigners as friends, employers, and

even kinsmen.

But beyond Edson's (or Sandino's) effectiveness as a "soldier-diplomat," the Rio Coco case

study also shows, in an overall sense, how interventions are shaped by the complex, many-sided

politics of underdeveloped countries. Since

Vietnam, it has become fashionable in some circles to interpret interventions as primarily conflicts between the resented forces of foreign

powers and outraged nationalists, between

"imperialists" and local patriots. From the perspective of post-World War I decolonization,

such a view seemed natural. Yet in the case discussed here, the conflict was not a two-sided

military one, but a three-sided relationship

between Indians, Marines, and insurgents—an

association that was shaped as much by the politics of adhesion as by some reflex on the part of

the locals to reject the outsider.

As Edson and Utley understood, special factors make the Miskito "potential allies if properly approached and handled." Yet this added new

complications to the Marines' task, for to have

remained effective along the Rio Coco, the

Americans would have had to stay in the area.

Overall, the Indians preferred the Marines to the

largely Spanish-speaking Guardia Nacional. Still,

to have created a purely Miskito army would
have been locally logical but also would have

undercut the U.S. "nation-building" agenda in

Nicaragua, its plan to bolster the elected regime

of friendly "Spaniards" in Managua. Yet to fail to

do either of these things left the Indians open to

the angry Sandinista backlash of 1931. Thus, the

Indians were not just "potential allies," but also

potential victims, as Utley recognized, when

Washington's shifts undercut the actions of creative Marines in the field.

In this way, the Rio Coco case study speaks to

what happens when U.S. forces encounter a frustrated national group of the type that appears to

be emerging in a variety of areas today. The

Miskito example discussed here brings to mind

the Montagnards in Vietnam and, more recently,

the Kurds of northern Iraq. Alliances with communities like these quickly become very tricky

and are charged with ethical implications

because such peoples frequently become dependent on the forces of an occupation for protection and support or, more importantly,

because they may want to use the intervention as

a springboard for further political action. When

these considerations do not parallel Washington's agenda, it is often up to the military to

resolve the differences in the field, something

that can be a difficult and messy task.

In conclusion, the Rio Coco patrol serves as

more than just an apt illustration of how some

members of an earlier generation of Marines

modified their tactics to fit the politics of the

areas in which they served. Ultimately, it also

shows why counterinsurgency remains the most

difficult of military tasks even when well executed under favorable circumstances. In the end,

this may be the most important lesson that

today's Marines can learn from the story of

Edson's mission and the Marine-Sandinista struggle to control the Rio Coco from 1928—1931.

Notes

1. For an insightful discussion of Edson's use of light

infantry tactics, see Major Jon T. Hoffman, "Edson's

'First Raiders," Vol. 5, No. 3, Fall 1991, 20—25.

2. Edson, "Coco Patrol," Marine Coips Gazette, August

1936.

3. Edson, "Coco Patrol," Marine Corps Gazette, August

1936, 41.

75

4. Edson, "Coco Patrol," Marine Corps Gazette, August

1936, 40.

5. Edson, "Coco Patrol," Marine Corps Gazette, August

1936, 41.

6. Edson, "Coco Patrol," Marine Corps Gazette, August

1936, 40.

7. Letter to Ethel R. Edson, Bocay, Nicaragua, 4 June

1928. File: "Letters Nicaragua. MAE to ERE. 5 April

1928 to 8 July 1928," Container 2, Edson Papers.

Library of Congress (LC).

8. Letter to M. Austin Ecison, Musawas, Nicaragua, 22

May 1928. File: "Letters Nicaragua. MAE to ERE. 5 April

1928 to 8 July 1928," #16 Container 2, Edson Papers,

LC

9. A telegram from "Commanding Officer, Puerto

Cabezas," (Utley) to "Brigade Commander,"

(Managua), 4 June 1928 reports that as Marine patrols

penetrated the Bocay-Poteca region deep in

Nicaragua's interior, "All reports indicate natives and

Indians show fear of Marines." NA, RG 127, Entry 221,

File 923 (Information from Eastern Area 1928).

10. Headquarters, Eastern Area, Nicaragua, Marine

Barracks, Puerto Cabezas, Nic., 17 June 1928. Special

Intelligence Report-Wanks River-Waspuc River-Bocay

Area. Signed, "M.A. Edson." The report notes that most

of the people in the area have aided Sandino at one

time or another but that, "If properly handled, a great

deal of assistance may be expect (sic) as boatmen,

guides and laborers." The key, Edson asserts, is, "to

maintain a friendly attitude towards them." Folder 20,

Entry 204, RG 127, National Archives.

11. United States Marine Corps, Headquarters, Eastern

Area, Puerto Cabezas, Nicaragua, 16 August 1928.

Letter from Major Harold H. Utley to the Commanding

General, NA, RG 127, Entry 221, File 922 (East Coast).

12. Headquarters, Second Brigade, Marine Corps,

Managua, Nicaragua, 17 August 1928, "DispatchOutgoing-Code Underlined Words."

13. Headquarters, Northern Area, Western: Nicaragua,

U.S. Marines, Ocotal, Nicaragua, 23 Mayu 1928,

Memorandum for all Officers and Men of the Marine

Corps and Guardia Nacional in the Northern Area

from Col R.H. Dunlap, USMC, Commanding Officer,

RG 127, Entry 220, File 811.0(2), 11th Regiment

Correspondence. Therein, Col Dunlap reminds

Marines that rural inhabitants are the victims of bandit

depredations and so, "they hide out. act suspicious

and.. . become hunted creatures by both bandits and

Marines." The Memorandum asks that Marines make

sure that the houses they destroy belong to bandits.

Two years later the commander of the Guardia

Nacional, Cot Julian C. Smith, would forbid all house

burning and prohibit the Guardia from exercising arbi-
trary authority under martial law, although such was

technically permitted in northern areas of the country

at the time. See Headquarters Central Area, Guardia

Nacional de Nicaragua, Jinotega, Nicaragua, 26 May

1931, Area Order from Col Julian C. Smith, Guardia

Nacional de Nicaragua, Commanding Central Area, RG

127, Entry 202, File 32.0.

14. Telegram from the CO, GN Northern Area to Jefe

Director GN Managua; All GN Northern Area, 9 June

1930. See also Telegram, Dept Comdr Matagalpa to

D.C. McDougal, both located in RG 127, Entry 220,

File 815: Commander of the Special Service Squadron.

15. For examples of the harder-edged approach that

the Marines took toward pro-Sandinista peasants in

Nueva Segovia, see Guardia Nacional, San Juan, 22

February 1931, Patrol Report [by 1st Lieutenant JH.

Satterfield, G.NJ which describes how a "bandit" was

wounded and left where he fell, "Jaw broken, right

arm broken also shot thni (sic) back" after attempts at

interrogation. House burning is described in

Headquarters, District of Palacaguina, Guardia

Nacional, 9 March 1931, Patrol Report from J. Ogden

Brauer, District Commander, which describes burning

of houses. For an example of prisoner "shot while

attempting to escape," see Guardia Nacional de

Nicaragua, San Juan de Telpaneca, Nic., 13 March

1932. Patrol Report from 2dLt Donald G. Truesdale,

Guardia Nacional. All of the above references are RG

127, Entry 202. The first two are from File: 52.0 and the

last from File: 54.0. Further such information can be

found in the same Entry (202) in File: 57.0 and among

loose materials near File: 55 in the front of Box 13.

16. Headquarters, Eastern Area, Nicaragua, Marine

Barracks, Puerto Cabezas, Nicaragua, 1 June 1928,

Letter from Major Utley to the Commanding General.

Utley's estimate of the situation attached, p.1 of

Estimate.

17. On Indians returning to their homes, see Headquarters, Eastern Area, Nicaragua, Marine

Barracks, Puerto Cabezas, Nicaragua, Intelligence

Reports for 1 April 1928 and 3 June 1928, RG 127,

Entry 204, Folder: 20.

18. Letter from the Commander Eastern Area to the

Commanding General, Second Brigade, 26 March

1929, PC 127, Box IV, Utley Papers, Marine Corps

Historical Center, Building 58, Washington Navy Yard,

Washington, D.C.

19. "Estimate of the Situation in Nicaragua," Sec. Nay.

General Corresp, 1925, "EF-49" Box 2009, Folder: EF

49/P9-2-(291112 to 30033).

20. Letter from H.D. Linscott, Department Commander,

to The Area Commander, Area of the East, Guardia

Nacional, Bluefields, Department of Northern blue76

fields, Guardia Nacional. Puerto Cabezas, Nicaragua, 6

September 1929, RG 127, Entry 202, File 92.0.

21. Letter from Major Harold H. Utley, Headquarters,

Eastern Area, Nicaragua, Marine Barracks, Puerto

Cabezas, Nicaragua, 18 February 1928, to H. Sanford

London, Esquire, His British Majesty's Chargé

D'Affaires, Managua, Nicaragua, Folder: Utley's

Personal 3 Jan '28 to Jul '31, Box, 3, Utley Papers,

Marine Corps Historical Center, Building 58,

Washington Navy Yard.

22. Letter from the Miskito Indians of Bilwi to the

Honorable Colonel Wynn, Commander, Guardia

Nacional, Eastern Area, Bluefields, Nicaragua, 15 May

1931, File E. Bilwi, Entry 206, RG 127, National

Archives.

23. Letter from H.N. Sent to The Department

Commander, Department of Northern Bluefields,

Guardia Nacional De Nicaragua, 20 February 1931, RG

127, Entry 43-A, File: 2d Brig B-3 Repts & Mess 1

Jan—24 Mar 31.

24. Months later, Marine Inspectors would report how

previously secured areas remained in chaos as a result

of the Sandinistas' resurgence. In describing the situation around Waspuc, one Marine author (unidentified)

commented on how, as a result of Sandinista raids,

"Several hundred Indians who previously lived in that

region [the area around Waspuc, a town far behind the

areas originally secured by Edsoni have come into the

town below Kisalaya, over crowding them (sic) and

making living conditions almost impossible."

Inspection Report (apparently a rough draft), Guardia

Nacional de Nicaragua, 9th Company, Puerto Cabezas,

31 August 1932, located on back of last page of said

report.

25. See "Estimate of the Situation in Nicaragua," Sec.

Nay. General Corrsp., 1925, "EF-49" Box 2009, Folder:

EF 49/P9-2-(291112 to 30033); Letter from H.D.

Linscott, Department Commander, to The Area

Commander, Area of the East. Guardia Nacional,

Bluefields, Department of Northern Bluefields,

Guardia Nacional, Puerto Cabezas, Nicaragua, 6

September 1929, RG 127, Entry 202, File 92.0.

26. See Patrol Report from 2dLt E.J. Suprenant, G.N. to

The Area Commander, Eastern Area, Bluefields, Nic.,

District of Kisalaya, Department of Northern

Bluefields, Kisalaya, Nicaragua, 2 February 1932, NA,

RG 127, Entry 202, File 58.0.

27. See Patrol Report by E.J. Suprenant, District

Commander, to The Area Commander, Eastern Area,

Bluefields, District of Kisalaya, Department of

Northern Bluefields, Kisalaya, Nicaragua, 29 February

1932, RG 127, Entry 202, File: 54.0. Therein, Suprenant

describes the enthusiastic participation of aggrieved
Miskitos in a Marine-led, Guardia Nacional patrol

directed against Sandinistas who bad recently raided

several villages in the Kisalaya area. Suprenant conclusion relates his own frustration at not having enough

men to "clean up" the area above Kisalaya and his

inability to explain this deficiency to "the land owners

[Miskito Indians, for land along the Rio Coco is plentiful] that (sic) have property above Kisalaya On a

similar sacking of Sacklin, a town with pro-Sandinista

connections, for example, see patrol Report from

Department Commander O.A. Inman to Area

Commander, Area of the East, Guardia Nacional,

Bluefields, Nicaragua, Department of Northern

Bluefields, Guardia Nacional d Nicaragua, Puerto

Cabezas, Nicaragua, 29 April 1931, RD 127, Entry 202,

File: 57.0. In other areas, particularly along the

Prinzapolka River, at least some Miskito sought more

of a Marine presence to maintain order and protect

them from elements they saw as lawless. For an exam77

plc, see Letter from Stephen Boudien (?), Head of

Community Mosquitos (sic) Tungla to Commander in

Chief of the USMC, Tungla (Nicaragua), 7 January

1929, RG 127, Entry 204. Folder 26.2. Numerous other

reports document consistent Miskito cooperation with

the Marines in terms of providing a rich flow of information about Sandinista or "bandit" movements. This

contrasts with the often unreliable information Marines

received in Nueva Segovia, Sandino's major area of

support.

About the Author

David C. Brooks is currently chair of Western Hemisphere Affairs at the

Foreign Service Institute of the U.S. Department of State. A career diplomat since 1994, he has served in Peru, Nicaragua, Venezuela, and Poland.

He was a Fuibright Scholar in Nicaragua in 1990. Brooks's University of

Connecticut dissertation was "Revolution from Without: Culture and

Politics along Nicaragua's Atlantic Coast in the Time of the Sandino

Revolt, 1926-34" (1999).

Lessons from 

Yesterday's 

Operations Short of 

War: Nicaragua and 

the Small Wars 

Manual 

by Richard J Macak jr. 

Marine Corps Gazette, November 1996 

Those who forget the past. . As the 

Defense Department struggles to keep 

pace with a changing world, this author 

suggests it may be time to look back at one 

of our previous experiences with lowintensity conflicts. 

A the u.s. Armed Forces develop and 

refine their doctrine for the use of military 

esources in low-intensity conflicts and 

military operations other than war, they should 

carefully assess the "small wars"! experiences of 

Marine forces through the first three decades of 

this century. These earlier campaigns are important, not only for their doctrinal contributions, 

but also because of their resemblance to conflict 

today 

wherein military force is combined with 

diplomatic pressure in the internal or external affairs of another state whose government is unstable, inadequate, or unsatisfactory for the preservation of life and of such 

interests as are determined by the foreign 

policy of our Nation. 2 

Probably the most significant small war experience in Marine Corps history was the lengthy 

conflict in Nicaragua. Fortunately, we still have 

extensive published and unpublished firsthand 

accounts of that campaign. More fortunately, we 

79 
have a complete manual of doctrinal statement

and application—the Small Wars Manual—

derived from that experience. Although the manual has remained unchanged since its second

publication in 1940, it will nonetheless prove

invaluable to U.S. planners. Let's look at the situation of the time, the Marine involvement, and

the resulting publications.

During its 20-year military involvement in

Nicaragua, which ended on 1 January 1933, the

Marine Corps achieved State Department foreign

policy objectives by stabilizing a country with a

long history of political unrest and civil war. To

do so, the Marines engaged in diverse and

important missions promoting the internal stability of the Nicaraguan Government. For instance,

they established neutral zones to protect American lives and property; they physically separated

and disarmed warring political parties, thus ending the 1926—27 civil war; they successfully protected the election process ensuring free and

impartial presidential elections in 1928 and 1932;

and they organized and trained a nonpartisan

national guard, known as the Guardia Nacional

de Nicaragua, into an effective fighting force.3

Just before withdrawal, the Marines completed a

six-year counterinsurgency campaign against

Augusto C. Sandino that was important for its

intellectual contribution to counterinsurgency

doctrine.

The involvement's contributions to counterinsurgency doctrine are the result of the cumulative efforts of many Marine officers who served

in the lengthy campaign. Through their thoughtful articles in the Marine Corps Gazette and

Naval Institute Proceedings, they provided a sizable reservoir of personal experience in counterinsurgency operations. As an institution, the

Marine Corps focused these experiences at its

Schools Command in Quantico, Va. Other Marine

authors expanded the knowledge on counterinsurgency warfare by publishing the Small Wars

Manual detailing the lessons learned from conflicts such as the Nicaraguan campaign.4

Before examining the military involvement in

detail, let's review the historical highlights of U.S.

regional interests and Nicaraguan political alignments. By the 1920s, U.S. economic, political,

and military interests had grown considerably in

80

Central America, particularly in Nicaragua. For

example, the American business community,

searching for overseas markets, expanded into

the region. Companies, such as the highly successful United Fruit Company, established

branches throughout Central America, and these

became lucrative investments for U.S. businessmen.

Also, the U.S. Government naturally considered the area vital to its national security, particularly because of the Panama Canal and its retention of construction rights to a future canal

through Nicaragua. Likewise, the United States

was concerned that Mexico, as a result of its

recent revolution, would begin spreading its

form of bolshevism or communism southward

into the Central American countries.5

In Nicaragua, Americans through their investments and influences controlled the key elements of the economy. Internally, Nicaragua was

politically divided between two powerful factions. The Conservative and Liberal Parties ruled

through separate family alliances that constantly

feuded over power. Always suspicious of each

other's motives, they turned political unrest into

a way of life in Nicaragua. The party occupying

the Presidential Palace could expect unlawful

attempts by the opposition to gain power. Thus,

the United States faced a paradox in Nicaragua.

On the one hand, U.S. national interests in the

area required a stable political environment to

survive, one conducive to growth and prosperity; on the other hand, the Nicaraguan Government was powerless to provide such an environment.6

With that historical and political context, let's

turn to the campaign itself. In late 1922, the

United States approached the problem from a

diplomatic standpoint. From 4 December 1922

through 7 February 1923, the United States sponsored a conference in Washington on Central

American affairs in which it proposed ways to

stabilize the area. Representatives from all five

Central American countries attended. The conference concluded with the General Treaty of Peace

and Amity signed by all parties establishing several agreements.

First, no country would recognize a government that came to power through a coup d'etat
or revolution. Second, internal disputes would

be submitted to an international board of arbitration. Third, no country would interfere in the

internal affairs of another.7 Finally, standing

armies would be replaced by nonpartisan constabulary forces. Thus, the 1923 treaty provided

a means to preserve law and order. It also granted a degree of legitimacy to constabularies

already established, especially the ones constituted in Haiti and the Dominican Republic in 1916

and 1917, respectively, during actions by U.S.

naval forces.8

The first opportunity to apply the General

Treaty of Peace and Amity occurred in October

1925, when a Conservative Party coup in

Managua deposed the Liberal president and vice

president. Invoking the treaty, the United States

refused to recognize the new Conservative government, instead proposing a diplomatic solution

that promised U.S. recognition to the party winning the 1928 presidential election. But this

diplomatic initiative fell apart when Mexico,

throughout the autumn of 1926, covertly supported the Liberal cause by encouraging the

ousted vice president to return to Nicaragua and

claim power. A hotly contested civil war

ensued.9

By now, the State Department realized that

more aggressive policies were necessary to end

the civil war.1° As a result, beginning in

December 1926, the State Department expanded

the Marines' role and presence in Nicaragua.

Thus, their involvement entered a new stage

characterized by escalating intensity and diversity.

Since the State Department's initial concerns

were with protecting American lives and property, the department directed the U.S. Navy to put

landing parties ashore to safeguard these interests. Accordingly, on 23 December 1926 the USS

Denver and USS Cleveland landed Marines and

sailors at Puerto Cabezas on the east coast.11 This

naval contingent promptly established a neutral

zone in a district containing American fruit, lumber, and mining companies. Generally, a neutral

zone was an area in which combat would endanger American lives and property. The Marines

established these zones where contending parties were incapable of guaranteeing the safety of

81

life and property and when conflict appeared

imminent. Thereafter, neutral zones became a

standard practice for the Marines, recognized by

both Liberal and Conservative factions.12

Similarly, after initially landing in Corinto on

the west coast, Marines and sailors from the USS

Galveston arrived in Managua on 6 January 1927

and established themselves as the Legation

Guard.13 This force symbolized the U.S. commitment to stabilize Nicaragua. In fact, the Legation

Guard was the vanguard for several other landing parties and the 1st and 3d Battalions of the

5th Marine Regiment. By 9 March 1927, when

Brigadier General Logan M. Feland arrived in

Managua with his 2d Marine Brigade staff to take

command of all naval forces ashore in western

Nicaragua, the Marines totaled 2,000 men and

possessed six aircraft from Observation

Squadron—i (VO—1M) for aerial reconnaissance

of the opposing armies.14

By mid-March 1927, the Marines had placed

themselves in key positions to protect American

lives and property and to guard critical communications lines between major cities. On 1

February 1927, one Marine battalion garrisoned

in Managua and took over its defense. The Corps

opened railroad lines between the major cities of

Corinto, Managua, and Granada by 13 February

1927, and on 12 March 1927 occupied Matagalpa

to keep lines of communications open with

Managua. Also, all large ports on both coasts and

the major cities in the interior contained Marine

detachments and neutral zones.15

With the Marines in position, State Department officials thought the time was appropriate

to initiate a diplomatic solution to the civil war.

On 31 March 1927, President Calvin Coolidge

appointed a former Secretary of War, Colonel

Henry Stimson, as his personal representative to

explore possible solutions to the political situation in Nicaragua. Meeting with both Nicaraguan

parties on 4 May 1927 under a large blackthorn

tree along the banks of the Tipitapa River,

Colonel Stimson negotiated an end to the fighting. Realizing the unlikelihood of a military victory and obtaining assurances from the State

Department that U.S. forces would remain in

Nicaragua as a stabilizing force, each side agreed

to a truce, disarmament, supervised elections,
and the establishment of a nonpartisan constabulary.16

More importantly, while the negotiators finalized the details of the Treaty of Tipitapa, Marine

detachments occupied positions between the

Conservative and Liberal armies along the

Tipitapa River. The Marines thus prevented any

incidents from spoiling the diplomatic efforts

underway. On 13 May 1927, however, Sandino, a

general in the Liberal army, refused to abide by

the treaty's terms and abruptly left the area with

a small band of followers. On three separate

occasions in the next few days, Marine patrols

were fired upon.17 Despite these encounters

with Sandino's rebels, the Marines maintained

the peace between the contending parties.

According to Colonel Stimson's scenario, the

next step for the Marines entailed disarming the

warring factions. Over 800 Marines comprising

elements of the 5th and 11th Marine Regiments

arrived in Corinto on 19, 21, and 22 May 1927 to

assist with this task.18 With the 5th Marine

Regiment now manning the neutral zone along

the river, the factions were disarmed—the Liberal

forces turned in over 3,700 rifles and machineguns, the Conservatives over 11,000, and both

sides left over 5.5 million rounds of ammunition.19 Thus, the premature departure of

Sandino's relatively small band became only a

blemish on the disarmament process. Overall,

the Marines had thus far successfully fulfilled

State Department policy objectives.

With the civil war concluded and disarmament

complete, the State Department focused on its

pledge to supervise the forthcoming 1928 presidential election. Also looking ahead, the Marines

realized that if they had any hope at all of effectively supervising this election they had to do

two things. First, they had to transform the

emerging Guardia Nacional into an effective

force against the rising bandit threat. Second,

they had to conduct an aggressive counterinsurgency campaign of their own to keep the bandits

off balance until the election.

In accordance with the 1923 Treaty of General

Peace and Amity and the Tipitapa Treaty, the

United States and Nicaragua had agreed to establish a nonpartisan national constabulary. On 22

December 1927, both countries signed the

82

"Agreement Between the United States and

Nicaragua Establishing the Guardia Nacional de

Nicaragua." Marine officers and senior enlisted

men were appointed by the President under an

act of Congress to serve with the Guardia.

Eventually these Marines would he replaced by

Nicaraguans. Marine Colonel Elias R. Beadle was

appointed as the chief of the guard. The Guardia

now filled the void left by the disarmed political

factions. And with the Marines as the Guardia's

impartial leadership, both countries regarded this

new force as the most effective guarantee of fair

and free elections.2°

Led by their Marine officers, Guardia detachments began a campaign against the rebels that

totaled 510 engagements before the Marines

withdrew.21 Employing aggressive patrolling

techniques, the Guardia forces constantly pursued Sandino, keeping his forces away from

populated areas.

One of the most famous Guardia units during

the Nicaraguan involvement was Company M

(for Mobile), commanded by Captain Lewis B.

Puller. A combat veteran with experience in

counterinsurgency operations, Captain Puller

became a continual thorn in Sandino's side.

Recognizing the need for mobility and speed,

Puller organized his patrols into two units rather

than one larger unit in order to reduce the logistical load and number of pack mules per

patrol.22 In addition, by keeping one patrol at

the base, he could respond quickly either to

relieve the other patrol or to investigate other

incidents in his area. Because of the stamina of

the local mestizos he recruited into the Guardia,

Puller could average 18 to 20 miles daily—

stretching it some days to as many as 40 miles—

to overtake rebel bands. He chose to travel on

foot because horses not only drew fire but

slowed progress since so little jungle forage was

available for a fast-moving force. Mules, however, could feed on the foliage of felled trees after

the company encamped.23 The bandits used

horses, thus had to rest them every third day,

giving Puller an opportunity to close on them. In

one instance, Puller chased a mounted rebel

band of horse thieves for about a week before he

overtook them near Malcate in the interior. For

months after the capture, civilians came to
Puller's headquarters in Jinotega to claim previously stolen animals and saddles.24

As a result of these successes, the State

Department and Marine Corps recognized the

value of and need for Guardia units such as

Company M. Plans were made to organize eight

additional companies. However, severe budget

cuts forced by the worldwide depression prevented implementing this good idea.25 Nonetheless, the Guardia had shown it was an effective

force in the field. One reason was that the

Nicaraguan guardsmen were intensely proud and

excellent fighters. The guardsmen transferred

their Conservative and Liberal Party loyalties to

their Guardia units. Once trained, they exhibited

a devotion to their Marine officers unequaled in

previous Marine Corps constabulary experience.

Deeds of bravery by guardsmen protecting the

Marine officers were not uncommon, and many

earned the coveted wound chevron. In short,

Guardia efficiency was directly attributable to the

excellent rapport between Marine officers and

Nicaraguan enlisted men.26

In addition to the Guardia, the 2d Marine

Brigade conducted a similar counterinsurgency

campaign, actively patrolling into the northern

areas where the bandits crossed into Nicaragua.

But while the Brigade's methods closely followed those of the Guardia, a whole new factor

made possible by the Brigade's organic aircraft

assets distinguished this campaign from any previous ones.27

Never before had combat and logistical air

support been combined to augment a ground

campaign. By mid-1928, Marine aircraft had conducted "84 attacks on bandit forces" and carried

"more than 1,500 people (including casualties

and sick) and 900,000 pounds. Accident rate

zero."28 Aviation also provided "aerial mapping,

photography, meteorology, daily message and

mail drops, and packages through the country."29 Airpower continually came to the aid of

Marine and Guardia ground forces. For instance,

on 16 July 1927 in the town of Ocotal, a seemingly overwhelming bandit force of approximately 500 men threatened to overrun the detachment of 39 Marines and 47 Guardia. "In the first

organized dive-bombing attack in history—long

before the Nazi Luftwaffe was popularly credited

83

with the innovation,"30 a five-plane detachment

from Managua routed the bandits with machinegun fire and bombs. The Marines and Guardia

sustained only one killed and one wounded,

respectively, while Sandino suffered his worst

defeat of the rebellion, losing 300 of the estimated 400—500 bandits in the attack. From this disaster at Ocotal, rebel forces gained a healthy

respect for Marine aircraft, often moving at night

and avoiding open areas during the day.31

Another important aspect of the Brigade's

campaign was the civic action program created

to reduce bandit influence on the population.

Both a road-building project and a local volunteer defense group whose members were called

"civicos" constituted this innovative program.

On 24 May 1929, the American Minister in

Nicaragua initially proposed to the State

Department the idea of the construction project

with a "two-fold purpose: military necessity and

employment."32 Building through the rugged

bandit territory would let government forces

respond more rapidly to all parts of the area. In

addition, the construction would offer steady

jobs to the inhabitants, thereby eliminating the

manpower source for the bandits. And the roads

would economically boost the country because

they would serve to move products to the marketplace more efficiently. But, although the project began in August 1929, the same funding

shortage that had prevented forming more

mobile companies halted construction a little

over a year later.33 Conceptually, however, this

project offered a real solution to the bandit problem. Had it continued, Sandino would have been

faced with a shrinking manpower base and thus

may have come to terms with the Nicaraguan

government.

The other half of the program, the forming of

the civicos, was a reaction to the financial realities of the day. With fewer funds available in

1930, the Nicaraguan government was forced to

reduce the size of the Guardia. To supplement,

the Marines proposed urban defense groups to

work closely with the local Guardia commander.

The civicos were citizens organized and trained

as an emergency auxiliaiy.34 The forming of the

civicos indicates just how well the Marines

understood counterinsurgency warfare.
With the counterinsurgency campaigns well

underway, the State Department turned its attention to the upcoming 4 November 1928 presidential election. To supervise voter registration and

balloting, Marines were detailed to each of the

precincts throughout the country. The American

Minister reported to the Secretary of State in an

11 October 1928 telegram that 35,000 more people registered to vote than in 1924 and that this

was due to the Marines and Guardia. The

Minister telegraphed:

[They were able to] protect citizens from

intimidation. Detachments were stationed

in key positions in towns and on patrol

duty on roads leading to booths throughout

registration period Sep23—Oct7 . . . No

cases of intimidation, other disturbances

[were] reported at any of 352 precincts in

Republic [and] conduct of 352 Marine

enlisted men who served as chairmen at

precincts [wasi .

. highly commended by

both political parties.35

The Minister was equally enthusiastic on election day when he telegraphed in short bullet

style:

Complete order, heavy early vote throughout Nicaragua . . . polls opened 7 this

morning with crowds of 100 to 300 waiting

precincts in Managua and elsewhere. Final

air reconnaissance overfiew every precinct

yesterday and reported large crowds moving over trails to precincts with as many as

200 to 300 arriving late afternoon to vote

early today . . Heavy vote indicated

Jinotega, Esteli, Segovia is considered proof

banditry has been practically ended by

Marine pacification program which has

given peaceable citizens complete confidence in measure taken by Marines to prevent intimidation of voters.6

The leading party newspapers appropriately

summarized the Marines' efforts. The Conservative paper La Prensa 's headlines read: "The

American supervision has honorably observed its

promise. The election Sunday was honest, tranquil, correct and honorable." The El Comericio,

the leading Liberal paper, wrote: "The United

84

States is vindicated before the world."37 Before

their withdrawal in 1933, the Marines would also

supervise the 1930 local elections and another

presidential election in 1932. Sandino would

remain at large, but he would not prevent the

Marines from bringing stability and democratic

processes to the country.

Lessons Learned

Back home, the involvement served as a catalyst for intellectual development within the

Corps. Primarily, it motivated many Marine officers to regularly submit their combat experiences

for publication in the Gazette and Proceedings.

These articles offered valuable insights into the

realities of "small wars." In a May 1931 article in

the Gazette entitled "An Introduction to the

Tactics and Techniques of Small Wars," Major

Harold H. Utley noted that although the Marine

Corps maintained many historical examples of

small wars, "few real studies seem to have been

made of them."38 It would not be long, however, before the Marine Corps would be seriously

analyzing all the evidence accumulated throughout the occupation.

By the mid-1920s, the Division of Operations

and Training was frequently augmenting the

pages of the Gazette with firsthand accounts of

significant engagements, but the articles were

merely compiled battlefield accounts rather than

analysis and lessons learned. They dealt with

subjects such as "Protection of American

Interests" or "Combat Operations in Nicaragua."

For instance, one article, presenting the afteraction report of the Marine detachment's commanding officer at Ocotal, outlined Sandino's

attack on the Marine and Guardia garrison there

on 16 July 1927. The report also contained

Sandino's attack order and a detailed map of the

town. Even without discussion, by its detail and

completeness the report gave the reader an

insight into the tactics used by both sides.39

Even while articles continued regularly in the

Gazette on subjects such as "Aircraft in Bush

Warfare," "The Supply Service in Western

Nicaragua," and "The Guardia Nacional de

Nicaragua," the Marine Corps began evaluating

its formal school curriculum at Quantico.4° In the
Gazette's August 1934 issue, Major Charles J.

Miller highlighted the need to analyze the wealth

of material collected thus far. He indicated that

this work would seem to devolve upon the

schools to digest and place the material in

presentable form for the guidance and

instruction of all the officers of the Corps.4'

He concluded by noting that "the subject as a

whole has only received a cursory examination"

and much more needed to be done to

furnish the students with a clear and complete picture of all the tasks, obligations,

and responsibilities that may devolve on a

Marine Corps expeditionary force when

intervening as an occupation force.42

Quantico had increased its small wars instruction from nine hours in 1924—25 to 19 hours by

1932. Possibly in response to Major Miller's call

to establish a systematic education in small wars

techniques, the 1934—35 academic year featured

94 hours of instruction.43

Beyond this educational improvement, the

Marine Corps continued its efforts to produce a

manual distilling the Caribbean experience into

established principles. Based upon the efforts of

Major Utley, a Nicaraguan veteran, and other

small wars instructors at Quantico, the Marine

Corps produced the first edition of the Small

Wars Manual in 1935 and the final revision in

1940. They drew their material from published

articles, small wars lesson plans, and Colonel C.

E. Callwell's 1906 book entitled Small Wars—

Their Principles and Practice, which contained

guerrilla warfare experiences from such places as

Indochina, Cuba, Rhodesia, the Punjab frontier,

the Sudan, the Philippines, and sub-Sahara

Africa.44

Not surprisingly, the manual's blueprint for

future counterinsurgency operations closely corresponded to past events in Nicaragua. In 428

pages, the authors provided

instruction for feeding and supplying

troops, gathering intelligence, finning a

military government, patrolling in jungles,

attacking houses, bombing and strafing villages, conducting river operations, and a

85

variety of other specific activities.45

The manual addressed other facets of counterinsurgency warfare as well, such as the underlying causes of revolution, how to handle the

host country's population, and rules of engagement.

Furthermore, the manual divided the process

of military intervention into five phases. First, the

Marines should begin a gradual buildup of forces

ashore. Second, they should commence combat

operations using neutral zones or patrolling techniques. Third, they should develop a nonpartisan

constabulary force to assist the civic affairs projects and internal defense. The constabulary

should take on an active role in counterguerrilla

patrols. As the bandits are subdued, the Marines

should withdraw to garrison the large cities.

Fourth, the Marines should begin preparations

for the supervision of free elections. Fifth, once

elections are complete, the constabulary should

take control as the Marines withdraw.46 From

this review of the manual's process of intervention, one can see how much of an impact the

Nicaraguan campaign had on counterinsurgency

doctrine. In short, the manual was a comprehensive and successful attempt to deduce the lessons

learned from this vast amount of counterinsurgency experience.

Unfortunately, after 1940 the Marine Corps'

firsthand experience with and schooled knowledge of small wars declined significantly, due in

part to the large-scale amphibious nature of

World War II in the Pacific and the preoccupation

with nuclear warfare in the 1950s. In fact, by as

early as the 1946—47 academic year, the Marines

deleted all small wars instruction from the curriculum at Quantico, although counterinsurgency

classes were reintroduced two years later. In

April 1950, Lieutenant Colonel Robert D. Heinl,

Jr., bemoaned the loss of small-unit operations

expertise in a Gazette article entitled "Small

Wars—Vanishing Art?"47 In another instance, a

Marine officer preparing a 1960 study on counterinsurgency operations was not even familiar

with the Small Wars Manual's existence.48

Despite this decline in small wars emphasis,

the Corps still retained a strong tie to its counterinsurgency heritage. This link to its institution-
a! past was apparent in the Marines' approach to

combat operations in Vietnam. According to Sir

Robert Thompson, the noted British expert on

counterinsurgency warfare:

Of all the United States forces the Marine

Corps alone made a serious attempt to

achieve permanent and lasting results in

their tactical area of responsibility by seeking to protect the rural populations.49

By 1965, the Marines opted to use combined

action platoons (CAPs) that operated within

established hamlets (neutral zones) to protect the

inhabitants from Viet Cong intimidation. A

notional CAP consisted of 14 Marines, one Navy

corpsman, and 34 paramilitary Popular Forces

(PFs, i.e., constabularies). By rigorous day and

night patrolling, the CAPs sought to destroy the

insurgent infrastructure, protect the local populace, organize intelligence nets, and train the

constabulary. Unfortunately, the Marine Corps

Combined Action Program was not a high priority effort with Army leadership, which emphasized search-and-destroy operations. Ultimately,

this lack of priority combined with personnel

shortages restricted the use of CAPs despite their

promising accomplishments 50

A more complete analysis of the concepts

employed by the Army and Marine Corps in

Vietnam lies beyond the scope of this study.

However, the important point remains that

although the Small Wars Manual is now almost

50 years old, it holds much to discover, thanks to

its notable depth and range. And at a time of

increasing likelihood of U.S. military involvement

in operations much like the aging campaign in

Nicaragua, the manual takes on even greater

importance.

Notes

1. Small Wars Manual, United States Marine Corps,

1940 (Government Printing Office, Washington, DC),

1. The Manual recognized the wide variety of military

operations the term "small wars" implied by indicating

that "small wars vary in degrees from simple demonstration operations to military intervention in the

fullest sense, short of war."

2. Ibid.

3. Allan R. Millett, Semper Fidelis: The History of the

86

United States Marine Corps (New York: MacMillan,

1980), 243—261.

4. Ibid., 263; Major H.H. Utley, "An Introduction to the

Tactics and Techniques of Small Wars," Marine Corps

Gazette, May 1931, 50—53.

5. Millett, 236; Lieutenant Colonel Clyde H. Metcalf, A

History of the United States Marine Corps (New York:

G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1939), 408; Neil Macaulay, The

Sandino Affair (Chicago: Quadrangle Books, 1967),

161—185.

6. Captain Evans F. Carlson, "The Guardia Nacional De

Nicaragua," Marine Corps Gazette, August 1937, 7;

Millett, 239.

7. Department of State, Papers Relating to the Foreign

Relations of the United States, 1927 (Washington,

1942), 288—289 (hereinafter cited as Foreign

Relations).

8. Marvin Goldwert, The Constabulary in the

Dominican Republic and Nicaragua (Gainesville:

University of Florida Press, 1962), 24.

9. Lester Langley, The Banana Wars (Lexington:

University Press of Kentucky, 1982), 184—188.

10. Millett, 242—243.

11. Ibid., 243; "Summary of Operations in Nicaragua,

December 23, 1926—February 5, 1928," Appendix, U.S.

Senate, Committee on Foreign Relations, Hearings:

"Use of United States Navy in Nicaragua." February

11—18, 1928, 70th Congress, 1st Session (Washington:

Government Printing Office, 1928), 2 (hereinafter cited

as "Use of United States Navy in Nicaragua").

12. Metcalf, 418. For an in-depth discussion on neutral

zones, see Small Wars Manual, Chap. 5, Sec. 1, 1—4.

13. Use of United States Navy in Nicaragua, 2.

14. Ibid., 3.

15. Ibid., 3; A. Millett, 244.

16. Henry Stimson, American Foreign Policy in

Nicaragua (New York: Charles Scribners Sons, 1927),

42—84; Foreign Relations, 351—353; United States

Congress, Senate, Senate Document No. 288, 71st

Cong. 30 Sess., Serial 9347, United States Marines in

Nicaragua.

17. Use of United States Navy in Nicaragua, p. 3.

18. Ibid., 4.

19. Metcalf, 422—23.

20. Agreement for the Establishment of the National

Guard of Nicaragua, 22 December 1927, in Foreign

Relations, 1927, III, 434—439; Dana Munro, "The

Establishment of Peace in Nicaragua," Foreign Affairs,

11 (July 1933), 698.

21. Carlson, 7.

22. Robert D. Heinl, Jr., Soldiers of the Sea: The US.

Marine Corps, 1 775—1962 (Annapolis, MD: U.S. Naval

Institute, 1962), 284.
23. Burke Davis, Marine! The Lfe of chesty Puller

(Boston: Little, Brown, 1962), 81.

24. Ibid., 62.

25. Richard Millett, Guardians of the Dynasty

(Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1977), 93.

26. Langley, 193—216; Neil Macaulay, 161—185; Go! H.S.

Reisinger, "La Pa!abra de! Gringo, Leadership of the

Nicaraguan Nationa! Guard," Naval Institute

Proceedings, 61, 2 (February 1935), 216—220.

27. Heini, 289.

28. Ibid.

29. Ibid., 290.

30. Gaptain Kenneth A. Jennings, USAF, "Sandino

Against the Marines," Air University Review,

July—August 1986, 37, 86—88; Macaulay, 81.

31. Use of United States Navy in Nicaragua, 4;

Jennings, 89.

32. Foreign Relations, 1929, 3:567—570.

33. R. Millett, 91.

34. Ibid.

35. Foreign Relations, 1928, 3,507—509.

36. Ibid., 513—514.

37. Ibid., 515.

38. Ut!ey, 50—53.

39. Division of Operations and Training, "Protection of

American Interests," Marine corps Gazette, 12 (Sept.

1927), 175—183; and "Gombat Operations in

Nicaragua," Marine Corps Gazette, 14 (Mar 1929),

16—30.

40. Major Ross E. Rowel!, "Aircraft in Bush Warfare,"

Marine Corps Gazette, 14 (Sept. 1929), 180—203; Major

87

Roger W. Peard, "Bull Gait Transportation in the

Tropics," Marine corps Gazette, 15 (February 1931),

29—49; Garlson, 7—20.

41. Major Gharles J. Miller, "Marine Gorps School 1934

1935," Marine Corps Gazette, 19 (August 1934), 58.

42. Ibid.

43. Ibid., 59.

44. Ronald Schaffer, "The 1940 Smal! Wars Manua! and

the Lessons of History," Military Affairs, Vol 36, 1972,

46; Got G.E. Gallwe!1, Small Wars—Their Principles and

Practice (3d ed., London, 1906).

45. Ibid., 47.

46. Small Wars Manual, 5—9.

47. Lieutenant Golonel Robert D. Hem!, "Small

Wars—Vanishing Art?" Marine Corps Gazette, 34, Apri!

1950, 23—25.

48. Schaffer, 49—50.

49. Major Andrew F. Krepinevich, Jr., USA, The Army

and Vietnam (Baltimore and London: John Hopkins

University Press, 1986), p. 172.

50. Lieutenant General Victor H. Krulak, USMG (Ret),

First to Fight (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1984),

179—195; Krepinevich, 172—177.

About the Author

Richard J. Macak Jr. was, at the time this artic!e was published in 1996,

Lieutenant Colonel, USMC, serving as executive officer of the 12th

Marines. He wrote the artic!e while attending the Army's Command and

Genera! Staff Co!lege, for whom he had written The CORDS Paq/ication

Program: An Operational Level Campaign Plan in Low Intensity

Conflict (1989).

The American

Occupation of Haiti:

Problems and

Programs,

1920-1928

by Robert Debs Hem! Jr and Nancy Gordon Hem!

Marine Corps Gazette, December 1978

y 1920, Haiti had been pacified. The

Marines had stamped out banditry (known

as Cacoism) in the north and the Artibonite

Valley and had put down a major revolt, the Caco

Rebellion, originating in the same regions with

closet support from elite politicians in the national capital and abroad in exile. Now with the U.S.

occupation of Haiti established, important questions as to its direction, destiny, and ultimate success remained to he answered.

A central paradox was that the specter of the

"Maitre blanc" (the white master), whom Haitians

had so spectacularly slaughtered in 1803, never

seriously frightened the peasant noirs (blacks) but

scared and angered the educated, mostly lightercolored (mulatre) elite.

As early as 1917, the French minister in Port-auPrince, reporting to Paris on "Ia question de race

qui prime ici toutes les autres" (the racial question

which, here, takes precedence over all others),

said that the elite oligarchy that had so long

exploited the country now feared possible reestablishment of a white society. Such fears were

understandable in light of racial conditions then

prevailing in the United States.

In supporting the Caco Rebellion of 1918—1920,

the elite, characteristically at odds among themselves, had been playing with fire. President

Dartiguenave's enemies hoped to upset him, but

at the same time had everything to lose from the

defeat and expulsion of the Americans and a

return to the bad old days and ways of Caco-dommated politics.

89
Thus, until the revolt was snuffed out,

Dartiguenave, the elite mulatre, was happy

enough to collaborate with the occupation. But in

mid-1920, he felt secure enough to take on the

Americans who had put him in office. In the

December 1920 view of Colonel John H. Russell,

Marine brigade commander in Port-au-Prince:

[Dartiguenavel threw off the mask, stepped

into the arena, fought fiercely as the so

called champion of the Haitian People and

with the intention of posing as a martyr. The

political situation at once became complex

Where formerly the scene of trouble had

been in Central Haiti it quickly shifted to

Port-au-Prince which became the one sore

spot in Haiti.

Russell did not exaggerate. The terrain of resistance had shifted to the capital.

In early 1920, an American socialist, journalist,

and associate of the National Association for the

Advancement of Colored People (NAACP),

Herbert J. Seligman, had briefly visited Haiti. On

return, he wrote for the Nation a purported

expose, "The Conquest of Haiti," which was the

opening gun of a sustained American-Haitian

campaign to undermine the U.S. occupation.

The tone of Seligman's article (which precipitated a sensation in July 1920 and typified the

Nation's future style in dealing with the Haitian

question) may be judged quickly:

Five years of American Occupation, from

1915 to 1920, have served as a commentary

on the white civilization which still burns

black men and women at the stake. For

Haitian men, women, and children, to a

number estimated at 3,000, innocent of any

offense, have been shot down by American

machine gun and rifle bullets; black men

have been put to torture to make them give

information; theft, arson, and murder have

been committed with impunity by white

men wearing the uniform of the United

States.

Seligman's sole source was a Haitian propaganda group formed in 1915 and called the Union

Patriotique. Five years later, the Union had

expanded to include every elite politician and

90

intellectual who opposed President Dartiguenave

or the occupation, and claimed membership of

30,000, a figure hard to substantiate. In what surely must represent an apogee of self-deception,

Ernest Gruening of the Nation (later a U.S. senator) claimed that the Union's leaders—every one

a presidential hopeful—were without ambition

and that the Union was "apolitical."

More realistically, British minister R. F. S. Edwards called the Union a set of "disgruntled politicians who would do anything to obtain a government position," a judgment amply confirmed by

past, and in some cases future records of leading

members of the Union.1

Obviously the Union also contained highminded men: to name one, Haiti's most eminent

lawyer, Maitre Georges Leger, who worked so singlemindedly to end the occupation. But to protest

the Union's political chastity is to be blind to the

realities and personalities of Haitian politics. In the

sardonic phrase of a fellow countryman, the men

of the Union Patriotique now became "les Cacos

de Plume" (Cacos of the pen), who in 1920 took

up the cause against the Americans.

The American connection that gave the Union

voice and support came through an interlocking

relationship among the NAACP, the Nation, and

an American front group, the Haiti-Santo

Domingo Independence Society, which, by

Gruening's admission, "we at the Nation organized." Very soon, the society's letterhead would

include such prestigious names as Eugene O'Neill,

Walter Lippmann, Felix Frankfurter, and even H.

L. Mencken. For the voices at the heart of all

this—NAACP president James Weldon Johnson,

Seligman and Gruening—the Nation was to afford

a strident, unbridled, antimilitaiy, and unashamedly partisan pulpit during the decade to come.

Despite his burning advocacy of the Haitian

resistance, Gruening only belatedly came to the

country. After his one interview with Colonel

Russell, in November 1921, the Marine recorded,

"Mr. Gruening, I am afraid, has come to Haiti with

the idea of not seeing anything good, but only

looking for something sensational to write up."

If the Nation and other foreign critics of the

occupation stooped to irresponsibility and

untruth, the flow of invective and invention from

the Union Patriotique never faltered. In the sad
verdict of Dantes Bellegarde, Haiti's greatest 20th

century historian: "Telling the truth is not a quality the majority of Haitians possess."

Rear Admiral Caperton, who had carried out

the original occupation of Haiti, was charged, if

one can believe it, with having simply sailed away

the Haitian Navy to New York and sold it to shipbreakers for his personal account at $500,000

profit. Russell was accused on every side of various embezzlements. When Colonel R. S. Hooker

went home in 1921, Ic Courrier Haitien wrote of

"the fortune he had amassed" and said he had

come to Haiti• "for the sole purpose of enriching

himself."

In August 1921, Stenio Vincent, later president

of Haiti, assured a U.S. Senate investigating committee that 4,000 people were killed in the Cap

Haitien jail from 1918 to 1920; that from the same

prison, 78 bodies a day were "thrown into the

pits" throughout 1918 (a total that would have

amounted in one year to 28,470 deaths on an

average prison population of 400); and that mortalities "just as high" occurred in prisons at Portau-Prince and Gonaives.

B. Danache, an intimate of Dartiguenave, later

wrote that when fires swept a downtown shopping district in Port-au-Prince in 1921, American

officers' wives pillaged shops and houses. Haitian

and French journals elaborated this story by

accusing the Americans of setting this and other

fires in the first place.2

Citing 1921 charges by the Union Patriotique,

Britain's famed Manchester Guardian credulously

reported the killing of entire families by Marines;

wanton burning of houses and villages; burning,

hanging and torturing of prisoners; and "outrages

on pregnant women."

For all his devotion to veracity, historian

Bellegarde stated as fact the propaganda rumor

that Caco chief Charlemagne Peralte had been

crucified by the Marines and charged the latter

with "butchery of women, and children, massacre

of prisoners, use of man-eating dogs, tortures of

water and fire

Pursuing the same line, French journalists told

readers that Haiti's cities and villages had been

sacked and burned by the Marines, and their

inhabitants "devoured by war dogs imported from

the Philippines."

91

Such vilification, carried on without cease by

the Cacos de Plume and given a gloss of truth

when filtered through the Nation, the New York

Times, and foreign publications (notably the

Manchester Guardian), would continue for a decade. In the long run, save for one or two serious falsehoods imbedded in history, this propaganda, however galling to Americans in Haiti, can

be dismissed as the only resort of a group neither

willing nor capable of pursuing resistance beyond

the salon, or print shops whose freedom to operate was guaranteed by U.S. Marines.

The 1920 U.S. elections, combined with the

Nation's continuing campaign, served, however,

to light a fire under Congress, which typically

reacted with an investigation. Commencing in

August 1921, a Senate committee held 11 months

of exhaustive hearings (1,842 pages of printed testimony) on U.S. activities in Haiti and Santo

Domingo.

Chaired by Senator Joseph Medill McCormick,

a cultivated Chicagoan who spoke fluent French,

the hearings included every leading figure of the

occupation as well as its main opponents, Haitian

and American. To ensure fair play, the American

lawyer representing both the NAACP and Union

Patriotique was accorded adversary status, including cross-examination and summing-up. Despite

this latitude, unheard of in congressional proceedings, and despite admitted stage-management by

Dr. Gruening both at home and in hearings conducted in Haiti, the Union, while protesting "numberless abominable crimes" by Marines, made

only a weak case with testimony the senators

(including Haiti's partisans) frequently found to be

gossip where not obviously coached or suborned.

The committee found that Haiti needed better

administration, not U.S. withdrawal. To implement

this, Senator McCormick called the administration

to create a new post, an American high commissioner who would supervise treaty officials,

Gendarmerie, Marines, and the American legation.

And that on 11 February 1922 was what President

Harding did.

To the surprise of many, not least the

appointee, the lot fell to Colonel John H. Russell.

Important events that had done much to precipitate the Senate investigation and thus return

newly promoted General Russell to Haiti dated
back three years to 1919 and to the region of

Hinche in central Haiti.

Hinche lies far from Port-au-Prince. Remote,

forbidding, wild, the place bore from ancient

times a sinister title: "Hinche the Accursed." In

January 1919, rumors came to Port-au-Prince that

all was not well in Hinche. The corvee (forced

roadgang labor), though officially abolished, still

continued and Caco prisoners taken by Marines

and Gendarmes were openly shot or simply disappeared.

When Brigadier General A. W. Catlin (then senior Marine in Haiti) heard these things, he directed Colonel A. S. Williams and the local commander, Major C. H. Wells, to investigate. He also sent

a trusted subordinate, Lieutenant Colonel R. S.

Hooker, to Hinche. On Wells' say-so, Williams told

Catlin the charges were baseless. When Colonel

Hooker got back, he told a different story:

corvee going on at both Maissade and Hinche, and

the Gendarmes had used the natives so brutally

that many had left their gardens and either joined

the Cacos or had come into town for safety."

Catlin went to see for himself. Visiting the

region, talking to the priests, the magistrats, and

to trembling peasants, the general satisfied himself

where the truth lay. With sanction of Wells and

local Haitian officials, the corvee was in full force,

prisoners had been shot (escaping was always the

excuse), and Major Wells (falsely reporting that his

district was quiet when in fact Caco banditry was

mounting) had made clear to subordinates he didn't want to see or hear of prisoners.

Catlin forthwith relieved Wells and shipped him

home, transferred every Gendarmerie officer

(each a Marine NCO) out of the district and out of

Haiti, replaced the local Gendarmerie units with

others, and put U.S. Marine garrisons under U.S.

commissioned officers in each town. Believing,

however, that the evidence, however damaging,

would not sustain courts-martial, he ordered no

trials. On this decision, later charges of whitewash

mainly rest. But for an accident, the business, bad

as it was, might never have been heard of again.

At Headquarters, Marine Corps, in September

1919, while reviewing a general court-martial from

Haiti, Major General Commandant George Barnett

was jolted by a passing assertion by counsel that

"practically indiscriminate killing of natives has

92

gone on for some time."

Catlin, still suffering from his war wound at

Belleau Wood at the head of the 6th Marines, had

been invalided home. Russell was back. In

September 1919, General Barnett wrote a stern

letter headed "Personal and Confidential," which,

accepting at face value and stating in his own

words the "indiscriminate killing" charge, told

Colonel Russell, "I was shocked beyond expression to hear of such things . . . I know you will

take up most seriously . . . I want every case sifted thoroughly and guilty parties brought to justice."

Then began a rigorous and extensive series of

investigations. Russell put the case into the capable hands of Lieutenant Colonel Hooker, backstopped by one of the sternest and most probing

disciplinarians in the Corps, the aviation pioneer

Major Thomas C. Turner. The Hooker-Turner findings verified Hooker's initial conclusions. The

Navy Department then ordered Major General

John A. Lejeune and Brigadier General Smedley

D. Butler to Haiti for a further, more formal, and

broader investigation. The Lejeune-Butler report,

filed 12 October 1920, unmistakably confirmed

what Hooker had reported 18 months earlier.

Two days later, the New York Times reprinted

on page one General Barnett's leaked private correspondence with Russell, including heavy play of

the phrase "indiscriminate killing." With the 1920

elections at climax, the "indiscriminate killing"

issue was ready-made for Republican foes of

Woodrow Wilson and, of course, for the antioccupation constituency that had been gathering in the

United States.

Typical of public and media reaction was the

Times' wide-eyed interview (15 October 1920)

with Harry Franck, a travel writer, shilling a justpublished book about the West Indies. Wrote the

Times:

American Marines, largely made up of and

officered by Southerners, opened fire with

machine-guns from airplanes on defenseless

Haitian villages, killing men, women and

children in open marketplaces; natives were

slain for "sport" by a hoodlum element

among these same Southerners; and the

ancient corvee system of forced labor was
revived and ruthlessly executed.

Another rapid reaction was that of James

Weldon Johnson, well known black adviser of

Republican Presidential candidate Warren G.

Harding and secretary of the NAACP. Johnson

counseled Harding to take immediate advantage

of Haitian "atrocity" charges. Harding beat

Johnson to the punch. He had already told election crowds, "Thousands of Haitians have been

killed by American Marines."

President Wilson's response was one final fulldress court of inquiry under Admiral Henry T.

Mayo, including among its members Lejeune and

the former naval governor of the Virgin Islands.

Even more exhaustive than its predecessors, the

Mayo inquiry (dismissed in the Nation as "whitewash" before the court even heard its first witness) arrived at similar conclusions but added in

its opinion, "Considering the conditions of service

in Haiti, it is remarkable that the offenses were so

few

Sorting Out all the investigations as well as

antecedent events, several observations seem in

order.

• Behind the smoke lay fire. Illegal executions

did take place, and so did acts of violence against

Haitians. The corvee was continued in violation of

orders and was flagrantly misused as a form of

peonage. Major Wells and a handful of U.S. subordinates condoned and tried to cover up these

misdeeds.

• All abuses were localized in the HincheMaissade area and to a six-month period

(December 1918 to May 1919). They were neither

typical nor nationwide. The 1922 Senate investigation, energetically pressed at home and in Haiti,

established only ten illegal executions.

• A major guerrilla war (the Caco Rebellion)

was in progress. In the words of historian Ludwell

Montague:

Operations were carried on by small

detached patrols, generally led by enlisted

men, remote from control or succor, alone

in a wild country and momentarily expecting ambush. No mark distinguished hostile

Caco from peaceful peasant, and, with one's

life at stake, there was a strong temptation

to give oneself the benefit of the doubt. Had

93

the Marines not shown remarkable restraint,

the havoc must have been greater.

• General Catlin's decision not to press charges

when evidence was fresh and all parties still in the

service and in Haiti foreclosed further prosecution. Later, when General Barnett reopened the

matter, the trail was cold and the guilty beyond

reach.

• Although inevitably seen as "official whitewash," if only because they tended to vindicate

American military conduct in Haiti, the successive

investigations, pursued in every instance by officers of high standing, come through 50 years later

as fair and rigorous. That they failed to produce

disciplinary results beyond actions taken at first

instance by Catlin resulted from unavailability to

military courts—as in the exponentially worse My

Lai scandals in Vietnam—of persons clearly guilty

(Marines dead or discharged) and the wildly unreliable and conflicting testimony of Haitian complainants.

• Behind all else lies the evident fact that

Haitian peasants simply did not regard the

Marines as the sadistic bullies and savage oppressors depicted in elite antioccupation literature.

Months later in 1921, after the uproar had

begun to quiet, Colonel L. McC. Little, the Marine

chief of staff in Haiti, wrote a thoughtful letter to

Edwin Denby, the former Marine Secretary of the

Navy in the new administration:

We have committed errors. . . . It is for this

reason that our punishment of offenses by

Marines and Gendarmes against Haitians has

had to be prompt and severe. . . . We may

have had to kill in our engagements but it

was to prevent the slaughter or ill treatment

of many thousands more. .

It remained for the British Foreign Office in

London to extract a final lesson. Reading the

reports from Port-au-Prince, and no doubt mindful of similar painful episodes of one's own, such

as the Aniritsar massacre of 1919, the permanent

undersecretary jotted down: "It is useful to

remember cases of this kind when the U.S.A. take

it upon themselves to preach to us about

Mesopotamia or Persia."

On the tropical night of 10 March 1922, while
the old battleship North Dakota plowed across the

Gulf of Gonaives toward Port-au-Prince, General

Russell, aft in the flag cabin, removed his whites

then turned in as the land breeze brought Haiti's

pungent presence—charcoal fires, dung, frangipaniers, overripe mangoes, and the distant throb

of drums—in through the open ports. Perhaps his

mind dropped back to 1893 when, on a midshipmen's cruise, he had first seen and smelled Portau-Prince.

Next morning when Russell came on the quarterdeck, bugles were already sounding officers'

call, the barge's crew was standing by to hoist out,

sailors were going to quarters, and the ship's

guard, rifle stocks gleaming like fine mahogany,

were paraded to honor the new high commissioner, still a bit awkward in the civilian clothes he had

decided he would henceforth wear.

When Russell stepped ashore over the Port-auPrince wharf, he was greeted by the magistrat

communal (mayor), by a smart honor guard of

Gendarmes, and the Port-au-Prince crowd that

had cheered many another new ruler of Haiti.

Behind a mounted Gendarmerie escort, the burnished Model T touring car clattered officiously up

past the Cathedral where the priests, French to a

man, watched impassively, and thence to his new

headquarters in the American legation. Out in the

bay, following her gun salute for the high commissioner (19 guns, six more than he would have

rated as a brigadier), North Dakota hoisted in

boats and gangways, hove short, and got underway. Ashore, Russell got down to work.

"The history of our intervention in Haitian

affairs," Secretary of State Charles Evans Hughes

had written in Russell's instructions, "is not viewed

with satisfaction by this Government." It was with

these words before him that the new proconsul

issued his first directive.

As previously worked Out in Washington, the

U.S. treaty services were reorganized. All correspondence to or from the Haitian government or

Washington would pass over the high commissioner's desk. No policy statement, project of law,

or budget item would issue save by Russell's writ.

Not surprisingly, the organization and the way it

functioned would resemble a military staff.

Prestigious as their offices and perquisities

might appear—especially in the setting of the

94

gleaming new National Palace completed in

1918—the president, his ministers, and the council of state would not enjoy much power, or, if

Russell and the financial adviser had anything to

say, any pelf at all. Behind official pomp, invariably and tactfully sustained by the high commissioner, stood American officials from Russell

down who, from reverse-slope positions, would

direct the affairs of Haiti.

Yet there was another dimension. Back in 1920,

with Caco leaders Benoit Batraville and

Charlemagne barely cold in their graves, then

Colonel Russell had issued an order he was to

reaffirm as high commissioner, which in abridgement reads as follows:

Where the duty of officers and enlisted

men brings them in contact with the Haitian

People, such duty will he performed with a

minimum of harshness . . . and a regard for

decency and human kindness.

No people with any spirit can view the

presence of troops of another nation in any

light than as a heavy blow to their pride.

Considerate treatment may soften the blow,

but harshness is bound to harden into

resentment that goes to defeat the larger

interests of the intervening nation.

The Haitians are naturally courteous people and resent, and properly resent, n.ideness and discourtesy. One rude act of any

individual may undo much good work on

the part of many others in the cause for

which we are here.

/s/ John H. Russell

President Dartiguenave, whose term expired in

May 1922, wanted to succeed himself, but his

presidency was at a dead end. Never truly popular with the country, let alone the elite, he had

alienated the Americans by maneuver, untrustworthiness, and obstruction. Yet hope died hard. After

vainly seeking endorsement from Russell (who

rightly said he intended to "preserve an absolute

neutrality"), Dartiguenave declared for the presidency in early April.

Public reaction showed rare unanimity. The

press, Union Patriotique, and virtually every

organization in Port-au-Prince leveled its guns on

Dartiguenave (even holding a mass in the
Cathedral for deliverance from his regime). As

Dartiguenave's support crumbled, there began a

period of jockeying (and of private visits, in vain

hope, to lobby Russell). Louis Borno, former foreign minister—with financial propulsion from the

wealthy Jamaican-German entrepreneur, 0. J.

Brandt—pulled ahead. On the evening of 10

April, after Dartiguenave failed to muster support

in the electoral Council of State, Joseph Louis

Borrio was elected president.4

On 15 May 1922, for only the second time in

Haiti's history since 1804, a constitutional transfer

of power took place. With full honors, Dartiguenave surrendered office and Louis Borno was inaugurated. The outgoing president's seven-year term

equaled the combined incumbencies of his seven

immediate predecessors.

Onetime editor of La Patrie, poet of distinction,

keen botanist, fluent in English and Spanish,

lawyer and legal scholar, ardent Catholic, diplomat, and thrice foreign minister, Borno at 56 was

a man of the world and of culture. In previous

cabinets under Dartiguenave, he had opposed the

Americans.

Borno had, therefore, amply demonstrated that

he was his own man. Then, in the frank collaboration he extended to the occupation, he was to

evince a pragmatism that would anger his fellow

elite and in the end, linked with Russell, result in

what has been called a two-headed dictatorship.

On the day of his inauguration, Borno said he was

"confident that earnest efforts and sincere cooperation with the Americans will secure to my people a large measure, if not all, the benefits contemplated in the spirit of the treaty."

It was with this common objective that president; and high commissioner set to work.

Russell, to he sure, held the high cards. Every

Haitian knew that the high commissioner's views

were backed by more than pure reason. Behind

him stood the Marine brigade. Yet Borno was not

and would never be a figurehead. In the words of

one U.S. treaty official, Arthur Millspaugh, who

knew him well, "There was understanding, friendship, and cooperation between Borno and

Russell; each was ready to yield at times; and each

needed the other."

Seven years later, in 1929, R. F. S. Edwards,

British minister in Port-au-Prince, assessed the

95

occupation: "What has America done for Haiti in

the 14 years since the intervention? Primarily,

maintained peace and allowed the peasant to

work in safety."

To Edwards, an Englishman inclined to condescend toward lesser breeds, little else save overelaborate public buildings and a few roads had

been the result. Viewing Haiti four decades after

the end of the occupation, one might suppose

Edwards had been right.

The facts, however, are otherwise. Financed

entirely from efficiently managed Haitian revenue—foreign aid was then unknown, and

dependencies were expected to pay their own

way—the material achievements of the BornoRussell years bely the British minister and can be

summarized before we come to the politics, the

problems and the shortcomings that occupy the

other side of the ledger.

• In 1929, the year of Edward's assessment,

Public Works (directed by a few U.S. Navy civil

engineer officers, forebears of the Seabees) had

built and were maintaining over a thousand miles

of all-weather roads suitable for the 3,000 motor

vehicles that had come to Haiti since the first touring car arrived in 1913. There were 210 major

bridges, airfields at ten towns, and auxiliary landing fields in many remote places. Many of these

are still in service today.

• In 1920, the lighthouses of Haiti amounted to

three kerosene-burning relics at Port-au-Prince

and one at the Cap. Nine years later, the republic

boasted 15 automatic acetylene lighthouses, 54

buoys, 10 harbor lights, and extensive aids to navigation in the modernized smaller ports. At the

Cap, Gonaives, St. Marc, Jeremie, and Les Cayes,

harbors had been dredged. Modern concrete

docks had replaced aged, tumbledown timbered

wharves, thus enabling tramp freighters to ply

these ports. Weekly first-class service for Port-auPrince on the Panama Line's New York-to-Colon

run had been arranged by Russell. In 1929, Pan

American clippers from Miami commenced Haiti's

first commerical aviation service to seaplane

ramps at the foot of downtown Port-au-Prince.

• About 1912, the old French telephone system

and telegraph had sputtered into silence. Ten

years later, Port-au-Prince could take pride in the

first automatic telephone exchange in any city in
Latin America, soon followed by a second such

system at the Cap. By 1929, there were 1,250 miles

of telephone long lines connecting 26 local

exchanges. The telegraph had been completely

rehabilitated, and national communications were

paying for themselves and showing a profit. (On

one sample day that year, Port-au-Prince logged

27,574 local calls.) There were working Street

lights in Port-au-Prince and three other cities. In

1927, Haiti's first radio station (HHK) went on the

air at Port-au-Prince.

• Ten towns enjoyed potable running water

and 64 villages had clean wells or springs. Portau-Prince also had pressurized fire mains. Eightytwo miles of new irrigation canals had been dug

in the Artihonite Valley. Among a wide range of

agricultural reforms were national forests,

mahogany and pine reforestation, and soil conservation. Sisal was introduced into Haiti, and for the

first time in decades, sugar and cotton again

became significant exports.

• "The U.S. Naval Medical Service stands alone

and far ahead of all American services." Thusly in

a rare moment of approbation, British Minister

Edwards wrote in May 1929. Fourteen years earlier, Haiti had been rotten with hookworm, tuberculosis, filariasis, leprosy, malignant malaria,

enteric diseases, yaws, syphilis, smallpox, and

typhoid. "The whole country," wrote Captain Kent

C. Melhorn, the able naval Director of Public

Health, "teemed with filth and disease

The Navy doctors responded by building and

operating 11 modern hospitals and 17 rural or

traveling clinics. In addition, there was the U.S.

Naval 1-lospial, Port-au-Prince (later the famous

Oloffson hotel and setting for Graham Greene's

The Comedians). In 1929, 1,341,596 treatments

were conducted, and nearly half the country's 159

physicians worked for Public Health. In 1926, the

government allowed the occupation to take over

and reorganize the National Medical School,

which, with a hospital corps and dispensers'

school, for the first time enabled Haiti to produce

doctors and technicians with modern professional

qualifications.5

• None of these achievements could have been

accomplished without the public order that the

Gendarmerie, hacked by the Marines, had

brought about by 1920. With Marines entirely

96

withdrawn to Port-au-Prince (except for a detachment at the Cap), the Gendarmerie (in 1928

renamed "Garde d'Haiti") efficiently pursued its

nation-building tasks: police, fire, prisons, customs

and immigration, emergency communications,

lighthouse service, rural medicine, and communal

advisership. Military marksmanship, a joke in preoccupation times, was raised to professional standards—an achievement dramatically underscored,

to great national pride, when a Haitian rifle team

competing in the Olympics for the first time in

1924 tied France for second place, outclassed only

by an American team composed largely of

Marines.6

• The most far-reaching and controversial U.S.

program was that of the Agricultural Extension

and Teaching Service (usually referred to as the

"Service Technique"). Its functions, as stated in

General Russell's 1924 report, were:

higher agricultural education for the

training of experts, teachers, and advisers;

rural farm schools . . . advice to adult farmers. . . direct aid through clinics and demonstrations . . . experiments in all phases of

agricultural activity . . . and vocational;

industrial education.

In more general terms, the goal the Service

Technique set itself was creation among the peasants of a class of black yeomanry, obviously a

matter of extreme social sensitivity for the largely

mulatre elite. Leaving, however, the resulting controversy for later, it is enough to recite undeniable

achievements: agricultural experimental stations, a

cattle-breeding station at Hinche, the school of

agriculture at Damien, demonstration farms and

extension services, Plantation Dauphin at Ft.

Liberte (eventually the world's largest sisal

acreage), reintroduction of tobacco as a money

crop, nationwide soil and resource surveys, and

veterinary clinics which healed more than 100,000

sick beasts. That so many good intentions and, for

that matter, good works should have ignited such

hostility, so deepened divisions, and, in the end,

left so little behind was not least among the

tragedies of intervention—and of Haiti.

The Borno-Russell regime had accomplished

much since 1922, but progress had been uneven.

New problems had arisen, old ones went
unsolved, and original promises (and premises) of

occupation remained unfulfilled.

Many hopes had stemmed from the belief that

Haiti held hidden resources that U.S. capital might

quickly exploit. The truth, as disclosed by geological surveys, was that Haiti had little or nothing

save bauxite at Miragoane and marginal copper

deposits near Port-a-Piment. As it was in the

beginning, agriculture was the country's only

resource. Yet plantation agriculture, based on

large-scale foreign land acquisition, would outrage national feelings. Peasants, for example,

forcibly resisted occupation projects to conduct a

land-ownership survey bound to threaten tiny

freeholds. In 1926, after Marine aviators completed air-photo coverage for such a survey, the

building housing the negatives was burned down.

While U.S. investment in Haiti waxed almost

fourfold, from $4 million in 1913 to over $14 million in 1930, it nonetheless mounted far faster in

neighboring unoccupied countries during the

same time, which in cause or effect refutes dollardiplomacy theories as to American intervention.

Borno and Russell experienced common and

continuing difficulties with the press. Edited in the

polemic tradition of France, Haitian journals had

only secondary regard for dissemination of news

and none at all for truth. Enjoying freedom and

security unknown before the Marines arrived, they

delighted in attacking the U.S. occupation with

irresponsibility and scurrility licensed by Haitian

courts that refused to convict an editor. In

December 1923, the State Department's astute

Dana Munroe (later to be U.S. minister to Haiti)

commented:

The fundamental difficulty is that Haitians

cannot enjoy freedom of speech and of the

press without outrageous abuse, and any

attempt to punish editors or politicians . gives rise to the charge that the American

occupation is throttling the press in Haiti.7

One of the occupation's most serious mistakes—mistake of ignorance—was to permit the

Garde (and thus by implication the American

authorities) to be used in ill-advised attempts to

stamp Out Voodoo. Yet who could blame newly

arrived foreigners for enforcing a penal code written by elite Haitians, which proscribed sorcery as

97

a crime and recognized zombi-ism as a phenomenon.

President Borno was deeply anti-Voodoo. The

elite, with whom U.S. officials and senior Marines

had most contact, further confused the Americans

with traditional condescending attitudes, giving

the impression (whatever their inward beliefs) that

Voodoo was superstitious rubbish capable of

causing trouble among the peasants. It is a measure of the occupation's lost opportunities that no

evidence can be found that senior U.S. officials

ever seriously comprehended Voodoo in its

impressive totality as Haiti's national religion.

Thus we find the Garde arresting and prosecuting Haitians for such "crimes" as preparing consecrated meals to win the good will of Voodoo ba

(gods) or conducting various Voodoo services. To

American officers of the Garde, it seemed only

that they were enforcing anti-Voodoo provisions

of the penal code. Among the Garde's Haitian officers, there was comprehension and tolerance, as

indeed there was on the part of individual

Americans such as the widely publicized

Lieutenant Faustin Wirkus of La Gonave.

In social relations with Haiti, the occupation

mirrored colonial attitudes of the day: paternal

toward the masses and aloof and condescending

toward the elite, who cordially reciprocated. As if

Haiti were West Africa or British India, the

Americans had their club, which no Haitian

entered except as a servant. On the other hand,

from 1918 on (as a direct consequence of Smedley

Butler's tactlessness), no U.S. officer was admitted

to the elite Cercle Bellevue.8 Some of this distance

has been blamed, no doubt correctly, on U.S.

racial attitudes, and particularly those of the wives

of the lower-ranking among the 250 civilian treaty

officials and less numerous NCOs who served as

junior officers in the Garde.

British Minister Edwards, never at a loss where

American failings were concerned, mused in 1929:

"I do hate to see one's own colour and race

behaving in a way that brings discredit to the

whole white race. What respect can an educated

Haitian have for a race that allows its women to

get so drunk that they have to be taken home in

the bottom of the car? And all that before native

servants

Only six months later, Edwards rendered his
final verdict: "The American in Hayti [sici has

shown himself quite unqualified to colonize."

A recurring theme in Minister Edwards's reports

was typically stated in April 1927: "The U.S.

Government has sent about 75 percent

Southerners to Hayti [sic] as they are supposed to

know how to handle coloured people."

The charge was not new. It seems to have

appeared, not in Haiti, but in the October 1920

New York Times piece about Harry Franck who

had laced his book, as we have seen, with sensational charges against the Marines. How Franck

substantiated this assertion, or where he found it,

is unknown. Unlike other charges, it does not

seem to have sprung from the fertile imagination

of the "Cacos de Plume" because it never appears

in the 1921 Union Patriotique memorials to the

U.S. Senate, where every possible stop was pulled

out. Nor was it ever raised throughout the yearlong McCormick Committee investigation.

Regardless of origin, this accusation eventually

caught on. Because it was repeated widely by foreign and later by Haitian writers, it should be

squarely addressed.

Following first enunciation by Franck, the

charge that the Marines deliberately exported

American racial prejudices to Haiti was echoed in

1927 by sociologist Emily Balch and future Marine

Paul Douglas. In 1941, the sociologist Leyburn

(who later admitted he could not substantiate the

assertion) repeated the accusation as fact in his

authoritative Haitian People. Only to cite further

examples, historian Selden Rodman reinforced

Leyburn. Two years later, in still another book,

Edmund Wilson did the same. In 1954, Time

repeated the charge as fact.

Curiously, however, no Haitian source throughout the entire range of antioccupation literature

ever raised the issue. In fact, it was not until 1950,

long years after the Marines departed, that

Danache, one of the most anti-American Haitian

writers, briefly alluded to the charge. Six years

later, a second Haitian historian, Hogar Nicolas,

gave it as fact.

How can we assess these unpleasant charges?

Originated and propagated by non-Haitian

civilians otherwise critical of the occupation and

unfriendly to the American military, the accusation

was never raised by any Haitian during the occu98

pation or, for that matter, until long after American

writers accepted and repeated it. Most significantly, no instance can be found early or late in which

any person advancing this thesis substantiated it,

or even tried to do so.

Now what were the facts?

This was the question raised in 1964 by a skeptical history student at Wellesley, Ann Hurst, who

in a term paper, asked and answered the question: "Southerners to Handle Haitians?"9

Analyzing by name against U.S. Census data

the record of every Marine officer on duty in Haiti

from 1916 to 1932, Hurst found (1) that the proportion of southern-born officers in the Corps as

a whole was lower than the percentage of southerners in the national population, and (2) that in

13 of the 19 years of occupation, the percentage

of southern Marine officers in Haiti was below the

percentage of southern officers in the Corps.

Interestingly, according to Hurst, 1927, when the

accusations seemed to peak, was one of six random years in which southern officers in Haiti did

exceed the Corps-wide percentage, which, however, still fell below that in the U.S. population.

Critics have demurred that Hurst covered officers only and did not consider Marine NCOs

breveted to junior ranks in the Garde. But partial

data on such cases confirm Hurst. In 1930, for

example—one year when complete statistics covering the Garde were compiled—only 24 of 116

officers (including ex-NCOs), or 20.6 percent,

were southern at a time when 23.4 percent of all

Americans were southern-born.

To nail down Hurst's findings, no other student

(including the authors during a lifetime in the

Corps) has found any trace in record or recollection that any such policy ever existed.

By 1927, the occupation seemed well established. Haiti was pacified. Its financial and economic affairs were, on the whole, doing well.

General modernization was afoot. In social matters—education, incorrigibly corrupt courts and

judiciary, and continued elite resentment and

resistance toward the Americans—progress had

been poor. It was ironic that the very interests,

aspirations, and injuries which sparked the

adamant resistance of the elite to the modernization of their country were, at the same time, wholly adverse to, and bound to estrange them—as if
they cared—from the mass of their downtrodden

peasant countrymen. This contradiction has never

been resolved.

As for the Marines, after 1920 they had settled

into routine garrisons at Port-au-Prince and the

Cap, keeping a low profile and leaving the tasks

of public order and nation-building to a Marinedirected Garde and treaty administration. This had

been General Russell's policy from the outset, a

course encouraged by a perennially nervous

Washington. Of the Marines, the American chargé

d'affaires, Christian Gross, aptly remarked in 1927,

"So long as they are here, there is no need for

their being here."

Notes

1. Joseph Jolibois, a leader of the Union and one of

Haiti's most vociferous journalists (and post-occupation

president of the Chamber of Deputies), had, for example, a long police pedigree richly spiced with civil and

criminal charges, including assaults and the attempted

murder of his sister-in-law. Exiled to Argentina in 1928,

he was detained in an asylum, and after return to Haiti,

died mad at Pont Beudet, Haiti's national lunatic asylum. The year before he died, he asserted in print that

the sun was composed of geometric blocks of ice shining by reflected light and was inhabited by a species of

beings resembling Laplanders.

2. The Port-au-Prince pompiers (firemen), with their 12

buglers, leaky two-mule Belgian Steamers, and members who went home to shift into uniform before

responding to a fire, originally stayed Out of control of

the occupation's Haitian Gendarmerie. In the wake of

serious fires beginning in September 1918 (and coinciding closely with the fortunes of the Caco Rebellion), an

experienced U.S. fireman was brought down as an

adviser, but the pompiers would have none of him. The

1921 conflagrations persuaded President Dartiguenave

to assign fire service to the Gendarmes, and eventually

the pompiers ended up with two gasoline pumpers,

four motorized steamers, two hose companies, and a

chemical rig. Characteristically, when the first working

fire to occur under the new regime was knocked down

in minutes, the press said the American fire chief had

set it in order to show off.

3. On 13 April 1919, British troops opened fire with

rifles and machine guns on political demonstrators in a

park in Amritsar, killing at least 400 and wounding

some 1,200 more. This tragedy, exactly contemporane99

ous with the alleged "indiscriminate killing" at HincheMaissade, did not inhibit members of Parliament from

running on about U.S. actions in Haiti in 1920.

4. It has been frequently charged that the Americans

simply replaced Dartiguenave with Borno. Other than

unsupported statements to this effect, no evidence has

been found to justify the conclusion. On the known

record, the forces that put Borno in office were not

American, but rather Borno's political astuteness and 0.

J. Brandt's purse.

5. One product of this program, a 27-year-old Port-auPrince student, graduated in the last American-supervised class in 1934. His name was Francois Duvalier.

6. When for four years, a Marine military mission

returned to Haiti in 1959, one of its first steps was to

reintroduce national rifle matches and international

competition. In the Inter-American Rifle Matches of

1959 and 1960 held at Panama, Haitian teams each time

defeated every country in Latin America, being only

narrowly outpointed by U.S. teams sent down from the

Army's advanced marksmanship unit at Fort Benning.

After the Haitian team's triumphant second win,

President Duvalier characteristically responded by withdrawing Haiti from international competition and disbanded the team, never to shoot again.

7. Visiting reporters to Haiti were told (and naively

believed)—an outcry the U.S. and British press quickly

took up—that Haitian editors "were being denied the

right of habeas corpus," a process, of course, unknown

to the Code Napoleon and thus unheard of in Haiti.

8. Not until 1960 was a U.S. Marine officer (one of the

authors) elected to membership in this most exclusive

Haitian club.

9. Ann Hurst will be recognized by many Gazette readers as the daughter of Brigadier General E. H. Hurst,

USMC (Ret.) and now wife of Lieutenant Colonel Myron

Harrington.

About the Authors

Robert Debs HeinlJr. and Nancy Gordon Heinl lived in Haiti from 1959

to 1963, where Robert was Chief of the U.S. Naval Mission to Haiti until he was declared persona non grata by François Duvaliet He retired from the

Marines as a colonel in 1964. Robert Hem! had already published several

works of history before he retired, including World War II battle studies for

the USMC History Division and Soldiers of the Sea. The United States

Marine Corps, 1775-1962 (1962). Upon retirement, he became a syndicated newspaper columnist and worked with his wife Nancy, an independent writer and journalist, on their major work, Written in Blood: The

Story of the Haitian People, 1492-1971 (1978), from which the article

presented here was excerpted and condensed. Their son Michael has subsequently published revised and updated editions of Written in Blood in

1996 and 2005.

Administering the

Protectorates: The

U.S. Occupation of

Haiti and the

Dominican Republic

by Richard Milieu with G. Dale Gaddy

Revista/Review Interamericana, 1976

he Spanish-American War marked the

emergence of the United States as a significant colonial power. Some areas,

notably the Philippines and Puerto Rico, were

openly annexed. Others, especially in the

Caribbean, though they continued to maintain

some aspects of sovereignty, in reality became

virtual protectorates. In all these cases, the

United States found itself poorly prepared for

the task of administering the territories under its

control. This lack of preparation was compounded by a peculiar unwillingness of the

American government and people to acknowledge that they had embarked upon colonial

ventures. This attitude of reluctant imperialism

meant that the United States could never establish a formal colonial office or prepare a professional corps of colonial administrators.

Successive governments were even reluctant to

request congressional appropriations to administer newly controlled territories. Instead, they

called upon the military to assume the role of

colonial administrator. At first the Army carried

the major responsibility in this area, hut from

1910 on, the Navy and the Marine Corps took

over most of these duties. This paper examines

two cases of Navy-Marine administration within

foreign nations, Haiti and the Dominican

Republic.

There has been considerable debate over the

motivation for the American interventions in

Haiti, the Dominican Republic, and several

other Latin American nations in the first third of

the 20th century. The desire to protect American

101
investments and to expand economic controls,

security interests involving the Panama control

or fear over possible German influence, and

even a rather confused paternalism have been

among the more prominent motives which may

have prompted the interventions.1 While we

find a rather confused notion of national security the most important of these factors, we have

little new to contribute to this discussion and

will concentrate our efforts on other areas.

The goals of the interventions are somewhat

easier to discover. The prime goal, in most

cases, was the restoration of internal order and

the creation of relative political and economic

stability.2 This meant ending revolutionary outbreaks, reforming the military and police forces

in an effort to make them effective supporters of

established administrations, and controlling

national finances in order to achieve stable and,

for American investors, profitable economic

conditions. At times the holding of relatively

free elections was seen as an important means

of promoting stability.

Secondary goals included maintenance and

expansion of American political and economic

dominance in the Caribbean and paternalistic

concerns for uplifting and improving conditions

within the occupied nations. The relative importance attached to any of these goals varied from

intervention to intervention and, during

American administration of its Caribbean "protectorates," from administration to administration back in Washington.

Our examination of the occupation of Haiti

and the Dominican Republic focuses upon three

basic questions. The first of these is how and

why the prevalent system of American administration developed. This includes examination of

the expansion and the limits of American areas

of control in each nation, and some study of

relations between the civil and the military personnel involved in the interventions. We compare United States administrative policies in

Haiti and the Dominican Republic and try to

explain the differences which we encounter.

Finally, we try to determine to what extent these

systems of military administration related to the

original goals of the interventions. This involves

analyzing the results of the interventions in an

102

effort to determine if American administration

advanced or hindered the achievement of the

original goals.

While both interventions occurred during the

first term of President Woodrow Wilson, the

essential background was created by the policies of the preceding administrations. Secretaries

of State Elihu Root and Philander Knox both

devoted considerable attention to relations with

the nations of the Caribbean. Root established

something of a model for future U.S. policy in

the area with the Dominican Customs Treaty of

1907. This treaty authorized an American customs receivership with first priority on customs

receipts going to payments to foreign bondholders. In addition, the Dominican Republic

pledged not to increase its foreign debt without

American consent. In return the United States

helped arrange a new $20 million loan to the

Dominican government.3

Root's successor, Philander Knox, emphasized a policy of using loans and financial controls to promote stability and protect American

investments.4 Efforts to extend customs controls

to Haiti were unsuccessful, but Knox did succeed in blocking German and French efforts to

gain a measure of financial control over that

nation.5

The inauguration of Wilson as president and

the appointment of William Jennings Bryan as

secretary of state seemed to signal a change in

America's Caribbean policy. Bryan had earlier

opposed American imperialism in that area and

the new president, speaking at Mobile in

October 1913, condemned the use of power to

gain economic advantages over smaller nations

and pledged that the United States would never

again acquire territory by conquest.6

However, the subsequent crisis in relations

with Mexico, culminating in the 1914 occupatiOn of Vera Cruz, made it clear that the new

administration was no more willing to treat the

nations of Latin America as sovereign equals

than its predecessors had been. Wilson's heavyhanded paternalism, with its concept of "shooting men into self government," represented littie improvement over the open commercial

imperialism of Knox.7 Indeed, this policy resulted in even greater American interference with
the internal affairs and international relations of

the Latin American governments.

Haiti

From the beginning of the 20th century until

the United States intervened in 1915, conditions

in the black republic of Haiti became increasingly unstable. In this 15-year period, which normally would have been a little over two presidential terms, Haiti had nine presidents.8 There

was a continual struggle between upper-class

mulattos of French language and culture and

lower-class blacks, most of whom were illiterate

and spoke Creole. Graft was rampant and elections were a farce. A group of peasants called

cacos lived in the north near the Dominican border and made their living by participating in revolutions which often were financed by German

merchants living in Haiti.9

This instability was of great concern to U.S.

President Woodrow Wilson. Unfortunately, no

one in Wilson's State Department knew much

about Haiti. Secretary of State William Jennings

Bryan relied for information upon Roger L.

Farnham, head of the National City Bank's interests in Haiti. This was bad because Farnham

was unsympathetic toward the Haitians and was

determined to bring about U.S. intervention in

the republic. He was even able to convince

Bryan that Germany and France, who were then

at war, were working together to gain control of

Mole St. Nicholas.1°

Wilson decided that reforms in Haiti were

essential to the security of the United States

even though American financial interests in the

republic were small. He also believed that the

United States had an obligation to help its

neighbors for their own sake. Wilson and his

advisors decided that the only way to ensure

Haiti's security was to have some control over

expenditures and reorganization of the armed

forces, as well as of customs. Free elections

would also be necessary. A new minister to

Haiti, Arthur Bailly-Blanchard——a mild-mannered, elderly career diplomat whose chief qualification was fluent French—was to try to persuade Haiti to agree to these proposals. Wilson's

plan for free elections was virtually unworkable

103

because (1) there were no organized political

parties, (2) contending leaders were little more

than chiefs of mercenary bands, (3) the mass of

the people were illiterate and indifferent to politics, and (4) the president of Haiti was chosen

by congress and not by the people." As each

new president came to power, the United States

attempted to get him to agree to Wilson's plan.

On 27 July 1915, Haitian President Guillaume

Sam was overthrown. When it was apparent that

he was going to fall, Guillaume ordered the

shooting of political prisoners who were of the

elite class and fled to the French legation. The

commander of the prison carried out these

orders and fled to the Dominican legation.

Fearing trouble, the American chargé cabled

Admiral William B. Caperton, who was at Cape

Haitian with the cruiser Washington and a contingent of Marines. Cap erton left immediately for

Port-au-Prince, arriving on the morning of the

28th. Before his arrival, a mob invaded the

French and Dominican legations and killed both

Guillaume Sam and his prison commander.

Caperton decided to land troops and take control of the city to protect foreign lives. After he

had already made this decision, he received

orders from the Navy Department to land

Marines.12

About 250 Marines and an equal number of

bluejackets were landed. They met no resistance, and the admiral assumed military control

of the city. However, in anticipation of possible

trouble, he asked that the Navy Department be

prepared to send additional reinforcements of

one or more regiments of Marines. At this point,

United States policy in Haiti was unclear. On 4

August 1915, the chief of naval operations

reported to the Assistant Secretary of the Navy

Franklin Roosevelt, "The State Department has

not yet informed us of their exact policy in Haiti,

but Mr. Lansing has expressed the intention of

outlining a definite policy in the near future."13

The U.S. Government was now in a position

to obtain the control in Haiti which it had been

seeking, but both Secretary of State Lansing and

President Wilson had difficulty deciding what

should be done. On July 30, Lansing asked the

Navy to order Caperton not to turn over the

government of Port-au-Prince to any Haitian
authority for the time being, but he wrote

Wilson that he did not know what the United

States should do or legally could do. He pointed out that the United States had no real excuse

to take over Port-au-Prince as it had at Vera

Cruz. Wilson was also concerned about legality,

but felt there was nothing to do but "take the

bull by the horns and restore order."14

One of the first things to be done was to elect

a new Haitian president. On August 10,

Caperton was authorized to allow the election

of a president, but the Haitian congress was to

be informed that the United States would find

unacceptable any president who would not end

factional strife or who would not give "the

United States practical control of the customs

and such financial control over the affairs of the

Republic of Haiti as the United States may deem

necessary for efficient administration."15 There

were two candidates, Rosalvo Bobo, who had

led the revolt against Guillaume, and Philippe

Sudre Dartiguenave, president of the senate.

Caperton interviewed both men and was satisfied with Dartiguenave's answers, but when he

asked Bobo if he would support the president if

he were not chosen, Bobo replied, "No, I will

not! . . . I alone am fit to be President; I alone

understand Haitian aspiration, no one is fit to be

President but me 16 On August 12, the election was held. Dartiguenave received 94 votes,

Bobo 16 votes, and 30 votes were scattered

among other candidates.17 Dartiguenave was

inaugurated as president, and in the early years

he cooperated with the United States occupation.

In the meantime, the U.S. military was

extending its control by disarming the Haitians

and dissolving their army. On August 19,

Caperton was ordered to take charge of customs

collection and use the funds to develop a constabulary, and to conduct temporary public

works to provide work for the unemployed. The

United States was trying to get the Haitian president to request such action, but Caperton was

ordered to take over the customs whether or not

Dartiguenave requested it. Caperton feared a

Haitian reaction to this and asked for additional

troops. As troops became available, the admiral

took over the customs houses one at a time.

104

Finally, on September 2, he took over the customs house at Port-au-Prince, and on September

3 declared a state of martial law.18

On August 14, President Dartiguenave had

been sent a copy of the treaty proposed by the

U.S. The provisions were to be accepted by

Haiti without modification. It provided for

American control of customs, finances, the constabulary, public works, and public health. It

omitted control of Haitian courts and education,

which the United States later regretted.

President Dartiguenave readily accepted the

treaty, but the Haitian congress was reluctant.

After much delay, Caperton issued a statement

that there were rumors that senators were

accepting bribes to hold up the treaty. He

threatened to prosecute anyone taking bribes in

the provost court set up under martial law. Later

that day, the treaty was ratified by the Haitian

senate.19 Since the United States Senate was not

in session, a modus vivendi was signed which

put the treaty into force pending American

action. The plan was to use officers of

Caperton's staff until the treaty was approved,

but—as this would have violated U.S. law—officers were appointed to perform duties similar

to those provided by the treaty. It should be

pointed out that civilians could have been

appointed to these positions with no conflict,

but Caperton maintained that the Haitians preferred military officers.20 The United States

Senate ratified the treaty on 28 February 1916,

and on 12 June 1916, an act of Congress made

it possible for American military personnel to

accept paid positions under the Haitian government.21

President Dartiguenave evidently supported

the treaty in the belief that it would hasten

American withdrawal. This did not prove to be

the case. A large segment of the Haitian population seems to have accepted the treaty with less

hostility than might have been expected. In fact,

many of the elite felt United States intervention

was the lesser of two evils.22 This attitude made

it possible always to have a Haitian government

to work with and eliminated the need to establish a military government.

With the transfer of Admiral Caperton in July

1916, no one person was responsible for United
States policy in Haiti. In Washington, authority

was divided between the State Department and

the Navy Department. Bailly-Blanchard, U.S.

minister to Haiti, was ineffective and did not

even keep the State Department informed about

developments in the Republic. The dominant

figure in Haiti became the Marine brigade commander, but he had no authority to direct the

other treaty services.23 Policy tended to drift.

Colonel Eli K. Cole, brigade commander in

1916, wrote to Admiral Knapp, "I have absolutely no knowledge as to the policy that our government desires to follow in regard to Haiti. If I

knew its desires it would be much easier to so

conduct affairs here that they would work

towards the end desired."24

In some ways, the all-white Marine Corps

was not a good organization to have working in

a black republic. Many of the officers were prejudiced and hated the uppity black elite. Major

Smeciley Butler, first commander of the Haitian

Gendarmerie, referred to the elite as cockroaches.25 It was also reported26 that when Butler—

who was supposedly subordinate to the president of Haiti—traveled with Dartiguenave, it

was Butler who slept in a bed while the president slept on the floor. 27 In addition, social relations between Marine officers and Haitians were

greatly curtailed after the arrival of American

wives. 28

The main arm of Marine authority was the

Gendarmerie d'Haiti, which acted as both a

police force and an army. Initially, all its officers

were Marines. The treaty called for a gradual

Haitianization of the officer corps, but by 1921,

there were only nine Haitian officers Out of a

total of 117.29 Through the Gendarmerie, the

Marines tried to control almost everything in

Haiti. In fact, Caperton said that the Marines

were making an "effort to swipe all Haiti."3° For

military reasons, they wanted to control telephone and telegraph services, which were

under the minister of the interior.31 In order to

guarantee the health of their officers, the

Gendarmerie wanted control of the sanitation

department.32 Again, out of military necessity,

they claimed control of the building and repair

of roads. The road building was done by reviving the old French practice of corvée. The pub105

lic works engineer, who should have had charge

of road building, contested the action of the

Gendarmerie.33 He went unheard until the abuses of the corvée led to a new caco revolt in

1919.

The abuse of the corvée was the work of

Major Clarke H. Wells. The brigade commander

had noted the increased opposition of the

Haitian peasants to the corvée; therefore, in

October 1918, an order was issued by Colonel

John Russell abolishing it. Despite this order, it

was illegally continued in the northern and central regions of Haiti by Major Wells. In his

reports to headquarters, he denied this but in

March 1919, a new brigade commander visited

central Haiti to investigate rumors and found the

corvée still in operation. This area was the center of the 1919 caco uprising. After further investigation, Marine Corps Commandant John

Lejeune recommended that Wells be court-martialed, but too much time had passed to build a

good case, and the charges were dropped

because of insufficient evidence.34

The caco revolt was the first real test of the

Gendarmerie, and they failed it. The Marines

had to be called in to put down the revolt. One

reason for this was that the Marines had discouraged target practice because they figured it was

dangerous to teach the natives to shoot because

they might turn on the United States. Colonel

Wailer remarked, "You can never trust a nigger

with a gun."35

During this period, it was realized that some

provisions of the United States—Haitian Treaty

violated the Haitian Constitution. It was therefore decided to change the constitution. The

Haitian Congress opposed the revisions, so

Dartiguenave had to dissolve the senate in April

1916, and then the whole congress in June 1917.

It was decided that the new constitution would

be submitted to the people in a plebiscite. The

constabulary was charged with running the election and drumming up support for the new constitution. The vote was held and the constitution

was approved 98,225 to 768. This may well have

been a true count of the votes since this was a

small turnout and people who opposed the constitution simply did not bother to vote. The new

constitution approved all United States actions
taken during the occupation and for the first

time allowed foreigners to own land in Haiti.

The president was allowed to decide when a

new congressional election would be held;

none were until 1930. Until then a council of

state appointed by the president enacted legislation.6 After 1918, constitution relations between

Dartiguenave and the U.S. deteriorated; he

resented the control exercised by treaty officials,

which deprived him of authority. Dartiguenave

was replaced as Haitian president by Louis

Borno on 10 April 1922.3

With the change from the Wilson to the

Harding administration, a Senate committee was

created to investigate the intervention. One of

the main recommendations of the committee

was that a high commissioner be appointed to

oversee policy in Haiti. General John H. Russell,

who l-iad served two terms in Haiti as brigade

commander, was selected for the position. He

was responsible to the State Department hut he

also commanded the Marine Brigade.38 Borno

and Russell worked well together, and Haiti

enjoyed one of its longest periods of peace.

There were problems over censorship of the

press, but since 95 percent country was illiterate, this proved to be a minor difficulty. Russell

enforced censorship with an even hand at the

direction of the State Department.39 At this time,

the United States also wanted a constitutional

amendment to give it control of education, hut

Borno was able to thwart this without bringing

on a crisis.40 Both Borno and Russell agreed that

Haiti was not ready for elections, and both postponed holding them. This, of course, kept

Borno in power.

During this period, 1921—29, the Constabulary

was able to maintain law and order without

Marine help. The 500 to 800 Marines were all

stationed in Port-au-Prince or Cape Haitian.41

Haitianization of the guard was accelerated, and

by 1929, 39.6 percent of the officers were

Haitian.42 Training in the use of arms had been

emphasized after the caco revolt, and in 1924 a

rifle team composed entirely of Haitians tied for

second place with France in the Olympic

games.43 Work with the fire departments also

continued and the Gendarmerie, whose name

had been changed in 1925 to Garde d'Haiti, was

106

effectively carrying on tile job for which it had

been developed.

The Borno-Russell government was brought

to an end by student strikes which began in

November 1929 and soon involved politicians

and a call for elections. There was fear that the

Garde would join the strike, and Russell called

for Marine reinforcements. To quiet the discontent, Borno announced that he would not run

for president in 1930. With this assurance, tile

trouble passed. The Garde did its job, and

Marine reinforcements did not have to be landed.44

As a result of the strike, a presidential commission headed by Cameron Forbes was sent to

Haiti to investigate how and when tile United

States could withdraw. They recommended an

increasingly rapid Haitianization of the treaty

services and that Russell be replaced at the end

of his term by a civilian minister who was to be

charged with working out the details of United

States withdrawal .5 These recommendations

were put into effect with the appointment of

Dana Munro as minister to Haiti.

Stenio Vincent was elected president of Haiti

in November 1930. Negotiations to end the

occupation proved long and difficult. The occupation itself did not end until 15 August 1934,

when the last Marines withdrew, and United

States involvement with Haitian finances continued for some time afterwards.

The Dominican Republic

The 1916 intervention in the Dominican

Republic and the subsequent creation of a military government was the culmination of a long

history of American involvement in Dominican

affairs. Under the terms of the 1907 treaty,

which established the customs receivership, tile

United States believed it had acquired the right

of intervention. A bitter, long-standing, political

feud between tile horacistas, followers of

General Horacio Vasquez, and the jimenistas,

partisans of ex-president Isidro Jimenez, combined with the growing strength of such regional caudillos as Desiderio Arias of Santiago,

insured that excuses for such action would not

be lacking. In May 1914, the direct threat of
American intervention ended one civil conflict,

with both major factions agreeing to Wilson's

demand that they select a provisional president,

hold elections and abide by the results. The

election, held in October, resulted in a narrow

victory for former president Jimenez.

Regional uprisings against the new government began in 1915, and the possibility of intervention loomed large, especially after the July

landings in neighboring Haiti. In November,

William Russell, the American minister to the

Dominican Republic and a longtime advocate of

intervention, dispatched a lengthy note to the

Dominican government demanding that they

cease increasing the public debt, accept the

appointment of an American financial adviser,

and allow the United States to create a constabulary to replace existing military and police

forces.46 All Dominican political factions joined

in denouncing these demands, which would

have reduced their nation to the status of a protectorate. The United States, however, continued

to press its demands while awaiting events

which might force Dominican acceptance.

In April 1916, open conflict broke out

between President Jimenez and General Arias.

Arias occupied the capital and forced the

Dominican congress to impeach the president.47

President Jimenez denounced this action and

gathered forces of his own to retake Santo

Domingo. At the State Department's request, the

Navy dispatched several ships to the area and

landed a small force of Marines to protect the

American legation.48 When it became evident

that the president's forces alone could not dislodge Arias, the American minister insisted that

Jimenez ask for U.S. military assistance. After

some vacillation, Jimenez instead resigned on

May 6th.49 Under the Dominican constitution,

the selection of his successor fell to the congress, currently in session and under the control

of Arias. Russell was determined to prevent the

selection of Arias and, instead, to obtain the

election of someone who would meet American

demands for broad economic and military controls. Additional American forces were hurriedly

landed and Admiral Caperton, at Russell's direction, gave Arias an ultimatum to surrender or he

attacked by the Marines.rO Unwilling to accept

107

either alternative, the Dominican caudillo

slipped quietly out of town on the night of the

13th and headed north. A few hours later,

Marines occupied the city without resistance.

In the intervention's initial stages, policy was

clearly controlled by the State Department.

When Admiral Caperton asked the Navy

Department what American policy was, he was

told to "consult with the American Minister,

examine the archives of the legation and obtain

there from the policy of the United States"51

Russell continued to direct operations for several weeks after the initial landings. At his urging,

additional Marines were landed and sent north,

where they easily defeated Arias' forces, disarming them and placing their leader under house

arrest.52 The customs receivership took control

of all internal as well as external taxes, and

Russell attempted to use this financial leverage,

combined with the threat of further actions by

Caperton's forces, to prevent the Dominican

congress from electing anyone unwilling to support American demands. This effort failed when,

on July 25, congress selected Dr. Francisco

Henriquez y Carbajal as provisional president.53

Angered by Dominican defiance of American

demands, the State Department refused to recognize the new administration and the Customs

Receiver, on Russell's instructions, cut off all

government funds.54 When even this failed to

force compliance, Secretary of State Lansing, at

the urging of Russell, decided on an even more

drastic course of action: on 26 November 1916,

he obtained Wilson's approval of a proclamation

establishing an American military government.55

The Navy had long urged the establishment

of martial law in the Dominican Republic "in

order to legalize our military action," and the

proclamation approved by Wilson had been

drafted by Captain Harry Knapp, commander of

American forces in the area.6 Justifying this

action on supposed Dominican violations of the

1907 treaty, Captain Knapp, on November 29,

proclaimed the establishment of military government, declaring that government would continue under "such duly authorized Dominican officials as may be necessary, all under the oversight and control of the United States Forces

exercising Military Government."57 At the same
time, Knapp suspended all permits allowing

Dominicans to carry firearms and established

press censorship.58

With the installation of Captain Knapp as military governor, control over American policy

was vested in the Navy Department. In short

order, without consulting the State Department,

Knapp declared all cabinet offices vacant and

appointed Navy and Marine officers, "none of

whom had any knowledge of Dominican affairs

or problems and the great majority of whom

could not even speak the language of the country," to fill these posts.59

In recommending a military government,

Russell had urged that it be set up only for one

year, but once in power, the officers showed no

interest in returning control to the Dominicans.60 Instead, they repeatedly expanded their

authority into new areas. Occasional protests

from Washington had little effect. Knapp's

replacement of the cabinet caused considerable

consternation in Washington, and Secretary of

the Navy Josephus Daniels ordered him to suspend the appointments.61 Knapp replied by

declaring that any such action would result in

"loss of prestige and embarrassment to the

Military Government" and appealed to Daniels

to reverse his order.62 The secretary capitulated

and cabled his approval, expressing the hope

that the officers would eventually be replaced

by "representative Dominicans."63

In the following weeks, the military government's powers expanded rapidly. Congress was

suspended and the governor issued decrees,

known as executive orders, regulating many

areas of Dominican life.64 While Dominican

courts were not interfered with at first, violations of executive orders were tried before

Marine provost courts. A total of 821 such orders

were issued during the occupation, covering

everything from regulating the sale of lottery

tickets to prohibiting insults against "the

Government of the United States of America or

any officer thereof, or the Military Government

of Santo Domingo or any officer thereof."65

By mid-December, Knapp was informing

Washington that it was "much too early to think

of permitting elections," asking instead for aid in

road building and other programs of public

108

works.66 Efforts also began to create a constabulaiy, trained and commanded by Marines.

Before the year 1917 was far advanced, it

became obvious that the military government

was planning to continue for an indefinite period and had no intention of turning over any

power to Dominicans after a year of operation.

Captain Knapp was blunt about this, declaring

that it would be "many years" before the

Dominicans were "fit for democracy," and

adding that until then it would be dangerous to

place a Dominican in command of the constabulary, or indeed in any major position in that

force.6 With both the State and Navy Departments increasingly preoccupied with the coming

war with Germany, no serious objections were

raised to such views.

With no clear guidelines from Washington,

the military government continued to expand.

By mid-July, Knapp was seeking authority to

remove Dominican judges from office, a power

President Wilson had ordered removed from the

original proclamation of military government.68

The military also took over control of the educational system and issued new sets of regulations for all schools. The new Code of Education

provided for a five-member National Council of

Education to be composed of leading

Dominican citizens, but this provision was

ignored until at least 1920, when the Marine officer in charge of education finally decided that

"the council should be appointed."69

In September 1917, William Russell, who had

remained in the odd position of American minister to the military government, tried, with the

support of Secretary of State Lansing, to get the

officers in the cabinet replaced by American

civilians, even suggesting that perhaps the individuals appointed could be given reserve Navy

commissions, but the Navy refused to even consider such a possibility.70 The entry of the

United States into World War I had strained the

occupations personnel as many of the best officers were recalled to other duties, but even

under such circumstances, the Navy remained

unwilling to share any power.

The war created a host of new problems for

the military regime, while at the same time it left

it even freer of any direction from Washington.
Unlike Haiti, the Dominican Republic did not

declare war on Germany, but German citizens

were closely watched and arrested on virtually

any pretext. The needs of shipping for the war

effort disrupted the Dominican economy and

created several serious shortages. The military

government made numerous pleas for special

consideration in shipping matters, arguing that

the republic had become a ward of the United

States.71

A more serious effect of the war was its influence upon the Guardia Nacional Dominicana,

the newly organized constabulary. The withdrawal of some Marines for action in Europe

combined with continued insurgent activity in

the interior made a rapid expansion of this force

necessary.72 While the higher posts in the

Guardia were filled by Marine officers, company-grade officers were usually Marine sergeants

or corporals or Dominicans willing to work for

the occupation. Under the system of provost

courts operating in the republic, these poorly

prepared officers often found themselves operating as police chief, prosecuting attorney,

judge, and jury in isolated communities. Abuses

were inevitable. One observer reported that one

such officer, after a brief hearing which "usually

took place within ten minutes of the arrest,"

would pronounce judgment by saying, "Take

the son of a bitch out and bump him off."73

Accusations of atrocities against the Marines and

the Guardia reached a peak during this period,

further discrediting the occupation.

Conditions continued to deteriorate following

Knapp's d.eparture from office in mid-1918.

Under the acting governor, Marine Brigadier

General Fuller, some government actions

seemed to border on absurdity, notably proposals to change the nation's name to Hispaniola

and efforts to stamp out cockfighting.74 The

appointment of Rear Admiral Thomas Snowden

as military governor, effective February 1919,

did nothing to improve the situation. Snowden

lacked Knapp's relative tact or sympathy for the

Dominicans. The new governor considered the

occupation analogous to a state of war, with the

Dominican population having the status of enemies.75 His main preoccupations as governor

seem to have been continuing the crusade

109

against cockfighting and adding to it a campaign

against prostitution. When the customs receiver,

C. H. Baxter, criticized his actions and suggested that the Navy had "outstayecl its usefulness,"

Snowden reacted by taking away his power to

collect internal revenues.6

Snowden made little effort to conceal his low

opinion of Dominicans, declaring that without

American control, they would quickly return to

their former "insurrectionary habits," and adding

that the occupation must last at least 10 more

years until a new generation of Dominicans

could be educated by Americans in the benefits

of democratic government.77 The admiral's secretary of finance, Lieutenant Commander Mayo,

even drafted a declaration of policy which he

tried to have the State Department issue,

announcing that the occupation would continue

at least 20 more years "until the people of the

Dominican Republic have developed the character and ability to govern themselves."78

The actions of the military government which

aroused the greatest Dominican resentment

were the strict press censorship and the trial of

Dominican citizens by military courts.79

Focusing on abuses in these areas, organized

opposition to the occupation grew rapidly in

late 1919. American policy was also coming

under increasing attack from other Latin

American nations.8° Alarmed by these developments, the State Department's interest in

Dominican affairs revived, and officials began to

seek some way of ending the military government. As a preliminary step, Admiral Snowden

was ordered to form an advisory council of

leading Dominicans, including Archbishop

Nouel, a former president. This commission's

first recommendations called for lifting press

censorship and restricting provost courts. The

military governor responded by issuing an even

more restrictive decree on censorship and the

entire commission immediately resigned.81

While there is no direct evidence that Snowden

deliberately provoked this response, it is clear

that he was relieved to see the commission dissolved and made no effort to persuade its members to reconsider their resignations.82

The resignations left the governor free to run

the republic for most of the remainder of 1920,
but in November, Secretary of State Bainbridge

Colby made yet another effort to regain control

of the occupation. Snowden was again instructed to form a commission of representative

Dominicans and to issue a proclamation

announcing the American intention to withdraw

as soon as possible."83 This action infuriated the

admiral, who denounced it as "premature" and

"most unfortunate."84 He had no alternative hut

to obey the order, but when the Dominicans

appointed to the commission attached minor

conditions to their acceptance, the admiral

brusquely denied their request, precipitating

another mass resignation. This time his tactics

did not work, as the State Department rebuked

him, declared the Dominicans' conditions

acceptable, and the members withdrew their

resignations.85 Snowclen's aide in Washington

denounced these actions, characterizing the

State Department officials responsible as "conceited asses trying to throw a bluff to cover the

grossest, but perhaps unknowing ignorance,"

but the decision remained firm.86

In mid-1921, the Harding administration finally removed Snowden, replacing him with Rear

Admiral Samuel Robison. It took three more

years of conflict with both Dominican politicians

and officers of the military government before

the intervention was finally ended, but State

Department control of Dominican policy was

never again seriously jeopardized. The main

remaining obstacle to termination of the occupation was working out an arrangement for

returning power to the Dominicans. Despite

numerous setbacks, such a plan was reached in

the fall of 1922, due in large part to the diplomatic skill of Sumner Welles.

Admiral Rohison and Welles disagreed

sharply over both the timing and the conditions

of American withdrawal, but in virtually every

case, the views of Welles and the State Department prevailed. At one point the military governor restored censorship and sentenced Dominicans to five-year jail terms for opposing land

tax collections, but Welles' sharp protests led to

Washington ordering Rohison to end censorship

and suspend the sentences.87 After this rebuke,

the admiral confined his opposition to verbal

protests, and by September 1922, Assistant

110

Secretary of State Francis White could write

Welles that he "was very grateful to see ... that

the Admiral has recently been giving you less

trouble."88

In October 1922, a provisional Dominican

government was installed, and Admiral Robison

was replaced as military governor by Brigadier

General Harry Lee. Lee's powers were sharply

reduced, with his major functions being completing the training of officers for the Guardia

and assuring that elections for a regular

Dominican government went smoothly. These

took place in March 1924, and six months later,

the last Marines left the country, bringing the

military government to an end.

Conclusion

These brief studies of the Haitian and

Dominican occupations suggest several striking

parallels, as well as some significant differences.

An initial conclusion to this study might he that

the State Department tended to turn affairs over

to the military when its own policies were frustrated, and the degree of power given to the

military was directly proportional to the extent

of frustration. In both interventions, the decision

to employ military force was apparently made

without serious consideration of the long-range

implications of such a decision. There was also

little effort made to acquaint the officers or men

involved in the intervention with the purpose or

goals of the action. General Cole's complaint

that he had "absolutely no knowledge as to the

policy that our Government desires to follow in

Haiti" was by no means an unusual remark.89

Interviews with numerous retired officers who

had participated in the interventions elicited

totally negative responses on the question of the

extent of their briefings on American policy, or

on the nature, culture, and politics of the society they were expected to govern.90 It was the

military's availability, rather than its competence

for the tasks assigned it, which led to its

employment. In addition, as the State

Department's Solicitor's Office noted in 1919,

the president could order military officials to

administer foreign areas, but lacked the authority to direct any other government department
to undertake such duty. When such action was

taken, those involved drew no new or additional federal salaries, but if individuals not on

active military duty were utilized, the problem

of pay arose, and there was "no appropriation

under which the government of the United

States could pay such salaries."91

Once having occupied a nation, the officers,

like any bureaucratic group, attempted to

expand their control into virtually all possible

areas on any available pretext. While nothing in

the original goals of either intervention contemplated anything like a mammoth re-education of

the entire society, within a few months of

assuming power, officers in both nations were

openly proclaiming the necessity of continuing

the occupation until an entire new generation

had grown up tinder American tutelage. They

continued arguing in this vein until shortly

before the interventions ended. Just what this

tutelage would involve, or exactly how it would

reform the national political and social structures, was never made clear, but its necessity,

along with the alleged incompetence of the current generation of leaders, was constantly used

as an excuse for prolonging and expanding the

military's power.

The very nature of the military also influenced its constant efforts to expand its authority. Ofticers usually placed a high value on such

qualities as order, obedience, and security.

Attempts to impose such values on a foreign

culture produced inevitable conflict. When such

efforts were resisted, the military's solution was

further expansion of controls. Each step could

he logically defended at the time it was undertaken. For example, restoring internal order

meant controlling the police. Control of the

police made control over courts desirable.

Direct involvement with the courts developed

interest in the lawmaking process. All of this

provoked criticism, which led to efforts at censorship. Such a process ultimately led the military into projects, such as the effort to control

education in Haiti or to abolish cockfighting in

the Dominican Republic, which bore no observable relationship to the original purposes of the

interventions. In the long run, it was American

political and diplomatic realities along with the

111

perceived needs and inherent rivalries of both

the military and the State Department which created, expanded, and finally ended each occupation.

While the original goals, personnel

employed, and basic patterns of conflict in both

nations were often quite similar, there were

some significant differences. The military in

Haiti was never as free from State Department

control as was the military government in the

Dominican Republic and, therefore, the bitter

conflicts between civil and military officials

which characterized the State Department's

effort to regain control of policy in the republic

were largely avoided in Haiti. The continuing

existence of at least the semblance of a Haitian

government was one important reason for this.

The limitations this placed upon the military's

authority was keenly felt and many officers

expressed a clear desire to create a military government in Haiti similar to the one operating in

the Dominican Republic.92 Civilian officials in

Haiti were well aware of this and, perhaps

alarmed by developments next door, carefully

avoided any move towards creating such a system.93 This left unsolved the problem of coordination among the various agencies of the United

States Government operating in Haiti, a failure

which the 1921 Senate Investigation made clear.

It was then that the expedient of appointing a

high commissioner was adopted. The State

Department felt that a Marine would have to fill

this post in order to control the other officers,

but was determined to appoint only an officer

who would, in turn, be amenable to State

Department direction. This led to a clear rejection of Smedley Butler and the ultimate selection

of General Russell.94

Racial prejudice played a stronger role in

shaping American actions in Haiti, where it was

often openly expressed by the Marines, than it

did in the Dominican Republic, hut it should by

no means be assumed that it was lacking in the

latter case. Lieutenant Colonel Harry Davis

expressed the feelings of many Marines in the

Dominican Republic when he wrote that "the

application of White to these people is as true

as saying that Haiti is white. The difference

between the two peoples insofar as color is con-
cerned is that the Haitians are 100 percent black

and proud of it and the Dominican is 99 percent

black and ridiculously ashamed of it."95

In the long run, it appears that the military

administration of the protectorates in some ways

hindered and in some ways served American

policy goals. The heritage of bitter antiAmerican feeling produced in the Dominican

Republic by the provost courts and other actions

of the military government, and the identification of Americans with extreme racial prejudice

which was made in Haiti, both hurt United

States influence and convinced many of the

educated minority that close ties with the United

States were to be avoided rather than sought. At

the same time, through the creation of the constabularies, internal order and stability was certainly promoted. Unfortunately, this was an

imposed, authoritarian stability. With the destruction of the cacos by the Marines, the Garde

d'Haiti became for years the master of Haitian

politics, making and unmaking presidents with a

minimum of internal violence, but also with a

minimum of popular participation. In the

Dominican Republic, Rafael Leonidas Trujillo

used his control of the Guardia Nacional, which

the Marines had created, to take over the government, creating one of the longest lasting and

most oppressive dictatorships in Latin American

history.

Most of the acts of the military in these two

nations, however, seemed simply irrelevant to

long-range goals and had little lasting effect.

With the Americans' departure, life returned to

normal; cockfighting and prostitution continued

as always in the Dominican Republic, and in

Haiti, the roads rapidly crumbled and the Army

won no more Olympic sharpshooting medals.

For the vast majority in both nations, life went

on as before, seemingly unaffected by the years

of occupation.

For both the military and the State

Department, some basic lessons regarding the

problems and limitations of using the military to

impose American policy upon another nation

had evidently been learned before the troops

withdrew. In December 1919, A.F. Lindberg of

the Customs Receivership wrote the head of the

State Department's Latin American Division that

112

"in practice it has been proven that military or

naval men do not have either the sympathy or

the ability of a civilian in handling affairs of this

sort" and added "when the military once get into

a place they like to stay put."96 Lindberg's observation that the military—once involved in an

intervention—was reluctant to leave was undoubtedly true and was never sufficiently taken

into account by those in Washington who decided to use the military to administer the

Caribbean protectorates. His claim that civilians

would somehow have had more "sympathy" or

"ability" in carrying out such administration is,

however, highly questionable and reflects more

the continuing conflicts and communications

failures between American civilian and military

personnel engaged in the interventions rather

than any inherent weaknesses of American officers. It was the policy itself that was unworkable, and no officials on the scene, no matter

how sympathetic or able, could have overcome

this fundamental weakness. By 1921, many of

the officers involved in administering the protectorates, in contrast to their civilian counterparts in the State Department, had come to realize this. A memorandum from the Chief of Naval

Operations noted that.

It is fully realized that this Department

is not called upon to determine what policy shall be followed in regard to the

Dominican Republic. It is a fact, however,

that this Department, through its personnel, will be called upon to carry out such

policy as may be laid down in respect to

Dominican affairs, and will undoubtedly

receive the greater measure of any blame

that may result or any discredit that may

follow the application and enforcement of

a policy which is defective and unworkable.97

With the end of the interventions, lessons

such as these were apparently soon forgotten

and, in the years since, many of the problems

created in the Caribbean interventions have

reappeared in other areas. Hopefully, future

studies—focusing on the administration rather

than simply the formulation of policies which

use the military to directly intervene in the inter-
nal affairs of other nations—will reveal more of

the dangers and limitations of such actions.

Notes

1. For varying views on the motivations behind the

interventions, see Dana G. Munro, Intervention and

Dollar Diplomacy in the Caribbean, 1900—1921

(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1964); William

Appleman Williams, The Tragedy of American

Diplomacy (New York: Dell Publishing Co., 1962);

and H. G. Mellman, "The American Policy of

Intervention in the Caribbean," unpublished Ph.D.

dissertation, University of Illinois (1940).

2. The 1914 Veracruz intervention is probably the

most notable exception to this rule.

3. Munro, 116—25. For a fuller description of Root's

policy, see Lajeune Cummins, "The Origin and

Development of Elihu Root's Latin American Diplomacy," unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of

California at Berkeley (1964).

4. Wilfrid Hardy Callcott, The Caribbean Policy of the

United States, 1890- 1920 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins

Press, 1942), 258—61.

5. Munro, 245—55.

6. Sumner Welles, Naboth's Vineyard: The Dominican

Republic, 1844-1924 (New York: Payson and Clarke

Ltd., 1928), II, 714—16.

7. This phrase was used in defending Wilson's

Mexican policy by the American Ambassador to Great

Britain, Walter Hines Page. Burton J. Hendrick, The

Life and Letters of Walter H. Page, I, 188. For a fuller

discussion of Wilson's Caribbean policy, see George

W. Baker, "The Caribbean Policy of Woodrow Wilson,

1913—1917," unpublished Ph.D. dissertation,

University of Colorado (1961).

8. Papers Relating to the Foreign Relation of the

United States, 1916 (Washington: Government

Printing Office, 1928), 311. (Hereafter cited as Foreign Relations.)

9. Dana G. Munro, Intervention and Dollar

Diplomacy in the Caribbean, 1900- 1921 (Princeton,

N.J.: Princeton University Press), 326—9. (Hereafter

cited as Munro, Intervention.)

10. Ibid., 337, 349.

11. Ibid., 271, 326, 331, 337, 339, 342.

12. U.S. Congress, Senate, Select Committee on Haiti

and Santo Domingo, Inquby into Occupation and

Administration of Haiti and Santo Domingo,

Hearings, pursuant to Senate Resolution 112, 67th

Cong, 1st session (Washington: Government Printing

Office, 1922), 304—8. (Hereafter cited as Hearings.)

13. Benson (Navy Dept.) to FDR, Eastport, Me.

113

8/14/15, FDR Group 10 (Naval Affairs) Box 12.

14. Munro, Intervention, 353.

15. Hearings, 315.

16. Ibid., 316.

17. Ibid., 321.

18. Ibid., 333—36, 347—8.

19. Ibid., 327—8, 394—5.

20. Ibid., 399—404.

21. Munro, Invention, 361.

22. Ibid., 358.

23. Ibid., 365—6.

24. Cole to Knapp, 12/17/16, RG 45, Box 632.

25. Butler to Waller, Port-au-Prince, July 13, 1916,

SDB LAN, and Butler to Thomas S. Butler, Port-auPrince, Haiti, July 15, 1916. SDB papers.

26. Wailer to Lejeune, June 11, 1916, Lejeune Papers,

Box 4.

27. Hans Schmidt, The United Slates Occupation of

Hait6 1915—1934 (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers

University Press, 1971), 110 fn. (Hereafter cited as

Schmidt, Occupation.)

28. Munro, Intervention, 358—9.

29. James H. McCroklin, compiler, Garde d'Hait(

1915—1934 (Annapolis: U.S. Naval Institute, 1956),

212. (Hereafter cited as McCroklin, Garde).

30. Wailer to Lejeune, July 1, 1916, Lejeune Papers,

Box 4.

31. Dept. of St., Div. of L.A. Affairs, Aug. 21, 1916.

Paraphrase of telegram from Scholle, American

Charge in Port-au-Prince, Aug. 19, RC 45, Subject

File, Box 632.

32. General Wailer to Major General Commandant

USMC, July 13, 1917, RG 45, Subject File, Box 632.

33. Butler did not like the engineers and said that

there were only five of them, so they could not take

over any work outside the capitol. He said that it was

not too hard to snow them under, hut he was afraid

that they would soon he able to take over because

the Navy was behind them. Butler to Mcllhenny, Dec.

31, 1917, Butler Papers.

34. Schmidt, Occupation, 101—5.

35. Ibid., 103.

36. Munro, Intervention, 368—71.

37. McCroklin, Garde, 155.

38. Harding to Attorney General Harry Daugherty,

Feb. 6, 1922, Harding Papers, Box 102.

39. Dana G. Mimro, The United Slates and the

Caribbean Republic 1921—1933 (Princeton, N.J.:

Princeton University Press, 1974), 110—1.

40. Ibid., 93—4.

41. Ibid., 85.

42. McCroklin, Garde, 212.

43. Ibid., 166—7.
44. Foreign Relations, 1929, Vol. III, 175—204.

45. Foreign Relations, 1930, Vol. III, 237.

46. Russell to Dominican Foreign Office, 11/19/15,

Foreign Relations, 1916, 333—37.

47. Russell to Secretary of State, 5/1/16, Foreign

Relations, 1916, 222—23. New York Times, 5/2/16, 10.

48. Lansing to Russell, 5/2/16, Decimal Records of the

Department of State, National Archives, Washington,

D.C. (Hereafter cited as DS). 839.00/1810. Colonel

Frederic May Wise and Meigs 0. Frost, A Marine Tells

It To You (New York: J.H. Sears and Co., n.d.), 141. C.

H. Baxter, Customs Receiver, to General McIntyre,

5/11/16, Baxter Correspondence, Records of the

Dominican Customs Receivership, Record Group 139,

National Archives (hereafter cited as Baxter Papers).

49. Russell to Lansing, 5/6/16 and 5/7/16, Foreign

Relations, 1916, 224—25. Baxter to McIntyre, 5/11/16,

Baxter Papers. Wise, 142—43. Munro, Intervention,

306.

50. Caperton to Secretary of the Navy, 5/13/16,

Foreign Relations, 1916, 226. Russell and Caperton to

Generals Arias, Mauricio Jimenez, and Cesareo

Jimenez, Foreign Relations, 1916, 226—27.

51. Admiral William B. Caperton, "Activities of Rear

Admiral William B. Caperton, U.S.N., while in command of Cruiser Squadron, U.S. Atlantic Fleet, and

Commander in Chief, U.S. Pacific Fleet," 256, unpublished ms. in William B. Caperton Papers, Manuscript

Division, Library of Congress. (Hereafter cited as

Caperton Papers.)

52. For an account of this operation, see Condit

Turnhladh, Hold High the Torch (Washington: United

States Marine Corps, 1960), 37—63.

53. Munro, Intervention, 309.

54. Melvin Knight, The Americans in Santo Domingo

(New York: Vanguard Press, 1928), 76.

55. President Wilson to Secretary of State, 11/26/16,

Foreign Relations, 1916, 242.

56. Memorandum of conference between Admiral

Benson, Captain Knapp, Minister Russell, and Mr.

Polk, 10/31/16, Subject File WA 7, Naval Records

Collections, Record Group 45 (hereafter cited as RG.

45).

57. Proclamation of Occupation and Military

Government, 11/29/16, Foreign Relations, 1916,

246—47.

58. Knapp to Secretary of the Navy. 12/1/16, DS,

839.00/1958.

59. Welles, II, 797.

60. David C. MacMichael, "The United States and the

Dominican Republic, 1871—1940: A Cycle in

Caribbean Diplomacy," unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Oregon (1965).

114

61. Secretary of the Navy Josephus Daniels to Knapp,

12/8/16, DS, 839.00/1972.

62. Knapp to Daniels, 12/8/16, DS, 839.00/1972.

63. Daneils to Knapp, 12/8/16, DS, 839.00/1972.

64. Executive Order No. 18, 1/2/17, Executive Orders

Folder 1-25, Records of the Military Government of

Santo Domingo, Record Group 38, National Archives

(hereafter cited as RG. 38.)

65. Marvin A. Soloman, "Law, Order and Justice in the

Dominican Republic," unpublished M.A. thesis,

Southern Illinois University at Edwardsville (1970),

32—33.

66. Knapp to Secretary of the Navy, 12/17/16, RG. 45,

Subject File WA 7..

67 Knapp to Secretary of the Navy, 1/14/17, DS

839.00/1985.

68. Knapp to Secretary of the Navy, 7/17/17, RG 45,

Subject File WA 7.

69. Colonel Rufus H. Lane, "Report on Public

Instruction, 1917—1920," Papers relating to the

Dominican Intervention, Marine Corps Historical

Archives, Washington, D.C. (hereafter cited as MCHA).

70. Russell to Secretary of State, 9/11/17, and Lansing

to Secretary of the Navy, 9/19/17, DS 839.00/2051.

Daniels to Secretary of State, 9/26/17, DS

839.00/2053.

71. Knapp to General McIntyre, 12/30/17, and

Brigade Quartermaster to Chief Quartermaster, USMC,

5/21/17, RG 38.

72. Marvin Goldwert, The Constabulary in the

Dominican Republic and Nicaragua, (Gainesville:

University of Florida Press, 1961), 11—12.

73. Herbert Gould to Acting Secretary of State

Phillips, 8/18/18, DS, 839.1051/16.

74. Nasario Suadri, Governor of La Vega, to Officer in

Charge, Dept. of Interior and Police, 6/13/18, MCHA.

75. Snowden to Admiral Coontz, 9/4/20, DS

839.00/2241.

76. MacMichael, 473.

77. Snowden to Secretary of the Navy, 6/23/19, DS

839. 1051/21.

78. Memorandum by J. C. Dunn, Division of Latin

American Affairs, 9/11/19, DS, 839.00/2150.

79. Munro, Intervention, 321.

80. Welles, II, 829—30.

81. Ibid., 824—27.

82. Brewer, Chargé in Santo Domingo, to Secretary of

State, 1/9/20, DS, 839.00/2182.

83. Munro, Intervention, 322. Welles, II, 830. Daniels

to Secretary of State, 11/30/20, DS 839.00/2182.

84. Quarterly Report of the Military Governor of Santo

Domingo, 10/1/20 to 12/31/20, DS, 839.00/2352.
85. Welles, II, 833—34.

86. Lieutenant Commander Mayo to Snowden,

1/27/21, RG 38, Box 1.

87. MacMichael, 569.

88. Francis White to Welles, 9/16/22, DS, 839.00/2592.

89. General Eli Cole to Knapp, 12/17/16, RG 35,

Subject File, Box 632.

90. In these interviews, conducted largely from 1965

to 1970, each officer was asked what briefing he

received before arriving in Haiti or the Dominican

Republic. Not a single respondent recalled receiving

any briefing.

91. Memorandum by L.H.W. (Office of the Soliciter),

12/13/19, DS 839.00/2246.

92. Examples abound. See Smedley Butler to General

Lejeune, 6/22/27, Butler Papers, MCHA; General Cole

to Knapp, 4/18/17, RG 45, Subject File, Box 632.

Colonel Wailer to Lejeune, 2/14/16, John A. Lejeune

Papers, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress.

93. John Mcllhenny to Franklin D. Roosevelt, 5/2/19,

Franklin D. Roosevelt Papers, Roosevelt Library, Hyde

115

Park, N.Y., Personal Correspondence, Box 127.

94. Letter from Dana G. Munro to Richard Millett,

12/30/65.

95. Lieutenant Colonel Harry Davis to George

Christian, Executive Secretary to the President,

6/10/21, Warren G. Harding Papers, Ohio Historical

Society, Columbus, Ohio.

96. A. F. Lindberg to Dr. Rowe, Chief of Latin

American Division, 12/18/19, DS, 839.00/2251.

97. Captain C. S. Freeman, Memorandum for Chief of

Naval Operations, 4/30/21, General Records of the

Department of the Navy, Record Group 80, National

Archives, File 16870—625.

About the Authors

Richard Millet is professor of history emeritus, Southern Illinois

University at Edwardsville, where he was director of the Latin American

Studies program. He is author of Guardians ofthe Dynasty. A History

of the US-Created Guardia National de Nicaragua and the Somoza

Family (1977). Dale Gaddy was at the time of article publication an

employee of the Veterans Administration in St. Louis.

Caudillos and

Gavilleros versus

the United States

Marines: Guerrilla

Insurgency during

the Dominican

Intervention,

1916-1924

by Brucej Calder

Hispanic American Historical Review, November

1978

rom 1917 to 1922, the peasants of the

eastern region of the Dominican

Republic successfully waged a guerrilla

war against the forces of the U.S. military

government. This conflict stands, along with

the campaign against Augusto César Sandino

in Nicaragua in the later 1920s, as the major

military involvement of the United States in

Latin America in the 20th century. And it

deserves a significant place in the series of

guerrilla wars which the United States has

fought, from the Philippines at the turn of the

century to Vietnam. Yet the record of the

Dominican conflict has largely been buried or

lost. No one has yet made a comprehensive

study of the 1916—1924 seizure of the

Dominican Republic by the United States

despite its importance as a lengthy episode in

Dominican history and as a major example of

the implementation of Wilsonian diplomacy

in Latin America. The program of the military

government, the impact of the occupation on

Dominican life, and the nature of the

Dominican reaction, including the guerrilla

war, remain largely undocumented.1

This essay, based primarily on the records of

117
the U.S. military government,2 explores several

basic questions: Who were the guerrillas? And

what motivated them to fight? The answers are

revealed by the examination of two factors: first,

the nature of eastern Dominican society, particularly the traditional political system and the

new economic influences at work in the region

which undermined long-established patterns of

life; and, second, the U.S. Marines' conduct of

the antiguerrilla war and their treatment of

Dominicans.

Response to Intervention: The

Case of the East

Early in 1916, U.S. armed forces entered the

Dominican Republic in response to the latest in

a series of revolutionary episodes which had

begun in 1911. Although neither U.S. nor

Dominican officials envisioned a lengthy occupation at that time, it was mid-1924 before the

last of the occupying forces embarked from the

island nation. During the eight intervening

years, a military government of occupation

attempted to bring about a number of fundamental changes in the hope that these reforms

by fiat would create a stable and friendly neighbor, and a reliable customer, to the south of the

United States.

The Dominican response to the intervention

and occupation ranged from enthusiastic cooperation to determined resistance. The latter

included a political-intellectual protest, supported mainly by the educated elite in the larger

towns and cities, and a guerrilla resistance, sustained by peasants in a rural zone in the eastern

part of the republic.

The guerrilla struggle was significant. For six

years, the Marines failed to control most of the

eastern half of the republic. Ranged against

them at various times were eight to twelve guerrilla leaders who could enlist up to 600 regular

fighters and who could count on the support of

numerous part-time guerrillas, as well as on the

aid and sympathy of the general population.

The guerrillas, using their environment and

experience to advantage, fought against a Marine force which possessed superior arms,

118

equipment, and training. The outcome of the

six-year-long irregular war was a stalemate and

finally a negotiated conditional surrender by the

guerrillas in 1922, a capitulation at least partially predicated on the then impending withdrawal of all U.S. forces from the republic.

The guerrilla war was born early in 1917

when the military government sent Marines into

the east and encountered a still-thriving vestige

of 19th-century politics, the caudillo system.

This irregular type of rule, which bestowed

power and authority upon men who could combine military skills, economic resources, personal strength, charisma, friendship, family ties, and

the ability to manipulate followers, had deep

roots in Dominican history. Particularly during

the 19th century, while the republic's political

institutions were developing, Dominicans were

often at war, fighting the Spanish, French,

Haitians, or among themselves. The result was a

society heavily influenced by caudillos, who

soon came to dominate the nation's political life.

Despite later reform efforts, the caudillo system

persisted into the 20th century, with a few

regional caudillos such as the northwesterner

Desiderio Arias assuming great national political

importance at the time of the intervention.3

The east had not boasted a regional leader of

Arias' stature since the days of President Pedro

Santana in the 19th century, but caudillo politics

nevertheless continued to play a prominent part

in eastern life in 1916. In fact, the east offered a

particularly secure environment for this tradition

because meager improvements in transportation

and communication had hardly challenged the

historic isolation and near-independence of

most of the region. A kind of dual government

existed. Alongside of the highly centralized de

jure structure of provinces, communes, and sections, with a civil governor and other officials

appointed by the national government, there

was a de facto power structure dominated by

popular local leaders, the caudillos. A relationship between the two structures existed because

national political factions bid for the support of

local and regional leaders and because, once a

faction gained control of the central government

in Santo Domingo, it could exercise its power in

the east only when these local popular leaders,
under specified conditions, agreed to cooperate

with its officials.4 As a consequence, national

administrations actively sought the allegiance of

local arid regional caudillos, often with simple

cash payoffs, government concessions or franchises, or appointments to public positions,

such as the military command of a province or

the garrison of a town, or simply a minor position with the rural police.5 If a government

could not obtain the support of an important

regional figure, it then had to concede him virtual autonomy in his own territory, or back a

rival caudillo with arms and money in an

attempt to defeat him.

The central government could not rely on its

own miitary forces to back its authority against

the cauclillos. The Dominican army was small

and so poorly trained, commanded, equipped,

and paid that it provided no threat to anyone

except i:he law-abiding and defenseless members of the lower class who fell afoul of its petty

extortions and graft. In any case, the caudillos

often controlled the army. As Sumner Welles

noted, 'the military branch of the Dominican

Government was inevitably the means through

which, by corruption or promise of corruption,

revolutions were engineered."6 Not being able

to count: on this "meager Dominican soldiery,"

Military Governor Harry Lee later wrote, the

central government had shown a "chronic attitude of passivity and tolerance" toward the

caudillos.7

Local military chieftains, employed with the

government or not, might rebel at any time. In

mid-1915, a fairly serious uprising occurred in

the east as part of the general restiveness against

the administration of President Juan I. Jimenez.

Though some casualties had resulted, the

national government allegedly pacified the

rebels and their followers by promising road

construcion contracts and appointments to the

rural police, as well as by providing safe conducts to Puerto Rico for the leaders.8 Authorities

continued their policy of accommodation when,

a few months later, they brought another eastern caudillo to the capital and "in order to quiet

him . . . assigned to him a salary of 150 dollars

a month for doing nothing."9

The east's population accommodated itself to

119

the caudillo system. Although the influence of

these traditional leaders was ultimately felt in

every sector of society because of their military

strength, it fell most heavily on rural areas and

very small towns. In that milieu, no cohesive

class or caste barriers frustrated the acceptance

of the caudillo, who was most often a poor

countryman by birth and upbringing. The tradition-oriented inhabitants admired, feared, and

respected him as an authority, and from among

these country dwellers he recruited his followers. The only potential countervailing force in

the countryside was that based on wealth. But

the few leading landowning families and the

sugar corporations were no more able to control

the caudillos than the central government.

Instead, they manipulated the caudillo system to

protect their own interests, paying one of the

stronger local leaders to guard their crops and

property.1°

In the east's larger towns, all closely related

to the extensive rural areas which surrounded

them, the personal influence of the caudillo was

quite strong, at least among the poorer citizens.

Even the elite of such towns as Seibo, Hato

Mayor, and Higuey, composed of landowners, a

few professionals, and the more prosperous

merchants was likely forced by political realities

to deal with the caudillos, although it set itself

apart socially and in other ways. The elite's

financial interests were somewhat adversely

affected by the caudillo system, for the warfare

with which it was often associated caused economic declines which cut business and professional incomes. Elite political interests were in

even sharper conflict with the system.11

Inasmuch as the members of the upper stratum

furnished personnel for the higher offices of the

de jure governmental structure, they were tied

to the national political system rather than to the

regionalism of the caudillo. But their political

survival was ultimately related to the goodwill

of the traditional rural leader.'2

Only in the city of San Pedro de MacorIs, the

third largest in the republic by 1916, did these

traditional rural leaders have minimal influence.

The city's obvious sources of independent

strength lay in its size and wealth and in the

international ties which resulted from its being
headquarters for the republic's sugar production

and export. Perhaps even more important was

the process of urbanization, which weakened

ties with the rural area surrounding the city

(except for the neighboring sugar estates) and

resulted in a separate social structure in which

the rural chieftains had no place and thus no

power. San Pedro de MacorIs' leading citizens,

though they might ally themselves with the

caudillos for their own political ends, could bargain from a somewhat more equal position than

other citizens of the east.

Thus, local and regional cauclillos effectively

held power and maintained or broke the peace

in most of the eastern region. The U.S. military

government confronted this situation in late

1916 and either failed to understand it or completely misjudged the strength of the caudillo

system. Military officials had learned during

1916 that some people in MacorIs, as well as the

sugar companies, strongly opposed the dispatch

of Marines to the east. But the military authorities decided to ignore this opposition after they

discovered that "the sugar estates were practically paying blackmail to had characters to keep

them from looting and burning, a part of the

understanding being apparently that they themselves would keep other bad characters off."13

Though military officials might well have

viewed the sugar companies' payments as a

kind of tax collected by what was the effective

police power of the region, they instead saw the

situation as anarchic and criminal. When they

sent in troops to enforce the authority of the

central government, the local and regional

caudillo leaders, whose prestige and power

derived from the threatened system, went to

war. As they had done many times before, the

regional power holders determined to force the

central government to deal with them.14

In the caudillo system, then, are found the

roots of the guerrilla war which desolated the

east for six years. But an important question

remains. If the caudillo system existed in other

parts of the republic, as it did, why should guerrilla war develop only in the east? The answer

seems to be that there was such a possibility in

other areas of the country, hut various factors

thwarted or redirected the energies which might

120

have sustained revolt.15 The east, more than

other isolated areas of the country, had wealth

and population in conjunction with a favorable

topography. Thus food, money, and supplies

were readily available to the insurgents. And the

sizeable, though by no means dense, population

of the east provided the guerrillas with recruits,

shelter, refuge, and most important, an extensive system of intelligence.

The rapidly changing social and economic

structure, however, more than any other factor,

distinguished the east from other regions. The

expansion of the predominantly foreign-owned

sugar latifundia beginning in the late 19th cenwry, which in a few years converted large portions of the east's fertile lands from subsistence

minifundias into large capital intensive agricultural estates, had a severe impact on a significant portion of the eastern population.

Independent peasants who for generations had

lived in the area, holdling and farming small

conucos (garden plots) without interference,

suddenly found themselves pushed from the

land. By a combination of outright purchase,

cajolery, tricks, threats, violence, and legal

maneuvers, the sugar companies easily wrested

homesites, farms, and grazing lands from their

former holders or owners, leaving them landless

and destitute.16

Large numbers of peasants either left the area

or became part of a growing rural proletariat,

laborers completely dependent on the sugar

industry for money wages. Unfortunately for the

laborers, the sugar estates needed a large work

force only during the harvest, which lasted for

less than six months of the year. The jobs, mostly for cane-cutters, were laborious and low paid.

Work was not even assured during the harvest

season because of the sugar companies' practice

of importing laborers from Haiti and neighboring West Indian islands; for the remainder of the

year, unemployment was inevitable for all but a

few fortunate employees.

Thus, the east counted a substantial number

of displaced and bitter peasants and many others who, similarly threatened, sympathized with

them. And they had cause to direct their bitterness toward North Americans, whose corporations were among the chief beneficiaries of the
land acquisitions. Many of the men who fought

with the caudillo-led bands were from the sugar

bateys, the company-owned villages in which

the workers lived. As James McLean, a Marine

officer who commanded the Guardia Nacional

in the east, noted unsympathetically in 1919, the

guerrilla ranks included "a number of voluntary

recruits from the riff-raff among the unemployed

who were hanging around the sugar estates."17

Fighting alongside the guerrillas at least provided a livelihood for the landless and unemployed

worker, if not for his family, and it was a convenient way to even a score with oppressors

who we:re protected by the law. After the mass

surrender of guerrillas in 1922, military officials

found a significant percentage to be men who

had recently lost their land.18 Realizing the relationship of landlessness and unemployment to

the guerrilla war, the military government

implored the sugar companies to increase

"steady employment" during 1922, and to open

up as mi.ich land for new conucos as possible,

so that the sugar work force could maintain

itself during the months after the zafra or harvest. "Any lack of employment," stated the military governor, "will have the most disastrous

results in the increase in banditry"9 (as military

officials preferred to call the guerrilla insurgency).

Marine documents indicate that the insurgents generally fought close to home. The greatest number came from the sugar growing heartland of the east, an expanse centering on Hato

Mayor and Seibo and running south to the coast.

Others came from adjacent areas; from the north

coast flea]- Sabana de la Mar, from the east in the

vicinity of Higuey, and from the west around

Monte Plata and Bayaguana. Most of the peasant

partisans, both leaders and followers, were

Dominicans, despite the presence in the eastern

cane fields and the company-owned bateys of

many imported laborers from Haiti and the

British Ca:ribbean.20

Political Motivations of the

Guerrillas

Two of the most important questions about

121

the guerrilla war concern the political nature of

the movement.21 Were the insurgents politically

conscious? If so, at what level? Many bits of evidence indicate that all the guerrillas had at least

inchoate political motives: they resented the

changes in their lives which resulted from the

loss of their land to the large corporations; they

resented being unemployed and poor; and they

resented the fear and insecurity brought into

their daily existence by the aggressive and arbitrary acts of the occupying Marines. Some guerrillas, moreover, were conscious that these

issues were important to their struggle. They

would, for instance, recruit followers by informing peasant smaliholders that the American corporations were planning to take over their

land.22 Going one step beyond this, various

guerrilla leaders and groups openly identified

themselves as political revolutionaries and

claimed regional or national goals. They also

conducted themselves, on some occasions, as

an irregular government, exacted taxes, enforced popular law, and dispensed justice. For

example, at the beginning of the struggle in

1917, the guerrilla leader Vicente Evangelista let

it be known that he was fighting a "revolution"

against the rriilitary government and, according

to a Marine report, his stand received considerable support from the country people.23

However, the statement that the guerrillas

had political motivations must be qualified. As

in most movements of this kind, both leaders

and followers were sometimes motivated by

personal rather than political considerations.

Intergroup rivalries at times led guerrilla bands

to fight one another.24 Such rivalries were the

product of the caudillos' preintervention conlpetition for personal power and influence, and

they persisted after 1916. Vicente Evangelista,

for example, once tried to negotiate an agreement with the Marines which would have delivered a rival leader into his hands.25 In addition,

small groups of actual bandits took advantage of

the social turmoil brought on by the guerrilla

war, and even the organized guerrillas sometimes committed criminal acts against fellow

Dominicans.

Considerable positive evidence demonstrates

the political consciousness of the insurgents. In
1918, for instance, a group of Marines was

scouting near Las Pajas, guided by a local official, the second alcalde of the section. An

unidentified group of insurgents surrounded the

Marines, and a battle began. At one point, the

alcalde called out, taunting the guerrillas for

being gavilleros, the Dominican word for rural

bandits. Back came numerous cries to the effect

that: "We are not gavilleros; we are revolutionists!"26

During and after 1919, one of the most

prominent groups operating in San Pedro de

MacorIs and eastern Santo Domingo provinces

was that led by Eustacio "Bullito" Reyes. These

guerrillas called their troop La Revolución, and

when seizing money, arms, or supplies from

their victims, they identified themselves as such.27 And in 1920, on the eastern edge of the

zone of hostilities, between La Romana and

Higuey, an unidentified guerrilla unit accosted a

mail carrier and sent him and his mail unmolested back to Higuey with a letter carefully

explaining that the guerrillas were revolutionaries, not killers. A Marine report noted that this

and similar incidents indicated that the "bandits"

were "trying to pose as revolutionists" in order

to "gain assistance and recruit[s] 28

By far the most important partisan leader was

"General" Ramón Nateras, who campaigned

with large groups between 1918 and 1922. In

1921, Nateras devised an obviously nationalistic

operation which forced the military government

to recognize the political motivations of the

guerrillas. In the fall of that year, Nateras and his

men abducted the British manager of the

Angelina sugar estate. They released him

unharmed after two days when he agreed to

Nateras' demand that he and the other estate

managers make known to the U.S. government

the political and patriotic goal of the guerrillas,

which was that the United States should terminate its occupation of the Dominican Republic.29

Corroborating the guerrillas' direct statements

is evidence which shows that they saw themselves as a kind of government. In January 1922,

for example, Marines discovered the burial site

of four men. The epitaph on a board above the

grave read: "Emilio Gil, Miguel de LeOn,

122

Reimundo Ramos, Juan Moraldo: fusilados por

haber descalado la bodega Margarita [shot for

having robbed the store 'Margarita'], diciembre

22 de 1921, Ramón Nateras;" and in three places

the board had the inscription "General Ramón

Nateras," imprinted with the rubber stamp

which Nateras used in his correspondence. The

Marine report on this finding noted "that Rarnón

Nateras purports to be a ruler in the section of

the woods north of La Campina and that he

undertakes to punish raids made upon the cane

field bodegas when the raids are not made

under his direction and control."30 This system

of justice applied equally within insurgent ranks.

During a raid on a sugar estate hodega in early

1921, the guerrillas executed one of their troop

on the spot for a violation of discipline.31

Departure from the guerrillas' code of ethics

compromised their all-important relationship

with other Dominicans.

Evidence indicates that the guerrillas regarded their seizures of money and property as a

kind of taxation or as material requisitioned for

a political movement. They "look upon themselves as heroes, and the food and clothing

which they steal as prerogatives of their position," wrote an incredulous Marine lieutenant.32

In a similar vein, a Marine officer reported in

late 1920 that a wealthy farmer living near

Higuey had been "fined" $100 by the guerrillas.33

Occasionally, Marine reports suggest that the

guerrillas had some connection with the national political structure and with the bourgeois

party system. But no national politician was ever

directly implicated in the guerrilla activity

despite numerous investigations by the military

government. 34

Personal Response to Marine

Conduct

There can be little doubt that personal motivations had more significance for the ordinary

guerrilla than political or patriotic considerations. Unemployment certainly played an

important part in swelling guerrilla ranks. Yet

men had other reasons for fighting; included
among the partisans and their supporters were

many who still had small farms and other

means of employment. Some of these men may

have fought for adventure's sake, others to vent

economic fears or frustrations. But overshadowing all other factors was that of personal hatred

and fear of the Marines and the Marine-created

and -controlled Guardia Nacional Dominicana

(National Guard). The Marines, as they fought

to exert U.S. control over the eastern Dominican

Republic, frightened, insulted, abused, oppressed, injured, and even killed hundreds of

Dominicans, combatants and noncombatants

alike, who lived and worked in the area of hostilities. No mbre effective agent existed for the

guerrilla cause.

These abuses ranged from major atrocities to

minor, if infuriating, Marine rudeness. If cases

such as that of a Marine captain who allegedly

machine-gunned to death as "bandits" some 30

peasants working a sugar canaveral (cane field)

were exceptional,35 other incidents such as that

involving a group of armed and uninvited

Marines who invaded a party at a social club in

Seibo and drank up much of the champagne36

are so common that many probably went

unrecorded. Also very common and often

recorded, but only occasionally punished, were

serious crimes such as the well documented

case of Altagracia de la Rosa. As this teenage

peasant woman prepared dinner one evening in

December 1920, four armed Marines entered

her house in Ramón Santana, raped her, and

then took her and her mother prisoner and held

them for 10 days. No charges were brought

against the Marines involved.37

What factors underlay the friction between

the Marines and the inhabitants in the east? In

the first place, the Dominican peasants feared

the Marines because they were outsiders. In

peasant eyes, the invaders had an unfamiliar

physical appearance; they dressed queerly, they

spoke an unintelligible language, and they practiced unfamiliar customs. Besides, the Marines

were armed and many of them were brusque,

discourteous by Dominican standards, and not a

few abusive.38

The Marines and other American officials

arrived in the Dominican Republic completely

123

unprepared for the experience. Most enlisted

men had little education; neither officers nor

enlisted men knew anything about Dominican

culture; and few could speak Spanish.39 The jingoistic nationalism prevalent in the early 20thcentury United States affected the Marines as

much or more than others. Many North

Americans possessed a patronizing sense of

superiority, the belief that they had taken up

what Military Governor Thomas Snowden

referred to as "the white man's burden; the duty

of the big brother."40 Such attitudes flourished

in the impoverished, exploited, and underdeveloped Dominican Republic. More important

than ignorance or chauvinistic nationalism was

the deeply ingrained, anti-black racism of many

Marine officers and men. North American

racism found a fertile field in the Dominican

Republic, "a country whose people," Military

Governor Harry Knapp noted, "are almost all

touched with the tarbrush."41 The Marines' prejudice caused them to look down upon

Dominicans generally, but the problem became

even worse among the peasants of the east,

poor and darker-skinned than many other citizens of the republic. Furthermore, the Marines'

racist culture had accustomed them to patterns

of white superiority and black subservience in

both the northern and southern United States, a

fact which in the Dominican Republic led to

Marine abuse and Dominican bitterness.42

Race was a potential irritant in any encounter

between Dominicans and Marines. A North

American woman resident in Santo Domingo

reported that Marines commonly referred to

Dominicans as "spigs" and "niggers," a habit

also noted by several visitors.43 When a writer

accused Marine officers and men of using the

terms "spig" and "spik," Military Governor

Knapp came to their defense, questioned

whether officers would do so, and denied that

the enlisted men's use of this "slang" caused

bad feelings among Dominicans.44

A typical incident occurred on the streets of

San Pedro de MacorIs. An offended black artisan reported, probably in cleaned-up language,

that when he and a Marine corporal accidentally brushed each other in passing on the sidewalk, the corporal whirled around and yelled,
"Look here, you damned negro! Don't you

know that no damned negroes are supposed to

let their body touch the body of any Marine?

And that they are always to give them way in

the street!" The Marine then assaulted the man.

The victim, an English-speaking immigrant, fully

understood and reported the encounter.45 The

provost marshal of San Pedro de MacorIs essentially refused to investigate the matter, and it

was dropped.46

In another instance of abuse, one which

involved the killing of several men, all testimony against the Marine defendant was discounted by the Marine officer in charge of the investigation because of "the unreliability of the

Domin-ican as a witness under oath . . . and

the hopelessness of finding any Dominican

who can differentiate between what he has

seen and he has heard." The charges in the

case, the investigator argued, coming from "an

individual of different race . . . who has no conception of honor as we understand it," would

best be dropped. Because "of the wide gulf separating the white from the negro race," because

of the basic "difference in psychology," the officer added, the Dominican "race has a totally different conception of right and wrong from that

held by the white race." Finally, the Marine officer in charge of handling the case suggested

prosecuting the complainant, "for the maintenance of the prestige of the white race."4

The conduct of the guerrilla war itself greatly frustrated the Marines. Their frustration at

times led to abuse of Dominicans, irrespective

of whether they were guerrillas or pacijicos, as

the noncombatants were called. The Marines

were not prepared to fight a guerrilla war. They

found themselves in often futile pursuit of an

elusive enemy, repeatedly fell into ambushes

and other tactical situations of the guerrillas'

choosing, and were unable to establish permanent control over any area. Even if they had

understood the guerrillas' style of warfare, the

Marines would still have suffered difficulties.

They were strangers in an environment in

which the guerrillas had lived all their lives.

Unlike the Marines, the guerrillas blended into

that environment perfectly; as a result, it was

usually impossible for the North Americans to

124

distinguish guerrillas from pacificos.48

As the war progressed, the Marines began to

discover that frequently there was no difference

between the two groups. A peasant tilling a

field might be behind a rifle 30 minutes later,

ambushing a Marine patrol. A woman innocently washing clothes, or a child at play, might, as

soon as the Marines moved out of sight, convey

news of their direction and numbers to a guerrilla agent. As the Marines began to grasp the

situation, they came to treat everyone as the

enemy. In the process, they created more guerrillas and guerrilla supporters from among the

previously uninvolved.

As Marine harshness touched the lives of an

increasing number of people, both individuals

and families began to flee their homes, seeking

greater security by establishing new homes and

conucos in more isolated areas of the forests

and in the mountains to the north. It was simply not safe to be in areas where the Marines

were actively pursuing guerrillas. Numerous

incidents occurred in which people who could

not or would not reveal information concerning

the guerrillas were beaten, tortured, and killed,

or, if they were more fortunate, imprisoned. A

peasant might also he the object of gratuitous

violence by the Marines, such as rape or the

destruction of a home or other property. Ever

present was the danger of being attacked as a

suspected guerrilla.49 On the other hand, the

danger existed of being robbed by individuals

or groups who used the guerrilla war as a cover

for their ordinary criminal behavior. As a result

of all these circumstances, the whole central

area of the east became, in the words of a

Marine commander, "a scene of desolation and

long abandoned homes . . . a sad and pitiful

spectacle."50

Flight did not necessarily help. Marine

patrols began to run across hidden homesteads

or even small villages with permanent houses

and surrounding conucos, and populations of

men, women, and children. The Marines

assumed, generally without evidence, that the

inhabitants were guerrillas. It became common

to burn their homes and possessions, although

the Marine command attempted to stop this

practice, hoping that such homes would serve
as gathering places where patrols might easily

locate insurgents in the future.51 If the inhabitants fled, as fear often impelled them to do, the

Marines fired at them, even though they were

usually unarmed. "People who are not bandits

do riot flee at the approach of Marines," noted

one Marine officer.52

In a typical incident in 1918, a Marine detachment located two peasant homes north of Hato

Mayor, at the foot of tile Manchado hills. "There

were two bandit houses," wrote Sergeant Morris

Stout Jr., "and I would say, four men, four

women and some children occupied same.

They did not have any property of importance."

When tile inhabitants fled the approaching

intruders by climbing a steep hill next to the

houses, the Marines "formed a skirmish line and

opened fire, but all got away except one

woman and child and one horse and saddle."53

This particular incident brought an admonition

from Marine headquarters in Santo Domingo to

"exercise extreme caution in firing on fleeing

parties which contain women and children."54

But a 1919 communication, not five months

later, revealed that a Marine raid had severely

wounded three of the four children of one

"bandit. "55

Olivorio Garcia, a follower of tile guerrilla

leader "Bullito" Reyes, provides evidence of the

results of Marine policies. Garcia had joined the

guerrillas, he testified, when "American forces

had fired at his house and he had run away to

take refuge."56 Another guerrilla, Ramón BatIa,

said in an interview that after a Marine captain

had threatened his life, he believed "that his

only remaining option was to flee into the hills."

There he joined the guerrilla leader Vicente

Evangehsta and later formed his own group.57

As tile guerrilla war progressed, the insurgents became more and more indistinguishable

from tile rest of the populace. A number of

Marine reports in 1918 show that women had

begun accompanying guerrilla bands, a fact

which is corroborated by the few guerrilla documents which exist.58 The incorporation of

women and sometimes whole families into

guerrilla life, and the establishment of permanent villages, made it all tile more difficult to

distinguish guerrillas from refugees and other

125

ordinary inhabitants of the rural areas.

In time, nearly the entire population of some

areas of the east became involved in the guerrilla war. The Marines faced not only full-time

guerrillas and former pacficos who had fled

their homes, hut also those who had stayed

behind in villages and small towns. These rural

centers became hotbeds of guerrilla activity,

serving as centers for intelligence, for tile gathering of money and supplies, and for recruitment. Several incidents occurred which

revealed that a town's male population had

turned out almost en masse to ambush a Marine

patrol shortly after its departure from tile

town.59 Marine reports frequently noted that

fliany of the "so called bandits or gavilleros

have relatives in all the outlying towns and it is

understood that they are frequently visited by

the gavilleros."60 Similarly large numbers came

from the bateys located on the sugar estates to

the south. In periods of guerrilla inactivity, a

Marine lieutenant surmised, many of them "can

he found in the southern district near the cobnias [sugar workers' viiiagesl and living in the

houses of the sugar cane workers. Some of

them may even he working the sugar mills." In

any case, he continued, "it is a certainty that

they are being supplied with rum, clothes and

all sorts of supplies by their friends around tile

mills. "61

Of course, pacIficos were not the only victims of Marine abuse. Tile guerrillas themselves

sometimes suffered brutal treatment, torture,

and even death while captives of tile Marines.

In one 1918 incident, a Marine lieutenant murdered eleven jailed followers of Ramón Nateras.

His explanation was that he became angry after

having heard that a friend of his, a Marine captain, had been kiileci in an encounter with guerrillas.62 One of the more common methods of

eliminating guerrilla prisoners was to shoot and

kill them while they "attempted to escape." In

1919, after two and a half years of such mcidlents, Marine authorities in Santo Domingo cautioned Marines in the field to secure prisoners

more carefully, since "there is always suspicion

produced by reports of this character that the

prisoner was given an opportunity to escape so

that he might be killed."63
A Dominican who watched the events in the

east unfold described the effects of the Marine

presence quite clearly: "The gavillerismo [rural

unrest] increased with the occupation, or was

created by it, . . . because of the increasing danger and difficulty of living in those districts.

When someone . . . was killed, his brothers

joined the gavilleros, to get revenge on the

Marines. . . . Some joined the ranks inspired by

patriotism, but most of them joined the ranks

inspired by hate, fear or revenge."64

Efforts to Eliminate Marine

Abuses

Higher officials of the military government

soon became aware of the developing pattern

of Marine abuse in the east and took some corrective action. But the remedies were often

weak and ineffective, either for lack of enforcement or because of the difficulty of controlling

the hour-to-hour conduct of units in the field.

Furthermore, many officials devised rationalizations which enabled them to ignore much of the

evidence which steadily accumulated during the

occupation.

Military officials did make efforts to get

Dominicans to come forward with their

charges,65 but few chose to complain to the

authorities. Many who had experienced or witnessed the Marines' system of justice, based on

provost courts, believed that to bring charges

was useless and possibly dangerous, since those

who did so were sometimes jailed, fined,

harassed, or physically harmed. Otto Schoenrich, a North American writer of moderate opinions who was well acquainted with the

Dominican Republic and the occupation, wrote

that: "the provost courts have gained the reputation of being unjust, oppressive and cruel, and

seem to delight in excessive sentences. These

provost courts, with their arbitrary and overbearing methods, their refusal to permit accused

persons to be defended by counsel, and their

foreign judges, foreign language and foreign

procedure, are galling to the Dominicans, who

regard them with aversion and terror."66

Military records indicate that the Marines'

126

investigative officers and courts of justice

deserved their poor reputation. Investigating

officials in general showed themselves unsympathetic to the views of Dominican complainants, often accepting the word of their

cohorts over that of a Dominican as a matter of

course. And the Marines viewed the court system as a weapon to be used against the guerrillas and their supporters. Like the officers in

charge of preliminary investigations, the military

tribunals were notoriously biased in favor of

Marine defendants. Prosecutions of offending

Marines were often halfhearted, and sentences,

if any, were light, especially when the defendant was an officer. On the other hand, the

court system was often prejudiced and sometimes even vindictive against Dominican plaintiffs. And Dominican defendants could only

expect the worst. One Dominican observer of

the Marines' judicial efforts commented: "When

an American officer has committed a crime, the

effort of his superiors is to hide it, to prove the

innocence of the criminal, believing that to

admit the truth would tarnish the honor of the

American forces."6

One example of the misuse of the system of

military justice is the case of Licenciado PelegrIn

Castillo. This man, a lawyer, accused Marine

Captain Charles R. Buckalew with killing four

guerrilla prisoners in cold blood, and of other

atrocities, such as crushing the testicles of a

prisoner with a stone. Although evidence pointed unequivocally to the captain's guilt, a preliminary court of inquiry, headed by Marine

Lieutenant Colonel C. B. Taylor, found the evidence unreliable and suggested that Buckalew

"deserves praise and not censure." Furthermore,

the court recommended that PelegrIn Castillo be

stripped of his right to practice law.68 PelegrIn

Castillo was then tried by a military court for

making false accusations.6 Much later, such

massive evidence accumulated against Buckalew that he was made to stand trial before a military court. Despite the defendant's confession,

which essentially corroborated PelegrIn

Castillo's earlier charges, the court acquitted

Buckalew on technical grounds.7°

Not only was testimony given by Dominicans

discounted by the courts, but clear evidence
exists of the intimidation of witnesses. Such

intimidation prevented some cases from ever

reaching the courts and prevented others from

being tried fairly. One instance of the former

involved a man who volunteered to turn in

some firearms. A Marine, assisted by members

of the Guardia whom he commanded, apparently believed that the man had knowledge of

the whereabouts of additional arms and so

began to torture him, beating him on his testicles with sticks and burning his feet. His daughters were taken naked from their house and

forced, to watch and then all of them were

imprisoned. Complaints concerning the incident

subsequently produced an investigation, but it

reached no conclusion because witnesses were

afraid to talk.7'

During one of the investigations into the misconduct of Captain Buckalew, all of the prosecution's witnesses suddenly "voluntarily recanted and acknowledged that they falsely testified," thus making it "impossible to establish the

truth of the accusations made against Charles R.

Buckalew."72 It is reasonable to conclude, in

light of Buckalew's later confession, that the

witnesses were under pressure to recant their

previous, accurate testimony.

Some of the sentences of the military courts

were so blatantly unfair that higher military officials were compelled to protest. Occasionally

this caused a retrial or the reopening of an

investigation. In one case involving the killing

of prisoners, Military Governor Harry Knapp

called the acquittal of the obviously guilty

Marine defendants a "shocking occurrence,

utterly reprehensible."73 On another occasion,

Secretary of the Navy Josephus Daniels wrote

that he viewed with "distinct regret and disapprobation" the "inadequate sentence" given to a

Marine private for a serious offense.74 In 1922,

Marine Lieutenant Colonel Henry C. Davis was

dismayed to discover that of a number of

Dominicans sentenced to five years' imprisonment at hard labor for alleged guerrilla connections, "none of these men were legally tried hut

were 'railroaded' into jail." Tried by a provost

court in San Pedro de MacorIs, the prisoners

had not been allowed to present witnesses on

their behalf, nor did any prosecution witnesses

127

appear against them, a procedure approved by

Rear Admiral Thomas Snowden, the military

governor at the time. Lieutenant Colonel Davis

believed that "other cases of this kind" existed

and asked for a special investigation.75

Dominicans ordinarily received harsher treatment in the military courts than did Marines.

Though there are not many precisely comparable cases recorded, a revealing exception occurred in early 1922. A group of four Marines,

thought by other Marines in the half-light of

dusk to be guerrillas because they carried rifles

and wore the blue denim typical of the peasant

fighters, had been flushed out of the brush by a

Marine patrol. An investigation proved that the

Marines had set out "on a robbing expedition in

the Consuelo [sugar estate] settlements," one of

several in which they had participated. For this

crime they each received a sentence of 30 days'

imprisonment on bread and water.6

Dominicans tried for similar but less devious

acts received sentences from five years to life.

The failure of the system of military justice to

deal fairly with Dominicans caused them to distrust and fear it, and thus eliminated legal

recourse for those who suffered mistreatment

by the Marines or the Guardia. Another obstacle to an effective crackdown on Marine misconduct lay in the fact that military officials

often sought to ignore, suppress, or make

excuses for incidents which did come to their

attention.

Among the explanations which the authorities of the military government gave for the misconduct of troops in the field was that the problem originated with Dominicans of the Guardia

Nacional fighting under Marine command

rather than with the Marines themselves. Since

Guardia members lacked adequate training,

argued Military Governor Knapp, their breaches

of discipline were a natural "reversion to the

intolerable conditions which existed in the late

pre-intervention Dominican Army and Guardia

Republicana."77 His view found support in

reports from the field, such as one from the

brutal Captain Buckalew, who complained that,

after his men had been through an area, he had

"to listen to complaints of stolen horses, poultry and produce . . . as well as iron-handed
methods used, which were in vogue in the old

Guardia "78

The Guardia was, no doubt, a source of

problems. But in reality, the responsibility for

abuse and atrocities lay as much with the

Marines. This fact became obvious in the case

of Captain Charles Merkle, whose infamous

deeds are still remembered in the Dominican

Republic in the 1970s. In October 1918, only

after the Archhish-op of Santo Domingo interceded on behalf of terrified citizens in the east,

Marine authorities arrested Merkie, charging

him with numerous incidents of torture and

murder.79 When Merkle conveniently committed

suicide,80 the military government dropped its

investigation and brushed off his numerous

atrocities as unique and isolated incidents,

attributable to his Germanic ancestry rather than

to Marine attitudes, the problems of fighting a

guerrilla war, or the occupation itself. Captain

Merkle, wrote Military Governor Snowden, "was

a German who used the well-known German

methods on the native population."81

In the years following Merkle's death, as it

became clear that other Marines had been

involved in similar atrocities, officials created a

new rationalization. Many Marine officers in the

east, they explained, were actually corporals

and sergeants who, without further training, had

been hurriedly promoted to captain because of

the World War I officer shortage.82 "It is hardly

equitable," argued Military Governor Knapp, "to

expect young and inexperienced officers, some

of whom have just been appointed from the

ranks, to be thoroughly familiar with all the regulations and rules of warfare governing their

conduct, especially as many of these have been

rushed into field service as soon as their commissions were received."83

Charges made by C. M. Ledger, the British

chargé d'affaires in San Pedro de MacorIs in late

1921, within six months of the end of the guerrilla insurgency, indicate clearly that both the

abuses and the failure to deal adequately with

them continued throughout the war. Ledger

sought an investigation into events surrounding

the killing in cold blood of a British citizen, a

black worker from St. Kitts, by Marines. The

chargé saw this incident as part of a "reign of

128

terror" and mentioned several bateys from

which the inhabitants had fled their homes in

fear of Marine violence after incidents during

which Marines had beaten men and raped

women. Though the Marines were theoretically

protecting the hateys from guerrilla raids, the

chargé noted, the guerrillas were "not in the

habit of killing their victims nor of interfering

with their women folk." He asked a thorough

investigation.84 Military officials at first ignored

the charges, hut repeated insistent requests

finally brought some action. Indications pointed

strongly to a particular Marine officer and his

unit, hut the investigator seemed unable to produce sufficient concrete evidence for anything

more than a minor charge against one enlisted

Marine. Eventually the entire matter was quietly

shelved and the criminals remained free.85

The occupation forces compiled a lengthy

record of wrongdoing, even if, as appears likely, not all cases were recorded. The most blatant offenses occasionally resulted in investigations, trials, and convictions. But, in a sense,

these judicial processes were irrelevant: the

abuses had already occurred, the peasants had

learned to hate the Marines, and the guerrilla

cause had gained adherents.

Only in 1921 and 1922, during a U.S. Senate

investigation of the military occupations of the

Dominican Republic and Haiti, did some of the

details concerning Marine misbehavior come to

light.86 By then the damage had long since been

done. The only beneficiaries were those who

somehow could obtain a sense of vindication

from the far-off, after-the-fact hearings, which in

themselves did not declare anyone innocent or

guilty or pass any sentences.

Concluding Summary

In early 1917, representatives of the U.S. military government in the Dominican Republic

had disembarked in the east to carry out what

appeared to be a relatively simple task: the

pacification of a few local troublemakers and

the establishment of the authority of the central

government. But when the newly arrived and

poorly prepared Marine leaders attempted to

implement their orders by riding roughshod
over the traditional autonomy of the east, they

sparked an armed uprising. Thereafter, several

factors combined to feed the flames of war. One

was the tension and resentment associated with

the region's rapidly expanding sugar industry

and the resulting social and economic dislocations. Another was the anger which the Marines'

own mishandling of the conflict generated.

There can be no doubt that the Marines'

opponents were something other than the "bandits" born of military government propaganda

and accepted by subsequent writers. They were

peasant guerrillas fighting for principles and a

way of life. Although the precise nature and the

degree of their motivation remains open to

exact definition, it is certain in some cases that

both the guerrillas and their leaders were conscious of political issues.

The end of the guerrilla conflict came in the

spring of 1922, shortly after U.S. and Dominican

representatives had signed an agreement for the

termination of the occupation. The peasant

rebels, faced by combined forces of Marines

and Dominican paramilitary auxiliaries, were

encountering their first effective opposition in

six years. After long negotiations, they laid

clown their arms in return for a nearly total

amnesty.87

In their surrender, the guerrilla leaders paid

obeisance to a new way of political life. They

may have hoped that the new order would last

only until the Marines departed, but, if so, they

were mistaken. No longer would the central

government be forced to negotiate with the

eastern caudillos to gain the region's allegiance.

Never again would these traditional leaders successfully defy the central government or raise

their followers in rebellion.

Despite the Marines' ineffectiveness in combatting the guerrillas, changes had occurred in

the east which ensured the demise of the old

system. Over the course of the war, the military

government had greatly improved transportation and communication networks and continued to do so until 1924. By then, for the first

time, the east was effectively linked to the rest

of the nation. More important, military authorities had created in the Dominican constabulary,

the Guardia Nacional Dominicana, a force

129

which would soon hold an effective monopoly

of military control, power that would be directed from the national capital, Santo Domingo.

The reality of the new situation became clear in

1930 when the head of the Guardia, General

Rafael Trujillo, overthrew the constitutional government and began his 31-year dictatorship.

Notes

1. The most balanced account of the 1916—1924 period is the work of Luis F. Mejia, Dc Li/Is a Trujillo;

Historia contemporanea de la Repdblica Doniinicana

(Caracas, 1944), chs. 6—8. Also valuable are Sumner

Welles, Naboth's Vineyard; The Dominican Republic,

1844—1924, 2 vols. (New York, 1928), chs. 8—15,

reflecting the views of an enlightened State

Department official; and Melvin M. Knight, The

Americans in Santo Domingo (New York, 1928), a

somewhat disorganized radical critique of the occupation and the events leading up to it. Stephen M. Fuller

and Graham A. Cosmas have written a brief Marine

history, Marines in the Dominican Republic,

1916—1924 (Washington, D.C., 1974). Other books

treat individual aspects of the intervention or present

documents from the period. Only recently have several authors begun to portray the guerrilla war, namely

Gregorio Urbano Gilbert, in his autobiographical Mi

lucha contra ci invasor yanqui de 1916 (Santo

Domingo, 1975) and Felix Servio Ducouclray, Los

"gavilleros" del este; Una epopeya calumniada (Santo

Domingo, 1976).

2. The bulk of the papers of the military government

of Santo Domingo are in the U.S. National Archives,

particularly in Record Groups 38, 45, and 80.

Subsequent references to these papers will denote the

record group, the series, and the box number of the

document, e.g. NA, RG38, E6, B3. Other papers of the

military government are located in the Archivo

General de la Nación in Santo Domingo, D.R. These

documents are the correspondence of the several

executive departments, such as Police and Interior,

Agriculture, etc., and cover a wide range of subjects.

Lack of organization, however, renders them very difficult to use. Subsequent references to these records

will appear as: AGN, Mu. Govt. Papers. Since the U.S.

Department of State maintained a diplomatic mission

in Santo Domingo during the entire occupation period, numerous relevant documents are also located in

File 839, Records of the Department of State Relating to

the Internal Affairs of the Dominican Republic,

1910—1929, which is also available on microfilm as

United States National Archives Publication, Microcopy
No. 626 (hereafter cited as Records, DR., 1910—1929).

3. For an analysis of the Dominican caudillo system

by a man who despised its effects, see Francisco

HenrIquez y Carvajal, "Memorandum" to Stabler,

Chief of the Div. of Latin American Affairs, State

Dept., in U.S. Dept. of State, Papers Relating to the

Foreign Relations of the United States, 1919

(Washington, D.C., 1934), 111—113 (hereafter cited as

FR, with appropriate year). See the U.S. Commission

of Inquiry to Santo Domingo, Report of the

Commission of Santo Domingo (Washington, D.C.,

1871), 8—9, for a description of the caudillo system by

North American investigators in 1870. Miguel A.

Monclus, El caudillismo en la Republica

Dominicana, 2d ed. (Ciudad Trujillo, 1948), is heavy

on biographical facts but light on analysis.

4. HenrIquez y Carvajal, "Memorandum," in FR, 1919,

112.

5. Payoffs to caudillos are cited in Welles, Naboth's

Vineyard, 589; and in Dana Gardner Munro,

Intervention and Dollar Diplomacy in the Caribbean,

1900—1921 (Princeton, N.J., 1964), 82, 274—277, and

311—312.

6. Welles, Naboth's Vineyard, 908.

7. Lee to Sec. of the Navy, May 19, 1924, NA, RG38,

E6, B74.

8. Charge Johnson, Santo Domingo, to Sec. of State,

Sept. 15, 1915; and Minister William Russell to Sec. of

State, Nov. 30, 1915, in FR, 1915, 294, 297.

9. Russell to Sec. of State, Mar. 14, 1916, in FR, 1916,

221.

10. Military Gov. Harry S. Knapp to Major General

Cmdt., U.S. Marine Corps (hereafter cited as USMC),

Oct. 27, 1918, NA, RG45, WA7, B647. The analysis in

this and the two following paragraphs is in part speculative, based on the author's study of contemporary

commentaries by Dominican civilians and many military government documents which infer the existence of the social situation described.

11. Officials of the military government argued, with

statistics, that a close relationship existed between

political strife and economic decline. See, for

instance, U.S. Military Government of Santo Domingo, Santo Domingo: Its Past and its Present Condition

(Santo Domingo, 1920), 13.

12. A typical incident in Seibo in 1916, when the

comandante de armas rebelled against his civilian

superior, the governor, is a graphic example. See

Bernardo Pichardo, Resuinen de historia patria, 3d

ed. (Buenos Aires, 1947), 297.

13. Knapp to Major General Cmdt, USMC, Oct. 27,

1918, NA, RG45, WA7, B647.

14. One regional leader, Vicente Evangelista, made

130

this point explicitly in the surrender terms he proposed to the military government. Knapp to Sec. of

the Navy, July 14, 1917, NA, RG45, WA7, B647. It is

important to note that the notorious pre-1917 caudillos were killed or captured during the first year of

fighting. Thereafter, with the war underway, new

leaders appeared.

15. Several tense situations developed in the west. In

Barahona province there was some unrest over land

and water rights and in neighboring Azua province

there existed a messianic movement led by Dios

Olivorio Mateo, whom the Marines hunted over a

period of years and killed in 1922.

16. Beginning from almost nothing in 1870, the sugar

estates had grown very rapidly. By the early 20th

century, sugar had become the nation's most important crop, with the bulk of the production on the

plains of the east, centered around San Pedro de

Macoris. Knight, The Americans, 139—140, notes that

by 1925, between 350,000 and 400,000 acres of the

east's best land was in sugar. Knight, who devotes a

chapter to the growth of the sugar industry, is one of

the best sources of information on this aspect of

Dominican life. Juan J. Sanchez, La caña en Santo

Domingo (Santo Domingo, 1972), is a short, excellent

book on the industry in the late 19th century.

17. James T. McLean, Director, Southern District, to

Cmdt., Guardia Nacional Dominicana (hereafter cited

as GND), NA, RG38, EG, BU (BU indicates box number unknown).

18. Military Gov. Samuel S. Robison to sugar companies, mailing list attached, June 13, 1922, NA, RG38,

E6, B36.

19. Ibid.

20. Of more than 100 nien who were imprisoned on

charges of banditry in the spring of 1922 in San Pedro

de MacorIs jail, only 14 had French names and were

scheduled for deportation, probably to Haiti. Provost

Marshal, to Commanding General, Aug. 14, 1922, NA,

RG38, E6, B50. Of the more than 140 guerrillas who

surrendered in April and May 1922, only four had

names which could possibly be Haitian-French.

Commanding General Lee to Military Gov., May 22,

1923, NA, RG38, E6, B64.

21. The military government consistently referred to

the insurgents as "bandits," although military documents frequently belied this thesis. Most Dominican

writers, until the recent works of Felix Servio

Ducoudray and Gregorio Urbano Gilbert, have for

various reasons left the "bandit" thesis unchallenged.

The cover-up of the guerrilla war is discussed at

length in my dissertation. See Calder, "Some Aspects

of the United States Occupation of the Dominican
Republic" (Ph.D. Diss., University of Texas, 1974).

22. Colonel C. Gamborg-Andresen, CO, 3d

Provisional Regiment, to Brigade Commander, Feb.

27, 1919, NA, RG45, WA7, B645.

23. D. B. Roben, CO 44th Co,, to Regimental Commander, July 30, 1917, NA, RG45, WA7, B646.

24. Julio Peynado, a Dominican observer, makes this

observation in a letter to Horace G. Knowles, Apr. 22,

1922, Peynado Family Papers (hereafter cited as

PFP). Knowles was a former diplomat, an active

lawyer and writer, and one of the organizers in the

U.S. of the campaign against the Dominican and

Haitian occupations.

25. Knapp to Sec. of the Navy, July 14, 1917, NA,

RG45, WA7, B646.

26. Captain T. P. Cheatham, 114th Co., to Battalion

Commander, Nov. 22, 1918, NA, RG45, WA7, B646.

27. Record of the Proceedings of a Superior Provost

Court, Santo Domingo, convened Feb. 16, 1920, Trial

of Olivorio Carela, NA, RG38, E6, B36.

28. Captain Robert Yowell, Seibo Barracks, to

Battalion Commander, Sept. 14, 1920, NA, RG38, E6,

B22.

29. Sugar estate managers to Military Gov. Robison,

Oct. 4, 1921, NA, RG38, E6, B24.

30. William C. Harllee, Commander, 15th Regiment,

to Commanding General, Jan. 25, 1922, NA, RG38,

E6, B48.

31. R. Sanchez Gonzalez, Gov., San Pedro de MacorIs

province, to Colonel P. M. Rixey Jr., Sec. of State for

Interior and Police, Mar. 8, 1921, NA, RG38, E6, BU.

32. William 0. Rogers, 15th Regiment, to District

Commander, Apr. 25, 1919, NA, RG45, WA7, B645.

33. Major Watson, 9th Co., GND, to Cmdt., Nov. 23,

1920, NA, RG38, E6, BU.

34. In 1918 a regional leader of the Horacista party,

Basilio Camilo, was accused of connivance with

guerrillas. One of his lawyers, Luis F. MejIa, wrote

later that Camilo was sentenced to prison "despite

the lack of proof against him," but was pardoned

soon afterwards. MejIa, De LilIs a Trujillo, 164.

35. Horacio Blanco Fombona, Crf,nenes del

imperialismo norte-americano (Mexico, 1927), 122.

36. President and members, Club Faro de Hicayagua,

to Military Gov. Thomas Snowden, May 25, 1920, NA,

RG38, E6, B24.

37. Dispatch, Marine Corps to Flag Santo Domingo,

Mar. 17, 1922, NA, RG8O, CNO Planning File 159—9;

and Knowles to U.S. Senator Medill McCormick, Mar.

17, 1922, PFP.

38. Colonel George C. Thorpe, a Marine commander

in the east, notes that Dominican peasants feared the

Marines' very appearance. Thorpe, "American

131

Achievements in Santo Domingo, Haiti and the Virgin

Islands," Journal of International Relations, 11 (July

1920), 63—64.

39. Military Gov. to Bureau of Navigation, Sept. 9,

1920, NA, RG38, E6, B32, contains the estimate that

"the majority" of naval enlisted personnel in Santo

Domingo had not completed grade school and only

"a few" had begun high school; the figure is probably no higher for the Marines. Harry Alverson Franck,

Roaming through the West Indies (New York, 1920),

245—246, and Otto Schoenrich, "The Present

American Intervention in Santo Domingo and Haiti,"

in George H. Blakeslee, ed., Mexico and the

Caribbean (New York, 1920), 211, both note the

Marines' lack of ability to use Spanish. Military Gov.

Knapp admitted that in late 1916 he could not read a

simple pamphlet in Spanish. Knapp to Sec. of the

Navy, Dec. 17, 1916, NA, RG45, WA7, B643. Kenneth

W. Condit and Edwin T. Turnbladh, Hold High the

Torch: A History of the 4th Marines (Washington,

D.C., 1960), 76, notes the Marines' general unpreparedness for their occupation duties.

40. Snowden to Josephus Daniels, Sec. of the Navy,

June 2, 1920, NA, RG38, E6, B31.

41. Knapp to Arthur T. Hadley, President of Yale

University, Sept. 20, 1917, NA, RG38, E6, BU.

42. A Dominican, MejIa, De Lills a Trujillo, 157, noted

U.S. racial prejudices. For a fuller description, see

Franck, West Indies, 239—240. Rubin Francis Weston,

Racism in U.S. Imperialism: The Influence of Racial

Assumptions on American Foreign Policy,

1893—1946 (Columbia, S.C., 1972), thoroughly documents the racist views of U.S. citizens regarding the

Dominican Republic and other nations. See especially 209-256.

43. Mrs. Helen Leschorn to U.S. Senator Atlee

Pomerence, Jan, 24, 1922, enclosed in letter of W. C.

MacCrone, Regimental Intelligence Officer to Brigade

Intelligence Officer, Mar. 25, 1922, NA, RG38, E6,

B48; and Franck, West Indies, 239.

44. Knapp to Russell, Nov. 2, 1918, NA, RG45, WA7,

B644.

45. J. I. Bowman to Military Gov., Dec. 21, 1921, NA,

RG38, E6, B37.

46. Provost Marshal G. M. Kincade to Military Gov,

Jan. 11, 1922, NA, RG38, E6, B37.

47. Finding of Facts, Opinion, and Recommendations

of Court of Inquiry convened at Marine Barracks, San

Francisco de MacorIs, Feb. 24, 1920, NA, RG38, E6,

B38.

48. News Release, Oct. 29, 1921, issued by Eastern

District Headquarters, San Pedro de MacorIs, cites the

problem of guerrillas "appearing like any other citi-
zen." Located in NA, RG38, E6, B37. Franck, Wesi

Indies, 236, also notes this problem.

49. U.S. Senate, Inquiry in Occupation and

Administration of Haiti and Santo Domingo, Hearings

before a Select Committee of Haiti and Santo

Domingo, 2 vols., 67th Cong., 1st and 2d sess., 1922

Ihereafter cited as U.S. Senate, Hearings,), I, 1106—1155, documents a large number of incidents of

Marine violence against captured guerrillas, suspected guerrillas, arid pacificos. Franck, a journalist who

spent some time with the Marines in the Dominican

Republic circa 1920, gives a sketch of Marine abuses

and suggests some possible motivations for them in

West Indies, 234—235. Military courts tried 85 persons

during the first three years of the occupation for

allegedly having concealed information regarding

guerrillas or arms. See Summary of Exceptional

Military Courts in the Dominican Republic from

November 29, 1916, to December 29, 1919, Covering

Cases of Dominicans and Sojourners in the

Dominican Republic, Tried by Provost Courts,

Superior Provost Courts and Military Commissions,

NA, RG38, E6, B13.

50. Harllee, Eastern District Commander, to Commanding General, Jan. 25, 1922, NA, RG38, E6, B48.

51. Thorpe, Chief of Staff, to Brigade Commander,

May 29, 1917, NA, RG45, WA7, B645. Thorpe's order

was not necessarily obeyed. In October 1918, he

angrily denounced two recent home burnings.

Thorpe to 2d Lieutenant William A. Buckley, Oct. 7,

1918, NA. RG45, WA7, B646.

52. Harlee, Eastern District Commander, to

Commanding General., Jan. 25, 1922, NA, RG38, E6,

B48.

53. Sgt. Stout, Detachment of 113th Co., to Senior

Officer, Oct. 16, 1918, NA, RG45, WA7, B646.

54. Brigade Commander B. H. Fuller to Colonel

Thorpe, Oct. 31, 1918, NA, RG45, WA7, B646.

55. Company report[?}, unsigned, 1919, contained in

Marine Operations, 1919—1924 file, NA, RG45, WA7,

B646.

56. Record of the Proceedings of a Superior Provost

Court, Santo Domingo, convened Feb. 16, 1920, Trial

of Olivorio Carela, NA, RG38, E6, B36.

57. "Ramón Batia dice ...," Listin Diario, May 18,

1922.

58. Ibid.

59. Colonel Thorpe to Regimental Commander, Sept.

8, 1918, NA, RG38, E6, B6.

60. CO 2d Battalion, 15th Provincial Regiment, to

District Commander, Sept. 28, 1921, NA, RG38, E6,

B36.

61. 1st Lieutenant Allan S. Heaton, 2c1 Battalion, 15th

132

Provisional Regiment to Brigadier Commander, June

11, 1919, NA, RG45, WA7, B645.

62. Findings of a Court of Inquiry held at Seibo, Mar.

27, 1918, NA, RG38, EG6 139.

63. Brigadier General Fuller to CO, 15th Regiment,

Mar. 1919, NA, RG38, E6, B19.

64. Peynaclo to Knowles, Apr. 22, 1922, PFP.

65. Lieutenant Colonel Henry C. Davis, District

Commander, "Public Notice," May 10, 1921, NA,

RG38, E6, B36.

66. Schoenrich, "American Intervention," 212.

67. Blanco Fombona, ('rImenes, 123—124. 68. Finding of Facts, Opinion and Recommendation

of Court of Inquiry convened at Marine Barracks, San

Francisco de Macoris, Feb. 24, 1920, NA, RG38, E6,

B38.

69. Colonel C. M. Perkins, Brigade Law Officer, to

Brigade Commander Logan Feland, May 1, 1920, NA,

RG38, E6, B38. Luis F. MejIa, one of PelegrIn Castillo's

lawyers, describes the case in Dc Lills a Trujillo, 172.

70. Colonel Constantine Perkins to Lieutenant

Colonel C. B. Taylor, Mar. 4, 1921, NA, RG38, E6,

B38.

71. Sworn and notarized statement concerning the

case of José Cepeda, signed and witnessed, May 31,

1920, Casa de Don Feclerico y Biblioteca del Maestro,

Santo Domingo, D.R. (hereafter cited as BDM).

72. Commanding General Charles G. Long to Military

Guy., Jan. 11, 1921, NA, RG38, E6, B38.

73. Knapp to CO, 2d Provisional Brigade, June 14,

1918, NA, RG38, E6, B6.

74. Daniels to Brigade Commander Pendleton, July 9,

1917, NA, RG38, E6, B4.

75. Davis, Southern District Commander, to Military

Gov., May 13, 1922, NA, RG38, E6, B49.

76. Harllee, Eastern District Commander, Jan. 25,

1922, NA, RG38, E6, B48.

77. Knapp to Brigade Commander, Confidential, Oct.

17, 1918, NA, RG38, E6, B6.

78. Buckalew, CO 6th Co., GND, to Cmdt., June 8,

1918, NA, RG38, E6, B6[?J.

79. Merkle's crimes are documented in U.S. Senate,

Hearings, I, 1117—1147.

80. Thorpe, Battalion Commander, to Regimental

Commander, Oct. 9, 1918, NA, RG45, WA7, B646.

81. Snowden to Sec. of the Navy Daniels, June 2,

1920, NA, RG38, E6, B31.

82. They are listed in Ernesto Vega y Pagn, Historia

de lasfuerzas armadas, vols. XVI and XVII of La era de Tru/illo: 25 años de historia dominicana (Ciudad

Trujillo, 1955), XVII, chs. 1—5.

83. Knapp to Brigade Commander, Oct. 21, 1921, NA,

RG45, WA7, B64G.
84. Ledger to Military Gov., Note no. 79, Nov. 4,

1921, NA, RG38, E6, B37.

85. See file of letters and Report of Investigation, all

attached to letter of Chargé Ledger, cited above.

86. U.S. Senate, Hearings, vols. I and II.

87. The events leading to the surrender are detailed

133

in Calder, "Some Aspects," ch. 6.

About the Author

Bruce J. Calder is history professor emeritus, University of Illinois at

Chicago, and author of The Impact of Intervention: The Dominican

Republic during the U.S. Occupation of 1.916-1924 (1984).

Cacos and 

Caudillos: Marines 

and Counter- . tnsurgency 

in Hispaniola, 

1915-1924 

by Graham A. Cosmas 

New Interpretations in Naval History: Selected 

Papers from the Ninth Naval History 

Symposium, Naval Institute Press, 1991 

During and after World War I, the U.S. 

Marine Corps engaged in prolonged 

counterinsurgency campaigns in Haiti 

and the Dominican Republic. Dr. 

Cosmas examines the methods used to 

quell the guerrillas in these two countries, assesses the accomplishments as 

well as the failures of these early pacification efforts, and summarizes the counterinsurgency lessons that the Marine 

Corps learned from its experiences in 

Hispaniola. 

The Marines who occupied Haiti and the 

Dominican Republic during and after 

World War I possessed little specific preparation for counterinsurgency or other types of 

low-intensity conflict. During the decades preceding these interventions, the Corps had concentrated its attention on developing an advance 

base force for use with the fleet in conventional 

naval warfare. Marine leaders viewed expeditionary duty as a secondary mission of the 

advance base infantry regiments. Nevertheless, 

when the Marines sent an expeditionary brigade 

to Haiti in 1915 and another to the Dominican 

Republic in 1916, they confronted challenges 

across the entire spectrum of low-intensity conflict, from semi-conventional and guerrilla warfare by organized military forces through terror135 
ism, banditry, and rural crime and social disorder. The Marines in response employed a wide

variety of counterinsurgency tactics and techniques. They also experienced the dilemmas and

frustrations often encountered by troops sent

overseas to battle an elusive, resourceful

enemy on the enemy's own ground.'

In Haiti, the First Provisional Marine

Brigade encountered the cacos, peasant warriors from the wild, mountainous northern

and central regions of the country. These

men, recruited by local chieftains on the basis

of personal loyalty and the promise of loot,

fought in the mercenary armies of a succession of presidential aspirants from Haiti's

urban, elite political class. During the years

preceding the American intervention, caco

revolts had made and broken governments at

a rate of about one per year. The American

landings in July 1915 aborted still another

caco-enforced change of presidents. The

Marines quickly suppressed initial resistance

to the occupation, and the cacos remained

quiet for nearly three years. During that interval, the Marines organized and trained a Haitian Gendarmerie, which took over most

of the day-to-day work of garrisoning and

policing the interior of the country.

Misconduct by the gendarmes and some of

their Marine commanders brought the cacos

to arms again in late 1918. To secure labor for

building roads, the Gendarmerie reinstituted

the unpopular corvée, an old Haitian practice

of drafting peasants for short terms of construction work near their homes. In the northern district, heart of caco country, gendarmes

under Marine Major Clark W. Wells administered the corvée in a brutal and corrupt fashion. Correction of these abuses by the First

Brigade commander came too late to prevent

thousands of cacos from taking to the hills

and to arms. The insurgency found a charismatic leader in Charlemagne Massena Peralte,

a politician from the fringes of the black elite.

Charlemagne, recognized by lesser caco

chiefs as the head of a revolutionary government, proclaimed the objective of expelling

the Americans from Haiti; but he seemed

equally interested in ousting the Americans'

136

client, President Sudre Dartiguenave, and

replacing Dartiguenave with a candidate from

Charlemagne's own faction. Whatever his

political goals, Charlemagne was a formidable threat to the occupation. His cacos, who

began attacking Gendarmerie outposts in

October 1918, numbered, by American estimate, almost 5,000 full-time fighters. Perhaps

15,000 additional peasant supporters turned

out for operations near their homes or kept

the insurgents supplied with food and intelligence. In the capital, Port-au-Prince, antiAmerican and anti-Dartiguenave politicians

organized a rudimentary underground on

Charlemagne's behalf. Fortunately for the

Marines and gendarmes, the cacos were

poorly armed. A minority of them carried oldmodel black-powder rifles; the majority went

into battle with swords, machetes, and pikes.

When Marines landed in the Dominican

Republic in May 1916, they had little difficulty in securing the capital and the central and

western regions of the republic. In the eastern provinces of Seibo and Macoris, however,

they encountered armed opposition which,

while less militarily formidable than the

cacos, proved more difficult to suppress.

Rural Haiti, while extremely poor, was a stable and comparatively harmonious society of

peasant freeholciers. The eastern Dominican

Republic, by contrast, was a region in transition from subsistence agriculture to an export

economy dominated by foreign-owned sugar

estates. The region was geographically isolated from the rest of the republic. It possessed

only weak local governments and police

forces and long had been ruled by caudillos,

military strongmen whose power rested on

their ability to maintain armed bands recruited, like the cacos, on the basis of personality

and plunder. The caudillos participated in the

country's periodic revolutions, often receiving local political offices for their services.

Between revolutions, both the caudillos and

professional bandits, called gavilleros, sustained themselves and their followers by robbery and extortion at the expense of whomever in the region possessed any surplus

wealth, mostly rural storekeepers, sugar
estate owners, and the citizens of smaller

municipalities. The stronger chieftains maintained informal alliances with the political

elites of the few existing towns and cities as

protection against the central government's

rare, feeble attempts to assert its authority.

Some chiefs also accepted regular cash payments from the sugar companies in return for

keeping company properties safe from attack

by lesser caudillos and gavilleros.

The American military government in

Santo Domingo City,2 unlike its Dominican

predecessors, was determined to assert its

authority and to restore law and order in the

eastern provinces. Hence, from 1917 to 1922,

Marines of the Second Provisional Brigade

waged armed conflict against the caudillos.

The Dominican leaders were inspired in

some instances by nationalist political motives, but more often fought to maintain their

regional authority and military reputations.

Their followers were fewer in number than

the cacos, amounting to a maximum of perhaps 600 full-time fighters and an indeterminate number of occasional or seasonal adherents, many of whom were economically motivated. Indeed, rural disorder waxed and

waned with the annual sugar industry

employment cycle. The Dominican insurgents

acknowledged no supreme leader comparable to Charlemagne Peralte and usually operated in groups of less than 150 men. After

late 1919, these bands rarely engaged even

the smallest Marine patrols. Like the cacos,

the Dominicans possessed mainly antiquated

rifles and, more commonly, were armed only

with pistols and shotguns. Caudillos and gayilleros, however, could count on at least the

passive support of much of the rural population, support based in part on fear of reprisal,

in part on local and personal loyalties, and in

part on resentment of the Marines as occasionally brutal and heavy-handed foreign

intruders.

The Marines, in operating against both

cacos and caudillos, assumed as the foundation of their strategy the necessity of minimizing the use of force and devoting maximum

attention to winning the friendship, or at least

137

the tolerance, of local civilians. Marine leaders continually informed their troops that

they were not at war with the Dominicans or

the Haitians, but in each instance were

instead protecting a law-abiding majority

against a minority of troublemakers. To reinforce this image, the Marines deliberately

labeled their opponents "bandits." In July

1919 the First Brigade, for example, instructed its troops to use that term, rather than

"caco," when referring to "natives, who, in

certain sections are menacing the peace of

the country." The Marines in both countries

tried to avoid seizing or destroying civilian

property and attempted to minimize disruption of the normal routine of the rural population. Brigadier General Harry Lee, the last

commander of the Marines in the Dominican

Republic, summed up the basic principles of

Marine counterinsurgency in Hispaniola:

There are records where civilized

powers, whose armed forces were

engaged in the suppression of banditry,

countenanced the most drastic methods.

These . . . included the destruction of

stocks and crops . . . , the burning of

homes and villages, the laying to waste

of entire sections, where the inhabitants

harbored brigands. However, such clrastic measures were never employed in

Santo Domingo, because there exists

one great disadvantage of their use: the

moral effect upon the peaceful inhabitants, who become so exasperated as to

forfeit their friendship for generations.

That the friendship of the people of an

occupied state should be sacrificed by

any unnecessary measure was avowedly

contrary to the policy of the United

States.3

Efforts to implement these enlightened

principles were hampered by deficiencies in

the number and quality of available Marines.

Counterinsurgency theorists of the 1960s contended that a troop ratio of ten to one or better was necessary for victory over guerrillas;

the Marine brigades in Haiti and the Dominican Republic never approached that aclvantage. The 1st Brigade numbered about 900
officers and men when the caco revolt began

and nearly 1,200 when it ended. In the

Dominican Republic, the 2d Brigade could

spare only 500 or so officers and men to pacify the eastern provinces until early 1919,

when the arrival of an additional regiment

increased Marine strength in the area to

about 1,200. Both brigades were supplemented by native constabularies organized and

officered by Marines. The 2,700-man Haitian

Gendarmerie, although inferior to the

Marines in training and armament, bore much

of the burden of combat and freed the

Marines of garrison duty in secure areas. By

contrast, the Guardia (later Policia) Nacional Dominicana, counterpart of the Haitian

Gendarmerie, provided the Marines little

reinforcement. Delays in organizing the

Guardia, rapid turnover in its Marine commanders, and a lack of money and equipment

kept the Haitian force weak, ineffective, and

well under its authorized strength of about

1,200 men throughout the period of hostilities. During final operations in the east, only

two small Guardia companies performed

auxiliary duties, leaving the field campaigning largely to the Marines.4

In 1917 and 1918, both occupation

brigades gave up many of their most experienced and most capable officers and men to

the brigade in France and to other elements

of the expanding Marine Corps. Mobilization,

followed rapidly by demobilization, brought

wholesale personnel turnover to the two

brigades in Hispaniola as they received large

infusions of newly promoted officers and

NCOs and first-term enlisted men. The resulting deterioration in small-unit leadership and

troop quality, combined with racial and cultural antagonisms and the strains of operating

against guerrillas, contributed to repeated

incidents of misconduct by Marines in command of constabulary units as well as their

own organizations. These incidents included

the torture and execution of prisoners, indiscriminate firing on civilians by patrols, arbitrary seizure of peasants' food and livestock,

and off-duty crimes and acts of violence and

discourtesy toward ordinary Haitians and

138

Dominicans. Such abuses occurred in both

countries; however, they appear to have been

more numerous and damaging to the occupation in the Dominican Republic, where small

Marine units were dispersed more widely and

where the counterinsurgency campaign was

more prolonged and indecisive.5

Marine misconduct, often exaggerated and

sensationalized by critics of the interventions,

became an issue in the 1920 American presidential campaign and was the subject of U.S.

Navy, Marine Corps, and Senate investigations. In response to such exposure, both

brigades during the early 1920s attempted to

improve troop conduct and attitudes. Marine

offenses against local citizens were investigated more thoroughly and punished more

rapidly and sternly than before. Brigade leaders also intensively indoctrinated their men in

the peaceable nature of their mission and the

necessity of winning the friendship of the

population. These efforts, combined with the

end of active operations and the concentration of most Marines in fewer, larger garrisons, eliminated the worst abuses. By that

time, however, much damage had been done.

Corvée abuses in Haiti had helped set off the

caco uprising, and widespread hatred of the

Marines among rural Dominicans swelled

guerrilla ranks and hindered Marine efforts to

end the insurgency and banditry.6

The Marines directed the preponderance of

their military effort to the pursuit and

destruction, or at least the dispersal, of

organized rebel bands. They attempted to do

this by saturating the countryside with small

patrols, rarely larger than 20 men, which

operated from permanent posts or temporary

bases. Patrols followed up attacks or engagements, intensively searched fixed zones, and

set ambushes on known enemy movement

routes. Marine patrols also went after particular enemy bands or leaders when reliable

information as to their location could be

obtained. The brigades directed these operations through regimental and battalion headquarters, each of which was responsible for a

section of territory and a varying number of

garrisons. Patrols normally went out under
lieutenants and senior NCO5; but company,

battalion, and even regimental commanders

at times took the field to familiarize themselves with the terrain, to respond to major

enemy raids, or to follow up especially promising intelligence leads. Command and control were difficult, especially before portable

field radios became available in the early

19205. Headquarters often lost track of patrol

routes and positions. Clashes inevitably occurred between friendly forces; in the most

costly of these, Marines in Haiti killed a gendarme, a civilian scout, and a caco prisoner

in an ambush of one patrol by another.

Marine commanders distilled their

patrolling experience into standard operating

procedures. These covered such basics as

employment of point men, the conduct of

stream crossings and house searches, security

at halts and bivouacs, hand signals for silent

control of movement, telltale signs of enemy

ambushes, and mundane hut vital details

such as foot care. In the Dominican Republic,

where much territory had to he covered and

horses were available locally, the Marines

often patrolled mounted; the 2d Brigade stationed a full company of such "horse

Marines" in the eastern provinces. Supply

was simple. Patrols in the field carried iron

rations with them on their persons or on pack

animals; when these ran out, they lived off

the country—a practice unavoidable in many

cases, but one also productive of some of the

abuses noted previously.7

Even the smallest Marine patrols had little

to fear in combat from enemies poorly armed

and untrained in small-unit tactics. When

cacos and guerrillas sprang successful ambushes, as they frequently did, the insurgents'

poor weapons and worse marksmanship usually rendered their fire ineffective. Insurgent

attempts to close for hand-to-hand combat,

more frequent in Haiti than in the Dominican

Republic, occasionally cost Marine and constabulary forces heavily, but more often simply gave them easier targets to shoot.

The Marines' problem was finding the

enemy. In the roadless, heavily wooded hills

and mountains of Hispaniola, the insurgents

139

were difficult to bring to battle unless they

chose to fight or the Marines and constabulary surprised them in their camps. The

cacos, accustomed to waging more or less

conventional warfare in their various revolutions, made the Marines' work easier by

launching frequent attacks on Gendarmerie

posts, not to mention two mass assaults on

Port-au-Prince and an abortive storming of

Grande Riviere du Nord during which

Charlemagne Peralte was killed in a Gendarmerie raid on his command post. Even in the

hills, the cacos tended to move in large

groups and to remain too long at customary

concentration points, often old forts dating

back to the French occupation. The

Dominicans, by contrast, though ineffective

in combat, were masters of evasion and never

attacked posts or defended towns. Bringing

them to battle, a Marine commander admitted,

to a large extent, depends on the bandit

leader. If he wants to fight, and sometimes he does, he will open fire on the

detachment, mostly on the point, and

then disappears in the brush, where his

retreat . . . is facilitated by the dense

vegetation, intimate knowledge of the

numerous trails . . . , and . . . fleetness

of foot. If the bandit does not want a

fight he simply lets the detachment pass

by undisturbed.8

To help find the enemy and also to assist

in governing the occupied republics, the

Marine brigades built up elaborate intelligence services. Patrols in the field, interrogation of caco and guerrilla prisoners and

defectors, as well as networks of voluntary

and paid local informants were the Marines'

principal sources of information about the

enemy. After air squadrons were attached to

the brigades in early 1919, the Marines used

aerial reconnaissance to improve their knowledge of the countryside and occasionally to

find enemy bands and camps. At brigade and

lower headquarters, intelligence officers collated, evaluated, and distributed information

from all sources. They paid attention to more
than purely military matters, assembling as

well material on social and political conditions and the indigenous culture. Timely,

accurate intelligence contributed substantially

to the deaths of Charlemagne Peralte and

Benoit Batreville in Haiti; but Marine intelligence also had its failures. During 1917—

1918, for example, commanders and intelligence officers wasted much effort in futile

attempts to establish that local German businessmen and landowners were stirring up

and arming cacos and guerrillas. The Marines

also were more efficient at accumulating a

large volume of information than they were

at evaluating and distributing that information. A regimental commander in the

Dominican Republic declared: "Though a vast

amount of information is secured, the greater

part of it is of no value, either by reason of

absolute inaccuracy . . . or by reason of delay

in delivery"9

New technologies—principally aircraft and

radios—assisted Marine operations after the

end of World War I. In both Haiti and the

Dominican Republic, Marine aircraft occasionally bombed and strafed enemy camps or

fleeing troops, inflicting casualties and causing temporary panic. Such incidents, however, were rare, due to the inability of Marines

on the ground to communicate rapidly with

the aviators. Of more substantial value was

the air squadrons' work in reconnaissance; in

transporting mail, supplies, and personnel;

and in evacuating the sick and wounded from

remote posts. In the Dominican Republic, aircraft also helped to coordinate patrol activity

by dropping messages to the infantry. Meanwhile, stationary radio sets at unit headquarters and a limited number of portable field

radios speeded response to incidents, simplified the task of coordinating widespread

patrols, and reduced the need to tie up scarce

mounted personnel in escorting couriers.10

In both Haiti and the Dominican Republic,

the insurgents drew recruits, supplies, and

information from the rural population and,

especially in the latter stages of the

Dominican disorders, lived with the peasants

between occasional forays. The Marines,

140

therefore, experimented with measures for

separating their armed enemies from the people and for enlisting local help against the

insurgents.

Such efforts in Haiti were comparatively

modest. The Marine brigade and the

Gendarmerie revived an earlier Haitian system of internal passports to restrict civilian

movement in caco areas. In 1919, the Marines

and gendarmes began recruiting and paying

citizens called vigilantes to guide patrols

within their home areas and to help identify

cacos and their sympathizers. The Marines

also set cacos against cacos. They enlisted a

well-to-do Haitian, Jean Conze, to organize a

Gendarmerie-sponsored band and allowed

him to win several noisy mock battles to

enhance his military reputation. Conze succeeded in establishing himself as a principal

lieutenant of Charlemagne Peralte and used

this position to lure Peralte into the fatal

expedition against Grande Rivière, an action

for which Conze received a large cash

reward.

Population control efforts by the Marines

in the Dominican Republic were much more

extensive and elaborate. Guerrilla warfare

and banditry in the eastern provinces centered about areas of thick woods, interspersed with small farming settlements called

canucos, which abutted the large sugar

estates. There guerrilla leaders maintained

their hideouts. Between raids, many of their

followers lived in the canucos or in the cornpany-ownecl villages on the sugar plantations, where they were seasonally employed.

After several limited population control

and screening efforts during 1918 and 1919

produced few results, the 15th Regiment

under its new commander, Lieutenant

Colonel William C. Harllee, launched a systematic effort in the autumn of 1921 to drive

the guerrillas from their hideouts. Between 24

October 1921 and 11 March 1922, Harllee

conducted nine large-scale cordon and search

operations against guerrilla base areas. In

these drives, which involved most of the 15th

Regiment and elements of the Policia

Nacional, Marine patrols, directed by radio
and air-dropped messages, encircled an

objective area and then moved inward,

rounding up most of the adult population at

a central collecting point. There a specially

assembled corps of Dominican informers,

supervised by Marine intelligence personnel

and screened from sight of the detainees,

picked alleged bandits out of the multitude.

The suspects were held for further investigation and trial by Marine provost courts.

Colonel Harllee provided food and medical

assistance for the remaining detainees and,

after personally explaining that the operation

had been for the purpose of removing the

criminals who had preyed upon the people,

allowed them to return home. The Marines

thoroughly mapped the areas in which they

operated and used prisoners convicted by the

provost courts as work gangs to cut networks

of trails through the woods in order to make

them more readily penetrable by military

patrols. The operations met no armed resistance and resulted in few Dominican casualties. After one of the first of these drives,

however, the 2d Brigade, in response to civilian complaints, ordered that citizens "will not

be collected, tied, and marched to distant

points" for screening, an indication that the

15th Regiment's roundup methods were other

than gentle.

The effectiveness of Harllee's operations

became a matter of controversy. No major

guerrilla leaders were caught in these dragnets, but several hundred part-time fighters

and supporters were captured and the groups

still at large were forced out of their accustomecl areas of operation. Harllee himself

contended that his operations disrupted the

guerrilla infrastructure and taught the people

"that the bandit chiefs are no longer masters

in their areas." Pro-occupation Dominican

municipal officials and sugar estate managers

alike complained, however, that the cordons

terrorized the people and upset normal economic activity without halting the guerrillas.

The cordons probably did bring effective

pressure to bear on the insurgents' civilian

support network and greatly increased the

Marines' ability to operate in what formerly

141

had been almost impenetrable forest

redoubts. Nevertheless, the 2d Brigade commander, Brigadier General Harry Lee, who

had orders from Washington to conciliate the

Dominicans, sided with Harllee's critics. On 5

March 1922, the general ordered an end to

the concentrations.11

Lee abandoned cordon operations in part

because he believed he had a more effective

weapon in hand: combined patrols of

Marines and Dominican counterinsurgents.

The Marine brigade had experimented with

the use of indigenous irregulars early in the

occupation, at one point employing one

caudillo and his band to attack another. The

military government, however, devoted most

of its effort to the maintenance of law and

order. It sought to disarm Dominican civilians, to suppress the private security forces of

the sugar companies, and to confine military

activity on the part of the Dominicans to the

Policia and small municipal police forces.

Throughout most of the occupation, relations

remained contentious between the Marines

and the sugar estate managers, who had

access to much valuable intelligence and

whose employees offered a potential source

of both antiguerrilla and guerrilla manpower

(to include the guerrilla chiefs themselves).

Marine commanders justifiably complained

that the company managers withheld information, especially about guerrilla leaders

whom they paid off. The Marines also contended that the estate managers and large

landowners often fabricated reports of guerrilla activity in order to encourage the establishment of Marine garrisons near their property, less to fight the insurgents than to intimidate their own workers. The estate managers

for their part freely criticized Marine tactics

and accused the American military government of failing to protect their properties.12

Brigadier General Lee set out to co-opt the

estate managers. After listening sympathetically to their protests against Harllee's cordons, he adopted a suggestion made by tile

managers and local Dominican officials that

civilian irregulars who knew both the terrain

and the enemy be enlisted to hunt clown the
insurgents. Planning for the irregular force

began in November 1921, and by early the

following April, five groups of so-called Civil

Guards were ready to take the field. Each

consisted of 15 Dominicans who were selected by their municipal governments or estate

managers, armed and trained by the Marines,

and commanded by a Marine officer assisted

by two or three Marine NCOs. Operating in

their own neighborhoods and backed by

Marine firepower, the irregulars proved able

to find insurgent groups, engage them, and

inflict casualties. Their operations during

April, according to Lee, "fairly broke and led

to the disintegration of the bandit groups."

The principal chiefs as a result all surrendered in the following month.'3

To secure these surrenders, Lee employed

still another counterinsurgency weapon:

amnesty. The Marines treated their foes legally as criminal offenders either against the

American forces in the Dominican Republic

or against the client government in Haiti.

Once they established military superiority

over their adversaries, however, the Marines

offered exemption from prosecution and

punishment to the guerrilla leaders and any

of their men who surrendered voluntarily

with their weapons. In Haiti, the 1st Brigade

provided not only amnesty but also cash

rewards and civilian jobs to cacos who gave

up. In return for leniency, caco chiefs were

required to tour the countryside with Marine

and Gendarmerie patrols, to urge other cacos

to surrender, and to speak in favor of the

government and the occupation. Chiefs who

thus identified themselves with the Americans, the brigade commander reasoned,

"would not again be accepted by the bandits." Accepting these terms, 165 caco commanders and more than 11,000 of their soldiers reportedly turned themselves in during

late 1919 and early 1920.14

In the Dominican Republic in 1917, the 2d

Brigade employed negotiation and offers of

amnesty to secure the surrender of several

major caudillos and their hands. The military

government, however, subsequently prosecuted one of these leaders and several of his

142

lieutenants for tile murder of two American

civilians. The long sentences these men

received, followed by the killing of their

leader while reportedly attempting to escape

from prison, diminished the value of offering

anlnesty for some time.

In early 1922, General Lee took advantage

of the intensified military pressure of the cordon operations and the Civil Guards to revive

the offer of amnesty. Using the sugar estate

managers and local Dominican politicians as

go-betweens, Lee declared a temporary cessation of hostilities and in May secured the

surrender of seven major insurgent chiefs and

some 140 of their followers—a majority of the

guerrillas still fighting at the time. Lee's terms

were strict. Insurgents who surrendered were

required to give up their weapons and stay

near their homes or a Marine or Policia post

where they could be kept under surveillance.

The leaders had to stand trial before military

commissions that imposed 15-year prison

sentences, suspended during good behavior.

Supplementing the amnesty program, Lee and

his superior, Rear Admiral Samual S. Robison,

the military governor, sought with only limited success to persuade the sugar estates to

employ more workers during the normally

slack season in an effort to reduce the common economic incentive for banditry.'5

Even before the last Dominican rebels had

surrendered, Marine officers began digesting

their campaign experience in Hispaniola and

using what they had learned there to devise a

doctrine for the conduct of what they called

"small wars." The results of their work appeared in their professional journal, the

Marine Corps Gazette, as well as in classes

taught at the Marine Corps schools at Quantico, Virginia. Much of this early doctrine simply stated what had been practiced in

Hispaniola and included such obvious lessons as the indispensability of accurate, timely intelligence; the importance of top-caliber

small-unit leadership and individual training;

the desirability of restraint in the employment

of firepower; and the necessity of not offending the inhabitants of small countries being

"cleaned up." The scandals and investigations
accompanying the occupation of Hispaniola

had left at least some Marines aware of the

difficulties of waging war under the eye of

public opinion. Major Earl H. Ellis, a former

2d Brigade intelligence officer, noted that in

pacification, the United States government

must appear as "the good angel"; hence, its

military agents must behave in ways that

would not "cause undue comment among

[their] own people or among foreign governments."16

The Marines, despite some lapses in their

conduct, were successful counterinsurgents

in Haiti and the Dominican Republic. They

engaged traditional military forces that had

defied or disrupted national governments for

generations. When the Marines finally withdrew, they had defeated those forces thoroughly enough and had left the central

authorities strong enough that cacos and

caudillos never regained their pre-intervention influence.17

It should be noted, however, that the

Marines' antagonists in these wars lacked not

only modern weaponry but also a modern

political ideology and organization. Indeed,

in the Dominican Republic, the caudillos and

their followers resembled criminal gangs

more closely than they did guerrilla revolutionaries. As a result, the enemy leaders in

Hispaniola were driven by thoroughly pragmatic considerations of power and ambition;

they stopped fighting for equally pragmatic

reasons when it became too dangerous and

difficult to resist further and when the

Americans made it worth their while to quit.

Even these forces might have proved more

than the Marines could handle had the guerrillas been equipped with bolt-action rifles

and plentiful ammunition. Nevertheless, the

Marines learned many useful lessons from

what was up to that time their most ambitious

counterinsurgency effort, and a generation of

Marine officers acquired hard-won experience. Both would stand them in good stead

later in Nicaragua, where the Marines would

encounter an enemy both politically and militarily more formidable than the cacos and

caudillos.

Notes

1. The evolution of the advance base mission is

covered in Graham A. Cosmas and Jack Shulimson,

"Continuity and Consensus: The Evolution of the

Marine Advance Base Force, 1900-1920," Proceedings of the Citadel Conference on War and

Diplomacy, 1977 (Charleston, S.C., 1979), 31-36.

Unless otherwise noted, the discussion of the

Haitian occupation in this paper is based on the

following sources: Hans Schmidt, The United

States Occupation of Haiti, 1915-1934 (New

Brunswick, 1971), 43-91, 100-107, 119-23; Robert

D. Heinl, Jr., and Nancy Gordon Hem!, Written in

Blood: The Story of the Haitian People, 1492-1971

(Boston, 1978), 449-73; and Headquarters, Garde

d'Haiti, The History of the Garde d'Haiti, April-July

1934, Geographical Files, Reference Branch, U.S.

Marine Corps Historical Center, Washington, D.C.,

33-34, 49-67. This comprehensive history of the

Haitian Gendarmerie, later renamed Garde d'Haiti,

was prepared by a board of Marine officers headed by Major Franklin A. Hart and will hereafter be

cited as the "Hart Report." Unless otherwise noted,

the discussion of the occupation of the Dominican

Republic is based on Bruce J. Calder, The Impact

of Intervention: The Dominican Republic during

the U.S. Occupation of 1916-1924 (Austin, 1984),

chap. 4-5, esp. 123-32, 140-43, 151-53, 162-63, 168-

78; and Captain Stephen M. Fuller, USMC, and

Graham A. Cosmas, Marines in the Dominican

Republic, 1916-1924 (Washington, 1974), 13-22,

28-43, 45-48, 57-58, 65. Material has been drawn

also from the Records of the Military Government

of Santo Domingo, Record Group 38, Entry 6,

Boxes 13, 23, 24, 36, 37, 48, 50, 64, and 74,

National Archives, Washington, D.C. (hereafter

cited as RG 38, E6), and from the Naval Records

Collection of the Office of Naval Records and

Library, Record Group 45, WA-7, Boxes 755-57 and

761, National Archives, Washington, D.C. (hereafter cited as RG 45, WA-7).

2. In the Dominican Republic, in contrast to Haiti,

the United States in 1916 installed a military government, which was normally headed by a navy

rear admiral as military governor. The 2d Marine

Brigade came under the military governor's command, and the brigade commander headed the

combined ministries of War and Marine and

Interior and Police, in effect making him responsible for the provincial and municipal governments,

law enforcement, and national defense.

3. First quotation is from Headquarters, First

143
Provisional Brigade, General Order 17, 18 July Marine Corps Aviation: The Early Years, 1912-

1919; the second is from Report, Military Governor

of Santo Domingo to the Secretary of the Navy,

subject: Claim of Dugal McPhail . . , 19 May 1924;

both of these documents are in RG 38, E6, Boxes

13 and 74.

4. The manpower needs of counterinsurgency are

emphasized in Message, Flag San Domingo to

OpNav, 24 November 1918, and Report, Commanding Officer, Third Provisional Regiment, to

Brigade Commander, subject: Field Operations,

etc., 27 February 1919, RG 45, WA-7, Boxes 756-

57. For the size of the Marine brigades, see Robert

D. Heinl, Jr., Soldiers of the Sea: The United States

Marine Corps, 1 775-1962 (Annapolis, 1962), 237,

241-42.

5. For typical comments on manpower turbulence

and its effects, see Quarterly Reports of the

Military Governor of Santo Domingo, 1 October

through 31 December 1919 and 1 January through

31 March 1921, RG 38, Entry 15, Box 1.

6. Commanding General, 2d Brigade, to All

Officers of the Brigade, subject: General

Instructions, 19 August 1921; Commanding

General, Second Brigade, to All Officers of the

Brigade, subject: The Brigade attitude toward the

inhabitants and its place in the occupation, 15

November 1921; both letters are in RG 45, WA-7,

Boxes 761 and 757. See also Heaclquarters, 2d

Brigade, Brigade Order No. 9, 20 August 1921, RG

38, E6, Box 37.

7. Lieutenant Colonel G. C. Thorpe, 3d Provisional

Regiment, Campaign Order No. 2, 4 September

1918; Order, Regimental Commander to Captain

Thomas J. Watson, 9 January 1919; both orders are

in RG 45, WA-7, Box 757, and illustrate patrolling

procedures in the Dominican Republic.

8. Colonel C. Gamborg-Andresen, 3d Provisional

Regiment, Report to Brigade Commander, 2c1 Brigade, subject: Field Operations, etc., 27

February 1919, RG 45, WA-7, Box 757.

9. Quotation is from Colonel C. GamborgAndresen, 3d Provisional Regiment, Report to

Brigade Commander, subject: Field Operations,

etc., 27 February 1919, RG 45, WA-7, Box 757. For

an example of concern with the Germans, see

study by Lieutenant Colonel G. C. Thorpe, 11 June

1918, RG 45, WA-7, Box 756. For an appreciation

of the vital importance of intelligence, see Major

Earl H. Ellis, "Bush Brigades," Marine Corps

Gazette 6 (March 1921): 12-14.

10. Air operations are summarized conveniently in

Lieutenant Colonel Edward C. Johnson, USMC,

144

1940 (Washington, 1974), 49-53. The value of

radios in Dominican operations is indicated in

Colonel C. Gamborg-Anclresen, 3d Provisional

Regiment, Report to Brigade Commander, subject:

Field Operations, etc., 27 February 1919, RG 45,

WA-7, Box 757.

11. Harllee described and defended his operations

in his Report to the Commanding General, 2d

Brigade, subject: Operations of 15th Regiment . 2 January 1922, RG 38, E6, Box 48. See also John

Harllee, The Marine from Manatee: A Tradition of

Rifle Marksmanshij (Washington, 1984), 258 and

chap. 28. Brig. General Harry Lee, Report to the

Major General Commandant . . . , subject: Report

of activities of the 2nd Brigade for the year

ending June 30th, 1922, RG 45, WA-7, Box 757,

gives the brigade commander's evaluation. See

also unsigned memorandum of conversation with

sugar estate managers, 2 November 1921, RG 38,

E6, Box 37. For the brigade order on roping suspects, see Lieutenant Colonel W. C. Harllee, 6th

endorsement to report from Department of Justice

and Public Instruction, 8 December 1921, and

accompanying documents in RG 38, E6, Box 37.

Harllee had served in the U.S. Army in the

Philippine War before joining the Marine Corps.

He was a veteran of Marine expeditionary service

and one of the leading promoters of rifle practice

in the corps.

12. Harllee, Marine from Manatee, 260-61, illustrates the suspicion with which Marine commanders viewed the estate managers.

13. Brig. General Harry Lee, Report to Major

General Commandant . . . , subject: Report of

activities of the 2d Brigade. . . for the year ending

June 30th, 1922, 24 August 1922, RG 45, WA-7, Box

757.

14. Headquarters, 1st Brigade Daily Diary Report,

1 April 1920, RG 38,, E6, Box 24.

15. For Lee's terms and disposition of cases, see

Brig. General Lee, Report to Major General Commandant . . . , subject: Report of activities of the

2nd Brigade. . . for the year ending June 30th,

1922, 24 August 1922, RG 45, WA-7, Box 757; Rear

AcIm. Samual Robison to Sugar Estate Managers, 13

June 1922; Lee, Report to Military Governor, subject: Bandits and bandit leaders, status of, 22 May

1923, RG 38, E6, Boxes 36 and 64.

16. The evolution of small wars doctrine in the

Marine Corps during the 1920s and 1930s is

described in Ronald Schaffer, "The 1940 Small

Wars Manual and the 'Lessons of History,"
Military A//airs 36 (April 1972): 46-51. For Marine

views in the early 1920s, see Ellis, "Bush

Brigades," 1-16, from which the quotation is taken,

and Major Saniuel M. Harrington, "The Strategy

and Tactics of Small Wars," Marine Corps Gazette

6 (December 1921): 474-91; and 7 (March 1922):

84-93. Both these authors devote as much or more

attention to urban street fighting as they do to

rural operations against guerrillas.

145

17 Calder, Impact q/ Intervention, 181-82, notes

the caudillos' post-intervention loss of local influence.

About the Author

Graham A. Cosmas is a historian in the Joint History Office, Joint Chiefs

of Staff, at the Pentagon and author of numerous works of official Marine

and Amy history, includingMarines in the Dominican Republic, 1916-

1924 (1974), coauthored with Stephen M. Fuller.

A Feather in Their Cap? The Marines' 

Combined Action Program in Vietnam 

by Lawrence A. Yates 

New Interpretations in Naval History: Selected 

Papers from the Ninth Naval History 

Symposium, Naval Institute Press, 1991 

Critics who argue that American troops 

in Vietnam were not employed effectively 

to fight a people' war point to the Marines' 

Combined Action Program as one of the 

few exceptions to an othetwise bleak 

record of u.s. counterinsurgency efforts. In 

this essay, Dr. Yates provides an overview 

and assessment of the program's origins, 

mission, implementation, and accompli hments. He also makes some comparisons 

between the Combined Action Program 

and the Marines' involvement in the small 

wars of the early 20th centllty. 

British counterinsurgency expert Sir Robert 

Thompson praised it as "the best idea I 

have seen in Vietnam"; U.S. Army Major 

General William DePuy dismissed it as "counterinsurgency of the deliberate, mild sort." The 

object of these conflicting assessments was the 

Combined Action Program (CAP) employed by 

the U.S. Marine Corps in Vietnam from 1965 to 

1971. CAP united "a Marine rifle squad with a 

Vietnamese Popular Force platoon to provide village security and pacification in Vietnam."! The 

controversy the program generated from its 

inception persists today in the historiographical 

debate over the appropriate use of American military power against the Vietcong (VC) and North 

Vietnamese Army (NVA). That debate is not 

going to be resolved any time SOon. The purpose 

of this article is more modest: to outline the origins and evolution of CAP, to discuss some 

aspects of the CAP experience, and to conclude 

with a few observations relating CAP to the small 

wars tradition of the Marine Corps. 

The Combined Action Program was the product of military necessity and strategic prefer147 

ence 2 The primary mission of the Marine combat forces that entered South Vietnam in the 

spring and summer of 1965 was to provide base 

security for the three enclaves they occupied in 

the I Corps Tactical Zone, comprising the country's five northern provinces. In the Marine 

Tactical Areas of Responsibility (TAOR) at Phu 

Bai, Da Nang, and Chu Lai, U.S. military installations were vulnerable to attack from nearby 

hamlets and villages controlled, as was most of 

the rural population in I Corps, by the Vietcong. 

To secure the Phu Bai TAOR, Marines and the 

local, part-time Vietnamese militia known as 

Popular Forces (PFs) formed a Joint Action 

Company.3 In the fall of 1965, this improvised 

unit sent patrols into the area around the enclave 

and placed integrated platoons containing both 

Marines and PFs in four villages north of Phu Bai 

in order to disrupt Vietcong activities and to 

obtain much-needed intelligence. The success of 

this combined effort impressed Major General 

Lewis Walt, commander of the III Marine 

Amphibious Force (III MAF). In November, Walt 

authorized similar operations in support of base 

security around Da Nang; in January 1966, he 

and his Vietnamese counterpart extended the 

program of integrated operations by Marines and 

PFs to all Marine TAOR in I Corps4 

By this time, according to the Pentagon 

Papers, the Marine Corps "to a degree then 

unequalled among other American units was 

deeply engaged in pacification operations."5 

These endeavors, undertaken in I Corps largely 

on III MAF's own initiative, quickly involved key 

Marine officers in a stormy debate with the 

Army-dominated U.S. Military Assistance 

Command Vietnam (MACV) over the appropriate 

strategy for winning the war. In articulating the 

Marines' emphasis on paCification, Lieutenant 

General Victor Krulak, commanding general, 

Fleet Marine Force Pacific (FMFPac), contended 

that the "Vietnam conflict ultimately has to be 

decided among the people in the villages of 

South Vietnam," a point the Communists under-
stood all too well, if MACV did not. In Krulak's

opinion, MACVs war of attrition against North

Vietnamese and Vietcong main forces was not

only counterproductive, given the enormous

pooi of Communist manpower, but also largely

irrelevant to the more important war being

waged by the Vietcong political cadre and guerrillas for the support of the people. The people's

loyalty, Krulak argued, was the "real prize" in the

conflict; and to win the prize, Saigon and the

United States had to put "the full weight of our

top level effort into bringing all applicable

resources . . . into the pacification process."

Krulak specifically recommended that the

United States and South Vietnam neutralize VC

political cadre in the villages and "comb the

guerrillas out of the people's lives," thus denying

the Vietcong food, sanctuary, and intelligence. At

the same time, to overcome the "provincialism"

of the Vietnamese people and to help "win their

allegiance and loyalty in an unbroken governmental chain stretching from the hamlet to

Saigon," the United States had to "press" its ally

to launch a major land reform program. The creation of a strong society also required reforms in

health, education, agriculture, transportation,

and communications—areas in which the U.S.

military could play a direct role through the

introduction of civic action programs. Americans

were "far more efficient at civic action than the

Vietnamese officialdom," Krulak judged, because

they were "more aggressive, more resourceful,

more compassionate and less venal." In I Corps,

the Marines already had begun introducing a

variety of civic action projects into coastal villages where most of the rural population lived.

There was little hope, however, that these programs—much less more fundamental reforms—

would succeed unless the people could be guaranteed protection from Communist reprisals.

Emphasizing that "if the enemy cannot get to the

people, he cannot win," Krulak concluded that "it

is therefore the people whom we must protect as

a matter of first business."6

All participants in the strategy debate of 1965

acknowledged this cardinal rule of counterinsurgency but disagreed sharply over whose mission

it was to provide village security. General

William Westmoreland, the MACV commander,

148

paid lip service to pacification, but in his commitment to waging a war of attrition against

enemy main forces took the position that he

"simply had not enough numbers to put a squad

of Americans in every village and hamlet."7 The

Marines for their part were conducting small-unit

offensives to clear their expanding TAOR of VC

cadre and guerrillas, but these operations were

not designed to provide permanent security for

the villages and hamlets.8 Many Americans

argued persuasively that it was up to the South

Vietnamese to secure areas cleared by U.S.

forces, but the Army of the Republic of Vietnam

(ARVN) evinced little enthusiasm or aptitude for

taking on the "village war."9

That left South Vietnamese Regional Forces

(RFs) and FF5 to perform the task, Of the two,

the local volunteers known as PFs, who were

organized into squads and platoons to defend

the villages in which they lived, seemed ideally

situated for the mission. The drawback was that,

because they fell at the bottom of the South

Vietnamese military hierarchy, PFs suffered the

contempt and neglect of those above them. They

consequently lacked leadership, motivation, discipline, training, and equipment. But home

defense, the Marines argued, gave the PFs a

"powerful motivation potential."0 The question

was whether that potential could be realized.

The experience with combined operations

around Phu Bai and Da Nang in 1965 held out

the promise that, under Marine tutelage, the PFs

could perform effectively. The mission of providing 24-hour protection to villages and hamlets in

I Corps thus fell to an expanded Combined

Action Program. What had started as a limited

experiment for the defense of U.S. military bases

became the linchpin in 1966 in the Marines' pacification strategy for winning the war.

On paper, the CAP concept appeared simple

and effective, a marriage between Marine tradition and the peculiar circumstances of Vietnam.11 The critical unit in the program was the

Combined Action Platoon,12 formed by integrating a Marine rifle squad of fourteen volunteers

and a navy corpsman into a PF platoon of 35

men. Although district chiefs and their subordinate village chiefs retained control of PF units,

the Marine squad leader (a sergeant or in some
cases a corporal) served as an adviser to the PF

platoon leader and assumed de facto command

of the platoon during combat operations. The

remainder of the Marine squad (three four-man

fire teams, not including the Navy corpsman and

a Marine grenadier attached to platoon headquarters) merged with the three rifle squads of a

PF platoon. The Marine fire team leaders served

as squad leaders in the CAP platoon.

Once activated, a Combined Action Platoon

lived in a compound built in or near a hamlet of

the home village of the PFs. According to official

accounts of the program, "Marine members of

the CAPs live in the same tents, eat the same

food, and conduct the same patrols and ambushes as their Vietnamese counterparts." When not

engaged in combat operations, the Marines

trained PFs in military fundamentals and counterguerrilla methods and offered advice on civic

action projects proposed by village officials. The

PFs, in return, furthered the Marines' education

in the language and customs of the people, provided knowledge of the terrain, and passed

along vital intelligence. Marine leaders presumed

that this interaction would encourage mutual

trust and respect, both between the Marines and

PFs and between the Marines and the villagers.

As the inhabitants of a village grew accustomed

to the Marine presence and came to realize that

the CAP platoon would not depart each day

before sundown, they would gradually welcome

the Americans into the community and provide

information to help the platoon destroy the local

Vietcong infrastructure and keep guerrilla bands

at bay. Progress could then be made in improving living conditions in the village and in making

the basic reforms that would shift the people's

loyalty to the national government.

Once a village attained a respectable level of

stability and the PFs acquired a high degree of

military proficiency, the Marines could move on

to a new community in need of protection. As

the Marines spread outward from minimally contested villages in their enclaves, they would,

through an "oil spot" effect, create a security network that would gradually cover all of the highly populated coastal region in I Corps. The VC,

isolated from the population, would become little more than a military nuisance, the insurgency

149

would wither, and the Marines could depart the

country, "leaving behind a more substantial

Vietnamese rural security structure."13

The CAP concept was ambitious. Whether or

not the Marines could implement it successfully

depended in part on their ability to activate more

Combined Action Platoons. The Marines wanted

III MAF to have 74 CAP platoons in the field by

the end of 1966, but had to settle for 57 when

confronted simultaneously with a Buddhist rebellion against the Saigon government, the reluctance of many district chiefs to assign PFs to the

program, and large-unit operations that drained

Marine manpower. A variety of other disruptions,

including the demilitarized zone (DMZ) campaign, the siege of Khe Sanh, and the 1968 Tet

Offensive similarly delayed realization of the

1967 goal of 114 CAP platoons until 1969, the

peak year for the program.

As the number of platoons increased, III MAF

made administrative changes and reorganized

command and control relationships. In 1967, for

example, the program acquired Table of

Organization and Equipment (TO&E) status, and

Lieutenant General Robert Cushman, the new III

MAF commander, placed CAP under the supervision of his deputy. Under this arrangement, operational control of CAP Marines was transferred

from line units to Combined Action Companies

(CACOs) and, at the next higher echelon, to

newly created Combined Action Groups (CAGs).

In January 1970, III MAF created the short-lived

Combined Action Force (CAF) as a headquarters

with command status for the four CAGs then in

existence; CAF was deactivated that September

as part of the troop withdrawal from Vietnam. As

the Marines added tiers in the CAP chain of command, the lines of coordination and control with

the Vietnamese involved in the program invariably became more complex as well.14

Despite the magnitude of these changes and

the added bureaucratic layers brought about by

the expansion of CAP, tile mission of the CAP

platoon remained by and large unchanged. That

mission had six parts: "destroy the Vietcong hamlet-village infrastructure; provide public security

and help maintain law and order; protect tile

local governing structure; guard facilities and

important lines of communications within the vil-
lage and hamlet; organize local intelligence nets;

and participate in civic action and psychological

operations against the Vietcong" The Marines in

the platoon had additional missions: "conduct

training in general military subjects and leadership for Popular Forces assigned to the platoon;

motivate, instill pride, patriotism, and aggressiveness in the Popular Force soldier; conduct combined day and night patrols and ambushes; conduct combined operations with other allied

forces; and ensure that information gathered was

made available to nearby allied forces."15

Statistics were amassed by III MAF and

FMFPac to prove that the Combined Action

Program was an unqualified success. The basis

for these statistics was a monthly reporting system initiated by General Walt in February 1966

that attempted to quantify "indicators" of pacification within a village. Although this system was

replaced within a year by the more sophisticated

Hamlet Evaluation System, both methods,

according to FMFPac, confirmed the accomplishments of CAP.16 CAP villages, for example,

allegedly achieved high degrees of pacification

much more rapidly than villages without CAP

Marines. FMFPac assessments of counterguerrilla

operations further concluded that PFs belonging

to CAP platoons enjoyed lower desertion rates

and higher kill ratios and generated better intelligence than PFs working without Marine supervision. In support of its figures and charts,

FMFPac cited numerous examples of successful

CAP field operations and constantly hammered

home the point that "the clearest evidence of

CAP effectiveness is the fact that the Vietcong

have never been able to reestablish control over

a village occupied by a CAP platoon."17

Critics then and later have regarded the mass

of data and glowing reports of CAP activities as

"Krulak's fables," mere propaganda in the continuing debate over strategy between the Marines

and MACV. The authors of the Pentagon Papers

charged that "the Marine strategy was judged

successful, at least by the Marines, long before it

had even had a real test." Others questioned the

methods used in compiling the statistics or asked

whether it was even possible to quantify what in

fact was a state of mind—a villager's sense of

security or "a man's devotion to a cause." Also,

150

the figures could be misleading. It was possible,

a Marine colonel claimed, for CAP Marines to

accumulate enough points on a survey to classify their village as "pacified," when in reality the

Vietcong infrastructure, the most important of

Walt's indicators, remained virtually undisturbed.18

It would be a mistake to dismiss FMFPac

reports about CAP Out of hand: many CAP platoons achieved significant successes in counterguerrilla operations and civic action. Still, the

critics are correct in saying that the reports

ignored or glossed over serious problems beset:

ting the program, beginning with the recruitment

and preparation of CAP Marines. Initially,

Marines entering the program were to be combat-tested volunteers from line units—mature

troops dedicated to helping the Vietnamese and

free of xenophobia, racial prejudice, and other

undesirable characteristics. To be sure, many

such individuals volunteered, but others signed

up to land what was perceived as a soft job, to

escape the boredom of rear area duties, or to

leave behind problems they encountered in their

line units. Still other Marines were "volunteered"

by commanding officers who, reluctant to relinquish their best men to CAP, sent misfits and

other "problem" leathernecks instead. The CAP

screening process detected many of the unmotivated and undesirable candidates for the program, but others slipped through "perfunctory"

interviews by saying what was expected of

them—"pretending to Christian sufferance and

forgiveness," as one of the less committed

Marines put it.19

Once screened, CAP Marines were to receive

at least two weeks of instruction in counterguerrilla skills and Vietnamese customs and language

before joining their PF platoons. Judging from

the testimony of a very small proportion of the

Marines who served in the program, it would

appear, however, that a significant number of

recruits either did not attend the course or found

it wanting, especially with respect to language

training, the program's "most glaring weakness."20 For these Marines, CAP became an "earn

while you learn" proposition in which the platoon itself provided the skills and knowledge

they needed to survive and succeed.
It was not uncommon for a CAP platoon, once

activated, to suffer supply and manpower shortages. Until the program attained TO&E status, it

relied largely on Marine or Army line units for

supplies. These units jealously guarded their

materiel, making logistics an erratic and frustrating experience for CAP. To acquire equipment

needed for operations, base protection, and civic

action, CAP Marines scrounged, begged, borrowed, bartered, and, not infrequently, resorted

to "midnight requisitions."2'

The same combination of initiative and ingenuity could not so readily correct the manpower

deficit that plagued some CAP platoons. It was

not uncommon for the PF contingent to be well

below the 35-man norm. A district or village

chief, operating on his own agenda or punishing

the Marines for some slight, could withdraw PFs

from the program without warning. Furthermore,

PFs, as part-time militia, were not always present

for duty. The Marines themselves, particularly in

the early days of the program and later during

the withdrawal of American forces from Vietnam,

frequently had to operate with rifle squads that

were under strength and led by very young corporals. These conditions adversely affected the

ability of CAP platoons to perform their missions

and, more important, made it more difficult for

them to defend against enemy attack.

Even under the best of conditions, a fullstrength, 49-man platoon could not by itself

hope to defeat a large VC or NVA unit. While trying to keep the enemy at hay, CAP platoons

would call in fire support from nearby bases and

wait for reaction forces from line units or CACOs

to arrive. Without outside support, compounds

were often overrun. Indeed, so frequently were

they overrun during the Tet Offensive that CAP

platoons sought to reduce their vulnerability by

operating thereafter as mobile units without a

fixed base. The decision was controversial, since

many Marines regarded the compound as a symbol of CAP's 24-hour presence and the "focal

point for civic action." Proponents of the mobile

concept countered that abandoning the "siege

mentality" of the compound led to more frequent

and meaningful contact with villagers, thus compensating for the decline in civic action projects.22

151

The vulnerability of CAP platoons exacerbated

another sensitive issue: the relationship between

CAP units and regular line units. According to the

operating tenets of pacification strategy, the two

forces were supposed to complement one another. CAP platoons would secure villages while

Marine or other friendly battalions maneuvered

to clear the area of organized enemy forces. In

the course of operations, line units would benefit from the intelligence and the knowledge of

local conditions provided by the CAP platoons,

while those platoons relied on line units for fire

support and reaction forces should enemy troops

in the vicinity of a CAP village attack.

What should have been a complementary

relationship often degenerated into a fractious

affair characterized by feelings ranging from

ambivalence to outright hostility. Troops in line

units constantly on the move resented what they

perceived as the "easy" life of the stationary CAP

Marines who had "gone Asiatic"; moreover, battalion commanders fumed when they had to

divert men and weapons to "bail Out" a CAP platoon under fire, often under conditions only

vaguely known to the troops mounting the relief

mission. CAP Marines countered by charging that

line units ignored vital intelligence, provided

only erratic support, and worst of all, failed to

understand the nature of pacification. The mission of the battalion was to find and kill the

enemy. The line Marine regarded villages as

combat zones, not pacification areas, and the

people living in the villages as possible enemies,

not potential friends. Generally insensitive to the

needs of the inhabitants and often emotionally

taut from the dangers and frustrations of field

operations, line Marines entering a CAP village

posed a threat to the program. Whether inadvertently trampling on a garden or deliberately beating a VC suspect, the unwelcome intruders could

wreck in minutes the progress CAP platoons had

made over many mouths.23

Although CAP personnel often saw themselves as protecting villagers from friendly as

well as Communist forces, the available evidence

suggests that many of the CAP Marines themselves had difficulty understanding the people

and the society they were defending and,

through pacification, trying to change. Virtually
all Marines entering the program brought with

them the cultural baggage of Western society.

CAP schools could impart—at least to those who

attended them—a cursory overview of Vietnamese history, politics, society, and culture,

together with guidelines for what constituted

proper behavior in the traditional society of the

rural village. But in the time allotted, instructors

could not begin to explain how customs varied

from province to province or to analyze adequately the complex interactions in an agrarian

society; the instructors could only hope that the

Marines in time would develop a higher level of

toleration and understanding for a belief and

value system quite different from their own. For

18-year-old Marines, this was a tall order.

Consequently, as one CAP veteran has observed,

Marines and PFs met "across a deep cultural

gulf."24

That gulf often became deeper after Marines

joined a PF platoon. Sanitary conditions and the

personal hygiene of the Vietnamese appalled

many of the Americans who were assigned to

CAP platoons. Moreover, the soap and toiletries

ordered by the Marines to alleviate the situation

often ended up on the black market or in the

possession of crooked officials. Corruption

seemed endemic and in some locales contaminated the PFs who, as local henchmen of the district or province chiefs, ran "mafia-like" operations in which they used their paramilitary status

to eliminate or intimidate the competition. Theft

was another source of friction in some CAP villages, as PFs made off with rations, equipment,

and personal items left unguarded by the

Marines. Recurring thefts generated ill feelings

that occasionally led to incidents of threatened or

actual violence. Less likely to cause violence but

equally troubling to CAP Marines were the rigid

sexual mores of the Vietnamese villagers.

Warned that "premarital sex is forbidden, but

mutual masturbation by members of the same

sex is not," Marines were advised that it might be

better to "acquiesce" in "what might seem to us

homosexual advances" rather than "create an

incident." One CAP Marine probably spoke for

all in observing that "one can expect an average

group of young Marines to go only so far above

and beyond the call of duty."25

152

Cultural differences reinforced Marine complaints about the military dedication and prowess

of the PFs. Rumor had it that PF platoons had

been infiltrated by the Vietcong or at least had

reached an understanding with the enemy about

what was permissible in the conduct of military

operations. Thus, many Marines began their

association with PFs by "trusting none of them."

If the PFs subsequently failed to respond to training or did not carry their weight in the field, suspicion and distrust turned readily into dislike and

contempt. By the time a Marine finished his CAP

tour, it was not uncommon for him to look upon

the PFs "with a real sense of violence." This hostility was easily transferred to the villagers in

general, with Marines deliberately violating various taboos just "to get a rise out of the PFs" and

those sullen Vietnamese who regarded the

Americans not as saviors but as an occupation

force. Surveys conducted in Vietnam in the late

1960s revealed racial prejudice ("Luke the

Gook") and strong anti-Vietnamese feelings on

the part of a significant number, albeit a minority, of Marines.26

This picture of mutual animosity can be overdrawn. There were, to he sure, CAP villages

where the Marines and PFs worked together

well, each learning from the other; where

Marines were gradually, if not totally accepted

into the community; and where the people

assisted the CAP platoons in civic action and

counterinsurgency campaigns. There were also

Marines who came to accept, if not fully comprehend, that PFs who resorted to theft did so out

of economic hardship and familial responsibility;

that corruption can be found in any society, and

in South Vietnam, if kept within limits, was

regarded as acceptable and even as a mark of

status; that family ties were key to a way of life

based on a complex set of personal, impersonal,

and mystical relationships; and that in the

provincial world of the village, nationalism had

little meaning except to a small, educated elite.

"Outside Saigon and a few other places," one

CAP Marine recently noted, "there was no South

Vietnam."27 Caught in the middle of an ideological war in which neutrality could prompt severe

retribution, villagers who otherwise might

believe they had no stake in the conflict often
ended up assisting the Vietcong out of a sense of

self-preservation or because relatives, through

persuasion or coercion, had joined the VC. Many

CAP Marines understood such arrangements and

bore no grudge against the hapless victims of the

war.

Nevertheless, the conflict, whatever its impact

on village society, remained a fact of life, and it

was the duty of CAP platoons to help sway the

outcome. Both sides, through greatly divergent

means, sought to transform traditional Vietnamese society into a modern nation-state. With

a strong faith in the universal applicability of

Western ideals and institutions and in the efficacy of reform and social engineering, CAP Marines

tried to convince villagers that an increasingly

responsive government in Saigon offered the

best blueprint for a more equitable, prosperous,

and secure life. The effort was well-intentioned,

but good intentions could only effect so much:

they could often atone for inadvertent breaches

of village etiquette, but they could not transform

overnight, or even in a few years, what history

had taken centuries to set in place. Although

progress in the village war was being made by

1971, the extent of that progress was, and still is,

difficult to assess.

Amid this uncertainty, the last CAP platoon

was deactivated in 1971 as Americans gradually

withdrew from Vietnam. Supporters of the program have argued then and since that had the

CAP concept been applied throughout South

Vietnam, the war's outcome might have been different. This seems an exaggerated claim, given

the problems—both niggling and profound—that

plagued the program. The question remains:

What can he said about a program that engaged

only a few thousand Marines and left behind

scant testimony as to its successes and failures?

While some generalizations are possible, they do

not always prove as illuminating as one might

wish. There were good and bad, successful and

unsuccessful CAP platoons. Accomplishments

varied depending on such factors as time, place,

and personnel, not to mention a host of other

variables that were beyond the control of CAP

Marines. When engaged in counterguerrilla operations, CAP platoons often disrupted enemy

activities, but few CAP units claimed to have

153

eliminated the VC infrastructure from their

respective villages. The effectiveness of PF training varied from one CAP platoon to another,

allowing some CAP Marines to relocate to new

villages, but leaving others in place for the duration of the war. Moreover, despite the reforms

and self-help programs that were introduced to

improve the lives of the villagers, the persistence

of traditional patterns of behavior caused many

Marines to demand in frustration, "Why do you

do that? This is crazy!" The cultural gap, one CAP

Marine concluded, was simply "unhridgeable."28

Marines who had conducted counterguerrilla

operations, trained indigenous troops, and

engaged in pacification programs in Latin America from 1915 to 1934 would have empathized

with this sense of frustration. There as in

Vietnam, ethnocentrism came into conflict with

alien cultures as leathernecks tried to bring stability to Hispaniola and Nicaragua. The Chesty

Pullers and Smedley Butlers of the small wars era

fared reasonably well against the guerrilla bands

arrayed against them, but they could not impose

stability based on the type of representative

democracy, free enterprise, egalitarianism, and

military professionalism found in the United

States. By the time the Marines departed the area

in the mid-1930s, they had come to recognize the

limited effectiveness of American power and the

limited applicability of American institutions in

what would later be labelled Third World countries. The frustrations encountered in Haiti and

Nicaragua dampened enthusiasm for pursuing

the effort elsewhere.

This "lesson," however, did not find its way

into the Marines' professional journals, school

curricula, or Small Wars Manual. The latter, for

example, addressed the social and economic

causes of revolution and explained how Marines

should interact with native populations, but it

also perpetuated the notion that countries in the

throes of revolutionary upheaval could be stabilized through the infusion of Western-style

reforms.29 Ethnocentrism toward the Third World

remained undiluted when the United States

entered Vietnam a quarter of a century later. As

Edward Lansdale, one of the architects of that

intervention, unabashedly avowed, "I took my

American beliefs into these Asian struggles."3°
So, too, did most American policyrnakers and

soldiers, however sophisticated their appreciation of the complex dynamics and nuances of

Vietnamese society. In time, hubris again yielded

to disillusionment and frustration, much as it had

at the end of the "banana wars" in Latin America.

What the United States could not do in Haiti and

the Dominican Republic—that is, restructure

both countries according to an American blueprint—stood even less chance of succeeding in

Vietnam. The United States had enjoyed complete control of an occupied country in

Hispaniola. That was not the case in Vietnam,

however. There Americans fought in an alien setting on behalf of a sovereign government that

until the eleventh hour seemed unwilling or, perhaps more accurately, unable for fear of losing

its hold on power to enact programs with

enough grassroots appeal to win the allegiance

of a large portion of the citizenry.

Just as the lessons of American's small wars in

the first half of this century failed to prevent an

encore performance in Vietnam, the "lesson" of

Vietnam concerning the risks involved in trying

to build nations for governments of countries

fundamentally different from the United States is

likely to he forgotten in the long term. A belief

in the universal appeal and applicability of the

American way of life is too deeply ingrained in

the American character to expect otherwise.

Despite what happened in Vietnam, Americans

have not lost faith in the "middle way," that path

of moderate and progressive reform through

which the United States can lead the world to

peace and harmony, while fending off the dangers of reaction on the Right and revolution on

the Left.

It is in the context of ethnocentrism and cultural conflict that one must approach an assessment of the Combined Action Program. Many of

the problems CAP encountered in Vietnam can

be attributed to organizational growing pains. At

the same time, CAP was a small but significant

part of a broader strategy that, despite its

admirable intentions, was predicated on the existence of the "middle way" in Vietnam, that is, on

the efficacy and relevance of American-style

solutions. If the "middle way" existed at all, it

contained so many obstacles that it could not be

154

traversed easily or quickly. Given time, pacification might have worked; but time ran out.

Alternative strategies appeared unattractive, so

the Americans departed, the CAP platoons disbanded. Whether the Combined Action Program

should be resurrected in another country under

different circumstances is problematical. The

possibility should not be dismissed out of hand.

But before this innovative approach to local

security is applied to another counterinsurgency

effort, the CAP experience in Vietnam should be

studied at length. For if the guiding strategy is

infused with ethnocentrism and minimizes cultural differences, the prospects for the success of

another Combined Action Program in the future

would seem bleak.

Notes

1. Thompson and Depuy quoted in Andrew

Krepinevich, Jr., The Army and Vietnam (Baltimore,

1986), 174-75. The definition of CAP is taken from

Bruce C. Allnutt, Marine Combined Action Capabilities: The Vietnam Experience (McLean, Va., 1969).

2. On the origins of the Combined Action Program,

see Fleet Marine Force, Pacific (FMFPac), The Marine

Combined Action Program Vietnam, n.d. [but covers

CAP from August 1965 through January 19671, in

FMFPac documents, U.S. Marine Corps Historical

Center, Washington, D.C. (hereafter cited as USMCHC); "Joint Action Company," in Third Battalion,

Fourth Marines Command Chronology, SeptemberOctober 1965, USMCHC; Jack Shulimson and Charles

M. Johnson, US. Marines in Vietnam: The Landing

and the Buildup, 1965 (Washington, 1978), 133-38;

Robert A. Klyman, "The Combined Action Program:

An Alternative Not Taken" (Honors thesis, University

of Michigan, 1986), 6-16; Michael E. Peterson, The

Combined Action Platoons: The US. Marines' Other

War in Vietnam (New York, 1989), 21-29; Allan R.

Millett, Semper Fidelis: The History of the United States

Marine Co7ps (New York, 1980), 560-66, 571-72.

3. In late 1965, the designation Joint Action Company

was changed to Combined Action Company in accordance with military terminology that defines U.S. militaiy operations with troops of another country as

"combined" operations.

4. On expanding combined Marine and PF operations

throughout Marine enclaves in I Corps, see Lewis W.

Walt to Commanding General, I Corps, 5 January

1966; Lieutenant General Nguyen Chanh Thi to

Commanding General, III MAP, 28 January 1966; Thi
to various subordinates, 28 January 1966; Walt to

Commanding Officer, I Corps Advisory Group, 4

February 1966; and Walt to Commanding General,

Third Marine Division, 4 February 1966—all attached

to FMFPac, Marine Combined Action Program

Vietnam. Note that in early 1966, the term "Combined

Action Program" had not gained wide currency. As

late as 1967, CAP and CAC (Combined Action

Company) were often used interchangeably.

5. U.S. Congress, Senate Subcommittee on Public

Buildings and Grounds, The Pentagon Papers. The

Defense Department History of United States Decision

Making on Vietnam (The Senator Gravel Edition), 4

vols. (Boston, 1975), 2:534.

6. Victor Krulak, "A Strategic Appraisal," December

1965, in Robert A. Klyman Papers, USMCHC. While

my text relies on this paper to describe the Marine

approach to pacification, additional information can

be found in Schulimson and Johnson, Landing and

Buildup, 37-39, 46-48, 133-46; Neil Sheehan, A Bright

Shining Lie: John Paul Vann and America in Vietnam

(New York, 1988), 629-38; FMFPac, Operations of the

III Marine Amphibious Force, USMCHC. Originally

classified secret, the FMFPac volumes contain monthly reports, each of which includes a section on the

pacification program. See also "III MAP Civic Action

Summary," December 1965, Klyman Papers, USMCHC;

Russel H. Stolfi, U.S. Marine Corps Civic Action Efforts

in Vietnam March 1965-March 1966 (Washington,

1968); Shulimson and Johnson, Landing and Buildup,

37-39, 46-48, 133-46; Jack Shulimson, U.S. Marines in

Vietnam: An Expanding War, 1966 (Washington,

1981), 11-15, 229-58; Millett, Semper Fidelis, 566-71.

7. William C. Westmoreland, A Soldier Reports (Garden

City, N.Y., 1976), 166. Similarly, Westmoreland argued,

"Had I had at my disposal virtually unlimited manpower, I could have stationed troops permanently in

every district or province and thus provided an alternative strategy. That would have enabled the troops to

get to know the people intimately, facilitating the task

of identifying the subversives and protecting the others against intimidation." Ibid., 147. The debate over

strategy should not be seen in terms of the Army versus the Marine Corps. Not all Marine officers shared

Krulak's views, while within the Army, a study commissioned by the chief of staff of the Army challenged

Westmoreland's attrition strategy. According to this

study completed in March 1966, "Present U.S. military

actions [against Communist regiments] are inconsistent

with that fundamental of counterinsurgency doctrine

which establishes winning popular allegiance as the

ultimate goal." Reference to this document, known as

the PROVN study, together with a critique of

155

Westmoreland's handling of the war can be found in

Guenter Lewy, America in Vietnam (New York, 1978),

77-126. See also Millett, Semper Fidelis, 548-49;

Reports, Commandant of the Marine Corps to

Secretary, Joint Chiefs of Staff, "Status of the

Development of Counterguerrilla Forces," 1 February

1962 and 13 March 1962, Records of the U.S. Joint

Chiefs of Staff, 1961, Record Group 218, 3360

Unconventional Warfare (10 February 1961) files,

National Archives, Washington, D.C.

8. For Marine small-unit counterguerrilla operations

during the first two years of the war, see U.S. Marine

Corps Forces in Vietnam, March 1965-September

1967: Historical Summary, vol. 1, Narrative, USMCHC.

9. Millett, Semper Fidelis, 571; Lewy, American in

Vietnam, 87-88, 97. In October 1966, Secretary of

Defense Robert McNamara complained that ARVN had

still not fully committed itself to the pacification program. Pentagon Papers, 4:350-5 1.

10. This description and assessment of the PFs is taken

from FMFPac, Marine Combined Action Program

Vietnam, 3-5.

11. Many Marines regarded CAP as a direct descendant of programs the corps employed to train native

constabularies in Haiti, the Dominican Republic, and

Nicaragua during the 1920s and 1930s. Shulimson and

Johnson note, however, that Combined Action

Platoons were much more a "cooperative effort" than

the "Marine-officered" units of the "banana war" era.

Landing and Buildup, 134-3 5.

12. The Combined Action Program and the Combined

Action Platoon share the same acronym, CAP. For the

sake of clarity, I will use the acronym solely in reference to the former and refer to the latter as "CAP platoon(s).

13. For a more detailed description of the organization

and methods of the Combined Action Platoon, see

FMFPac, Marine Combined Action Program Vietnam;

Lieutenant Colonel W. R. Corson, USMC, "Marine

Combined Action Program in Vietnam," nd. 119671,

USMCHC.

14. Details regarding the expansion of CAP can be

found in the FMFPac monthly reports and in the CAP

and CAG command chronologies, as well as those of

the line units that prior to October 1967 had operational control over CAP platoons. These documents

are located at the Marine Corps Historical Center. For

cogent summaries of CAP's growth, see Klyman,

"Combined Action Program," 12-43, and Peterson,

Combined Action Platoons, 31-83. See also Shulimson,

Expanding War, 239-43; Gary L. Telfer, Lane Rogers,

and V. Keith Fleming, Jr., US. Marines in Vietnam:
Fighting the North Vietnamese, 1967 (Washington,

1984), 186-94; Charles R. Smith, US. Marines in

Vietnam. High Mobility and Standdown, 1969

(Washington, 1988), 288-94; Graham A. Cosmas and

Terrence P. Murray, U.S. Marines in Vietnam.

Vietnamization and Redeployment, 1970-1971

(Washington, 1986), 139-61.

15. Smith, High Mobility and Standdown, 290-91. See

also FMFPac, Operations of the III MAF, January 1967,

37.

16. Walt's system was based on five "progress indicators": destruction of enemy units; destruction of

enemy infrastructure; government of Vietnam (GVN)

establishment of security; GVN establishment of local

government; degree of development of new life program. Each indicator received a value of 20 points and

was broken clown into related subdivisions. A score of

60 points indicated "firm GVN/U.S. influence," while a

score of 80 points indicated pacification. The Hamlet

Evaluation System was developed by the CIA to provide a uniform measure of progress throughout

Vietnam. It "borrowed freely" from the Marine system,

but differed in several respects. According to FMFPac,

however, the two systems reinforced one another and

led to the same conclusions. Shulimson, Expanding

War, 257-58. Allan Millett notes in his history of the

Marine Corps that "a more sophisticated system of

evaluating hamlet security showed that much of the

Marine civic action program had produced no lasting

GVN control." SemperFidelis, 575.

17. FMFPac, Marine Combined Action Program

Vietnam, 3, 7-17; FMFPac, Operations of the III MAF

monthly reports, 1966-1971.

18. Pentagon Papers, 2:535; Shulimson, Expanding

War, 258; Klyman, "Combined Action Program," 3, 17-

:L8, 77-78 n. 6. The Marine colonel may have been

exaggerating his point. According to Shulimson, each

indicator "was dependent on the other, providing a

balance to the total picture." In other words, a high

score in four of the five indicators (needed to reach

the 80-point level) could not he achieved unless

progress had been made in the area of the fifth indicator. Another complaint, however, has been that the

determination of points for any given indicator was

based as much on guesswork as solid analysis.

Shulimson, Expanding War, 257; Klyman, "Combined

Action Program," 77-78 n. 6.

19. Peterson, Combined Action Platoons, 32-34, 48.

Peterson indicates that many volunteers came not

from line units but from combat support and combat

service support units. See also Klyman, "Combined

Action Program," 19, 28, 37-39; David Sherman, "One

Man's CAP," Marine Corps Gazette 73 (February 1989):

156

58; Edward F. Palm, "Tiger Papa Three: A Memoir of

the Combined Action Program," pt. 1, Marine Corps

Gazette 72 (January 1988): 36-37; Edward Palm to

Major Charles Driest, USMC, 5 January 1989, copy in

author's possession; Harry A. Scarr, et al., Marine

Combined Action Capabilities: Training for Future

Contingencies (McLean, Va., 1971), C 9-10; James

DuGuid interview, San Francisco, Calif., 14 October

1984; Colonel Byron F. Brady interview, San

Francisco, Calif., 12 October 1986; Eugene H.

Ferguson interview, San Francisco, Calif., 13 October

1984; Igor Bobrowsky interview, San Francisco, Calif.,

3 Decem-ber 1982—transcripts of each of the above

interviews at USMCHC.

20. Klynian, "Combined Action Program," 23-25;

Peterson, Combined Action Platoons, 24, 48; Sherman,

"One Man's CAP," 58; DuGuid, Ferguson, Bobrowsky

interviews. Palm recalled of his language training that

"we went off to our respective villages armed with the

Vietnamese equivalent of Ia plume de ma tante and

other useless phrases." Another Marine recalled that

the Vietnamese dialect taught in the CAP school at Da

Nang was of no use to him in his assigned village

south of the base. Palm, "Tiger Papa Three," Pt. 1, 37-

38; Scarr, et al., Combined Action Capabilities, C 34.

21. Peterson, Combined Action Platoons, 36, 47;

William F. Lockridge interview, San Francisco, Calif.,

13 October 1984, copy at USMCHC; C.W. Miller taped

telephone interview with Major Driest, 1988, notes

from tape in author's possession.

22. Klyman, "Combined Action Program," 30-34, 45-

46, 73 n. 14; Peterson, Combined Action Platoons, 56-

62; "A Discussion of the Mobile CAP Concept,"

Enclosure 7 to "Fact Sheet on the Combined Action

Force," 31 March 1970, FMFPac Records, USMCHC;

Scarr, et al. Marine Combined Action Capabilities, C

20; DuGuid, Brady, Ferguson, Bobrowsky interviews.

A graphic account of a CAP compound being overrun

is contained in F. J. West, Jr., The Village (New York,

1972), 105-27. DuGuid noted that he has yet to meet

a CAP Marine whose compound was not overrun.

23. Peterson, Combined Action Platoons, 35-38;

Klyman, "Combined Action Program," 22; author's

conversations with Jack Shulimson, Washington Navy

Yard, 19 July 1989, and Brig. General E. H. Simmons,

USMC (Ret.), Washington Navy Yard, 20 July 1989;

Brady, Miller, Ferguson, and Bobrowsky interviews.

24. Palm, "Tiger Papa Three," Pt. 1, 35.

25. Peterson, Combined Action Platoons, 44-45, 93-94,

104; Palm, "Tiger Papa Three," pt. 1, 37; Edward F.

Palm, "Tiger Papa Three: A Memoir of the Combined

Action Program," Pt. 2, Marine Corps Gazette 72

(February 1988): 69-70; Scarr, et al., Marine Combined
Action Capabilities, C 4; Simmons, Brady, Miller,

Ferguson interviews.

26. Peterson, Combined Action Platoons, 41-43, 88;

Palm, "Tiger Papa Three," pt. 1, 40-41, Pt. 2, 67-68;

Sherman, "One Man's CAP," 61; Simmons, Brady,

Miller interviews.

27. Palm to Driest, 5 January 1989, copy in author's

possession.

28. Lockridge interview; Palm, "Tiger Papa Three," Pt.

1, 35.

29. U.S. Marine Corps, Small Wars Manual

(Washington, 1940). For an enlightening analysis of

American ethnocentrism toward the Third World, see

Howard J. Wiarda, "At the Root of the Problem:

157

Conceptual Failures in U.S-Central American

Relations," Central America: Anatomy of Conflict, ed.

Robert S. Leiken (New York, 1983), 261.

30. Stanley Karnow, In Our Image; America c Empire

in the Philippines (New York, 1989), 348.

About the Author

Lawrence A. Yates is a member of the Research and Publication Team,

Combat Studies Institute, Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. He is author of several articles on U.S. contingency operations since World War II and books

on the U.S. intervention in the Dominican Republic in 1965 and U.S. military operations in the Panama crisis, 1987-90. He was coauthor of a

study of U.S. military operations in Somalia, 1972-94, and coeditor and

contributor to a book on urban operations.

CORDS/Phoenix:

Counterinsurgency

Lessons from

Vietnam for the

Future

by Dale Andrade and

James H Willbanks

Military Review, March-April 2006

s the United States ends its third year of

war in Iraq, the military continues to

search for ways to deal with an insurgency that shows no sign of waning. The

specter of Vietnam looms large, and the media

has been filled with comparisons between the

current situation and the "quagmire" of the

Vietnam War. The differences between the two

conflicts are legion, hut observers can learn lessons from the Vietnam experience—if they are

judicious in their search.

For better or worse, Vietnam is the most

prominent historical example of American counterinsurgency (COIN)—and the longest—so it

would be a mistake to reject it because of its

admittedly complex and controversial nature. An

examination of the pacification effort in Vietnam

and the evolution of the Civil Operations and

Revolutionary Development Support (CORDS)

program provides useful insights into the imperatives of a viable COIN program.

Twin Threats: Main Forces and

Guerrillas

In Vietnam, the U.S. military faced arguably

the most complex, effective, lethal insurgency in

history. The enemy was no rag-tag band lurking

in the jungle, but rather a combination of guerrillas, political cadre, and modern main-force

units capable of standing toe to toe with the U.S.

military. Any one of these would have been sig159
nificant, but in combination they presented a formidable threat.

When U.S. ground forces intervened in South

Vietnam in 1965, estimates of enemy guerrilla

and Communist Party front strength stood at

more than 300,000. In addition, Viet Cong (VC)

and North Vietnamese main forces numbered

almost 230,000—and that number grew to

685,000 by the time of the Communist victory in

1975. These main forces were organized into regiments and divisions, and between 1965 and

1968, the enemy emphasized main-force war

rather than insurgency.' During the war, the

Communists launched three conventional offensives: the 1968 Tet Offensive, the 1972 Easter

Offensive, and the final offensive in 1975. All

were major campaigns by any standard. Clearly,

the insurgency and the enemy main forces had

to he dealt with simultaneously.

When faced with this sort of dual threat, what

is the correct response? Should military planners

gear up for a counterinsurgency, or should they

fight a war aimed at destroying the enemy main

forces? General William C. Westmoreland, the

overall commander of U.S. troops under the

Military Assistance Command, Vietnam (MACV),

faced just such a question. Westmoreland knew

very well that South Vietnam faced twin threats,

but he believed that the enemy main forces were

the most immediate problem. By way of analogy, he referred to them as "bully boys with crowbars" who were trying to tear down the house

that was South Vietnam. The guerrillas and political cadre, which he called "termites," could also

destroy the house, hut it would take them much

longer to do it. So while he clearly understood

the need for pacification, his attention turned

first to the bully boys, whom he wanted to drive

away from the "house."2

Westmoreland's strategy of chasing the enemy

and forcing him to fight or run (also known as

search and destroy) worked in the sense that it

saved South Vietnam from immediate defeat,

pushed the enemy main forces from the populated areas, and temporarily took the initiative

away from the Communists. South Vietnam was

safe in the short term, and Communist histories

make clear that the intervention by U.S. troops

was a severe blow to their plans.3 In the end,

160

however, there were not enough U.S. troops to

do much more than produce a stalemate. The

Communists continued to infiltrate main-force

units from neighboring Laos and Cambodia, and

they split their forces into smaller bands that

could avoid combat if the battlefield situation

was not in their favor.

The enemy continued to build his strength,

and in January 1968 launched the Tet Offensive,

a clear indication that the Americans could never

really hold the initiative. Although attacks on

almost every major city and town were pushed

hack and as many as 50,000 enemy soldiers and

guerrillas were killed, the offensive proved to he

a political victory for the Communists, who

showed they could mount major attacks no matter what the Americans tried to do.

Counterinsurgency, or pacification as it was

more commonly known in Vietnam, was forced

to deal with the twin threats of enemy main

forces and a constant guerrilla presence in the

rural areas. MACV campaign plans for the first

two years of the war show that pacification was

as important as military operations, but battlefield realities forced it into the background. In

January 1966, Westmoreland wrote, "it is abundantly clear that all political, military, economic,

and security (police) programs must he completely integrated in order to attain any kind of

success in a country which has been greatly

weakened by prolonged conflict."4 He looked to

the enemy for an example of how this was done.

"The Viet Cong, themselves, have learned this

lesson well. Their integration of efforts surpasses

ours by a large order of magnitude."5

Westmoreland knew that he lacked the forces

to wage both a war of attrition and one of pacification, so he chose the former. The argument

over whether or not this was the right course of

action will likely go on forever, but undoubtedly

the shape of the war changed dramatically after

the Tet Offensive. The enemy was badly mauled

and, despite the political gains made, militarily

lost the initiative for quite some time.

As the Communists withdrew from the Tet

battlefields to lick their wounds, the ensuing lull

offered a more propitious environment for a

pacification plan. Westmoreland never had such

an advantage. When American ground forces
entered the war in 1965, they faced an enemy on

the offensive, but in June 1968, the new MACV

commander, General Creighton W. Abrams, confronted an enemy on the ropes. Abrarns plainly

recognized his advantage and implemented a

clear-and-hold strategy aimed at moving into

rural enclaves formerly dominated by the VC. A

Communist history of the war notes that

"[b]ecause we did not fully appreciate the new

enemy [allied] schemes and the changes the

enemy made in the conduct of the war and

because we underestimated the enemy's capabilities and the strength of his counterattack, when

the United states and its puppets [the South

Vietnamese] began to carry out their 'clear and

hold' strategy our battlefronts were too slow in

shifting over to attacking the 'pacification' program 6 To cope with the new battlefield situation, the

Communist Politburo in Hanoi revised its strategy

in a document known as COSVN Resolution 9.7

North Vietnam considered its Tet "general offensive

and uprising" to be a great success that "forced the

enemy [U.S. and South Vietnam] to . . . sink deeper into a defensive and deadlocked position," hut

admitted that new techniques were required to

force the Americans out of the war.8 Rather than

fight U.S. troops directly, Resolution 9 dictated that

guerrilla forces would disperse and concentrate

their efforts on attacking pacification. The main

objective was to outlast the allies: "We should fight

to force the Americans to withdraw troops, cause

the collapse of the puppets and gain the decisive

victory 9 Implicit in the plan was a return to

more traditional hit-and-run guerrilla tactics with

less emphasis on big battles.

Between late 1968 and 1971, the battle for

hearts and minds went into full swing, and the

government made rapid advances in pacifying

the countryside. Historians and military analysts

still debate the merits of Abrams's strategy vis-àvis Westmoreland's, but the bottom line is that

the two generals faced very different conflicts.10

There was no "correct" way to fight; the war was

a fluid affair with the enemy controlling the

operational tempo most of the time. The successes in pacification during Abrams's command

owed a lot to the severely weakened status of

the VC after the 1968 Tet Offensive. Even so,

161

with U.S. President Richard Nixon's order to

"Vietnamize" the war, the South Vietnamese

would be left to cope with both the enemy main

forces and the Communist insurgency in the villages. Pacification alone simply could not do the

job.

Essentials of

Counterinsurgency

Insurgencies are complex affairs that defy all

attempts at seeking a common denominator.

The counterinsurgent's strategy will depend on

how he is organized and how he chooses to

fight. The enemy is never static, and every situation will differ from the next. Still, when an

insurgency is stripped to its essentials, there are

some basic points that are crucial to any COIN

effort.

Security forces must be prepared to use armed

force to keep the enemy away from the population. To conclude that large-scale operations play

no role in COIN is a mistake. The big-unit war

of 1965 and 1966 robbed the Communists of a

quick victory and allowed the South Vietnamese

breathing space in which to begin pacifying the

countryside. Without the security generated by

military force, pacification cannot even be

attempted.

At the same time, government forces must target the insurgents' ability to live and operate

freely among the population. Given time, insurgents will try to create a clandestine political

structure to replace the government presence in

the villages. Such an infrastructure is the real

basis of guerrilla control during any insurgency;

it is the thread that ties the entire insurgency

together. Without a widespread political presence, guerrillas cannot make many gains, and

those they do make cannot be reinforced. Any

COIN effort must specifically target the insurgent

infrastructure if it is to win the war.

These objectives—providing security for the

people and targeting the insurgent infrastructure—form the basis of a credible government

campaign to win hearts and minds. Programs

aimed at bringing a better quality of life to the

population, including things like land reform,
medical care, schools, and agricultural assistance,

are crucial if the government is to offer a viable

alternative to the insurgents. The reality, however, is that nothing can be accomplished without

first establishing some semblance of security.

Key to the entire strategy is the integration of

all efforts toward a single goal. This sounds obvious, but it rarely occurs. In most historical COIN

efforts, military forces concentrated on warfighting objectives, leaving the job of building

schools and clinics, establishing power grids, and

bolstering local government (popularly referred

to today as nation building) to civilian agencies.

The reality is that neither mission is more important than the other, and failure to recognize this

can be fatal. Virtually all COIN plans claim they

integrate the two: The Provincial Reconstruction

Teams in Afghanistan and the defunct Coalition

Provisional Authority in Iraq were attempts to

combine and coordinate civilian and military

agencies, although neither really accomplished

its objective. In this respect, the development of

the CORDS program during the Vietnam War

offers a good example of how to establish a

chain of command incorporating civilian and

military agencies into a focused effort.

Foundation for Successful

Pacification

During the early 1960s, the American advisory effort in Vietnam aimed at thwarting

Communist influence in the countryside. The

attempt failed for many reasons, but one of the

most profound was the South Vietnamese

Government's inability to extend security to the

country's countless villages and hamlets. This

failure was, of course, the main factor leading to

the introduction of American ground forces and

the subsequent rapid expansion of U.S. military

manpower in 1965. (U.S. troop strength grew

from 23,300 in late 1964 to 184,300 one year

later.) The huge increase in troop strength exacerbated the already tenuous relationship

between the military mission and pacification. As

a result, many officials argued that the latter was

being neglected.

In early 1965, the U.S. side of pacification con162

sisted of several civilian agencies, of which the

CIA, the U.S. Agency for International

Development (USAID), the U.S. information Service, and the U.S. Department of state were the

most important. Each agency developed its own

program and coordinated it through the

American embassy. On the military side, the

rapid expansion of troop strength meant a corresponding increase in the number of advisers. By

early 1966, military advisory teams worked in all

of South Vietnam's 44 provinces and most of its

243 districts. The extent of the military's presence in the countryside made it harder for the

civilian-nm pacification program to cope—a situation made worse because there was no formal

system combining the two efforts.

In the spring of 1966, President Lyndon B.

Johnson's administration turned its attention

toward pacification in an attempt to make the

existing arrangement work. Official trips to South

Vietnam as well as studies by independent

observers claimed there was little coordination

between civilian agencies. Most concluded that

the entire system needed a drastic overhaul.

Johnson took a personal interest in pacification,

bringing the weight of his office to the search for

a better way to run the "other war," as he called

pacification. American ambassador Henry Cabot

Lodge received written authority from the president to "exercise full responsibility" over the

entire advisory effort in Vietnam, using "the

degree of command and control that you consider appropriate."

It was not enough. Westmoreland was cooperative, yet the civilian and military missions simply did not mesh. After a trip to South Vietnam

in November 1965, Secretary of Defense Robert

S. McNamara told Westmoreland, "I don't think

we have done a thing we can point to that has

been effective in five years. I ask you to show

me one area in this country . . . that we have

pacified."12

McNamara's observation prompted quick

action. In January 1966, representatives from

Washington agencies concerned with the conduct of the war met with representatives from

the U.S. mission in Saigon at a conference in

Virginia. During the ensuing discussion, participants acknowledged that simply relying on the
ambassador and the MACV commander to "work

things out" would not ensure pacification cooperation. A single civil-military focus on pacification was needed; however, the conference ended

without a concrete resolution.13

Although Johnson was displeased by slow

progress and foot dragging, the embassy in

Saigon continued to resist any changes that

would take away its authority over pacification.

Then, at a summit held in Honolulu in February

1966 with South Vietnamese President Nguyen

Van Thieu and Premier Nguyen Gao Ky, Johnson

pushed an agenda that tasked the South

Vietnamese Army with area security, allowing

the U.S. military to concentrate mostly on seeking out enemy main forces. Johnson also

demanded greater American coordination in the

pacification effort and called for a single manager to head the entire program. In April, he assigned Robert W. Komer, a trusted member of

the National Security Council, the task of coming

up with a solution. Johnson gave Komer a strong

mandate that included unrestrained access to the

White House—a key asset that was put in writing. That authority gave Komer the clout he

needed to bring recalcitrant officials into line. 14

Other steps followed in quick succession. In

August 1966, Komer authored a paper titled

"Giving a New Thrust to Pacification: Analysis,

Concept, and Management," in which he broke

the pacification problem into three parts and

argued that no single part could work by itself.15

The first part, not surprisingly, was security—

keeping the main forces away from the population. In the second part he advocated breaking

the Communists' hold on the people with antiinfrastructure operations and programs designed

to win back popular support. The third part

stressed the concept of mass; in other words,

pacification had to be large-scale. Only with a

truly massive effort could a turnaround he

achieved, and that was what Johnson required if

he was to maintain public support for the war.

It was Westmoreland himself, however, who

brought the issue to the forefront. Contrary to

popular belief, the MACV commander understood the need for pacification, and, like a good

politician, figured it would be better to have the

assignment under his control than outside of it.

163

On 6 October 1966, despite objections from his

staff, he told Komer: "I'm not asking for the

responsibility, but I believe that my headquarters

could take it in stride and perhaps carry out this

important function more economically and efficiently than the present complex arrangement."16

Komer lobbied McNamara, arguing that with

90 percent of the resources, it was "obvious" that

only the military "had the clout" to get the job

done. Komer believed that the U.S. Defense Department (DOD) was "far stronger behind pacification" than the Department of State and was

"infinitely more dynamic and influential."17

Now the DOD was on board, but the civilian

agencies uniformly opposed the plan. As a compromise, in November 1966 the Office of Civil

Operations (OCO) was formed, with deputy

ambassador William Porter in charge. The OCO

combined civilian agencies under one chain of

command, but failed to bring the military into it.

The entire plan was doomed from the start.

The OCO was really no different from the old

way of doing business because it kept the civilian and military chains of command separate.

Johnson was deeply dissatisfied. So in June 1966,

Komer went to Vietnam to assess the situation.

He wrote that the U.S. embassy "needs to

strengthen its own machinery" for pacification.

Komer met with Westmoreland, and the two

agreed on the need for a single manager. "My

problem is not with Westy, but the reluctant civilian side," Komer told the president.'8

The Birth of CORDS

In March 1967, Johnson convened a meeting

on Guam and made it clear that OCO was dead

and that Komer's plan for a single manager

would be implemented. Only the paperwork

remained, and less than two months later, on 9

May 1967, National Security Action Memorandum

362, "Responsibility for U.S. Role in Pacification

(Revolutionary Development)," established Civil

Operations and Revolutionary Development

Support, or CORDS.19 The new system unambiguously placed the military in charge of pacification. As MACV commander, Westmoreland

would have three deputies, one of them a civilian with three-star-equivalent rank in charge of
pacification, and there would be a single chain

of command. Komer took the post of deputy for

CORDS, which placed him alongside the deputy

MACV commander, Abrams. Below that, various

other civilians and civilian agencies were integrated into the military hierarchy, including an

assistant chief of staff for CORDS positioned

alongside the traditional military staff. For the

first time, civilians were embedded within a

wartime command and put in charge of military

personnel and resources. CORDS went into

effect immediately and brought with it a new

urgency oriented toward making pacification

work in the countryside.20 (See figure 1.)

The new organization did not solve all problems immediately, and it was not always smooth

sailing. At first Komer attempted to gather as

much power as possible within his office, but

Westmoreland made it clear that his military

deputies were more powerful and performed a

broad range of duties, while Komer had author164

ity only over pacification. In addition,

Westmoreland quashed Komer's direct access to

the White House, rightly insisting that the chain

of command be followed. Westrnoreland naturally kept a close watch over CORDS, occasionally

prompting Korner to complain that he was not

yet sure that he had Westmoreland's "own full

trust and confidence."2' Their disagreements

were few, however, and the relationship

between the MACV commander and his new

deputy became close and respectful, which started the new program on the right track.

Time was the crucial ingredient, and eventually Komer's assertive personality and Westmoreland's increasing trust in his new civilian subordinates smoothed over many potential problems.

According to one study, '[al combination of

Westrnoreland's flexibility and Komer's ability to

capitalize on it through the absence of an intervening layer of command permitted Komer to

run an unusual, innovative program within what

Figure 1. Structure of U.S. mission showing position of CORDS, May 1967.

Source: Thomas W. Scoville, Reorganizing for Pacification Support (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Army Center of Military History, 1991)
Figure 2. Organization of the CORDS team at province level.

Source: Ngo Quang Truong, Indochina Monographs RVNAF and US Operational Cooperation and Coordination (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Army Center of Military

History, 1980), p. 154

otherwise might have been the overly Strict confines of a military staff."22

With the new organization, almost all pacification programs eventually came under CORDS.

From USAID, CORDS took control of "new life

development" (the catch-all term for an attempt

to improve government responsiveness to villagers' needs), refugees, National Police, and the

Chieu Hoi program (the "Open arms" campaign

to encourage Communist personnel in South

Vietnam to defect). The CIA's Rural Development

cadre, MACV's civic action and civil affairs, and

the Joint U.S. Public Affairs Office's field psychological operations also fell under the CORDS

aegis. CORDS assumed responsibility for reports,

evaluations, and field inspections from all agencies.23

CORDS Organization. At corps level, the

CORDS organization was modeled on that of

CORDS at the MACV headquarters. (See figure

2.) The U.S. military senior adviser, usually a

165

three-star general who also served as the commander of U.S. forces in the region, had a deputy

for CORDS (DepCORDS), usually a civilian. The

DepCORDS was responsible for supervising military and civilian plans in support of the South

Vietnamese pacification program within the

corps area.24

Province advisory teams in the corps area of

responsibility reported directly to the regional

DepCORDS. Each of the 44 provinces in South

Vietnam was headed by a province chief, usually a South Vietnamese Army or Marine colonel,

who supervised the provincial government apparatus and commanded the provincial militia as

well as Regional Forces and Popular Forces

(RF/PF).

The province advisory teams helped the

province chiefs administer the pacification program. The province chief's American counterpart

was the province senior adviser, who was either

military or civilian, depending on the security sitI

____________

Iu.jMfl.PHAP

One or more MATS were often supeivised directly by the PSA
uation of the respective province. The province

senior adviser and his staff were responsible for

advising the province chief about civil-military

aspects of the South Vietnamese pacification and

development programs.

The province senior adviser's staff, composed

of both U.S. military and civilian personnel, was

divided into two parts. The first part handled

area and community development, including

public health and administration, civil affairs,

education, agriculture, psychological operations,

and logistics. The other part managed military

issues. It helped the province staff prepare plans

and direct security operations by the territorial

forces and associated support within the

province.

The province chief exercised authority

through district chiefs, and the province senior

adviser supervised district senior advisers, each

of whom had a staff of about eight members (the

actual size depending on the particular situation

in a district). District-level advisory teams helped

the district chief with civil-military aspects of the

pacification and rural development programs.

Also, the district team (and/or assigned mobile

assistance training teams) advised and trained

the RF/PF located in the district. All members of

the province team were advisers; they worked

closely with the province chief and his staff, providing advice and assistance, and coordinating

U.S. support.

CORDS Gains Muscle. Sheer numbers, made

possible by the military's involvement, made

CORDS more effective than earlier pacification

efforts. In early 1966, about 1,000 U.S. advisers

were involved in pacification; by September

1969—the high point of the pacification effort in

terms of total manpower—7,601 advisers were

assigned to province and district pacification

teams. Of those, 6,464 were military, and 95 percent of those came from the Army.25

CORDS' ability to bring manpower, money,

and supplies to the countryside where they were

needed was impressive. Some statistics illustrate

the point: between 1966 and 1970, money spent

on pacification and economic programs rose

from $582 million to $1.5 billion. Advice and aid

to the South Vietnamese National Police allowed

166

total police paramilitary strength to climb from

60,000 in 1967 to more than 120,000 in 1971. Aid

to the RF/PF grew from a paltry $300,000 per

year in 1966 to over $1.5 million annually by

1971, enabling total strength to increase by more

than 50 percent. By 1971, total territorial militia

strength was around 500,000—about 50 percent

of overall South Vietnamese military strength.

Advisory numbers increased correspondingly: in

1967, there were 108 U.S. advisers attached to

the militia; in 1969, there were 2,243.26 The

enemy saw this buildup as a serious threat to his

control in the countryside, and Communist

sources consistently cited the need to attack as

central to their strategy.27

What effect did all of this have on the security situation? Numbers alone do not make for successful pacification, but they are a big step in the

right direction. By placing so much manpower in

the villages, the allies were able to confront the

guerrillas consistently, resulting in significant

gains by 1970. Although pacification statistics are

complicated and often misleading, they do indicate that CORDS affected the insurgency. For

example, by early 1970, 93 percent of South

Vietnamese lived in "relatively secure" villages,

an increase of almost 20 percent from the middle

of 1968, the year marred by the Tet Offensive.28

The Phoenix Program

Within CORDS were scores of programs

designed to enhance South Vietnamese influence

in the countryside, but security remained paramount. At the root of pacification's success or

failure was its ability to counter the insurgents'

grip on the population. Military operations were

designed to keep enemy main forces and guerrillas as far from the population as possible, but

the Communist presence in the villages was

more than just military. Cadre running the Viet

Cong infrastructure (VCI) sought to form a

Communist shadow government to supplant the

Saigon regime's influence.

In 1960, when Hanoi had formed the Viet

Cong movement (formally known as the

National Liberation Front), the VCI cadre was its

most important component. Cadre were the

building blocks of the revolution, the mechanism
by which the Communists spread their presence

throughout South Vietnam. Cadre did not wear

uniforms, yet they were as crucial to the armed

struggle as any AK-toting guerrilla. The cadre

spread the VCI from the regional level down to

almost every village and hamlet in South

Vietnam. A preferred tactic was to kill local government officials as a warning for others not to

come back.

Indeed, the VC's early success was due to the

VCI cadre, which by 1967 numbered somewhere

between 70,000 and 100,000 throughout South

Vietnam. The VCI was a simple organization.

Virtually every village had a cell made up of a

Communist Party secretary; a finance and supply

unit; and information and culture, social welfare,

and proselytizing sections to gain recruits from

among the civilian population. They answered

up a chain of command, with village cadre

answering to the district, then to the province,

and finally to a series of regional commands

which, in turn, took orders from Hanoi.

The Communists consolidated their influence

in the countryside by using a carrot-and-stick

approach. The VCI provided medical treatment,

education, and justice—along with heavy doses

of propaganda—backed by threats from VC

guerrillas. The VC waged an effective terror campaign aimed at selected village officials and

authority figures to convince fence-sitters that

support for the revolution was the best course. In

short, the VCI was the Communist alternative to

the Saigon government.

The South Vietnamese Government, on the

other hand, was rarely able to keep such a presence in the villages, and when they could, the

lack of a permanent armed force at that level

meant that officials were usually limited to daytime visits only. Unfortunately, in the earliest

days of the insurgency (1960 to 1963), when the

infrastructure was most vulnerable, neither the

South Vietnamese nor their American advisers

understood the VCI's importance. They concentrated on fighting the guerrillas who, ironically,

grew stronger because of the freedom they

gained through the VCI's strength and influence.

The VCI was nothing less than a second center of gravity. By 1965, when the United States

intervened in South Vietnam with ground troops,

167

Communist strength had grown exponentially,

forcing Westmoreland to deal with the main

force threat first and making pacification secondary.

The U.S. did not completely ignore the VCI.

As early as 1964, the CIA used counterterror

teams to seek out and destroy cadre hiding in villages. But the CIA had only a few dozen

Americans devoted to the task, far too few to

have much effect on tens of thousands of VCI.

The advent of CORDS changed that, and antiinfrastructure operations began to evolve. In July

1967, the Intelligence Coordination and

Exploitation Program (ICEX) was created. It was

basically a clearinghouse for information on the

VCI, information that was then disseminated to

district advisers.29 Unfortunately, given the lack

of anti-VCI operations during the first three years

of the war, little intelligence was available at the

start. A few organizations, such as the RF/PF,

actually lived in the villages and gathered information, but their main task was security, not

intelligence gathering.

Phoenix rising. In December 1967, ICEX

was given new emphasis and renamed Phoenix.

The South Vietnamese side was called Phung

Hoang, after a mythical bird that appeared as a

sign of prosperity and luck. CORDS made

Phoenix a high priority and within weeks expanded intelligence centers in most of South

Vietnam's provinces.

At this stage, the most important part of

Phoenix was numbers. CORDS expanded the

U.S. advisory effort across the hoard, and the

Phoenix program benefited. Within months, all

44 provinces and most of the districts had

American Phoenix advisers. This proved vital to

the effort. Only by maintaining a constant presence in the countryside—in other words, by mirroring the insurgents—could the government

hope to wage an effective counterinsurgency. By

1970, there were 704 U.S. Phoenix advisers

throughout South Vietnam.30

For the Phoenix program—as with most other

things during the war—the Tet Offensive proved

pivotal. The entire pacification program went on

hold as the allies fought to keep the Communists

from taking entire cities. If there was any doubt
before, Tet showed just how crucial the VCI was

to the insurgency, for it was the covert cadres

who paved the way for the guerrillas and

ensured that supplies and replacements were

available to sustain the offensive. On the other

hand, the failure of the attacks exposed the VCI

and made it vulnerable. As a result, anti-infrastructure operations became one of the most

important aspects of the pacification program.

In July 1968, after the enemy offensive had

spent most of its fury, the allies launched the

Accelerated Pacification Campaign (APC), which

devoted new resources to pacification in an

attempt to capitalize on post-Tet Communist

weakness. While enemy main forces and guerrillas licked their wounds, they were less able to

hinder pacification in the villages.

Under the APC, Phoenix emphasized four

aspects in its attack on the VCI:

• Decentralization of the old ICEX command

and control (C2) apparatus by placing most of

the responsibility on the provinces and districts.

This included building intelligence-gathering and

interrogation centers (called district intelligence

and operations coordinating centers, or DIOCCs)

in the regions where the VCI operated.

• Establishment of files and dossiers on suspects, and placing of emphasis on "neutralizing"

(capturing, converting, or killing) members of

the VCI.

• Institution of rules by which suspected VCI

could be tried and imprisoned.

• Emphasis on local militia and police rather

than the military as the main operational arm of

the program.31

This last aspect was crucial. While military

forces could be used to attack the VCI, they had

other pressing responsibilities, and anti-infrastructure operations would always be on the

hack burner. So the program concentrated on

existing forces that could be tailored to seek out

the VCI, the most important of these being the

RF/PF militia, the National Police, and Provincial

Reconnaissance Units (PRU).

Recruited locally, the RF/PF were ideally suited to anti-VCI operations because they lived in

the villages. In addition to providing security

against marauding VC guerrillas, the RF/PF react168

ed to intelligence sent from the DIOCC. The

National Police had two units specially tailored

to VCI operations: the intelligence-gathering

Police Special Branch and the paramilitary

National Police Field Force. For the most part,

however, the police did not perform well,

although there were exceptions. PRUs, which

were recruited and trained by the CIA, were the

best action arm available to Phoenix. However,

as was generally the problem with CIA assets,

PRUs were not numerous enough to deal effectively with the VCI. Never numbering more than

4,000 men nationwide, the PRU also had other

paramilitary tasks to perform and so were not

always available32

DIOCCs. The district was the program's basic

building block, and the DIOCC was its nerve

center. Each DIOCC was led by a Vietnamese

Phung Hoang chief, aided by an American

Phoenix adviser. The adviser had no authority to

order operations; he could only advise and call

on U.S. military support. The DIOCC was

answerable to the Vietnamese district chief, who

in turn reported to the province chief. DIOCC

personnel compiled intelligence on VCI in their

district and made blacklists with data on VCI

members. If possible, the DIOCC sought out a

suspect's location and planned an operation to

capture him (or her). Once captured, the VCI

was taken to the DIOCC and interrogated, then

sent to the province headquarters for further

interrogation and trial.33

Because Phoenix was decentralized, the programs differed from district to district, and some

worked better than others. Many DIOCCs did little work, taking months to establish even tile

most basic blacklists. In many cases, the Phung

Hoang chief was an incompetent bureaucrat who

used his position to enrich himself. Phoenix tried

to address this problem by establishing monthly

neutralization quotas, but these often led to fabrications or, worse, false arrests. in some cases,

district officials accepted bribes from the VC to

release certain suspects. Some districts released

as many as 60 percent of VCI suspects.34

Misconceptions about Phoenix

The picture of Phoenix that emerges is not of
a rogue operation, as it is sometimes accused of

being, but rather of one that operated within a

system of rules. Special laws, called an tn,

allowed the arrest and prosecution of suspected

Communists, but only within the legal system.

Moreover, to avoid abuses such as phony accusations for personal reasons, or to rein in

overzealous officials who might not he diligent

enough in pursuing evidence before making

arrests, An Tn required three separate sources of

evidence to convict any individual targeted for

neutralization.

If a suspected VCI was found guilty, he or she

could be held in prison for two years, with

renewable two-year sentences totaling up to six

years. While this was probably fair on its surface,

hardcore VCI were out in six years at most and

then rejoined the guerrillas. The legal system was

never really ironed out. The U.S. has the same

problem today: accused terrorists held at

Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, and in other prisons fall

within a shadowy middle ground that our policymakers and legal system have yet to deal with.

An assassination bureau? Between 1968

and 1972, Phoenix neutralized 81,740 VC, of

whom 26,369 were killed. This was a large piece

taken Out of the VCI, and between 1969 and

1971, the program was quite successful in

destroying the VCI in many important areas.35

However, these statistics have been used to suggest that Phoenix was an assassination program.

It was not. People were killed, yes, but statistics

show that more than two-thirds of neutralized

VC were captured, not killed. Indeed, only by

capturing Viet Cong could Phoenix develop the

intelligence needed to net additional Viet Cong.

Abuses did occur, such as torture, which U.S.

advisers could not always halt, but most advisers

understood the adage that dead Viet Cong do not

tell about live ones.

Phoenix was also accused of sometimes targeting civilians because the VCI did not wear

military uniforms. But the VCI was an integral—

indeed paramount—aspect of the insurgency and

a legitimate target. We Americans should have

done a better job of pointing this out to critics.

Contracting out the dirty work? Another

charge was that Phoenix relied on other units to

169

neutralize the VCI. Of the 26,000 VCI killed, 87

percent died during operations by conventional

units. How effective was Phoenix if it accounted

for only 13 percent of those killed in action? A

later study found that a still-low 20 percent of the

killed or captured neutralizations came from

Phoenix assets, with most of the rest caught up

in sweeps by regular units or by the RF/PF. Both

claims are almost irrelevant: direct physical

action was the conventional force, RF/PF part of

a two-part job. The bottom line should have

been 26,000 VCI permanently eliminated, never

mind by whom.

Statistics themselves caused problems. During

the first two years of Phoenix, each province was

given a monthly quota of VC to neutralize,

depending on the size of the infrastructure in the

province. The quotas were often unrealistic and

encouraged false reporting—or the capture of

innocent people with whom South Vietnamese

officials had a grudge. The quotas were lowered

in 1969, and thereafter no VC could be counted

in the total unless he or she had been convicted

in court.6

Aiming low? Others critics attacked Phoenix

for netting mostly middle- and low-level VC

while senior leaders eluded capture. In fact, in

1968, before the VCI adapted to aggressive pursuit by Phoenix, about 13 percent of neutralizations were district and higher-level cadre. In 1970

and 1971, that figure dropped to about 3 percent.37 The drop, however, masks two positive

results: thanks to Phoenix, ranking VC had been

forced to move to safer areas, thereby removing

themselves from the "sea of the people" (which

did not negate their ability to control village populations, but did make the job more difficult);

and by attacking mid-level Viet Cong, Phoenix

actually severed the link between the population

and the party-level cadre calling the shots—a

serious blow to the VCI.

Communist Testimony to

Phoenix's Success

In the end, attacking the VCI was not as difficult as it might seem. the VCI was a secret organization, but to be effective in the villages, it had
to stay among the population, which made it vulnerable. Guerrillas could melt into the bush; in

contrast, the VCI had to maintain contact with

the people.

Although they were not completely successful, anti-infrastructure operations were a serious

problem for the enemy, and he took drastic steps

to limit the damage. By 1970, Communist plans

repeatedly emphasized attacking the government's pacification program and specifically targeted Phoenix officials.38 District and village officials became targets of VC assassination and terror as the Communists sought to reassert control

over areas lost in 1969 and 1970. Ironically, the

VC practiced the very thing for which critics

excoriated Phoenix—the assassination of officials. The VC even imposed quotas. In 1970, for

example, Communist officials near Danang in

northern South Vietnam instructed VC assassins

to "kill 1,400 persons" deemed to be government

"tyrant[sI" and to "annihilate" anyone involved

with the pacification program.39

Although the anti-infrastructure program did

not crush the VCI, in combination with other

pacification programs, it probably did hinder

insurgent progress. In Vietnam, with its blend of

guerrilla and main-force war, this was not

enough to prevail, but it seems clear that without

Phoenix, pacification would have fared far

worse. Communist accounts after the war bear

this Out. In Vietnam: A History, Stanley Karnow

quotes the North Vietnamese deputy commander in South Vietnam, General Tran Do, as saying

that Phoenix was "extremely destructive."40

Former Viet Cong Minister of Justice Truong Nhu

Tang wrote in his memoirs that "Phoenix was

dangerously effective" and that in Hau Nghia

Province west of Saigon, "the Front Infrastructure

was virtually eliminated."4' Nguyen Co Thach,

who became the Vietnamese foreign minister

after the war, claimed that "[w]e had many weaknesses in the South because of Phoenix."42

Clearly, the political infrastructure is the basic

building block of almost all insurgencies, and it

must be a high-priority target for the counterinsurgent from the very beginning. In Vietnam, the

allies faced an insurgency that emphasized political and military options in equal measure, but

before the Tet Offensive weakened the

170

Communists sufficiently to allow concentration

on both main-force warfare and pacification, it

was difficult to place sufficient emphasis on antiinfrastructure operations. Yet in just two years—

between 1968 and 1970—the Phoenix program

made significant progress against the VCI. What

might have happened had the Americans and

South Vietnamese begun it in 1960, when the

Viet Cong were much weaker?

Assessing Pacfication in

Vietnam

Historian Richard A. Hunt characterizes the

achievements of CORDS and the pacification

program in Vietnam as "ambiguous."43 Many

high-ranking civilians and other officials who

participated in the program, such as Komer, CIA

director William Colby, and Westmoreland's military deputy, General Bruce Palmer, assert that

CORDS made great gains between 1969 and

1972. Some historians disagree with this

assessment, but clearly the program made some

progress in the years following the Tet

Offensive. The security situation in many areas

improved dramatically, releasing regular South

Vietnamese troops to do battle with the North

Vietnamese and main-force VC units. The program also spread Saigon's influence and

increased the government's credibility with the

South Vietnamese people.

Evidence suggests that one of the reasons

Hanoi launched a major offensive in 1972 was

to offset the progress that South Vietnam had

made in pacification and in eliminating the

VCI.45 In the long run, however, those gains

proved to be irrelevant. Although the South

Vietnamese, with U.S. advisers and massive air

support, successfully blunted North Vietnam's

1972 invasion, U.S. forces subsequently withdrew after the signing of the Paris Peace

Accords. When the fighting resumed shortly

after the ceasefire in 1973, South Vietnamese

forces acquitted themselves reasonably well,

only to succumb to the final North Vietnamese

offensive in 1975. In the end, Communist conventional forces, not the insurgents, defeated the

South Vietnamese.
Lessons Learned

Despite the final outcome, there were lessons

to be learned from Vietnam. The U.S. military

applied some of these lessons to conflicts in the

Philippines and El Salvador during the 1980s,

and now that counterinsurgency is again in

vogue, it would he wise for planners to reexamine pacification operations in Vietnam. The most

important lessons to heed follow:

• Unity of effort is imperative; there must be

a unified structure that combines military and

pacification efforts. The pacification program in

Vietnam did not make any headway until the different agencies involved were brought together

under a single manager within the military C2

architecture. Once CORDS and Phoenix became

part of the military chain of command, it was

easier to get things done. The military tends to

regard pacification tasks as something civilian

agencies do; however, only the military has the

budget, materiel, and manpower to get the job

done.

• An insurgency thrives only as long as it can

sustain a presence among the population. Make

anti-infrastructure operations a first step in any

COIN plan. Immediately establish an intelligence capability to identify targets, and use local

forces to go after them.

• Do not keep the anti-infrastructure program

a secret or it will develop a sinister reputation.

Tell the people that the government intends to

target the infrastructure as part of the security

program. Locals must do most of the anti-infrastructure work, with the Americans staying in the

background.

• Establish a clear legal framework for the

pacification program, especially the anti-infrastructure effort. If this is done immediately and

the program is run consistently, people will be

more likely to accept it. Legality was a problem

in Vietnam, and it is clearly a problem today.

• An insurgency will not be defeated on the

battlefield. The fight is for the loyalty of the people, so establish a government-wide program to

better the lives of people in the countryside.

Improvement must go hand in hand with antiinfrastructure operations, or the population will

171

likely regard government efforts as repressive.

• Above all, Americans must never forget that

the host nation is responsible for maintaining

security and establishing viable institutions that

meet the people's needs, especially since the

host nation will have to do the heavy lifting for

itself after U.S. forces leave.

These lessons might seem obvious, and it is

true that with hindsight they might be easily

identified; however, in practice, they are hard to

execute. This should not, however, stop us from

trying to apply the lessons learned in Southeast

Asia to Iraq and Afghanistan. CORDS was one of

the Vietnam War's success stories, and its wellconceived, well-executed programs and successful synthesis of civilian and military efforts offer

a useful template for current and future COIN

operations.

Notes

1. Thomas C. Thayer, How to Analyze a War Without

Fronts: Vietnam, 1965-72 (Washington, DC: Defense

Research Projects Agency, 1975), 788-89.

2. William C. Westmoreland, A Soldier Reports (New

York: Doubleday, 1976), 175.

3. For an important source from the Communist perspective, see Merle L. Pribbenow, trans., Victory in

Vietnam: The Official History of the People's Army of

Vietnam, 1954-19 75 (Lawrence: University Press of

Kansas, 2002).

4. Message, Westmoreland Military Advisory Command

0117 to BG James Lawton Collins, Jr., Washington, 7

January 1966, Westmoreland files, U.S. Army Center of

Military History (CMH), Fort McNair, Washington, D.C.

5. Ibid.

6. Pribbenow, 237.

7. Central Office for South Vietnam (COSVN)

Resolution 9, 4, 19. English translation available at the

Texas Tech Virtual Vietnam Archive, item no. 4080418002.

8. Ibid.

9. Ibid.

10. The leading source taking the viewpoint that

General Creighton Abrams had the only correct strategy is Lewis Sorley, A Better War: The Unexamined

Victories and Final Tragedy of America's Last Years in

Vietnam (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1999).

11. Lyndon B. Johnson to Henry Cabot Lodge, 28 July

1965, Historians files, CMH, Fort McNair, Washington,

D.C.
12. Robert S. McNamara, quoted in Military Advisory

Command Vietnam Command History, 1965, 229,

Historians files, CMH, Fort McNair, Washington, D.C.

13. Thomas W. Scoville, Reorganizing/or Pacification

Support (Washington, D.C.: CMH, 1991), 18-19.

14. National Security Action Memorandum 343 of 28

March 1966 charged Robert W. Komer with assuring

"that adequate plans are prepared and coordinated

covering all aspects [of pacification]. [Komerl will also

assure that the Rural Construction/Pacification

Program is properly coordinated with the programs for

combat force employment and military operations."

15. Memorandum from Komer to John T. McNaughton,

Assistant Secretary for International Security Affairs,

Department of Defense, "Giving a New Thrust to

Pacification: Analysis, Concept, and Management," 7

August 1967.

16. Westmoreland Historical Briefing, 17 October 1966,

cited in Scoville, 38.

17. Komer, The Organization and Management of the

New Model Pacijication Program, 1966-1969 (Santa

Monica, Calif.: RAND Corporation, 1970), 38.

18. Memorandum from Lyndon B. Johnson to Komer,

Subject: Second Korner Trip to Vietnam, 23-29 June

1966, 1 July 1966, 6, Historians files, CMH, Fort

McNair, Washington, D.C.

19. Johnson to Komer, National Security Action

Memorandum 362, Responsibility for U.S. Role in

Pacification (Revolutionary Development), on-line at

<http://www.lbjlib.u.edu/johnson/archives.hom/

NSA.Ms/nsam362.asp>, accessed 27 March 2006.

20. For more detail on the CORDS organization, see

Scoville, Reorganizing for Pacification Support, 62-68.

21. Ibid., 72.

22. Ibid., 76.

23. Richard A. Hunt, Pacjfication: The American

Struggle for Vietnam's Hearts and Minds (Boulder:

Westview Press, 1995), 93.

24. The CORDS organization in IV Corps was different.

Because there were fewer U.S. forces in the Mekong

Delta than in the other corps areas, IV Corps had no

U.S. three-star general.

25. These figures have been compiled by the authors

from several sources. For statistics on 1969-70, see

Jeffrey J. Clarke, Advice and Support: The Final Years,

1965-1973 (Washington, D.C.: CMH, 1988), 373.

26. Thayer, 884-87.

27. The history of the North Vietnamese 9th Division

points out that one of its primary missions in 1969-

1970 was to "frustrate the enemy's pacification plan."

See Su Doan 9 [9th Division] (Hanoi: Nha Xuat Ban

Quan Doi Nhan Dan [People's Army Publishing

Housel, 1990), 100.

172

28. Hamlet Evaluation Survey (HES) Annual Statistical

Analysis, 1968-71, Historians files, CMH, Fort McNair,

Washington, D.C.

29. The Intelligence Coordination and Exploitation

Program (ICEX) was established by MACV Directive

381-41, "Military Intelligence: Coordination and

Exploitation for Attack on the VC Infrastructure; Short

Title: ICEX," 9 July 1967, Historians files, CMH, Fort

McNair, Washington, D.C. For a detailed study of

ICEX, see Ralph W. Johnson, "Phoenix/Phung Hoang:

A Study of Wartime Intelligence Management" (Ph.D.

diss, American University, 1985).

30. Dale Andrade, Ashes to Ashes: The Phoenix

Program and the Vietnam War (Lexington, Mass.:

Lexington Books, 1990), Appen. A-2, "Resource

Allocations."

31. Ibid., 87-91.

32. Data on the Provincial Reconnaissance Units (PRU)

is scarce, but some useful documents exist. For general information, see MACV "Fact Sheet: Provincial

Reconnaissance Units (PRU), RVN," 16 October 1969.

For neutralization statistics, see Thayer, A Systems

Analysis View of the Vietnam War, 1965-1972, 10

(publishing information unavailable), 91.

33. Deputy Undersecretaiy of the Army John Siena to

Secretary of Defense Melvin Laird, Subject:

Memorandum of Army Vietnam Trip, 28 August 1969,

Historians files, CMH, Fort McNair, Washington, D.C.

34. Ibid., 61; Military Advisory Command CORDS-PSD,

"Fact Sheet: Legal Processing of VCI Detainees," 8

June 1970, 3, Historians' files, CMH, Fort McNair,

Washington, D.C.

35. Andrade, appen. A-i, "Phoenix/Phung Hoang

Neutralization Results."

36. Phuong Hoang 1970 End of Year Report, 11 May

1971, 4-5, Historians' files, CMH, Fort McNair,

Washington, D.C.

37. MACCORDS-PSD, "Fact Sheet," 2.

38. By mid-1969, U.S. Army division operational

reports contained numerous references to captured

enemy plans that aimed to "disrupt pacification," in

particular the Regional Forces/Popular Forces (RF/PF)

and Phoenix programs, because these were a constant

threat to Communist domination in the villages. See

also memorandum to William Colby from Wilbur

Wilson, Deputy for CORDS, Subject: Motivation of

[Government of Vietnam] GVN Leadership in the

Phung Hoang Program, 24 June 1971, Historians files,

CMH, Fort McNair, Washington, D.C.

39. "Military Activity Plan of Sub-Region 5: JulySeptember 1970, no. 25/KH," from captured document

log no. 09-1366-70, 3, Historians files, CMH, Fort

McNair, Washington, D.C.
40. Stanley Karnow, Vietnam: A History (New York:

Viking Press, 1983), 602.

41. Truong Nhu Tang, A Viet Cong Memoir: An Inside

Account of the Vietnam War and Its Aftermath (New

York: Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, 1985), 268.

42. Nguyen Co Thach, cited in Mark Moyar, Phoenix

and the Birds of Prey: The CIA's Secret Campaign to

Destroy the Viet Cong (Annapolis, Md.: Naval Institute

Press, 1997), 246.

43. Hunt, 252.

44. Colby, Lost Victoiy: A Firsthand Account of

America's Sixteen-Year Involvement in Vietnam

(Chicago: Contemporary Books, 1989); Komer,

Bure-acracy Does Its Thing: Institutional Constraints

on U.S.-GVN Performance in Vietnam, (Santa

Monica, Calif.: RAND, R-967-ARPA, 1972); Bruce

Palmer Jr., The 25-Year War: America's Military Role

in Vietnam (New York: Touchstone, 1984). Taking

the opposite stance from Colby, Komer, and Palmer

are William Duiker, The Communist Road to Power in

Vietnam (Boulder: Westview Press, 1981), and

William S. Turley, The Second Indochina War (New

173

York: Mentor, 1987), among others.

45. Military History Institute of Vietnam, Victory in

Vietnam: The Official History of the People's Army of

Vietnam, 1954-1975, trans. Merele L. Pribbenow

(Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2002), 283;

Hunt, 255.

About the Authors

Dale Andrade is a senior historian at the U.S. Army Center of Militaiy

History, Washington, D.C., where he is writing the official volume on U.S.

Army combat operations in Vietnam between 1969 and 1973. He is the

author of three other books on the war: Ashes to Ashes: The Phoenix

Program and the Vietnam War (1990), Spies and Commandos: How

America Lost the Secret War in North Vietnam (2000), and (with

Kenneth Conboy), Americas Last Vietnam Battle: Halting Hanoi's

1972 Easter Offensive (2001). James H. Willbanks, Lieutenant Colonel,

USA (Ret.), is director of the department of history, U.S. Army Command

and General Staff College. He served in various command and staff positions in the continental U.S., Panama, Japan, and Germany, and was an

adviser in Vietnam to a South Vietnamese Army infantry regiment during

the 1972 Easter Offensive. He is author of Abandoning Vietnam (2004),

The Battle of An Loc (2005), and The Tel Offensive: A Concise History

(2006).

Challenges in

Fighting a Global

Insurgency

by David WBarno

Parameters, Summer 2006

"War is ... an act of force to compel our

enemy to do our will."

—Carl von Clausewitz 1

he strategic nature of war has changed,

and our military and government are Striving to adapt to fight and win in this new

environment. Today we are engaged in a global

counterinsurgency, an unprecedented challenge

which requires a level of original strategic

thought and depth of understanding perhaps

comparable only to that of the Cold War. Our

ongoing political-military actions to achieve success in Iraq and Afghanistan are simply subordinate efforts of this larger, complex world war.

Our enemies today clearly understand the

value of asymmetrical approaches when dealing

with the overwhelming conventional combat

power of the United States military.

Unfortunately, our unmatched conventional

capability has slowed the U.S. response to the

changing, asymmetrical nature of modern war.2

We as a military are at risk of failing to understand the nature of the war we are fighting—a

war which has been characterized as "a war of

intelligence and a war of perceptions."3 We must

confront this dilemma and take our thinking to a

new strategic level in this era to understand the

tools and strategic approaches required to create

victory in this very different 21st-century environment.

Fourth Generation Warfare:

Global Insurgency

Retired Marine Colonel T. X. Hammes, in his

recent book The Sling and the Stone, outlines an

175
innovative construct to better understand the

evolution of warfare.4 The book's striking cover

photo epitomizes the paradox in today's warfare

of "weak against strong": it shows a young

Palestinian boy, arm upraised, about to hurl a

rock at a huge, U.S-made Israeli M60 tank. The

shades of meaning are rich. In his insightful

work, Hammes describes four evolutions of warfare, which he characterizes as First through

Fourth Generation War. This theory is helpful as

we examine the context of war today and assess

the effectiveness of today's military to engage

in—and win—these wars. Hammes's description

provides us an alternative model to compare

with our current "network-centric" model of war,

which often seems primarily designed for nationstates engaged in force-on-force battles.5 First

Generation Warfare in this alternative construct

dates from the invention of gunpowder, which

produced the first military formations and tactics

cued to firearms.

First Generation Warfare was an offensively

oriented type of war, where light weaponry, limited-size armies, and horse and foot mobility provided very limited strategic mobility—armies

walked everywhere—but some modest tactical

mobility, with small armies unencumbered by

extensive heavy weaponry. This era culminated

in the Napoleonic wars of the early 1800s, and

warfare began to change dramatically by the

middle of the 19th century. By the time of the

U.S. Civil War, the advent of advanced transportation and communications systems, combined with heavier mobile firepower, signified

the emergence of a new model—Second

Generation Warfare.

Second Generation Warfare revolved around

rapidly growing strategic speed of communication and transport—telegraphs and railways—in

concert with massed armies armed with everdeadlier small arms and artillery. This phase

encompassed the Franco-Prussian War of the

1870s, the turn-of-the-century Boer War and

Russo-Japanese conflicts, and ultimately the

huge, million-man armies of World War I. The

latter were massive formations linked to devastating direct and indirect firepower, leading inexorably to the strategic and tactical stalemate of

trench warfare. Second Generation Warfare was

176

characterized by large armies with strategic (but

limited tactical) mobility, unprecedented weaponry, and explosive "throw weight," resultant

heavy casualties, and gradual diminishment of

maneuver, all of which pointed toward the

defense achieving gradual dominance over the

offense.

In response to this battlefield paralysis, Third

Generation Warfare emerged in the 1920s and

30s and produced "blitzkrieg" and the age of

maneuver warfare, with the offense once again

gaining supremacy. This era of mounted mechanized maneuver continued from World War II

through the Arab-Israeli wars of the 1950s and

60s, included Desert Storm in 1991 (perhaps its

zenith), and culminated with the race to

Baghdad in March 2003. (Excursions into counterinsurgency conflicts in places like French

Indochina, Algeria, Malaya, Vietnam, and the two

Intifadas in Israel not only failed to significantly

affect mainstream military thinking, but they

often turned out rather badly for Western

armies.) Today, after 40 years of Cold War experience and billions of dollars spent on weapon

system investments, the United States and most

Western militaries remain optimized for Third

Generation Warfare, reflecting nearly 50 years of

tactical, operational, and strategic thought and

resource commitments originally designed to

contain and deter the Soviet threat, and if necessary to defeat a Warsaw Pact armored invasion of

Western Europe.6

Hammes contends that we have now entered

into the age of Fourth Generation Warfare, which

he brands "netwar." (The term is a bit confusing

given the better-known "network-centric operations" terminology. 7) Fourth Generation Warfare

"uses all available networks—political, economic, social, and military—to convince the enemy's

political decision makers that their strategic goals

are either unachievable or too costly for the perceived benefit. It is an evolved form of insurgency."8 Fourth Generation Warfare argues that

the enemy's target becomes the political establishment and the policymakers of his adversary,

not the adversary's armed forces or tactical formations. The enemy achieves victory by putting

intense, unremitting pressure on adversary decision makers, causing them to eventually capitu-
U.S. Military

Construct Strategic

Operational

Tactical

Figure 1. The U.S. military construct for the levels of war.

late, independent of military success or failure on

the battlefield. Fourth Generation Warfare

deserves to be studied closely by the military,

primarily because it outlines a compellingly logical way to look at asymmetrical warfare, a challenging topic for Western militaries.

Competing Paradigms of War

Another way to view the challenge we face

with an asymmetrically oriented enemy is to

examine our current warfighting construct: the

strategic, operational, and tactical levels of war,

often represented as a triangle, as shown in

Figure 1. At the base is the tactical level, where

engagements and battles are fought, entailing

direct combat actions ranging from squad to

brigade echelon. The tactical level is the stage at

which the vast preponderance of our troops and

equipment are committed and engaged daily.

The second level, the center of the triangle, is the

operational level. At this echelon, campaigns are

developed which give shape to the battles and

connect them in ways that ultimately lead to

campaign, and eventually strategic, success.

177

Next, most often displayed at the top of the triangle, is the strategic level, where policymakers

layout the broad political-military goals and endstates which the operational campaigns are

designed to serve.9

This model represents an accepted view of

modern warfare which has become largely institutionalized as the warfighting paradigm within

the U.S. military since the Vietnam War. In fact,

the addition of the operational level of war was

perhaps the most significant change in U.S. military doctrine to emerge as the military's direct

response to the largely unexamined lessons of

Vietnam. lO Of note is a distinct "political" level,

often omitted from this paradigm, which rightfully belongs at the apex. This top-most position

reflects recognition of the "grand strategic" level

but also acknowledges the inherent purpose that

lies beyond the purely military character of war

and its intended results-results that are often if

not always political in nature.!1 Students of war

and military professionals overlook the political

level in our paradigm of warfare at great risk.

Arguably, Figure 1 also represents the investment balance of organizational effort within the
U.S. military as it prepares for and thinks about

war. Doctrine, organization, training, leadership,

materiel, personnel, and facilities are weighted

heavily toward the tactical level—the large base

of the triangle—with proportionally much less

effort assigned to the operational and strategic

levels. A cursory look at defense spending will

identify that by far the greatest amounts of both

procurement and future research and development are allocated for tactical-level requirements.12 Tanks, helicopters, fighter planes, individual body armor, assault amphibians, cruise

missiles, munitions of all sorts, unmanned aerial

vehicles, "littoral combat ships—all provide the

combat power to fight and win battles at the tactical level. Unfortunately, winning more tacticallevel battles in an era of Fourth Generation

Warfare does not lead inevitably to winning the

war. In point of fact, with more and more

responsibility for the operational and strategic

levels of war shifting to joint organizations—a

by-product of the 1986 Goldwater-Nichols Act—

the military services have become more tactical

in their focus, charged to "organize, train, and

equip" rather than to "fight and win." Service jargon is replete with references to "warfighting"

but rarely speaks of the vastly more important

"war-winning." The decisive strategic responsibility of "winning our wars" has been largely

shifted away from the services toward others in

the "joint world" with far shallower institutional,

intellectual, and resource foundations. This is a

little-recognized development with complex

implications when fighting a global "long war."

The Insurgent Paradigm

Ironically, our enemies in this "long war" may

have developed their own version of our paradigm of warfare. Assessing the enemy's efforts

over the past five years, one could argue that

they are employing the same construct and levels of war, but with the orientation reversed—

apex low, base high, as shown in Figure 2, on

the following page. A1-Qaeda and their associated elements—the "global insurgents—have

clearly chosen to place their foremost effort at

the top: the political and strategic level. They

appear to understand and seem to be employing

178

Hammes's concept of Fourth Generation

Warfare. Their political strategic targets are the

decisionmakers and influencing elites in the

United States and in the global community. Their

operational level works to string together minor

tactical engagements (often carefully chosen) via

global media coverage to create international

strategic and political effects. Their lowest dollar

investment, unlike ours, is at the tactical level,

where improvised explosive devices and suicide

bombers carry their strategic freight with great

effect. Their command and control system is the

Internet, the laptop, the courier, and the cell

phone, drawing on technologies which were

invented and paid for by their adversaries in the

developed world. Their intelligence system does

not rely on satellites or unmanned aerial vehicles, but commonly upon human sources inside

our bases and near our operational units,

employing a family, tribal, or ethnic-based network that is impenetrable to Westerners. Their

biggest operational weapon is the global information grid, particularly the international media.

Indeed, the media are a weapon system of "mass

effect" for the terrorist to achieve his strategic

and political "grand strategy" objectives, and he

relishes the fact that we rightly cherish and protect both our freedom of speech and an adversarial media as central tenets of one of our most

important freedoms, because it aids him immensely in pursuing his strategic goals.

An interesting example of the terrorists'

sophistication in blending these levels occurred

in March 2005 in Afghanistan. One evening in

the area of the Afghan-Pakistan border near

Khowst, a major enemy attack began to develop.

Three border checkpoints controlled by Afghan

forces came under mortar and ground attack,

and at the same time, two U.S. sites which hosted reinforcing artillery and attack helicopters also

were hit with rockets. One Afghan border post

was pressed hard by more than 100 enemy fighters. Despite the unprecedented nature of this

nighttime, five-point coordinated attack, Afghan

forces fought back well, and in concert with

attack helicopters and timely artillery support,

they repulsed the border-post attacks and inflicted many enemy casualties. This attack occurred

with no apparent advance warning during a tra-
Insurgent

Construct

Political

Strategic

Operational

Figure 2. The insurgent construct for the levels ofwar.

ditionally quiet winter period in a rugged mountainous region of the country. What made it particularly notable was that it coincided precisely

with Afghan President Hamid Karzai's first official state visit to meet with his Pakistani counterpart, President Pervez Musharraf, in Islamabadand that early in the morning following the

attack, an Al Jazeera news crew suddenly drove

up to the point of the main attack in this very

remote part of the border to capture what they

obviously expected to be a very different outcome on film. Clearly, this enemy understands

the political and strategic level of a global insurgency.

General John P. Abizaid, commander of u.s.

Central Command, has described the war against

al-Qaeda and their associated movements as "a

war of intelligence and a war of perceptions."13

Both aspects present enormous challenges for

the United States and our Coalition friends and

allies. Our intelligence systems and capabilities

are among the most sophisticated and expensive

in the world, but their ability to give us credible

insight into the minds and planning of our adver179

saries remains problematic. The war of perceptions-winning a battle of ideas, influencing

other cultures, countering the virulent message

of hate and intolerance promoted by our enemies-is a bitter conflict fought out every day in

an environment of 24/7 news coverage and a

continuous global news cycle. Both of these crucial battlegrounds remain arenas where the West

and the United States face serious challenges and

are often swimming against the tide in a complex

foreign culture.

Intelligence: The "80/20 Rule"

and "Boiling Frogs"

Clausewitz observed that "many intelligence

reports in war are contradictory, even more are

false, and most are uncertain."14 What military

intelligence officer today would publicly stand

up and endorse Clausewitz's admonition during

a senior-level intelligence briefing? Yet the assertion that intelligence reports tend to be contradictory, false, and uncertain represents intelli-
gence realities. To the contrary, the 40-year Cold

War gave us powerful capabilities and unprecedented levels of confidence in our modern intelligence systems. At the height of this half-century conflict, we had devised technological solutions to our intelligence challenges which surpassed any capabilities previously known in the

history of conflict. From the modest successes of

the U2 surveillance aircraft program (brought

into high profile after the 1962 shoot down of

Francis Gary Powers over the Soviet Union), the

United States designed, built, and deployed a

comprehensive satellite surveillance program

which ultimately provided unprecedented overhead access to historically denied territories

around the world. Listening posts dotted the

periphery of the Union of Soviet Socialist

Republics (USSR). A human spy network behind

the Iron Curtain provided uniquely sensitive

information. After four decades of primary focus

on a fixed enemy, our intelligence capabilities

became singularly optimized to peer at ICBM

fields, observe submarine fleet anchorages, scan

bomber-packed airfields, monitor Warsaw Pact

tank divisions, and—with a network of spies—

look deep inside the Soviet governmental and

military bureaucracies.

Our human intelligence penetration of the

USSR was significant and priceless, tragically

revealed by the betrayals of numerous American

agents by Soviet moles Aldrich Ames inside the

CIA and Robert Hanssen inside the FBI.15 The

ideological power of our Western influence as

functioning and prosperous democracies of free

people gave us leverage in recruiting Soviet citizens to spy on their own country, a "Free World"

ideological advantage noticeably absent in penetrating terrorist networks today. Billions of dollars were devoted to these holistic intelligence

efforts, and the results were clearly impressive.

One could unscientifically estimate that a U.S.

president sitting down to his daily intelligence

briefing in the 1960s, 1970s, or well into the

1980s could have perhaps an 80-percent confidence level in the veracity and completeness of

the intelligence picture painted on at least the

Soviet Union, our most dangerous opponent.

The existence of an aggressive foreign power

with the largest nuclear arsenal in the world

180

aimed at the United States was a powerful incentive for massive spending on intelligence and

unsparing efforts to discern not only the capabilities, but the intentions, of this prime adversary.

As the Soviet Union began to disintegrate in

the late 1980s, however, our intelligence system

remained largely unchanged. Presidents continued to get their daily worldwide intelligence

briefings, but gradually the levels of confidence

and certainty in the picture began to slip from

the peak Cold War performance levels of an optimized system. It was a slip unnoticed by the participants, and perhaps by the briefers as well.

Institutional momentum and past successes kept

investments steady or growing in high-technology systems, and one can surmise that satellites

and other overhead collectors continued to

receive robust resourcing.

But in comparison to the perhaps 80 percent

confidence level in the accuracy of the products

against the Soviets, our level of confidence in

today's intelligence products against an obscure

worldwide enemy network ought to perhaps be

more like 20 percent. In an environment of global insurgency, fighting a loosely organized

worldwide terrorist network enabled by modern

technology, a movement based upon twisted

religious interpretations and playing upon feelings of economic and political inadequacy in a

world racing toward globalization in all aspects

of life, our technology-dependent intelligence

system is operating at a huge disadvantage. Our

enemy has no ICBM fields, no submarine pens,

no tank divisions, and no standing governmental

or military bureaucracy to penetrate. Aside from

cars, trucks, and motorcycles, he has no "platforms," yet most of our costly intelligence tools

tend to be optimized to find and report on just

that. Acquiring high-value human intelligence

continues to be extremely difficult, and penetrating a closed culture with intense internal loyalties and a strong bias toward family and tribal

lines is immensely tough.

Most important, though, our military leaders

and commanders today have to recalibrate their

thought processes to better understand what

they are seeing and what they are not. In my

experience, no intelligence officer worth his or

her salt will give a senior leader an intelligence
briefing without crisp certainties in the conclusions. In fact, in our military we expect and

demand the intelligence officer, the "G2," to take

a defined stance, to tell us definitively what the

enemy is going to do. Again, in the Cold War era,

the West had multiple overlapping and redundant means of detecting, assessing, and confirming key intelligence findings. In today's environment, operating against a shadowy terrorist network distributed globally in loosely aligned

autonomous cells, our ability to have any significant degree of confidence in our intelligence

certainty should he very much in question and

viewed with extreme skepticism. In my estimation, we simply do not know what, or how

much, we do not know. We're back to the world

of Clausewitz. What was an 80-percent certainty

during the Cold War is now 20 percent—this is

"the 80/20 Rule" of modern intelligence.

The "Boiling Frog" theory characterizes another intelligence challenge that bedevils our professionals: the tyranny of short time horizons. When

fighting an enemy who views time in decades or

generations, Americans—perhaps particularly

those fighting overseas on one-year tours of

duty—are at a great disadvantage. We live in a

"microwave society" of instant results, and our

trend analysis in counterinsurgency operations

reflects this. During 2003-2005 in Afghanistan,

our "long-term" time comparisons were inevitably to events just one year prior. We essentially had no data from 2001 or 2002 for a variety

of reasons—early-stage operations, inadequate

records keeping, staff turnover—so our longituclinal assessment of the counterinsurgency was at

best a one- to two-year comparative look.

My U.S. military intelligence team in Afghanistan dreaded the inevitable question: "Are we

the boiling frog?" Legend has it that a frog placed

in a shallow pot of water heating on a stove will

remain happily in the pot of water as the temperature continues to climb, and will not jump out

even as the water slowly reaches the boiling

point and kills the frog. The change of one

degree of temperature at a time is so gradual that

the frog doesn't realize he is being boiled until it

is too late. Our limited Western time horizons

often precluded any serious look at a ten-year

(much less a 25-year) timeline to discern the

181

long-term effect of our policies, or a long-term

comprehension of what the enemy might be

attempting, ever so slowly. This is a significant

risk to any Western intelligence system, perhaps

most so with Americans and our perceived "need

for speed." In a culture of generational conflicts,

centuries-old tribal loyalties, and infinite societal

and family memories, we are at a significant disadvantage.

The War of Perceptions.

Information Operations

Clausewitz also wrote that war "is a trial of

moral and physical forces through the medium

of the latter. Naturally, moral strength must not

be excluded, for psychological forces exert a

decisive influence on the elements involved in

war."16 The counterinsurgency campaign waged

in Afghanistan from late 2003 until mid-2005 was

underpinned by information operations. Un-fortunately, in a war of ideas, our ability to influence ideas and shape perceptions as Westerners

briefly transplanted into this remote, isolated

region of the world with an infinitely different

culture was an enormous challenge. As

Westerners and Americans, we tended to be linear and impassive thinkers focused on quick

solutions—operating in a foreign world of

nuance, indirection, and close personal relations

tied to trust, with extended time horizons. The

Taliban often reminded villagers: "The Americans

may have all the wristwatches, but we have all

the time."

Our U.S. information operations doctrine was

designed for a different era and in many ways

simply did not fit the war we were fighting. It

doctrinally bundled together "apples, oranges,

pianos, Volkswagens, and skyscrapers" into one

package—psychological operations, operational

security, military deception, offensive and defensive computer network operations, and electronic warfare.17 This official collection of disparate

conceptual entities did little to assist us in our

struggle to understand and operate in a war that

was ultimately about winning hearts and minds,

and about keeping our side resolutely in the

fight.
The enemy instinctively seemed to understand

how to exploit the media (international and

local), tribal customs and beliefs, rumors and cultural predispositions toward mystery and conspiracy, and a host of other subtle but effective

communications. Al-Qaeda and the Taliban targeted their messages to influence both decision

makers and ordinary people—in Afghanistan, in

Pakistan, in the Gulf region, in Europe, in the

United States, and across a global audience. A

blatant lie or obviously false claim by the Taliban

would resonate throughout the cultural system of

Afghanistan down to every valley and village,

and it would be next to impossible to subsequently counter such falsehoods with facts. In a

tribal society, rumors count, emotions carry huge

weight, the extreme seems plausible, and "facts"

reported outside the trusted confines of family,

village, and tribe are subject to great skepticism.

This "local" phenomenon carried weight

throughout the region and is arguably the norm

across much of the Islamic world.

The deadly outbursts in Afghanistan following

the ultimately false reports of American desecration of the Koran at Guantanamo demonstrated

the emotional power of "breaking cultural news."

Widespread rioting and protests across the

Muslim world after the publication in Europe of

cartoons depicting the prophet Muhammad

reflect the same powerful and emotional cultural

religious phenomenon. Messages from "the

West" were often viewed with inherent suspicion, simply because they were from outsiders.

We worked hard to overcome these difficulties,

mostly through exercising the most effective

information operations technique—having a

good story to tell, and always telling the truth.

The public affairs component of this strategy

deserves some discussion. In late 2004, General

Richard Myers, then Chairman of the Joint Chiefs

of Staff, published a directive message explicitly

separating public affairs from information operations in the U.S. military, and he articulated some

very powerful reasons why this separation

should he so.18 U.S. public affairs officers around

the world cheered, but many commanders

cringed. The work of winning a "war of ideas"

was not made any easier for deployed commanders, but Myers's point was a valid one—the

182

recognition that we waged 21st-century warfare

in the "spin zone" of both international media

and domestic politics could not permit or excuse

an environment where facts might be changed or

reporters manipulated to deliberately create false

perceptions.

The line remains a fine one for commanders.

In an environment where the enemy leverages

global media to get out a recurrent message of

hopelessness and despair, of carnage and fear,

how do military leaders counter the overwhelming impression that all the victories are on the

enemy's side? How do we overcome the perception that every bombing or ambush resulting in

American casualties signifies that we are "losing"?

As some pundits have noted, if Americans at

home had been able to watch the 1944 D-Day

invasion of Normandy in real time on CNN from

the first wave at Omaha Beach, there would have

been little hope in the public mind that the Third

Reich would surrender just 11 months later!

Some Americans might have clamored for a

negotiated settlement. But no one in the global

audience in 1944 viewed Nazi Germany and

Imperial Japan as the "moral equivalents" of the

Allies, nor did any news organization in the West

report on World War II as though it was a neutral observer at a sporting event. The Allies

against the Axis was not a game show where the

outcomes were unimportant to the average citizen, and the news media did not report on it as

though they were neutral about the results.

It's increasingly apparent that this "valuesneutral" approach and largely detached moral

position prevail across much of the international

(and U.S.) media today. Are the bloody terrorists

who decapitate innocent hostages on camera

morally equivalent to the democratically elected

governments of the United States and Great

Britain? Are they as deserving of empathy and

respect as the freely elected leaders in Afghanistan and Iraq? Some media outlets—and not

insignificant numbers of citizens in the Muslim

world—would contend it is so. We do not have

to agree with these chilling perceptions to register them and to reflect seriously on what measures are required to reverse them. The painful

implications of this set of arguably common

Islamic perceptions should give us pause. Is
nothing commonly reprehensible to all peoples?

All these complexities of perception and culture

are alive in a 24/7 news-cycle world of instant

communications, and they utterly change the

dynamics of fighting and winning a war against

a global insurgency today.

Finally, a growing phenomenon subtly capitalized on by our terrorist enemies is the instant

politicization of distant battlefield events (especially reverses) in the American political process

here at home. There are surely disturbing echoes

of the bitter political contentiousness of Vietnam

in today's party-centric debates over the nature

and strategy of this war, but that debate also

reflects a healthy symptom of politics in a free

society. That said, it is unfortunate that in an era

of continuous electoral politics, somehow successful activities in this war—from battles won to

elections held to civil affairs projects completed—

seem to be scored as "wins" for the present

administration, while tactical setbacks, bombings,

heavy casualties, or local political reverses are

construed as "losses," and seem to somehow be

twisted to add to the political capital of the opposition party. Although largely unintentional, this

perverse situation is flat-out wrong, and it does a

disservice to our fighting men and women in

harm's way. Wars should always supercede "politics as usual," especially in an age of Fourth

Generation Warfare with the enemy deliberately

targeting decision makers on the home front as

part of its premeditated strategy. There was a time

in American politics, especially in time of war,

when politics stopped at the water's edge and our

friends and enemies alike saw a unified, bipartisan approach to foreign policy from American

elected leaders. In the current "long war," fought

out 24/7 under the bright lights of continuous talk

shows, and where resolve, staying power, and

American and allied unity are the very principles

that the enemy is desperately trying to undermine, that once respected bipartisan principle in

our foreign policy needs to he recaptured.

Conclusion: Our Strategic

Challenge

Strategy in a global counterinsurgency

requires a new level of thinking. A world of

183

irregular threats and asymmetrical warfare

demands that we broaden our thinking beyond

the norms of traditional military action once sufficient to win our wars. The focus of this global

insurgency of violent Islamist extremism exploits

the concepts of Fourth Generation Warfare with

a calculated assault on perceptions at home, on

our decision makers, and on the public. In a war

of intelligence and a war of perceptions, we

grapple to understand how to best devise a warwinning strategy given the predominantly conventional warfighting tools in our military toolbox—and our vulnerabilities outside the military

sphere. Realities are that an unbroken series of

tactical military victories in today's war, the primary focus of our Army and Marine Corps, will

not assure strategic success, yet our conventional military organizations and service cultures

seem increasingly tactical. An effective strategy

does not result from the aggregate of an unlimited number of tactical data points. Commanders

assert, "We simply cannot be defeated militarily

in this war." That may be true, but this statement

masks the fact that we can potentially be defeated by other than purely military means.

How big is our concept of war? With our enemies committed to an unlimited war of unlimited

means—al-Qaeda will clearly use a nuclear

weapon against the United States if it gains the

means—how can we continue to regard this fight

as a limited war and keep our focus chiefly on

accumulating an unbroken series of battlefield

tactical successes which we somehow think will

collectively deliver victory? How do we justify

our military services' institutional fixation with

accruing more and more tactical capability in the

face of an enemy which places no value on tactical engagements except to achieve his strategic

and political objectives? Where do we best invest

our future defense dollars to gain leverage over

this new "global insurgent," an enemy with no

tanks, no air force, no navy, and no satellites?

What type of provocation will it take for

Americans to fully commit to a "long war" against

an enemy who is engaged in a war without limits against us? And what does an all-out "long

war" mean for America within the ethical and

moral values of our nation in the 21st century?

Many of these questions are beyond the scope
of this article, but they point to the complex

dimensions of understanding the nature of the

war we fight today—a Fourth Generation War—

and the means required for us to win. As a military charged with fighting this new type of war,

a global insurgency, we must better grasp ownership of the fight. In some sense, as society's

trustee in the conduct of our nation's wars, we

must accept the full range of war, tactical to

strategic level. After all, winning wars—and preventing them—are the only reasons our military

exists. If we as a nation or a member of a coalition are ultimately defeated by our enemies, the

reasons for that defeat—whether military, political, or economic—will be far less important than

the result. We must more fully leverage all the

intellectual as well as physical capabilities inside

our military to assure such a defeat remains

unthinkable. We need to contribute more directly toward a comprehensive strategy leading to

long-term victory. Battlefield victories result from

good tactics, training, and leadership; strategic

victories result from thinking through the right

strategy and executing it aggressively. Our military should be the repository of the deepest

reservoirs of strategic thinking on winning our

wars—of any type. But for our military to deny

that an asymmetric defeat at the strategic level is

even possible in this unconventional war is the

equivalent of burying our heads in the sand and

increases our risk.

While protecting against tactical or operational-level defeat on the battlefields of Iraq and

Afghanistan, our military needs to also guard

against the dangers of strategic-level defeat. This

is not just "someone else's problem." We need to

understand the nature of the war we are fighting,

and we need to avoid the temptation to define

our war as the tactical battle we would like to

fight rather than the strategic fight we are in with

a thinking enemy who strikes daily at our national political will here at home.

The military's role in addressing this asymmetrical "war of wills" is hypersensitive. This

predicament is a very real problem inherent in

21st century warfare, and the military needs to

understand and support the civilian leadership in

defending this flank. Bipartisan recognition and

defense of this Achilles' heel is also necessary to

184

deprive our enemies of its effect. America's military contribution needs to evolve toward designing a war-winning series of campaigns and, perhaps even more important, helping our civilian

leadership to craft the broad political-military

grand strategy necessary to succeed against a

dangerous and resourceful enemy in this "long

war." We as a military must fully understand,

accept, and take ownership of "war-winning" as

well as "war-fighting" if we are to fulfill our role

in defending the society we are pledged to serve.

If this conflict is truly a "long war" against violent

global extremism, against an ideology of hate

and destruction as dangerous as fascism in the

1930s and communism in the 1950s, then we as

a military have to take on the institutional and

intellectual challenges to fight and to win this

very different war against a determined and dangerous enemy.

Notes

1. Carl von Clausewitz, On War, ed. and trans. Michael

Howard and Peter Paret (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton

Univ. Press, 1976), 75.

2. Asymmetrical warfare in this context is best

described as the means by which a conventionally

weak adversary can fight and win against the conventionally strong opposite number. The term "insurgency" in this article describes irregular warfare characterized by unconventional elements battling against

a prevailing or established order.

3. General John P. Abizaid, personal conversation with

the author, 2004.

4. Thomas X. Hammes, The Sling and the Stone: On

War in the 21st Century (St. Paul, Minn.: Zenith Press,

2004). This is perhaps the most original book on present-day warfare in an era of weaker powers battling

conventionally strong adversaries via asymmetrical

approaches. Hammes casts serious doubt on the

notions of technology, information, and speed of decision making as effective attributes in dealing with an

insurgent enemy.

5. Arthur K. Cebrowski and John J. Gartska, "Network

Centric Warfare: Its Origins and Futures," Proceedings

January 1998.

6. Hanimes, 16-31.

7. Cebrowski and Gartska. "Network-centric operations"—much different from Fourth Generation netwar—describes a theory of war which argues in effect

that rapid war-winning results can be rendered by
speed of decisions and actions produced by centralized networks of communications, intelligence, and

command and control.

8. Hammes, 2. Italics added.

9. U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff, Department of Defense

Dictionary of Military and Associated Terms, Joint Pub

1-02 (Washington: GPO, 2005). The tactical level of

war is defined as, "The level of war at which battles

and engagements are planned and executed to accomplish military objectives assigned to tactical units or

task forces." The operational level is, "The level of war

at which campaigns and major operations are planned,

conducted, and sustained to accomplish strategic

objectives within theaters or other operational areas."

The strategic level is, "The level of war at which a

nation, often as a member of a group of nations, determines national or multinational (alliance or coalition)

security objectives and guidance, and develops and

uses national resources to accomplish those objectives."

10. Harry R. Summers, On Strategy: A CriticalAnalysis

of the Vietnam War (Novato, Calif.: Presidio, 1981).

11. The essence of grand strategy is described by

Colonel John Boyd (USAF Ret.) as to "shape pursuit of

the national goal so that we not only amplify our spirit and strength (while undermining and isolating our

adversaries) but also influence the uncommitted or

potential adversaries so that they are drawn toward our

philosophy and are empathetic toward our success."

Boyd, "Patterns of Conflict," briefing, December 1986,

185

slide 140, http://www.d-n-i.net/boyd/pdf/poc.pdf.

12. U.S. Congress, Fiscal Year 2006 National Defense

Authorization Act, H. R. 1815 (Washington: GPO,

2005). Available at U.S. House Armed Services

Comniittee website, http://www. house .gov/hasc/.

13. Abizaid conversation.

14. Clausewitz, 117.

15. Chitra Ragavan, "Kings of Cold War Treachery:

Robert Hanssen and Aldrich Ames," US. News & World

Report, 27 January 2003.

16. Clausewitz, 127. Emphasis added.

17. U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff, Joint Doctrine for

Information Operations, Joint Pub 3-13 (Washington:

GPO, 1998), 18.

18. General Richard B. Myers, "Myers Letter to

Commanders on Public Affairs and Information

Operations," 27 September 2004, quoted by Mark

Mazzetti, "U.S. Use of Media in War Sparks Debate,"

Los Angeles Times, 1 December 2004: "Although both

Ipublic affairs] and [military information operationsi

conduct planning, message development, and media

analysis, the efforts differ with respect to audience,

scope and intent, and must remain separate."

About the Author

David W. Barno, Lieutenant General, USA (Ret.), is director of the Near

East South Asia Center for Strategic Studies at National Defense University,

Washington, D.C. He served in combat with Ranger battalions during the

Grenada and Panama invasions and from 2003 to 2005 commanded

more than 20,000 U.S. and Coalition forces in Combined Forces

Command-Afghanistan as part of Operation Enduring Freedom.

Countering Evolved Insurgent Networks

by Thomas X Hammes

Military Review, July-August 2006.

he first step in meeting the challenge facing us in Iraq today or in similar war zones

tomorrow is to understand that insurgency

and counterinsurgency are very different tasks.

The use of Special Forces against insurgents in

Vietnam to "out-guerrilla the guerrillas" provided

exactly the wrong solution to the problem. It

assumed that the insurgent and the counterinsurgent can use the same approach to achieve their

quite different goals.

To define insurgency, I use Bard O'Neill from

Insurgency and Terrorism. He states: "Insurgency

may be defined as a struggle between a nonruling group and the ruling authorities in which the

nonruling group consciously uses political

resources (e.g., organizational expertise, propaganda, and demonstrations) and violence to

destroy, reformulate, or sustain the basis of one

or more aspects of politics."1

Counterinsurgency, as defined by Ian Beckett,

"is far from being a purely military problem

coordination of both the civil and military effort

must occur at all levels and embrace the provision of intelligence 2 On the surface, these definitions suggest that

insurgency and counterinsurgency are similar

because each requires political and military

action. However, when one thinks it through, the

challenge is very different for the government.

The government must accomplish something. It

must govern effectively. In contrast, the insurgent

only has to propose an idea for a better future

while ensuring the government cannot govern

effectively.

In Iraq, the resistance does not even project a

better future. It simply has the nihilistic goal of

ensuring the government cannot function. This

negative goal is much easier to achieve than governing. For instance, it is easier and more direct

to use military power than to apply political, economic, and social techniques. The insurgent can

use violence to delegitimize a government

187

(because that government cannot fulfill the basic

social contract to protect the people). However,

simple application of violence by the government

cannot restore that legitimacy. David Galula, in

his classic Counterinsurgency Warfare. Theory

and Practice, expresses the difference between

insurgency and counterinsurgency very clearly:

"Revo-lutionary warfare ... represents an exceptional case not only because as we suspect, it has

its special rules, different from those of the conventional war, but also because most of the rules

applicable to one side do not work for the other.

In a fight between a fly and a lion, the fly cannot

deliver a knockout blow and the lion cannot fly.

It is the same war for both camps in terms of

space and time, yet there are two distinct warfares [sici—the revolutionary's, and shall we say,

the counterrevolutionary's."

Enduring Traits of Insurgency

Mao Zedong wrote his famous On Guerrilla

War [Yu Chi Chan] in 1937. Despite the passage

of time, many of his basic observations about

insurgency remain valid. First and foremost,

insurgency is a political, not a military, struggle.

It is not amenable to a purely military solution

without resorting to a level of brutality unacceptable to the Western world. Even the particularly

brutal violence Russia has inflicted upon

Chechnya—killing almost 25 percent of the total

population and destroying its cities—has not

resulted in victory.

The second factor has to do with the political

will of the counterinsurgent's own population. If

that population turns sour when faced with the

long time frame and mounting costs of counterinsurgency, the insurgent will win. This has been

particularly true whenever the United States has

become involved in counterinsurgency operations. Insurgents have learned over the last 30

years that they do not have to defeat the United

States militarily to drive us out of an insurgency;

they only have to destroy our political will. Today's insurgents in both Afghanistan and Iraq

understand this and have made the political will
of the U.S. population a primary target of their

efforts.

A third unchanging aspect of insurgency

involves duration. Insurgencies are measured in

decades, not months or years. The Chinese Communists fought for 27 years. The Vietnamese

fought the U.S. for 30 years. The Palestinians

have been resisting Israel since at least 1968.

Even when the counterinsurgent has won, it has

taken a long time. The Malaya emergency and

the El Salvadoran insurgency each lasted 12

years.

Finally, despite America's love of high technology, technology does not provide a major advantage in counterinsurgency. In fact, in the past, the

side with the simplest technology often won.

What has been decisive in most counterinsurgencies were the human attributes of leadership, cultural understanding, and political judgment.

In short, the key factors of insurgency that

have not changed are its political nature, its protracted timelines, and its intensely human (versus

technological) nature.

Emerging Traits of Insurgency

While these hallmarks of insurgency have

remained constant, the nature of insurgency has

evolved in other areas. Like all forms of war,

insurgency changes in consonance with the political, economic, social, and technical conditions of

the society it springs from. Insurgencies are no

longer the special province of single-party organizations like Mao's and Ho Chi Minh's. Today,

insurgent organizations are comprised of loose

coalitions of the willing, human networks that

range from local to global. This reflects the social

organizations of the societies they come from and

the reality that today's most successful organizations are networks rather than hierarchies.

In addition to being composed of coalitions,

insurgencies also operate across the spectrum

from local to transnational organizations. Because

these networks span the globe, external actors

such as the Arabs who fought alongside the

Talihan in Afghanistan, the Afghans who fought

in Bosnia, and the European Muslims who are

showing up in Iraq, are now a regular part of

insurgencies.

188

In a coalition insurgency, the goals of the different elements may vary, too. In Afghanistan

today, some of the insurgents simply wish to rule

their own valleys; others seek to rule a nation. AlQaeda is fighting for a transnational caliphate. In

Iraq, many of the Sunni insurgents seek a secular

government dominated by Sunnis. Other Sunnis—the Salafists—want a strict Islamic society

ruled by Sharia. Among the Shi'a, Muqtada alSadr operated as an insurgent, then shifted to the

political arena (while maintaining a powerful

militia and a geographic base in the slums of Sadr

City). Although temporarily out of the insurgent

business, his forces remain a factor in any armed

conflict. Other Shi'a militias are also prepared to

enter the military equation if their current political efforts do not achieve their goals. Finally,

criminal elements in both Afghanistan and Iraq

participate in the unrest primarily for profit.

At times, even their hatred of the outsider is

not strong enough to keep these various coalition

groups from fighting among themselves. Such

factionalism was a continuing problem for antiSoviet insurgents in Afghanistan in the 1980s, and

savvy Soviet commanders exploited it at times.

We see major signs of the same symptom in Iraq

today.

This complex mixture of players and motives

is now the pattern for insurgencies. If insurgents

succeed in driving the Coalition out of Afghanistan and Iraq, their own highly diverse coalitions

of the willing will not be able to form a government; their mutually incompatible beliefs will

lead to continued fighting until one faction dominates. This is what happened in Afghanistan

when the insurgents drove the Soviets out.

Similar disunity appeared in Chechnya after the

Soviets withdrew in 1996, and infighting only

ceased when the Russians returned to install their

own government. Early signs of a similar power

struggle are present in the newly evacuated Gaza

Strip.

The fact that recent insurgencies have been

coalitions is a critical component in understanding them. For too long, American leaders stated

that the insurgency in Iraq could not be genuine

because it had no unifying cause or leader; therefore, it could not be a threat. The insurgents in

Afghanistan, Chechnya, and Palestine have never
New Insurgency Traits 

• Emergence of networked coalitions of the willing 

• Evolution into trans dimensional 

organizations 

• Ability to fund themselves 

• Wide variety of motivations 

behind different coalitions elements 

had a unified leadership or belief other than that 

the outside power had to go. Yet these insurgents 

have driven out the Soviet Union and continue to 

contest the United States, Russia, and Israel. The 

lack of unity in current insurgencies only makes 

them more difficult to defeat. It is a characteristic 

that we have to accept and understand. 

Showing the adaptability characteristic of successful organizations, many insurgencies are now 

transdimensional as well as transnational. As 

Western efforts have reduced the number of 

insurgent safe havens, insurgents have aggressively moved into cyberspace. There, the high 

capacity of broadband has greatly increased the 

Internet's utility for insurgents. Expanding from 

simple communications and propaganda, insurgents and their terrorist counterparts have moved 

to online recruitment, vetting of recruits, theological indoctrination, trammg, and logistical 

arrangements. Insurgents never have to meet an 

individual recruit until they feel comfortable; then 

they can use the Internet as a meeting site that 

they control. The wide availability of passwordprotected chat rooms allows insurgents to hold 

daily meetings with very little chance of discovery. Not only do Western intelligence agencies 

have to find the insurgents' chat room among the 

millions out there and crack the password, but 

they also must do so with a person who can 

speak the insurgents' language and who is convincing enough to keep the other chat participants from simply logging off. And, of course, 

insurgents can also move out of the larger chat 

room into private chat, which makes the infiltration problem even harder. 

189 

Another major change in insurgencies is that 

they are becoming self-supporting. Modern insurgents do conventional fund-raiSing, but they also 

run charity organizations, businesses, and criminal enterprises. In the past, most insurgencies 

depended on one or two major sponsors, which 

the United States could subject to diplomatic or 

economic pressure. Now, the insurgents' more 

varied money-raising schemes, combined with 

the ability to move funds outside official banking 

channels, make it increaSingly difficult to attack 

insurgent finances. 

Enduring Characteristics of 

Counterinsurgency 

Just as insurgencies have enduring characteristics, so do counterinsurgencies. The fundamental 

weapon in counterinsurgency remains good governance. While the insurgent must simply continue to exist and conduct occasional attacks, the 

government must learn to govern effectively. The 

fact that there is an insurgency indicates the government has failed to govern. In short, the counterinsurgent is starting out in a deep hole. 

The first governing step the counterinsurgent 

must take is to establish security for the people. 

Without effective, continuous security it does not 

matter if the people are sympathetic to the government-they must cooperate with the insurgent 

or be killed. Providing security is not enough, 

however. The government must also give the 

people hope for a better future-for their children if not for themselves. Furthermore, this better future must accord with what the people 

want, not what the counterinsurgent wants. The 

strategic hamlets campaign in Vietnam and the 

ideological emphasis on freedom in Iraq are 

examples of futures the counterinsurgent thought 

were best, but that didn't resonate with the population. In Vietnam, the peasants were intensely 

tied to their land; in Islamic culture, justice has a 

higher value than freedom. 

The view of the future must address the 

"poverty of dignity" that Thomas L. Friedman has 

so clearly identified as a driving motivator for terrorists.4 The people must have hope not just for 

a better life as they see it, but also for the feeling 
of dignity that comes from having some say in

their own futures.

There has been a great deal of discussion

recently about whether the war in Iraq has progressed from terrorism to an insurgency and then

to a civil war. While this is very important from

the insurgent's point of view, it does not determine the first steps a counterinsurgent must take

to win. As always, the first step is to provide

security for the people. If the people stop supporting the government out of fear of insurgents,

terrorists, or other violent groups, the government can only begin winning hack its credibility

by providing effective security. How that security

is provided can vary depending on the threat, but

the basic requirement is nonnegotiable. Thus, the

fundamental concepts of counterinsurgency

remain constant: provide security for the people

and genuine hope for the future.

Emerging Characteristics of

Counterinsurgency

The counterinsurgent must also come to grips

with the emerging characteristics of insurgency.

To deal with the networked, transnational character of insurgents, the counterinsurgent must

develop a truly international approach to the

security issues he faces. In addition, he must

counter not just a single ideology, but all the ideologies of the various groups involved in the

insurgency. This is daunting because attacking

the ideology of one group might reinforce that of

another. Successful ideological combat also

requires the counterinsurgent to have deep cultural and historical knowledge of the people in

the conflict. Success in this kind of fight will be

difficult to achieve, but it can be attained if the

government attacks the insurgents' coalition by

exacerbating individual group differences.

Finally, the government must find a way to

handle the numerous external actors who will

come to join the insurgency. The true believers

among them can only be killed or captured; the

rest must be turned from insurgents to citizens. If

possible, the counterinsurgent should keep foreign fighters from returning to their homes to

spread the conflict there. Obviously, this will

190

require a great deal of international cooperation.

However, the nations involved should be anxious

to cooperate to prevent these violent, potentially

rebellious fighters from returning home.

Visualizing the Insurgency

With the mixture of enduring and emerging

characteristics in insurgencies, the question arises

as to how best to analyze the modern form. A

clear understanding of the insurgency is obviously essential to the counterinsurgent.

Unfortunately, recent history shows that conventional powers initially tend to misunderstand

insurgencies much more often than they understand them. In Malaya, it took almost three years

before the British developed a consistent

approach to the Communist insurrection there.

As John Nagl has noted, "Only about 1950 was

the political nature of the war really grasped."5 In

Vietnam, it took until 1968 before General

Creighton Abrams and Ambassador Robert

Komer provided an effective plan to deal with

the Viet Cong in the south. In Iraq, it took us

almost two years to decide that we were dealing

with an insurgency, and we are still arguing

about its composition and goals.

To fight an insurgency effectively, we must

first understand it. Given the complexity inherent

in modern insurgency, the best visualization tool

is a network map. The counterinsurgent must

map the human networks involved on both sides

because—

• A map of the human connections reflects

how insurgencies really operate. A network map

will reveal the scale and depth of interactions

between different people and nodes and show

the actual impact of our actions against those

connections.

• A network map plotted over time can show

how changes in the environment affect nodes

and links in the network. Again, such knowledge

is essential for understanding how our actions are

hitting the insurgency.

• Models of human networks account for

charisma, human will, and insights in ways a simple organizational chart cannot.

• Networks actively seek to grow. By studying
New Counterinsurgency Traits 

• Develop an international approach 

• Counter multiple ideologies 

• Know the culture and its histOlY 

• Handle the outsiders 

network maps, we can see where growth occurs 

and what it implies for the insurgent and the government. By studying which areas of the insurgent network are growing fastest, we can identify the most effective members of the insurgency 

and their most effective tactics, and act accordingly. 

• Networks interact with other networks in 

complex ways that cannot be portrayed on an 

organizational chart. 

• Network maps show connections from a 

local to a global scale and reveal when insurgents 

use modern technology to make the "long-distance" relationships more important and closer 

than local ones. 

• Networks portray the transdimensional and 

transnational nature of insurgencies in ways no 

other model can. Networks can also reveal insurgent connections to the host-nation government, 

the civilian community, and any other players 

present in the struggle. 

• Finally, if we begin to understand the underlying networks of insurgencies, we can analyze 

them using an emerging set of tools. In Linked: 

The Science of Networks, Albert-Laszlo Barabasi 

points to these new tools: "A string of recent 

breathtaking discoveries has forced us to 

acknowledge that amaZingly simple and far 

reaching laws govern the structure and evolution 

of all the complex networks that surround us."6 

We should also use network modeling when 

we consider our own organizations. Unlike the 

hierarchical layout we habitually use when portraying ourselves, a network schematic will allow 

us to see much more clearly how our personnel 

poliCies affect our own operations. When we 

chart an organization hierarchically, it appears 

that our personnel rotation policies have minimal 

191 

effect on our organizations. One individual 

leaves, and another qualified individual immediately fills that line on the organization chart; there 

is no visual indication of the impact on our 

organization. If, however, we plotted our own 

organizations as networks, we could see the massive damage our personnel rotation poliCies 

cause. When a person arrives in country and 

takes a job, for some time he probably knows 

only the person he is working for and a few people in his office. In a network, he will show up 

as a small node with few connections. As time 

passes, he makes new connections and finds old 

friends in other jobs throughout the theater. On a 

network map, we will see him growing from a 

tiny node to a major hub. Over the course of 

time, we will see his connections to other military 

organizations, to U.S. and allied government 

agencies, host-nation agencies, nongovernment 

organizations (NGOs), and so forth. Just as clearly, when he rotates, we will see that large hub 

instantaneously replaced by a small node with 

few connections. We will be even more alarmed 

to see the massive impact the simultaneous 

departure of numerous hubs has on the functionality of our network. 

To assist us in building our network maps, we 

can use any of a number of sophisticated antigang software programs that allow us to track 

individuals and visualize their contacts. 

Essentially sophisticated versions of the old personalities-organizations-incidents databases, 

these programs allow us to tie together the intelligence reports we get to build a visual picture of 

the connections revealed. For instance, we pick 

up a suspect near a bombing site, check him 

against the database, and find that although he 

has not been arrested before, he is closely related to a man we know to be involved in a political party. We can then look at other members of 

the family and party to see if there are other connections to the incident, to the person we arrested, or to the organization possibly involved. 

Good software will allow for instant visualization of these relationships in a color-coded network we can project on a wall, print out, or transmit to other analysts. Good software almost 

instantly accomplishes the hundreds of hours of 

scut work that used to be required to tie isolated, 
apparently unrelated reports together. It allows

us to look for third-and even fourth-level connections in a network and, thus, to build a much

more useful network map. In particular, we will

be able to see the gaps where we know there

ought to he connections.

Ten years ago, software of this analytical quality was available and being used to track gang

activity in the United States. I am uncertain of the

status of current DOD human intelligence software, but I doubt it reaches down to the critical

company and platoon levels of the counterinsurgency fight. We have to take aggressive action to

get better software and make it work. If cities can

give this kind of information to policemen on the

streets, we owe it to our companies and platoons.

By mapping the human connections in insurgent networks and then applying cultural knowledge and network theory to the networks, we

can understand them more clearly. We can also

apply the common-sense observation that most

networks grow from pre-existing social networks.

In fact, such an approach has already been used.

Marc Sageman has done a detailed study of alQaeda and its affiliated organizations, mapped

the operational connections, and then compared

them to pre-existing social connections.7 His

work points the way to much more effective

analysis of insurgent and terrorist organizations.

Sageman's studies have revealed the key

nodes and links in each of al-Qaeda's parts and

how changes in the operating environment over

time have affected those parts. Sageman has also

identified both the real and virtual links between

individuals and al-Qaeda's constituent organizations. Most important, however, the studies give

us a starting point from which to examine any

network: the preexisting social connections of a

society. Rather than starting from scratch, we can

analyze the limited intelligence we do obtain

within the social and cultural context of the insurgency. In short, Sageman's approach allows us to

paint a picture of the enemy network that we can

analyze.

Security not Defensive

For the counterinsurgent, the central element

in any strategy must be the people. The coun192

terinsurgent has to provide effective government

in order to win the loyalty of the people. This is

easy to say, but helping another country establish

good governance is one of the most challenging

tasks possible. The conflict in Iraq highlights how

difficult it is to help establish a government in a

fractious society. Beyond the discussion of

whether or not there is a civil war in Iraq, we

can't even agree on whether a strategy that focuses on the people is inherently offensive or clefensive. Obviously, if our approach is perceived to

he a defensive one, most strategists will be reluctant to adopt it, simply because defense rarely

wins wars.

In fact, in counterinsurgencies, providing security for the people is an inherently offensive

action. No one questions that during conventional wars, attacks that seize enemy territory to deny

the enemy resources, a tax base, and a recruiting

base are considered offensive actions. But for

some reason, when we conduct population control operations in counterinsurgency, they are

considered defensive even though these operations have the same effect: they deny the insurgent the things he needs to operate.

A population control operation is the most

offensive action one can take in a counterinsurgency. Just like in conventional war, once you

have seized a portion of the enemy's territory,

you cannot then evacuate it and give it back to

him. If you do so, you simply restore all the

resources to his control while eroding the morale

of the government, the people, and your own

forces.

In a counterinsurgency, big-unit sweeps and

raids are inherently defensive operations. We are

reacting to an enemy initiative that has given him

control of a portion of the country. We move

through, perhaps capture or kill some insurgents,

and then move back to our defensive positions.

In essence, we are ceding the key terrain—the

population and its resources—to the insurgent.

We might have inflicted a temporary tactical setback on our enemy, but at a much greater cost to

our operational and strategic goals. The fact that

we sweep and do not hold exposes the government's weakness to the people. It also exposes

them to violence and does little to improve their

long-term security or prospects for a better life.
Clearly, population control operations are the

truly offensive operations in a counterinsurgency.

Just as clearly, host-government and U.S. forces

will rarely have sufficient troops to conduct such

operations nationwide at the start of the counterinsurgent effort. Thus, we need to prioritize

areas that will receive the resources to provide

full-time, permanent security; population control,

and reconstruction. The clear, hold, and build

strategy is the correct one. However, it must recognize the limitations of government forces and,

for a period, cede control of some elements of

the population to the insurgent to provide real

protection for the rest of the population. This is

essentially the "white, grey, and black" approach

used by the British in Malaya.8 As Sir Robert

Thompson has noted, "Because a government's

resources, notably in trained manpower, are urnitecl, the [counterinsurgenti plan must also lay

down priorities both in the measures to be taken

and in the areas to be dealt with first. If the insurgency is countrywide, it is impossible to tackle it

offensively in every area. It must be accepted that

in certain areas only a holding operation can be

conducted. "9

Further, by focusing our forces to create real

security in some areas rather than the illusion of

security across the country, we can commence

rebuilding. The resulting combination of security

and prosperity will contrast sharply with conditions in insurgent-controlled areas. When we

have sufficient forces to move into those areas,

the people might be more receptive to the government's presence.

Command and Control

There is an old saying in military planning: get

the command and control relationships right, and

everything else will take care of itself. It is a common-sense acknowledgment that people provide

solutions only if they are well-led in a functional

organization. Thus the first and often most difficult step in counterinsurgency is to integrate

friendly force command and execution. Note that

I say "integrate" and not "unify." Given the

transnational, transdimensional nature of today's

insurgencies, it will be impossible to develop true

unity of command for all the organizations need193

ed to fight an insurgency. Instead, we must strive

for unity of effort by integrating the efforts of all

concerned.

While the U.S. military does not like committees, a committee structure might be most effective for command in a counterinsurgency. There

should be an executive committee for every

major political subdivision, from city to province

to national levels. Each committee must include

all key personnel involved in the counterinsurgency effort—political leaders (prime minister,

governors, and so on), police, intelligence officers, economic developers (to include NGOs),

public services ministers, and the military. The

political leaders must be in charge and have full

authority to hire, fire, and evaluate other members of the committee. Committee members must

not he controlled or evaluated by their parent

agencies at the next higher level; otherwise, the

committee will fail to achieve unity of effort. This

step will require a massive cultural change to the

normal stovepipes that handle all personnel and

promotion issues for the government. One of the

biggest hindrances to change is that many think

the current hierarchical organization is effective.

They think of themselves as "cylinders of excellence" rather than the balky, inefficient, and ineffective stovepipes they really are.

Above the national-level committee, which

can be established fairly quickly under our current organization, we need a regional command

arrangement. Given the transnational nature of

modern insurgency, a single country team simply

cannot deal with all the regional and international issues required in effective counterinsurgency.

Thus we will have to develop a genuine regional team. The current DOD and Department of

State organizations do not lend themselves well

to such a structure and will require extensive

realignment. This realignment must be accomplished.

Once the national and regional committees are

established, Washington must give mission-type

orders, allocate sufficient resources, and then let

in-country and regional personnel run the campaign. Obviously, one of the biggest challenges

in this arrangement is developing leaders to head

the in-country and regional teams, particularly

deployable U.S. civil leaders and host-nation
leaders. An even bigger challenge will be convincing U.S. national-level bureaucracies to stay

out of day-to-day operations.

Once established, the committees can use the

network map of the insurgency and its environment to develop a plan for victory. The network

map provides important information about the

nature of the interaction between the key hubs

and smaller nodes of the insurgency. While the

hubs and nodes are the most visible aspects of

any network, it is the nature of the activity

between them that is important. We must understand that well to understand how the network

actually functions. This is difficult to do, and what

makes it even more challenging is that one cannot understand the network except in its cultural

context. Therefore, we must find and employ

people with near-native language fluency and

cultural knowledge to build and interpret our

map.

Speed versus Accuracy

For counterinsurgencies, Colonel John Boyd's

observation-orientation-decision-action (OODA)

loop remains valid, but its focus changes.1° In

conventional war, and especially in the aerial

combat that led Boyd to develop his concept,

speed was crucial to completing the OODA

loop—it got you inside your opponent's OODA

loop. We have to use a different approach in

counterinsurgency. Stressing speed above all

else in the decision cycle simply does not make

sense in a war that can last a decade or more.

In counterinsurgency, we still want to move

speedily, but the focus must he more on accuracy (developed in the observation-orientation

segment of the loop). The government must

understand what it is seeing before it decides

what to do. To date, network-centric concepts

have focused on shortening the sensor-to-shooter step (Boyd's decision-action segment). Now,

we must focus on improving the quality of the

observe-orient segment. Even more important,

the OODA loop expands to track not just our

enemy's reaction, but how the entire environment is reacting—the people, the host-nation

government, our allies, our forces, even our own

population.

194

Attacking the Network

Because effective offensive operations in a

counterinsurgency are based on protecting the

people, direct action against insurgent fighters is

secondary; nevertheless, such action remains a

necessary part of the overall campaign plan.

Once we understand the insurgent network or

major segments of it, we can attack elements of

it. We should only attack, however, if our attacks

support our efforts to provide security for the

people. If there is a strong likelihood of collateral damage, we should not attack because collateral damage, by definition, lessens the people's

security. In addition, the fundamental rules for

attacking a network are different from those used

when attacking a more conventional enemy.

First, in counterinsurgency it is better to exploit a

known node than attack it. Second, if you have

to attack, the best attack is a soft one designed to

introduce distrust into the network. Third, if you

must make a hard attack, conduct simultaneous

attacks on related links, or else the attack will

have little effect. Finally, after the attack, increase

surveillance to see how the insurgency tries to

communicate around or repair the damage. As

they are reaching out to establish new contacts,

the new nodes will be most visible.

Information Campaign

An integral part of counterinsurgency is an

effective information campaign. It must have

multiple targets (the host-country population,

U.S. population, international community, insurgents and their supporters); it must be integrated

into all aspects of the overall campaign; and it

can only be effective if it is based on the truth—

spin will eventually be discovered, and the government will be hard-pressed to recover its credibility.

Furthermore, our actions speak so loudly that

they drown out our words. When we claim we

stand for justice hut then hold no senior personnel responsible for torture, we invalidate our

message and alienate our audience. Fortunately,

positive actions work, too. The tsunami and

earthquake relief efforts in 2004 and 2005 had a

huge effect on our target audiences. Conse-
quently, our information campaign must be

based on getting information about our good

actions out. Conversely, our actions must live up

to our rhetoric.

To study a highly effective information campaign, I recommend looking at the one conducted by the Palestinians during Intifada. A detailed

examination of how and why it was so successful can be found in Intfada, by Schiff and

Ya'ari.11

Summary

Today's counterinsurgency warfare involves a

competition between human networks—ours

and theirs. To understand their networks, we

must understand the networks' preexisting links

and the cultural and historical context of the society. We also have to understand not just the

insurgent's network, but those of the host-nation

government, its people, our coalition partners,

NGOs, and, of course, our own.

Counterinsurgency is completely different

from insurgency. Rather than focusing on fighting, strategy must focus on establishing good

governance by strengthening key friendly nodes

while weakening the enemy's. In Iraq, we must

get the mass of the population on our side. Good

governance is founded on providing effective

security for the people and giving them hope for

their future; it is not based on killing insurgents

and terrorists. To provide that security, we must

be able to visualize the fight between and within

the human networks involved. Only then can we

develop and execute a plan to defeat the insurgents.

Notes

1. Bard E. O'Neill, Insurgency and Terrorism: Inside

Modern Revolutionary Warfare (Washington, D.C.:

Brassey's, 1990), 13.

195

2. Ian F. W. Beckett, ed., Armed Force and Modern

Counter-Insurgency: Armies and Guerrilla Warfare

1900-1 945 (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1985), 8.

3. David Galula, Counterinsurgency Warfare: Theory

and Practice (New York: Praeger, 1966), xi.

4. Thomas L. Friedman, "A Poverty of Dignity and a

Wealth of Rage," New York Times, 15 July 2005.

5. John Nagl, Learning to Eat Soup with a Knfe:

Counterinsurgency Lessons from Malaya and Vietnam

(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005), 71.

6. Albert-Laszlo Barahasi, Linked: The New Science of

Networks (Cambridge, Mass: Perseus Publishing, 2002).

See also Lewis Sorley, A Better War (New York:

Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, 2003).

7. Mark Sageman, Understanding Terror Networks

(Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004).

8. Used by the British in Malaya, the white-grey-black

scheme is a corollary of the clear-hold-build strategy

now in use in Iraq. White areas were those declared

completely cleared of insurgents and ready for reconstruction and democratic initiatives. Grey areas were in

dispute, with counterinsurgents and insurgents vying

actively for the upper hand. Black areas were insurgent-controlled and mostly left alone pending the reallocation of government resources from other areas. See

Robert Thompson, Defeating Communist Insurgency:

The Lessons of Vietnam and Malaya (New York:

Praeger, 1966), chap. 10.

9. Thompson, 55.

10. John Boyd articulated the OODA loop concept in

a lengthy slide presentation. For a discussion of the

OODA loop and other Boyd theories, see "Boyd and

Military Strategy," <www.d-n-i.net/second_level

/boyd_military.htm>, accessed 10 July 2006.

11. Zeev Schiff and Ehud Ya'ari, Intfada: The

Palestinian Uprising-Israel's Third Front (New York:

Simon and Schuster, March 1990).

About the Author

Thomas X. Hammes, Colonel, USMC (Ret.), is the author of The Sling

and the Stone: On Warfare in the 21st Century (2004), an influential

book on fourth-generation warfare, a subject on which he has been publishing since 1989. At the time this article was published, he was reading

for a DPhil in modem history at Oxford University. In his 30 years in the

Marine Corps, Hammes served at all levels in the operating forces and participated in stabilization operations in Somalia and Iraq.

Advances in

Predeployment

Culture Training: The

U.S. Marine Corps

Approach

by Barak A. Salmoni

Military Review, November—December 2006

This article is dedicated to the memory of

Captain Brian S. Letendre, USMC, and Lance

Corporal Cory R. Guerin, USMC.

he history and self-identity of the United

States Marine Corps are based on operations in foreign environments in close

proximity to peoples from foreign cultures and

with indigenous security personnel. Still, the systematic study of foreign cultures in an operationally focused fashion is a relatively new phenomenon for Marines.

Since late 2003, Marine units deploying to

Operation Iraqi Freedom (OIF) and Operation

Enduring Freedom (OEF) have undergone orientation training on the culture of places to which

they will deploy. A three-stage evolution has

taken place in the conception and execution of

such training.

At first, the moniker was "cultural sensitivity

training." The goal of the training was to learn

how to avoid offending indigenous people by

focusing on decorum, taboos, "do's and don'ts,"

pleasantries, and the etiquette of face-to-face

nonmilitary interactions. Some referred to this as

"culturization." The training also included an

introduction to the history of the operational

areas. Marines returning from deployments later

commented that social aspects of such training

only partially reflected realities in what were

diverse, changing areas of operations, while the

coverage of history was too academic, with insufficient links to contemporary dynamics.

"Culture awareness classes," a term used into

197
2004, placed more emphasis on the contemporary history, political legacies, and visible religion of the OIF and OEF theaters. The training

began to address evolving social dynamics, and

it was based on the firsthand observations of

deployed troops and the personnel teaching the

classes. The training also paid more attention to

culturally important tactics, techniques, and procedures, such as the use of translators. In this

sense, culture trainers moved beyond a priori

assumptions of what might be important to

deploying troops, to a method of curriculum

development that integrated soldiers' and

Marines' recent experiences and articulated

needs.

Into 2005, "tactical culture training" or "operational culture learning" replaced culture awareness classes. The focus shifted from not offending people (a negative incentive) to grasping

local human dynamics in order to accomplish the

mission (a positive incentive). Thus, culture

knowledge—knowledge applied toward achieving mission goals—became an element of combat power and a force multiplier. Increasingly

realistic culture dynamics were injected into field

exercises, in particular the stability and support

operations exercises coordinated by Marine

Corps Training and Education Command

(TECOM).

The responsibility for finding qualified instructors and appropriate learning materials evolved

in a similar fashion. In the 2003-2004 phases, battalion, regimental, and division commanders

preparing for second deployments into theater

recognized the need for culture and language

education and attempted to identify the knowledge necessary and those who could teach it.

Their conscientious but improvised efforts in a

new field of predeployment military learning

yielded uneven results across the deploying

Marine Expeditionary Force (MEF).

In late 2004, TECOM took over the responsibility for all aspects of predeployment training in

the Corps. It too turned to culture training, coordinating and eventually encompassing efforts

already in progress while continuing to consult

with operating forces.

Along with removing the burden of developing and coordinating culture training from the

198

operating forces, TECOM, via ongoing consultation with OIF and OEF veterans, initiated

changes to help determine who was a subjectmatter expert for warfighter culture training.

Instead of generalist historians, religion specialists, and journalists, younger personnel who

combined recent operational experience with

academic study, site visits, and debriefing of

returning units conducted the training. In this

respect, cultural trainers have been working to

shorten the lessons-learned feedback loop from

deployment to deployment.

From Ad Hoc to Institutional

and Operational

The culmination of the culture training

process was the emergence in May 2005 of the

Marine Corps Center for Advanced Operational

Culture Learning (CAOCL), established on the

initiative of Lieutenant General James Mattis, the

commanding general of Marine Corps Combat

Development Command, and based on his experiences in Afghanistan and Iraq. The planning

and initial stand-up of CAOCL occurred under

the guidance of TECOM's commanding general

at the time, Major General T. S. Jones.

Mattis and Jones were guided by the emphasis the Marine Corps Commandant, General

Michael Hagee, put on invigorated training and

education for global contingencies in an irregular warfare environment. Hagee's vision called

for more and better training and education on

foreign cultures, languages, and the regional and

cultural contexts of counterinsurgency and irregular warfare.1

CAOCL immediately assumed the role of coordinating, sourcing, and planning operational culture predeployment training throughout the

Marine Corps. By August 2005, CAOCL staff had

visited the MEF area of responsibility (AOR) in

al-Anbar province, Iraq, to evaluate previous culture training in order to develop new material for

the upcoming training cycle. The staff emerged

with standardized procedures for culture training

assessment and sustainment teams that would go

to other areas of operation. By partnering on

these visits with instructors from Marine Corps
Professional Military Education (PME) schools

and students in regional learning programs,

CAOCL affirmed two central principles: first, to

conduct effective culture training, culture trainers

need to know and understand cultures in a military context by experiencing them first-hand;

second, to effect change across the service, there

must be a feedback ioop from predeployment

culture training to the schoolhouses.

Although CAOCL brought onto its staff

Marines and civilians who had been involved in

culture training since 2003, it suffered and continues to suffer from the need to quickly and

continually expand its educational and training

ambit in a time of war, as opposed to gradually

and methodically building up in a time of peace.

Nevertheless, the hectic operational tempo has

helped CAOCL to better understand its mission

and to evolve responsively and responsibly.

Thus, even with a skeleton staff, by January 2006

its trainers had begun to service training requests

in Hawaii and Okinawa, supporting I, II, and III

MEF. This was in addition to providing predeployment classes and learning tools for culture

and language to detachments deploying to OEF

and areas of responsibility in the Caucasus and

Africa.

CAOCL is chartered as the Marine Corps' operational culture and operational language center

of excellence, with chief responsibility for the

training and education continuum. The latter currently consists of three main waypoints:

• Predeployment training at the small-unit to

major-subordinate-command level. This remains

CAOCL's overarching, highest priority. Through

small one-to-three-man teams, the center teaches

Marines in classrooms, observes and evaluates

field exercises, and provides scenario-development assistance to command post exercises,

often through solicited "injects" to the efforts of

already existing TECOM elements.

• Integration of culture training into PME.

Commanders at all levels have articulated a concern that predeployment training, be it for culture or language, is in reality just-in-time, lastditch training. TECOM leaders have thus made it

a priority to ensure that PME at all appropriate

levels integrates curricula on operational culture

199

concepts and tools, aligned with the rank of PME

students and the roles they are to take up after

graduation. TECOM seeks to create a chain linking all phases in operational culture PME on both

the officer and enlisted levels, and CAOCL has

been charged with ensuring these linkages. To

best do this, in summer 2006 CAOCL established

a professorship of advanced operational culture

at Marine Corps University, filled by a cultural

anthropologist with significant fieldwork abroad.

• Establishment of institutional culture and

language programs. A cardinal principle of the

post-Cold War world of irregular warfare is

uncertainty about the nature and location of military engagements. An effective military will feature operating forces seeded with personnel possessing a baseline capability to operate with culture and language knowledge in many environments and types of operations, from disaster

relief through police actions and counterinsurgency up to high-intensity, force-on-force combat. To meet this challenge, the Marine Corps has

begun to develop career-long regional culture

and language learning opportunities to be

offered via the Internet and at language learning

resource centers at the major Marine bases across

the globe. These opportunities will be directed at

noncommissioned and commissioned officers in

the career force and are intended to draw on the

conceptual learning underway in the PME

schools.

CAOCL is also tasked to liaise with the other

services' emerging centers for culture education.

It bears noting that the Army, in particular, has

made fast strides of late in this direction, with the

Navy and Air force in hot pursuit. Continuing

collaboration and liaison will be important as

each service seeks to ensure that its own needs

are met. CAOCL has also pursued links and

mutual learning opportunities with similar military centers among allies in Europe and the

Middle East.

A Threefold Sbft

The establishment of CAOCL marks a significant threefold shift. First, Marine Corps senior

and field-grade leaders now understand that
operational culture and language are central to

mission success, especially in the brave new

world of irregular warfare and distributed operations. Second, learning from I MEF's and II MEF's

past efforts, the Marine Corps has chartered

CAOCL to take the burden off the operating

forces in the culture-language realm while they

(the forces) prepare for deployment. Battalion

commanders, for example, will not have to make

their best Rolodex-aided guess on whom to call

for culture and language training. CAOCL staff

will either provide the training or evaluate and

recommend other providers. The key is that

CAOCL will consult with the requesting unit to

ensure defined needs are met.

Third, if we look at the body of literature

about culture in warfighting, we see an evolution. In early 2004, writing focused on the same

initial message, worthy of repetition: culture is

important.2 But from late 2004 on, writers

attempted to define culture in a military context.

The overall harvest has produced some intellectually abstract work ill-suited to warriors, along

with approaches edging towards stereotypical

conclusions.3 On the other hand, authors closer

to the warfighting community began to produce

work with conceptual and informational utility

for culturally educating Marines and soldiers

preparing to deploy. Some of this was published.4 Other materials were authored by service people looking after the needs of their units.5

As the proponent for service-level doctrine on

operational culture in the training, educational,

and operational domains, CAOCL aspires to

carve out a niche focused on the operator. This

focus is reflected in the emerging definition of

operational culture CAOCL has provided for officer PME. The definition ignores factors that usually constitute generic definitions of "culture" and

adds atypical factors from "operational culture."

In this way, CAOCL seeks to ensure that training

focuses on what can be broadly described as

"the lived human dynamics that influence a particular military operation." There are three clusters of ideas to be defined: operational culture,

operational culture learning, and culture operator.

• Operational Culture. Governed by a partic200

ular operation's goals, material assets, and functional areas of personnel, "operational culture"

consists of—

v Operationally relevant behavior and

expressed attitudes of groups within indigenous

forces against or with whom Marines operate,

civilians among whom Marines operate, and

indigenous groups whom Marines wish to influence.

v Factors determining operationally relevant

behavior and attitudes, to include biological,

social, environmental, and individual.

v Historical mechanisms shaping the factors

behind determinants of operationally relevant

behavior and expressed attitudes.

v Knowledge in order to successfully plan and

execute across the operational spectrum.

• Operational Culture Learning. In predeployment training scaled to rank and billet and

focused on mission locality and objectives,

"operational culture learning" includes—

v Study of a specific area of operation's (AO's)

human environment and its shaping forces.

v Training in billet-focused language domains.

v Use of distance learning, face-to-face classes, and field exercises.

In PME phases geared to the responsibilities

Marines will have to undertake at the completion

of each level, the learning includes—

v Study of the concepts of operationally relevant culture.

v Development of skills necessary to succeed

in diverse environments.

v Examination of human, print, and electronic resources for learning about operational culture.

v Exploration of the role of culture as suggested by past operations and simulations, along

with discussion of the relevant skills needed for

the deployment AO.

v Introduction to the application of skills to

the current operating environment.

In the career continuum, appropriate to military occupational specialty (MOS), phase of

career, and leadership responsibilities, learning

includes—

v Service-, command-, and self-directed study

of emergent operating environments.
v Maintenance of knowledge with respect to

likely future areas of operation.

v Monitoring of service- and DOD-provided

resources for culture learning.

v Fostering unit study of foreign cultures for

operational benefit.

'v Recording culture observations about

deployment areas.

• Culture Operator. A "culture operator"

works at the tactical, operational, and strategic

level within his AO. He—

v Continually rereads the changing human

terrain.

v Diagnoses the dynamic interaction among

the conditions and parameters of human existence.

v Grasps the basic culture-influencing forces

of the human environment.

v Considers the impact of Marine operations

as a new condition and parameter of human

existence.

v Influences local behaviors and attitudes.6

In such fashion, the Marine Corps is creating

a training and educational program useful to

deploying Marines at all levels. CAOCL's staff has

found the above three categories useful as it continues to improve its approaches to structuring,

executing, and evaluating operational culture

learning.

Lessons Learned and

Recommendations

The remainder of this article seeks to illuminate Marine Corps predeployment culture and

language training lessons learned and suggest

steps to the implementation of these lessons.

Marine Corps lessons may be of benefit to sister

services, each of which is now establishing centers for culture education and training.7

A seat at the table. Predeployment training

and work-ups are planned, usually through a

comprehensive process involving solicited opinions; interactions between units, higher commands, and training entities; and meetings of

interested parties. This process enables the creation of a coherent overall training package.

201

The culture component must be included in

this preplanning process. Doing so is difficult

because the concept of robust, systematic culture

training is new to military thinking, and the individuals responsible for providing it across all the

services are also new and relatively unknown.

However, when planning for predeployment culture training occurs late, as an add-on, it jeopardizes the training. Preplanning is necessary to provide the right training to the right audiences at

the right intervals in the predeployment cycle. It

is the first step to achieving integrated, holistic,

and mission-relevant culture training.

Inclusion of culture training in the planning

process should occur at the highest possible

operating force level—in this case, the G-3 of the

MEF. Although lower-level units do not like

being told what to do by higher, particularly

when it comes to training, command direction is

necessary to ensure a properly sequenced, integrated approach to training. It will also prevent

subordinate units from overtaxing their operations sections in planning and coordinating culture training. When the highest levels of command drive the overall planning process, including culture and language training, they can transfer that burden to CAOCL.

Timing it right. Training for different kinds

of skills must be timed right: it has to be relevant

to when Marines use those skills. This is particularly true in the realm of operational culture and

language. If training on these two related topics

comes too early or too late, many Marines will

think it is irrelevant to the upcoming deployment, no matter what they are told to think by

commanders who get up to lecture them. In

addition, if it is done too early, Marines might

lose some essential concrete skills—use of a

translator, formulaic interaction, spatial dynamics, key phrases in the local language, culturally

coded interaction with females, informational

interviewing techniques, or de-escalation of tension techniques.

Conversely, cultural and language training too

close to the deployment date runs the risk of

finding Marines unavailable because of lastminute requirements. It is also too late then to

include concepts for application in field exercises—they might appear to be added "bricks in the
pack." Most important, at this point, the unit

already has a fully crystallized deployment mindset: some commanders inculcate a perspective in

which the indigenous culture is a core consideration, while others might permit a solely kinetic

inclination.

In-unit, leader-mentored study of servicelevel-approved materials must precede the main

block of face-to-face culture training. The faceto-face classes should precede, by 10 days to two

weeks, the major field exercises that come a few

weeks before deployment to a Marine AirGround Task Force Training Center at 29 Palms,

California.

Language training should phase in a month

earlier, and in a fashion that does not separate

Marines from units during the important predeployment phase. Using audio/video and printed

pre-study tools at this point can help commanders and trainers identify the appropriate personnel for further face-to-face language training.

Language training can continue afterwards,

through use of learned phrases at Mojave Viper

exercises and through web- and CD-based sustainment materials. Additionally, due to the relatively quick decay of survival-level language

learning, language training cannot end earlier

than two weeks prior to deployment.

Eluding the fire hose. A well-known

method of training in the military is the "fire

hose" method: spewing out immense amounts of

information to huge, disparate groups in a short

amount of time. It results from extremely tight

training timelines and intense operational tempos. Such a pedagogical method is detrimental to

learning "soft skills" with concrete ramifications.

A different scenario suggests the needed

course of action. From January 2004 through July

2005, 1st Marine Division Schools ran Combined

Action Program (CAP) training, inspired by positive Marine experiences in Vietnam. By the summer of 2004, when it was in full stride, small

groups (either platoons or two platoons accompanied by the company commander) would

undergo a multi-day package. Sometimes in-unit

reading and discussion preceded the training.

The CAP culture class took up a nine-hour

day—long enough to teach concepts, answer

questions and discuss solutions, practice certain

202

skills, and play hip-pocket tactical-decision

games. Allowing enough time for several breaks

and lunch permitted recovery as well as unstructured learning. CAP platoons took further learning materials away from the program, and they

practiced skills at field exercises. It should be

noted that over the past two years, CAP platoon

commanders and Marines have continued to

grow their culture and language skills during and

between deployments, often acting as the larger

company or battalion's point man on these matters.8

Although breaking MEFs into platoon-size elements for culture training is the most pedagogically sound method, it is likely unrealistic.

CAOCL currently breaks a battalion-sized unit

into three groups, to which it sends small training teams. Sergeants and below receive three

and a half hours of face-to-face training. Staff sergeants through first lieutenants receive four and

a half hours, and captains and higher receive a

five-and-a-half-hour class. Commanders are

encouraged to determine whether they require

senior NCOs and warrant officers from the company and battalion staff to join the third group.

The substance of each class must be aligned

according to the planning and operating functions of the Marines in grouping the class.

Trainers work to catalyze students' active

engagement by responding to questions and

employing hip-pocket tactical-decision games.

This only partly does away with fire hosing.

Whatever the rank cutoffs, class size should not

exceed two companies. To be fully effective,

self- or commander-driven PME reading should

precede classroom study. CAOCL then provides

programs scaled to different ranks and functions.

In the same spirit, the classroom only begins the

learning process; it is followed by distance learning. CAOCL currently offers CD and web-based

distance learning material consisting of audiovisual modules on human-terrain mapping, negotiations and meetings, the state of the Iraq insurgency, working with the Iraqi security forces,

culture aspects of convoy operations, cultivating

relationships with Iraqi officials, use of a translator, culture aspects of interacting with Iraqis in

and around domiciles, and third-country/Arab

journalist measures. This is in addition to basic
and basic-plus language support. Commanders

who choose to prioritize this distance learning

find that their units' performance in field exercises improves and that their Marines consider culture and language as integral to the overall tactical and operational fight.

Qualified instructors. Another issue having

to do with culture training involves who is qualified to teach the operational culture of a particular AO. If the instructor is uniformed, he or she

must be a soldier or Marine who has recently

deployed operationally to the AO in a job requiring ongoing interaction with the indigenous population—the division combat operations center

watch officer from OIF-I will not do. MOS is not

important here; interaction with Iraqis on a regular basis is.

The Marine instructor must be temperamentally inclined to teach culture as an operational

force multiplier and be able to combine experience-based knowledge with further learning and

research. He or she must pursue, and be afforded the time and opportunity for, cross-pollination

•with Marines who have just returned from

deployments. Fundamentally, the Marine instructor must be a good communicator.

One military community conspicuously unsuited to executing predeployment culture training is the chaplaincy corps. For several reasons,

studying a religion to minister to a flock does not

prepare one to teach about other cultures. First,

the chaplain's primary mission is to provide religious, moral, and psychological support to

warfighters. Anything diluting this would be an

imprudent distraction. Second, chaplains may be

inclined to perceive culture as being determined

by an AO's religion. They may also focus on the

textual as opposed to the lived dynamics of the

religion in that area. In OIF and OEF, this is

equally true of Christian and Muslim chaplains

because very few of the latter come from the

Middle East or Central Asia. Third, all humans are

biased, but chaplains, given their calling to minister for one particular religion, are more so.

Additionally, because of their rank—03 through

06—they have extra moral weight, so that if they

allow religious bias into teaching, it would more

likely be taken as truth.

If the teacher is a civilian, matters are more

203

delicate and criteria more subjective. The Marine

Corps must seek out and benefit from the civilian Defense Department, academic, and general

community; it cannot deny deploying Marines

the benefits of such expertise. Civilians without

prior service must have lived in the AO in question or in a similar adjoining country. It is preferred that they possess advanced academic

training so they can speak at a level of expertise

beyond the anecdotal or journalistic.9 This

assumes they will also possess language skills for

the AO, if only as a matter of credibility. They

must also be familiar with the military, with the

Marine Corps, and with the nature of the unit

they are talking to, and they should have enough

of a grasp of the mission to be instructionally

useful to the Marines.

In fact, civilian authorities, especially academicians, must be positively inclined to the Corps

and the mission. Fundamentally, they must know

how to talk to Marines at various levels and be

open to learning from Marines about the Corps,

its culture, and their experiences. It is also important that they be able to teach: good analysts are

not always good teachers; briefing is not teaching; and a good performance is not always the

same as good teaching.

One final point: due to the global nature of

Marine Corps deployments and the constantly

evolving Marine demographic, deploying units or

their neighbors will frequently have in their

ranks Marines native to the upcoming deployment AO. Units and outside trainers must locate

these Marines and use them to provide educational and operational value-added to personnel

going forward.

Making communicators. Operating forces

need language capabilities corresponding to

actual functions, just as they need orientation to

the dialect used in the actual AO. Marines and

Marine units also require pedagogical methodologies that resonate with them.

Thus far, commanders have called upon various language learning resources, with mixed

results. The Defense Language Institute (DLI) is

rightfully promoted as the one-stop shop for language. Government-sponsored or commercial

contracting organizations have presented quick

fixes ranging from pointy-talky cards to machines
that translate as you go (phraselators). At times,

MEF- or division-level training officers have

worked with local community colleges to develop survival-level language courses. All of these

resources have been helpful and have provided

lessons for improvement. But they come with

drawbacks:

• They all cost money.

• Different foci and impetuses have influenced quality. For example, contracting organizations are primarily interested in profit, not necessarily in what might work best for Marines on

the ground. Government-sponsored think tanks,

another source of possible solutions, tend to

favor a technology-heavy approach to something

that, by its very nature, cannot be solved solely

by technology.

• DLI's primary mission has been to train

cryptographic linguists and foreign area officers

in 40- to 63-week courses. There has been less

historical emphasis on the short-term preparation

of operational units in the basic terms, phrases,

and learning skills needed for specific AOs and

functions. DLI has made strides in this direction,

but the operating forces and services must still

aid, guide, and craft the materials DLI produces,

as well as supplement the classes they provide,

so that DLI can continue its traditional role of

preparing language professionals.

• Survival or familiarization language programs have had mixed success in filling the

needs articulated by training officers, units, and

returning Marines. "Market research" in the form

of pre-program planning with receiving units, incountry site visits, no-holds-barred debriefing of

returning units, and inclusion of returning

Marines in subsequent planning sessions has

often been one task too many for ad hoc programs whose personnel are scrambling to deliver training on very short timelines. Survival-level

courses provided at community colleges close to

Marine Corps bases have been a good alternative

to unit-fabricated training. Proximity to the units

has facilitated a feedback-to-teaching loop that

has facilitated effective instruction. The survivallevel courses at Coastal Carolina Community

College, for example, have greatly improved

thanks to Marine input.

204

To ensure Marines get the best possible predeployment language training, units and returning Marines must participate in the program

planning stage to define skill sets for operating

levels from fire teams to field-grade officers. This

planning must also address what kind of pedagogical products will actually work in the Marine

classroom and what kinds of operational language tools will work in the field. Unit representatives, higher-level developers of the overall

predeployment training timeline, and servicelevel coordinators of language training must all

meet to determine the timing and sequencing of

language exposure as well as the mix of classroom and distance learning.

In executing language training, it is necessary

though not sufficient that teachers be native or

near-native speakers of the language. They must

also understand Marine learning styles and the

Marine mission in an area. Fundamentally, they

must be teachers by profession and training, not

by accident of native speaking skills. Like those

who teach culture, ideally they should also have

had operational experience with Marine or Army

units in the field. Furthermore, to the extent possible, language-capable Marines, even if their

skill levels are rudimentary, must be included in

the training as instructors' assistants.

Audiences. Because Afghanistan and Iraq are

so culturally foreign, everyone wants predeployment cultural orientation. The senior commander's intent has often been that every sailor and

Marine receives it. This approach indicates the

seriousness with which the Marine Corps now

approaches the issue, but it is not certain that

training "every sailor and Marine" is the most

prudent course of action.

Any sailor or Marine who has to go outside

the wire to interact with indigenous people

should, when it is plausible, participate in distance learning and face-to-face training. The

intensity and detail of the training should be the

greatest for infantry units, civil affairs groups,

military police units, military/police adviser

teams, and air-naval gunfire liaison elements.

Intensity and detail also need to be substantial

for commanders and staffs at the regimental

through MEF levels (although the issues and

skills covered will differ).
Certain support units have a high likelihood of

performing infantry-like roles or interacting with

indigenous people. These include motor transport, combat engineers, engineer service battalions, medical personnel, and those components

of the MEF logistics group who liaise with thirdcountry contractors, laborers, and government

officials. Intelligence assets external to infantry

units, logistics units, and the wing also need specific culture training (although it should be provided by the intelligence community). For all of

these units, culture awareness and culture skills

are necessary in the planning and operating continuum.

There are, however, a large number of

Marines and sailors who will never go outside

the wire (or off the vessel): those who have no

operational planning role, and those in the more

technical fields where interaction with indigenous people will be limited. Aircraft mechanics,

bulk fuel specialists, nuclear-biological-chemical

specialists, aircraft ergonomics and aviator

human stress specialists—these Marines will not

interact meaningfully with indigenous people;

such being the case, using limited culture training assets and time to deliver classes may illserve a laudable intent.

Thus, an integral part of culture training prior

to planning must involve determining which personnel should get what kind of exposure to

operational culture and what the mix of distance

learning and face-to-face training should be for

each audience. In this way, the commander's

intent will indeed be served through economies

of force benefiting both the training cadre and

the personnel receiving the training. This method

will have the added benefit of ensuring from the

outset that the predeployment certification

requirements of all echelons are met.

Current Status of Training

Predeployment operational culture and language training now unfolds in the following

fashion: as soon as higher headquarters and

TECOM begin to plan for predeployment training, those providing the culture components

through distance learning, classroom interaction,

and tactical exercises provide input, ensuring

205

that the culture piece is timed right and

sequenced appropriately.

Then, as units are pegged on the deployment

schedule and assigned dates for classroom teaching and field exercises, CAOCL representatives

brief battalion-level operations officers to plan

the distance learning phase that will precede and

follow the face-to-face interactions. During this

time, CAOCL conducts in-theater site visits to

develop timely, relevant learning categories and

materials based on critical reviews of past practices.

Face-to-face interactions in the predeployment

phase follow up on and synchronize with distance learning. Rather than one-day, multi-hour

fire-hose sessions, CAOCL mobile training teams

engage in more, but shorter and less intrusive,

teaching visits to units, making course corrections as leader evaluations of classes and unit

performance require. Classes are followed by

experiential culture learning at field exercises

monitored and reported on by culture trainers.

Instructional after-action reports, focusing on the

performance of Marines and other exercise

forces, are distributed to unit leaders and exercise controllers.

Immediately prior to deployment, leaders

from platoon commanders on up receive the

results of a CAOCL visit to the AO. The purpose

of the visit is to cover evolving trends and access

information that redeploying units might not

transmit in the relief-in-place (RIP) process.

Thus, through leaders' seminars or reports, the

training cadre ensures that culture coordination

occurs as part of the RIP. Finally, CAOCL personnel visit the theater to observe and interview

Marines at mid-deployment to glean critical input

about the efficacy of previous training. With this

information, they then begin the education and

training cycle for the next units.

Into the Future

As Marines and soldiers experience multiple

tours in Iraq, Afghanistan, and other AOs, their

insights about how to best conduct culture training matures. Based on participant observation

and debrief of returning personnel, CAOCL thus

works to evolve in response to articulated needs.
The Marine Corps will therefore embrace new

training initiatives in the coming months. First,

Language Learning Resource Centers at Marine

bases will provide ongoing language training in

Iraqi Arabic, Dan, and Pashto, in addition to supplemental languages for the Pacific Command

region. This means that predeployment language

learning will be continuous, beginning much

earlier than before. Distance learning will therefore provide a basis of capability upon which

more targeted face-to-face instruction will build.

Second, inspired by successes the U.S. Army

TRADOC Culture Center has had with "train-thetrainer" methods, CAOCL will transition in this

direction. CAOCL is now developing week-long

curriculum packages to be executed at regiments. These will target senior NCOs and company-grade officers who have had previous tours

involving substantial interaction with indigenous

people. By combining Marines' experiential

knowledge with added instruction and training

resources provided through TECOM, CAOCL will

ensure units at the battalion and company level

have organic training expertise available on

demand, thus sustaining the credibility, responsiveness, and building-block nature of operational culture training. In effect, CAOCL instructors will assume the role of deep-fight resources,

although they will continue to provide mobile

training teams for more targeted, advanced-level

seminars and exercise evaluation.

Conclusion

By establishing CAOCL, the Marine Corps articulated a vision of the human dynamics of

indigenous peoples—culture——as a central planning and operating consideration for the present

and future. This vision obliges CAOCL to provide

culture learning worthy of the Marines whom the

center serves. Through planning, program development, and consultation with sister services and

foreign allies, TECOM has begun to implement a

long-range vision encompassing Marine culture

education at all levels and throughout the career

continuum. Likewise, there is talk of a joint-level

coordinating body or executive agent. However,

before we contemplate any such initiatives, it

would be prudent to continue to improve and

206

sustain the predeployment training and education of soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines

going forward into the close fight.

Notes

1. See General MW. Hagee, Commandant of the

Marine Corps, "33rd Commandant of the Marine Corps

Updated Guidance (The 21st-Century Marine Corps—

Creating Stability in an Unstable World)," ALMAR

018/05, 18 April 2005 <http://www.usmc.mil/almarsalmar2000.nsf/ 52f4f5d1 1f10b4c4852569b8006a3e35/

35a74723d7bcc61085256fe70061040a?OpenDocument>.

2. See Major Chris Varhola, "American Challenges in

Post-Conflict Iraq," Foreign Policy Research Institute ENotes, 27 May 2004 <www.fpri.org/enotes/ 2004

0527.americawar. varhola.iraqchallenges. html>; George

W. Smith Jr., "Avoiding a Napoleonic Ulcer: Bridging

the Gap of Cultural Intelligence (Or, Have We Focused

on the Wrong Transformation?)," Chairman of the

Joint Chiefs of Staff Strategy Essay Competition: Essays

2004 (Washington, D.C.: National Defense University

Press, 2004), 21-38; Montgomery McFate, "The Military

Utility of Understanding Adversary Culture," Joint

Force Quarterly 38 (2005); Barak Salmoni " Beyond

Hearts and Minds: Culture Matters," Proceedings of the

Naval Institute Press, November 2004; Alex Davis and

Dan Fu, "Culture Matters: Better Decision Making

Through Increased Awareness," Interservice/Industiy

Training, Simulation, and Education Conference

(1/ITSEC) 2004: <www.stottlerhenke.com /papers/IITSEC04-culture.pdf>.

3. See Davis and Fu; Celestine Ntuen, "Culture-Centric

Models for Military Simulation and Training," The 7th

Annual Symposium on Human Interaction with

Complex Systems 2005, 18 November 2005. Regarding

potential stereotype formation, see Helen Altman

Klein, Anna Pongonis, and Gary Klein, "Cultural

Barriers to Multinational C2 Decision Making,"

Research Paper prepared through the Defense

Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) Contract

No:DaaHOl-00-C-R094:<www.au .af.mil /au/awc/awcgate/ccrp/2000ccrts... kleinculture.pdf.

4. Maxie McFarland, "Military Cultural Education,"

Military Review (March-April 2005); Philip C. Skuta,

"Cross Cultural Savvy," U.S. Army War College

Strategic Leadership Program, December 2005; P. M.

Zeman, "Goat-Grab Diplomacy in Iraq," Naval

Institute Proceedings (November 2005).

5. A growing number of company-grade soldiers and

Marines have fulfilled this role within units. For examples, see John Koopman, "Marines Seal Bonds of trust:

Special Unit Wants to Win Hearts and Minds," San
Francisco Chronicle, 4 July 2004; and Greg Jaffe, "Trial

by Fire: On the Ground in Iraq, Captain Ayers Writes

His Own Playbook," Wall Street Journal, 22 December

2004.

6. See Barak Salmoni and Paula Holmes-Eber,

Operational Culture for the Warfighter. Princ(ples and

Applications (Quantico, Va.: Marine Corps University

Press, 2008).

7. The Army has established a Training and Doctrine

Command (TRADOC) Culture Center, and has begun

initiatives through its Combined Arms Center (CAC).

Working through its Senior Language Authority, the

Navy has also established a nucleus for systematic

operational culture and language training, while the

Air Force has established a Center for Culture and

Language Studies. The JFK Special Warfare School features a robust culture and language training program,

and has continued to improve it.

8. For information about the CAP Program in Iraq, see

Jason Goodale and Jon Webre, "The Combined Action

Platoon in Iraq," Marine Corps Gazette 89, 4 (April

2005); Phil Skuta, "Introduction to 2/7 CAP Platoon

Actions in Iraq," Marine Corps Gazette 89, 4 (April

207

2005). For information about precursors to the

Vietnam CAP, see Al Hemingway, Our War Was

Different.' Marine Combined Action Platoons in

Vietnam (Annapolis, Md.: Naval Institute Press, 1994).

9. That is not to say journalists have no role. As guides

to and informants about foreign cultures, they can be

unrivaled resources. For an example from a region of

growing concern to the Marine Corps, see Jeffrey

Tayler, Angry Wind: Through Muslim Black Africa by

Truck, Bus, Boat, and Camel (Boston: Houghton

Mifflin, 2005).

About the Author

Barak A. Salmoni was, at the time this article was published, deputy

director of the Center for Advanced Operational Culture Learning, U.S.

Marine Corps Training and Education Command, Quantico, Virginia. He

has taught at Harvard University (where he earned his doctorate in Middle

Eastern history), the University of Pennsylvania, and the Naval

Postgraduate School. His teaching and research concentrate on the contemporary Middle East, with particular focus on Egypt, Thrkey, Israel, Iraq;

civil-military relations; and the implications of indigenous culture for

military operations. He is coauthor (with Paula Holmes-Eber) of

Operational Culture for the Warfighter: Princp1es and Applications

(2008).

A Clash of Systems:

An Analytical

Framework to

Demystify the

Radical Islamist

Threat

by Andrew Harvey, Ian Sullivan, and

Ralph Groves

Parameters, Autumn 2005

n the Winter 2004-05 issue of Parameters,

Philip Seib makes a laudable effort to establish the imperative for journalists, policymakers, and the American public to "undertake a

more sophisticated analysis of how the world

works."1 This is critical because the analytical

framework adopted by the media and policymakers has a direct effect on how they approach

news coverage and frame discussions regarding

the threat posed by radical Islamist extremists.

This in turn directly affects public opinion in the

United States and the world, which in the context

of a war of ideas is directly related to the success

or failure of both sides. Professor Seib also pointed out the fact that the "clash of civilizations"

theory espoused by Samuel Huntington has been

widely criticized, and this article rejects it as an

appropriate analytical framework. Our purpose

is to provide an alternative framework that portrays the current global conflict as a clash of systerns, not civilizations.

The central danger of accepting Huntington's

model as a basis for analysis is that it is the chosen model of radical Islamists, who in turn use it

to mobilize support. If a clash of civilizations is

accepted in the West—or worse, accepted by the

populations in Muslim states—then the forces

attempting to overturn the global system could

eventually succeed. Success, however, is not battalions of extremist Islamists marching down

209
Pennsylvania Avenue; rather, it is the replacement of "apostate" regimes with an Islamic

Caliphate, which can occur only once the current

U.S-led global system is destroyed. Therefore, it

is imperative that the wider global war on terror

focus on the systemic implications of the struggle, which provides a credible methodology to

address and mitigate the root causes that fuel the

ideology of extremist Islamism.

Many authors have identified the imminent

threat posed to the United States by radical

Islamists in the ongoing Global War on

Terrorism, and a number of them have described

it as a war of ideas. What is lacking in the ongoing discourse, however, is a conceptual framework necessary for an in-depth analysis of the

basic conflict. The current threat environment is

based on a clash of systems between the U.S-led

global system, in which the phenomenon of

globalization has created unprecedented connectivity and prosperity in the developed world, and

those who oppose this system and wish to

replace it with another paradigm. The ideology

seeking to overthrow the global system is

extremist Islamism.2 It is put into action by transnational Islamist terrorists as well as regional and

indigenous extremists who wish to replace the

secular, U.S-led global system with an Islamist

world order. States along the periphery of the

U.S-led system, where Western liberal democratic ideology and values underlying globalization

directly clash with radical Islamism, constitute

the main battleground. This is where the primary

objective of U.S. national power should be

aimed: at convincing the undecided multitudes

that becoming part of the global system is a better option than fighting against it. In order to prevent states and populations in this periphery

from accepting integration into the global system, radical Islamists attempt to frame the ongoing conflict as a clash of civilizations.

Clash of Systems Framework

The first part of this framework is to establish

that there is an international system made up of

states and non-state actors. Though there is no

world government, rules that guide interactions

among these actors on the world stage do exist.3

210

These are formed either by consensus (norms of

international law and commerce) or are imposed

by a major power such as the United Kingdom in

the 19th century and the United States in the

20th.4 This system includes not only norms of

interaction, international law, and treaties, but

also institutions. The most important aspects of

the post-World War II world system are the

West's multinational organizations. They owe

their origins to the 1941 Atlantic Charter of liberal principles established to guide the postwar

world, and the 1944 Bretton Woods Conference

on monetary order (both American initiatives).

These gave birth to various organizations, including the United Nations, the General Agreement

on Tariffs and Trade (GATT), the International

Monetary Fund (IMF), the World Bank, and the

World Trade Organization (WTO). These organizations and the world order of open economics

and dispute management were intended to prevent problems among Western industrial capitalist states—not to fight Soviet Communism, which

was a separate system—and they continue to

endure despite the end of the Cold War.5 Therefore, the underlying Western-inspired world

order remains intact and is even expanding as

China, Russia, and other states of the former

Soviet Union join Western organizations. This

demonstrates the ongoing vigor of Western values and principles in an international and multinational context. This system is still in place and

forms the framework that enables "globalization"

to occur, which is in many ways an acceleration

of the speed of interactions within the system,

and an indicator of their scope. The Islamists

understand this relationship, which explains why

these institutions are targets for al-Qaeda.

Thomas Friedman has described "globalization" as a system, and as operating within the

"liberal rules of economics ... the software

being the rule of law, courts, regulatory institutions, oversight bodies, free press, and democracy."6 He also observes that globalization is happening in a power structure that isn't driven just

by electrons and stock options. It's a power

structure maintained and preserved by the U.S.

military. The U.S. military is the hidden fist that

keeps the hidden hand operating—"Ain't no

McDonald's without McDonnell Douglas, and
without America on Duty there's no America

Online."7 This article agrees with Friedman's

view of globalization as a system that promotes

this increased mobility and the speed of

exchange of these elements.

This global system established and maintained

by the United States provides the background on

which an analytical framework can be built. As

the world's sole superpower, the United States

will continue to dominate and influence all

aspects of the global system for the foreseeable

future. Although hegemonies are uncertain, there

currently are no powers that accept the global

system (this includes most of the world's major

states) which are capable of overturning this

hegemony without damaging the system itself. In

this regard, the greatest threat to U.S. hegemony

is not competition within the system, but is

instead composed of elements that seek a complete overthrow of the global system. The United

States owes this tremendous position of power to

its ability to leverage its influence and leadership

in the global system, which provides considerable benefit (economically, politically, and militarily) in return. Furthermore, in order to maintain this position as global hegemon, the United

States is a status quo power within the global

system that must protect and conserve it. In its

relations with states that have not accepted the

global system, the United States must be an agent

for change in order to expand, if possible, the

global system from which it derives such benefit.

Thomas Barnett describes the world in terms

of a "Functioning Core" of states that have

embraced the Western world system of "globalization." These states have stable governments,

rising standards of living, liberal media, and are

included in one or more systems of collective

security. There are also states that have only

begun to integrate or have not yet fully integrated into the world system, and are described as

"Seam States" on the boundary of the "Functioning Core." Barnett calls other areas (which do not

accept "globalization" or the global system) the

"Non-Integrating Gap." It is no accident that

these areas are trouble spots, and are where the

United States is most likely to intervene militarily.8 This three-level construct of globalization

indicates the global Western system has limits

211

that affect how it functions. These constraints

are, interestingly enough, connected to liberal

Western concepts such as the rule of law and

individual rights, reflecting an important point

regarding this global framework. It is built on

ideas and values that stand in direct opposition

to those of the extremist Islamists.

In return for setting the rules for international

interactions (which benefit the rule-maker), the

United States provides security to maintain the

system. Other actors or powers will support the

United States if they receive more benefit from

the system's continuation than from its demise.

At the same time, they may also jockey for position within the system. On the other hand, if they

do not feel that the system provides appropriate

benefits, then they will challenge the system and

attempt to overthrow or change it through conflict.9 While many observers of the international

system believe that states which clearly are part

of the global system may seek to form partnerships and coalitions as a means of mitigating the

dominating influence of U.S. power structures,

there will be times when members of the system

jockey for its leadership. No state is currently

seeking to replicate our capabilities across all

instruments of power. There is no "near peer

competitor" with a desire to replace the current

system. In fact, the major world powers—the

United States, the European Union, China, Japan,

and Russia—are in fact part of the system, or are

attempting to integrate further into it (e.g., China

and the WTO).

Though no state is attempting to overthrow

the Western global system, there are states that

are not fully integrated into it, and despite the

intactness and growing inclusiveness of the system, there are still outsiders who believe the system is unjust and are unable to share its benefits.

It is these latter areas, which are part of the seam,

or the non-integrating gap, where the most critical battles in the wider clash of systems will

occur.

The Islamist Challenge

Political Islam (Islamism), in various forms, is

the most rapidly growing and persuasive ideology among Muslims today. Islamism is a socio-
political ideology which strives to institute governments under Allah's authority, not man-made

constitutions, and administration of society according to sharia (Islamic law), not Western

law.10 The ideology of Islamism is the cutting

edge of Islamic militants' exertions against the

West and its global system. As an ideology,

Islamism is distinct from the religion of Islam, although it draws strength from zealous members

of the Islamic resurgence. The Islamic resurgence

does not protest against Islamic institutions, but

rather protests against secular governments and

social innovations modeled on the West. Understanding the Islamists' critique of modern life

provides some clarity to these distinctions. Most

Islamists (except for retrograde Salafists) are not

against modern instrumentalities produced by

industries (telephones, cars, airplanes, computers, etc.). Rather, Islamists are opposed to modernism, a sequel to industrialization and modernization, which is the ideology of social innovation in a secular environment completely

unhinged from traditional and religious norms.

Islamism is ideological because it employs

Islam for the socio-political goal of establishing

governments under Allah's sovereignty with societies based on sharia. Islamism "fuses religion

and politics, din wa dawla, in a way incompatible with Western analytical categories."11

Establishing such governments and societies are

meant to preserve Islamic religion and culture

and to reverse Western domination. Culturally,

many Islamic traditionalists feel eclipsed by the

Western way of life in the globalized economy.

Islamism is ascendant in its competition against

secular Western political models within large segments of the Muslim world. In predominantly

Islamic countries, Islamism has absorbed much

of nationalist parties' ideologies, leaving nationalists weak. Generally in such countries, the left

is marginal and in disarray and liberal democrats

are few. Islamists heed the Koran's specific direction: "Fight in the cause of God against those

who fight you."2

The Islamists' slogan, "Islam is the solution"

(popularized by the Egyptian Sayyid Qutb), will

continue to inspire political exertions against

Western-type governments in Islamic countries

until or unless the West convinces the Islamic

212

world that it can have an equitable stake in globalization. Islamists will resist cultural and political

influences of the West's global system, even if

they acquiesce to economic interaction and

trade. Their resistance to the West is not to imply

mainly overt clashes. Most clashes for the proximate future will occur within the Islamic world

itself, just as industrial countries of the West's

global system will have their own internal (especially social) problems.

There are significant elements of Western culture that make the West less than entirely appealing to many in the Islamic world, both Muslims

and Islamists. Though many appreciate the material benefits and technological advances that the

West has to offer, Islamists tend to believe the

West diluted the basis of its classical Christian

civilization due to the Renaissance and Scientific

Revolution, followed by the Philosophical Revolution (based on natural law) and its empiricism,

rationalism, and positivism. Even though this

enabled technological innovation and industrialization, the removal of religion from its previous

position as the basis for all knowledge meant

that Christianity lost its centrality over the course

of several centuries as the arbiter of how society

should function. Today, religion in the West is

compartmentalized due to increased secularization since the 1970s. Because of this, the overt

manifestation of the West is characterized by its

industrial order, which gives it overwhelming

material superiority over agricultural or other

resource-exporting countries,13 but not moral

superiority because secularization has eroded

traditional morality.14 Social relativism has

become the norm, which Muslims and Islamists

regard as unacceptable for emulation. In contrast, traditional societies still harboring tenets of

their classical civilizations value spirituality

(rather than consumerism), a God-centered view

of the world (rather than a human-centered one),

prescribed patterns of behavior (rather than

innovative ones), extended families (rather than

individualism and nuclear families), and a belief

in absolutes (rather than relativism).

While the industrial West has emphasized secular rationalism, it also has engendered a certain

degree of dissatisfaction with materialism as the

primary focus of life. Westerners are likely to
seek spirituality in their "flight from the meaninglessness of the secular world,"15 reviving various

sects of Christianity or importing other religions

(such as Baha'ism) or creating new synergetic

ones (such as Scientology). The fear of "importing" a similar spiritual void is one of the reasons

why Islamists reject Western modernism. The

West's insistence on democratic government and

the rule of law is a function of industrial and

commercial efficacy, not high-minded principles

from Western classical civilization.16 In any case,

these features are integrated into industrial societies of the global system and may make it awkward for countries outside the system to join. For

Islamic countries, democracy is more about

access than process, and Islamic law is based on

sharia, which is very different from Western law.

Also, the West's secularity presents serious cultural problems for Islam, creating tension alongside

the potential economic benefits of joining the

West's global system.

Despite U.S. or Eurocentric views (such as

Francis Fukuyama's End of History), the West's

industrial order and global system do not have

universal appeal. However, the West's industrial

order claims a universal applicability of its global system. This puts it in direct conflict with

Islamists, who also proclaim the universality of

their system. Radical Islamists will accept only

our unconditional surrender.

Our current conflict of ideologies is centered

on the answer to the question of what constitutes

"a good life." In the West, the answer is found in

the individual rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. For the radical Islamists, the

answer is in one's submission to the will of God

through the imposition of their interpretation of

sharia throughout the Muslim world.

A Clash of Systems in the

Middle East

To Huntington's disciples, al-Qaeda's strike on

the economic and military power base of the

United States clearly represents an attack by the

Islamic civilization against that of the United

States and the West. Such an argument is persuasive, particularly when one looks at the under213

currents of recent events in the Middle East: the

ubiquitous Israeli-Palestinian conflict, the vicious

campaign being conducted by foreign jihadists

against U.S. forces in Iraq, a resurgence of the

Islamist ideology across Barnett's non-integrating

gap,17 enhanced violent activity perpetrated by

radical Islamist groups across the region, the

spread of weapons of mass destruction in the

region, and cooperation between regional states

and militant groups. Yet Huntington's thesis fails

to capture the true nature of the conflict that currently grips the Middle East. It is not simply a

result of irreconcilable differences between

Western and Islamic civilizations; it is instead a

deeper clash of international systems of order—

globalization verses Islamism.

Under the current system of U.S-led globalization, a given state has two options—beating

the system or joining it. In the Middle East, this

debate is raging in an emotional and often violent manner, and it is fast becoming a battle for

the soul of the Islamic world. This conflict pits

two sides against each other: those who embrace

the system—i.e., moderates who seek to reconcile the Islamic culture, religion, and worldview

with the benefits of modernization and globalization—against those who would seek to destroy

it, personified by Osama bin Laden and other

extremists of his ilk, and who wish to replace it

with an alternative system, in this case a world

guided by the ideology of Islamism.

For Islamists, there are two main targets in

their effort to bring about an Islamist system.

The United States and its Western allies constitute

one target. The other, perhaps more important, is

the governments and elites of the states across

the Middle East, who walk a narrow tightrope

between accepting the dramatic benefits of the

global system and heeding the wishes of the

majority of the populace who receive little in the

way of benefits from their own governments, let

alone from the wider global system.

As a result, Islamists are fighting a twopronged conflict. On the one hand, they have

initiated a wide-reaching war against U.S. interests and allies, which includes not only direct

combat against U.S. military forces, but also

attacks like those of 9/11 that target Americans

and other Western civilians. Second, in the
Middle East the Islamists view the acceptance of

a corrupt, godless, immoral system by the civilian populace as being responsible for the

Western system's spread. Consequently, Islamists

are engaged in a comprehensive battle for hearts

and minds.

Their strategic objective to replace the

Western system with one inspired by the divine

hinges entirely upon successfully converting the

populace to Islamist ideology. Islamists point to

the hopelessness endemic throughout much of

the region, where a handful of leaders and business elites reap economic rewards from collaborating with the U.S-led system while the vast

majority live in a pitiful squalor where daily life

is a challenge. Instead of cooperating with a system where a few get rich, Islamists insist upon a

strict interpretation of the Koran and look to the

glory days of a bygone era when the Muslim

world dominated the international system.

Instead of buying into a system that is "corrupt"

and accepting a culture that is "immoral,"

Islamists seek to create an alternative system similar to the one that once held a position of dominance. Islamists ask Muslims to accept the concept that "Islam is the solution," popularized by

Qutb as early as 1952. Qutb argued that a philosophical break was required with modernism if a

Muslim was to be true to his faith. This break is

not a starting point for the intellectual study of

the impact of modernism on the Islamic world,

but instead becomes a manifesto demanding a

radical change, inspired by the divine truths

espoused in the Koran. 18 In essence, Qutb's philosophy, which has been adopted by a long

string of Islamist radicals culminating in bin

Laden, espouses a clash of civilizations between

the wider Islamic umma (community of believers) and the West.

For the West, and particularly the United

States, it becomes imperative to prevent the

Global War on Terrorism (GWOT) from becoming such a clash of civilizations, thereby devolving into exactly the kind of conflict that will be

to the Islamists' advantage. Instead, the United

States also should follow a two-pronged strategy

whereby it selectively confronts Islamists, not

simply to crush them, but to demonstrate to the

Muslim world the long-term futility of such a

214

conflict. The current focus of this active conflict

is on Iraq and Afghanistan. In the words of

Friedman, "America's opponents know just

what's at stake in the postwar struggle for Iraq,

which is why they flock there: beat America in

Iraq and you beat them out of the whole region;

lose to America there, lose everywhere."19

Friedman notes the Islamists understand the fight

is not about oil, but is instead about "ideas and

values and governance."20 So for the United

States, the active stratagem guiding the Global

War on Terrorism is unlike anything it has

attempted before; instead of concrete, military

success, the GWOT is about reinforcing ideas

and values (i.e., those that underpin the U.S-led

system), while at the same time demonstrating

the inability of Islamists to advance their ideas

and values to the wider Islamic community.

This in part explains the frustrating experience

the U.S. military is encountering in its nationbuilding operations in Afghanistan and Iraq. For

the enemies of the global system, each successful tactical operation against the U.S-led Coalition becomes a strategic victory. Each successful

attack against U.S. military targets, Coalition partners, or international relief workers is a ringing

endorsement for those who oppose the system

and seek its replacement. Successful attacks offer

"prooP' to the undecided masses that the United

States will not be able to establish the system in

the contested areas of Iraq and Afghanistan, and

they help to sway opinion toward alternative systemic constructs. From a U.S. perspective, tactical

victories are relevant only insofar as they help to

buy time for the global system to take root. As a

result, there is no classic definition of military

"victory." Military operations in these circumstances should be aimed at implementing security and stability in order for the other elements of

national power (e.g., economic and social) to

bring concrete improvements to the wider society, which in turn will eventually lead the masses

to decide that the U.S-led global system is worth

joining. Providing security and stability are the

absolutely necessary preconditions that will

allow this systemic acceptance to occur, and that

should be the primary focus of U.S. military

operations in areas of the non-integrating gap

where societies are split between joining the
global system or choosing the Islamist alternative.

According to Daniel Pipes, the central task of

the United States is to reinforce moderate Islam as

a counterbalance to Islamism. Pipes postulates the

central conflict in the GWOT is the one waged

between militant and moderate Islam. While

Washington can help in this struggle by providing

assistance to the moderates and working to establish reforms in areas locked in a self-defeating

bargain with the militants (such as Saudi Arabia

and Pakistan), the actual battle will be won or lost

within the Islamic world itself.21 As a result, the

second task implicit in a successful resolution to

the GWOT is in supporting those elements in the

Middle East that already accept the U.S-led system, and, most critically, facilitating pro-Western

change in those states that straddle the fence.

The issue that makes the Global War on

Terrorism so fundamentally different from other

ideological conflicts in history is that it pits the

U.S-led global system against non-state actors

who transcend political boundaries. These nonstate actors are striving to appeal to religion, culture, and even pan-Arab nationalism to forge a

decentralized core of ideologically motivated

insurgents fighting to overthrow the U.S-led global system and replace it with one based on their

radical interpretations of sharia. This conflict is

completely asymmetrical, where the enemy realizes it lacks the military capability to directly challenge the U.S.-led system on a global scale.

Instead, it relies on the strategy and tactics of the

insurgent to selectively engage U.S. and Coalition

forces (Khobar Towers, the embassy bombings in

Kenya and Tanzania, the USS Cole attack, 9/11)

while striking in other venues to make political

gains (the Madrid bombing, Bali bombing, kidnappings and murder of foreign nationals in Iraq,

the 7/7 bombings in London) to erode Coalition

cohesion. Unlike other insurgencies, the GWOT is

unique because of its scale. It is, in effect, a

pansurgency. 22

Strategic Conflict of

Perceptions

Islamist militants understand their desired

strategic objectives. Although they are incapable

215

of militarily defeating the U.S. and Coalition

forces on the battlefield, their success is determined by the achievement of their desired strategic political end state—the withdrawal of U.S.

forces and the creation of sharia-based governments. This type of conflict is ideally suited to

the cultural underpinning of Arab and Islamic

concepts of warfare. In virtually every historical

example involving Arab or Islamic conflict, tactical and even operational-level military operations are considered ancillary to the final political objective. As a result, even overwhelming

defeats have been turned into victories or considered simply part of a longer-term conflict. A

couple of historical examples highlight this perspective:

• Israel won the most dramatic and complete

tactical victories in modern military history during the 1967 Six-Day War. In May 1967, just

before launching the devastating air attack which

crippled Egypt's air force, Israeli Prime Minister

Levi Eshkol commented to his generals, "Nothing

will be settled by a military victory. The Arabs

will still be here."23 Thirty-plus years later, Arabs

continue to resist the battlefield outcome of that

conflict.

• In the French/Algerian conflict of the 1950s

and early 1960s, conventional French military

forces won the tactical fight against the insurgent

forces but failed to achieve their strategic objectives due to the collapse of French national will.

The United States currently is facing a tremendous asymmetric challenge. U.S. military operations are focused on winning a tactical fight that

does not answer the strategic challenge or target

our adversaries' center of gravity, the attraction

of their ideology. If U.S. forces fail to orient on

the enemy center of gravity, the United States

may continue to win the tactical fight while

abandoning the strategic advantage to our adversaries, whose tactical operations are designed

with a strategic objective in mind. In essence,

U.S. forces are playing football while the militants are playing chess.

Meanwhile, the radical Islamists have fixed,

and are directly targeting, the United States' center of gravity, its national will to carry on missions in both Iraq and Afghanistan. From the out-
set, anti-Coalition elements in both locations

have relied on the media to target this center of

gravity. Although part of this effort has been

focused on shaping regional opinion (e.g., condemning U.S. foreign policy and military action,

calling for armed resistance, etc.) to sustain their

operations, the more damaging aspect of this

approach is the targeting of public opinion in the

West.

The militants are aided in this fight by some

parts of the international media that are eager to

report on situations unfavorable to U.S. policy.

As a result of this coverage, the militants' tactical

fight is elevated to the strategic level, whereby

each tactical success (a bombing, a mortar attack,

a kidnapping, even a single U.S. or Coalition

casualty) becomes a strategic success. This is

seen in their targeting selection, which aims to

cause as much instability as possible, fracture the

Coalition, and thereby compel elements of the

international community to abandon active participation in these missions. This effort has succeeded in driving out several Coalition partners,

NGOs, and regional-based companies participating in the reconstruction efforts in Iraq and

Afghanistan. The militants intend to take further

advantage of a wider information operations

campaign as a strategic weapon. Militants can

rely on the coverage of Arab-language broadcast

and print media, which often has an unmistakable bias against the United States and the West,

to bolster their cause.

The growth of satellite broadcast networks

such as al-Jazeera and al-Arabiya is one of the

most significant developments in the Middle East

in recent years. Although these independent Outlets represent a fundamental shift away from

state control of the media, they do play upon the

emotions of the Arab masses. Suicide bombers in

Israel, Iraq, and Afghanistan are not referred to

as terrorists, but instead as martyrs. During a discussion of the outbreak of violence in Saudi

Arabia following the murder of American contractor Paul Johnson, al-Jazeera anchor Abdul

Samad Nasser referred to Saudi Arabia as

"Jazeerat al-Arab" (or the Arabian Peninsula).

This term was used in Arabic to describe the area

prior to the formation of the Saudi state, and also

has been adopted by Osama bin Laden in his ref216

erences to Saudi Arabia in an attempt to delegitimize the Saudi state in the eyes of his followers.

In another case, the former chief editor of the

pan-Arab daily Asharq al-Aswat noted he once

caught one his editors changing the caption of

an Associated Press photo from "an American

soldier chatting with an Iraqi girl" to "an

American soldier asking an Iraqi girl for sex." In

effect, Arab-language media sources are tacitly

supporting the radical Islamists' agenda of creating a clash of civilizations.24

Advocating a New System: The

Islamist Agenda

The primary objective of Islamists is to overthrow the West's global system and replace it

with a traditional Islamic system. From its political expressions during the early 20th century,

Islamism challenged Western modernism as the

basis for a just world order. Hasan al-Banna, the

Egyptian school-teacher who established the

Muslim Brotherhood in 1928, railed against the

modern world's encroachments on the Islamic

world. Banna blamed Mustafa Kemal Attaturk's

rise to power in a wave of secular liberalism in

Turkey, which spread throughout the Middle

East. In 1939, the Muslim Brotherhood transitioned from a social reform movement to a political organization adopting a radical, revolutionary agenda, and in essence became the ideological genesis of today's Islamism. The agenda

espoused by the Muslim Brotherhood was threefold:

• Islam is a comprehensive, self-evolving system; it is the ultimate path of life in all spheres.

• Islam emanates from, and is based on, two

fundamental sources, the Koran and the

Prophetic Tradition.

• Islam is applicable to all times and places.

According to Dilip Hiro, the platform of the

Muslim Brotherhood presented an "all-encompassing entity," which offered "an all-powerful

system to regulate every detail of the political,

economic, social, and cultural life of the believers."25 Seizing upon Banna's ideas, Qutb argued

that true Muslims are in a perpetual state of war
against secular political leaders, in which Jihad

becomes a "defensive response" to the "war of

annihilation" the "apostates" wage against Islam.

"True Muslims" are and must be set apart from

the secular incarnation of government in a "counter-society" of the umma (community of

believers). In this counter-society, true Muslims

have no allegiance to state or government, but

only to the umma, striving to create a system

based on the Koran.26 As early as the mid-1950s,

Qutb was arguing for jihad against secular influences in Egypt and the Arab world, and also

against Western society. He asked, "What should

be done about America and the West given their

overwhelming danger to humanity. . . ? Should

we not issue a sentence of death? Is it not the

verdict most appropriate to the nature of the

crime?"27 During his trial, Qutb made his final

statement in support of his concept of Islamism

as a system when he argued, "The bonds of ideology and belief are sturdier than those of patriotism based upon region."28 He was executed by

Nasser in 1966.

There is a direct connection between the ideologies of Banna and Qutb and today's radical

Islamists. Judith Miller argues that Qutb's primary

legacy to radical Islam's ideology is that of "literalism." Qutb was able to use the words of the

Koran and turn them against the Western-dominated system that permeated Middle East governments.29 His calls for jihad against the West as a

religious duty for all Muslims would not only

permeate the mainstream of Islamic society but

would be seized upon by a new generation of

radicals, culminating in bin Laden. Like his ideological mentor Qutb, bin Laden considers Arab

governments that have bought into the West's

system to be "morally depraved" and "hypocrites" worthy not only of enmity, but of overthrow.30 According to Emmanuel Sivan, Islamist

opposition movements concentrate on the "nearest enemy," which in this case means Arab governments that cooperate with the U.S-led system. In his view, Islamist opposition movements

will engage the "further away enemies" (meaning

the United States and Israel) at a later time.31

Despite bin Laden's ideological diatribes

against the United States, and even his direct

attacks against U.S. power and influence, the

217

nearest enemy continues to be the dominant battleground in the war between systems. At the

end of the day, radical Islam will seize upon

challenges in the Middle East: the youth bulge,

declining economies where wealth and opportunities are concentrated among small elites, lack

of political expression in most states, foreign policy crises (e.g., the Intifada and the U.S. occupation of Iraq) where the Islamic world believes it

is being challenged by the global system, and a

future devoid of optimism. In the words of

Moroccan Islamist Abdul Sallam Yassin, both

"West and East have failed. The future is Islam."32

The pervasiveness of Islamism, which even in its

moderate form advocates a unity between religious and political life, means that until the global system shows its ability to benefit states of the

non-functioning gap, the Arab street will be a

willing audience for Islamism. As leading

Egyptian journalist Muhammad Hasanein Heikal

notes, "Only Islam makes sense, is authentic" to

the Arab street.33

Bridging the Gap: The Struggle

Across the Middle East

From a geostrategic perspective, these areas

include a variety of states across the region

where Islamists are actively engaged in attempting to instill their vision of a sharia-based Islamic

umma. Currently, radical Islamists do not wield

complete control in any state. The only state that

comes close is Iran, but even Iran is caught in the

struggle between religious fundamentalists and

moderates who seek to modernize their country

and bring to it some of the benefits of globalization. A second category of states is those in

which the leaders have attempted to strike bargains with their nation's indigenous Islamist elements in order to remain in power, such as

Egypt, Pakistan, and Saudi Arabia. Finally, there

are also states whose governments have chosen

to restrict or even eliminate all Islamist elements

from gaining enough power, influence, and

authority to establish themselves as a true force

for change, such as Algeria, Tunisia, and Turkey.

A further complicating factor is the ongoing

Israeli-Palestinian and wider Arab-Israeli conflict,
which is truly about land and not religion or ideology, counter to what the Islamists would have

us believe. This aspect represents a true conundrum for U.S. Middle East policy, as it presents

an opportunity for Islamists to encroach in an

area that allows them to sway the opinion of the

Arab Street toward their ideology. Bin Laden's

attempt to hijack the Israeli-Palestinian conflict

for his own purposes, adding the removal of the

"Zionists" from Arab territory as one of alQaeda's stated goals, illustrates clearly his

attempt to develop a clash of civilizations.

If the United States is to be victorious in the

Global War on Terrorism, it must not allow the

situation to devolve into Huntington's simplistic,

apocalyptic vision of a clash of civilizations.

Instead, the United States must understand the

implications of its leadership in the global system

and how to use this position to demonstrate to

moderates in the Islamic world why they should

join us rather than attempt to beat us.

Notes

1. Philip Seib, "News Media and the Clash of

Civilizations," Parameters 34 (Winter 2004-05), 71-85.

2. Niall Ferguson makes a key point by suggesting "it is

a mistake to characterize Islamists as "Islamo-Fascists,"

and it is better to think of them as "Islamo-Bolshevists

committed to a revolution and reordering of the world

along anti-capitalist lines" in "Sinking Globalization,"

Foreign Affairs 84 (March/April 2005), 75.

3. This is a common construct regarding international

relations. See: Hedley Bull, The Anarchical Society

(New York: Columbia, 1977); Kenneth N. Waltz, Man,

the State, and War: A Theoretical Analysis (New York:

Columbia Univ. Press, 1959); Alexander Wendt,

"Anarchy is What States Make of It: The Social

Construction of Power Politics," International

Organization 46 (Spring 1992); Robert Keohane, After

Hegemony: Cooperation and Discord in the World

Political Economy (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton Univ.

Press, 1984); and Kenneth A. Oye, ed., Cooperation

under Anarchy (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton Univ. Press,

1986).

4. This is part of the basis for Hegenionic Stability

Theory. See: Robert Gilpin, War and Change in World

Politics (New York: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1982); and

Duncan Snidal, "The Limits of Hegemonic Stability

Theory," International Organization 39 (Autumn

1985).

218

5. G. John Ikenberry, "The Myth of Post-Cold War

Chaos," Foreign Affairs 75 (May/June 1996).

6. Thomas Friedman, "National Strategies and

Capabilities for a Changing World: Globalization and

National Security," luncheon address, 31st Annual

IFPA—Fletcher Conference on National Security and

Policy, Washington, D.C., 15 November 2000.

7. Ibid.

8. Thomas Barnett, "The Pentagon's New Map,"

Esquire, March 2003.

9. This is the main argument of the hegemonic stability theory. Changes to the international system occur

when the hegemon is unable or unwilling to provide

the public goods necessary to maintain the systm. A

weak hegemon may be assisted in maintaining the systeni by other states that derive benefit from that system, or be challenged by others who do not benefit,

or who wish to assume the role of the hegemon. See

Gilpin, War and Change in World Politics, and Snidal,

"The Limits of Hegemonic Stability Theory."

10. Sharia (Islamic law) was codified in the eighth and

ninth centuries, after the Abbasids seized the Islamic

caliphate from the Umayyads. Sharia variants exist

according to jurists' compilations and interpretations in

different geographic areas: the Hanafi School (least

strict) in Turkey, Central Asia, and India; Shaft in Iran

and the coastal Persian Gulf and Indian Ocean areas;

Maliki in North and Sub-Saharan Africa; Hanbali (most

strict) in Saudi Arabia.

11. Charles Hirschkind, "What is Political Islam?"

Middle East Report, No. 205 (October-December 1997),

14.

12. Koran, Sura 2: verse 190. Most sharia schools of

law consider jihad an obligation if unbelievers begin

hostilities. See also Desmond Stewart, Early Islam

(New York: Time-Life Books, 1967): "Christ had taught

Christians to forgive their persecutors and turn the

other cheek; Muhammad, in contrast, had urged his

followers to fight for Islam" (39-40).

13. See Theodore H. von Laue, The World Revolution

of Westernization: The Twentieth Century in Global

Perspective (New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 1987), for

his views of cultures and their abilities to assimilate

modern ideas and technology.

14. See Alisdair McIntyre, After Virtue (South Bend,

Ind.: Notre Dame Univ. Press, 1984), for a comprehensive review of the philosophical path taken by the

West, with a critique mirroring many of the Islamists'

complaints.

15. Wolfhart Pannenberg, Christianity in a Secularized

World (New York: Crossroad, 1989), 57.

16. See Seizaburo Sato, "The Clash of Civilizations: A

View from Japan," The Asteion Magazine (Okamoto
International Affairs Research Institute, Japan), 1996,

for a detailed explanation of the West's transition from

its classical roots to an industrial order. Rodney Stark's

For the Glory of God (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton Univ.

Press, 2003) examines why science progressed further

in Christendom rather than in the Islamic world, providing an explanation for the early impetus toward

eventual Western industrialization.

17. Barnett.

18. Nazih Ayubi, Political Islam: Religion and Politics

in the Arab World (2d ed.; New York: Routledge,

1993), 139-40.

19. Thomas Friedman, "Fighting 'The Big One," The

New York Times, 24 August 2003.

20. Ibid.

21. Daniel Pipes and Graham Fuller, "Combating the

Ideology of Radical Islam," Special Policy Forum

Report, The Washington Institute for Near East Policy,

10 April 2003.

22. The concept of pansurgency was conceived by Dr.

Ilana Kass of the National Defense University for a

briefing to the White House and Congress. Dr. Kass

defines pansurgency as the organized movement of

transnational actors seeking to overthrow values, cultures, or societies on a global level through subversion

and armed conflict with an ultimate goal of establishing a new world order.

23. Michael B. Oren, Six Days of War: June 1967 and

the Making of the Modern Middle East (Oxford, Eng.:

Oxford Univ. Press, 2002), 152.

24. Mamoun Fandy, "Where's the Arab Media's Sense

of Outrage?" Washington Post, 4 July 2004, B4.

25. Dilip Hiro, War Without End: The Rise of Islamist

219

Terrorism and Global Response (rev., 2d. ed.; London:

Routledge, 2002), 59-60.

26. Emmanuel Sivan, Radical Islam: Medieval

Theology and Modern Politics (New Haven, Conn.:

Yale Univ. Press, 1990).

27. Sayyid Qutb, Islam and the Problems of

Civilization, quoted in Judith Miller, God Has NinetyNine Names: Reporting from a Militant Middle East

(New York: Simon & Schuster, 1996), 62-63.

28. Hiro, 67.

29. Miller, 63.

30. Ibid., 49.

31. Emmanuel Sivan, "The Holy War Tradition in

Islam," Orbis, 42 (Spring 1998), 171-94.

32. Mahmud A. Faksh, The Future of Islam in the

Middle East: Fundamentalism in Egypt, Algeria, and

Saudi Arabia (Westport, Conn.: Praeger, 1997), 25.

33. Ibid.

About the Authors

At the time this article was published, Andrew Harvey, Major, USA, was

assigned to the Deputy Chief of Staff for Intelligence, Headquarters U.S.

Army Europe and Seventh Army, Heidelberg, Germany. He previously

taught in the department of Joint and Multinational Operations, U.S.

Army Command and General Staff College. Ian Sullivan was senior intelligence analyst for the Middle East and North Africa for the Deputy Chief

of Staff for Intelligence, Headquarters U.S. Army Europe and Seventh

Army. He previously worked for the Office of Naval Intelligence and as the

intelligence liaison officer at the Center for Naval Analyses. Ralph Groves,

Major, USAR, was an analyst of West Africa and Islamism at the Joint

Analysis Center, Molesworth, England. His Reserve assignment was with

the Deputy Chief of Staff for Intelligence, Headquarters U.S. Army Europe

and Seventh Army. He holds a doctorate from St. John's University in modem world history.

The Concept and Practice of Jihad in Islam

by Michael G Knapp

Parametei's, Spring 2003

"All these crimes and sins committed by the

Americans are a clear declaration of war on

God, his Messenger, and Muslims. . . . [Tihe

jihad is an individual duty if the enemy

destroys the Muslim countries. . . As for the

fighting to repulse [an enemy], it is aimed at

defending sanctity and religion, and it is a

duty. . . On that basis, and in compliance

with God's order, we issue the following

fatwa to all Muslims: The ruling to kill the

Americans and their allies—civilian and miiitary—is an individual duty for every Muslim

who can do it in any country in which it is

possible to do it."

—Osama bin Laden et al., in "Declaration of

the World Islamic Front for Jihad Against the

Jews and Crusaderr, "23 Februaiy 1998

he word "jihad" means "struggle" or "striving" (in the way of God) or to work for a

noble cause with determination; it does

not mean "holy war" (war in Arabic is harb and

holy is muqadassa). Unlike its medieval Christian

counterpart term, "crusade" ("war for the cross"),

however, the term jihad for Muslims has retained

its religious and military connotation into modern

times. The word jihad has appeared widely in the

Western news media following the 11 September

2001 terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center

and the Pentagon, but the true meaning of this

term in the Islamic world (it is sometimes called

the "sixth pillar" of the faith) is still not well

understood by non-Muslims.

In war, the first essential is to know your

adversary—how he thinks and why he thinks that

way, and what his strategy and objectives are—so

that you can attempt to frustrate his plans and

protect the lives of your fellow citizens.

Understanding how radical Muslims see jihad and

are employing it asymmetrically against us can

provide us with that kind of perspective.

221

This article will trace the development of jihad

through early Islamic history into the present day

and will focus on how jihad in concept and practice has been appropriated and distorted by

Muslim extremists as part of their violent campaign against the West and their own governments. Jihad as a centerpiece of radical thought is

illustrated by examining the doctrines of prominent extremist groups such as Hamas and

Egyptian Islamic Jihad. Misuse of the term by

prominent extremist leaders, such as by Osama

bin Laden and others in the quote above, is also

addressed.

The Classical Concept offihad

Qur'anic and Early Legal Perspectives. Muslims

themselves have disagreed throughout their history

about the meaning of the term jihad. In the Qur'an

(or Koran), it is normally found in the sense of

fighting in the path of God; this was used to

describe warfare against the enemies of the early

Muslim community (ummah). In the hadith, the

second most authoritative source of the shari'a

(Islamic law), jthad is used to mean armed action,

and most Islamic theologians and jurists in the classical period (the first three centuries) of Muslim history understood this obligation to be in a military

sense.1

Islamic jurists saw jthad in the context of conflict

in a world divided between the Dar al-Islam (territory under Islamic control) and the Dar al-harb

(territory of war, which consisted of all lands not

under Muslim rule). The inhabitants of the territory

of war are divided between "People of the Book"

(mainly Jews and Christians) and polytheists. This

requirement to continue jthad until all of the world

is included in the territory of Islam does not imply

that Muslims must wage nonstop warfare, however. Although there was no mechanism for recognizing a non-Muslim government as legitimate, jurists

allowed for the negotiation of truces and peace

treaties of limited duration. Additionally, extending

the territory of Islam does not mean the annihilation of all non-Muslims, nor even their necessary

conversion: jthad cannot imply conversion by
force, since the Qur'an (2:256) states that "There is

no compulsion in religion." More than a religious

aim, jthad really had a political one: the drive to

establish a single, unified Muslim realm justified

Islam's supercession of other faiths and allowed for

the creation of a just political and social order.2

Jthad was generally understood not as an obligation of each individual Muslim (known as fard

'ayn) but as a general requirement of the Muslim

community (fard kfaya). Only in emergencies,

when the Dar al-Islam comes under unexpected

attack, do all Muslims have to participate in jihad.

Under normal circumstances, therefore, an individual Muslim need not take part so long as other

Muslims cany the burden for all of defending the

realm.3

Other Philosophical Perspectives. This consensus view of a restricted, defensive version of jihad

was contested by Muslim legal philosopher Taqi alDin Ahmad Ibn Taymiyya (1 263-1328). He declared

that a ruler who fails to enforce the shari'a rigorously in all aspects, including the conduct of jihad

(and is therefore insufficiently Muslim), forfeits his

right to rule. Ibn Tayniiyya strongly advocated jthad

as warfare against both the Crusaders and Mongols

who then occupied parts of the Dar al-Islam, and

most important, broke with the mainstream of

Islam by asserting that a professing Muslim who

does not live by the faith is an apostate (unbeliever). By going well beyond most jurists (who tolerated rulers who violated the shari'a for the sake of

community stability), Ibn Taymiyya laid much of

the groundwork for the intellectual arguments of

contemporary radical Islamists.4

Islamic law condemns all warfare that does not

qualify as jthad, specifically any warfare among

Muslims. Thus, military action against Muslims is

justified only by denying them the status of

Muslims (e.g., classifying them as apostates or

rebels).5 Islamic juristic tradition is also very hostile

toward terror as a means of political resistance.

Classical Muslim jurists were remarkably tolerant

toward political rebels by holding that they may

not be executed nor their property confiscated.

This tolerance vanished, however, for rebels who

conducted attacks against unsuspecting and

defenseless victims or who spread terror through

222

abductions, rapes, the use of poisoned arrows and

poisoning of wells (the chemical warfare of this

period), arson, attacks against travelers, and night

attacks. In these cases, jurists demanded harsh

penalties (including death) and ruled that the punishment was the same whether the perpetrator or

victim was Muslim or non-Muslim.6

Three main views of jthad thus coexisted in premodern times. In addition to the classical legal

view of jihad as a compulsory, communal effort to

defend and expand the Dar al-Islam, and Ibn

Taymiyya's notion of active jthad as an indispensable feature of legitimate rule, there was also the

Sufi movement's doctrine of greater jihad. The

Sufis (a mystical sect of Islam) understood the

greater jihad as an inner struggle against the base

instincts of the body but also against corruption of

the soul, and believed that the greater jihad is a

necessary part of the process of gaining spiritual

insight. To this day, most Muslims see jihad as a

personal rather than a political struggle, while

physical actions taken in defense of the realm are

considered the lesser jihad. It is not surprising,

then, that disagreement over the meaning of jihad

has continued into the modern era.7

Origins of Radical Ideologies

Muslim reform movements in the Middle East

first acquired a sense of urgency with the arrival of

European imperialism in the latter part of the 19th

century. The end of colonialism and acquisition of

independence by most Muslim countries after

World War II accelerated this drive. However, the

massive social changes that accompanied these

reforms and the simultaneous introduction of new

ideas that were alien to classical Islamic tradition—

such as nationalism, popular sovereignty, and

women's rights—disrupted traditional ways of life

and caused traumatic dislocations in these societies.8

Disillusionment with the path Muslim societies

have taken in the modern period reached its height

in the 1970s. Increasingly widespread rejection of

Western civilization as a model for Muslims to emulate has been accompanied by a search for indigenous values that reflect traditional Muslim culture,

as well as a drive to restore power and dignity to

the community. The last 30 years have seen the rise
of militant, religiously-based political groups whose

ideology focuses on demands for jthad (and the

willingness to sacrifice one's life) for the forceful

creation of a society governed solely by the shari'a

and a unified Islamic state, and to eliminate unIslamic and unjust rulers. These groups are also

reemphasizing individual conformity to the

requirements of Islam.9

Militant Islam (also referred to as political or radical Islam) is rooted in a contemporary religious

resurgence in private and public life.10 The causes

of Islamic radicalism have been religio-cultural,

political, and socio-economic and have focused on

issues of politics and social justice such as authoritarianism, lack of social services, and corruption,

which all intertwine as catalysts. Many Islamic

reform groups have blamed social ills on outside

influences; for example, modernization (e.g.,

Westernization and secularization) has been perceived as a form of neocolonialism, an evil that

replaces Muslim religious and cultural identity and

values with alien ideas and models of development.11

Islamic militancy is still not well understood by

Americans. This is partly due to the secrecy which

radical Islamic groups practice to protect themselves from the authorities and from outsiders who

do not share their views and aims, but also because

Western public communications media frequently

tend to marginalize such groups. They are dismissed as religious fanatics, anti-Western hooligans,

or mindless terrorists without making an attempt to

comprehend the deep discontents that have produced these Islamic groups' violent actions or the

logic of their radical cause which compels them to

behave as they do.12

Sunni and Shi'a (Shi'ite) Muslims agree, in terms

of just cause, that jihad applies to the defense of

territory, life, faith, and property; it is justified to

repel invasion or its threat; it is necessary to guarantee freedom for the spread of Islam; and that difference in religion alone is not a sufficient cause.

Some Islamic scholars have differentiated disbelief

from persecution and injustice and claimed that

jihad is justified only to fight those unbelievers who

have initiated aggression against the Muslim community. Others, however, have stated more militant

views which were inspired by Islamic resistance to

the European powers during the colonial period: in

this view, jthad as "aggressive war" is authorized

against all non-Muslims, whether they are oppressing Muslims or not.

The question of right authority—no jihad can be

waged unless it is directed by a legitimate ruler—

also has been divisive among Muslims. The Sunnis

saw all of the Muslim caliphs (particularly the first

four "rightly guided" caliphs to rule after the

Prophet Muhammad's death, who possessed combined religious and political authority) as legitimate

callers of jihad, as long as they had the support of

the realm's ulama (Islamic scholars). The Shi'a see

this power as having been meant for the Imams,

but it was wrongly denied to them by the majority

Sunnis. The lack of proper authority after the disappearance of the 12th ("Hidden") Imam in 874

A.D. also posed problems for the Shi'a; this was

resolved by the ulama increasingly taking this

authority for itself to the point where all legitimate

forms of jihad may be considered defensive, and

there is no restriction on the kind of war which

may be waged in the Hidden Imam's absence so

long as it is authorized by a just ruler (this idea

reached its zenith under Iran's Ayatollah Ruhollah

Khomeini).

Both sects agree on the other prerequisites for

jthad. Right intention (niyah) is fundamentally

important for engaging in jihad. Fighting for the

sake of conquest, booty, or honor in the eyes of

one's companions will earn no reward; the only

valid purpose for jihad is to draw near to God. In

terms of last resort, jihad may be waged only if the

enemy has first been offered the triple alternative:

accept Islam, pay the jizyab (the poll tax required

for non-Musl• "People of the Book" living under

Muslim control), or fight.13

Conditions also are placed on the behavior of

combatants in jihad: discrimination of noncombatants from warriors is required, along with the prohibition of harm to noncombatants such as

women, children, the disabled, monks and rabbis

(unless they are involved in the fighting), and those

who have been given the promise of immunity;

and proportionality, meaning that the least amount

Differences in

Interpretations

Sunni and Sbi'a

ofJihad

223
of force is used to obtain the desired ends in combat.'4

Ideas onjihad in the Modern

Era

Sayyid Abu al-Ala Mawdudi (1903-1979) was

the first Islamist writer to approach jthad systematically. Warfare, in his view, is conducted not just to

expand Islamic political dominance, hut also to

establish just rule (one that includes freedom of

religion). For Mawdudi (an Indo-Pakistani who agitated for Pakistan's independence from India),

jihad was akin to war of liberation and is designed

to establish politically independent Muslim states.

Mawdudi's view significantly changed the concept

of jihad in Islam and began its association with

anticolonialism and "national liberation movements." His approach paved the way for Arab

resistance to Zionism and the existence of the state

of Israel to be referred to as jihad.15

Radical Egyptian Islamist thinkers (and members

of the Muslim Brotherhood) Hasan al-Banna (1906-

1949) and Sayyid Qutb (1906-1966) took hold of

Mawdudi's activist and nationalist conception of

jihad and its role in establishing a truly Islamic government, and incorported Ibn Taymiyya's earlier

conception of jihad that includes the overthrow of

governments that fail to enforce the shari'a. This

idea of revolution focuses first on dealing with the

radicals' own un-Islamic rulers (the "near enemy")

before Muslims can direct jihad against external

enemies. If leaders such as Egyptian President

Anwar Sadat, for example, are not true Muslims,

then they cannot lead jthad, not even against a

legitimate target such as Israel. Significantly, radical

Islamists consider jihad mandatory for all Muslims,

making it an individual rather than a communal

duty.16

The Use ofJibad by Islamic

Militants

Regional Islamic Militant Groups' Perceptions.

Classical Islamic criteria for jthad were based on the

early unffied Muslim empire. The imposition of the

modern nation-state on Middle East societies, however, has made such ideas no longer applicable;

this can be seen by examining contemporary

224

Muslim militant groups' ideologies.

The Islamic Resistance Movement (commonly

known as Hamas) sees its situation as similar to

that of the Muslim ruler Saladin in his struggle

against the Christian Crusaders, as can be seen by

examining portions of its Charter. The goal of

Hamas is to establish an Islamic Palestinian state in

place of Israel, through both violent means (including terrorism) and peaceful political activity. Hamas

argues that the current situation of the Palestinians,

living under Israeli control or dispersed from their

homeland, is part of an ongoing crusade by

Christians to take the Holy Lands out of Palestinian

hands. The loss of Palestine and the creation of

Israel, the Charter continues, were brought about

by the great powers of East and West and taken

together constitute a great tragedy not only for the

Palestinians but for the entire Islamic community.

This, Hamas proclaims, requires jihad not in the

sense of expanding the territory of Islam, but of

restoring it, and to recover land rather than conquer it. Nor is it a rebellion in the classical sense;

rather, this is a struggle to regain a lost portion of

the territory of Islam. The Hamas Charter thus provides a uniquely Islamic rationale for al-intfada,

the "shaking off' of illegitimate rule.17 This language thus seems to suggest defensive jihad, rather

than an offensive struggle.

Since Hamas is not acting on behalf of an established government, it must find authorization elsewhere for its struggle against not only external enemies but also so-called "Muslim" governments that

collaborate with the non-Muslim powers (by cooperating with Israel or allowing the basing of

Western troops on their soil). The group considers

Muslim governments that cooperate with the West

as ignorant of the non-Muslim nations' true intentions, or corrupt. Hamas argues that it obtains its

authority to declare jihad in another way: the

Western powers' invasion of Islamic territory has

created an emergency situation where Muslims

cannot wait for authorization other than that given

directly by God, so jihad is a required duty for all

conscientious Muslims.18 This exceptional situation

suspends the usual lines between parties in a relationship so that every Muslim can participate in the

struggle. Hamas's Charter thus relates the current

situation of Muslims to the classical period, but also

marks a break with that classical past. This extraor-
dinary situation also means a change in the nature

of Muslim obligation under jihad, from a collective

responsibility to extend the Dar al-Islam to a duty

for each individual Muslim to restore that territoThe same pattern of thinking is present Th"The

Neglected Duty," a pamphlet produced by

Egyptian Islamic Jthad (or EIJ, the group that assassinated Anwar Sadat in 1981). This pamphlet, the

group's announced testament," is also a clear

expression of the Sunni Islaniist perspective on

political violence as jihad. It argues that jihad as

armed action is the heart of Islam, and that the neglect of this type of action by Muslims has caused

the current depressed condition of Islam in the

world. EIJ attempts to communicate a sense of

urgency to Muslims, who are being victimized and

whose territory is being divided and controlled by

non-Muslim powers. The document also seeks to

justify jthad against other Muslims who, because

they are ignorant of this situation, actively cooperate with the unbelievers in the name of "modernization" and are worse than rebels—they are

Muslim traitors and apostates. Furthermore, fighting

such unhelievers without the limits imposed if they

were rebellious Muslims is justified, since they are

worse than other unbelievers.20

"The Neglected Duty" defines the current rulers

of the Muslim world (as Sadat was defined) as the

primary enemies of Islam and apostates, despite

their profession of Islam and obedience to some of

its laws, and advocates their execution. This document is explicitly messianic, asserting that Muslims

must "exert every conceivable effort" to bring

about the establishment of truly Islamic government, a restoration of the caliphate, and the expansion of the Dar al-Islam, and that the success of

these endeavors is inevitable.21 "The Neglected

Duty" cites a different historical analogy for this

struggle than does Hamas' Charter, however: more

appropriate than the threat posed by the European

Crusaders was the struggle of Muslims against the

Mongol invaders.

EIJ is raising an important issue connected with

irregular war: the group is advocating mass resistance against an established government, and such

revolution can be justified in Islam only where the

ruler becomes an unbeliever through public displays of unbelief. The most significant of such acts

225

is introduction of an innovation (bid'ah), which is

a policy, teaching, or action that violates precedents in the Qur'an or hadith. The leadership thus

loses its divinely given authority when it commits

apostasy, and Muslims not only must no longer

obey such a ruler, but are required to revolt and

depose him.

This reference to the obligation to God for the

creation and maintenance of an Islamic state and

the responsibilities of Muslims serves to answer the

question of authorization for militant Islamic

forces.22 "The Neglected Duty" provides further

justification for armed action by arguing that Egypt,

like most of its neighbors, is not an Islamic state

because its constitution and laws are a mix of traditional Islamic judgments and European law

codes. Imposition of such a mixed legal system

(non-Islamic laws that are an "innovation") by

Egypt's leaders on their subjects thus means that

the nation is not part of the territory of Islam, but

part of the territory of war or unbelief.23

Shi'a radicals have a similar perspective to their

Sunni extremist "brothers in arms." Ayatollah

Ruhollah Khomeini (1902-1989) contended that

Islamic jurists, "by means of jihad and enjoining the

good and forbidding the evil, must expose and

overthrow tyrannical rulers and rouse the people

so the universal movement of all alert Muslims can

establish Islamic government in the place of tyrannical regimes." The proper teaching of Islam will

cause "the entire population to become muja/.iicls

[literally "strugglers for God]." Ayatollah Murtaza

Mutahhari (1920-1979), a top ideologue of the

Iranian Revolution, considered jthad a necessary

consequence of Islam's content: by having political

aims, Islam must sanction armed force and provide

laws for its use. Mutahhari deemed jihad to be

defensive, but his definition includes defense

against oppression and may require what international law would consider a war of aggression. For

example, he endorses an attack on a country of

polytheists (some Muslims see Christians as polytheists due to Christianity's belief in a God who can

exist in three manifestations) with the goal simply

to eliminate polytheism's evils, not to impose

Islam.24

Another radical Shi'a perspective on the justification for jthad can be found in the words of Shaykh

Muhammad Hussein Fadlallah, spiritual leader of
Lebanese Hizballah. In a 1986 interview, he stated

that although violence is justified only for defensive

purposes and as a last resort, the contemporary situation of the people of the Middle East, in particular of Muslims, creates a scenario that breeds violence. The establishment of Israel, the dislocation

of the Palestinians, and the interference of a great

oppressive power (in other words, the United

States) in Arab-Islamic political, economic, and

social affairs leads some Muslims (e.g., militant

groups) to consider themselves justified in using

force to achieve their goals, and this can even

sometimes lead to extreme behavior.25 Fadlallah

does clarify that terrorism (hudna, or violence in

Arabic) is not legitimate or justified in Islam, to

include the destruction of life, kidnapping, or the

hijacking of airliners or ships, and suggests that militants have gone too far in the conduct of their

struggle when they employ such means.

Nevertheless, he concludes by informing the

American people that it is up to them to improve

the situation by pressing for reforms in the policies

of their government.26

How should the West respond to Islamic militant

groups? Shaykh Fadlallah suggests that the West

should listen to the anger expressed by such

groups. While stressing that the way to peace is

through dialogue, Fadlallah said that the West must

first recognize that Muslims who act in ways that

are harmful to Western interests are responding to

pain of their own. Islam, he added, should not be

thought of as uncompromisingly hostile to the

West, since militant groups do not speak for all of

the community. Fadlallah adds that if the West does

listen to these groups, however, it will understand

that the concerns these groups have (for justice,

human rights, and self-deterniination) are legitimate, even if their methods are excessive.27

A1-Qaeda and TransnationalJihad. A New tWist

on Old Complaints. Before his emergence as the

prime suspect in the 9/11 attacks, Osama bin Laden

had described his goals and grievances and the tactics of his transnational al-Qaeda network in great

detail in a series of statements and interviews.

Taken together, these statements provide insight

into an ideology that may seem abhorrent or crazy

to Americans but has been carefully crafted to

appeal to the disgruntled and dispossessed of the

226

Islamic world.28 Bin Laden's ideology, however, is

really more political than religious.

At the heart of bin Laden's philosophy are two

declarations of war—jihad—against the United

States. The first, his Bayan (statement) issued on 26

August 1996, was directed specifically at

"Americans occupying the land of the two holy

places," as bin Laden refers to the cities of Mecca

and Medina that are located in his native Saudi

Arabia. Here he calls upon Muslims all over the

world to fight to "expel the infidels ... from the

Arab Peninsula."29 In his fatwa of 23 February

1998, titled "Declaration of the World Islamic Front

for Jihad against the Jews and Crusaders," which he

issued along with the leaders of extremist groups

in Egypt, Pakistan, and Bangladesh, bin Laden

broadened his earlier edict. In the fatwa, he specifies that the radicals' war is a defensive struggle

against Americans and their allies who have

declared war "on God, his Messenger, and

Muslims." The "crimes and sins" perpetrated by the

United States are threefold: first, it "stormed" the

Arabian peninsula during the Gulf War and has

continued "occupying the lands of Islam in the

holiest of places"; second, it continues a war of

annihilation against Iraq; and third, the United

States supports the state of Israel and its continued

occupation of Jerusalem. The only appropriate

Muslim response, according to the fatwa, is a defensive jihad to repulse the aggressor; therefore,

borrowing from classical and modern Islamic

scholars (because it is defensive), such a war is a

moral obligation incumbent upon all true

Muslims.30

Bin Laden's anger at the "American crusader

forces" who are "occupying" his homeland stems

from an injunction from the Prophet that there "not

be two religions in Arabia"; the presence of foreign

forces on holy soil is thus an intolerable affront to

1,400 years of Islamic tradition. In his 1996 statement of jihad, bin Laden blamed the serious economic crisis then gripping Saudi Arabia (due to

falling oil prices and widespread corruption) on the

presence of these Western "crusader forces." Two

years later, in his 1998 fatwa, bin Laden charged

that the United States was not only occupying and

plundering Arabia, hut was "using its bases in the

peninsula as a spearhead to fight against the neighboring Islamic peoples." In bin Laden's war, the
goal of expelling the "Judeo-Christian enemy" from

Islamic holy lands should occur first on the Arabian

peninsula, then in Iraq (which for 500 years was

the seat of the Islamic caliphate), and third in

Palestine, site of the Al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem

(which is sacred to Muslims as the place from

where Muhammad ascended to heaven).31

Although the initial attacks associated with bin

Laden occurred in Saudi Arabia, Somalia, East

Africa, and Yemen, he increasingly made clear that

he would bring the war to the American homeland.

Al Qaeda is believed to have aided the first attack

against the World Trade Center in 1993, and bin

Laden told an ABC News reporter in May 1998 that

the battle will "inevitably move ... to American

soil."32 Although he appears to be fired by the religious zeal of Saudi Arabia's puritanical Wahhabi

movement, bin Laden's targets have not been

offending religious and cultural institutions, but

political, military, and economic targets. Additionally, though he quotes selective (but incomplete)

passages from the Qur'an to establish the basis for

the jthad, bin Laden's motivations are really not that

different from the anti-imperialistic doctrines that

sustain religious and nonreligious extremist groups

all over the world.33

In return for joining tile jthad against America,

bin Laden has promised his followers an honored

place in paradise, in accordance with a statement

in the Qur'an that "a martyr's privileges are guaranteed by Allah." Bin Laden and many of the other

Islamic militant groups in the Middle East are able

to draw on large numbers of enthusiastic and waiting recruits for their war against the United States—

impoverished youths who are ready to die simply

for the idea of jthad.

"Jihad Factories": An Enduring Legacy of

Hatred. It is estimated that more than 1 million

young men from Pakistan, Afghanistan, Central

Asia, and the Muslim parts of China are attending

inadrasscis, or private Islamic religious schools,

every year in Pakistan. Madrassa students spend

most of their day in rote memorization of the

Qur'an in Arabic (this is not their native language,

so few understand what they are reading) and

interpreting the hadith. Only theology is taught;

there is no math, science, computer training, or

secular history.34 The young men at these schools

227

are drawn from the dire poor of the societies they

come from, kept in self-contained worlds that are

isolated from outside influences, and indoctrinated

with a powerful, not-so-academic radical message:

their highest honor and duty is to wage jthad to

defend Islam from its attackers, and the United

States is the chief enemy of Islam.35

Madrassas, which have a tradition in Pakistan

that dates from colonial days of promoting political

independence along with their religious teaching,

fill a significant gap in the underfunded public

school system by offering free tuition, room, and

board. Madrassas received state funding during the

Afghan War when they were used to groom the

mujahedin who were being sent to fight the Soviet

invaders.36 Many of these schools were emptied in

the 1990s when the Taliban needed assistance in

military campaigns against its Northern Alliance

foes, and many students sent to the front did not

return. The graduates of these madrassas have also

turned up in places like Bosnia, Chechnya, and the

Kashmir, and the survivors of those conflicts have

taken their battlefield experience back to their

home countries where it is being put to use in

jthads against their own not-Islamic enough governments and societies.

The readiness of millions of young men trained

in these schools to sacrifice their lives for Islam—

and their unquestioning acceptance of anti-American and pro-Islamic extremist propaganda—will

continue to be a powerful and enduring weapon

against the U.S-led global war on terrorism, and

one that bin Laden and other militants who are

bent on attacking the United States and its allies can

call on in the years ahead.

Acceptance of Militants' Ideas

and Methods Is Limited

The thrust of the entire jihad tradition which

Islamic radicals have "hijacked" makes it clear that

not everything is permissible. Although the language in the Qur'an and hadith and in other classical Muslim sources is overwhelmingly militant in

many places, this is a reflection of the Muslims'

world in the seventh century, which consisted initially of resistance to a variety of more powerful

non-Islamic tribes and then successful military cam-
paigns to spread the faith.

Besides containing exhortations to fight, however, Islamic sacred texts have also laid out the rules

of engagement for war, which (as mentioned earlier) included prohibitions against the killing of noncombatants such as women, children, the aged,

and disabled. These texts also require notice to the

adversary before an attack, require that a Muslim

army must seek peace if its opponent does, and

forbid committing aggression against others and

suicide.37 Those who are unfamiliar with the

Qur'an and hadith can miss these points when confronted with the propagandistic calls to jthad of

militant Islamic groups.

The actions of rebels in the classical period of

Islam encountered widespread resentment and

condemnation, and this strong sentiment against

rebellion remains in modern Islamic thought. Most

Muslims agree with the presumption in Islamic

teachings on war that individuals are innocent and

therefore not subject to harm unless they demonstrate by their actions that they are a threat to the

safety or survival of Muslims. On this basis, the

overwhelming majonty of Islamic scholars have for

centuries rejected indiscriniiriate killing and the terrorizing of civilian populations as a legitimate form

of jihad.38 Also, at no point do Islamic sacred texts

even consider the horrific and random slaughter of

uninvolved bystanders that is represented by the

9/11 airliner attacks; most Muslims throughout the

world were as shocked by those attacks as Americans were.

The radical message in works such as Hamas's

Charter, "The Neglected Duty," and the writings of

Khomeini and his fellow revolutionary Iranian Shi'a

clerics nevertheless finds a lot of acceptance with

contemporary Muslims. The reason is simply

because of the poor socioeconomic circumstances

and lack of human dignity that many Muslim peoples find themselves subject to, brought about by

secular failures to attend to their problems.39

Militant Islamic groups, exemplified by Hamas and

the Palestinian branch of Islamic Jthad, have been

able to use such poor conditions to their advantage. They provide social services (such as operating free or low-cost schools, medical clinics, sports

clubs, and women's support groups), many of

which the Palestinian Authority itself often cannot

provide, to build public support and attract recruits

228

in the occupied territories.40

Public statements over the last several months

by some moderate Muslim religious authorities and

commentators that Islamic extremists are corrupting a peaceful religious faith for their own twisted

ends are encouraging. Equally positive is the growing recognition in the Muslim world both of bin

Laden's lack of proper religious qualifications to

issue any religious edicts that promote jihad, and

his lack of success, on a strategic level, in forcing

the United States to withdraw its military forces

completely from Saudi Arabia or to give up its campaign against Islamic terrorism. A few prominent

Muslim scholars have not only condemned the terrorist attacks upon the United States, but have

declared the perpetrators of these attacks to be

"suicides," not martyrs. This is significant, since

Islam forbids suicide and teaches that its practitioners are sent not to paradise but to hell, where they

are condemned to keep repeating their suicidal act

for eternity.41

Conclusion

As described herein, jihad in Islamic thought

and practice possesses a range of meanings, with

Muslim radicals focusing on the physical, violent

form of struggle to resist what they see as cultural,

economic, military, and political assaults from outside the ummah and oppression and injustice within. So long as societal conditions within many

Muslim states remain poor, with unrepresentative

governments (which are seen to be propped up by

the United States) that are unwilling or unable to

undertake meaningful but difficult reforms, then

militant Islamic groups will continue to attract

recruits and financial support. In spite of logical fallacies and inconsistencies in the doctrine of jihad of

radical Islamic groups, and the fact that most of the

broad constituency they are attempting to appeal to

does not buy into their ideology or methods, such

groups nevertheless remain as significant threats to

U.S. interests everywhere in the world.

The challenge for the U.S. government over the

next several years will be to encourage and support

lasting reform by Muslim states who are our allies

in the Middle East while maintaining a more balanced and fair-minded foreign policy toward all

key regional players. We must also do a better job
of countering the Islamic extremists' widely disseminated version of jthad, while being more persuasive that our own government—and our society—

are truly not anti-Islamic. Such actions will do much

to deny a supportive environment to our radical

Muslim foes. For its part, the U.S. military needs to

better understand the religious and cultural aspects

of our adversaries' asymmetric mindset—in this

case, how Islamic militants conceive of and use

jihad—to be successful and survivable in its global

campaign against terrorism.

Notes

1. Bernard Lewis, The Political Language of Islam

(Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1988), p.72, as quoted

in Douglas E. Streusand, 'What Does Jthad Mean?"

Middle East Quarterly, 4 (September 1997), 1.

2. Streusand, 2.

3. Ibid.

4. Emmanuel Sivan, Radical Islam: Medieval Theology

and Modern Politics (New Haven: Yale Univ. Press,

1990), 101, as quoted in Streusand, 2-3.

5. Fred M. Donner, "The Sources of Islamic Conceptions

of War," thJust WarandJihad: Historical and Theoretical

Perspectives on War and Peace in Western and Islamic

Traditions, ed. John Kelsay and James Turner Johnson

(New York: Greenwood Press, 1991), 51-52, as quoted in

Streusand, 3.

6. Khaled Abou El Fad!, "Terrorism Is at Odds with

Islamic Tradition," Los Angeles Times, 22 August 2001.

7. Streusand, 3-4.

8. Johannes J. G. Jansen, The Neglected Duty. The Creed

of Sadat's Assassins and Islamic Resurgence in the Middle

East (New York: Macmillan, 1986), xi-xii.

9. Ibid., xii-xiii.

10. The term "fundamentalism" is also used incorrectly in

conjunction with Islam to describe this phenomenon, but

this concept is really more appropriate to American

Christian thought, whence it originated.

11. John L. Esposito, "Political Islam and the West,"

Military Technology, February 2001, 89-90.

12. Jansen, xiii-xiv.

13. Mehdi Abedi and Gary Legenhausen, eds.,Jihad and

Shahadat: Struggle and Martyrdom in Islam (Houston:

Institute for Research and Islamic Studies, 1986), 21-23.

14. Ibid., 23-24.

15. Streusand, 5.

16. Sivan, 16-21, 114-16, as quoted in Streusand, 5.

17. John Kelsay, Islam and War: A Study in Comparative

Ethics (Louisvffle, Ky.: Westminster/John Knox Press,

1993), 95-97.

229

18. Kelsay bases his discussion on the translation by

Muhammad Maqdsi, titled "Charter of the Islamic

Resistance Movement (Hamas) of Palestine" (Dallas:

Islamic Association for Palestine, 1990), 17-18. Another

translation of this document, by Raphael Israeli, is available on the Internet at www.ict.org.il/documents/ documentdet.

cfm?docid=14.

19. Kelsay, Islam and War, 98.

20. Ibid., 100-01.

21. Jansen, p.162, as quoted in Streusand, 5.

22. Kelsay, Islam and War, 101-02.

23. Ibid., 102.

24. Abedi and Legenhausen, 89, as quoted in Streusand,

6.

25. Kelsay, Islam and War, 109.

26. Ibid., 109-10.

27. Quoted in Kelsay, Islam and War, 108.

28. Michael Dobbs, "Inside the Mind of Osama Bin

Laden," Washington Post, 20 September 2001.

29. Ibid.

30. Sohail Hashmi, "The Terrorists' Zealotry Is Political

Not Religious," Washington Post, 30 September 2001.

For a good analysis of bin Laden's fatwa, including its

historical background, see Bernard Lewis, "License to

Kill," Foreign Affairs, 77 (November/December 1998),

14-19. The translated text of the fatwa itself is at

www.fas.org/irp/world/para/docs/980223-fatwa. htm.

31. Dobbs.

32. Ibid.

33. Hashmi.

34. Jeffrey Goldberg, "Inside Jihad U.: The Education

of a Holy Warrior," New York Times Magazine, 25 July

2000.

35. Indira A. R. Lakshmanan, "In Some Schools, Jihad,

Anger at U.S. Are Lessons," Boston Globe, 4 October

2001.

36. Ibid.

37.Teresa Watanabe, "Extremists Put Own Twist on

Islamic Faith," Los Angeles Times, 24 September 2001.

38. Hashmi.

39. Jansen, 2.

40. "Islamic Groups Going for Goodwill," Daily

Progress (Charlottesville, Va.), 18 November 1998, A8.

41. Bernard Lewis, "Jihad vs. Crusade," Wall Street

Journal, 27 September 2001.

About the Author

Michael G. Knapp is a Middle East/Africa analyst with the U.S. Army

National Ground Intelligence Center, Charlottesville, Virginia He has

worked in U.S. government intelligence for 30 years, both as a civilian and

military intelligence officer in the USAR (Ret.). His previous civilian

assignments included analytical positions in the Defense Intelligence

Agency and the Drug Enforcement Administration.

Understanding the 

Taliban and 

Insurgency in 

Afghanistan 

by Thomas HJohnson and 

M. Chris Mason 

Orbis, Winter 2007 

Afghanistan is in danger of capsizing in 

a perfect storm of insurgency that mimics 

operations and tactics witnessed in Iraq. 

This article assesses this insurgency and 

the re-emergent Tali ban. The conunon 

view of the Taliban as simply a radical 

Afghan Islamist movement is overly simple, for that organization has been able to 

build on tribal kinship networks and a 

charismatic mullah phenomenon to mobilize a critical and dynamic rural base of 

support. This support, buttressed by Talib 

reinforcements from Pakistan'S border 

areas, is enough to frustrate the U.S.-led 

Coalition's counterinsurgency strategy. At 

the operational level, the Taliban is fighting a classic "war of the flea, " while the 

Coalition continues to fight the war largely 

according to the Taliban "game plan. " This 

is resulting in its lOSing the war in 

Afghanistan one Pashtun village at a time. 

fter nearly 30 years of continuous war 

in Afghanistan, the country's Americanbacked, post-Taliban government is 

now struggling. President Hamid Karzai's government is encountering extreme difficulty 

extending control and mandate outside Kabul 

into the country's hinterland regions. 

Undermining President Karzai's efforts to 

build a truly national government with national 

control is a resurgent Taliban backed by alQaeda, which together are mounting an increasingly virulent insurgency, espeCially in 

231 
the east and south, near the AfghanistanPakistan border. While then Secretary of

Defense Donald Rumsfeld suggested in May

2003 that the war in Afghanistan was in a

"cleanup" phase,1 now, nearly five years since

the conclusion of major Operation Enduring

Freedom combat operations, it is clear that

Afghanistan is anything but a stable country. The

twin insurgencies of the revitalized Taliban and

Gulbuddin Hekmatyar's faction of Hizb-i-Islami

(HiG) are growing steadily in strength and influence, while Kabul's control and influence in a

broad swath of the country are rapidly diminishing. As demonstrated by the deadly antiAmerican riots in the capital in May 2006, political volatility is even starting to reach urban

areas.

The chief purpose of the resurged Taliban/alQaeda/HiG insurgency appears to be to force

the U.S. military to fight the war according to the

"Taliban game plan." The priority of U.S. effort

seems to be on the "kill/capture mission," just as

the Taliban desires, with the U.S. and NATO

forces concentrating on battalion-sized sweep

operations which are consistently failing, just as

they failed in Vietnam. With the U.S. military

focused on countering the Taliban game plan,

every uphill battle is a losing one and will continue to be until a new strategy is implemented.

Currently, the best strategy would be focused

coordination of a dramatically increased

Provincial Reconstruction Team (PRT) presence

and massive economic development. The

Afghan population has to see tangible results

from the Karzai government's efforts in order for

it to gain legitimacy with them. That is the best

way of winning against the Taliban, which for

now has good chances of returning.

We attempt here to shed new light on the

idea of the Taliban. Behind all actions lie ideas,

and the current Western perception of the

Taliban, both in academia and in policy circles,

centers on the belief that the Taliban are primarily an obtuse, radical Islamist organization. The

Islamist element of the Taliban may be simply

that—an element of the complex historical and

tribal phenomenon of the Pashtuns—but this

article assesses other aspects of the Talihan,

such as its tribal dynamics and charisma. We

232

then analyze the effects of the current insurgency from the strategic and operational levels

and examine its implications for U.S. and

Coalition forces' strategy and tactics. We assume

that the insurgency stems from three fundamental problems: (1) the lack of state formation and

tile inability of the national government to establish a significant presence throughout the country, (2) the failure to make the rural areas secure

so that development and reconstruction can proceed, and (3) the lack of any meaningful

improvement in the lives of the great majority of

the people in the southern half of the country.

Making Sense of the Taliban

"A host of wandering Talib-ul-ilums, who

correspond with the theological students in

Turkey and live free at the expense of the

people —Winston Churchill, 18982

Popular Western perceptions of the Taliban

movement have been driven by images of

robed, bearded men toting Qur'ans and guns

and instituting draconian social policies while

harboring global jihadists. While these images

are accurate to a degree, understanding the

Taliban requires more subtle analysis of

Afghanistan's Soviet occupation and post-occupation experience, its Islamic traditions, Afghan

ethno-linguistic and tribal phenomena, interlopers of the frontier border areas with Pakistan,

and the context in which the Taliban rose.

Following tile Soviet withdrawal in 1989,

Afghanistan deteriorated into a brutal civil war

between rival mujahideen groups, many of

which had spent much of their energy fighting

each other even during the height of the antiSoviet jihad. This civil war claimed thousands of

lives and decimated the country's infrastructure.

The civil war intensified after a mujahideen

group took Kabul in April 1992. Shortly afterwards, Beirut-style Street fighting erupted in the

city, especially between the Pashtun HiG and

the Tajik Jamaat-i-Islam. This civil war, fought

with the vast surplus ordnance of the covert

anti-Soviet military aid program and huge stockpiles of abandoned Soviet weapons, eventually

wreaked as much if not more damage and
destruction on the country than the Soviet invasion and occupation. Kabul, which was left vir—

tually untouched under Soviet occupation, was

savagely bombarded with rockets, mortars, and

artillery by Hekmatyar. In Kandahar, fighting

between Islamists and traditionalist mujahideen

parties resulted in the destruction of much of the

traditional power structures. In the rural areas,

warlords, drug lords, and bandits ran amok in a

state of anarchy created by the unraveling of the

traditional tribal leadership system.

As the mujahideen factions and warlords

were fighting each other for power, Saudi Arabia

invested heavily in the region, most notably

funding madrassas (religious boarding schools)

in Pakistan that sought to spread the conservative Wahhabi version of Islam practiced in the

Saudi kingdom. Pakistan's Jamiat-i-Ulema Islami

(JUI) party built a network of its own to extend

the influence of the indigenous Deobandi

School of Islamic thought. These madrassas

would come to serve as an important educational alternative for the numerous displaced

refugees from the anti-Soviet jihad and Afghan

civil war as well as for poor families along the

frontier who could not afford the secular

schools. With the oversight of Pakistan's InterServices Intelligence Direc-torate (ISID), which

had grown weary of their favorite Afghan

mujahideen leader, Hekmatyar, the Taliban

emerged from the madrassas of Pakistan's NorthWest Frontier Province (NWFP) and the federally administered tribal area (FATA), not to mention kinship networks inside the remaining

Afghan refugee camps. In Afghanistan, the

Taliban recruited primarily from madrassas near

Ghazni and Kandahar. It arrived on the Afghan

scene in 1994 with little warning and vowed to

install a traditional Islamic government and end

the fighting among the mujahideen. With massive covert assistance from Pakistan's ISID,

army, and air force, it overthrew the largely Tajik

(and northern) mujahideen regime in Kabul,

capturing the capital in September 1996. The

Taliban considered this regime responsible for a

continuing civil war and the deterioration of

security in country, as well as discrimination

against Pashtuns. Afghanistan soon became a

training ground for Islamic activists and other

233

radicals from the Middle East and around Asia.

War-weary Afghans initially welcomed the

Taliban, which promoted itself as a new force

for honesty and unity and was seen as the desperately needed balm of peace and stability by

many Afghans, particularly fellow Pashtuns. The

Taliban immediately targeted warlords who

were deemed responsible for much of the

destruction, instability, and chaos that plagued

the country since the outbreak of the civil war.

But it also instituted a religious police force, the

Amr Bil Marof Wa Nai An Munkir (Promotion of

Virtue and Suppression of Vice) to brutally

uphold its extreme and often unorthodox interpretations of Islam, which were not previously

known in Afghanistan. Taliban philosophy,

Ahmed Rashid notes,

fitted nowhere in the Islamic spectrum

of ideas and movements that had emerged

in Afghanistan between 1979 and 1994. . The Taliban represented nobody but themselves and they recognized no Islam except

their own. . . . Before the Taliban, Islamic

extremism had never flourished in

Afghanistan.3

The people's optimism soon turned to fear as

the Taliban introduced a stringent interpretation

of sharia, banned women from work, and introduced punishments such as death by stoning

and amputations.

While Tajik resistance to the Taliban in the

form of the Northern Alliance held Out throughout the Taliban period and retained

Afghanistan's seat in the UN, the Taliban eventually conquered 80 percent of the country.4 By

September 2001, it was poised to perhaps wipe

out the Northern Alliance. But the 9/11 attacks

led to U.S. intervention on October 7, 2001,

aimed at destroying al-Qaeda as well as removing the Taliban from Afghanistan.

Characteristics of the Taliban

The Taliban primarily consists of rural

Pashtuns from the Ghilzai confederation with

some support from the Kakar tribe of the

Ghurghusht confederation. Mullah Mohammed
Omar Akhund and most of the senior members

of the Taliban are from the Hotaki tribe of the

Ghilzai. Their movement represents an ultraconservative Islamic front with an ideology derived

from the Deobandi School (discussed below).

The Taliban, however, took Deobandism to

extremes the school's founders would not have

recognized. The roots of the Taliban are found

in the mujahideen effort against the Soviets.

From the hundreds of resistance groups that

sprang up, the ISID recognized seven and established offices for them through which to channel covert support. Although most had a strong

religious ethos, the groups were organized primarily along ethnic and tribal lines. Significantly,

three of the seven were led by Ghilzais and

none by their rivals, the Durranis, who were

deliberately marginalized by the ISID.5 The

importance of these ethnic roots of the Taliban

in the mujahideen movement cannot be overstated. Yet its tribal heritage is only a partial

explanation of what the Taliban represents.

The Taliban's Islamic

Component

The Taliban initially represented a rise to

power of the mullahs at the expense of both

tribal leaders and mujahideen commanders.

Many mujahideen commanders, especially those

from Hizb-i-Islami (Maulvi Khalis) and Harakati-Inqilab-i-Islami—Islamic Unity Movement (Nabi

Muhammadi), were later absorbed by the

Taliban.6 And, as noted, the Taliban was influenced by the teachings of Deobandi Islam in

Pakistani seminars and madrassas, especially the

Jaamia Haqqania at Akora Khattack.7 The

Pakistani version of the Deobandi schools in

Afghan refugee camps were for the most part

run by inexperienced, semiliterate mullahs associated with Pakistan's JUT. Saudi funds in combination with a lack of appreciation on the part of

the mullahs of the reformist Deobandi agenda

brought the schools' curricula closer to ultraconservative Wahhabism.8

Deobandi Islam, a conservative Islamic orthodoxy, follows a Salafist egalitarian model that

seeks to emulate the life and times of the

234

Prophet Muhammad.9 The Deohandi philosophy

founded at the Dar ul-Ulum (Abode of Islamic

Learning) madrassa in Deoband, India, in 1867

eventually became the primary producer of

Ulama, or legal scholars, in India. While

Deobandi madrassas have flourished across

South Asia, they were not officially supported or

sanctioned in Pakistan until President Zia ul Haq

assumed control of the Pakistani government in

1977. The Deobancli interpretation of Islamic

teachings is now widely practiced in Pakistan,

with the JUT being its primary political proponent.

The Deobandi interpretation holds that a

Muslim's primary obligation and loyalty is to his

religion. The Deobandis oppose any kind of

social caste system within Islam, to include, naturally, any monarchy. Loyalty to country is

always secondary. Deobandis also believe they

have a sacred right and obligation to wage jihad

to protect the Muslims of any country. This obligation alone may explain some of Mullah

Omar's affinity for bin Laden and his global

jihadist ambitions. Many analysts believe that

had the Taliban remained in power, it was only

a matter a time before they moved against

"apostate" neighbor such as Uzbekistan. The

Taliban had already embraced the Islamic

Movement of Uzbekistan, the Uzbek regime's

primary jihadist opposition.

Deobandi militants share the Taliban's restrictive view of women and regard Shia as nonMuslim. While in power, the Taliban had a deliberate anti-Shia program against Afghanistan's

ethnic Hazara, who are predominantly Shia, and

led numerous massacres against them, killing

tens of thousands.'0

The Taliban as a Tribal

Movement

While the Taliban's rise challenged many traditional tribal institutions, especially those of

Afghanistan's eastern mountains, the eventual

leadership of the movement consisted almost

exclusively of Ghilzai Pashtuns. The Ghilzai

have historically been at odds with the smaller

Durrani confederation of tribes, which is cur-
Figure 1. Pashtun Tribal Areas and Key Insurgent Strongholds, 2006 

rently represented to some extent in the central 

Afghan government. Ghilzai Pashtuns are concentrated in the southeast-in Oruzgan, Zabol, 

Dai Kundi and Gardez provinces, and in the 

Katawaz region of Paktika province-but they 

also have communities in the center and north 

of the country as a result of resettlement, both 

forcible and encouraged, under Durrani rule in 

the early twentieth century. 

The importance of the Ghilzai to the Taliban 

and insurgency is illustrated by Figure 1. The 

shaded section of the map shows those areas 

where the insurgency is the strongest-primarily 

areas controlled by the Taliban. These areas 

include the northern districts of Kandahar 

Province, the northeastern districts of the 

235 

-- Intemilional boundary 

_ .- P,()OJinee (\'eJ;yit) DOunciary 

* NilhO,ul caPItal 

~ PrOVInce (vtfjy.lt) caPl~1 

-- R.llro;t(l 

-- Road 

Helmand Province, the southern districts of 

Oruzgan Province, the western districts of Zabol 

Province, and districts in Paktika, Paktya, 

Gardez, Wardak, and Logar Provinces. The inset 

map is a rough sketch of the Pashtun tribal areas 

of the Durrani, Ghilzai, Ghurghusht, Karlanri, 

and Sarbani-the five large confederations of 

Pashtuns, each of which traces its roots to a single ancestor. (Each of these five confederations 

contains scores of major tribes, or Qawms, 

which are perhaps analogous to Native 

American tribes such as the Apache or the 

Navajo.) Comparing the two maps, it is evident 

that the most intense area of the insurgency is 

the area dominated by the various Ghilzai tribes. 

Tribalism in Afghanistan can be seen as a sub-
set of ethno-linguistic groups, giving primacy to 

ties of kinship and patrilineal descent. The tribe 

is a kind of union of mutual assistance, with 

members cooperating on defense and maintaining order. ll The Pashtun in particular are highly 

segmentary, with precise patrilineal descents 

first written down by the Moghuls in the 15th 

century. To truly understand the Taliban, we 

must thus go behind the mask of Islamism (the 

Taliban's opponents in the Northern Alliance 

were also conservative Muslims) and examine 

the movement as a tribal phenomenon. On 

closer inspection, the Taliban is neither simply a 

Pashtun movement nor even a pan-Ghilzai 

movement, although its area of influence coincides closely with Ghilzai lands. It is largely led 

by a single tribe. Most of the senior leadership 

of the Taliban-with a few exceptions of Kakar 

tribesmen of the Ghurghusht confederation, 

who are close to Mullah Omar-was and is 

drawn specifically from Mullah Omar's own 

Hotaki tribe (see Table 1). 

There is historical precedent for this. The 

Ghilzai have traditionally been hostile towards 

the Durrani, who have held power in Kabul for 

most of the last 300 years and provided all of 

Afghanistan's kings. Only three times have the 

Ghilzai seized national power from the Durranis: 

in 1721, when Mir Wais took power; in 1978, 

after a coup against Mohammed Daoud by 

Marxist military officers, who immediately handed over power to the Marxist People's 

Democratic Party of Afghanistan leader Nur 

Mohammed TarakiY and again in 1996, when 

Mullah Omar came to power. Both Mir Wais and 

Mullah Omar are of the Hotaki tribe. Afghans 

have an immediate and intimate relationship to 

historical events: thE: events of 1721 are not forgotten to the Ghilzai, and the anti-monarchist 

Deobandi Taliban movement was at some level 

also a re-creation of the triumph of the Hotakis 

over the hated Durrani monarchs. Significantly, 

when the Taliban first became powerful, its 

instinct was not to march immediately on the 

capital, but to subdue, coopt, and subjugate the 

Durranis of Kandahar and Helmand Provinces. 

When the Taliban seized control of Kabul, the 

exiled King Zahir Shah, a Durrani, was not invited to return from Italy. This dynamic is still at 

work today: the priority of the resurgent Taliban 

in 2006 is not driving northeast towards Kabul 

and bringing down the Karzai government, but 

rather focusing on first establishing political 

dominance over Durrani lands in Kandahar and 

Helmand Provinces. Clearly more is at work 

here than a simple radical Islamist movement 

bent on seizing national power. 

The Sociological Basis of the 

Taliban 

Tribal politics and Pakistani support do not 

fully explain how the Taliban was able to seize 

Table 1. Senior Taliban Leaders 

Name 

Mullah Muhammad Omar 

Mullah Berader 

Mullah Dadullah Kakar 

Mullah Mohammad Hassen 

Nuruddin Turabi 

Alla Dad Akhund 

Mohamed Essa 

Wakil Ahmed 

Sadeq Akhond 

Mohammed Rabbani 

Mullah Obaidullah 

Position 

Movement Leader 

Deputy Movement Leader 

Senior Military Commander 

Foreign Minister after 1997 

Minister of Justice 

Minister of Communications 

Minister of Water and Power 

Personal Secretaty to Mullah Omar 

Minister of Commerce 

Chairman of Kabul Shura 

Minister of Defense 

236 

Tribal Affiliation 

Hotakia Ghilzai 

Ghilzai 

Kakar Ghurghllsht 

Hotaki Ghilzai 

Hotaki Ghilzai 

Hotaki Ghilzai 

Hotaki Ghilzai 

Kakar Ghurghusht 

Hotaki Ghilzai 

Kakar Ghllrghllsht 

Hotaki Ghilzai 
control so effectively. To gain power, it drew

unconsciously on a universally understood cultural phenomenon among the frontier

Pashtun,13 one that the British and later the

Pakistanis encountered over and over again: the

charismatic mullah movement. Mullah Omar is

the archetype of this phenomenon, a cyclical

pattern of insurrection which manifests itself

about every 30 years in the Pashtun belt. Indeed,

such leaders have often gained powers on the

frontier during times of social distress.14 These

charismatic uprisings were so common, in fact,

that the British dubbed them "mad mullah

movements."

There have been many. A similar figure to

Mullah Omar, Mirza Ali Khan—a Tori Khel

Waziri who was known to the West as the Fakir

of Ipi—led first British and then Pakistani security forces on a frustrating chase around the

frontier for 30 years.'5 Protected by his Pashtun

tribal supporters in the hills, much as Mullah

Omar is today, he was never caught. The Mullah

of Hadda, as noted by David Edwards, provoked

the Great Pashtun Revolt of 1897 through mysticism, parlor tricks, and promises to turn British

bullets to water.6 Akbar Ahmed has studied the

emergence of a charismatic mullah in Waziristan

who, like Mullah Omar, challenged state legitimacy.17 Ahmed argues that the mullah of

Waziristan also used mysticism to gain legitimacy, much like Mullah Omar did 30 years later,

and challenged Pakistan's attempt to modernize

the FATA.

Omar joined this rogues' gallery of politicized

insurgent mullahs by means of a politico-religious stunt that is of enormous importance to

the Taliban movement. In so doing, he became

the epitome of Max Weber's definition of the

charismatic leader, who has:

a certain quality of an individual personality by virtue of which he is set apart

from ordinary men and treated as

endowed with supernatural, superhuman,

or at least specifically exceptional powers

or qualities. These are such as are not

accessible to the ordinary person, but are

regarded as of divine origin or as exemplary, and on the basis of them the individual

237

concerned is treated as a leader.

The event was Omar's removal in 1994 of a

sacred garment believed by many Afghans to be

the original cloak worn by the Prophet

Muhammad from its sanctuary in Kandahar, and

his wearing it while standing atop a mosque in

the city. Whereas Omar had been a nonentity

before this piece of religious theater, the audacious stunt catapulted him to a level of mystical

power (at least among the 90 percent of Pashtuns who are illiterate) and resulted in his being

locally proclaimed Amir-ul Momineen (the

Leader of the Faithful).19

What is known of the Taliban subsequent to

this event conforms exactly to the "mad mullah"

pattern of social mobilization. Furthermore,

once in power, Taliban power was (and is) concentrated exclusively in the person of Mullah

Omar, another characteristic of the phenomenon—and contrary to traditional Pashtun shura

(consensus) politics. As Rashicl has observed,

Omar ultimately made all the decisions within

the Taliban, and no one dared act without his

orders.20 Today, Mullah Omar issues statements

of encouragement to his field commanders,

rather than operational orders, exactly as did the

Mullah of Hadda.21 Thus, unlike most insurgencies, which are not centered in the personality of

a single leader, the Taliban's center of gravity, in

Clausewitzian terms, is not Taliban foot soldiers

or field commanders or even the senior clerics

around Omar, but Omar himself. Because it is a

charismatic movement socially, if Mullah Omar

dies, the Taliban, at least in its current incarnation, will wither and die. The mystical charismatic power that came from wearing the Cloak of

the Prophet is not something transferable to a

second-in-command. Unfortunately, because

this phenomenon is so alien to Western thinking, U.S. analysts instead generally interpret the

Taliban in terms more compatible with Western

logic.

Labeling the Taliban an Islamist movement, a

drug gang, or any of the other revolving-door

euphemisms often used, including lately "antigovernment militia," is misguided. Understanding the Taliban more precisely could enable better U.S. military Information and Psychological
Operations, for example, or insights into the

human terrain by U.S. and NATO forces, and

would suggest a realignment of reconstruction

priorities to isolate the movement and prevent

further mobilization.

A Deteriorating Situation in

Afghanistan

More than 340 American soldiers and Marines

have been killed in action in Afghanistan.22

While the overall level of conflict in Afghanistan

has not yet approached that experienced in Iraq,

the last few years have witnessed an acceleration of increasingly deadly attacks that have

begun to graft insurgent tactics in Iraq onto classic mujahideen-style guerrilla warfare.23 In the

first five months of 2006, there was a 200 percent increase in insurgent attacks compared to

the first five months of 2005. Indeed, late May

2006 saw the deadliest week in the country in

five years. Lutfullah Mashal, the former Afghan

Interior Ministry spokesman, observed in May

2006 that "Taliban fighters no longer rely solely

on hit-and-run tactics by small groups of guerrillas. Instead, the Taliban have been concentrating into groups of more than 100 fighters to

carry out frontal assaults on government security posts."24 The Taliban is thought to have at

least 12,000 fighters controlling areas in the

provinces of Oruzgan, Helmand, Zabol and

Kandahar.25

Troubling indicators such as the relatively

free movement of insurgent groups reveal that

increasingly large areas of the east and south of

the country are falling under the control of the

Taliban. Said Jawad, Afghanistan's ambassador

to the United States, recently stated, "We have

lost a lot of the ground that we may have gained

in the country, especially in the south. . . . The

fact that U.S. military resources have been

diverted' to the war in Iraq is of course hurting

Afghanistan."26

Taliban insurgents and their al-Qaeda allies

are gaining strength. There have been numerous

attacks in 2006 in areas other than the south and

east, suggesting that the Taliban has expanded

the scope of its operations and is taking the war

238

to the north. Cross-border operations from

Pakistan are commonplace. NATO, which assumed operational control of the war in 2006,

requested more troops to fight the insurgency in

September; U.S. troop levels are expected to at

least remain at their current level.27

Another source of concern is that recent

insurgent attacks include the use of suicide

bombings, a tactic previously unknown in

Afghanistan and rare because of a cultural aversion to suicide,28 and improvised explosive

devises (IEDs), which demonstrate a significant

level of coordination with Iraqi insurgents and

growing technological sophistication. The great

majority of the recent suicide attacks appear to

have been "outsourced" to non-Afghans, most

often to Punjabis from the south of Pakistan and

young foreign Islamists.

The wild and largely unregulated tribal areas

on Pakistan's northern border play an extremely

important role in the insurgency, as they do in

Kashmir and in the rising unrest that challenges

Pakistani security forces and governmental

authority all along the frontier. They provide a

steady source of recruits, a safe haven for senior

leadership, and a base of operations and training for the Taliban, Al Qaeda affiliates, and, to a

lesser degree, HiG.29

The Afghanistan-Pakistan

Border Problem

For decades, Afghanistan's neighboring states

have produced disenchanted groups such as

Uyghurs, Tajiks, Uzbeks, and other Islamists

who have used the country for guerrilla training

and an operating base. The most important foreign actors in Afghanistan's affairs have come

from Pakistan's western border provinces, especially the NWFP, Baluchistan, and the FATA.

Pakistan has long sought to exert influence in

Afghanistan in order to achieve "strategic depth"

on its northern border in the event of any conflict with India.3° Successive Pakistani governments have promoted Islamic radicalism to subvert Pashtun and Baluch nationalist movements

and further their ambitions in Afghanistan and

Kashmir. Also important is the fact that
Afghanistan's Pashtun population spills over into

Pakistan's FATA as well as NWFP. Jihad, drugs,

and gunrunning have long been the main

sources of livelihood for many of the Pashtuns

living in the FATA.31 Afghan refugee camps and

thousands of madrassas opened by the JUl provide a steady flow of recruits for the Taliban and

other radical groups.

The minimal U.S. troop presence in the south

means that the rugged, porous, and often illdefined 2,450-kilometer border between

Pakistan and Afghanistan does not even constitute a speed bump to groups such as the Taliban

and al-Qaeda seeking to increase their influence

among the Pashtun tribesmen in the region. By

mid-2005, in the strategically vital border

province of Paktika, for example, which has a

population of some 700,000 people and shares a

400 kilometer border with Pakistan, the United

States had only two companies of light infantry

and no engineers or aviation assets. In the summer of 2005, the fledgling PRT in Paktika was

dismembered due to personnel shortages. A vestigial civil affairs remnant, its Civil Military

Opera-tions Center (CMOC), was co-located

with a maneuver company.

President Karzai and Foreign Minister Rangin

Dadfar Spanta recently blamed the ISID for

Taliban attacks in Afghanistan. Kabul claims that

Pakistani security forces chase al-Qaeda terrorists within Pakistan but make little effort to arrest

Taliban fighters or stop them from crossing the

border into Afghanistan.32 This lack of cooperation has similarly frustrated the United States. As

Henry A. Crumpton, the U.S. Department of

State coordinator for counterterrorism, asserts:

The Americans are finding the Pakistanis

much more reluctant to face down the

Taliban—who are brethren from the

Pashtun ethnic group that dominates in

Afghanistan—than they have been to confront al-Qaeda, who are largely outsiders.

Has Pakistan done enough? I think the

answer is no. . . . Not only al-Qaeda, but

Taliban leadership are primarily in

Pakistan, and the Pakistanis know that.33

In 2004, after negotiating with tribal spokes239

men, Pakistan responded to rising FATA Islamic

militancy with an unprecedented deployment of

a reported 70,000 troops to the border area. In

Baluchistan, this force is led by the Pakistani

paramilitary Frontier Corps and regular army

elements from Pakistan's 12th Corps. The

Pakistani campaign in the FATA, especially in the

North and South Waziristan Agencies, is being

conducted by a battalion-plus Special

Operations Task Force and elements of the

Pakistani Army's 11th Corps, aided by the paramilitary Scouts units of the Frontier Corps

indigenous to those agencies. While such troop

levels greatly exceed the total number of U.S.

and Coalition forces in Afghanistan, the actual

relationship between Pakistan's campaign and

the U.S. war on terror is controversial and

unclear, as suggested by Pakistan's General

Tariq Majid, the army's chief of general staff:

"We are not fighting America's war in the FATA.

It is in our own interest. We're fighting this war

because, unfortunately, there have been fallout

effects in Pakistan from the instability in

Afghanistan."34 Recently, Islamabad signed the

Miranshah "peace agreement" in North

Waziristan, seemingly in an attempt to control

militants and their "guest fighters," who have

been operating against NATO forces in Afghanistan as well as Pakistani forces in the FATA; similar agreements in 2004 and 2005 did virtually

nothing to stop cross-border movements of the

Taliban and other insurgents. This most recent

"peace agreement" basically represents a formal

Pakistani surrender to the Waziris and their

humiliating retreat from Waziristan, which is

now for all intents and purposes an independent

country with an independent foreign policy. The

Telegraph and other sources report that Mullah

Omar played a "key" role in brokering this deal.

Indeed, Lateef Afridi, a tribal elder and former

Pakistan national assembly member, suggests

that the Waziri would not have signed the agreement if they had not asked been by Mullah

Omar. "This is no peace agreement, it is accepting Taliban rule in Pakistan's territory."35 This

agreement will likely embolden the Taliban to

launch even more lethal attacks in Afghanistan.

The border areas are not the only driver of

Pakistan's strategic view of Afghanistan. Its per-
ception of an ongoing threat from India has

helped shape its Afghanistan policy. Having a

friendly and controllable neighbor on Pakistan's

western border is critical, allowing Pakistan to

focus on its eastern border with India. Afghanistan has also been influenced by Pakistan's

strategy towards India-controlled Kashmir. One

veteran Pakistani observer suggests that "the

Kashmir issue became the prime mover behind

Pakistan's Afghan policy and its support to the

Talihan."36 Camps in Afghanistan created during

the anti-Soviet jihad have been used to train

Kashmiri guerrilla forces. Pakistan has used

these jihadist forces as a bargaining chip with

India in an attempt to gain more autonomy and

even independence from India for Kashmir.

Post Conflict Reconstruction

and the Rise of the Taliban

Pboenix37

Afghanistan today is in danger of capsizing in

a perfect storm of insurgency, terrorism, narcotics,38 and warlords. Benign neglect by the

United States since Spring 2003 has brought

Afghanistan back to the brink of state failure.

Washington has shortchanged Afghanistan in

both personnel and resources. The deployment

of U.S. troops and NATO International Security

Assistance Forces (ISAF) dedicated to the stabilization of the countryside represented the lowest per capita commitment of peacekeeping personnel to any post-conflict environment since

the end of World War II. The ratios of peacekeepers to citizens in the missions in Bosnia and

Kosovo, for example, were 1:48 and 1:58,

respectively. For the first three years in

Afghanistan, the comparable figure hovered

near 1:2,000. Today, with an increase in U.S.

force levels and a major reinforcement of the

ISAF mission, it is roughly one peacekeeper to

every 1,000 Afghans (1:1,000).

The number of ISAF personnel deployed after

the December 2001 Bonn Agreement on rebuilding Afghanistan was completely inadequate to

fill the security vacuum left by the retreating

Taliban, which gap was quickly filled by warlords and drug lords, many of whom have since

240

donned national police uniforms to facilitate

narco-trafficking.39 As bad as they are, however,

the numbers alone do not tell the whole story.

Most of the U.S. Special Forces soldiers who best

understand counterinsurgency were soon pulled

out of Afghanistan :o serve in Iraq and elsewhere. Aviation assets have also been drawn

down to minimal levels. Because of the lack of

helicopter assets, quick reaction forces throughout much of the south are forced to respond to

the scene of minor Taliban attacks in Humvees.

With an average overland speed of 5—10 miles

an hour (over rocky trails that have not

improved), Taliban guerrillas are usually long

gone from their "roadblock-and-run" attacks

before U.S. forces arrive, which emboldens the

insurgents, demonstrates to the locals our inability to protect them, and demoralizes the police,

few of whom are willing to try to hold off hardened and heavily armed Taliban veterans for

several hours with poor-quality weapons and

the standard 30 rounds of issued ammunition.

Even more damaging to the effort to stabilize

Afghanistan after the fall of the Taliban was the

shockingly low level of committed funding to

rebuild a country laid waste by 25 years of war.

The Karzai government was well into its third

year in office before cumulative U.S. expenditures on reconstruction and development passed

the $1 billion mark. The aid budget for

Afghanistan for 2006 was less than $700 million.

After subtracting the one major reconstruction

project undertaken, the repaving of the Kabul to

Kandahar road, annual U.S. aid to Afghanistan

over the last five years has averaged just $13 per

Afghan. The United States is spending more

money every 72 hours on the war in Iraq than it

is spending on Afghan reconstruction this year.

Frequent turnovers of personnel, lack of local

funds, a cumbersome approval process for projects implemented by U.S. headquarters in

Bagram, the absence of construction oversight

and quality control, inadequate vetting of contractors, and endemic corruption have combined

to waste much of what was spent. The PRT

effort has provided a laboratory for U.S. Army

Civil Affairs experimentation, but their numbers

are absurdly inadequate. With an approximate

overall troop-to-task ratio of one PRT in Pashtun
areas for every 1 million Pashtuns, the strategic

impact is negligible. In 2005, in the lawless

Paktika province, where no international organizations will operate, eight American civil affairs

enlisted reservists and two mid-career transfer

civil affairs majors were responsible for all rural

development and reconstruction in an area the

size of Vermont and New Hampshire combined

with a population of 700,000 people whose living conditions are largely unchanged since biblical times.

With a miniscule Commander's Emergency

Response Program budget, what any 10 soldiers

can accomplish amounts at best to a few grains

of sand on the beach. In 2005, the entire

province of Paktika had only a handful of buildings not made of adobe, fewer than a dozen

high school graduates, and no telephones or

paved roads. There were two antiquated clinics

and two doctors. Officially, the province has 352

elementary schools for boys, but only 40 actual

school buildings. The rest of the "schools" were

simply patches of open ground in the village

where the sixth graders taught what they knew

to the first graders. Few if any girls went to

school. Ten civil affairs personnel with three

Humvees and a few hundred thousand dollars

could change little. In fact, in the first four years

of the Karzai government, the U.S. government

had not built a single school or clinic anywhere

in the province. To make matters worse, due to

manpower shortages, the PRT in Paktika and

seven others have now been effectively disbanded, with their support elements redeployed to

other duties, and the handful of civil affairs soldiers of the CMOC rolled together with combat

maneuver elements onto shared firebases,

where they are generally the lowest priority for

missions and assets. In these cases, the PRTs,

originally designed as independent, free-standing civil-military affairs institutions, no longer

exist. The stated mission of the PRT, to "extend

the reach of the Afghan national government to

the rural areas," is itself a case of Kafkaesque

spin because specific Afghan PRT involvement is

extremely rare. Hence, their missions, for the

most part, lack any Afghan government component. The inevitable failure of this low level of

peacekeeping and reconstruction to effect any

241

meaningful improvement in the lives of the people in the rural south has created an angry environment of unfulfilled expectations. As much or

more than the Karzai government's inability to

extend its writ beyond Kabul, this gap between

expectation and reality is what has opened the

door to the resurgence of the Taliban.

Assessing the Afghan

Insurgency and

counterinsurgency

The Taliban, unlike Kabul, intuitively understood that the center of gravity was satisfying the

rural Pashtun. They knew there was a window

of opportunity for Karzai to gain rural Pashtun

support, and they were quick to capitalize on

the U.S. Department of Defense's failure to

understand this. Indeed, the DoD saw the aftermath of the Taliban's withdrawal south of the

border as a simple matter of subtractive math:

"Kill the existing insurgents and terrorists until

the number reaches zero and the war is over."

But an attempted war of attrition in this context

is a nonstarter. For its part, the Taliban today is

conducting a brilliant defensive insurgency.

They have deployed enough low-level fighters

to intimidate the NGOs and international organizations into withdrawing their personnel from

the south. By night, Taliban mullahs travel in the

rural areas, speaking to village elders. They are

fond of saying, "The Americans have the wristwatches, but we have the time." The simple

message they deliver in person or by "night letter" is one of intimidation: "The Americans may

stay for five years, they may stay for 10, but

eventually they will leave, and when they do,

we will come back to this village and kill every

family that has collaborated with the Americans

or the Karzai government." Such a message is

devastatingly effective in these areas, where

transgenerational feuds and revenge are a fabric

of the society. The insurgency has recently

regained major footholds across the southern

region of the country in areas ranging from

Helmand to Ghazni.

Combined with the lack of any tangible reason to support either the Americans or Karzai,
the villagers either remain neutral or provide

assistance to the guerrillas. U.S. forces have

often accelerated this process through culturally

obtuse behavior, unnecessarily invasive and violent tactics, and a series of tragic incidents of

"collateral damage" which are inevitable in

wartime. U.S. forces deploying to Afghanistan

still receive only minimal cultural awareness

briefings, if any, and this training is usually the

lowest priority on the checklist of requirements

to be crossed off before deployment. Few if any

can speak a word of the Pashto language. They

primarily rely on trilingual young Tajik interpreters to communicate with Pashtun elders, a

major source of miscommunication.

At the strategic level, the Taliban is fighting a

classic "war of the flea,"40 largely along the

same lines used by the mujahideen 20 years ago

against the Soviets, including fighting in villages

to deliberately provoke air strikes and collateral

damage. They gladly trade the lives of a few

dozen guerrilla fighters in order to cost the

American forces the permanent loyalty of that

village, under the code of Pashtun social behavior called Pashtunwali and its obligation for

revenge (Badal), which the U.S. Army does not

even begin to understand. The advent of suicide

attacks is particularly alarming. The Taliban is

getting American forces to do exactly what they

want them to do: chase illiterate teenage boys

with guns around the countryside like the dog

chasing its tail and gnawing at each flea bite

until it drops from exhaustion. The Taliban,

however, has a virtually infinite number of guerrilla recruits pouring Out of the Deohandi

madrassas and growing up in the Pashtun

Afghan refugee camps in northern Pakistan. It

could sustain casualties of 10,000 or more guerrillas a year for 20 years without any operational

impact. Indeed, the Pashtun, who make up 100

percent of the Taliban, have a saying: "Kill one

enemy, make 10." Thus, the death in battle of a

Pashtun guerrilla invokes an obligation of

revenge among all his male relatives, making the

killing of a Taliban guerrilla an act of insurgent

multiplication, not subtraction. The Soviets

learned this lesson as they killed nearly a million

Pashtuns but only increased the number of

Pashtun guerrillas by the end of the war. The

242

Taliban center of gravity is Mullah Omar, the

charismatic cult leader, not teenage boys or midlevel commanders, and no amount of killing

them will shut the insurgency down.

The priority of U.S. effort is still what the

Taliban desires, on the so-called "kill/capture

mission," and the U.S. Army spends much of its

time on battalion-sized sweep operations (e.g.,

Operations Mounta.in Thrust, Medusa, Red

Wings, and Pil). Although few if any insurgencies have ever been won by killing insurgents,

this remains the primary strategy. Indeed, media

reporting of the conflict in 2006 indicates an

increasing U.S. return to the success metric of

body counts, a haunting and disturbing echo of

the same failure in Vietnam. In short, the United

States is losing the war in Afghanistan one

Pashtun village at a time, bursting into schoolyards full of children. with guns bristling, kicking

in village doors, searching women, speeding

down city streets, and putting out cross-cultural

gibberish in totally ineffectual InfoOps and PsyOps campaigns—all of which are anathema to

the Afghans.

Conclusion

Without a major change in counterinsurgency strategy and a major increase in manpower, equipment (particularly aviation assets),

and especially reconstruction funding, the

United States may lose this war. Today, the

momentum—particularly in the counterinsurgency and the counternarcotics efforts—is runfling the wrong way. It is still possible to win—

to create a slowly developing yet stable, conservative Islamic democracy in Afghanistan,

one generally free of terrorism—but not with

the current resources and tactics. The Taliban

has numerous advantages, including comprehensive knowledge of the local culture, language, and tribal hierarchies of which U.S.

forces are ignorant; a virtually inexhaustible

supply of recruits and money; mountainous terrain that favors the insurgent; centuries of successful experience in guerrilla warfare against

Western powers; patience; domination to the

point of supremacy in Information Warfare, and

perhaps most importantly, ready sanctuary in
much of northern Pakistan.

Major changes in the way the United States is

doing business are needed immediately, but

even with them, the United States cannot do it

alone. It needs not just the energetic support of

NATO, but a sustained commitment from NATO

to the hard business of counterinsurgency, a

type of warfare in which NATO has had little

training and almost no experience. The UN,

NGOs, and the donor nations must do more as

well. And Afghanistan's northern and western

neighbors must continue to avoid the urge to

excessively meddle in Afghan affairs or risk a

future of Islamist terrorism exported from

Afghanistan.

But the key to success or failure in

Afghanistan lies below its southern border, in

northern Pakistan. As long as insurgents are virtually free to cross the border at will and

Pakistani Frontier Corps elements aid and abet

their movements, the insurgency cannot be shut

down in Afghanistan. As the Soviets learned, the

border between Afghanistan and Pakistan cannot be easily closed. Pakistani President Pervez

Musharraf must stop trying to appear to be the

ally of the United States in the war on terror

while seeking to curry political favor with its

worst proponents in the NWFP, Baluchistan, and

:he FATA. Thanks to ill-conceived Pakistani poli-

:ies of encouragement and appeasement, fundanentalist Islam in the border region may now

be too powerful to stop, but it's not too late to

icy. President Musharraf must assert national

control there and act boldly to shut down the

major insurgent movements across the border

before the situation spirals completely Out of

control.

For its part, the United States must begin to

fight smarter and stop following the Taliban

çlaybook. A complete change in counterinsurency strategy is required, and all U.S. soldiers

rust become cultural and language warriors

with months, not minutes, of training in both

hinguage and culture before deployment.

Quantum improvement is required in this area;

already in 2004, Human Rights Watch had

released a scathing report on the conduct of

American military personnel and the Afghan

ational Police,41 which are an almost unmiti243

gated disaster of corruption, warlord cronyism,

and incompetence.

Despite extreme poverty, a landmine-littered

landscape, massive corruption, a fledgling government whose authority outside of Kabul is

very limited, an ongoing insurgency, a shattered

economy, booming opium production, and a

host of other daunting problems, Afghanistan

remains geostrategically vital. The United States

cannot repeat its post-Soviet withdrawal abandonment of the country or fob the mission off

on NATO, or the results will be disastrous once

again. By abandoning Afghanistan once, the

United States allowed the country to become a

refuge for terrorist groups to recruit, train, and

wage war against the West. The effect on

Afghanistan, the region, and the rest of the

world was dramatic and terrifying. This time, if

we leave—or lose—the results will be even

worse.

Notes

1. Rowan Scarborough, "War on Terrorism in

'Cleanup' Phase," Washington Times, May 2, 2003.

2. Winston S. Churchill, The Story of the Malakand

Field Force: An Episode of Frontier War (London:

Green and Longmans, 1898).

3. Ahmed Rashid, Taliban: Militant Islam, Oil and

Fundamentalism in Central Asia (New Haven, Conn.:

Yale University Press, 2001), 85, 93.

4. Only three countries provided diplomatic recognition to the Taliban as the legitimate government of

Afghanistan: Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, and the UAE.

5. Rashid, Taliban, 18—19; Michael Griffin, Reaping the

Whirlwind: Afghanistan, Al Qa 'ida and the Holy War

(London: Pluto Press, 2003), 70.

6. International Crisis Group, "Afghanistan: The

Problem of Pashtun Alienation," ICG Asia Report, No.

62, Kabul/Brussels, Aug. 5, 2003, 17.

7. Other seminaries outside the border areas that were

important foundations for the Taliban included ones

in Karachi (Binori Town and Jamia Farooqia) and in

Lahore (Jamia Ashrafia). Similarly, there were important seminaries in Peshawar, Akora Khattack, and

Quetta, which all played a pivotal role in building up

the Taliban movement. See Syed Saleem Shahzad,

"How the Taliban Builds its Army," Asia Times, Aug.

27, 2003.

8. Ahmed Rashid, "The Taliban: Exportin,Extremism,"

Foreign Affairs, November/December 1119.
9. See Owen Bennett Jones, Pakistan: Eye of the Storm

(New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 2002);

Barbara Metcalf, "The Madrassa at Deoband: A Model

for Religious Education in Modern India," Modern

Asian Studies, February 1978; and Usha Sanyal,

"Generational Changes in the Leadership of the Ahl-e

Sunnat Movement in North India during the Twentieth

Century," Modern Asian Studies, July 1998.

10. Rashid, Taliban, 77, 83, 139.

11. See Louis Dupree, Afghanistan (Oxford University

Press, 1980, 2nd ed).

12. The competition and distrust between the Ghilzai

and the Durranis played a major role in the split of the

PDPA between the Khalq (People) faction, led by

Taraki and representing Ghilzai Pashtuns and the

Parcham (Banner) faction, led by Babrak Karmal and

representing the Durrani Pashtun. See Henry S.

Bradsher, Afghanistan and the Soviet Union (Durham:

Duke University Press, 1985, 2nd ed.).

13. See Vanni Cappelli, "The Alienated Frontier: Why

the united States Can't Get Osama bin Laden," Orbis,

Fall 2005.

14. For a seminal treatment of the subject of charismatic leadership and political organizations, see Alfred

de Grazia, Political Behavior (New York: Free Press,

1965), also published at www.grazian-archive.com.

15. Dupree, Afghanistan, 480, 487, 491—2.

16. David B. Edwards, Heroes of the Age: Moral Fault

Lines on the Afghan Frontier (Berkeley: University of

California Press, 1996).

17. Akbar S. Ahmed, Resistance and Control in

Pakistan (London: Routledge, 1991). Also see Akbar S.

Ahmed, Religion and Politics in Muslim Society: Order

and Conflict in Pakistan (Cambridge University Press,

1983).

18. Max Weber, The Theory of Social and Economic

Organisation, translated by A.M. Henderson and

Talcott Parsons (New York: Oxford University Press,

1947), 358—59, 362.

19. The cloak of the Prophet Muhammad was folded

and padlocked in a series of chests in a crypt in the

royal mausoleum at Kandahar; "myth had it that the

padlocks to the crypt could be opened only when

touched by a true Amir-ul Moinineen." Joseph A.

Raelin, "The Myth of Charismatic Leaders," T&D,

March 2003.

20. Rashid, Taliban.

21. Edwards, Heroes of the Age.

22. For current figures, see www.icasualties.org.

23. Griff Witte, "Afghans Confront Surge In Violence:

Foreign Support Seen Behind Attacks That Mimic

Those in Iraq," Christian Science Monitor, Nov. 28,

2005.

244

24. Ron Synovitz, "Afghanistan: Upsurge of Violence

Reflects New Taliban Tactics," Eurasia Insight, May

26, 2006.

25. Center for International Issues Research, Daily

Arabic Media Report, May 25, 2006.

26. "Taliban, Al-Qaeda regroup in Afghanistan, defying U.S. strategy," Onhnenews.com, May 19, 2006.

27. Anne Gearan, "NATO adding troops in

Afghanistan," AP, Sept. 21, 2006.

28. Griff Witte, "Suicide Bombers Kill Dozens in

Afghanistan, Violence in South Is Seen as Message to

NATO," Washington Post Foreign Service, Jan. 17,

2006. For a chronology of suicide bombings in

Afghanistan, see www.rferl.org.

29. On Feb. 19, 2003, the U.S. government formally

designated Hekmatyar as a "specially designated

global terrorist," under which designation terrorists

and terrorist-related institutions are subject to financial and other sanctions. See Kenneth Katzman,

"Afghanistan: Post-Governance, Security, and U.S.

Policy," CRS Report for Congress, Dec. 28, 2004.

30. See Vanni Cappelli, "Containing Pakistan:

Engaging the Raja-Mandala in South-Central Asia,"

Orbis, Winer 2007.

31. See James D. Medler, "Afghan Heroin: Terrain,

Tradition, and Turmoil," Orbis, Spring 2005.

32. Synovitz, "Afghanistan: Upsurge of Violence."

33. Eric Schmitt, "Springtime for Killing in Afghanistan," New York Times, May 28, 2006.

34. Rober Karniol, "Plugging the Gaps," Jane's

Defense Weekly, Mar. 22, 2006.

35. Massoud Ansari and Cohn Freeman, "Omar role in

truce reinforces fears that Pakistan 'caved in' to

Taliban," Telegraph, Sept. 9, 2006. Also see Tarique

Niazi, "Pakistan's Peace Deal with Taliban Militants,"

Terrorism Monitor, Oct. 5, 2006.

36. Rashid, Taliban, 186.

37. Much of the analysis presented here is based on

the authors' observations while in Afghanistan periodically over the years 2002—05. During 2005, Chris

Mason served as the political officer for the PRT in

Paktika.

38. The UN estimates the annual income of

Afghanistan's opium industry at $2.5 billion. The

opium industry represents the largest source of

income in Afghanistan. And the country produces 85

to 90 percent of the world's heroin. Quite simply,

Afghanistan is a narco-state. See UN Office on Drugs

and Crime and the Government of Afghanistan's

Counter Narcotics Directorate, "Afghanistan Opium

Survey, 2005," November 2005.

39. In November 2005, CBS News quoted a "senior

U.S. drug enforcement official" at the U.S. Embassy in
Kabul as saying that he believed "90 percent of the

district police chiefs in Afghanistan are either

involved in the production of opium or protecting the

trade in some way."

40. See Robert Taber, War of the Flea: The Classic

Study of Guerrilla Warfare (Washington, D.C.:

Potomac, 2002).

41. See HRW, "Enduring Freedom Abuses by U.S.

Forces in Afghanistan, March 2004.

About the Authors

Thomas H. Johnson is director of the Program for Culture & Conflict

245

Studies at the Naval Postgraduate School, Monterey, California. Under

his leadership, the program coordinates anthropological research activities on the human terrain of Central and South Asia. During spring 2007,

he served as the Afghanistan country expert for the first Human Terrain

Team deployed into Afghanistan. Johnson has spent two decades

researching and publishing on Afghanistan and South Asia and has

directed major research efforts for the U.S. government on Afghanistan

and U.S. policy toward this country. M. Chris Mason is a retired foreign

service officer and a senior fellow at the Center for Advanced Defense

Studies, Washington, D.C. From 2001 to 2005, he was a policy officer on

the Afghanistan Interagency Operations Group at the State Department

and subsequently served as the political officer on the Provincial

Reconstruction Team in Paktika Province.

Afghanistan Four

Years On: An

Assessment

by Sean M Maloney

Parameters, Autumn 2005

The transformation of a traditional society

could only be achieved extremely slowly,

and certainly not by wrecking its existing

structure and relationships. Even in the

Soviet Union there had been the "great mistakes" of the 1920s and 1930s. As a Soviet

official in Moscow was also reported as

saying [in 19811, "If there is one country in

the world where we would not like to try

scientific socialism at this point in time, it is

Afghanistan."

—Martin Ewans, Afghanistan (2001) n Spring 2004, Parameters published

"Afghanistan: From Here to Eternity?" which

explored the situation in Afghanistan in early

2003, or a little over one year after the Taliban

regime was removed from power. The tone of

the piece was guardedly pessimistic and in effect

reminded readers that though there had been

progress, the possibility remained that overenthusiastic and emotional responses by the international community in the follow-on phase of

the campaign could scuttle that success. That

article also laid out a number of challenges that

would have to be addressed to avoid what the

critics increasingly referred to as "another

Vietnam."

In 2005, the situation in Afghanistan has progressed to the point where guarded optimism is

justified. Unfortunately, the perception of the situation on the ground has become distorted

through the prism of American partisan politics,

particularly during the run-up to the 2004 election. The focus of this rhetoric was and remains

issues related to narcotics production and a number of spin-off arguments related to it.

Afghanistan is apparently no longer looked at as

247
"another Vietnam"; now it is perhaps "another

Colombia."1 Though the narcotics issue is critical

to the future of Afghanistan, public discussion of

it in American fora has overridden acknowledgment of other areas of success, areas which are

in fact more important than any single issue and

which will, in the long run, have a positive effect

on counternarcotics operations in the region

anyway. This article examines how the situation

in Afghanistan has dramatically changed since

2003, and why. It will also suggest that there are

new areas for concern which policymakers may

wish to focus on beyond the currently salient

narcotics problem.

Where Did We Stand in 2003?

Combined Forces Command Afghanistan or

"CFC Alpha" (CFC-A) is the American-led Coalition headquarters for Operation Enduring

Freedom in Afghanistan. Established in late 2003

to rationalize a convoluted command structure,

CFC-A is now the focal point of the Coalition military effort. The situation in-country in July 2003,

according to CFC-A, was characterized by these

elements: a Coalition force with a counterterrorist focus; an enemy which had sanctuary in

Afghanistan conducting operations against

Coalition forces; a neutral population; an Afghan

National Army that was in training; only four

Provincial Reconstruction Teams; and minimal

support from Pakistan. There was no constitution, no political process, and minimal sovereignty was exercised by Afghanistan.2

With the exception of the overly simplified

portrayal of the enemy forces, these points were

generally accurate,3 but they require some elaboration. In 2003, the primary problem was the

embryonic nature of the interim and transitional

Afghan governments and the possibility that fragile structure could be destabilized and toppled

before it could get to work. Connected to this

was the questionable legitimacy of the government's leader, President Hamid Karzai. On the

ground, Karzai was variously portrayed as a pawn of the United States or in the pocket of

southern anti-Taliban fighters of Pashtun ethnicity, or implicitly controlled by the Northern

Alliance. The Northern Alliance exerted explicit

248

control over Kabul and the associated political

processes by dint of its 27,000-man military contingent based in the city and its environs. There

was no countervailing federal governmental

coercive power in Kabul, let alone throughout

the rest of the country. This power was in the

hands of local leaders, anti-Taliban chieftains

which the media pejoratively labeled "warlords."

Remnants of the TaLban, supported by the remnants of al-Qaeda's military forces, were by this

time in the process of transitioning from a conventional guerrilla war to a low-level terrorist

campaign, and the possibility of a return to the

destructive post-Soviet era infighting between

the chieftains existed in numerous locations,

including Kabul. The Afghan population outside

of the Pashtun areas was, in the main, not openly hostile toward the international forces, but it

generally was not overtly supportive either

except in certain cases.4

International forces in Afghanistan at that time

included the 18,000 members of tile Americanled Operation Endu;ring Freedom (OEF) and the

4,500-strong European-led International Security

Assistance Force (ISAF). OEF was evolving into a

mature counterinsurgency force, operating mostly in the southeast and eastern parts of

Afghanistan, while ISAF was confined to Kabul.

ISAF had a muddled mandate and, without the

resources to carry ii: out, functioned as a nearly

symbolic European presence in Kabul, a greenuniformed island in a tan-uniformed sea. A pilot

program intended to coordinate OEF efforts with

those of the provincial chieftains and the embryonic Afghan National Army, called the Joint

Regional Teams, was established in Gardez by

mid-2003 (in time, the Joint Regional Teams were

renamed Provincial Reconstruction Teams, or

PRTs).

The Afghan National Army program was, at

the time, convoluted, and little progress had

been made because of the inability of ISAF to

support the task effectively and the reticence of

OEF to take it over completely pending clarification of the responsibilities of both forces vis-à-vis

the emerging transitional government. Infrastructure damage after 25 years of war was

another impediment to extending federal government control over the provinces. Nongovern-
mental organizations (NGOs) were intimidated in

insurgency areas, which had a spill-over effect in

secured areas: the insurgents targeted NGOs in

the southeast knowing that the organizations

would pull out of the whole country if enough

casualties were taken by aid workers. OEF operations against the insurgents were complicated

by the sensitive matter of Pakistani territorial sovereignty and the volatile political scene in that

country.5

In sum, the Afghan transitional government

had questionable legitimacy among the people

(though not necessarily on the international

scene), it was subject to coercion by betterarmed entities, and it was dependent on international forces in every way. Without security,

there can be no reconstruction, and with no

reconstruction, there would be no nation-building, thus leaving Afghanistan susceptible to continued instability and penetration by international terrorism. On the plus side, the insurgency was

forced by OEF operations to alter its methodology, which in turn made insurgent operations less

effective. There were clear indicators that the

Afghan population did not and would not support the continuation of Taliban influence (and

consequently al-Qaeda) in the country.

The Situation in 2004-05

There are, essentially, three enemy forces

operating against the Afghan government and its

Coalition partners. Gulbuddin Hekmatyar's HizbI Islami Gulibuddin (HIG) organization, still seeking to influence the brokerage of power in

Kabul, operates from areas east of the city and

still mounts usually ineffective attacks on ISAF,

OEF, and Afghan National Army forces in the

capital. Taliban military formations have been

completely reduced by OEF operating methods

and appear to have shifted from guerrilla warfare

to pinprick terrorist attacks, usually in ethnically

Pashtun areas in the southeast. A1-Qaeda provides training and equipment to both HIG and

the Taliban. Additionally, al-Qaeda mounts its

own limited raids on Coalition forces located on

the border with Pakistan. These raids appear to

employ the well-equipped remnants of alQaeda's "conventional" formations which

249

worked with the Taliban prior to 2001. Unlike

HIG and al-Qaeda, the Taliban are still trying to

create a parallel government to garner popular

support in Pashtun areas with the aim of retaking the country. At this point, the synergy of

HIG, the Taliban, and al-Qaeda has been unable

to significantly influence the direction that the

Afghan people are taking under the Karzai government.6

The importance of Karzai's election in this

milieu cannot be underestimated. It is a truism

that government legitimacy and the support of

the population are absolutely critical in the fight

against guerrilla and terrorist organizations. By

most indications, this has been achieved for the

time being in Afghanistan. The elections were

fair and carefully monitored: the voter turnout,

more than 80 percent, should put the citizens of

the United States and Canada to shame with

regard to their respective voter turnouts during

elections in 2004. Attempts by enemy forces to

use terrorism to interfere with the Afghan election process were crushed before they could

bear fruit, particularly in Kabul, where ISAF and

OEF forces operated together with Afghan police

and military forces in a coordinated fashion.7

The success in containing the insurgency and

suppressing other elements posing challenges to

the Afghan reconstruction effort is attributable to

several "moving parts," all of which are interdependent. First, the American-led Coalition, OEF,

is the repository of mobile striking power in

Afghanistan. In the past, OEF special operations

forces used direct action against high-value targets and worked closely with various chieftains'

militia forces while airmobile light infantry was

brought in to hit concentrations of enemy fighters and sweep support areas. Most OEF operations were conducted in the eastern part of the

country. This approach has, in some ways,

changed. A prototype regional team concept,

established in 2003, deployed a small coordination cell to Gardez to assist with information collection, limited civic action, and NGO coordination in conjunction with the local militia force

commanders. These regional teams were originally in support of the sweep and raid operations

conducted by the airmobile and special operations forces, and were renamed Joint Regional
Teams. Each was expanded in numbers and

capability to encompass broader reconstruction

coordination and security tasks, and they were

then again renamed as Provincial Reconstruction

Teams (PRTs). By late 2004, the emphasis on

mobile sweep and raid operations in the east

shifted to supporting the 18 PRTs, which were

located in every significant populated area in the

country. In addition, each concentration of PRTs

required a Forward Support Base with helicopters, medical resources, and reaction forces. The

effects of establishing a PRT and Forward

Support Base network throughout Afghanistan,

however rudimentary in the early days, provided

a firm basis to extend Afghan government influence once the nature of that influence could be

determined.8

The main cog here was the development and

expansion of the Afghan National Army (ANA),

the second "moving part." By late 2003, the ANA

support process from the international community had become much more rational. ISAF (pre2003) had dropped the ball in the training

scheme and it was picked up by OEF, but the

direction taken in the design of the Afghan

National Army was initially haphazard and

impeded by the chieftains in Kabul and their

militia forces. In time, high-quality instruction

provided by American, Canadian, and British

Embedded Training Teams established a significant confidence level in the fledgling Afghan

Ministry of Defence and, most important, in its

fighting units. The Afghan National Army

expanded from three experimental "kandaks"

(battalion-equivalents) toward a goal of 26. With

an expanded ANA, the Afghan government has

forged a power-projection tool to take advantage

of the expanded Coalition presence throughout

the country. ANA garrisons now exist in most

urban areas. The development of the ANA, however, is still very much a work in progress.9

The third "moving part" was the ISAF in

Kabul. ISAF in its pre-NATO configuration had a

vague but potentially competing mandate with

OEF and possessed virtually no resources or firepower to provide significant influence in the city

of Kabul, its designated area of operations.'0 The

NATO summit in Istanbul in 2003 and the acceptance by NATO of ISAF command dramatically

250

altered this state of affairs." Under Canadian

influence, the vague ISAF mandate evolved to a

statement specifically supporting the interim government and establishing security in Kabul. This

depended on an improved ANA capability to offset the military capabilities of at least two heavily armed chieftains who controlled the city and

its security forces, which in turn had a countervailing influence on the Afghan political process.

ISAF's area of operations was expanded to

encompass the entire province of Kabul, not just

the city, and coordination between ISAF and

OEF was improved, particularly in the special

operations realm. ISAF was able to keep an eye

on potential problem factions, assist in the hunt

for HIG and aI-Qaeda-trained infiltrations, and

facilitate a wide variety of local projects which

synergistically assisted the security efforts by

building trust with the population.12

Yet another "moving part" is the institutionbuilding and coordi:riation efforts between OEF,

ISAF, the Afghan Ministry of Defence, the

National Directorate of Security (NDS), and

police forces in Kabul. Proceeding simultaneously with the OEF effort in the field, ISAF in Kabul,

and the ANA training activities, experienced

Afghan military and security leaders were asked

to provide their leadership to the central government. This was no easy task, as some had fought

each other in previous years. Consensus-building, however, has had some success, and the

mentoring programs provided by private military

corporations like MPRI have professionalized in

some respects the bureaucratic mechanisms

needed to handle national army and security

forces and have assisted in their coordination

with OEF and ISAF. All of this had to be done

without generating he perception that the result

was being imposed from the outside by foreign

entities.

OEF takes on the organized insurgents, while

ISAF assists with security of the capital. PRT

expansion provides bases for the extension of

central government power into the outlying

areas. These ambitious programs did not proceed without challenges. Clearly, the primary

antagonists, all supported by al-Qaeda, continued in their efforts to disrupt and derail in a

broad sense the direction being taken by the
Karzai government. The real nub, however, are

the chieftains and their militia forces. How,

exactly, can a central government be established

and its power expanded without a return to the

bad old days of 1993-1996? Can a civil war be

prevented?

A simplistic analysis would have us believe

that the main encumbrances to stability and

peace in Afghanistan are "the drug-fueled warlords" and that there aren't enough American

troops on the ground in Afghanistan to confront

them because of operations in Iraq.13 Such politically motivated critiques ignore the historical

realities of Afghanistan, however, specifically that

a large infusion of outside forces would place us

in the same position that the Soviets found themselves in during the 1980s. They also are a slap

in the face to those Afghan commanders and soldiers loyal to the Afghan government who have

engaged in combat against those seeking to topple it. A large infusion of Western soldiery is not

necessary; indeed, less is more, when handled

adeptly. Having limited resources demands that

subtlety and thought be employed rather than

brute force. Brute-force solutions will not work

in Afghanistan.14

The necessary subtlety is currently employed

through the "chess game," a coordinated effort

using a variety of tools to incrementally lessen

the power that regional chieftains have and supplant it with central government influence while

at the same time avoiding fighting.15 Essentially,

these are influence tools of differing coerciveness. The "chess game" would be impossible

without the high-end coercive resources that

OEF and ISAF bring to bear, but that factor is in

the background and builds on the psychology of

OEF's four-year firepower demonstration against

the Taliban, plus the overall goodwill engendered by the special operations forces, civil

affairs teams in the provinces, and ISAF operations in Kabul. Other mechanisms wielded in the

"chess game" include the Disarmament,

Demobilization, and Reintegration (DDR) program; the Heavy Weapons Cantonment (HWC)

program; "soft entry" deployments of the Afghan

National Army; the proliferation of a variety of

police forces to a region; and the "lateral promotion" of recalcitrant militia leaders.

251

Broadly speaking, the DDR program is used to

demobilize personnel, while HWC cantons heavy

weapons from machine guns to tanks and

artillery. They are separately funded programs

with different lines of control.16 DDR is now

used as a verb: to "DDR" a militia formation is to

incrementally demobilize it and canton the

weapons. DDR may be employed bluntly as a

threat, while at the same time DDR is an ongoing process throughout the country.

On the police front, militia forces under chieftain command previously provided security of all

types in an unsystematic fashion. Now, border

police, highway patrol police, and municipal

police, all trained in Kabul, are incrementally

introduced to professionalize and systematize the

application of law at the local level. To a certain

extent, law and order remains relative, hut the

concept behind an incremental transfer of power

applies. The method of establishing a small

Afghan National Army garrison, building it up

slowly, and having its personnel develop relationships with militia forces provides yet another

mechanism for progress.17

Militia forces are leadership-dependent. The

main issue in this regard is one of "face." The

outright removal of an uncooperative chieftain is

too abrupt and, in any event, if he no longer has

a stake in the reconstruction process because he

is out of power, then why should he and his

remaining followers not take to the hills? Instead,

chieftains have been brought into the central

government in all manner of portfolios and

assigned staffs to mentor them in governance.

Second-tier militia leaders are promoted to

become police commanders—but in another

province, with other forces funded by Kabul.

Rather than taking a moralistic Western stance

and labeling them all drug dealers and war criminals and then demanding Nuremberg-like trials,

it has proven to be far better to assume everybody is "dirty" after 25 years of war and to start

anew. Yes, some militia leaders will remain dirty,

and mechanisms will have to he found to deal

with that. However, the avoidance of civil war

and a resurgence of Taliban influence is the

objective, not show trials using Western laws or

our version of international law.

It is critical to emphasize that this "chess
game" is not something imposed from the outside: it is a coordinated effort between the Karzai

government and the international entities operating in Afghanistan. Indeed, the United Nations,

NATO, Canada, Japan, the United Kingdom, and

the prolific number of American agencies working there are cooperating in various degrees in

this direction and with varying levels of effectiveness. It would be easy to label this a "CIA plot"

if it were not so transparent and multifaceted. It

is clear to objective observers that President

Karzai is not a pawn in the game.18

It would be foolish to argue that this "chess

game" works perfectly. Indeed, the modeling of

third- and fourth-order effects is not up to speed,

and there can be unintended consequences

when the relationships between certain key personalities are not taken into account.

The situation in Herat in the summer and fall

of 2004 was a test case for the "chess game."

Ismail Kahn was a popular but recalcitrant chieftain who had in fact employed substantial revenues generated by cross-border trade with Iran

to beautify Herat and its environs, but his militia

commanders were not really interested in going

along with the central government's plans for

power-sharing. Over time, the militia forces were

incrementally "DDR'd" to the point that they

were unable to offer serious resistance when

Kabul ordered two Afghan National Army battalions into the area. Despite a small firefight, the

national army forces were able to convince local

militia forces to back off. Factions in Ismail

Khan's forces then attacked each other. Khan

was "laterally promoted" to a post in Kabul. The

confidence level built up after the Herat affair

permitted the Karzai government to conduct a

similar action with Fahim Khan's militia forces in

Kabul, which in turn neutralized a significant

coercive force in the capital. As a consequence

of such effective actions, the fall elections of

2004 were conducted in an atmosphere nearly

devoid of Taliban, HIG, or militia coercion.19

New Challenges

The main supporting effort of the "chess

game" mechanism will be police and judicial

reform. In time, the incremental deployments of

252

central government people to tile outer reaches

of Afghanistan will have to be backed up with a

functioning legal system. Italy is in charge of

assisting the Afghan government in this area.

Though Italy brings to bear substantial experience in combating organized crime, the reform

process has been slow and cultural differences

are significant. The same can he said of police

training. Germany is the lead nation in this

regard, and for reasons most likely related to the

Afghan budget, progress is slower than anticipated. At some point, it will no longer he desirable

for the Afghan government and Coalition entities

to continue to use military force to police the

country.

This takes us to the narcotics problem. Tile

assumption among some international entities

operating in support of the Afghan government

in 2004 suggests that the removal of chieftains

engaged in narcotics cultivation and trafficking

via the "chess game" may have two effects. It

may result, in the worst case, in better networking under the guise of legitimate government

activity. Second, the removal of tile prominent

leadership will devolve power to second-, third-,

and even fourth-tier local personnel engaged in

narcotics production, trafficking, and protection.

By no means are all of these personnel former

militia force personnel, which complicates

attempts to identify and deal with them. Though

this works to the advantage of tile Afghan government in that the traffickers' ability to organize

a "narco-insurgency" is severely reduced, the

lack of police and judicial capacity means that

Kabul cannot yet target these dispersed, lowlevel groups. Similarly, an anti-corruption force

will have to be formed to police the chieftains

and others in the government to ensure that they

remain uninvolved in narcotics production and

distribution. In effect, Afghanistan will become

like every other nation trying to take on organized crime (and not a Colombia-like narco-insurgency), but only if the right tools are forged and

brought to bear.

Two other extremely important aspects of

extending government influence to the provinces

are sometimes overlooked in military assessments. These are the lack of roads and other

infrastructure, coupled with the extremely high
illiteracy rate. How does one provide anti-narcotics information to a nearly illiterate population? How does one deploy police and a legal

system when the roads do not facilitate vehicular

traffic? The deployment of PRTs, be they NATO

or OEF, will assist in collecting information as

much as they will assist in the local and provincial coordination effort, but how will Afghanistan

"balance its books" in the reconstruction effort?

And what priorities will be assigned? Politically

motivated criticism in the Western media can

interfere with the assessment and establishment

of priorities. Demands by Western politicians and

their mouthpieces for a huge and expensive

counternarcotics force could divert the Afghan

leadership's attention from what they rightly

view as their own established reconstruction priorities.

The seemingly constant demand by critics that

more and more international troops need to be

deployed to Afghanistan was addressed earlier.

However, the PRT expansion program, whereby

NATO members have in principle agreed to

accept lead-nation status for several former

American OEF-run PRTs, has stalled out because

of a lack of contributors.20 The PRTs and their

associated Forward Support Bases are supposed

to be manned by approximately 5,000 personnel

(100 per PRT, and 400 to 500 per FSB), yet NATO

member nations can't seem to come up with the

additional personnel to meet this requirement.

The reason is principally attributable to the stultifying eurobureaucracy, but there also are serious problems in how ISAF is commanded as it

expands to the provinces.

In 2004, the Eurocorps took command of

ISAF, while the Franco-German Brigade was

placed in command of ISAF's Kabul Multinational

Brigade. The relationship between the two

French-led or dominated NATO headquarters

with Combined Forces Command Afghanistan

and certain American, British, and Canadian

nations contributing forces to ISAF can be

described in polite terms only as dysfunctional.

The infighting, kept to a minimum under

Canadian command last year but now detrimental to ISAF's effectiveness, has reached the point

where a new command concept should be considered. Steps were taken to conceptualize a

253

NATO "Afghanistan Force" that would command

both CFC-A and ISAF, but the lasting problem

over the international command of American

forces will prevent significant and effective

movement in this direction for the time being.21

As usual, the demand by the French to command

the planned NATO force grates on the sensitivities of other NATO members. The only entities to

benefit from these fractures are France and alQaeda.

An Afghanistan Force option was rejected by

NATO in spring 2005. As it stands, the phased

replacement of OEF PRTs with NATO PRTs will

result in the transfer of some American-led PRTs

to NATO command. Special operations forces

engaged in the hunt for high-value targets will

continue to operate in the region. The command

relationship between those forces and the new,

expanded ISAF is currently under discussion. In

effect, ISAF will absorb elements of OEF, not

replace them. SHAPE planners are, as of summer

2005, developing a campaign plan for the entire

country. The problem of who will conduct the

"robust" portions of that plan and what national

restrictions will be placed on those forces will

remain the main issues.

Another emerging challenge is the demands

by international legal personalities for Balkansstyle war crimes trials in Afghanistan.22 These

demands appear to be rooted in simplistic

notions that one size fits all when it comes to

international law (other motives, like personal

ambition and job security, cannot be ruled out).

Afghanistan is not Bosnia, nor is it Kosovo. The

Balkan wars were comparatively short in duration and had identifiable protagonists who could

be singled out as instigators of mass crimes

against humanity. Afghanistan, on the other

hand, has had 25 years of war. The existing polity includes people who fought on both sides

during the Soviet era but against the Taliban in

more recent years. Milosevic-style indictments

will not work in Afghanistan, where almost

everybody may be guilty of violating some

Western-based law. Indeed, if we are to have war

crimes trials for Afghanistan, one should first call

to the dock Soviet military and political leaders

for acts of genocide, followed by every Soviet

soldier who fought there, before moving on to
any current Afghan leader or American soldier. A

South African-style Truth and Reconciliation

Commission would be the better tool. Afghanistan needs reconciliation, not a reprise of

Nurernberg.

A disturbing trend is the belief among some in

OEF that the Coalition is barely breaking even in

the information war. Recent events in Jalalabad,

where 15 people were killed during rioting over

the alleged mistreatment of the Koran at Camp

Delta in Cuba, coupled with the persistent ongoing hunt for another Abu Ghraib by media outlets, will require deft handling. We can assume

the Jalalabad riots were externally stimulated, but

if it can happen in Jalalabad, it could happen

elsewhere. The best response is an effective and

integrated Afghan response, not the imposition

of OEF or ISAF troops to put down these information-warfare events. The Coalition, working

closely with Afghan authorities, must become

better at countering the more salacious allegations by media sources rather than remaining

mute in an effort to ride them out.

Similarly, concerns within the intelligence

community of the "migration" of tactics used in

Iraq to Afghanistan are very real: in May 2005, a

mosque in Kandahar was attacked with a significant death toll. In July, captured Afghan police

were beheaded by insurgents, while a car bomb

was used against the PRT in Kandahar. This new

emphasis on mass civilian targets and gruesome

terrorism against police indicate that while there

has been success in countering the insurgency,

there are still those who seek political change

through violence. The best response, however, is

an Afghan response.

Conclusion

There are grounds for optimism vis-à-vis the

future of Afghanistan. As with any complex

mechanism, however, the finer components may

he damaged with wear and tear, not all the gears

will mesh when we want them to, and the casing will be dropped from a great height time and

again. There is an argument to be made in the

age of information operations that the simplistic

metrics applied by the media and those seeking

to make political fodder out of Afghanistan will

254

always leave us with a perception that the country is on the brink of failure. The lack of historical context to these arguments, the ignorance of

the effects of the high level of damage caused by

25 years of war, an underestimation of what the

Afghan people are capable of, and the ruthless

hunt for apparent failure will obscure the realities and complexities of reconstruction in this

vast and diverse country.

Operation Enduring Freedom and the

International Security Assistance Force continue

to be critical instruments in buying the Afghan

government time for security sector reform.

NATO members, however, must live up to the

high expectations they established in Istanbul.

Thus far, the path to reconstruction, though

rocky, has been navigable, but not every hairpin

turn can be anticipated, and there are still bandits on the road. The country we are dealing

with is not Vietnam, not Colombia, nor is it

Bosnia. It is Afghanistan, and it needs to he seen

in its own light.

Notes

1. See for example T. Christian Miller, "Post-Invasion

Chaos Blamed for Drug Surge," Los Angeles Times, 4

October 2004; Robert Novak, "Lost in Afghanistan," 31

May 2004, http://www.townhall.com/colurnnists/

robertnovak/rn20040531.shtml; Seymour Hersh, "The

Other War," The New Yorker, 12 April 2004,

http://www.newyorker.com/fact/content/

?040412fa_fact;JohnKerry.com, "Afghanistan,"http://

www.johnkerry.com/issues/national_security/asia.htrn

1; Barnett R. Rubin, "Road to Ruin: Afghanistan's

Booming Opium Industry," Center for American

Progress, 7 October 2004.

2. Combined Forces Command Afghanistan briefing to

the author, Kabul, Afghanistan, 1 December 2004.

Hereinafter "CFC-A briefing."

3. The OEF operations conducted in 2003 were not

strictly counterterrorist in nature. The enemy

employed a variety of structures and methods which

included terrorism, and OEF forces responded with a

full range of synchronized activities to go after a!-

Qaeda international terrorist remnants, al-Qaeda light

infantry formation remnants, Gulbuddin Hekmatyar's

organization, and Taliban insurgents who used terrorisrn, ambushes, and rocket attacks. From 2003 to 2005,

enemy forces have operated from both Afghanistan

and Pakistan.
4. These were the author's observations on a research

visit to Afghanistan in 2003.

5. OEF briefing to the author, 5 March 2003, Bagram,

Afghanistan.

6. CFC-A briefing.

7. Confidential interviews.

8. CFC-A briefing.

9. Interview with General Zahir Azemi, Kabul,

Afghanistan, 9 December 2004; Embedded Training

Team briefing to the author, Kabul, Afghanistan, 12

December 2004.

10. "The International Security Assistance Force: The

Origins," Canadian Military Journal, 4 (Summer

2003).

11. NATO, "Istanbul Summit Communiqué, 28 June

2004, http://www.nato. int/docu/pr/ 2004/pO4-

096e.htm; NATO, "NATO Update: NATO Expands

Presence in Afghanistan," 29 June 2004,

http ://www . nato. int/docu/update/2004/06-

June/e0629a.htm.

12. ISAF Headquarters briefing to the author, Kabul,

Afghanistan, 28 November 2004. Hereinafter "ISAF HQ

briefing."

13. One example among many is Hersh, "The Other

War," and the sort of "Monday morning quarterbacking" that Richard Clarke engages in.

14. Which was, of course, one of the lessons of

Vietnam. It is truly bizarre to see those critical of

today's American effort in Afghanistan demand that

255

more troops and more force be used in Afghanistan

when some are the same ones who criticized the high

levels of American force used in Vietnam.

15. My assessment of the "chess game" is based on

personal observations and a wide variety of interviews

conducted while on a research visit to Afghanistan in

2004.

16. ISAF HQ briefing.

17. I observed this process in Konduz province courtesy of the German ISAF contingent during NovemberDecember 2004.

18. Confidential interviews with personnel with access

to the ambassadorial level of activity in Kabul.

19. Azemi interview; confidential interviews.

20. ISAF HQ briefing.

21. CFC-A briefing; confidential interviews.

22. BBC News, "Afghan Report Demands War Justice."

29 January 2005, http://news.bbc.co.uk /2/hi/south

_asia/4218775.stm.

About the Author

Sean M. Maloney teaches in the War Studies Programme at the Royal

Military College of Canada, Kingston, Ontario, and is the Strategic Studies

Advisor to the Canadian Defence Academy, also in Kingston. He served as

the historian for 4 Canadian Mechanized Brigade, the Canadian Army's

primary Cold War NATO commitment, after the reunification of Germany

and at the start of Canada's long involvement in the Balkans. His most

recent book is Enduring the Freedom: A Rogue Historian Visits Afghanistan (2005), based on his observations of military efforts in

Afghanistan in 2003.

Assessing Iraq's

Sunni Arab

Insurgency

by Michael Eisenstadt and Jeffrey White

Milita'y Review, May-June 2006

hree years after the U.S. invasion of Iraq

and the fall of Sadclam Hussein, confusion and controversy still surround the

insurgency in Iraq's Sunni Triangle. Part of this

is due to the nontraditional character of the

Sunni Arab insurgency, which is being waged

by amorphous, locally and regionally based

groups and networks lacking a unifying ideology, central leadership, or clear hierarchical

organization.'

The ambiguities inherent in insurgent warfare

also make insurgencies difficult to assess. In

conventional military conflicts, we can compare

opposing orders of battle, evaluate capabilities,

and assess the fortunes of belligerents using traditional measures: destruction of enemy forces,

capture of key terrain, or seizure of the enemy's

capital city.

Insurgents are often not organized into regular formations, making it difficult (even for their

own leaders) to assess their numerical strength

accurately. Usually, there are no front lines

whose location could offer insight into the war's

progress, and, at any rate, military factors are

usually less important than political and psychological considerations in deciding the outcome

of such conflicts. As a result, we need different

analytic measures to assess the insurgency's

nature, scope, intensity, and effectiveness.2

The Insurgency's Origins and

Nature

Assumptions about the roots and origins of

the Sunni Arab insurgency color assessments of

its nature and character. Analysts and officials

who believe that Saddam Hussein anticipated

257
his defeat and planned the insurgency before

the invasion of Iraq tend to downplay the complex array of factors that influenced its origin

and development. No evidence exists that

Saddam planned to lead a postwar resistance

movement or that he played a significant role in

the insurgency's emergence. However, prewar

preparations for waging a popular war against

invading Coalition forces in southern Iraq, or for

dealing with a coup or uprising, almost certainly abetted the insurgency's emergence following

the regime's fall. The first insurgents were also

able to draw on relationships, networks, and

structures inherited from the old regime, which

helps account for the rather rapid onset of the

insurgency in the summer of 2003.3

U.S. officials have also differed over the

nature of the violence in post-Saddam Iraq, with

some seeing it largely as the work of former

regime "dead enders," and others seeing it as a

multifaceted insurgency against the emerging

Iraqi political order.4 Part of the confusion stems

from the fact that Coalition and Iraqi Security

Forces (1SF) face a composite insurgency whose

elements act on diverse motives. These elements include former regime members and Iraqi

Islamists, angry or aggrieved Iraqis, foreign

jihadists, tribal groups, and criminal elements,

each of which draws considerable strength from

political and religious ideologies, tribal notions

of honor and revenge, and shared solidarities

deeply ingrained in the population of the Sunni

Triangle.

Among the factors driving the insurgency

are—

• The humiliation engendered by the

Coalition military victory and occupation.

• The sense of entitlement felt by many

Sunni Arabs who consider themselves the rightful rulers of Iraq.

• Anxiety over the growing power of Shuite

and Kurdish parties and militias.

• The fear that Sunni Arabs (some 20 percent

of Iraq's population) will be politically and economically marginalized in a democratic Iraq.

• A potent brand of Iraqi-Arab nationalism

that is deeply ingrained in many Sunni Arabs.

• The popularity of political Islam among

258

sectors of the Sunni population.

• A desire to gain power—as individuals, as

members of a dispossessed elite, or as a community.

Some senior civilian and military officials, at

least early on, failed to grasp the protracted

nature of insurgency and counterinsurgency warfare. On several occasions (after the December

2003 capture of Saddam, the June 2004 transfer

of authority, and the January 2005 elections), a

number of officials expressed confidence that

these events presaged an early end to the insurgency. In each case, their hopes were dashed by

subsequent events. Such expectations were unrealistic and ran counter to the weight of historical

experience.

Insurgencies are often bloody, drawn-out

affairs that last for years, frequently for a decade

or more.5 This occurs for several reasons:

• Insurgents must act with great caution to

avoid being killed or captured by government

forces. Even basic tasks take longer to accomplish than they would in a permissive environment.

• It takes time to win over civilians (who tend

to remain neutral until one side clearly has the

upper hand) and to create new institutions of

governance in areas under insurgent control.

• The insurgent and counterinsurgent are

locked in a struggle to disrupt and undermine

the other's activities; progress, for both sides, frequently suffers setbacks and reverses.

• Insurgents often see time as an ally in their

efforts to clandestinely mobilize and organize the

population and to build up their military

strength; they consider patience a virtue.

• Insurgents often start off militarily weak and

generally avoid engaging government forces

decisively until they feel confident of success.

The Sunni Arab insurgency in post-Saddam

Iraq, however, has departed from the typical pattern in at least four important ways:

• The insurgents were able to "fall in" on

existing structures in Iraqi society—the tribe, religious institutions, and the underground Baath

Party—to quickly organize and begin operations.

• Because of insufficient Coalition intelli-
gence and forces, the insurgents were relatively

unfettered from the outset, allowing the insurgency to gather momentum quickly.

• The insurgents were well armed because

the former regime armed its supporters before

the war, many soldiers took their weapons with

them when the army went home, and postwar

looters cleaned out the regime's weapons stores.

• The insurgents were well financed from the

start, using former regime funds and looted

monies.

These factors put Coalition forces and the

new Iraqi Government at an initial disadvantage, making it more than likely that the struggle in Iraq would be prolonged and difficult.

The Scope of the Insurgency

Because insurgencies are complex, dynamic,

adaptive systems, an assessment of the Sunni

Arab insurgency should employ both quantitative and qualitative measures and must examine

multiple dimensions over time, including the

insurgency's operational environment; its structures, processes, and functions; and the degree

to which it has penetrated public and private

institutions in the Sunni Triangle and won over

Sunni hearts and minds.

The insurgency is occurring in a complex and

evolving human and geographic "landscape"

which it influences and to which it responds.

Demographic, social, geographic, religious, and

economic factors are key elements of this operational environment.

Demography and insurgent strength.

Although numbers might not indicate the insurgents' prospects for success, they might suggest

the amount of popular support the insurgents

enjoy, the effectiveness of their recruitment and

mobilization efforts, their capacity for action, and

the efficacy of Coalition and Iraqi Government

countermeasures. Estimates of insurgent strength

should include combatants (guerrillas and terrorists who are currently active or available for

future operations) and members of the insurgent

underground involved in recruiting, training,

financing, propagandizing, and conducting political activities in support of the insurgency.6

259

We can assess the insurgency's mobilization

potential by looking at Iraq's male Sunni Arab

population.

In a total population of about 27 million, 5.4

million are Sunni Arab, with 1.35 million Sunni

men of military age (for our purposes, 15 to 49).

This is the theoretical mobilization potential of

the Sunni Arab community.7

Central Command General John Abizaid has

stated that the number of Iraqis participating in

the insurgency amounts to less than 0.1 percent

of the country's population, and most likely

does not exceed 20,000 (fighters plus members

of the underground).8 Historically, insurgent

movements have generally mobilized some 0.5

percent to 2 percent of the population.9 If insurgents make up less than 0.1 percent of the total

population (and given the scope and intensity

of the insurgency, this figure might be low), the

Sunni Arab insurgency would be among the

smallest, percentage wise, in modern times.

Even doubling or tripling this estimate would

yield a relatively small insurgency by historical

standards, which probably explains why Sunni

Arab insurgent groups seem never to lack for

manpower or to have problems recouping their

losses.10 Employing only a small fraction of their

potential mobilization base means the insurgents have no difficulty recruiting or impressing

new members to replace combat losses.

Because these groups are organized into compartmentalized cells and networks that recruit

locally by drawing on various social solidarities,

they are well adapted to replacing losses,

though not to the generation of large field

forces. Large forces might not be necessary,

however, if the insurgents hope to prevail by

winning over or intimidating the civilian population, disrupting 1SF recruitment, and undermining the U.S. will to fight, rather than by

defeating U.S. forces in combat—as seems to be

the case in Iraq.

There are probably hundreds of thousands of

Sunni Arab males with intelligence and security,

military, or paramilitary training who are prime

candidates for recruitment by the insurgency.

Furthermore, the number of Sunni Arab males

with a strong sense of grievance (the result of

losing a family member or being humiliated,
mistreated, or wrongly detained by Coalition or

Iraqi Government forces) is probably in the high

tens of thousands, at the least. This group of

'angry Iraqis" provides another source of potential recruits.

Sunni Arab insurgents swim in a largely sympathetic sea, with opinion polls suggesting that

broad sectors of the Sunni Arab population support insurgent attacks on Coalition forces. Still,

many Sunnis are skeptical of the insurgency's

prospects and oppose the use of force for political ends.11 Terrorist-type attacks on Sunni targets are also creating disenchantment with the

insurgency's extremist elements, such as alQaeda in Iraq, and Sunni Arab participation in

the October 2005 constitutional referendum and

the December 2005 elections indicates that

many Sunnis see some positive potential in the

political process.

Overall, Sunnis have not stopped supporting

the insurgency, especially that part engaged in

what is widely considered in Iraq as resistance

to occupation. Thus, it is likely that armed Sunni

insurgents number in the thousands, that

unarmed members of the insurgent underground number in the tens of thousands, and

that the insurgents can draw on a large pool of

sympathizers, as well as associates, friends, family members, and fellow clan members and

tribesmen. The minimum number of Sunni

Arabs "involved" with the insurgency in one

way or another likely approaches 100,000 (and

might be much higher), although the number

might fluctuate in response to changing political, military, economic, and social conditions.12

The insurgency has probably mobilized only

a fraction of the Sunni population that supports

attacks on Coalition forces or has some kind of

military or paramilitary training. Should insurgent groups exploit this untapped demographic

potential more effectively, insurgent violence

could further intensify.

Social solidarities. The Sunni insurgency

draws on personal and kinship ties, shared military experiences, membership in former regime

organizations, attendance at insurgent-associated mosques, business relationships, and other

connections. These relationships bind insurgents and their supporters in complex ways.

260

They overlap and reinforce one another, producing cells and networks founded on multiple

associations, and they contribute to the flexibility and resilience of insurgent organizations.

They also provide the basis for recruiting, establishing bonds of trust, and fostering cooperation

among widely dispersed and ideologically clisparate groups.

Geography. Insurgent activity is closely tied

to Iraq's human and physical geography and follows the dominant pattern of urban settlement

along those segments of the Tigris and

Euphrates Rivers that run through the Sunni triangle. There are also multiple corridors or zones

of resistance: Baghdad-Fallujah-Ramadi; TikritBaquha; North-em Babil province (the so-called

Triangle of Death); and the Euphrates River

Valley from Husbaya on the Syrian border to

Ramadi.13

Insurgent cells and networks tend to be concentrated in neighborhoods, villages, and towns

that are home to large numbers of ex-Baathists

and former regime military and security personnel; in areas where unemployment is rampant;

in neighborhoods, villages, and towns associated with certain tribes; and in the vicinity of certain mosques used by insurgents as weapons

depots, recruiting centers, and meeting places.

Insurgent armed action in Iraq has been persistent and pervasive. Areas that experienced

insurgent activity in 2003 generally continue to

do so today, albeit at reduced levels in some

important places (such as Fallujah, Mosul, Ta!

Afar). Some 75 percent of insurgent violence

occurs in the four governorates comprising the

Sunni triangle (al-Anbar, Salahuddin, Ninawa,

and Baghdad), although significant insurgent

activity also occurs in Diyala, Babil, and

Ta'amim governantes.14 By these measures, the

insurgency remains widespread in Sunni areas

and in areas where Sunnis are a significant presence (figure 1)15

Although a plurality of reported incidents—

between 20 and 35 percent—occur in Baghdad,

most U.S. troops killed in action (KIA) have fallen in Anbar province (figure 2). This likely

reflects the intensity of engagements there,

especially Fallujah I and II during April and

November 2004, the prolonged struggle in
CII 

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u 

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35 

30 

25 

20 

15 

10 

5 

O 

D April 2003- June 2004 

July 2004- January 2005 

D February 2005- December 2005 

Baghdad Anbar Salahuddin Ninawa Diyala Babil la'amin Basra 

Province 

Figure 1. Geographic distribution of insurgent attacks (April 2003- June 2004 transfer of authority ; 

July 2004- January 2005 elections ; February 2005- December 2005 elect ions). 

Copyright 2005 The Was/llngton IllstitUls (or Near East Policy Reprinted WIItI pemllsslon 

Ramadi, and U.S.-ISF operations in the Western 

Euphrates River Valley during the second half of 

2005. In Anbar, both U.S. forces and the insurgents have evinced a willingness to incur significant casualties to achieve their objectives. 

Religion. In Sunni areas, religion offered solace to those who suffered under Saddam's 

regime, comfort to those harmed by the postSaddam order (which brought the humiliation of 

occupation, de-Ba athification, and the dismantling of the Iraqi army), and inspiration for those 

now fighting Coalition forces. Not surprisingly, 

120 

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ra 40 

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Anbar Baghdad Salah uddin Ninawa 

Iraqi insurgents, even those who are probably 

not true believers or Islamists, make extensive 

use of religious language, symbols, and 

imagery. About half of all Sunni insurgent 

organizations mentioned in the media bear 

Islamic names. Examples include some of the 

most prominent insurgent organizations, such as 

the army of Muhammad, the Islamic army in 

Iraq, the Iraqi National Islamic Resistance, the 

Mujahidin Army, and Ansar al-Sunna .

16 

Economy and reconstruction. Many Iraqis 

consider security and the economy to be the 

Diyala 

Province 

Babil 

D April 2003- June 2004 

July 2004- January 2005 

D February 2005- December 2005 

Ta'amin Basra Other 

Figure 2. Geographic distribution of U.S. killed in action (KIA) (April 2003- June 2004 transfer of 

authority ; July 2004- January 2005 elections ; February 2005- December 2005 elections). 

CopYl/gIIl 2005 The Was/llng/on Institute (01 NeB' East PoliCY Repllllted Willi pemllSSlO1I 

261 
Coordination/cooperation 4

Leadership elements Tuibals, Iraqi islamists, Baathists, foreign jihadists 4 L .

i

V

Action elements

Recruitment base

Sunni Arab society

Islamic Army in Iraq, Army of Muhammad, Mujahedin Army, al-Qaeda in Iraq,

criminal organizations

Ex-Baath, ex-security services, ex-military, trial members, aggrieved, unemployed,

Iraqi Wahhabists/Salafists, foreign jihadists, criminals

Tribes, clans, families, religious elements, political factions, businesses

e

a

i

— 4 p

two most urgent issues facing the country.'7

War, sanctions, years of neglecting the country's

infrastructure, Coalition policies, and insurgent

violence have created an economic environment favorable to the insurgents. Economic conditions have fueled anger against the Coalition

and the Iraqi Government and created a large

pool of unemployed (25 to 50 percent of the

general labor force, and up to 70 percent of the

labor force in Sunni areas hit hardest by insurgent violence, some of whom are apparently

willing to attack Coalition forces or emplace

improvised explosive devices [TEDs] for

money).18 Nearly three years after Saddam's fall,

electricity and oil production are below prewar

levels (although oil revenues have soared

thanks to high oil prices). Both industries are

frequently the targets of sabotage, resulting in

the disruption of basic services, a decline in the

standard of living, and lost government revenues.19

Structures, Processes, and

Functions

Although attention tends to center on the

most visible insurgent activities (daily violent

incidents and mass-casualty attacks) these are

but a fraction of the insurgency's range of activ262

ities, and they leave in the shadows the structures, processes, and functions that sustain the

war.

Organization. The Sunni insurgency is not

organized in a strict hierarchy (like the communist insurgencies in Malaya and Vietnam) and, in

this sense, is not a classic insurgency. It is a

hybrid with some elements of hierarchy combining with a looser cell structure. It has an

informal leadership with elements, entities, and

organizations grouped into cells linked by personal, tribal, or organizational ties (figure 3).

According to some reports, the insurgency's

senior leadership consists of 8 to 12 individuals

who meet occasionally inside or outside of Iraq

to discuss organization and tactics. The group

includes members of the former regime's intelligence and security services, former Baathists,

Iraqi and foreign jihadists, and tribal figures.

These leaders reportedly provide resources and

direction to many insurgent groups. Personal,

family, tribal, and religious ties are believed to

facilitate cooperation and coordination.20 In-surgent groups have also created mujahidin shura

councils or other collaborative mechanisms to

coordinate operations in localities like Fallujah

or to synchronize the activities of like-minded

groups operating in the Sunni Triangle, such as

the Mujahidin shura Council currently associated with Abu Musab al-Zarqawi.2'

Cm

C)

Action

Attacks, intimidation, organization, facilitation

Figure 3. The insurgent system in Iraq.

Copyright 2005 The Washington Institute for Near East Policy Reprinted with pennission.
Action elements include insurgent groups

and criminal organizations (for example, the

Islamic Army in Iraq, the Army of Muhammad,

the Mujahidin army, al-Qaeda in Iraq, and so

on), each with its own leaders and decisionmaking process. These make up a web of networks

linked by personal, tribal, or organizational ties

that communicate by various means, such as

cell phones, the Internet, and couriers. Each

group is believed to be involved in a range of

activities, including recruitment, training, financing, propaganda, political activities, guerrilla,

and (sometimes) terrorist attacks. Terrorist

attacks appear to be largely the province of

jihadist organizations like al-Qaeda in Iraq and

Ansar al-Sunna, although former regime elements might also be involved, at least in a supporting role.22

While the jihadists have garnered the most

attention because of their emphasis on masscasualty attacks and because they take credit for

almost every major attack that occurs, the

"national resistance" is probably responsible for

most attacks on Coalition forces and Iraqis associated with the government. The organizational

boundaries between these groups, however, are

probably not well defined. While al-Zarqawi did

not "hijack the insurgency," his organization

appears to have cooperated at least with

Baathist elements of the insurgency to carry out

actions and achieve shared tactical and operational objectives.23

The influence of the jihadists, however, goes

beyond the immediate impact of their operations. By striking fear into the hearts of their

enemies and drawing the ire of Coalition military officials, they are undoubtedly influencing

some Iraqis and inspiring others to join their

ranks (as demonstrated by the involvement of

four Iraqis in the 9 November 2005 bombing of

three hotels in Amman, Jordan, by al-Qaeda in

Iraq). To ensure their long-term viability in Iraq,

foreign jihadist groups like al-Qaeda in Iraq are

engaged in a process of "Iraqification," the

recruiting of local members in order to sink

roots into Iraqi society.24

Nevertheless, jihadist operations are apparently producing strains within the insurgency,

and between jihadist insurgent groups and the

263

Sunni population, particularly the more tribal

elements. This strain has been most pronounced

in Anbar province, but it has also been noted in

Samarra, in Salahuddin province. While disputes

and clashes between nationalist and jihadist

insurgent groups, and between tribal elements

and jihadists, have been reported for some time,

these have clearly worsened since summer

2005. However, the extent of any split within

the ranks of the insurgents remains unclear, and

major insurgent groups, including the Islamic

Army in Iraq, the 1920 Revolution Brigades, and

the Army of the Mujahideen in Iraq have issued

statements denying any such split.25

For both the national resistance and jihadists,

cells seem to be the dominant form of organization, although some kind of limited hierarchy

exists, with cells controlling the activities of subcells. Some cells appear to be multifunctional,

carrying Out attacks using small arms, light

weapons (such as rocket-propelled grenades),

and IEDs. Other cells are specialized and might

be involved in preparing forged documents or

propaganda materials, or in planning and executing attacks with mortars, rockets, IEDs, or

vehicle-borne IEDs (VBIEDs).26

Financing. The insurgency's varied activities

require a steady income stream with extensive

and sophisticated financing operations.

Although open-source information on this topic

is scarce, the insurgents do not appear to lack

for financial resources, despite Coalition and

Iraqi Govern-ment efforts to disrupt their funding.27

The insurgency receives financial support

from inside and outside Iraq. Internal sources

include donations from sympathizers, charities,

and mosques, and income generated by legitimate businesses and criminal activities (robbery,

extortion, smuggling, counterfeiting, narcotics

trafficking, and kidnapping for ransom). At least

some funds have been siphoned off from Iraq's

oil industry. External sources include donations

from wealthy private donors in Syria, Lebanon,

Jordan, Iran, Europe, and the Gulf states (especially Saudi Arabia and the United Arab

Emirates); expatriate former regime elements;

and members of transnational charities. The

government of Iran might also he providing
Operators Operators

some funding for Sunni insurgent activity.28

Insurgents are believed to use at least three

types of networks to collect, move, and disburse

money: former regime financial networks, traditional informal Hawala networks, and clerical

networks/charitable religious endowments

Couriers are the preferred means of transport.29

These networks extend across Iraq's borders

and are probably interconnected. Until recently,

the Syria-Iraqi border was the most important

route for such activity, although improvements

in security on both sides of the border might be

affecting this path (figure 4) 30 As with other

insurgent activities, their financial operations

have evolved and adjusted to changing conditions and Coalition and Iraqi Government countermeasures, which has allowed the insurgency

to weather the seizure of large amounts of cash,

the detention or death of financiers, and the

2003 exchange of Saddam-era currency for

redesigned notes.

Political activity. The destruction of

264

Saddam's regime left the Sunnis temporarily

leaderless and in disarray. Moreover, because

the insurgents violently opposed the January

2005 elections and largely succeeded in preventing meaningful Sunni involvement, Sunni

Arabs were left without an effective voice in the

Iraqi Transitional Government, although the

insurgency provided them with a degree of

influence over the political process that they

would not have had otherwise.31 Nevertheless,

virtually from its onset, the insurgency had a

political face. The clearest manifestation of this

was the rise of the Muslim Clerics Association as

a political advocate of the Sunnis and as an

overt voice articulating political positions similar

to those of the insurgents: opposition to the

occupation, the illegitimacy of the occupationimposed political process, and the right of legitimate resistance.

In addition to overt political groups voicing

positions supportive of the insurgents, the insurgents themselves developed political organs.32

External account

manager

Externa' source

Crossborder

courier/financier Internal financier

Donors

Local cells

4 V

_______________

1

Figure 4. Representation of insurgent financial operations.

Copyright 2005 The Washington Institute for Near East Policy. Reprinted with permission.

Fundraisers

Operators
These political bureaus or political wings have

been used to articulate the political positions of

the insurgent groups and to establish that these

groups are more than just violently nihilistic

with nothing to offer for the future of Iraq. They

have also served to keep the insurgency and its

Sunni audience informed of changes in the

political situation and the significance of these

changes. Thus, both the October referendum

and the December election generated insurgent

political commentary.33

A critical issue is the relationship between the

insurgency and the overt and legitimate Sunni

political parties that have emerged as a result of

the political process. While some Sunni parties

emerged rapidly after the fall of the regime

(especially those such as the Iraqi Islamic Party,

which maintained an underground presence in

Iraq under the Baath), this process accelerated

after the January 2005 elections and is still continuing. Sunnis now have significant political

parties and a significant presence in the parliament (with more than 50 of 275 seats).34

The election of large numbers of Sunnis to

the parliament and their aggressive advocacy of

Sunni interests have created a political arena

with both potential risks and rewards for the

insurgents. The insurgents must play in this

arena or risk isolation from the Sunni community. While resistance rhetoric (especially that

emanating from jihadist elements such as the

Mujahidin Shura Council) regarding the legitimacy of the political process remains largely

negative, insurgent supporters and insurgents

alike are likely involved with and active in the

new parties and will almost certainly attempt to

use their positions in government to influence

governmental activities and policy in ways

favorable to the insurgency.35

"Mifitary" operations. The insurgents conduct purposeful activity; they do not attack randomly, as is sometimes suggested. They act

along several broad lines of operation:

• Counter-Coalition—attacks against

Coalition personnel and infrastructure (excluding convoys and air transport).

• Counter-collaboration—attacks against the

1SF, Iraqi Government personnel and facilities,

265

Iraqi translators working for Coalition forces,

tipsters, and virtually anyone working for or

with the Iraqi Government or Coalition forces.

• Counter-mobility—attacks against convoys;

road, rail, and air transport; and bridges.

• Counter-reconstruction—attacks on contractors, oil and power infrastructure, foreign

companies and international aid organizations,

banks, and medical infrastructure.

• Counter-stability—attacks against civilians;

religious sites; tribal, community, and political

leaders; foreign (non-Coalition) diplomats; and

international and nongovernmental organizations (NGOs).

A sixth, temporary line of operation—counter-election—was implemented before the

January 2005 elections and consisted of attacks

against voters, polling centers, election officials,

and candidates. No similar line of operation preceded the 15 October 2005 constitutional referendum or the 15 December 2005 general elections, although in both cases local boycotts, acts

of intimidation, and a small number of attacks

occurred in a few places.

Taken together, the insurgent lines of operation represent the operational expression of the

insurgent strategy to achieve consensus objectives: ending the occupation and undermining

or taking control of the Iraqi Government. Here,

individual incidents and short-term variations

are less important than cumulative effects and

long-term trends.

To date, the most important insurgent lines of

operation have been counter-Coalition, countercollaboration, and counter-stability (figure 5).

Counter-Coalition attacks have taken a significant physical and psychological toll and

reduced the Coalition's operational freedom of

action by creating a nonpermissive environment. Routine movements by U.S. troops are

treated as combat patrols, and in areas where

the insurgency is well established, road movements are constrained. Just keeping open the

road from Baghdad International Airport to the

International Zone in Baghdad requires a substantial commitment of U.S. and Iraqi forces.36

The insurgent campaign against collaborators,

including 1SF recruits and members, has succeeded in killing large numbers of Iraqis work-
ing for the government or connected to the

reconstruction effort, and it has intimidated

many more; but it has not stopped Iraqis from

lining up in large numbers to join the 1SF or

seek government jobs.

Counter-stability attacks have achieved

important successes, leading to a significant

reduction in UN and NGO operations, and rising sectarian tensions. In particular, the destruction of the Shiite Askariyya Shrine in Samara in

February was a highly successful "shock and

awe" operation that greatly increased sectarian

violence in Iraq.

Thus far, insurgent operations do not appear

to he a form of strategic bargaining, in which

the scope or nature of insurgent actions is tied

to concessions from the Coalition and Iraqi

Government. Rather, insurgent operations have

aimed to weaken or frustrate the Coalition, the

Iraqi Government, and the political transformation process. Strategic bargaining might come

into play, however, as the political face of the

insurgency develops.

Shifts in emphasis between lines of operation

266

suggest changes in insurgent effort or strategy.

Thus, since the January 2005 elections, countercollaboration and especially counter-stability

attacks appear to have become more important.

This likely reflects an insurgent assessment that

the Iraqi Government and the 1SF are greater

long-term threats and easier targets than

Coalition forces and, in the case of the jihadists,

that civilians are legitimate, vulnerable, and useful targets.

Rhythms and cycles. Highs and lows in

insurgent activity might be associated with the

religious calendar (for example, Ramadan,

Ashura), seasonal weather patterns, political

events (such as elections), or anniversaries (figure

6).3 In Iraq, Ramadan 2003 saw an increase in

activity, but any such increase in 2004 was

obscured by the large spike in incidents associated with the second battle of Fallujah. Ramadan

2005 coincided with the constitutional referendum

in October, so it was again difficult to discern its

effect. Jihadist groups apparently seeking to

foment civil war have also launched major attacks

during the Shiite commemoration of Ashura.

Desired condition Desired end state

End of occupation

and failure or

capture of political process

Strong Sunni Arab

political-military-economic

situation, Baathist "restoration"

or Islamic caliphate

Insurgent lines of operation

Counter-coalition

[

Counter-"collaboration"

Counter-stability

Counter-reconstruction

Counter-mobility

[ Temporary line of operati>

Figure 5. Notional insurgent strategy in Iraq.

Copyright 2005 The Washington Institute for Near East Policy. Reprinted with permission.
800 • Counter-stability 

• Counter-election 

700 o Counter-reconstruction 

rn o Counter-mobility ~ 

U 600 o Counter-collaboration IV 

- • Counter-coalition 

« - 500 

.... 

0 

... 400 C1I 

.c 

E 300 

::l 

Z 200 

100 

0 

Copyright 2005 The Washington Institute for Near East Policy Reprinted with pemlission. 

Weather might likewise be a factor in the 

insurgency in Iraq, although the evidence is 

ambiguous. 38 Thus, February and early March 

2004 saw relatively low levels of insurgent activity, as did February and March of 2005. In both 

cases, insurgent activity increased after these 

winter lulls, which might have been caused by 

inhospitable (cold and/or rainy) weather conditions. This pattern appears to be repeating itself 

in 2006. 

Insurgent activity also declined sharply after 

the two battles of Fallujah. The insurgents might 

have needed time to rest and recover, assess 

their options, and replace their losses following 

surges in activity during Fallujah I and II (April 

and November 2004, respectively), and before 

the January 2005 elections. 

The period of intensified insurgent activity 

preceding the January 2005 elections suggests 

that the insurgents can temporarily more than 

double the number of attacks undertaken in 

support of their strategy. By contrast, insurgent 

strategy for the October 2005 constitutional referendum and the December 2005 general elections was largely political, with Iraqi insurgent 

elements by and large supporting "get out the 

vote" campaigns during October and December. 

267 

Fallujah IURamadan '04 

Resiliency. Arrayed against the u.s. military, 

the insurgents have fought a ruthless, relentless 

war. Although thousands of insurgents have 

been killed and tens of thousands of Iraqis 

detained, incident and casualty data reinforce 

the judgment that the insurgency remains robust 

and letha1. 39 

The insurgents have made good on their losses by drawing on their large manpower 

reserves, augmented by recruits from outside 

Iraq, although the flow of foreign volunteers has 

apparently been reduced in recent months, 

thanks to efforts to seal the border with Syria 

and to interdict insurgent "ratlines." Insurgent 

cells have likewise demonstrated that when they 

incur losses they can recruit new members or 

merge with other insurgent cells, while leaders 

detained or killed by Coalition forces have been 

replaced without fundamental disruptions to 

insurgent operations.40 

Individuals might also be recruited on a 

"cash" basis to attack Coalition forces (for example, by emplacing IEDs). As long as cash 

reserves are plentiful and unemployment rates 

in Sunni areas remain high, the insurgency will 

be able to hire freelancers to mitigate attrition 

and enhance its lethal punch.41 
The insurgency's loosely organized cells and

networks contribute to its resilience and effectiveness. Successes against one group are not

fatal for others or to the larger cause. Smaller

groups are more likely to innovate, and their

propensity for sharing expertise and experience

(either through face-to-face meetings or via the

Internet) ensures that innovations are passed

on, allowing groups to achieve broader tactical

and operational effects than they could on their

own.42

Penetration of Sunni Arab

Society

Insurgencies center on the struggle to control

or win over the hearts and minds of a society's

civilian population. In Iraq, the status of the

insurgency can he measured by the degree to

which it has penetrated public and private institutions of the Sunni Arab community and its

"thought world" (figure 7).

The insurgency has established a significant

presence in broad sectors of Sunni Arab society,

including the social, economic, religious, political, and criminal spheres. While the depth of

penetration is uncertain, a strategy of combined

persuasion and intimidation has enabled the

insurgents to largely succeed in undermining

efforts to extend government institutions, such as

village and town councils, into Sunni Arab areas.

268

The failure of Sunnis to participate in significant numbers in the January 2005 elections

reflected the powerful influence of the insurgents in the Sunni Arab community. The rallying

of the Sunnis against the draft constitution during the October 2005 referendum also showed

how Sunni Arab attitudes can mesh with insurgent objectives.

The insurgents have also managed to penetrate the Sunni Arabs' thought world, which

consists of at least the following nine elements:

1. Beliefs about the occupation and resistance.

2. Images of Coalition forces.

3. Images, myths, and stories of the resistance.

4. Beliefs about political transformation.

5. Beliefs about the Iraqi Government.

6. Beliefs about Shiites and Kurds.

7. A sense of entitlement and grievance.

8. Religious notions and sensibilities.

9. Beliefs about the future.43

These interconnected components represent

a belief structure shaping Sunni Arab attitudes

and actions that determine, to a significant

extent, where Sunni Arabs will likely fall on the

resistance-collaboration" spectrum.

Polling data, media commentary, and anecFigure?. The "thought world' of the Sunni Arabs. COpyñgh! 2005 Tho WOShi,,OSOn FnSSMO 10,5100, 000! P010y ROp,51tOd ,,51, p0n,,isson.
dotal reporting indicate that, among Sunni Arabs

in Iraq, ideas and beliefs sympathetic to the

insurgency have become widespread, including

views of the occupation, Coalition forces, and

the Iraqi Government. These findings permit a

number of cautious assertions to he made about

the beliefs that embody the thought world of

many Sunni Arabs:

• The country is headed in the wrong direction.44

• The occupation is the proximate cause for

the Sunnis' loss of power and privilege, and for

this reason it should come to an end as soon as

is practically possible.45

• The Coalition came to despoil Iraq's oil

wealth—a view also shared by many Shiite

Iraqis.46

• The Shiite-dominated Iraqi Government is

controlled by Iran (with the connivance of the

United States) and is making war on the Sunni

Arabs.47

• Violent "resistance" against the Coalition is

legitimate; attacks on Iraqi civilians, especially

Sunnis and security forces, are not.48

• The Sunni community is deeply divided

over whether its future lies with the insurgency,

the political process, or both.49

• The insurgent "narrative" runs counter to

that of the Coalition and Iraqi Government; it is

a blend of fact and (mostly) fiction, and contains

vivid images and mythic stories of a heroic, pure

resistance 50

Sunni Arab political behavior reflects the

complexity of this thought world, which varies

from place to place in Iraq, and has evolved

over time. Attempts to influence the Sunni Arab

community that are not based on a sophisticated understanding of this thought world are apt

to fail and liable to produce unintended consequences.

Insurgent Effectiveness

An assessment of insurgent effectiveness on

the tactical or operational levels must track and

assess trends in insurgent strength, number of

attacks, and Coalition and 1SF casualties.

Assessing insurgent effectiveness on the strate269

gic level requires a different set of analytical

measures and might, therefore, yield different

answers. And because political and psychological factors play critical roles in determining the

outcome of insurgencies, analysts must develop

measures of success that tap into these dimensions of the conflict. What matters most in insurgencies, however, is the political outcome of the

struggle, which is the ultimate measure of insurgent effectiveness.

Measures of tactical and operational

effectiveness. At the tactical and operational

levels, there is a tendency to rely on quantitative

measures—metrics—to assess insurgent effectiveness. But a number of factors might limit the

utility of metrics often used to analyze the tactical and operational dimensions of insurgencies:

data might be flawed or subject to multiple,

conflicting interpretations, and proper interpretation might require a degree of insight into

insurgents' thought and practice that cannot be

readily attained.51

A more fundamental limitation of quantitative

measures is that a lack of measurable success on

the battlefield might not necessarily prevent the

guerrilla or insurgent from attaining key political

objectives. Thus, guerrillas or insurgents might

lose nearly every battle and still win the war, as

did the Algerian National Liberation Front

against the French (1954-1962), the Viet Cong

against the United States (1961-1972), and

Hizbullah against Israel in Lebanon (1982-2000).

Nevertheless, tactical or operational metrics

might be useful as indicators of strategic success

and might provide insight into factors that can

influence the strategic direction of the war. (For

example, the volume of tips regarding insurgent

activity might indicate the degree of popular

support for insurgents in Sunni Arab areas.)

Other measures (for example, changes in the

number or tempo of insurgent attacks) might

signal shifts in insurgent strength, capabilities,

or strategy, or popular support for their cause.

Thus, tactical and operational metrics, if properly understood, can shed light on key trends and

developments in the insurgency.

One measure of insurgent activity is incident

rates, usually measured as incidents per day,

week, or month. Because incidents might differ
800 

700 

en 

~ 600 to) 

CIS 

-- 500 < 

-0 

... 400 Q) 

,Q 

E 300 

~ 

Z 200 

100 

0 

Copyright 2005 The Washington Institute for Near East Policy. Reprinted with permission. 

dramatically in terms of effort invested and 

effects produced, incident rates represent a relatively crude measure. (For example, a brief 

sniping incident and a complex attack involving 

scores of insurgents might both be counted as a 

single incident.) Incident rates are nonetheless 

an important indicator of the status of the insurgency (figure 8). 

The gradual but generally steady increase in 

the rate of attacks during the first 30 months of 

the occupation (ranging from 10 to 35 attacks/day in 2003, to 25 to 80 attacks/day in 

2004, to 65 to 90 attacks/day through most of 

2005, according to u.s. Department of Defense 

[DOD] figures), strongly suggests that the insurgency has grown in strength and/or capability, 

despite losses, Coalition countermeasures, the 

rapid growth of the ISF, and the unfolding political process. 52 As for the dip in attacks since 

November 2005 (attacks averaged 75/day during 

this period, according to DOD figures), it is too 

soon to tell whether the dip is caused by operational rhythms or seasonal cycles, the impact of 

recent Coalition operations in the Western 

Euphrates River Valley, or a decision by insurgents to reduce their tempo of operations in 

order to facilitate the December 2005 elections 

and subsequent negotiations to form a government. 

Iraqi and Coalition casualty rates (and, when 

270 

Fallujah IURamadan '04 Constitutional Referendum! 

Ramadan '05 

available, insurgent casualty rates) provide a 

measure of the intensity of violence and combat 

in Iraq. Combining incident and casualty rates 

can help gauge trends in the lethality of the 

insurgency. American KIA rates have been fairly steady during the insurgency, averaging 

49/month in 2003 and 71/month in both 2004 

and 2005, for an average of 65 KIA/month since 

the fall of Baghdad. ISF KIA rates ranged 

between 100 to 300/month in 2005. The rate at 

which Iraqi civilians are being killed in violent 

incidents increased from 750/month in early 

2004 to 1,800/month in late 2005. 53 

Attrition imposed by the insurgents has been 

steady rather than dramatic, with a few exceptions (for example, April and November 2004). 

But the costs have added up, and now the insurgency is a major factor affecting domestic support for u.s. Iraq policy (figure 9). According to 

U.S. Government reporting, from the end of 

major combat operations (1 May 2003) to 1 

February 2006, 1,665 u.s. troops had been 

killed in action, and 16,111 wounded in action 

in Iraq, for a total of 17,776 combat casualties, 

which represents nearly 50 killed and 500 

wounded per month. 54 For the insurgents, a 

small but steady stream of u.s. casualties might 

be more advantageous politically than large 

numbers of casualties produced in infrequent, 

intense clashes. 
800 

700 Total Incidents 

D U.S. KIA Fallujah IURamadan '04 Constitutional Referendum! 

Ramadan '05 

600 

500 

400 

300 

200 

100 

0 

t.;f I!' ~ §"$)* "$)* off off t- t- § ~;f ?! ~ § "$)* "$)* "$)* off t- t- § ~ J' t"§- § "$)* "$)* l; off t- '.!> '(' ~ 'S.,p~ cff <P cff cff ~:9<2i $ '1' ~ ').,p~ cff <P cff cff $'"$)<2i $ '1' ..., 'S .,p~ ~~ 0& cff cff $' $ CJ# C5 # Qi;! -!]i ,<-OJ CJ.$ C5 # Qi;! 1.<>"" ,<-OJ CJOj"l # Qi;! ro"" 

r>; ~ r>; ~ r>; ~ 

Figure 9. U.S. KIA versus total number of insurgent incidents (April 2003- January 2006). 

Copynghl 2005 The Washington Institute (or Near East Policy. Reprinted with permission. 

A key measure of insurgency capability is the 

complexity and tactical sophistication of its 

attacks. Elements of complexity include the 

number of insurgents or insurgent elements 

involved, scheme of maneuver, numbers and 

types of weapons used, numbers and types of 

targets engaged or objectives assaulted, and use 

of denial and deception measures. 

A review of reported incidents between 

February and August 2005 indicates that most 

attacks are relatively simple. 55 Moderately complex actions are less frequent and generally target the ISF. Highly complex attacks are initiated 

to achieve important operational or strategic 

objectives, but they are infrequent (figure 10). A 

key reason for this is that, generally speaking, 

the insurgents carefully manage risk, to minimize losses by avoiding large clashes, especially with U.S. forces. However, an emerging trend 

is an increase in moderately complex attacks 

500 1000 

Moderately Complex Attack C 

Highly Complex Attack d 

a Figures represent attacks occurring between February and August 2005. 

Number of Attacks· 

1500 2000 

b Individual 0( single cell, single type of weapon. Examples: sniping. lEOs, harassment fire, simple ambush. Accounts for most incidents. Intended to harass Coalitioo 

and government security forteS and create non permissive environment. Supports intimidation and physical and psychological attrition. 

c Several cells, coordinated weapons fOl'. Examples: coordinated attack on a check point, A significant portion of insurgent attacks. Intended to achieve Ioca! results , 

specific tactical objectives. Represents a key fO!111 of struggle against the Iraqi Security Fortes. 

d Multiple cells/groups, scheme of maneuver, target reconnaissance multiple typeS of weapons, direct and indirect fires, tactical deception. Examples: attacks on 

police stations and prisons. Relatively infrequent large-scale actions intended to achieve significant operational Of strategic results, 

Figure 10. Relationships among tactical complexity, frequency, and purpose of attacks. 

Copynght 2005 The Washington Institute for Near East Policy Repnnted with permission. 

271 

2500 
!II 

~ 

C.) 

III 

« --

III -

~ 

-0 

Q) 

O'l 

III -r:::: 

Q) 

C.) 

... 

Q) 

£l. 

60 

50 

40 

30 

20 

10 

0 

D April 2003- June 2004 

July 2004- January 2005 

D February 2005- December 2005 

ABF lED Suicide-lED Hostile ABF Multiple IED/ABF Other 

Action Means 

ABF: attack by fire- includes small arms, rocket propelled grenades and mortars 

lED: improvised explosive device- includes roadside bombs and vehicle-borne improvised explosive devices (VB ED) 

Hostile action: unknown weapon system 

Suicide -lED: includes suicide belt/vests and VBIED suicide attacks 

ABF Multiple Means: attacks involving at least two AF weapons 

Other: includes grenades, poison, decapitation, rockets, molotov cocktails, knifings , and kidnappings 

Figure 11, Attacks by type of weapons: (April 2003-June 2004 transfer of authority: July 2004-

January elections; February 2005-December 2005 elections), 

Copyright 2005 The Washington Institute (or Near East Policy. Reprinted with permission. 

against ISF elements, especially the police. 

While attacks by fire (ABF) represent the 

largest category of insurgent attacks, the use of 

IEDs has increased dramatically over time. They 

now represent nearly 50 percent of all attacks 

on Coalition forces and account for more than 

60 percent of U.S. KIA.56 Suicide bombings, 

involving either an individual with an explosive 

vest (SIED) or a suicide car bomb (SVBIED), 

and VBIEDs, became major categories of attack 

in 2004 and 2005 (figure 11). The number of 

IED attacks during Operation Iraqi Freedom 

(OIF) has been staggering and, according to 

DOD figures, includes more than 75 suicide vest 

bombings, 550 suicide car bombings, 1,300 car 

bombings, and more than 16,500 roadside 

bombings in nearly three years of combat.57 The 

one-day high for major types of IED attacks 

included 8 VBIEDs, 9 SIEDs, and 15 SVBIEDs 

(figure 12).58 

Suicide attacks generally focus on high value 

targets: Coalition and ISF convoys, ISF recruiting 

centers and installations, and concentrations of 

272 

Iraqi civilians (such as at Shiite religious celebrations). Such attacks often result in heavy casualties and are intended to produce instability and 

a climate of fear and sectarian tension, and to 

discredit the Iraqi Government and the ISF. The 

dramatic increase in suicide attacks in fall 2004 

and spring 2005 likely reflected changes in 

insurgent targeting priorities, organizational 

dynamics, and capabilities. Suicide bombings 

have been a major tactical and operational success for the insurgents and have driven international and aid organizations from Iraq, dramatically increased sectarian and ethnic tensions, 

demonstrated the inability of the Coalition and 

the Iraqi Government to protect the population, 

and forced the Coalition to devote significant 

resources to countering the threat. 

Insurgent operations and corresponding incident data reveal some important aspects of 

insurgent effectiveness at the tactical and operational levels. The insurgents-

• Have employed violence effectively to 
achieve important military and political goals. 

• Have, over the course of the insurgency, 

sustained operations at progressively higher levels and shown that they can more than double 

the number of attacks during surge periods. 

• Continue to exact a growing toll on Iraqi 

civilians, the ISF, and to a lesser extent, 

Coalition forces. 

• Have managed to enhance their operational capability by employing more sophisticated IEDs and demonstrated an ability to mount 

complex operations against important targets. 

• Retain the initiative and the ability, within 

limits, to conduct operations at a time and place 

of their choosing, particularly against Iraqi civilians and the ISF. 

On the other hand, what did not happen during the past year is also noteworthy. During 

2005, not a single Iraqi police station was overmn-although the insurgents have had substantial success in engagements with ISF, especially 

police elements. Not one U.S. military adviser 

was captured by insurgents (although it is not 

clear that this has been an objective of the insurgents), and not one U.S. base was penetrated by 

insurgents, despite attempts to do so. Not a sin120 

VBIED 

I/) 100 D SlED and SVBIED 

~ 

<J 

111 

- 80 

« 

.... 

-

0 

... 60 Q) 

.0 

E 40 ::l 

Z 

20 

0 

gle city or town fell to the insurgents, although 

the insurgents exercised control over a number 

of towns and neighborhoods during the year, 

especially in the west, and exercised partial control in others, such as Ramadi. 

In sum, the insurgents have scored important 

tactical and operational successes, particularly 

against the ISF and the Iraqi Government. They 

have been able to translate these "battlefield" 

successes into a number of important short-term 

political gains, but still face the challenge of 

using these "military" capabilities to achieve 

long-term political objectives. 

Measures of strategic success. What are the 

insurgents' goals in the current phase of the 

stmggle for Iraq? For some, it might be to 

strengthen their hand in current negotiations to 

form a government and in future negotiations to 

amend the constitution. For others, it might be to 

derail the political transition and seize power. 

For the jihadists (such as al-Qaeda in Iraq and 

Ansar al-Sunna), it might be establishing an 

Islamic caliphate in Iraq.59 

The insurgents are pursuing a number of common objectives that each group believes will 

help them achieve their own particular goals. 

These common objectives includeFigure 12. SlED, VBIED, and SVBIED (April 2003-January 2006). 

Copyright 2005 The Washington fnstitute for Near East Policy. Reprinted with permission. 

273 
• Bringing an end to the occupation by inflicting a constant toll of casualties on U.S. forces, to

turn the American public against the war effort.

• Undermining government institutions and

establishing control over predominantly Sunni

Arab areas of Iraq.

• Attacking and subverting the 1SF, to prevent

it from becoming a serious threat to the insurgents.

• Fostering a climate of fear and insecurity to

intimidate the population, cripple the economy,

and undermine the legitimacy of the government.

• Restoring Sunni Arab pride and honor in

order to fan the fires of resistance and bolster the

popular standing of the insurgency.

• Bending the political process to support

Sunni and insurgent interests.

• Reestablishing the Sunnis as an important, if

not dominant, presence in Iraq.

Finally, the jihadists hope to foment a civil

war between Sunnis and shiites in order to prevent the emergence of a predominantly Shiite

government in Baghdad, and to inflict a major

defeat on the United States.

After nearly three years of fighting, what

progress can the insurgents claim toward achieving their objectives? They have—

• Succeeded, through assent or intimidation,

in establishing themselves as a major, if not the

dominant, social and political force in the Sunni

Triangle.

• Won the support of large portions of the

Sunni Arab population for attacks on Coalition

forces and at least tacit support for attacks on the

1SF and the Iraqi Government.

• Deterred many residents of the Sunni

Triangle from working for or joining the new

government and coerced others to quit.

• Made the security situation a major issue of

concern for many Iraqis, giving the Sunnis a

strong (if largely negative) voice in determining

Iraq's future.

• Complicated the political transition by engineering a successful boycott of the January 2005

elections in the Sunni Triangle, and supporting

Sunni opposition to the draft constitution in

October 2005.

274

• Slowed the pace and raised the cost of

reconstruction, reduced government revenues,

degraded the quality of life, maintained high

unemployment, and generally undermined confidence in the Iraqi Government and its institutions.

• Contributed to popular dissatisfaction in

the U.S. with the war and its handling and to

Washington's decision to start drawing down its

forces in Iraq in 2006.60

The insurgents have, however, experienced a

number of setbacks during this period. They

have—

• Not succeeded in derailing the political

process, which continues to move forward, and

many Sunni Arabs now seem committed to

influencing the process from within.

• Been unable to deter large numbers of

Iraqi youths from joining the 1SF.

• Lost (at least temporarily) important sanctuaries in several major towns in the Sunni

Triangle to joint Coalition-ISF operations,

including Fallujah and Tal Afar.

• Not succeeded in building substantial support among either the Iraqi or the American

public for a rapid and total U.S. withdrawal from

Iraq.

Moreover, they have alienated many Sunni

Arabs because of attacks that have killed numerous innocent civilians and because of the

extrem version of Islam some groups imposed

on areas temporarily under their sway.61

While experiencing some setbacks, the insurgents have scored a number of important successes. Most important of all, they have made

the Sunni Arabs a force to be reckoned with.

The main Shiite and Kurdish parties and the

United States have had to recognize the need

for substantial, credible Sunni Arab participation

in the political process and to accommodate at

least some of the key demands of Sunni Arab

representatives in the new government. Sunni

politicians will participate in the new government at the ministerial level, and some may be

able to alter the dynamics of Coalition and Iraqi

Government counterinsurgency decisionmaking, perhaps in ways that will benefit the insurgents. The insurgency's future will depend to a
significant degree on its ability to craft a political-military strategy that can guarantee its survival and its relevance while advancing the

interests of the broader Sunni Arab community.

Challenges

The Sunni Arab insurgency poses major analytical and operational challenges. It is pervasive

in Sunni Arab areas, yet because it lacks a clear

ideology, leadership, or organizational center, it

defies easy categorization. It is not dependent

on external resupply or internal or external

sanctuaries, and while the manpower, materiel,

and funds that come from external sources are

not insignificant, they are not necessary to the

insurgency's survival.

The insurgency has access to all the

weapons, explosives, and trained manpower it

needs in amounts sufficient to sustain current

activity levels indefinitely, assuming continued

Sunni political support; and its networked

nature makes it a resilient and adaptive foe. The

insurgency also has at least the beginnings of a

political face and enjoys support from overt

Sunni political organizations. The insurgents

also know that Coalition forces are constrained

in how they use force to deal with them. These

are among the reasons that combating the insurgency has proven so difficult.

The insurgents' tactical repertoire, however,

still consists mainly of TED, hit-and-run, and terrorist-type attacks, and the insurgency has a

number of weaknesses that could limit its

potential, if properly exploited by the Coalition

and the Iraqi Government:

• The insurgency has little appeal beyond the

Sunni Arab community; thus, the Coalition must

avoid pushing the insurgents into tactical

alliances with aggrieved members of other cornmunities.62

• Many Sunni Arabs are ambivalent toward

the insurgency and divided over whether their

future lies with the insurgents, the political

process, or both; they must be convinced that

legitimate grievances can be addressed through

the political process.

• Some insurgent attacks are done by free275

lance insurgents on a commission basis; therefore, improving the economy and cutting unemployment might reduce the pool of paid freelancers.63

• The political transition is making it more

difficult to preserve unity of purpose among

insurgent groups and could help identify those

insurgent groups with whom compromise and

reconciliation are impossible.

• The extreme beliefs and brutal tactics of

the jihadists have alienated erstwhile allies in

the insurgency and at least some Iraqi Sunnis,

making the jihadists vulnerable to attempts to

isolate them from local and external bases of

support.64

Given their limited military capabilities and

the substantial Coalition presence, the insurgents are unlikely to stage a successful coup or

to attempt a march on Baghdad. Moreover, U.S.

forces are likely to remain in Iraq for as long as

they are tolerated and needed, in part to prevent

such an outcome. The resulting stalemate might

provide an opportunity for the evolving political

process to produce a settlement that all parties

can live with.

Thus, the war might yet yield an acceptable

outcome—a relatively stable, democratic Iraq—

provided that the political process is not undermined from within, derailed by escalating civil

violence, or scuttled by a premature U.S. withdrawal. The path to an acceptable outcome is

likely to be protracted, costly, and punctuated

by additional setbacks. For the U.S., Iraq will be

a major test of its national will, its political leadership, and its military's ability to prevail over a

new type of enemy, one that it is likely to confront again elsewhere in the future.

Notes

1. For convenience, we refer to the Sunni Arab insurgency in the singular, although it actually consists of

a number of locally and regionally based insurgencies waged by various groups pursuing diverse objectives.

2. On the challenges of assessing insurgencies, see

Thomas C. Thayer, War without Fronts; The

American Experience in Vietnam (Boulder, Cob.:

Westview Press, 1985). On the importance of select-
ing proper analytical measures, see James G. Roche

and Barry D. Watts, "Choosing Analytic Measures,"

The Journal of Strategic Studies, 14, 2 (June 1991):

165-209.

3. For reports that suggest the insurgency was preplanned, see Thom Shanker, "Hussein's Agents

Behind Attacks, Pentagon Finds," New York Times, 29

April 2004, Al, and Edward T. Pound, "Seeds of

Chaos," US. New & World Report, 20 December

2004, 20-22, 24-26. For a report that suggests Saddam

Hussein was the catalyst behind the postwar insurgency, see Joe Klein, "Saddam's Revenge," Time, 26

September 2005. For an explanation of why the

insurgency was likely not preplanned, see Michael

Eisenstaclt, "Understanding Saddam," National

Interest (Fall 2005): 117-21. The regime likewise had

long-standing contingency plans to deal with the

possibility that it might be ousted by domestic rivals

and would once again have to go underground, reorganize, and seize power, as it did between 1963 and

1968. Such planning probably also facilitated the

emergence of the Sunni Arab insurgency following

the conclusion of "major combat operations" in May

2003.

4. See for example the comments by Secretary of

Defense Donald Rumsfeld at a Press Stakeout

Following Close Briefing for Senators on Iraq, 27

June 2003, on-line at <www.defenselink.mil /transcripts /2003/tr20030627-secdefO3O3.html>, accessed

12 April 2006, and the comments by U.S. Central

Command Gen John Abizaid, "DOD News Briefing—

Mr. Di Rita and General Abizaid," 16 July 2003, online at <www.defenselink.mil/transcripts/2003

/tr20030716-0401.html>, accessed 12 April 2006.

5. For a more detailed discussion of the history of

insurgencies, see Michael Eisenstadt and Jeffrey

White, "Assessing Iraq's Sunni Arab Insurgency,"

Washington Institute Policy Focus #50, December

2005, 5, on line at <www.washingtoninstitute.org

/download.php?file=PolicyFocusso.pdf>, accessed 12

April 2006.

6. For more on the insurgent underground, see

Andrew R. Molnar and others, Undergrounds in

Insurgent, Revolutionary, and Resistance Warfare

(Washington, DC: Special Operations Research

Office, American University, 1963), 47-124.

7. Even in the socially conservative Sunni Triangle

region, women likely participate in the insurgency on

some level—although probably in small numbers.

(Thus far, only a handful of the more than 600 suicide bombers in Iraq have been women.) For our

purposes, to simplify matters, we will count only

men in the recruitment pool. The population data

276

cited here are drawn from the U.N. Development

Program (UNDP), Iraq Living Conditions Survey

2004, vol. I, 15-19, on-line at <www.iq.undp.org

/ILCS/overview.htm>, accessed 12 April 2006. The

estimate of men of military age was arrived at by

multiplying the UNDP estimates of the number of

Iraqi males in the 15- to 49—year-old cohorts by 0.20.

It therefore assumes that the age distribution among

adult Sunni Arab males mirrors that of the general

Iraqi population (UNDP, Iraq Living Conditions

Survey, 18).

8. Abizaid interview on Face the Nation, 26 June

2005, on-line at <www.cbsnews.com/htdocs /pdf

/face_062605.pdf>, accessed 12 April 2006. One-tenth

of one percent of the population would be 27,000

people.

9. Molnar and others, 13-16. These data are not doctrinal norms of any sort, but reflect the simple fact

that to survive, insurgent movements generally mobilize only a small fraction of their potential recruitment base in the early phases of their struggle to

avoid being detected and crushed by government

forces.

10. See Robert Thompson, Defeating Communist

Insurgency: The Lessons of Malaya and Vietnam

(New York: Praeger, 1966), 41, for a similar explanation for insurgent resilience in Malaya and Vietnam.

11. See, for instance, Nancy Mendrala and Sarah

Hornbach, Iraqis Do Not Fear Civil War Despite

Widespread Security Concerns (Washington, D.C.: 8

August 2005), U.S. Department of State (DOS), Office

of Research and Opinion Analysis, 2-4; Mendrala and

Christopher Cole, Iraqis Sense Improved Security,

DOS, Office of Research Opinion Analysis (Washington, D.C.: 18 April 2005), 2, 8; and Dma Smeltz and

Mendrala, Fear a Key Factor on Iraqi Political

Outlook, DOS, Office of Research Opinion Analysis

(Washington, D.C.: 18 January 2005), 4, 9.

12. In trying to assess the strength of any insurgency,

one should keep in mind the observation of T.E.

Lawrence regarding the Arab guerrilla forces he led

during the Arab Revolt in World War I: "No spies

could count us . . . since even ourselves had not the

smallest idea of our strength at any given moment"

(Seven Pillars of Wisdom [New York: Doubleday,

19911, 381).

13. U.S. Department of Defense (DOD), Regular

Briefing with Pentagon Spokesman Lawrence Di Rita

and Chief of Operations, J3, LTG James Conway, 10

May 2005, on-line at <www.defenselink.mil/transcripts

/2005/tr20050510-2721.html>, accessed 12 April 2006.

14. The Washington Institute, Iraq Incident Data

Base. By comparison, according to the DOD, 85 per-
cent of incidents occur in the four major provinces

("Measuring Stability and Security in Iraq," Report to

Congress, DOD, October 2005, 21, on-line at

<www.defenselink.mil/news/Oct2005/d20051013iraq

.pdf>, accessed 12 April 2006). The insurgency is the

overwhelming fact of life in parts of Iraq, and it has

made many Iraqis virtual prisoners of their homes

when they are not working, shopping, or going to

school. It has curtailed nightlife in parts of Baghdad

and greatly influenced public life in large parts of the

Sunni Triangle. On the other hand, many areas of the

country are virtually untouched by insurgent violence. In those regions, the residents' dominant concern includes inadequate electricity (available only a

few hours a day throughout much of the country),

ethnic and religious tensions, the presence of

Coalition forces, lack of adequate housing, high

prices, corruption, unemployment, and crime. For

instance, see a recent poll by the International

Republican Institute, "Survey of Iraqi Public

Opinion," 6-12 September 2005, 13, on-line at

<www.iri.org/pdfs/09-27-05-Iraq%2Opoll%20 presentation.ppt>, accessed 12 April 2006. See also

Mendrala and Hornbach, 1-2, 6-7, and Ellen

Knickmeyer, "Where Charter is Least of Worries: Local

Issues Top List in Town in S. Iraq," Washington Post,

7 October 2005, A12.

15. Incident data used for the charts in this paper are

derived from the Washington Institute for Near East

Policy Iraq incident database. This project was initiated in May 2003 under the direction of Jeffrey White,

with data search and entry conducted by Washington

Institute research assistants. The unclassified database now contains over 8,000 incidents, reaching

back to April 2003. Each incident is tracked for a

number of variables, including date, location

(city/province), forces involved, types of weapons,

type of attack, casualties (including Iraqi casualties),

and other factors. Data are drawn from open-source

reporting and represent a sample of perhaps 15 percent of the incidents reported by the Coalition. The

data are used to analyze operational and tactical

trends in the insurgency, the effectiveness of insurgent forces, and shifts in operational and tactical

activity. Data generally track with broad trends

revealed in official data.

16. David Baran and Mathieu Guidre, "Iraq: A

Message from the Insurgents," Le Monde

Diplomatique (May 2005), on-line at

<mondediplo.com/2005/05/Oliraq>, accessed 12

April 2006. How many insurgent groups are actually

operating in Iraq is unclear. Some organizations

might use more than one name, and new names

277

appear with some frequency. Moreover, some of the

names used by insurgent groups such as the AlQa'qa' Brigades and the Salah Al-Din Brigades, have

both nationalistic and religious connotations. This

makes it difficult to discern the group's motives and

identity, which at any rate might be mixed. (Al-Qa'qa'

bin 'Amr al-Tamimi, was a warrior-poet and hero of

the battles of Yarmuk in 636 C.E. and Qadisiya in 637

C.E. Salah Al-Din was a great military leader who led

a Muslim army to victory over the Crusaders at the

battle of Hittin and in the subsequent reconquest of

Jerusalem, both in 1187 C.E.)

17. Mendrala and Cole, 5.

18. T. Christian Miller, "U.S. Criticized on Iraq

Rebuilding," Los Angeles Times, 19 July 2005, A5.

Economic conditions in Iraq are such that some Shiites

are alleged to have taken money from the Zarqawi

group to attack their co-religionists (Akeel Hussein

and Cohn Freeman, "Shia Iraqi Hitmen Admit they

were Paid to Join Sunni Insurgency," The Telegraph, 24

April 2005, on-line at <www.telegraph.co.uk

/ news / main. j html? xml = / news / 2005 / 04 / 24 /

wirq24.xml&sSheet-/news/2005/04/24/ixworld.html>,

accessed 12 April 2006.)

19. Michael E. O'Hanlon, Nina Kamp, "Iraq Index:

Tracking Variables of Reconstruction & Security in

Post-Saddam Iraq," 13 February 2006, 28, 30, on-line

at <www.brook.edu/fp/saban/iraq/index.pdf>,

accessed 14 April 2006.

20. Thanassis Cambanis, "Hussein's Outlawed Former

Party Gaining Influence in Iraq," Boston Globe, 15

May 2005; "U.S. Knows of About 10 Leaders of Iraq's

Insurgency," AFP, 26 July 2005, on-line at

<www.spacewar.com/reports/U.S._Knows_Of_About_

10_Leaders_Of_Iraqs_Insurgency_Pentagon .html>,

accessed 13 April 2006.

21. See for example "The Mujahideen Shura Council

Claims responsibility for a Suicide Bombing Targeting

Iraqi Police in al-Sayediya"; "Detonation of Several

IEDs on 'Crusader' and Iraqi Forces in Baghdad,

Diyala, and Samarra," and "Assassinating a Captain of

the Iraqi Federal Police in Baquba"; SITE Institute, 2

February 2006, on-line at <http://siteinstitute.org

/bin/articles. cgi?ID=publicationsl446o6&Category=p

ublications&Subcategoiy=0>, accessed 13 April 2006;

Jackie Spinner and Karl Vick, "Fallujah Talks and

Battle Planning Continue," Washington Post, 28

October 2004, A21; "Iraqi insurgents unite against alQa'ida," Reuters, 26 January 2006.

22. See, for instance, Aparisim Ghosh, "Professor of

Death," Time, 17 October 2005, which describes the

role of Abu Qa'qa' al-Tamimi, an entrepreneurial former Republican Guard officer and "born-again
Muslim" who facilitates and coordinates suicide

bombing attacks for various jihadist and nationalist

insurgent groups.

23. Bradley Graham, "Zarqawi 'Hijacked' Insurgency:

U.S. General Says Foreign Fighters Now Seen as Main

Threat," Washington Post, 28 September 2005, A17;

Ghosh.

24. Greg Miller and Tyler Marshall, "More Iraqis

Joining Zarqawi's Cause," Los Angeles Times, 15

September 2005, 1.

25. See for example Anthony Loyd, "Murder of

Sheikh Provokes Sunnis to Turn on al-Qaeda,"

London Times, 10 February 2006; Rick Jervis,

"General Sees Rift in Iraq Enemy," USA Today, 25

January 2006; 1; Louise Roug and Richard

Boudreaux, "Deadly Rift Grows Among Insurgents,"

Los Angeles Times, 29 January 2006; Iraqi Resistance

Report, "Resistance Refutes Puppet Regime Claims of

Divisions within Resistance Ranks," for events of 6

February 2006, on-line at

<www.freearabvoice.org/Iraq/Repor

report422.htm>, accessed 13 April 2006.

26. James Janega, "Obscure Figures Hunted in Iraq,"

Chicago Tribune, 20 April 2005, 3. See for example

Greg Grant, "Inside Iraqi Insurgent Cells," Defense

News, 1 August 2005, 1, 8, 12, for a description of

improvised explosive devices (TED) cells. See also

Montgomery McFate, "Iraq: The Social Context of

IEDs," Military Review (May-June 2005): 37-40.

27. Testimony of Acting Assistant Secretary of the

Treasury Daniel Glaser and Caleb Temple, Director

(Operations), Joint Intelligence Task Force for

Combating Terrorism, Defense Intelligence Agency,

before the House Armed Services Committee Hearing

on the Financing of the Iraqi Insurgency, 28 July

2005, on-line at <www.dod.gov/dodgc/olc/docs/

testo5-07-28temple.doc>, accessed 14 April 2006. See

also Michael Knights and Zack Snyder, "The Role

Played by Funding in the Iraqi Insurgency," Jane's

Intelligence Review (August 2005): 8-15.

28. Glaser, 1-2. See also David Enders, "The Business

of Jihad," The Nation, 7 March 2005; Robert F. Worth

and James Glanz, "Oil Graft Fuels the Insurgency,

Iraq and U.S. Say," New York Times, 5 February 2006,

1; Glaser, 1-2.

29. Glaser, 2-4, 5-6; Temple, 2, 3; Comprehensive

Report of the Special Advisor to the DCI on Iraq's

WMD, vol. II, "Regime Finance and Procurement," 30

September 2004, 1-299; Douglas Jehl, "U.S. Aides Say

Kin of Hussein Aid Insurgency," New York Times, 5

July 2005, Al; Agence France Presse, "U.S. Fears

Iraq's Cash Economy Offers Easy Money to

Insurgents," 12 May 2005.

278

30. Ann Scott Tyson, "Tighter Borders Take a Toll in

Iraq," Washington Post, 11 February 2006, A12.

31. Sunni Arabs stayed away from the polls in large

numbers. In Anbar province, perhaps less than 5 percent of the population voted. Anecdotal accounts

from other areas (Samarra and Bayji, for example)

also suggest the Sunni turnout was small—less than

10 percent. In mixed provinces, voting was higher,

but this reflected the nationwide surge to the polls by

Shiites and Kurds. In the four provinces most closely

identified with the insurgency (Anbar, Salahuddin,

Ninawa, and Baghdad) voting averaged 24 percent,

but all except Anbar have significant Kurdish or

Shiite populations. On balance, 10 to 15 percent is

probably a reasonable estimate for the Sunni Arab

vote.

32. The Baath Party has as its political organ the

Political Information and Publication Bureau.

33. See for example Maamoun Youssef, "Militant

Groups Denounce Iraqi Elections," Associated Press,

12 December 2005, on-line at <www.breithart.com

/news/2005/l 2/12/D8EEROIOO.html>, accessed 14

April 2006.

34. The Iraqi Accord Front gained 44 seats, and the

National Dialogue Front gained 11. See Yahoo News,

"Iraqi Election Results Certified," 10 February 2006,

on-line at

<www. usatoday. com/news/world/iraq/2006-02- 10-

iraq-elections_x.htm>, accessed 14 April 2006.

35. International Crisis Group, "In Their Own Words:

Reading the Iraqi Insurgency," Middle East Report

No. 50, 15 February 2006, 17-19, on-line at <www.crisisgroup. org/home/index.cfm?l= 1&id=3953>,

accessed 14 April 2006. That both insurgent supporters and insurgents are likely involved with the new

parties is strongly suggested by the case of Mishan alJibouri who, despite links to the former regime,

established himself as a legitimate politician. He won

election to the parliament but was later implicated in

the transfer of oil revenues to the insurgents. See

Robert F. Worth and James Glanz, "Oil Graft Fuels the

Insurgency, Iraq and U.S. Say," New York Times, 5

February 2006, 1.

36. Spinner, "Easy Sailing Along Once-Perilous Road

To Baghdad Airport: Army Steps Up Presence to

Quell Attacks," Washington Post, 4 November 2005,

A15.

37. During the Algerian civil war (early to mid-1990s),

the onset of the holy month of Ramadan was often

marked by an increase in attacks by the Islamic

opposition. See Avi Jorisch, "U.S. Military Operations

and the Question of Ramadan," Washington Institute

Policy Watch #581, 2 November 2001, 2, on-line at
<www.washingtoninstitute.org/templateC05 .php

?CID=1459>, accessed 14 April 2006.

38. During the Vietnam War, the tempo of Communist

military activity followed seasonal weather patterns.

For instance, the onset of the rainy season

(September through January) generally saw a significant slowdown in combat operations (Thayer, 11-13).

39. See Baran and Guidere, 20.

40. Prior to the effort to seal the border, 100 to 150

foreign fighters reportedly crossed from Syria into

Iraq each month, one or two at a time. See Bradley

Graham, "Forces Bolstered in Western Iraq,"

Washington Post, 21 September 2005, A18. More

recent articles give the impression that few if any foreign fighters are now entering Iraq from Syria. See

Jonathan Finer, "Among Insurgents in Iraq, Few

Foreigners are Found," Washington Post, 17

November 2005, Al; Ann Scott Tyson, "Tighter

Borders Take a Toll in Iraq," Washington Post, 11

February 2006, A12. Whether the foreign insurgents

can adapt to tightened border security remains to be

seen. See also Grant, 8.

41. According to one source, some 70 to 75 percent

of attacks in Iraq are done on a commission basis by

freelancers. This figure, however, seems improbably

high, and it is questionable whether reliable data on

this phenomenon exist. See David Kilcullen,

"Countering Global Insurgency," Small Wars Journal,

8, 35, on-line at <www.smallwarsjournal.com /documents/kilcullen.pdf>, accessed 14 April 2006.

42. Jervis, "Militants Sharing Bomb Expertise," USA

Today, 24 October 2005.

43. Thought worlds represent the beliefs on which

people, individuals and groups act. They are culturally dependent and can create different perceptions

of reality, proper behavior, and truth. For a discussion of the concept of foreign thought worlds, see J.

W. Barnett, "Insight Into Foreign Thoughtworlds for

National Security Decision Makers," Institute for

Defense Analysis, January 2004, on-line at

<www.fas .org/ir/eprint/thoughtworlds .pdf>,

accessed 14 April 2006; Baran and Guidere.

44. International Republican Institute, Survey of Iraqi

Public Opinion, 6 September—12 September 2005, 5,

on-line at <www. in. org/09-27-05-IraqPoll.asp>,

accessed 14 April 2006. See also, "What the Iraqi

Public Wants: A WorldOpinionPoll.org Poll," 31

January 2006, 8

45. Mendrala and Cole, 3, 9.

46. Ibid., 9.

47. See Sameer N. Yacoub, "Shiite Forces Blamed for

Sunnis' Deaths," Associated Press, 29 August 2005.

48. The distinction between legitimate and illegiti279

mate resistance is evident in the reaction of Sunnis to

terrorist-type actions by the Zarqawi group. Both

Sunni Arab political leaders and resistance organizations have condemned specific actions by Zarqawi

and his declaration of war against the Shiites. See for

example the 1 October 2005 statement by the Iraqi

Islamic Party condemning the terrorist attacks in

Balad on 29 September 2005 in Spinner, "U.S. Troops

Target Rebels in Far Western Iraq," Washington Post,

2 October 2005, A21. Narrow to broad majorities of

Sunni Arabs surveyed in a June 2005 poll characterized those who attacked Coalition forces as patriots

or freedom fighters, while in most Sunni areas polled,

large majorities characterized those who attacked

Iraqi civilians or soldiers as criminals or terrorists.

(Mendrala and Hornbach, 4, 12.) See also, "What the

Iraqi Public Wants: A WorldOpinionPoll.org Poll,"

January 31, 2006, p.5

49. Mendrala and Hornbach, 2-3, 9-11.

50. Various myths and stories of resistance have come

out of Iraq. These include the myth of Allah's sniper,

the wily Sunni Arab who kills U.S. soldiers from afar

with impunity; virgin fighters, young boys who are

killed resisting U.S forces; and woundless death, the

notion that the bodies of martyred resistance fighters

do not bear the horrific wounds normally inflicted by

modern weapons. How deeply these stories affect

Sunni Arabs is impossible to say, but they present

powerful images of pure, noble resistance. See, for

instance, Halah Jaber, "The Chilling Toll of Allah's

Sniper," London Times, 20 February 2005.

51. A drop in the number of incidents in certain areas

might indicate that the insurgents are either on the

run or that they effectively control the area in question (Thompson, 169).

52. U.S. Government Accountability Office (GAO-06-

428T), Rebuilding Iraq: Stabilization, Reconstruction,

and Financing Challenges (Washington, D.C.: U.S.

Government Printing Office, 8 February 2006), 6, online at <www.gao. gov/new. items/d06428t. pdf>,

accessed 14 April 2006. The steady increase in attacks

generally mirrors data in the Washington Institute

Iraq Incident Database.

53. The exact number of Iraqis killed by the insurgents is unknown, but is clearly in the thousands.

According to DOD data, the trend in daily Iraqi casualties has been rising since January 2004, with an

average of 25/day from January-March, 30/day from

April-June, 40/day from June-November, 50 per day

during the election period from late November 2004

to early February 2005, slightly below 50/day from

February-August, and 60/day from SeptemberOctober 2005. See "More than 26,000 Iraqis Killed,
Injured Since 2004: Estimate," AFP, 30 October 2005,

on-line at <http : news.yahoo.com /s/afp/

20051 030/pl_afp/iraqusunresttoll>, (this item no

longer available). Since January 2005, 1SF losses have

fluctuated between 100 to 300 killed in action monthly, according to the Iraq Coalition Casualty Count,

on-line at <www.icasualties.org /oif/IraqiDeaths.aspx>,

accessed 14 April 2006.

54. DOD, "Operation Iraqi Freedom (OIF) U.S.

Casualty Status," 13 February 2006, on-line at

<www.defenselink.mil/news/casualty.pdf>, accessed

14 April 2006. It should be noted that the tally of

killed and wounded includes casualties incurred during the two Muqtada al-Sadr uprisings of 2004. By

way of comparison, in 1968, at the peak of U.S.

involvement in Vietnam, U.S. casualties amounted to

14,594 troops killed and 87,388 wounded in combat,

which equates to an average of more than 1,200

killed and 7,250 wounded a month (more than the

average annual rate for Iraq). During the month-long

Battle of Iwo Jima, one of the most intense battles of

World War II, U.S. casualties amounted to 7,000 killed

and 19,000 wounded. See on-line at

<www.swt.usace.army.mil /library/tdr/1998/tdr0398.pdf>,

accessed 14 April 2006, and <www.vietnamwall.org

/pdf/casualty.pdf>, (this item no longer available).

55. The chart in figure 8 reflects the period since the

January 2005 elections, which was a reasonably representative period of insurgent activity. By contrast,

the preceding period, lasting from November 2004 to

the end of January 2005, was characterized by significant fighting between U.S. and insurgent forces in

Fallujah. Because many simple attacks that occur in

Iraq are never reported, and are therefore not reflected in the database, the chart at figure 10 probably

overstates the percentage of moderately complex and

highly complex attacks.

56. John Ward Anderson, Steve Fainaru, and Jonathan

Finer, "Bigger, Stronger Homemade Bombs Now to

Blame for Half of U.S. Deaths," Washington Post, 26

October 2005, Al.

57. Jervis, "Attacks in Iraq Jumped in 2005," USA

Today, 23 January 2006, 1. During the second

Palestinian intifada (uprising) which lasted from

2000-2004, Palestinian groups launched nearly 150

suicide bomb attacks on Israel.

58. Washington Institute Iraq Incident Database.

59. For more on al-Qaeda's strategy in Iraq, see Abu

Musab al-Zarqawi letter to the leadership of alQaeda, Febn.iary 2004, on-line at <www.state.gov/p

/nea/rls/31694.htrn>, accessed 25 April 2006; Reuven

Paz, "Zarqawi's Strategy in Iraq—Is there a 'New AlQaeda?" PRISM Occasional Paper, 3:5, August 2005,

280

on-line at <www.e-prisrn. org/images/PRISM_no_5_

vol_3_-_Iraq_strategy.pdf>, accessed 25 April 2006.

See also letter from al-Qaeda leader Ayman alZawahiri to al-Qaeda in Iraq leader Abu Musab alZarqawi July 2005, on-line at <www.dni.gov/release

_letter_101105.htrnl>, accessed 25 April 2006.

60. For U.S. public opinion toward the war, see Dana

Milbank and Claudia Deane, "Poll Finds Dimmer

View of Iraq War," Washington Post, 8 June 2005, Al.

Regarding the decision to draw down U.S. forces in

Iraq, see David Ignatius, "A Shift on Iraq: The

Generals Plan a Slow Exit," Washington Post, 26

September 2005, A23.

61. See for instance Knickrneyer and Finer,

"Insurgents Assert Control Over Town Near Syrian

Border," Washington Post, 6 September 2005, A20.

62. The fact that the insurgency in Malaya (1948-

1960) was rooted mainly in the country's ethnic

Chinese minority and that the Mau Mau rebellion in

Kenya (1952-1956) involved only the Kikuyu tribe are

key factors explaining the failure of those insurgencies. See David Galula, Counterinsurgency Warfare:

Theory and Practice (Science 101) (New York:

Praeger, 1964), 20. Ensuring that the insurgency did

not spread beyond these minority communities was a

key element of British counterinsurgency strategy in

Malaya and Kenya.

63. For an assessment showing that improved social

services and employment opportunities for the mainly Shiite slum-dwellers of Sadr City in Baghdad led to

a sharp decrease in recruitment to and attacks by

Muqtada al-Sadr's Mahdi Army, see Peter W. Chiarelli

and Patrick R. Michaelis, "Winning the Peace: The

Requirement for Full-Spectrum Operations," Military

Review (July-August 2005): 4-17. Whether such an

achievement can be replicated in the largely Sunni

Arab areas of Iraq remains to be seen.

64. For an example of how tensions and factionalism

in the insurgency were exploited by Coalition forces

in the run-up to and during the second battle of

Fallujah, see John F. Sattler and Daniel H. Wilson,

"Operation Al Fajr: The Battle of Fallujah—Part II,"

Marine Coips Gazette (July 2005): 12-24. For more on

the tensions between foreign Jihadists and Iraqis, see

Ghaith Abdul-Ahad, "The New Sunni Jihad: 'A Time

for Politics," Washington Post, 27 October 2005, Al.

For the vulnerability of Jihadists to strategies of isolation and "disaggregation," see Kilcullen, 39-47.

About the Authors

Michael Eisenstadt is a senior fellow and director of the Military and

Security Studies Program at the Washington Institute for Near East

Policy. He joined the institute in 1989 after working as a civilian mil-
itary analyst with the U.S. Army. A USAR officer, Eisenstadt served on

active duty in 2001-2002 at U.S. Central Command headquarters and

on the Joint Staff during Operation Enduring Freedom and the p lanning for Operation Iraqi Freedom. Jeffrey White is Berrie defense fellow at the Washington Institute and a former senior executive at the

281

Oefense Intelligence Agency. Ouring his 34-year tenure at the agency,

he served as chief of the Middle East Military Assessments Office and

the Regional Military Assessments Group. He participated in operational and policy planning for numerous Iraqi crises and contingencies.

Insurgency and

Counterinsurgency

in Iraq

by Steven Metz

The Washington Quarterly, Winter 2003—2004

n insurgency is born long before the

government it seeks to overthrow

knows of its existence. Rebels, guerrillas,

and terrorists, far from prying eyes, gather in

dark buildings, foreign sanctuaries, or—in

today's day and age—online. At least initially,

survival depends on cloaking intent and

strength with ambiguity, deception, and subterfuge. Even after attacks begin in earnest, the

intended targets tend to underestimate the

problem, believing it to be controllable, unorganized, and isolated rather than a symptom of

a deeper pathology.

Understanding the factors leading to such a

miscalculation is easy. Gone are the Cold War

days when regimes could rely on a superpower patron for increased support against a

rebellion. Although the most benevolent and

stable government may face isolated violence,

an organized insurgency reveals deep flaws in

rule or administration. Today, even an unsuccessful insurrection can weaken or undercut a

government, hinder economic development

and access to global capital, or at least force

national leaders to alter key policies. The tendency then is to deny or underestimate the

threat, to believe that killing or capturing

only a few of the most obvious rebel leaders

will solve the problem when in fact the problem—the heart of the insurgency—lies deeper.

Like cancers, insurgencies are seldom

accorded the seriousness they deserve at precisely the time they are most vulnerable, early

in their development. Such is the situation

that the United States and Coalition forces

face in Iraq today. Although U.S. strategists

283
and political leaders may disagree about who

is behind the violence in Iraq, the preconditions for a serious and sustained insurgency

clearly exist.

The stakes in Iraq are immense. The conflict there will help determine whether the

world continues its difficult and uneven

movement toward a global system based on

open governments and economies or fractures into a new bipolarity. The Arab world is

the region most resistant to the U.S. vision of

open economies and governments. If it can

work there, it can work anywhere. Iraq is the

beachhead, the test case, the laboratory.

Given these stakes and the price already

paid, the United States must continue to pursue its strategic objective in Iraq but must do

so in a way that limits the long-term damage

to the United States itself and to the fragile,

new Iraqi society. Calls for a speedy U.S.

withdrawal will increase as the conflict drags

on. Even Ambassador Paul Bremer, head of

the Coalition Provisional Authority, has hinted that the United States may leave Iraq by

the summer of 2004. Leaving too soon, however, would be disastrous. After all, Osama

bin Laden's rise was in part a result of abandoning Afghanistan too soon after foreign

occupation in 1979. Departing early would

guarantee that strategic objectives are not met

and, in all likelihood, force re-intervention to

deal with future security problems. Only a

carefully designed and cautious counterinsurgency strategy can forestall this.

Accepting the existence of an organized

insurgency in Iraq has immense political costs

as it requires admitting flaws in preconflict

planning and will impede the expansion of

the multinational coalition attempting to stabilize Iraq. Although a number of states were

willing to volunteer for peacekeeping (at

least if the price is right), few are willing to

accept the casualties and other long-term

costs associated with counterinsurgency. As

in Vietnam, the United States is likely to stand

nearly alone, with only its closest allies. Even

so, history is clear on one point: the sooner

that serious problems are acknowledged and

a comprehensive counterinsurgency strategy

284

is implemented, the better the chances that

the threat can be managed.

The Emerging Ins urgency

An insurgency is born when a governing

power fails to address social or regional

polarization, sectarianism, endemic corruption, crime, various forms of radicalism, or

rising expectations. The margin of error is

narrower for an outside occupying power

than for an inept or repressive national

regime as people tend to find the mistakes or

bad behavior by one of their own more tolerable than that of outsiders. Because imperialism was delegitimized in the second half of

the 20th century, minor errors of judgment or

practice have provoked armed opposition

against rule by outsiders.

By no stretch of the imagination has the

U.S. occupation of Iraq been brutal or repressive, but it has had its miscalculations. The

first was a serious underestimation of the

work needed to secure, stabilize, and reconstruct Iraq after Saddam Hussein's regime had

been toppled. Security in Iraq is labor intensive because of the country's long borders

and extensive territory, and the coalition did

not deploy adequate forces to prevent the

infiltration of foreign radicals and criminals.

Coalition planners believed that a significant

portion of the Iraqi security forces—military

and police—would sit out the war in their

barracks and then reemerge to form the core

of the post-Saddam military and police with

new leaders at their fore. None returned,

however, leaving a massive security vacuum

that the coalition was unprepared to fill. The

expectation that international peacekeepers

would plug the gaps was also misguided

because only a modest number of states

proved willing to contribute to what was seen

as a U.S.-dominated effort. Coalition planners

also underestimated the dilapidated state of

Iraqi infrastructure and thus were not able to

restore basic services during the first few crucial months following the collapse of

Saddam's regime when Iraqis were forming

first and lasting impressions.
U.S. strategists also overestimated the ability of Iraqis to govern themselves and underestimated the rapid spread of crime and

anomie. This particular shortcoming highlights the tendency to mirror image1—to

assume that others perceive, understand, and

act in the way that Americans do—and a deep

misunderstanding of the psychology of totalitarianism. Survival in a totalitarian society is

dependent on slavish devotion to those with

power and on passivity when neither personal power nor the power of a patron provides

protection. Fear is pervasive and paralyzing.

Fairness and justice have little meaning, and

individuals have difficulty distinguishing truth

from propaganda or rumor because the

regime controls information. Moving from the

psychology of totalitarianism to the psychology of an open society, with its foundation in

political initiative, consensus building, and

compromise, is a long and torturous journey.

Against this backdrop, hopes that a functioning Iraqi civil administration could be constructed quickly proved misguided.

U.S. strategists and political leaders also

underestimated how long it would take

before resentment of the occupation would

spark violence. They assumed that, as long as

they provided basic services and evidence of

economic and political progress, the Iraqis

would tolerate coalition forces. This has not

proven true. Even in areas where services

have been restored to prewar levels, resentment at outside occupation is escalating to

the point of violence. The honeymoon period

of universal welcome for coalition forces lasted only a few weeks after the overthrow of

Saddam's regime.

In Iraq, U.S. strategists correctly gauged the

powerful appeal of liberation but misunderstood how it would be interpreted. For most

Iraqis, liberation means removing Saddam's

regime and any outside presence. The Arab

world has little tolerance for outside occupation, particularly by non-Muslims, and a tradition of violent opposition to occupiers. Long,

bloody wars were waged against the French

occupation of Morocco and Algeria, the

British occupation of Iraq, and the Israeli

285

occupation of the West Bank and southern

Lebanon. This tradition, combined with the

current appeal of radical jihad, is incendiary,

yielding recruits driven by ideology and contributions from those unwilling to fight themselves but willing to provide money to hire

and equip additional guerrillas. Islamic radicalism will doubtless increasingly provide the

motivation, legitimacy, and global network of

support for insurgents in Iraq. This mixture is

even more volatile than the one that existed

in Vietnam, where the insurgency took

decades to mount because of the isolation

and illiteracy of the peasantry. In today's age

of interconnectedness, transparency, and pervasive information technology, the process

can be compressed into months or even

weeks.

Still, even when the raw material for insurgency—anger, resentment, alienation, frustration, a unifying ideology—exists, other factors

must he present. Clearly, the insurgents

require access to resources, particularly arms

and money. In Iraq, neither is in short supply,

at least for the time being. Although coalition

forces have seized huge amounts of weapons

and explosives, many remain under the control of former regime loyalists, other radicals,

or criminals who seized them during the

chaotic period between the fall of Saddam's

regime and the establishment of control by

the coalition. In addition, Iraq's porous borders make importing additional arms easy.

Similarly, the Bath regime had massive

amounts of cash, much of which has also

been seized, but enough still remains in insurgents' hands to fuel daily violence.

The final ingredients of insurgency, however, fortunately remain outstanding: no clear

leadership, strategy, and ideology have

emerged to unite the disparate opponents of

the United States and the Coalition. At this

point, the insurgency's core seems to he remnants of the old regime, particularly members

of the special security and intelligence services. Although they are fanatical and well

schooled at using violence for maximum psychological impact, their ability to expand their

support is constrained. However much the
Iraqi people are dissatisfied with the coalition's occupation, very few want a return of

the old regime. The remaining Ba'thists can

thus build anger and resentment toward the

Coalition, but they are unable to translate

these into active support for their own agenda.

The only way, then, that the Ba'thist core

can expand its insurgency is through

alliances. Any individual, group, or organization willing to use violence against the occupation is seen as a potential ally. Some of the

insurgents appear motivated at least as much

by pay as by ideology. With most Iraqis

unemployed, the prospect of a significant

payment for an assassination is appealing

even to those not deeply sympathetic to the

Ba'thists. In many ways, one of the trademarks of modern insurgencies from Colombia

to Sierra Leone is that cash has proven a

much more useful recruitment tool than ideological fervor.

A second expansion of the insurgency

comes with the infiltration of foreign Islamic

radicals. Ansar al-Islam, an extremist movement with ties to al-Qaeda, seems to be serving as the foundation of this process, linking

infiltrators to the Ba'thists. Reportedly, such

foreigners were behind the deadly August

2003 bombing of the United Nations compound. At the same time, Iraqi border police

have warned that Arab radicals are being

smuggled across the Iranian border along

with Shi'ite pilgrims. The call is out throughout the global Islamic radical community to

turn Iraq into "another Afghanistan." As

trained jihadists from around the world

stream toward Iraq, the insurgency there is

likely to become more professional and proficient.

Finally, now facing a common enemy, the

Ba'thist insurgents may be forming common

cause with increasingly angry Shi'ite radicals

centered around firebrands such as the young

and popular cleric Muqtada al-Sadr, son of

Grand Ayatollah Muhammad al-Sadr (killed by

Saddam's agents) and one of the most

adamant opponents of the U.S. occupation of

Iraq. Although the objective of Shi'ite radi286

cals—theocracy—is at odds with the more

secular perspective of the Ba'thists, they share

an interest in ridding Iraq of Americans.

Historically, this is not unusual: many successful insurgencies from China in the 1920s

and 1930s to Zimbabwe during the war

against white minority rule in the 1970s began

with what China's Mao Zedong called a "national united front" and only saw a single

group emerge to dominate local politics at a

later date.

Optimists contend that the diversity of the

Iraqi opposition and the absence of a single

clear leadership and ideology are proof that

the movement does not pose a serious threat.

Unifying the various strands of the Iraqi insurgency behind any one strategy or objective, at

least in the short term, will certainly be difficult if not impossible. Yet, this same complexity means that quashing the insurgency will

be just as difficult or impossible. Actions that

prove effective against one part of it might

very well inflame another part. For example,

an increased and heavy-handed U.S. presence

might eradicate the Ba'thist remnants and at

the same time inflame Shi'ite radicals and foreign jihadists. The insurgency is like a multiheaded snake, unable to decide on a single

course of action but difficult to kill.

The Iraqi insurgency is following another

common early pattern as it focuses more on

weakening the existing governing regime or

occupying power than on offering a clear

political alternative. What began a few weeks

after the fall of Saddam's regime as sporadic

and disorganized attacks against U.S. troops

by small arms has now grown into a sophisticated campaign using remotely triggered

explosives and complex combinations of

weapons as well as shoulder-held antiaircraft

missiles. The target list has also expanded.

Attacks on U.S. soldiers continue, but new

targets include other Coalition forces; U.S.

civilians; Iraqis working with the coalition,

such as policemen or the mayor; and infrastructure such as oil and water pipelines or

electrical pylons, the Jordanian embassy, the

Imam Ali Mosque in Najaf, and the UN headquarters. The product reflects the old Russian
revolutionary slogan, "the worse, the better."

In other words, anything that prevents the

Coalition from stabilizing Iraq and improving

the lives of Iraqis is thought to weaken the

coalition, to erode tolerance of the occupation, to provoke greater violence, and eventually to undercut the U.S. public's and the

world community's support for the occupation.

What Makes Iraq Different

As much as the insurgency taking shape in

Iraq reflects its historical predecessors, however, it is very much a modern phenomenon.

Every U.S. military officer and strategic

thinker is familiar with insurgency, but their

base of knowledge is a rural "people's war" as

developed in China, refined in Vietnam, and

later adapted in Latin America and Africa. It is

based on parallel political and military efforts:

the former designed to mobilize supporters

and provide an alternative government to the

existing one, the latter designed to weaken

the state through low-intensity and eventually

mid-intensity conflict.

On the military side, the insurgents traditionally begin with small terrorist or hit-andrun attacks but eventually build their military

strength until they match up to and defeat the

government. This pattern will not apply in

Iraq. The movement there more clearly

reflects the Palestinian strategy for insurgency, which targets an external occupier

whose primary weaknesses are a potential

lack of will for sustained casualties and sensitivity to public opinion or pressure. The insurgents have no hope of matching the military

might of the occupiers, but because the governing force is not indigenous and has the

option of simply leaving, the war becomes a

contest of wills, with battles fought in the psychological, perceptual, and political realms.

Because of the ingrained military weakness of

the insurgents in the Palestinian formulation,

the insurgents do not seek to control territory

and create an alternative government, as in

the Maoist model, but rely instead on internal

and international psychological operations

287

fueled by terrorism, riots, guerrilla raids, sabotage, civilian casualties, and uprisings. The

intermediate goal is increased tension

between the population and the occupiers

intended to provoke the occupiers into using

force against the civilians, further alienating

themselves and building outside political

pressure for withdrawal.

Still, the Iraqi insurgency differs from the

Palestinian one in one important sense.

Because the Palestinians had some degree of

international legitimacy, support, and sanctuary, their movement could develop a discernible leadership and hierarchy. The global

reach of the United States is likely to preclude

any nation, even Iran or Syria, from providing

overt sanctuary to Iraqi insurgents, causing

the movement to remain more inchoate than

the Palestinian insurgency, with Iraqi leadership shadowy and its form a loose amalgamation of diverse groups unified only by a

shared dislike of U.S. occupation. For the

United States, this news is both good and bad

as this form will limit the strength of the

insurgency but will also make it headless,

without a clear center of gravity, and thus difficult to kill.

Because the Iraqi insurgency remains

inchoate, it has not yet shown that it can

progress to its next logical steps: to use global information technology, interconnectedness, and émigré communities to develop networks of political support, financing, and

recruitment and potentially to launch terrorist

operations in the United States. It has not yet

solidified linkages with the global Islamic radical movement; global organized crime; or

other radical, anti-U.S. movements. It has not

developed and may never develop a clear

counter ideology, instead intentionally choosing to remain vague to be as inclusive as possible. As it exists now, the mounting Iraqi

insurgency is explicit about what it stands

against—U.S. occupation of Iraq—but not on

what it stands for. Yet, those steps may come.

The Iraqi insurgency is at a fork in the road.

It may move rapidly toward maturation and

development, becoming a very dangerous

opponent for the United States, or it may be
controlled or even quashed. The U.S.

response in the next few months to the developments currently underway will determine

to a large extent which of these scenarios

comes to pass.

The Keys to Defeating

Nascent Insurgency

U.S. strategists have treated the Iraqi insurgency as the death throes of the old regime.

Their rationale is that most Iraqis do not support it and thus, if the Ba'thist remnants can

he killed or captured, the problem will be

solved. Although this analysis is true in part—

most Iraqis do not support the insurgency at

present—some successful insurgencies,

including the Chinese, Algerian, Vietnamese,

and American struggles for independence,

never had active majority support. A successful insurgency requires only the active support of a small cadre and acquiescence from

the rest. Such acquiescence is likely in Iraq.

Decades of brutal totalitarianism have taught

Iraqis that the best way to survive is to stay

out of conflicts between the powerful.

Moreover, although few Iraqis want to see the

return of the old regime, many also resent the

U.S. presence enough to make them unlikely

to oppose the insurgents actively.

The insurgency's foundation does not rest

on the ambition of former regime loyalists to

return an unpopular government to power

but rather is based on a broader resentment

of foreign occupation by a people promised

liberation. Only a comprehensive and coherent counterinsurgency strategy that weaves

together the collective resources of the U.S.

government can effectively stifle this threat.

History suggests some of the keys to success,

but U.S. strategists must also understand that

the Iraqi insurgency is a new variant of an old

problem, both similar to and different from

Vietnam and its other predecessors. It is vital

to discern the similarities from the differences

and use this to build coherent policy. At a

minimum, such a strategy would entail the

following:

288

• Admit the extent of the problem

frankly. During the early years of U.S. involvement in Vietnam, U.S. strategists tended

to focus on killing active insurgents rather

than on identifying and rectifying the structural problems that spawned them. The United

States is close to replicating this situation in

Iraq. Occupation, although vital to attain U.S.

objectives, breeds opposition. In an era when

national liberation has been deified, even successful control of street crime and revival of

the Iraqi economy will not fully obviate the

anger and resentment felt by Iraqis toward

their U.S. occupiers. Only the full withdrawal

of U.S. forces would, but this should not happen until Iraq has undergone several years of

tutelage and developed the capacity for selfrule. The persistence of the insurgency in the

interim is therefore inevitable.

• Integrate the strategy within the U.S.

bureaucracy and with its Coalition part- ners. The United States and its close

Coalition partners must assure unity of effort

across all of the governmental agencies

involved. Counter-insurgency is not an exclusively or even predominantly military function

but demands the seamless integration of

informational, political, social, cultural, law

enforcement, economic, military, and intelligence activities. Military strategists consider

the successful British counterinsurgency campaign in Malaya that began in the late 1940s

the model to replicate. At every level, from

the local to the national, the British military,

police, and intelligence services and government agencies concerned with economic

development were seamlessly integrated.

Military operations were low-key and limited,

undertaken with specific, narrow objectives

and not used to intimidate insurgents or their

potential supporters.

In Malaya, the British also found that carrots—political and economic development—

were more important tools of counterinsurgency than sticks. These lessons were applied

toward the end of U.S. involvement in

Vietnam and had local success, but by then, it

was too late to shift the course of the conflict.
Yet, it is still early in the Iraqi insurgency. The

United States and its coalition partners should

follow the pattern of success from Malaya and

implement full integration across all governmental agencies, stressing political and economic development.

• Focus on two key battlespaces: Intelligence and Iraqi perception.Because the

main tactics of Palestinian-style insurgency

are to wear down the occupier and alienate

the public, reliable and timely intelligence is

the lifeblood of counterinsurgency. Every

insurgent attack that occurs, even if the

attackers lose more lives than the defenders,

is a victory for the insurgents because it fuels

fear among the public and dissatisfaction with

the governing power, both within the beleaguered country and internationally. To the

extent that the United States is able to obtain,

analyze, and act on information about insurgent attacks in Iraq, it can control the psychological dimension of the conflict. Phrased differently, intelligence specialists are keys to

victory in counterinsurgency. Success will

require human and technical sources of information as well as effective methods to analyze and share information across agencies

and among coalition partners.

The more difficult battlespace may be perception. After decades of totalitarianism,

Iraqis are ill equipped to evaluate the credibility of information. As a result, wild, often

surreal rumors spread rapidly and are widely

believed. An exploding array of domestic

Iraqi newspapers and electronic media,

Iranian government sources, and other Arabic

news media such as Al Jazeera bombard

Iraqis with information, much of it unconstrained by objectivity or often truth. This

manipulates existing prejudices, fears, and

beliefs. Despite great efforts, the United States

does not appear to he winning the psychological war in Iraq, at least not yet.

It is always difficult to counter misinformation in an environment where people are

unprepared to distinguish truth from fiction.

The best the United States and its coalition

partners can do is to promulgate the truth

289

persistently in a culturally sensitive way,

working whenever possible with Iraqis

trained in responsible journalism.

• Break the linkages between Iraqi

insurgents and affiliated or allied groups.

The two most likely allies for the Iraqi insurgents are the global Islamic radical movement, particularly the remnants of al-Qaeda or

its offshoots, and global organized crime.

Although U.S. strategists have made great

efforts to curb the former, less attention has

been given to the latter. Iraq is already suffering from a massive growth in organized

crime, some built on the remnants of the

Ba'th movement, which moved extensively

into organized crime during the past decade,

and some on Iranian criminal gangs looking

to expand their territory. The nascent Iraqi

police that the coalition is helping to organize

cannot control street crime, much less confront organized crime and insurgents.

As a result, organized crime is burrowing

deeper into Iraqi society. Should this continue at such a rapid rate, bringing it under control will take decades. Therefore, a U.S. counterinsurgency strategy should include steps to

thwart organized crime now. This specific

area is one where an integrated counterinsurgency strategy is vital: law enforcement is as

important as military activity and must be an

equal partner in planning and distributing

resources. If Iraq is left cleared of political

radicals but under the control of organized

crime, the United States will not have attained

its strategic objectives.

• Design a larger regional and strategic

context. Solutions to broader national and

regional problems are necessary to end the

insurgency. Iraq was and is very much part of

the Arab and Islamic worlds. Attempts to

reconstruct the country politically cannot be

fully separated from the larger issues that

trouble the Arab world, particularly Palestine,

closed political systems, the lack of economic

growth, overpopulation, and a general inability to compete in the globalized economy.

The notion that a post-insurgency Iraq can

serve as a beacon for the region has merit,
but more than a vision is necessary.

For the new Iraq to remain stable and

prosperous, the region must become stable

and prosperous. This is a massive undertaking with at least three very complex components for the United States: solving the

Palestinian problem, which appears to

require some sort of international intervention; explicitly committing to open government in the region, which will destabilize

closed regimes in states such as Saudi Arabia

and Egypt at least in the short term and will

invariably lead to an increased role for religious parties; and committing to regional economic development that could draw off capital currently flowing to other fragile regions

such as South Asia, eastern Europe, or South

America. If the United States does not undertake these three steps, a democratic Iraq will

remain a beleaguered island in an unstable

region.

• Remind the American public vigorously and continuously of what is at stake

in Iraq. Like all insurgencies, the one in Iraq

will test whose will can be sustained longer,

the insurgents' or the counterinsurgents'. If

U.S. involvement in Iraq becomes a major

point of contention in the 2004 election and

the Democrats advocate withdrawal of U.S.

troops from Iraq, sustaining American public

support for U.S. operations in Iraq could

prove very difficult. U.S. politicians who seek

to criticize the administration for ongoing

operations in Iraq should be challenged to

explain their vision of the future of Iraq without a near-term U.S. presence.

No Easy Way Out

The United States faces an intractable

dilemma in Iraq: in effect, it is damned if it

does, damned if it doesn't. By staying, the

United States will face a protracted insurgency, but by withdrawing before the new

Iraq is able to stand on its own, the ultimate

strategic objective—a unified, stable Iraq that

does not threaten its neighbors and does not

support international terrorism—will not he

290

met. After three decades of totalitarianism,

Iraqis will not be ready for several years to

run a stable nation on their own. Stability

requires an interim period of oversight, occupation, and tutelage. Yet Iraqis cannot admit

this, and so the occupation generates opposition and violence.

A comprehensive and coherent U.S. counterinsurgency strategy is the only feasible

solution to confront the strategic dilemma the

United States now faces in Iraq.

Comprehensive counterinsurgency, focusing

on the key nodes for success outlined here, is

unlikely to eradicate the violent opposition to

the coalition fully but should at least sufficiently weaken the insurgent opposition and

ensure that the new Iraqi regime is not

born—as the South Vietnamese government

was—with a massive internal security threat

on its hands.

The idea that opens government is a universal model has long served as the essence

of U.S. foreign policy strategy. For better or

worse, Iraq has been chosen as the place to

prove this point. Thus, failure in Iraq would

undercut the very foundation of U.S. global

strategy. Given these immense stakes, U.S.

policymakers are dangerously close to underestimating the nature of the challenge in Iraq.

Overoptimistic assumptions about the ease of

the transition to stable, open government led

to the current situation. It is now time to

grapple with the depth and complexity of the

opposition. By implementing a comprehensive counterinsurgency strategy now, the

United States can forestall the growth of the

opposition and hopefully allow a new Iraq to

serve as a beacon for change in the region.

Notes

1. Frank Watanabe, "How to Succeed in the DI:

Fifteen Axioms for Intelligence Analysis," Studies

in Intelligence 1, no. 1 (1997), www.cia.gov/

csi/studies/97unc] ass/axioms. html (accessed October 1, 2003).

About the Author

Steven Metz is chairman of the Regional Strategy and Planning

Department and research professor of national security affairs at the
Strategic Studies Institute of the U.S. Army War College, Carlisle, American Strategy (2007; online at http://www.strategicstudiesinstitute.

Pennsylvania. He has taught at the Strategic Studies tnstitute since 1993. army.miVpdffiles/PUB752.pdl) and Iraq and the Evolution ofAmerican

His books include Learning from Iraq: Counterinsurgency in Strategy (2008).

291

Around the Horn

by David j Danelo

U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings, June 2006

n a C-130 flight bound for Mombasa,

Kenya, the pilot suddenly banks low.

"There's going to be a little bit of turbulence," he announces, "but look out the windows. You might see some animals and stuff."

Flying low over the African savannah, herds of

gazelles and wildebeests graze on acacia trees

amidst brown rivers along the southern Kenyan

coast.

"Is there a SAM threat in Kenya?" asks a

reporter, referring to surface-to-air missiles. He

was accustomed to the jostling maneuver from C130 flights in Iraq.

The dozen other passengers stare. Colonel

Tirmet, a garrulous 28-year veteran of the Kenyan army with a paternal manner, puts down his

novel and laughs at the question. "There is no

war here." The pilot was cruising below the radar

just to enjoy the impromptu safari.

In one sense, Colonel Tirmet is right.

Improvised explosive devices (IEDs) are not exploding on the Horn, nor are suicide bombers

plying their vile trade. However, the area still

remains, in the view of the U.S. Central Command (CENTCOM), dangerous enough to classify as one of three combat zones within the combatant command's realm (the others are Iraq and

Afghanistan). Although American forces have

never been fired on in the region, the sense of

urgency prevalent in a wartime mission applies

to what has become primarily a civil-affairs operation.

The Combined Joint Task Force—Horn of

Africa, or CJTF-HOA, as the task force is known,

entered the Horn in 2002 with a mandate to

detect and defeat transnational terrorism. Over

the past four years, the mission has evolved into

a two-pronged effort: humanitarian operations

and military instruction. Although Soldiers,

Marines, and Sailors teach military skills, and

civilian diplomats are valuable in building foreign government partnerships, CJTF-HOA's pri293

mary frontline troops are doctors, nurses, veterinarians, civil engineers, and Seabees engaged in

humanitarian projects.

The underlying philosophy behind the task

force's strategy is that nations with stable, secure

environments where people have opportunities

for education and good jobs are less likely to

harbor terrorists. "We want to dry up the alQaeda recruiting pool," said Major General

Timothy Ghormley, USMC, who commanded

CJTF-HOA until April 2006, when Rear Admiral

Richard Hunt, USN, assumed the helm. Admiral

Hunt's tenure marks one of the U.S. Navy's first

shore-based joint commands.

The task force has had four commanding generals in four years. All were Marines, and all built

the foundations of strategy from Small Wars

Manual, the classic treatise on counterinsurgency warfare that was written in 1940 by veterans of the Banana Wars and dusted off again for

the hearts-and-minds campaign in Iraq. Since

2002, CJTF-HOA has built 52 schools, 6 hospitals,

and 21 medical clinics; dug 23 village wells; and

vaccinated thousands of people—and the animals that support their livelihood—against disease. In January 2006, when a decrepit, inhabited four-story building collapsed in Nairobi,

Kenya, the task force assisted with the recovery

efforts.

In countries that have stable governments,

CJTF-HOA also provides training for local military forces in skills that will enhance their abilities to prevent terror attacks. Over the past four

years, military forces in four HOA nations—

Djibouti, Ethiopia, Kenya, and Yemen—have

been trained in skills including map reading,

maritime security, motor-transport maintenance,

and martial arts. Not bad for a crew numbering

just over 1,500 personnel.

"Fortunately, we're not getting shot at or

blown up here," General Ghormley said. "That's

because somebody saw the wisdom in getting

(to the Horn) for Phase Zero," which is jargon for

a war that has not yet happened, but potentially

could. In other words, the general sees the

opportunity to prevent the need for combat by
We Build, We Fight

On a sunny spring morning, 20 African soldiers stood in a half-circle on a base in

Ana, Djibouti. They were quiet and respectful

as Construction Mechanic Third Class Ivai

McClanahan, a Seabee with Naval Mobile

Construction Battalion (NMCB) 7, held a spark

plug. He pointed to an engine on a decrepit

Soviet-era truck. "These guys know what

works, but not why," Petty Officer McClanahan muttered to a reporter standing next to

him, impressed by his pupils. "If we can teach

them the equipment, they can troubleshoot

their own problems."

On liberty, the Djiboutian soldiers chew

khat, a leafy-green narcotic popular in east

Africa, and wear sarongs, the bright, femininelooking wraparound garment that Americans

call a "manskirt." But on the job and in uniform, they see themselves as the equivalent of

U.S. Army Rangers or Green Berets (enthusiasm notwithstanding, they are not at that

level). "We exercised for one and one half

hours this morning," Sergeant Mohammad

Miad, a tall, taut man of Somali descent, says

through a translator. "If we aren't careful, we

will become like civilians." As Petty Officer

McClanahan taught, the Djiboutians attended

to his lesson as though their livelihoods

depended on it.

Like Marines, Seabees live by their own

official motto of Construimus, Batiumus-We

Build, We Fight. Wherever C]TF-HOA goes,

Seabees are the vanguard infantrymen-the

grunts of the hearts and minds campaign on

the Horn of Africa. Doctors and veterinarians

can vaccinate, but they are there and gone in

a day. Soldiers or special boat units can teach

tactics, but if they live on a local base, they

also live in their own private compounds,

which separate them from the local military.

For many Africans, Seabees are the face of

America.

Like squads and platoons, NMCB-7 operates

in small detachments, maintaining their own

self-sustaining camps inside villages for weeks

or months. Being uniformed construction

workers, they refer to their base of operations

as a "job site." They coordinate their own

security, run internal logistics, and plan independent schedules. Seabees from the unit-a

few lost homes during Hurricane Katrinatake pride in their saltiness; their construction

crusades have taken them on disaster relief

(Sri Lanka, New Orleans), humanitarian operations (HOA, Sao Tome), peacekeeping support (Guantanamo Bay, Bahrain), as well as

combat operations in Iraq. Outside of Special

Forces, few units have been deployed so frequently tlu'oughout the war on terrorism as the

Seabees. Their travels have given them an

appreciation for each culture they encounter.

"The people out here are smart," said

Utilitiesman First Class James Penney, of Bushkill, Pennsylvania, echoing comments made

throughout NMCB-7. After a radio blew a fuse,

and the Seabee electrician had given up on it,

a resident of Tadjoura, Djibouti, took the

appliance home and returned it, fixed, the

next day.

That appreciation has made the Seabees

better operators. "We realized that the Class IV

supplies we brought in were made to

American, not local specs," said Petty Officer

Penney, referring to materials they used in

bUilding a school in Tadjoura. "So before we

started, we reordered everything to metric

standards." This meant converting all electrical

and plumbing equipment, which had not been

purchased using local metric measurements.

The Seabees now check on the local

requirements for each system before they

order their supplies. "We'll never put American

parts in here again," Petty Officer Penney said.

"If we do, they won't be able to maintain it

after we leave."

Commanders such as Major General

Ghormley and Rear Admiral Hunt get their

money's worth from the Seabees. The

mechanics, equipment operators, builders,

steelworkers, plumbers, and electricians com294
prise about two platoons of personnel. The 

squad can be split into a water well team or 

four construction teams, which are task organized for specific missions. When the tempo of 

humanitarian operations ebbed, one detachment of Seabees built a coffee bar and Internet 

cafe at Camp Lemonier to bolster troop welfare. Small groups of two to three instructors, 

such as Petty Officer McClanahan, are sent out 

as the need 

Back at the motor transport maintenance 

class in Arta, the Djiboutian soldiers removed 

the hood of the truck so everyone could see 

continuing the process of, as he put it, "waging 

peace as aggressively as I can." 

"Terrorists will want to come to Africa because 

there is so much ungoverned space," General 

Ghormley warned. "Those areas are perfect for 

al-Qaeda. They can operate with impunity, train, 

and get their recruits." The terrorists will not 

become operational, however, if the hearts and 

minds of potential recruits are not open to 

extremism. Efforts on the Horn are centered on 

winning over the vulnerable elements of the 

populace. 

A Quiet Campaign 

C]TF-HOA's quiet campaign has been underway for almost four years. Although the idea for 

a presence on the Horn was conceived soon 

after the 9/11 terrorist attacks, the unit did not 

take shape for another year. In October 2002, 

with the world's attention focused on the threat 

of war in Iraq, the HOA task force was established at Camp Lejeune, with then-Major General 

John F. Sattler commanding. According to a 

February 2006 interview with General Sattler, 

General Tommy Franks wanted him to establish 

a small joint task force that could address threats 

to American interests on the Horn. General 

Franks thought American forces might be flushing members of al-Qaeda from Afghanistan into 

safe havens in Africa. C]TF-HOA's job was to 

prevent that from happening. So far, they have 

succeeded. 

295 

Petty Officer McClanahan's instructions. 

"Before we came here, they thought the only 

way to get it started was to run and pop the 

clutch," he said. As two soldiers pushed on the 

distributor cap, another pointed at the spark 

plug and traced his fingers around the engine, 

completing an imaginary circuit. He hollered 

in Somali at his classmates. Suddenly, they all 

cheered. 

"We got it!" Petty Officer McClanahan 

clapped as well, and pointed with them at the 

engine. He grinned at his Djiboutian charges. 

"These guys are locked on! " 

Lacking a camp to move into on shore, in 

December 2002 the nascent C]TF-HOA planted 

its flag on the USS Mount Whitney (LCC-20), 

which was docked at the port of Djibouti.l C]TFHOA's area of responsibility and interest would 

grow to include the humid African littorals of 

Djibouti and Eritrea, the bazaars of Yemen, the 

deserts of Sudan and Somalia, and the highlands 

and plains of Ethiopia, Kenya, and Uganda. 2 All 

together, the Horn, which juts out from east 

Africa like a rhinoceros tusk, comprises seven 

nations and Somalia-a homogenous, chaotic 

ethnic region. The area is more than five times 

the size of Iraq and Afghanistan combined. 

Approximately half of the 167 million inhabitants 

are Muslim. 

As Saddam's statue was being toppled in Iraq, 

final plans were completed to move C]TF-HOA 

ashore. The detachment was located adjacent to 

the French Foreign Legion outpost of Camp 

Lemonier. At the same time that the French government was opposing U.S.-led military action in 

Iraq, it committed to a partnership on the Horn. 

"There may have been some tension in high 

places, but not in C]TF-HOA," Sattler said. "It was 

a collegial relationship on our part." 

Formerly known as French Somaliland, 

Djibouti blends the humidity of South Carolina 

with the rugged coastal beauty of southern 

California. The terrain alternates between mountain and desert; much of the ground is as sandy 

as Baghdad. High temperatures in the summertime are a sticky 130°. 
The Rock Star

As CJTF-HOA moved from ship to shore,

Sattler leaned heavily on then-Colonel Richard

Lake to develop a plan of attack. A Marine intelligence and foreign area officer who had tours

with the State Department and CIA, Colonel

Lake's fluency with both French and diplomatic

courtesies became invaluable as CJTF-HOA

worked to build bilateral relationships among the

region's leaders. "We sort of had to make our

own way," Lake said, meaning that it was up to

the CJTF-HOA staff to determine how to implement America's counterterrorism strategy in the

region. With a vague mandate from their higher

headquarters and a paucity of resources, Lake

began leveraging Sattler's gregarious personality

to CJTF-HOA's operational advantage. "We

decided to make him a rock star," Lake said,

referring to his boss.

The strategic decision to use what Colonel

Lake called the general's "relentless optimism"

for diplomatic gain forced the French linguist

into the role of stage manager for General

Sattler's Horn of Africa Tour. Lake flew from

embassy to embassy, making house calls on

skeptical foreign governments and surprised

American ambassadors. The general's follow-on

appearance as the main event at dinners and

diplomatic events made an impression throughout the region, said Lake. "General Sattler has a

very outgoing personality. He is relentlessly positive. Many of the leaders in the region respected a man with military experience. My job was

to set the stage with U.S. embassies and country

teams."

According to Don Yamamoto, who was then

the ambassador to Djibouti, much of the groundwork for the task force's future success resulted

from General Sattler's charisma and his trusted

subordinate's facility with French and diplomacy.

Brigadier General Richard Lake now serves as

the Director of Intelligence, Headquarters,

Marine Corps. "General Lake served as a liaison

between the Djiboutians and the French. He

knew how to handle political issues very well,"

Mr. Yamamoto said. "Every general who has

commanded CJTF-HOA has been a diplomatwarrior, but that all started with Sattler."

296

The United States is not new to the Horn of

Africa. A plateau in Eritrea possesses extraordinary reception properties for sending and receiving radio signals. Beginning in April 1943, the

U.S. Army had maintained a signaling and communications site near the 7,600-foot high Eritrean

capital of Asmara. The listening post had proved

vital to Allied success in World War II. Axis radio

transmissions were intercepted and decoded on

the plateau. The post became known as Kagnew

Station, and was maintained throughout most of

the Cold War. In 1977, satellite technology, a

coup in Ethiopia, and an ongoing civil war

removed the need for the Eritrean base. Kagnew

Station was closed and all American forces

moved Out of the region.3

Other than famine relief during the 1984-85

drought that devastated Ethiopia, American

involvement on the Horn was virtually nonexistent throughout the next two decades, reemerging in 1992 with Operation Restore Hope in

Somalia. After the collapse of Mogadishu,

American forces again withdrew from the Horn.

al-Qaeda, who claimed that their attacks caused

the withdrawal, established terrorist training

camps in and around Sudan. Forces from these

camps used car bombs to attack the American

embassies in Kenya and Tanzania in 1998. Four

years later, the surface-to-air missile that was

shot at an Israeli airliner in Mombasa was transported from Somalia on a dhow, a single-sailed

vessel commonly used for both trading and piracy on the Horn.4

A Small Team

As a land-based command, CJTF-HOA is not

responsible for American anti-piracy operations

in the waters and shoals of the Red Sea and

Indian Ocean—that duty falls to the U.S. Navy,

Central Command (NAVCENT). What commanders and staff in CJTF-HOA are focused on is

addressing the poverty and lack of education in

areas most likely to be seized by Islamic fundamentalists. With such a small team of soldiers,

sailors, Marines, airmen, and civilians, General

Ghormley had to be efficient with his resources.

This efficiency, say CJTF-HOA staff officers, is

being touted as the future model for the Global
War on Terrorism. General Ghormley implemented a concept called "distributed operations," a

decentralized approach to combat that has been

widely discussed by Marine officers in relation to

the Iraq War. Although the staff of the Marine

Corps Combat Development Command has had

a series of conferences about this concept in

Quantico, the idea in CJTF-HOA has evolved

well beyond a PowerPoint presentation. "I have

units that are 400 miles away. It's two hours,

from launch to land, to bring them any type of

relief. It's four and a half hours to the only medical facility in the area," General Ghormley said,

describing CJTF-HOA's implementation of distributed operations. "This isn't something that

we're experimenting with. I don't have a lab to

work this thing out. I'm doing it."

Challenges remain. For CJTF-HOA to carry out

its strategy in the Horn, it must be permitted

access to a country by the national government

and the State Department. Eritrea does not allow

Coalition forces, and the Yemeni government

restricts humanitarian assistance and military

training to a lower level than CJTF-HOA would

like. The government of Sudan also has not

granted access to the American military.

And significantly, CJTF-HOA is not allowed

into Somalia. With no central government and no

borders—the eastern boundary in Ethiopia's

Ogaden Desert is called a Provisional

Administrative Line—the lawless land is, according to CJTF-HOA, ripe for the spread of fundamentalism. However, the State Department,

which is the lead organization on developing

Somalia policy, restricts CJTFHOA from officially

operating in the region.5 "Somehow or another,"

General Ghormley said, "I have to affect what's

going on in there. Because I am not allowed into

Somalia, the best I can do is to surround it with

U.S. forces."

The difference is that General Ghormley is

flanking and enveloping with the combat power

of veterinarians, host nation military partnerships, and new village wells. And they've made

gains. CJTF-HOA's original vaccination program

treated 50 people and 250 animals; the last effort

involved 3,400 people and 24,000 animals. The

increase in numbers also reflected different livestock. "We knew we were progressing when

297

they brought us camels instead of goats,"

General Ghormley said. Nomadic Somalis view

their camels as their most valuable property; giving permission for CJTF-HOA's veterinarians to

handle these animals was like trusting a financial

planner with a full asset portfolio.

Women and Children

When CJTF-HOA takes a project into a village,

it makes a conscious effort to focus on the

women and children. "Women are the heart of

the village," said General Ghorrnley. "They do all

the work and understand the politics. They can

steer much of what we're doing in the right

direction." Their children, he said, represent the

hope and the future—the subjects of CJTF-HOA's

long-term efforts. "We have to improve that

child's future prospects so that 25 years from

now they don't think we're the Great Satan," the

general said. "The longer we are here, the deeper the impression becomes."

And remember they do. "I know the Marines,"

said Isaac, 19, a skinny Kenyan living in the village of Githurai, a ghetto on the outskirts of

Nairobi. "They eat nyama choma and drink

beer."6 No uniformed American had ever set foot

in the slum. The teenager had encountered a pair

of Marines who were guards at the Nairobi

embassy. They were playing basketball on liberty at a park, and invited the boy to join them.

Afterwards, they all ate Kenyan food and drank

a few pints of Tusker, the local brew. The actions

of friendly lance corporals on liberty can be as

effective in deterring fundamentalism in some

parts of the Horn as new wells or animal vaccinations in others.

In addition to humanitarian operations and

liberty calls, CJTF-HOA also has naval forces in a

partnership with the Kenyan government. At

Camp Simba, an American camp inside a Kenyan

military base located near Manda Bay on the

northern coast, an American special boat unit has

trained a core group of Kenyan sailors in special

operations tactics. U.S. Navy Lieutenant Freeman,

who asked that his first name not be used for

security reasons, said, "we are giving the

Kenyans tools for securing their littoral regions."

With the camp located just south of the Somali
border, the most likely threat to the Kenyan

coastline comes from Somali pirates.

Which is what the Sailors at Manda Bay are

training the Kenyans to deal with. The tactics,

techniques, and procedures involve the Rigidhull Inflatable Boat (RIB), the standard U.S. Navy

platform for small boat special operations.

Although the specifics remain classified, a

reporter observed Kenyan sailors learning

detainee-handling procedures, small boat handling, and conducting heavy special forces-style

physical training.

"(Kenyan sailors) are already capable

mariners," says Freeman, "not to mention that

they can run like the wind. But now, they are

more capable at certain missions." Since most of

the American Sailors at Manda Bay have at least

two tours in Iraq or Afghanistan under their

belt—one was on his fourth combat deployment

in as many years—they say that training the

Kenyans for these missions has been a satisfying

break from their work in more violent locales.

Plan Working

The plan in the Horn appears to be working.

As of April 2006, no American military unit has

been attacked in the field while conducting

humanitarian assistance. Not only that, but

Somalis, according to Ghormley, have heard

about the services CJTF-HOA provides. "We're

getting phone calls. We've met with government

officials. They're all asking us to come in there,

provide wells, build schools, and treat (their)

people."

"The task force is still evolving," said former

Ambassador Yamamoto, who is now the assistant

secretary of state for African affairs. "With the

Navy in command, it will take on a different

character, although Admiral Hunt will continue

the work others have begun." That includes the

State Department. "CJTF-HOA has changed how

we look at foreign relations and also relations

298

among U.S. agencies," says Secretary Yamamoto.

"In the past, embassies focused on bilateral

issues. CJTF-HOA brought our ambassadors

together to discuss regional issues and broadened our perspective."7

"If we think we'll be in here for three years,

build some wells, and then leave, we have lost

sight of what it is we are trying to do," General

Ghormley said, summarizing his thoughts on the

command. "This is a generational war. If we are

patient and slow, with the right resources, we

can provide hope." And perhaps prevent the ideology of terror from infecting the Horn's inhabitants.

Notes

1. Dubai Ports International, the same conglomerate that

caused a stir over its intention to acquire American

assets, owns the Port of Djibouti.

2. Information according to "Fast Facts: CJTF-HOA" distributed by the Public Affairs Office, March 2006.

According to conversations with staff officers, both

Uganda and the Seychelles were classified as CJTFHOA's Area of Interest.

3. Michela Wrong, IDidn 't Do 1/For You: How the World

Betrayed a Small African Nation (New York:

HarperCollins, 2005), 276.

4. A Washington Post reporter and a freelance writer living in Africa reported this anecdote.

5. Special forces and other government agencies are

rumored to be working in Somalia, but those reports

could not be confirmed.

6. Nyama choma is a traditional Kenyan method of

preparing chicken, mutton, or beef.

7. For more on the significance of this level of coordination for counterterrorism, see Matthew F. Bogdanos,

"Article Title," Interagency Operations: The Marine

Specialty of the Century," Marine Corps Gazette, March

2006, 60-65.

About the Author

David J. Danelo is a security consultant and freelance writer. He is a former Marine officer and a combat veteran of Operation Iraqi Freedom. His

first book was Blood Stri jes. The Grunt's View of/he War in Iraq (2006).
Recommended Reading 

Headed to Camp Lemonier and already seen Blackhawk Down? These seven books offer 

valuable insight~ into dle Hom of Aflica. 

Sun'ender or Starve: Travels in Ethiopia, Sudan, 

Somalia. and Eritrea, Roben D. Kaplan. ew York: 

Random Hou e, 1988, 2003.01iginally published in 

1988, Kaplan' fu', t book was based on his travels 

in dle Hom from 1984-1987. His reponing from two 

decade. ago stands the test of time, panicularly his 

dissection of dle Ethiopian famine mat Western aid 

tried to address (communist agricultural policies 

played a significant role), and his analysis of the 

despotic regime in power. Kaplan's December 2002 

po tscript from Eritrea complements odler works 

widl his insight into me mind of President Isaias 

Afewerki. 

I Didn 't Do It For You: How the World Betrayed 

a Small African Nation, Michela Wrong. New York: 

Harper Collins, 2005. Based on a selies of uips into 

Eritrea, an Africa correspondent for dle Londonbased Financial Times looks at how a series of 

colonial occupations-Italian, British, and 

Ethiopian-precipitated me Eritrean war for independence. She also exaJ11ine how beu<lyals from 

bodl Cold War superpowers created a psyche of 

national isolation. In a fascinating, lewd chapter, 

Wrong intelviews veterans of dle U.S. Army's 

Kagnew Station, a Cold War listening post in Eritrea. 

Her narrative of me "Gross Guys" antics on libelty 

might even make vetel<lnS of Thailand's Parraya 

Beach blush. 

The Law of the Somalis: A Stahle F01lndationfor 

Economic Development in the Horn of Africa, 

Midlael van otten. Trenton, NJ: Red Sea Press, 

2005. The most imponant book about Somalia that 

you've never heard of. Van Totten, a Dutch attorney and libeltarian who was fluent in eight languages (including two Somali dialects), married into 

me Samaron dan and lived in Awdal, near 

Hargesia. for ten years. After van otten died of 

hean failure in 2002, a colleague edited his note 

into dli book. His most conu'oversial and compelling claim is dlat dle clan-based system of justice, 

what he calls "kritarchy," is bodl tillsuitable for 

299 

demoCl<lcy and perfect for dle modem free-market 

economy. 

Battling Terrorism in the Horn of Africa. edited 

by Roben L. Rotberg. Washington D.C.: Brookings 

Institution, 2005. Rotberg's collection of seven 

essays on me regions and nation-states mat comprise dle Hom outlines me foundation for mudl of 

C]TF-HOA's CUlT nt sU<ltegic vision. For sp edreaders, dle four be t are on Somalia, Djibouti, 

Edliopia, and udan. Of least significance is the 

ssay on Eriu'ea, where me works previously cited 

provide sU'onger background and insight. 

The Lije of My ChOice, Wilfred Thesiger. Gla gow: 

William Collins, 1987. Two decades after T. E. 

Lawrence, Wilfred The.~iger captured me imaginations of a new generation of Britons wim his wlitings and photojournalism from Arabia, and elsewhere in Asia, and Africa. Thesiger's works blend 

es ay, travelogue, and memoir wim some of dle 

be t photography of 20dl-centulY Africa mat exists. 

Hi books are out of pIint and hard to find , making 

his fU'smand observations of life and travels on dle 

Hom from pre-World War r to 1960 all me more 

enticing. 

The Fate of Africa: From the Hopes oj Freedom to 

the Heart oj Despai1', Mrutin Meredim. New York: 

Perseus, 2005. Meredidl's magnum opus chronicles 

the movement of dle Afiican continent from postWorld War II to dle present day. The audlOr takes 

readers from A1geIia to PretoIia and everywhere in 

between. Lucid and readable, this book tells dle 

StOIY of dle Horn, palticulru'ly Kenya, in dle context 

of Africa's development over the past 50 year . 

Where Soldiers Fear to Tmad: A RelieJ W01'ker:S 

Tale of Survival, John Burnett. ew York: Bantam, 

2005. The nell..1: time someon chide you about me 

U. . mUitalY'S cultul-al ignOI<lnce, hand mem a copy 

of dus book. Burnett exposes the dark side of dle 

aid indusuy in this sealing memoir of U.N. incompetence when heavy mins flooded me Horn in 

1997-1998. TIus book demonstrates why me U.S. 

militaIy must remain prepared for humanitarian 

nussions for decades to come. Young Sailors and 

Marines emerge, comparatively, as Ph.D.-level 

andlropologists. 

The War on

Terrorism in the

Horn ofMrica

by Tom Duhs

Marine Corps Gazette, April 2004

Readers are offered an analysis of u.s.

efforts to conduct counterterrorism operations in the Horn of Africa.

hen President George W. Bush decided America would be engaged in a

global war on terrorism (GWOT), the

Commander, u.s. Central Command

(ComUSCentCom) directed that a task force be

created to cover the Horn of Africa (HOA).

During November 2002, the USS Mount Whitney

(LCC 20) embarked a staff of officers and enlisted personnel and sailed to a location off the

coast of Djibouti in east Africa. The organization,

called the Combined Joint Task Force HOA

(C]TF-HOA), had a specific purpose. C]TF-HOA

was sent on a mission to conduct the war on terrorism in the HOA countries of Djibouti, Eritrea,

Ethiopia, Kenya, Somalia, Sudan, and Yemen.

The prevailing notion at the time was that with

the war in Iraq imminent, terrorist organizations

would flee to the HOA. Since the end of 2002,

events have shown that the HOA countries are

the residences for terrorist organizations and

individuals. During May 2003, the C]TF-HOA

staff transitioned ashore to Camp Lemonier in

Djibouti. Since May, the C]TF-HOA staff, along

with detachments of a civil affairs company and

two detachments of engineers, has worked

humanitarian operations in the area of operations (AO). There are also plans awaiting approval for direct actions against terrorist organizations.

The time has come to seriously consider taking decisive action against terrorist groups and

organizations that until now have been left virtually alone. C]TF-HOA has reached the point

where a change in the situation is warranted.

301
Either the United States is serious about fighting

terrorism in the HOA or it isn't. One way or the

other, serious decisions about how to proceed

must be made.

Strategic goal (paraphrased from multiple

sources). The CJTF-HOA mission in this region

will be complete when regional states assume

full responsibility for security against international terrorists within their region.

Commander's intent (stated in part). Deny terrorist organizations and their supporters the use

of the HOA countries as a safe haven for terrorist activities while supporting efforts that create a

stable and secure region to prevent the reemergence of transnational terrorism in the region.

End state. Transnational terrorist groups will

he denied the use of HOA countries as a safe

haven for terrorist activities.

There are several assumptions that must he

analyzed and addressed when considering the

nature of transnational terrorism and the position

CJTF-HOA takes as it relates to terrorism in the

strategic and operational levels of war. The

assumptions presented below are offered after

eight months of close observation. The reason

for making serious decisions in the very near

term is that the strategic goal, as commonly

understood, is unattainable under the current circumstances. Therefore, one of four choices must

be made in order for CJTF-HOA to contribute to

the GWOT:

(1) Maintain the status quo as a forward presence focused on conducting humanitarian assistance in the region.

(2) Change the paradigm to support military

operations where the Department of Defense

(DoD) has the lead and is the supported department rather than the Department of State (DoS).

(3) Change the relationships between the various relevant departments and organizations.

(4) Stand down the mission and send the

troops home.

The restated mission for CJTF-HOA contains

four elements. The four elements are detect, disrupt, defeat, and deny terrorist organizations in

the HOA. After eight months it is time to ask, is

the "4D" mission of detect, disrupt, defeat, and

deny adequate, feasible, relevant and achievable?

Detect, disrupt, defeat, deny—the concept is

302

clear and understandable, yet without some evidence that transnational terrorists are defeatecl

the other three elements are elusory, impossible

to measure, or irrelevant. Conditions prevalent in

the HOA that foster the existence of terrorist

organizations have long been present and will

continue, with or without U.S. military involvement, into the future. Therefore, the questions of

success criteria and achievability are legitimate.

Assumptions Affecting

Operational Objectives

Several regional conditions affect CJTF-HOA's

operational environment. The existence of CJTFHOA cannot significantly change these conditions in the near term. The commander, CJTFHOA (ComCJTF-HOA), and the highest levels of

civilian and military leadership must therefore

understand these conditions or operational

objectives will not he realistic or achievable.

• State governments in the region have limited sovereignty within their borders to counter

terrorist groups. They are heavily influenced by

tribal/clan authority structures that limit the central government's ability to exert its own authority within its borders. Existing terrorist cells also

adversely affect both the internal governance

and sovereignty of the central government.

• Regional disputes limit the ability of states

to counter terrorist organizations. Conflict over

territorial disputes taxes regional state resources

that could otherwise be directed toward longterm economic and political stability and regional security. Mistrust from unresolved territorial

disputes will make it difficult to achieve security

cooperation between states.

• Economic depression in the region will

remain a cause of political turmoil limiting nearterm effectiveness of regional state governments

against terrorists. Humanitarian assistance can

provide only limited measures at best. Worse,

humanitarian assistance can be counterproductive to near-term security goals if not efficiently

directed toward well-defined operational objectives and if the administration of such assistance

is not carefully supervised.

• Terrorist groups cannot be appeased or
deterred, so they must be eliminated. This

assumption comes from statements espoused by

the current Secretary of Defense (SecDeD.

Terrorist groups cannot be deterred because they

are either willing to die for their cause or are able

to escape being held accountable. They are able

to escape because they have no national identity

or homeland. Consequently, they are able to

hide in HOA countries without too much fear of

capture or elimination. The United States recognized this was the case and decided to go on the

offensive militarily, find them, and kill or capture

them.

• Terrorist groups or representatives from

larger transnational groups reside in the African

countries that make up the CJTF-HOA AO. The

detection and disruption of those groups' activities cause major headaches, discomfort, and

problems for the current governments.

Consequently, American Ambassadors to the

HOA countries do not want host-nation prime

ministers, presidents, ministers of defense, generals, and other high national figures pestering

them about U.S. military action inside HOA

countries. It is far easier, safer, convenient, and

less taxing to allow, facilitate, and coordinate the

U.S. military "engagement activities" in AO countries than to allow, facilitate, and coordinate

efforts for direct action missions. Military actions

that defeat, neutralize, or destroy terrorist networks or their support networks and structures

require much more oversight, coordination, and

"buy in."

• Therefore, it would be more simple for

CJTF-HOA to focus exclusively on detection and

disruption. Skip over defeat, declare victory, and

let the host nations worry about denying safe

havens to terrorist organizations. But, without the

defeat part of the plan—the part where hostnation militaries deny terrorists the ability to

enter their territory—all other endeavors are in

vain. Denial can never really happen because

corrupt national security and/or police forces

facilitate the existence of terrorist groups; therefore, terrorists will be able to maintain their safe

havens with the facilitation of the local authorities.

The HOA countries are rift with so many

problems already that economic prosperity or

303

free market economies will never be able to

thrive enough to make these countries attractive

to large business.

• Tribal and clan considerations dominate the

political landscape. Political movements rely

heavily on tribal groupings for a base of support.

Political ideologies may differ, but the basis for

political support is bound along tribal lines. The

individual African's association with the tribe as

the basis of political affiliation and social interaction is essential for understanding. This means

that based on clan affiliation one can hold

power, money, and position regardless of ability,

drive, determination, brains, or skill. If the clominant tribe calls the shot, their man is placed into

positions of power with little concern for the

welfare of the state or community. The clan can

protect terrorist members within the territory

they control. This means the sovereignty of the

state is irrelevant.

• The position the Bush administration has

taken is that nations cannot support terrorists in

any way. If a government fails to prohibit terrorist organizations to exist in its territory, it forfeits

some of the normal advantages of sovereignty,

including the right to be left alone inside its own

territory. If military action is taken inside clancontrolled territory, local sovereignty is challenged, so national leaders become vulnerable to

reprisals. Reprisals on governmental officials

affect the relationship between the host nations

and U.S. Ambassadors.

• Some regional states have a shortage of

resources such as water, energy, and cultivated

land and cannot sustain current population levels at a reasonable subsistence level.

• Political turmoil, graft, greed, corruption,

and lack of individual security prevent maximum

utilization of existing resources.

• Significant economic contributions to the

region in the form of humanitarian assistance can

provide only limited measures at best. Even the

most historically significant contributions have

only occurred when conditions become severe

enough to trigger frequent publicity in benevolent countries. When publicity subsides, the public will probably shift away from support of significant humanitarian intervention.

• Humanitarian assistance can be counterpro-
ductive to near-term security goals if it is not efficiently directed toward well-defined operational

objectives and the administration of assistance

supervised in subtle—but important—details.

Cultural sensitivities and rival political interests

can quickly subvert loosely controlled civil-military operations/humanitarian assistance efforts. A

so-called "goodwill gesture" without a quid pro

quo simply delivers resources to regional political interests to use for their own goals, not those

of the United States.

• Any humanitarian assistance effort that is

not directed toward well-defined security goals is

an extraneous employment of JTF-HOA assets.

Coalition governments may utilize CJTF-HOA

assets in good will efforts for a public policy purpose. However, those efforts do not necessarily

advance regional operational objectives unless

dedicated planning by CJTF-HOA identifies ways

to direct the effort toward operational objectives.

CJTF-HOA as the Center of

Gravity in HOA for the GWOT

Based on the articulation of policies from the

SecDef, these assumptions, if valid, place the

JTF-HOA into an untenable situation. The situation is untenable because the strategic and

operational centers of gravity (COGs) are not

focused in the same direction or aimed at accomplishing the strategic goal—regional states

assume full responsibility for security against

international terrorists within their region.

Clausewitz labels "the hub of all power and

movement" as the COG. Dr. Joe Strange, Marine

Corps War College, elaborates by saying that the

COGs are "agents and/or sources of moral or

physical strength, power, and resistance." The

COG in the HOA region at the military/operational level can be the CJTF-HOA, as long as it

retains the operational initiative against terrorism. Initiative is the exercise of inherent critical

capabilities a COG must possess.

The strategic COG in the HOA region resides,

at the political level, with the seven U.S. ambassadors (or their equivalents) to the individual

countries. This revelation establishes what will

be done militarily throughout the region and sig304

nificantly impacts the reason why "we can't get

there from here." The obvious disconnect

between the strategic and operational COG causes CJTF-HOA to lose the operational initiative

against terrorist organizations. There are examples below that give credence to the suggestion

that the American ambassadors or their equivalents are the strategic COG. Because the direction for both COGs is not aligned, there is no

coordinated effort. Thus, the strategic goal cannot be achieved.

CJTF-HOA acts only under the closest scrutiny

of the ambassador or their surrogates—other

governmental agencies (OGAs)—and with the

complete total concurrence of foreign service

officials in Washington, DC. Before any operational decision is made or action takes place,

coordination between U.S. ambassadors, hostnation heads of states, and host-nation military

generals must be considered, and concurrence

must be obtained. The American ambassadors

set the tone and conditions within each of the

HOA countries. The ambassadors' penchant for

resolving issues within the sphere of their

authority is understandable; therefore, OGAs are

the first force of choice, and CJTF-HOA is relegated to somewhere in the "unlikely to be

employed category." Even though the ambassadors prefer to use their own immediately available assets, the CJTF-HOA, in fact, exists and is

ready to act with force to prosecute the GWOT.

JTF-HOA represents a rival authority in the

region, thereby complicating the regional situation. This rivalry between DoD and DoS causes

the strategic vision for the HOA to be unclear,

extremely cloudy, murky, undecided, disjointed,

and lacking consensus. In other areas of the

USCentCom theater, DoD has had the unchallenged, unquestioned lead in clecisionmaking

(i.e., Afghanistan and Iraq); therefore, there is no

question about the strategic direction. There is

no debate about who is in charge. The situation

in Afghanistan and Iraq is crystal clear as to

which governmental department is in charge.

Each of the seven countries in HOA is unique.

Each has different terrorist situations to deal

with. For instance, Djibouti, Ethiopia, and Eritrea

have little or no terrorist threat, while Sudan,

Somalia, and Yemen have proven terrorist organ-
izations inside their borders. Kenya, as a neighbor to Somalia and the recipient of documented

terrorists attacks, has its own circumstances to

deal with. Currently, the situation only allows

CJTF-HOA to develop military solutions to the

terrorist problem in Kenya. For all practical purposes, Sudan, Somalia, and Yemen are forbidden

territories for CJTF-HOA direct actions, yet that is

where the known terrorists and their organizations reside.

CJTF-HOA was established on the Afghanistan

model. ComUSCentCom established a JTF in

Afghanistan to focus on a specific situation.

ComUSCentCom and SecDef established CJTFs in

the HOA and Iraq for specific purposes.

However, the similarities between the JTFs stop

there. Afghanistan is one country, as is Iraq, not

seven. Afghanistan and Iraq have achievable

"end states" whereas CJTF-HOA does not. At the

operational level, the operations order establishing CJTF-HOA and providing guidance offers little in the way of mission essential tasks that can

he distinct as "defining the end state or the criteria for success." There is no one who can or who

has defined "success" for JTF-HOA. Several of

the senior officers at USCentCom have been

unable to answer the question. Additionally,

there is no one who can define the criteria for

standing down the CJTF. When asked, "what is

the criteria for success or conversely, what is the

criteria for standing down CJTF-HOA," answers

ran the gambit, as in "things are beginning to

open up." No elaboration on what that meant

was offered. Another said the countries in the

region "were happy to have CJTF-HOA there as

a presence." The most honest answer was, "we

are still sorting that out."

The most revealing of what the expectations

are for JTF-HOA is contained in a humorous

briefing slide created by some motivated, young

planner stating the mission statement: "Some

guys are going to do some stuff over there, soon,

and it is going to take awhile." Although a funny

parody, the slide somewhat sums up a locally

perceived general lack of strategic direction. The

current CJTF-HOA philosophy, vis-a-vis the

regional ambassadors, makes the situation even

more dreary because long ago the staff adopted

a position as articulated below:

305

Our non-negotiable standard will remain

that CJTF HOA will NOT/NOT do anything

in any country without the knowledge and

approval of the AmEmbassy.

This position provides strong evidence that

the seven U.S. ambassadors (or their equivalents)

to the individual countries are the strategic COG.

Additional evidence that the strategic level and

operational goals and initiatives are out of synch

is a comment Out of one of the embassies regarding placing a country coordination element "liaison" officer (LNO) from CJTF-HOA into the

American Embassy.

A minor set back on the LNO position.

Although we have not received a formal

reply from state, [Chief of Missioni received

informal feedback that state does not think

it is a good time right now to establish the

LNO position. State didn't say no to it, but

merely wants to look at it a month from

now.

The country coordination element is an LNO

from CJTF-HOA to the embassies in the HOA

countries. In this case, the senior embassy official

was in favor of CJTF-HOA placing an LNO in the

embassy, but "main state" objected in some way.

These two anecdotes make the point that

CJTF-HOA cannot act on its own initiative but

must obtain permission through the "mother may

I" route even before the ComUSCentCom gets a

vote. These examples also show where the

strategic COG resides.

DoS/DoD/OGAs Fighting the

GWOT in the HOA

Any casual observer knows that there is a certain amount of friction that exists between DoS

and DoD and that there is constant "push and

pull." One must also realize that the preeminent,

most sacrosanct position regarding use of military force in the United States is the concept of

"civilian control of the military." This concept is

engrained into all U.S. military members from an

early age and will not and should not be altered.

The synchronization, guidance, and direction

provided from the president and the SecDef level
should ensure that the strategic goals are understood, feasible, and attainable, and that appropriate resources are available. (See Figure 1.) 

Civilian control of the military concept does not 

violate the concept or abrogate the responsibility of civilian authority to set the conditions for 

military success. The DoS continues to accept a 

"status quo ante bellum" posture. Their actions 

prove that they are conducting business as usual 

and ensuring the maintenance of stability rather 

than assisting the military with the dispatch of 

terrorist organizations. It is evident that in the 

HOA, DoS has not concluded that "we are at 

war." Until DoS, DoD, and OGAs come to this 

realization, the focus will not be centered on the 

GWOT. 

In the HOA region, it is unlikely that there will 

be a turnaround in attitudes on the part of 

ambassadors toward outright military action 

sanctioned and approved so that terrorist organiZations can be dispatched, killed, or captured. 

Under the present circumstances, the United 

States is not "playing to win against terrorists." 

Even in the countries where known terrorist 

organizations live, train, and prosper, like Sudan, 

Somalia, and Yemen, the military is not invited or 

welcome to contribute in the war against terrorism. The ambassadors call all of the shots, and 

their predilection to eschew military action 

against terrorists in countries where they are 

assigned eliminates the possibility of attaining 

the destroy element in the 4D mission of C]TFPresident 

.-------'-----. ............. . 

Ambassador 

Country Team 

(Supporting) 

Command 

Coordination --------

Figure 1. 

(Supporting) 

306 

HOA. If the SecDers assumption is correct-"terrorist groups cannot be appeased or deterred, so 

they must be eliminated"-we must either 

change the strategic goal or change the paradigm 

so that C]TF-HOA is the supported organization 

with the American embassies supporting military 

efforts to eliminate terrorist organizations. 

Now let us assume that the strategic goal does 

not change, and let us also assume that C]TFHOA remains in place for the foreseeable future 

(five years). How does C]TF-HOA facilitate 

bringing about the elimination of terrorist groups 

in HOA? Or specifically, how does C]TF-HOA kill 

or capture individual terrorists and their organizations? There must be some central authority for 

execution that is free to take immediate action 

when actionable intelligence is obtained and can 

be decisively acted upon. Actionable intelligence 

is extremely perishable and once obtained must 

be used or lost. By necessity, then, actionable 

intelligence must be acted on immediately. 

Under the current configuration, clearances for 

action must be approved at the strategic level 

and rules of engagement must be specifically 

approved for any action at the unified command 

level prior to execution. 

Relationships 

Two possible solutions may be considered to 

get around this insoluble problem. First, the 

ComC]TF-HOA could be vested with the authority by the chain of command to execute missions 

to capture or kill terrorists. This authority would, 

in effect, authorize the use of deadly force in a 

direct action mission. The advantages of this proposal would be that the initiative would reside in 

the hands of the ComC]TF-HOA. It also allows 

the immediate execution in response to actionable intelligence. The disadvantage of this proposal is that oversight into any immediate action 

from the highest authority would be absent. Only 

if the scenario exactly matched a previously 

approved course of action would the president 

or SecDef grant "carte blanche" authority to a 

local commander. In effect, this proposal advocates the foreign service in a supporting role to 

the military who would be the supported 

agency. 
The second possible solution offered is for the

President or SecDef to appoint a "proconsul" for

the HOA. (See Figure 2.) The proconsul would

have authority over the military, the regional

ambassadors, and the OGAs. The proconsul

would have the trust, confidence, credibility, reliability, and standing within each of the departments to act in America's best interests and take

the war to the terrorists. The proconsul would

have to have credibility in the region and vast

experience with low-intensity conflicts. Most

importantly, he would have to have the respect

of the Secretary of State, SecDef, and OGAs. The

proconsul might he one of the former unified

combatant commanders. Or someone with the

necessary qualifications like Ambassador L. Paul

Bremer, who has the experience and background for the task at hand, could be assigned as

proconsul.

The advantages of this proposal are that a

central authority for execution would be in place

with all elements responsible to a single individual. The COG would reside with a single entity

for the strategic and operational level. Under this

proposal, the focus for operations could be

directed, and the synergy from intelligence,

diplomacy, and military actions would be substantial. The disadvantages to this proposal are

that there are few individuals having these qualifications, and it would require another staff to

pull all of the strings of power together into the

hands of a single individual.

If the evidence that terrorist organizations and

individuals are migrating to HOA countries is

believable, and if the initiative is to be grasped

by CJTF-HOA——or for that matter the United

States—a different approach should be taken.

Many believe that the focus on terrorism should

be balanced between Afghanistan, Iraq, and the

HOA countries. It is time to establish a new paradigm for fighting the GWOT. Placing a central

authority for execution who has a coherent view

of the region into the decision loop is the

answer.

The ambassadors, the OGAs, and the military

307

must be on the same sheet of paper to be effective and efficient in fighting the GWOT. The way

we are now prevents any unity of effort in the

fight against terrorism. Under the current situation, immediate action is stymied and cannot be

conducted when actionable intelligence is available. Each of the organizations mentioned has its

own agenda and cooperates together only at the

margins. In order to ensure unity of effort, one

agency—or better yet, an individual—should

assume responsibility for the total fight in the

HOA. Political infighting probably negates the

possibility of giving the military authority over

DoS officials, so a "czar," proconsul, or some

equivalent needs to be created. It won't make

any difference what title is given to the individual. The authority is what will be important.

Either America is at war with terrorism or it isn't.

If it is worth going to war over, it is worth investing in the resources and giving the United States

the best chance for success in the GWOT.

About the Author

Tom Duhs, Colonel, USMC, served at the CJTF-HOAJ-5 (plans) and deputy

J-5 from 1 December 2002 until 15 July 2003. At the time this article was

published, he was serving as the assistant chief of staff, G-3 (operations)

of the 4th Marine Division.

'Coequal for planning similar to commander,

amphibious task force/commander, landing force.

'Supported/supporting relationships change

as required.

Figure 2.

Recognizing

Somaliland:

Forward Step in

Countering

Terrorism

by Kurt Shillinger

Royal United Services Institute Journal, April 2005

or the 14th time in as many years, the international community is attempting to restore

central government to Somalia, which

descended, into clan-based fragmentation, statelessness, and violence following the ousting of

the Siad Barre military regime in 1991 and has yet

to re-emerge. The new administration of

President Abdullahi Yusuf Ahmed is the product

of more than two years of complex negotiations

among rival groups hosted by neighbouring

Kenya. Although the African Union (AU) has

pledged thousands of regional peacekeepers to

help the new government settle, prospects for its

success are slim. Conceived and constituted in

exile, the Ahmed government was met with varying degrees of praise and violent protest during

its first foray into Somalia in early March 2005.

This followed the killing of BBC producer Kate

Peyton, who traveled to Mogadishu in February

to prepare stories on the new government's

arrival. Those with vested interests in the status

quo, including neighbouring Ethiopia, remain

powerful and exercised. Tellingly, Ahmed and

his prime minister did not venture into the strifetorn capital.

At the same time, with much less fanfare, the

secessionist province of Somaliland in the northwest was preparing for bicameral parliamentary

elections to be held on 29 March 2005. While the

south has festered, Somaliland has quietly and

persistently demobilized its rival militias and

erected the structures of statehood without external assistance. It has an elected president and a

constitution that survived the death and succession of a head of state, and has drawn substan309
tial inflows of aid and remittances to help rebuild

its infrastructure devastated by a decade of civil

war with the Siad Barre government prior to

1991. It now boasts reconstructed airports, ports,

hotels, power plants and universities—but it

remains unrecognized by the international community. Recognition, as the varying fortunes of

both Somalia and Somaliland demonstrate, is not

a prerequisite for statehood but, in the case of the

latter, may well consolidate the process of nationbuilding at a crucial time both for Sornaliland and

a world fighting global terrorism.

As the preeminent British anthropologist I M

Lewis noted in 2004, "the overall achievement so

far is truly remarkable, and all the more so in that

it has been accomplished by the people of

Somaliland themselves with very little external

help or intervention. The contrast with the fate of

southern Somalia hardly needs to be underlined."1

Prior to the 11 September 2001 terrorist attacks

on the United States, diplomatic attempts to

restore order in Somalia were driven by desires

to limit the potential for drug trafficking and

regional destabilization caused by outflows of

arms, banditry, and refugees into neighbouring

states. The events of 9/11 added a new, more

urgent dimension to international engagement in

a region that had already experienced the devastation of terrorism. The key question since then,

set against the 1998 bombings of the U.S.

embassies in Kenya and Tanzania, was whether

the absence of state security structures would

enable terrorist organizations to set up bases

inside Somalia. For reasons that will be explored

below, it has not quite worked Out that way, but

the 2002 hotel bombing in Mombassa on the

Kenya coast illustrated Somalia's potential as a

staging ground for terrorist activity and punctuated the region's overall vulnerability.

Given Somalia's location at the crossroads of

Africa and the Middle East, its susceptibility to

conflicting destabilizing interests from Ethiopia

and the Arab Peninsula, and the Muslim identity

of its people, it is time to rethink how to solve

the country's enduring crisis in the context of

global terrorism. Despite exhaustive debate, the

Kenya peace talks on Somalia failed to convincingly resolve the key question of whether to pur310

sue a federal or unitarian solution in a patch-quilt

political landscape of rival clan-based factions.

A better solution is partition. Although it runs

contrary to the AU commitment to territorial

integrity, recognizing Somaliland is consistent

with the imperatives driving global counterterrorism. Emotively, the international community

would be supporting the democratic aspirations

of a Muslim state—a central pillar of the Bush

antiterror "Liberty Doctrine." Strategically, recognition would give the West expanded influence

over 900 additional kilometres of coastline in a

key transit zone off the Arab Peninsula and

enable the international community to bolster

regional security at a time when, according to the

accumulated evidence of the different risks posed

by failed and weak states, Somaliland is arguably

becoming more vulnerable to exploitation by

radical Islamist organizations the more it clevelops.

Bush Doctrine, Failed States,

and Global Security

Recasting his central foreign policy doctrine

for an age of terror in his second inaugural

address in January 2005, President George W.

Bush stated that

it is the policy of the United States to seek

and support the growth of democratic

movements and institutions in every nation

and culture, with the ultimate goal of ending tyranny in our world. . . . America will

not impose our own style of government

on the unwilling. Our goal instead is to

help others find their own voice, attain their

own freedom, and make their own way.

Two immediate and correlative assumptions

are implicit in this approach: that state repression

promotes social radicalization, which in the current international security context poses threats

to prosperous and peaceful nations; and that

democracy is a universal and thus universally

adaptable aspiration that, when realized, is the

ultimate antidote to forms of ideological discontent that underpin transnational terrorism.

From these assumptions, three critical ques-
tions arise. First, how are states or regimes determined to pose risks to global security serious

enough to prompt foreign intervention? To put it

differently, the selective application of force or

coercion since 9/11 suggests that not all tyrants

are regarded as the same, and some may even be

acceptable. Saddam Hussein was overthrown on

the premise—a false one, it turned out—that he

was stockpiling weapons of mass destruction;

Kim Jong II is known to have nuclear weapons

but is still in power. So is Robert Mugabe, who

has neither long-range weaponry nor the desire

to acquire them, but has dismantled the democratic edifice of Zimbabwe and suppressed popular aspirations through violence.

Second, how are 'democratic movements'

identified and legitimated? The history of foreign

meddling in the domestic affairs of far-off nations

is troubled and inconsistent. Both Hussein and

Osama bin Laden, the world's top terrorist, were

once clients of Washington. Post-9/1 1, what interests—and whose—shape the process of helping

"others find their own voice" and indeed determine which voices emerge?

Third, what forms of external "soft" engagement are implied by Bush's pledge, and how

should they be weighed against the prevailing

"rules" of regional politics? The war on terrorism

has many fronts—Central Asia, Indonesia, North

Africa, and the Horn as well as the Middle East.

Effecting "regime change" through force as in

Afghanistan and Iraq is neither logistically possible nor internationally justifiable. It follows, then,

that "preemption" can utilize and, indeed,

requires many means. These questions are most

relevant and problematic with regard to dysfunctional states, where poverty and poor or repressive governance can give rise to radicalization.

Before 9/11, such states were regarded primarily

as regional problems, incubating threats such as

disease, refugee flows, environmental destruction, drugs and arms trafficking, and so on. But

the 2001 attacks convulsed thinking about the

intersection between faltering states and security

in the context of global terror, and it has taken a

few years for both analysis and policy to unpack

the question—indeed, to differentiate the relationship between terrorism and collapsed, failed,

and weak states, respectively.

311

Two studies in 2002 illustrate the importance

of clarifying those distinctions. John J. Hamre and

Gordon R. Sullivan argued that '[olne of the principal lessons of the events of September 11 is that

failed states matter—not just for humanitarian

reasons, but for national security reasons as well.

If left unattended, such states can become "sanctuaries for terrorist networks with global reach."2

The Bush administration, meanwhile, concluded

that "the events of September 11, 2001, taught

U.S. that weak states, like Afghanistan, can pose

as great a danger to our national interests as

strong states.... [Ploverty, weak institutions, and

corruption can make weak states vulnerable to

terrorist networks and drug cartels within their

borders. "3

More time has shown that the distinction

between collapsed states, of which Somalia is the

most glaring example, and weak states—such as

Afghanistan, the Democratic Republic of Congo,

Angola, Kenya, Tanzania and Pakistan—matters

deeply and has important implications for policy.

As Ken Menkhaus shows in his excellent analysis

of Somalia and terrorism, failed states lack the

physical and financial infrastructure that terrorist

organizations need to operate and are therefore

unsuitable as havens, whereas weak states provide both the tools and the cover in a relaxed

security environment:

Terrorists, like mafias, prefer weak and corrupt government rather than no government at all. In the Horn of Africa, weak

states such as Kenya and Tanzania are

much more likely bases of operations for

al-Qaeda. They feature sprawling, multiethnic urban areas where foreign operatives can go unremarked; corrupt law

enforcement agencies which can be bought

off; and a rich array of Western targets.

[Al collapsed state such as Somalia is more

likely to serve a niche role as a transit zone,

through which men, money, or materiel are

quickly moved into the country and then

across the borders of neighbouring states.4

Similarly, Greg Mills concludes that the weakening of

state functions manifests in a number of
interrelated ways, including the alienation

of sectors of society and the emergence of

an alternative, anarchic counter-culture; the

related inability to provide basic security

functions and extend other state functions

to the majority of its citizens; and the state's

vulnerability to external influences, both

state and non-state. . . . The weak nature of

the African state and the corruptibility of

the African political class have, over time,

made it a soft target for terrorist groups.5

Thus, determining which states pose the greatest risk to international security in relation to terrorism and defining measures of effective intervention requires more than simply identifying

tyrants, mobilizing coalitions of force, and

orchestrating elections. Fledgling, faltering, and

nominal democracies present equal or greater

threats in terms of the exploitable advantages

they provide to terrorist organizations. And while

geography matters, it is not a limiting factor—a

point underscored by Libya's ongoing material

support for Mugabe. In this regard, countering

terrorism by strengthening democracy must

involve addressing the structural and causal elements of weak governance, risk to investment,

and social radicalization: corruption, constitutional imbalance, political exclusion, social exclusion

(health and education), economic exclusion

(trade), monetary mismanagement, and resource

depletion.

Somalia and Somaliland

Prior to colonialization, Somalis organized

themselves on the basis of a singular national

identity. One of the largest ethnic groups in

Africa, divided into a matrix of clans and subclans spread across some 400,000 square miles

of the Horn, they speak just two common and

intertwined languages—somali and Arabic—

and are almost all of them Muslim. In the latter

half of the 19th century, they were partitioned

by the French, British, Italians, and Ethiopians,

a process that introduced a political element to

Somali identity and over time created a tension

of definitions of nationhood that endure today.

The modern state of Somalia—at least geo312

graphically—is an experiment in joining two distinct historical entities: Italian Somalia in the

south and British Somaliland in the North. In

1940, the Italians captured the north and cornbinecl the country, but the merger lasted only

seven months before the British recaptured their

protectorate. Five years later, the Italians lost

much of their grip, and British control extended

deep into the south. The to-ing and fro-ing continued until 1950, when Italian control was formally reestablished and the original boundaries

reaffirmed under a 10-year plan overseen by the

United Nations. Over the course of the next

decade, a series of local elections and drafting of

a constitution paved the way for independence

in 1960—first for Somaliland on 26 June and

then, five days later, for Somalia. Each side was

recognized separately by the UN, including each

of the five permanent members of the Security

Council, according to their colonial boundaries.

Unification became both a preoccupation and

a source of enduring division. Although the two

entities joined within the year, it was a tense marriage marked by deep-seated clan rivalries.

During the next three decades, northern dissent

was repeatedly crushed by the military regime of

Mohamed Siad Barre in Mogadishu. When that

government was finally overthrown in 1991, the

south descended into factional fighting—and the

north "seceded." Since then, the two parts have

followed dramatically different paths. While the

international community launched one peace

process after another to try to restore central government in Mogadishu, factional fighting—much

of it foreign-backed—carved deep ethnopolitical

furrows across the south. In the north, meanwhile, stakeholders engaged in the lengthy

process of demobilization, reconstruction, and

nation-building. In the course of three national

congresses, an interim national charter was drafted, a bicameral parliament was established, comprising an elected house of representatives and a

nominated house of clan elders, and a president

and vice president were voted in by congress

delegates.

In 2001, the people of Sornaliland ratified the

new constitution in a nationwide referendum

with impressive unanimity. Foreign-observed

local elections followed in 2002, and when
President Mohamed Haji Ibrahim Egal died during a trip to South Africa, peaceful succession followed through the ballot box, in line with the

constitution, in which the victor emerged with a

razor-thin 280-vote margin. The 29 March parliamentary elections marked the last step in creating

a fully popularly elected government.

How does that position affect the two Somali

entities vis-à-vis terrorism? Immediately following

the 9/11 attacks, Washington listed Somalia as a

potential target in its war against terrorism and

froze an estimated $500 million in foreign assets

held by Somalia's al-Barakat bank and money

transferring company.

But as Menkhaus observes, "Somalia is less

than ideal as a safe haven for al-Qaeda for several reasons": one, the mono-ethnic nature of

Somali society makes it harder for foreigners to

blend in unobserved; two, there is an absence of

Western targets; three, the south lacks the financial, physical, and communications infrastructure

required by modern terrorist organizations such

as al-Qaeda; four, the prevailing lawlessness

poses a threat to terrorists as much as to anyone

else; and fifth, the lack of state control over security would enable U.S. special forces based in

neighbouring Djibouti to mobilize within Somali

territory faster and with fewer legal restraints.

Rather, two points are of greater and more

realistic concern: one, the rise of al-Ittihad and alIslah, respectively radical and progressive Somali

Islarnist movements that either espouse antiWestern violence or are prone to manipulation

by those who do; and two, evidence that terrorist cells are using Somalia as a staging point for

operations elsewhere in the region. According to

UN Security Council assessments, those behind

the December 2002 bombing of a hotel in

Mombassa and attempt to bring down an Israeli

airliner in the Kenyan port transferred materiel

through and acquired missiles in Somalia.

No such activity has yet been evidenced in

Somaliland, but it is arguable that the territory is

becoming more attractive to foreign terrorist

organizations the more developed it becomes.

Somali-land's political progress has attracted a

steady inflow of funds. The U.S. Congress allocated $9 million in 1997 for government and military

salaries. The same year, the regional

313

Intergovernmental Authority on Development

launched an $18 million project to improve communications links between the port of Berbera

and other regional ports. The EU has funded road

construction, the Italians water works, and the

International Development Bank education. The

British company Digital Exchange Projects,

meanwhile, was contracted to rebuild

Somaliland's telecommunications systems. The

list goes on. In 2001, for example, the Great Wall

Chinese Oil Company announced plans to sink

offshore oil wells and the Somali Diaspora sent

an estimated $250 million annually to Somaliland

to offset low forex reserves. Currently, the Bank

of Somaliland is pursuing ties with more established regional and German financial institutions.6

As the earlier discussion about failed and

weak states indicated, Somaliland's development

trend is also putting in place the very tools—

banking systems, telecommunications, and transport links—that foreign terrorist organizations

require in a tenuous security environment.

Notions of Territorial Integrity

Article Four of the Constitutive Act of the

African Union states that "the Union shall function in accordance with the following principles:

(b) respect of borders existing on achievement of

independence." This rule, carried over from the

AU's predecessor, the Organization of African

States, has and remains the fundamental stumbling block in Somaliland's quest for statehood.

In January 2004, a delegation from the British

Parliament's Select Committee on International

Development conducted a visit to Somaliland.

Upon their return, MP Tony Worthington questioned in a parliamentary debate British and

international resistance to breaking from the sovereignty principle. He said:

There is an understandable paranoia about

changing old colonial borders in Africa

because of the fear that the habit may

spread to other countries. Somaliland is a

rare exception, however; it wants to return

to its old colonial boundaries at the time of

independence. . . . The longer the world
ignores the achievement of Somaliland in

creating stability and democratic institutions, the greater the risk that wilder elements will take over. Although the country

has been governed by a moderate form of

Islam since it declared independence, there

is always the possibility that it will give way

to a form of Islam that plays into the hands

of those trying to stimulate terrorism, and

there is tension in the country as a result.7

There is broad international sympathy for this

argument, but there is also a kind of stasis akin

to penguins on an ice bluff: no one wants to

jump first. Washington, according to U.S. diplomats in the region, wants one of the African

heavyweights—South Africa, Nigeria, Ethiopia, or

Senegal—to nod first. But Ethiopia, for one, has

also stated that it would follow but won't lead an

international movement for recognition.

The impasse is curious, and time will tell

whether it may also be costly. Three points

weaken the argument that recognition risks setting a precedent in Africa. First, as Foreign

Minister Edna Adan Ismail argues, echoing the

comment by Worthington, in the 44 years since it

gained independence from Britain, Somaliland

"neither resigned from our membership in the

UN, nor given away our sovereignty to anyone,

we still claim ownership of our independence

and that of our membership in the UN."8

Recognizing Somaliland, then, is more a case of

affirming postcolonial boundaries rather than

redrawing them.

Second, seen as an international rather than

exclusively African issue, the principle of separation is already well entrenched. Recent examples

include the peaceful and internationally recognized "Velvet Divorce" of the Czech Republic and

Slovakia in 1993.9 Third, Africa already has the

precedent for partition set by Ethiopia and

Eritrea, which was based on almost identical

issues as those between Somalia and

Somaliland.10 As part of a comprehensive peace

settlement between those two countries, a UN

boundary commission determined the border

between Ethiopia and Eritrea in 2002 based on

historical and colonial maps. The European

Union immediately endorsed the decision.

314

From legal, technical, and diplomatic perspectives, therefore, recognition of Somaliland is neither as problematic nor precedent-setting as

claimed, nor is international resistance as strong

as suggested by the unanimous failure so far to

do so.

Strengthening Somalilan4

Countering Terrorism

In Somalia today, the mild narcotic shrub khat

is as common as AK-47s. Once chewed primarily by men for occasional recreation, the drug is

now consumed daily by broad segments of the

population, including women and, ominously,

the heavily armed young boys and youths

aligned to various factional leaders. At the peak,

150 flights ferried the drug into Somaliland from

neighbouring states every day. Shortly after his

election in 2002, President Dahir Rayale Kahin

called for a decrease in inbound khat flights and

banned all overland shipments. As Mills

observes:

If enforced, this would likely provoke a

political backlash in a nation where unemployment is high and a fragile—if impressively nurtured—peace has drawn into

government warring militias and clans. . Like the global drug problem, dealing with

khat requires breaking a pattern of helplessness and addiction through offering

better economic prospects.'1

Somaliland is a fragile entity in a fragile

region with large Islamic populations—all

demonstrably susceptible to radicalization.

Despite the various developmental initiatives, a

relatively strong livestock export sector, and the

generous inflow of annual remittances, unemployment hovers at destabilizing highs. The eastern border, meanwhile, although clearly defined

and recognized at independence in 1960, has

been the subject of increasing dispute with the

adjacent Somali region of Puntland, which

makes ethnic-based claims to the two easternmost Somaliland provinces of Sanaag and Sool.

Steven Simon has observed that in the current

atmosphere of militancy and antipathy in much
of the Muslim world, "Islam's warm embrace of

the West is too stark a reversal to expect in the

foreseeable future. However, it is feasible to lay

the foundation for a lasting accommodation by

deploying the considerable economic and political advantages of the United States and its

allies."12

In Somaliland, the West has an opportunity to

broaden the terms of global counterterrorism

strategy—to balance with carrots a policy meted

thus far with sticks. British Prime Minister Tony

Blair has dedicated himself to tackling Africa's

developmental challenges in 2005. He holds the

chair of the G8 in the first half of the year and

the EU in the second. Both groupings will

debate initiatives to double aid, cut debt, boost

investment, combat disease, and improve governance on the world's poorest continent.

Emerging from these discussions should also be

clearly defined recommendations for recognizing

Somaliland through the UN. Politically, recognition would send a powerful signal to the Muslim

world that internally driven aspirations toward

secular democracy will be acknowledged and

supported.

Economically, strengthening Somaliland's nascent democratic institutions and underwriting its

path toward viability will go some measure

toward depriving radicalized elements of a

potential recruiting ground, just as a stronger

state and improved governance will assist in

reducing the volatile cocktail of endemic poverty, social alienation, radicalization, and terrorism.

Withholding recognition from Somaliland

runs contrary to the West's rhetoric about standing shoulder to shoulder with aspiring democracies. But the question is more urgent than that.

Given what has been learned after 9/11 about

broader security ramifications of weak states in

an age of terror, it may be dangerous. If the West

fails to assist a Muslim people striving to build

their own safe, prosperous and, critically, demo315

cratic state, they may well end up looking for—

and finding—other patrons.

Notes

1. I. M. Lewis, "As the Kenyan Somali 'Peace' Conference Falls Apart in Confusion, Recognition of Somaliland's Independence is Overdue," London School of

Economics, 20 March 2004.

2. John J. Hamre and Gordon R. Sullivan, "Toward

Postconflict Reconstruction," Washington Quarterly 25

(Autumn 2002).

3. National Security Strategy document dated 19

September 2002.

4. Ken Menkhaus, "Somalia: State Collapse and the

Threat of Terrorism," Adelphi Paper 364, International

Institute for Strategic Studies, 2004

5. Greg Mills, The Security Intersection: The Paradox of

Power in an Age of Terror (Johannesburg: Wits

University Press, 2005), 237-9.

6. See the chapter on Somali in Africa South of the

Sahara 2005 (London: Europa Publications, 2005), for

a fuller digest of assistance inflows into Somaliland in

recent years.

7. For the full debate on 4 February 2004 in the House

of Commons, see www. publications .parliament.uk.

8. Taken from comments presented at the South

African Institute of International Affairs in

Johannesburg on 3 February 2005.

9. The author is grateful to Dr. Chris Alden of the

London School of Economics for discussions on this

point.

10. See the final report of the Eritrea-Ethiopia

Boundary Commission for detailed historical background.

11. Mills, 81.

12. Steven Simon, "The New Terrorism," in Henry J.

Aaron, James M. Lindsay, and Pietro S. Nivola, eds.,

Agenda for the Nation (Washington: Brookings

Institution Press, 2003), 425.

About the Author

Kurt Shilhinger is a research fellow specializing in security and terrorism

in Africa at the South African Institute of International Affairs,

Johannesburg.

Fighting Terrorism 

in East Mrica and 

the Horn 

by David H Shinn 

Foreign Service journal, September 2004 

Six years after the bombings of our 

embassies in Nairobi and Dar es Salaam, 

U.S. counterterrorism efforts in the region 

do not yet measure up to the threat. 

efore September 11, 2001, most 

Americans paid little attention to terrorism, particularly in the Third World. Since 

then, though the Middle East and Central Asia 

have figured most prominently in the war on terrorism, Africa is increasingly coming into focus 

as an important battleground. 

This is especially true of East Africa (Kenya, 

Uganda, and Tanzania) and the Horn of Africa 

(Sudan, Ethiopia, Eritrea, Djibouti, and Somalia), 

where the practice of targeting Americans for 

political violence has deep roots. The Black 

September organization assassinated the 

American ambassador to Sudan, Cleo A. NoelJr., 

and his deputy chief of mission, George Curtis 

Moore, in 1973. And following the U.S. air attack 

against Libya in 1986, Libyan terrorists retaliated 

by severely wounding an American embassy 

communications technician, William Caldwell, 

also in Khartoum. There have been a number of 

other terrorist attacks dating back more than two 

decades against Western and Israeli interests in 

this dangerous region. 

But it took the coordinated bombings by alQaida in 1998 of the American embassies in 

Nairobi and Dar es Salaam to make clear the full 

scope of the organization's menace. While the 

attacks killed far more Kenyans and Tanzanians 

than Americans, 12 Americans perished in 

Nairobi and many were injured in both capitals. 

(American and Ugandan authorities foiled 

another attack planned against the U.S. embassy 

in Kampala.) 

317 
Those bombings were, in many respects,

even more of a seminal event than the 9/11

attacks for the American war on terrorism in

East Africa and the Horn. The State Department

responded by building new fortified embassies

in both capitals, and in Kampala, with considerably more setback from the street. Other

embassies in the region enhanced their physical

security as well.

There were also policy ramifications. Prior to

the embassy bombings, the U.S. had a cool relationship with Kenyan President Daniel arap Moi

as a result of concerns over corruption and the

pace of democratization. When senior American

officials visited Africa, they rarely went to

Kenya. In sympathy for Kenyans killed in the

bombing and in appreciation for Kenya's close

counterterrorism cooperation with the U.S. following the attack, significant numbers of senior

American officials traveled to Nairobi. President

Moi even received a long-desired invitation to

the White House before he stepped down at the

end of 2002. Tanzania also experienced an

increase in high-level American attention.

A Focal Point of Terrorism

Unfortunately, however, U.S. counterterrorism policy perspectives and programs in the

region do not yet measure up to the threat

Islamic fundamentalism and al-Qaeda activity

jointly pose. There are several reasons for this.

Most of the countries have experienced severe

internal conflict, which is frequently supported

by neighbors, either directly or via dissident

groups—which tends to lead to tit-for-tat support of an opposition group in the offending

state. Examples of this phenomenon range from

the long-standing civil war in Sudan and the

collapse of any central authority in Somalia to

Tanzanian support for the overthrow of the Idi

Amin regime in Uganda, Somalia's invasion of

Ethiopia in the late 1970s, Eritrea's war of independence, and the Ethiopian-Eritrean conflict.

Such instability prevents most governments

in the region from exercising full control over

their territory, providing terrorists easy access to

weapons. Somalia remains a vacuum and is

prey to any terrorist with money and a plan.

318

Although Sudan appears to be nearing the end

of a civil war that dates back to 1983, it now

faces a new and worsening conflict in the

Darfur region, along the border with Chad.

Uganda has been unable to eliminate the Lord's

Resistance Army in the northern part of the

country. The Somali-inhabited Ogaden in southeastern Ethiopia experiences regular security

incidents. And the Eritrean Islamic Jihad

Movement seems to have refocused attention

against Eritrea, operating Out of Sudan.

Although the groups behind these attacks are

not normally considered international terrorists,

they engage in terrorist tactics, and some, such

as the EIJM, are believed to have links with alQaeda. Recent actions by these groups illustrate

conclusively that the security and intelligence

services in all of the countries are underfunded

and ill-equipped to counter terrorist tactics by

local organizations or international terrorists.

Geography also plays an important role.

Most of these states are located near, and have

long-standing ties to, the Arabian Peninsula, the

source of many of today's Islamic militants. It is

easy to move between the Persian Gulf states

and this region by air and sea. The governments

are virtually incapable of monitoring the lengthy

coastline from Eritrea to Tanzania. The land

borders between all of the states are unusually

porous as well.

Further, the region sits on a religious fault

line of Christianity, Islam, and traditional

African beliefs. All eight of the countries are

either predominantly Muslim or have important

Muslim minorities. Sudan, Djihouti, and

Somalia, including self-declared independent

Somaliland, are heavily Muslim. Ethiopia and

Eritrea are about half Islamic. Kenya, Uganda,

and Tanzania contain significant Muslim minorities, some of whose members have become radicalized in recent years. It is true that Sufism,

which tends to resist the ideas of Islamic fundamentalists, remains strong throughout the

region. This traditionally moderate form of

Islam has not always been sufficient, however,

to overcome the appeal of fundamentalism,

especially when it is backed with funds from

Saudi Arabia and the Gulf States. As a result,

nearly all of the international terrorism in the
region, as opposed to local groups that use terrorist tactics, has ties to extremist Islamic elements.

Poverty, Social Injustice and

Political Alienation

Finally, the region's endemic corruption is

another factor that attracts terrorists, allowing

them to buy off immigration and local security

officials. Transparency International surveyed

133 countries in 2003 as part of its corruption

perceptions index. Five of the eight countries

located in the region ranked poorly. Ethiopia

and Tanzania received the best ranking of the

five, tied with several other countries at the 92d

position. Sudan tied with a number of countries

for position 106, while Uganda tied with others

for 113. Kenya, although its standing improved

from past years, tied with Indonesia at 122.

(Transparency International did not rank Eritrea,

Djibouti or Somalia.)

The fact that East Africa and the Horn are

home to some of the poorest countries in the

world, with high levels of social injustice and

political alienation, is frequently cited as a reason why the region has become a breeding

ground for terrorism. But not everyone agrees

that poverty is closely linked to international

terrorism. State Department Coordinator for

Counterterrorism Cofer Black, during a May digital videoconference with journalists and government officials in Dar es Salaam and Addis

Ababa, downplayed the link between terrorism

and poverty. He cited the Saudis who took part

in the 9/11 attacks on the U.S., pointing out that

they tended to come from middle-class families

and had access to a university education. He

concluded that they "turned into terrorists

because they fell under the influence of the

wrong people and became seriously misguided."

Yet while this may be true, it misses the

point, at least as far as East Africa and the Horn

are concerned. The environment created by

poverty, social injustice and political alienation

enhances the ability of religious extremists to

export their philosophy and of terrorists to find

319

local support for their nefarious acts. Black

went on to say that instead of blaming economic conditions, "we need to encourage moderation" and follow guidelines "our mothers and

fathers taught us." Good luck!

To be sure, poverty may not be a direct cause

of terrorism. To dismiss its role, however, is misguided. Together with abysmally low wages for

immigration and security personnel, poverty

significantly increases the prospect of widespread corruption that, in turn, creates a climate

amenable to terrorism. Even the president's

National Security Strategy issued in September

2002 commented that although poverty does

not make poor people into terrorists, "poverty,

weak institutions and corruption can make

weak states vulnerable to terrorist networks and

drug cartels within their borders." In a recent

issue of Foreign Affairs, Senator Chuck Hagel

(R-Neb.) argued that terrorism finds sanctuary in

"the misery of endemic poverty and despair."

He added that "although poverty and despair do

not 'cause' terrorism, they provide a fertile environment for it to prosper." In East Africa and the

Horn, and probably much of the rest of the

world, it is time to accept the important role that

poverty plays and put in place long-term measures to deal with it.

Financing Terrorism

Charities sponsored by Saudi Arabia and several other Persian Gulf states have probably

financed most of the international terrorist activity in the region, with funds coming both from

private individuals and governments. In the

case of Saudi Arabia, and to a lesser extent

Qatar, the charities are closely linked to efforts

to promote the fundamentalist Sunni Islamic

creed known popularly as Wahhabism. Toward

that end, in 1962 Saudi Arabia created the statefinanced Muslim World League to underwrite

mosques, schools, libraries, hospitals, and clinics around the world. Saudi Arabia's grand

mufti, its highest religious authority, serves as

the organization's president.

The league encompasses a wide range of

entities, including the al-Haramain Islamic

Foundation and the International Islamic Relief
Organization. These charities have been active

in East Africa and the Horn for years, building

mosques and implementing useful social programs. But some of their branches have also

funneled money to al-Qaeda and associated terrorist organizations, and the U.S. has accused

the former director of al-Haramain in Tanzania

of planning the 1998 attacks on the embassies

in Dar es Salaam and Nairobi.

After the 9/11 attacks, Washington stepped

up pressure on Saudi Arabia to control these

charities. In 2002, the two countries jointly designated the Somali branch of al-Haramain as an

organization that had supported terrorist groups

such as al-Qaicla and the Somali-based al-Ittihad

al-Islamiya. Early in 2004, both countries notified the U.N. Sanctions Committee that the

branches of al-Haramain in Kenya and Tanzania

provide financial, material, and logistical support to al-Qaeda and other terrorist organizations. They asked Kenya and Tanzania to seize

the assets of both branches. At the request of

the U.S. and Saudi Arabia, the government of

Tanzania recently deported the two top alHaramain officials and closed the office. In mid2004, Saudi Arabia and the U.S. designated the

al-Haramain branch in Ethiopia as a financier of

terrorism. At the same time, under pressure

from the U.S., Saudi Arabia outlined plans to

dismantle its network of international charities

and place their assets under a new Saudi

National Commission for Relief and Charity. It

remains to be seen if this crackdown by Saudi

Arabia will put an end to the diversion of charitable donations to terrorists.

A Major Change in Policy

toward Sudan

U.S. relations with Sudan began a downward

spiral after an Islamic government entrenched

itself in power in the early 1990s and stepped

up the war against southerners. Sudan opened

the door slightly in 1996, however, when it

responded positively to a U.S. request to expel

Osama bin Laden, who had lived in Khartoum

since 1991. This offered the possibility for

improved relations, but there was no follow320

through by the Clinton administration. The

nadir in the relationship then occurred in 1998

following the bombing of the embassies in

Nairobi and Dar es Salaam, when the U.S.

launched cruise missiles against a pharmaceutical factory in Khartoum. The U.S. linked the factory to the production of chemical weapons

based on a soil sample containing a precursor

for the production of weapons found outside

the factory. The U.S. also alleged there were ties

between the factory owner and al-Qaeda. Sudan

strongly denied any link, and a number of

experts who studied the case have raised serious questions about the rationale for the attack.

The Clinton administration, which had been

under pressure from domestic groups to take a

hard line toward Sudan, nevertheless made

overtures in 2000 to Khartoum concerning possible cooperation on counterterrorism. Sudan

responded positively; by the time the Bush

administration took power, the scene was set

for improved ties.

Following the 9/11 attacks, Khartoum quickly concluded it was in its interest to increase

cooperation with the U.S. on counterterrorism.

This provided the Bush administration an

opportunity to advance the war on terrorism

and make progress on ending the long-standing

civil war in Sudan. President Bush named former Missouri Senator John Danforth as his special envoy for Sudan in an effort to end the civil

war. This appointment and policy not only neutralized the American domestic constituency

that wanted strong action against Sudan, but

turned Sudan into an important ally in the war

against terrorism.

By all accounts, the regime's cooperation on

counterterrorism has been excellent. In addition, it and the Sudan People's Liberation

Movement, under pressure from the U.S. and

others, have also made enormous progress in

ending the civil war. Consequently, Secretary

Powell announced in May that the U.S. had

removed Sudan from a blacklist of countries

deemed not to be cooperating fully on counterterrorism. There is still in place a maze of

American sanctions, including the listing of

Sudan as a "state sponsor" of terrorism, but this

was the first step in unraveling U.S. sanctions
against Sudan. The policy change probably

would not have occurred except for the traumatic events of 9/11. However, a new crisis in

the Darfur region in western Sudan threatens to

set back significantly the improvement in relations.

Quandary over Somalia

American and allied forces intervened massively in Somalia late in 1992 to end a famine.

They stopped the famine, and all U.S. troops left

Somalia by March 1994 following the "Blackhawk Down" episode in Mogadishu. The U.S.

and international community effectively abandoned the failed state, though 9/11 and the war

against the Taliban in Afghanistan briefly

brought Somalia back into prominence in 2002,

clue to fears that the vacuum there would provide a safe haven for al-Qaeda supporters being

chased from Afghanistan. Some of the ideas

being discussed in the government for dealing

with the country were wildly off the mark, however—no surprise given the loss of expertise

that occurred during the post-1994 interregnum.

Fortunately, calmer minds prevailed and Washington did not do anything really stupid in

Somalia.

That said, the country is still a failed state

where terrorist elements can move with impunity. Somalia has been home to al-Ittihad alIslamiya, a fundamentalist organization that has

carried out terrorist attacks against Ethiopia and

is believed to have connections with al-Qaeda.

The U.S. added al-Ittihad in 2001 to its

Comprehensive List of Terrorists and Groups. It

also included the Somali money transfer organization, al-Barakat, on the list. There is evidence

that an al-Qaida cell based in Mogadishu took

part in the 2002 attack on an Israeli-owned

hotel outside Mombasa and a simultaneous but

unsuccessful attempt to shoot down an Israeli

charter aircraft. At the same time, Somalis generally are not predisposed toward Islamic fundamentalism or entreaties by international terrorists. The situation in Somalia is worrisome

and merits close monitoring, but it is not even

close to the threat once posed by Taliban-governed Afghanistan. There appears, however, to

321

be no agreed-upon U.S. policy for dealing with

Somalia. It is long past time to adopt one.

A Base in Djibouti

The U.S. embassy in Djibouti has traditionally been small and sleepy. But that changed after

9/11. The country now hosts the only U.S. military base in Africa and welcomes coalition

forces from France, Germany, Spain, and Italy.

Some 1,800 American military and civilian personnel currently occupy a former French

Foreign Legion facility at Camp Lemonier outside the capital city. Established in October 2002

and known as the Combined Joint Task ForceHorn of Africa, it is responsible for fighting terrorism in Djibouti, Ethiopia, Eritrea, Sudan,

Kenya, Somalia, and Yemen, and in the coastal

waters of the Red Sea, the Gulf of Ad en, and the

Indian Ocean. CJTF-HOA's stated mission is to

detect, disrupt, and defeat transnational terrorist

groups, to counter the reemergence of transnational terrorism, and to enhance long-term stability in the region. The establishment of the

base represents a dramatic change for U.S. security policy in Africa since the closure many

years ago of the Wheelus Air Force Base in

Libya and Kagnew Communications Station in

Ethiopia.

CJTF-HOA has devoted most of its effort so

far to training with allied forces and the armies

of Djibouti, Ethiopia, and Kenya. It has conducted an impressive number of civic action programs that refurbish schools and clinics and

provide medical services in the same three

countries. CJTF-HOA established a temporary

training facility for the Ethiopian military outside Dire Dawa in the southeastern part of the

country. Training has begun for the first of three

Ethiopian antiterrorism battalions. It is less clear

how much terrorist interdiction cJTF-HOA has

accomplished. Without providing details, the

departing commander stated in May that they

have captured "dozens of terrorists" and averted

at least five terrorist attacks.

Although a good effort, the operation is not

free of problems. Relations with Sudan, especially after disagreements over the new conflict

in Darfur, have not improved sufficiently to
engage in military cooperation. Somalia remains

in too much disarray to think in terms of projects in country except for the more peaceful

and self-declared independent Republic of

Somaliland. The U.S. has so far been unwilling

to undertake activities in Somaliland that might

suggest it recognizes the country. Eritrea claims

to seek cooperation with the U.S. on counterterrorism, but there have been problems translating this intention into action. There are also

some operational issues. Turnover of CJTF-HOA

personnel is too frequent, and area and indigenous language expertise are in short supply.

American ambassadors in the region, most of

whom have only dealt with a military attaché on

their own staff, are still learning how to interact

with an independent military commander.

The East Africa

Counterterrorism Initiative

After 9/li the State Department's Office of

Counterterrorism identified East Africa and the

Horn, especially Djibouti, Somalia, Ethiopia,

Eritrea, Kenya, and Tanzania, to be at particular

risk. In response, in 2003 the U.S. created a

$100 million East Africa Counterterrorism

Initiative. This encompasses military training for

border and coastal security, programs to

strengthen control of the movement of people

and goods across borders, aviation security,

assistance for regional programs to curb terrorist financing, police training, and an education

program to counter extremist influence. There

are separate programs to combat money laundering.

The major beneficiary so far of this funding

has been Kenya. The U.S. is working with

Kenyan officials to develop a comprehensive

anti-money laundering/counterterrorist financing regime. The State Department's Terrorist

Interdiction Program has established a computer system that is now operational at select airports in Kenya, Tanzania, and Ethiopia and is

scheduled to go online this year in Djibouti and

Uganda. The TIP system provides nations with

a state-of-the-art computer network that enables

immigration and border control officials to iden322

tify suspects attempting to enter or leave the

country. The U.S. is also funding a police development program in Tanzania, Uganda, and

Ethiopia, developing a training and equipment

program for Kenya's law enforcement agencies,

and setting up forensic laboratories in Tanzania

and Uganda.

As welcome as this new assistance is, it has

not stemmed complaints from countries in the

region. Uganda claims it is being shortchanged

because it has dealt successfully with international terrorist threats on its own. In addition,

Kampala's priority is dealing with local terrorist

groups such as the Lord's Resistance Army and

Allied Democratic Front, while Washington is

focused on international terrorists like al-Qaeda.

Eritrea offered the U.S. access to its port facilities and, together with Ethiopia, joined the

"coalition of the willing" against Iraq. But it now

finds itself frozen out of counterterrorist assistance because of U.S. concerns over the continued detention of two Eritreans employed by the

American embassy and other human rights

issues. Both Eritrean and Ethiopian cooperation

on counterterrorism are also linked to the two

countries' desire to gain favor with the U.S. on

their festering border demarcation disagreement.

Looking Ahead

The resources and attention devoted to counterterrorism in East Africa and the Horn are

impressive but inadequate. At a House subcommittee hearing on terrorism in April, Chairman Ed

Royee (R-Calif.) emphasized that the U.S. needs

to devote more resources for counterterrorism in

Africa. He is correct. President Bush's FY 2005

international affairs budget request has as its top

priority the winning of the war on terrorism.

Exclusive of Iraq and Afghanistan, it requests

$5.7 billion for assistance to countries around the

world that have joined the war on terrorism and

another $3.5 billion that indirectly supports the

war by strengthening the U.S. ability to respond

to emergencies and conflict situations. The $100

million East Africa Counterterrorism Initiative and

several other modest programs just don't measure up to the threat.
The components of the counterterrorism program for East Africa and the Horn are good as

far as they go. But the focus is primarily shortand medium-term: catching bad guys, providing

training and, to a limited extent, building up

counterterrorism infrastructure. What is missing

is a major, new, long-term program to reduce

poverty and social alienation.

U.S. foreign assistance worldwide in constant

dollars has declined about 44 percent since

1985 and another 18 percent since the collapse

of the Soviet Union in 1991. Until the U.S. and

the international community generally are prepared to put far more resources into improving

the environment that encourages terrorism—

namely poverty—it is difficult to see lasting

progress against this enemy. If only the U.S. had

had the foresight years ago to devote to counterterrorism and economic development the

equivalent cost of overthrowing the Taliban and

rebuilding a destroyed Afghanistan!

Assuming adequate financial assistance from

outside, countries in the region must bear the

primary responsibility for curbing terrorism.

They know the different cultures, speak the

local languages, and control the security forces.

Foreigners will never be able to function as

323

effectively in the native environment as local

nationals. Accordingly, action on the recent recommendation by the Africa Policy Advisory

Panel (organized by the Center for Strategic and

International Studies) for an annual $200 million

Muslim outreach initiative in Africa is long overdue.

Finally, the U.S. has allowed its language and

area expertise among foreign affairs personnel

to degrade to dangerous levels. The time has

come to rebuild this expertise. In the case of

East Africa and the Horn, there should be adequate numbers of Arabic, Somali, Swahili, and

Amharic speakers from State, the CIA, USAID,

and the military assigned to appropriate countries. Only then will the U.S. be able to engage

in reliable information-gathering and increase

the public affairs outreach to communities

where Islamic fundamentalism and sympathy

for terrorists are taking hold.

About the Author

David H. Shinn was a Foreign Service officer from 1964 to 2000, serving

as ambassador to Burkina Faso and Ethiopia, among many other postings, including deputy chief of mission in Sudan and Cameroun. He was

also State Department coordinator for Somalia during the American

intervention there. Since 2001 he has been adjunct professor in the

Elliott School of Intemational Affairs, George Washington University.

U.S. Marines and Irregular Warfare

Selected Bibliography

The following list of further readings constitutes merely an initial point of departure from

which readers might embark on their own,

longer journeys to explore any of the many topics that have been presented in this work. Like

the articles presented in the anthology itself, most

of the readings found in the following selected

references are introductory in nature and should

prove useful to a broad range of readers. The

bibliographic entries are presented in separate

sections that correspond directly with the chapter

headings found in this book (with the exception

of the "General Historical and Multiple-Topic

Works" in the initial section found immediately

below).

The reading list is not meant to be definitive in

scope, but acts instead as a preliminary guide for

readers, introducing them to a wide range of

materials from a variety of highly divergent

sources, running the academic gamut from traditional military, government, and university studies and publications to those produced by newer

"think-tank" and nongovernmental organizations.

In addition, almost all of the works found on the

following pages possess their own, often extensive, bibliographies that should be of interest to

many of the readers of this volume. The corpus

of entries found here—representing only a small

fraction of the enormous body of works that have

been written on these subjects—was selected to

illustrate the complexity involved in conducting

counterinsurgency and irregular war efforts, both

historically and in the contemporary Global War

on Terrorism ("Long War"), as well as the elements of national power that can be employed to

achieve the nation's policy objectives in these

types of conflicts.

Finally, several things should he noted in

regard to what was considered for inclusion in

the bibliography and what was not. First, like the

anthology, the bibliographic entries deal with

topics pertaining to counterinsurgency and irregular warfare involving only the United States—

325

the great expanse of works addressing the experiences of European nations, the Soviet Union,

and others are left largely unexplored. Beyond

this, the entries referenced comprise English-language sources only; works written in foreign languages are found more appropriately in specialized works. In addition, primary sources have

been excluded for the same reason, and the

analysis provided in many of the secondary

sources is better suited for mention in an introductory work in any event. Lastly, it should be

evident that the following works have a distinct

emphasis on one (or more) of several broad subjects: on higher-end operational/strategic level of

war considerations, on geopolitical context, and

on an array of related topics—political theory,

historical case studies, failed states, cultural studies and analysis, and others—that all provide

context or play a role in conducting a counterinsurgency and achieving success in the realm of

irregular warfare.

General Historical and Multiple-Topic Works

Bartmann, Barry, Tozun B. Bahcheli, and Henry

E. Srebrnik (editors). Dc Facto States: the Quest

for Sovereignty. New York and London:

Routledge, 2003.

Beckett, Ian F. W. Modern Insurgencies and

Counterinsurgencies: Guerrillas and Their

Opponents Since 1750. New York: Routledge,

2001.

Beede, Benjamin R. (editor). The War of 1898

and U.S. Interventions, 1898-1934: An

Encyclopedia. New York: Garland, 1994.

Boot, Max. The Savage Wars of Peace: Small Wars

and the Rise ofAmerican Power. New York: Basic

Books, 2002.

Bradford, James C. (editor). Crucible of Empire:

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publisher.

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Robert Debs Heinl Jr. and Nancy Gordon Heinl, "The

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Corps Gazette 62:12 (December 1978), 46-56.

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published in Hispanic American Historical Review 58

(November 1978), 649-75. Copyright © 1978 Duke

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permission of the publisher.

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originally published in William R. Roberts and Jack

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Marines' Combined Action Program in Vietnam," orig-
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Sweetman, eds., New Interpretations in Naval History.'

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by permission of the publisher.

Part VII

David W. Barno, "Challenges in Fighting a Global

Insurgency," originally published in Parameters 36:2

(Summer 2006), 15-30. Reprinted by permission of the

author and the publisher.

Thomas X. Hammes, "Countering Evolved Insurgent

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the publisher.

Barak A. Salmoni, "Advances in Predeployrnent

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(Spring 2003), 82-94. Reprinted by permission of the

author and the publisher.

Part IX

Thomas H. Johnson and M. Chris Mason,

"Understanding the Taliban and Insurgency in

342

Afghanistan," originally published in Orbis 51:1

(Winter 2007), 71-89. Reprinted by permission of the

publisher, Foreign Policy Research Institute

(www.fpri.org).

Sean M. Maloney, "Afghanistan Four Years On: An

Assessment," originally published in Parameters 35:3

(Autumn 2005), 21-32. Reprinted by permission of the

author and the publisher.

Part X

Michael Eisenstadt and Jeffrey White, "Assessing Iraq's

Sunni Arab Insurgency," Originally published in

Military Review 26 (May-June 2006), 33-51. Reprinted

by permission of the publisher.

Steven Metz, "Insurgency and Counterinsurgency in

Iraq," originally published in Washington Quarterly 27

(Winter 2004), 25-36. © 2003 by the Center for

Strategic and International Studies (CSIS) and the

Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Reprinted by

permission of the publisher.

Part XI

David J. Danelo, "Around the Horn," originally published in Proceedings 132:6 (June 2006) pp. 18-25.

Reprinted from Proceedings with permission;

Copyright © 2006 U.S. Naval Institute (www.usni.org).

Tom Dubs, "The War on Terrorism in the Horn of

Africa," originally published in Marine Corps Gazette

88:4 (April 2004), 54-60. Copyright © 2004 Marine

Corps Gazette. All rights reserved. Reprinted by permission of the publisher.

Kurt Shillinger, "Somaliland: Forward Step in

Countering Terrorism?" Originally published in Royal

United Services Institute Journal 150:2 (April 2005), 46-

53. Reprinted by permission of the publisher, Taylor &

Francis Ltd (www.informaworld.com).

David H. Shinn, "Africa and the Horn," originally published in Foreign Service journal, September 2004, 36-

42. Reprinted by permission of the publisher, the

American Foreign Service Association.
343

The Author

Colonel

Stephen S. Evans, USMCR,

researched and compiled this work

as a field historian with the Marine

Corps History Division. He has experience at various operational levels, both

joint and multinational, in the continental United States and overseas, and has

performed duty with all three Marine

Expeditionary Forces, Marine Forces

Atlantic, Marine Forces Europe, and U.S.

Forces Korea. He has also held a range

of positions in administrative and educational roles at Quantico and the

Pentagon. Colonel Evans holds a doctorate in history from Temple University

and has published two historical monographs.