One Way to Approach the War with Iraq

by Peter L. Hahn

Mr. Hahn is Associate Professor of History at Ohio State University and the Executive Director of the Society for Historians of American Foreign Relations.

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Following is the text of a lecture Mr. Hahn delivered at the annual meeting of the Organization of American Historians on April 5, 2003. He spoke at a panel devoted to the subject of the Iraq war.

I applaud the OAH for organizing this panel discussion. It is indeed appropriate for an organization whose members are the custodians of the American collective memory to provide time for discourse about current events that might form a major watershed in the history of the American people if not the global community. I feel privileged to have the chance to share my own reflections in this venue.

I will venture to suggest an interpretive paradigm that might inform our discussion of the war here today and perhaps offer you a means to lead discussions in your local communities and classrooms. Then I will make observations, raise questions, and think aloud about the momentous events of our day. Who knows? I might even "shock and awe" you.

I borrow my analytical construct from the historian Philip Gleason, who posited that all historical inquiry can be divided into three types of questions.(1) The first is the narrative or descriptive question: what happened? The second is the explanatory or causal query: why did it happen? And the third is the evaluative inquiry: should it have happened? Was it good or bad that it happened?

I believe that the progression from level 1 to level 3 often involves a progression from objectivity to subjectivity. As we evaluate at levels 2 and 3, we confront a tendency to interpret the evidence on the basis of our own cultural values, ethnicity, gender, nationalism, religion, and politics.

The basic, level 1 question "what happened?" is at the heart of what we professional historians do. Like detectives, we pride ourselves on probing the archives and assembling the evidence that tells the story or "proves" the "facts." Consensus usually prevails at this level of inquiry.

Yet the narrative provides only the building blocks of interpretation at level 2, where we encounter the challenge of causation. We try to make a case why something happened on the basis of evidence and reason. Yet academic disputes emerge at level 2 because subjective factors creep into our interpretations, as we privilege certain pieces of evidence and marginalize others.

In contrast to the academic disputes at level 2, analyses of the level 3 questions tend to be marked by more complex disagreements. Perhaps that is because level 3 evaluations are the most likely to be influenced by subjective factors. Perhaps it is because our level 3 evaluations correlate to our level 2 interpretations. On level 3 we pose the most interesting and perhaps the most important questions--but we also find the most divisive and heartfelt disputes.

With this three-level framework in mind, I turn to the task of reflecting on the war in Iraq. On level 1, the basic contours of the U.S. approach to war already seem clear. No one questions that Iraqi forces invaded Kuwait on August 2, 1990. No one disputes the evidence that on March 19, 2003, President Bush targeted Saddam Hussein's bunker in Baghdad and fired the shot heard--or at least watched--'round the world.

Future level 1 inquiries about the war will benefit from the enormous body of information already available about it. An information overload has resulted from two factors. First is the modern media, with its copious press coverage of the diplomatic phase, its hundreds of embedded journalists reporting in real time from the battlefield, its global network that goes after the story from many angles, its al-Jazeeras on the Internet. Such immediate and widespread access to information about a war has no precedent in history.

Second, U.S. diplomacy also appeared somewhat more transparent than usual. Bush's global diplomacy forced him to divulge the fundamentals of his policy to a worldwide audience. He was no James K. Polk, advancing the Army to the Rio Grande without consulting Congress in 1846. Nor was he FDR, secretly taunting the German navy on the North Atlantic in autumn 1941, out of sight of the American people. Bush laid his cards on the table. Well before we professional historians begin poring over memoirs and sifting through archives, we have a head start at assembling the basic narrative of diplomacy, war, and peace.

By contrast, deep and broad divisions have emerged in public discourse about the causes of the war. At level 2, we face the central question, why did Bush abandon diplomacy and escalate to hostilities?

Answers to this question are as diverse and numerous as the op-ed columnists and street demonstrators who rail against and for the war. Is it a case of blood for oil? Is it a legitimate defensive strike against a clear and present danger? Is it a manifestation of American arrogance and unilateralism? Is it machismo run amok? Is it an idealistic mission to improve the world or to remake the Middle East in the American image? Is it a war to finish Dad's work and polish his legacy? One question provokes many answers, because subjective factors begin to shape the way we interpret evidence.

The debate among professional historians is now underway-16 minutes and counting. If we look for models in the literature-say, on the origins of the Cold War, or even the origins of the War of 1812--we should expect this discussion to continue for many years. Perhaps our debate has been foreshadowed by the voices of dissent and support now audible outside of the ivory tower. But it will fall to us professionals to assemble the narrative and sustain the interpretations.

And now we consider the level 3 question: was U.S. policy in this conflict right or wrong? Like the questions at level 2, this query has provoked heated, impassioned debate. Virtually everyone--from the most expert scholar to the man or woman on the street--has a position on the justice of this war.

We scholars aspire to base our evaluations on a hard-headed analysis of the level 1 facts, reflection on level 2 causal explanations, and a dose of rational thought. Or so we think. Most people--and perhaps all of us-actually evaluate the war on the basis of values, interests, biases, and principles shaped by our own life experiences.

An attentive ear can discern several such convictions and ideologies in the current debate. Consider first the extremes. On one hand, we hear that war is always evil. Might does not make right. Bush stole the election and deserves to be brought low. At the other extreme, we hear God bless America. Rally round the flag. Let's roll.

At the messy intersection between the extremes, historians and others grapple with arguments and convictions that compete for our minds. Could might occasionally make right? Can a patriot celebrate the flag as a symbol of diplomacy rather than war, of liberty by example rather than coercion? Are there genuine national security interests that must be defended by force? Or does the fighting undermine national security? Does the end justify the means? Or must the means--including the casualty rates-figure in the calculus?

Further to complicate the situation, we historians also wrestle with historical precedents. Are we witnessing Munich or the Gulf of Tonkin? Pickett's charge or D-Day? Do the "lessons of the past" that we cite reveal some truth about today's situation, or do they reveal only our own predispositions?

An additional complication arises as current events move into the realm of the past. Future debates about today's war will no doubt turn in part on the outcome of the war, which we cannot possibly know at this moment. The ultimate verdict will depend on factors that remain shrouded in the fog of the future.

Imagine, for instance, that Bush's most optimistic dream comes true. Saddam's regime is eradicated with minimal casualties. We find that Saddam had weapons of mass destruction and intended to use them except that his top generals finally heeded all those leaflets and turned on him.

Freed of their tormentor, the people of Baghdad dance in the streets. A new Iraq arises as a bastion of stability and democracy, triggering a "change in the neighborhood" of the Middle East. We see the domino effect in reverse--with autocratic regimes tumbling toward democracy, reminding us of Eastern Europe in 1989--and even the Israel-Palestine imbroglio is settled. Bush coasts to a second term by stuffing the ballot box with ticker tape, before heading to Oslo to accept the Nobel Prize for Peace.

Such an outcome would generate a crescendo of celebration--certainly in public discourse and perhaps even in our scholarship. We would ride a wave of triumphalism like the one that crested after the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991.

At the other extreme, imagine that the U.S. crusade in Iraq turns sour and nasty. Hundreds of Americans and thousands of Iraqis die in a televised urban war, like the film Black Hawk Down, only live and unfiltered by Hollywood. A stray Scud hits Tel Aviv, with toxins agents aboard. A sleeper cell strikes deep in the American heartland with catastrophic results. The economy sputters. A once audacious cowboy, his ten-gallon hat in tatters, rides off into a Texas sunset, four years ahead of plan.

Such an outcome would naturally trigger a generation of soul-searching, cynical second-guessing, finger-pointing, and humility in the American psyche. The spectre of Vietnam would rise from its grave.

I doubt that the war will turn out as clearly as either of these extremes. We might expect a partial victory, which by definition means a partial defeat. The outcome might be muddled rather than clear, shades of gray rather than a stark black and white. Even a declared military triumph will have Pyrrhic dimensions.

In that case, there will be little consensus on the key questions of why we went to war and whether we should have done so. The debate will go on and on, as intelligent people analyze evidence on the basis of varying standards of evaluation and come to different conclusions.

1. Philip Gleason, Keeping the Faith: American Catholicism Past and Present (Notre Dame: UND Press, 1987): 202-225.