TOM STODDART/GETTY IMAGES
Show Hide image

From Kosovo to the May doctrine, when is it just to go war?

The co-author of Tony Blair's Chicago speech on the tests for intervention. 

In her speech to the Republican party congressional conference in Philadelphia on 26 January, Theresa May distanced herself from what she described as “the failed policies of the past”. This was the first item: “The days of Britain and America intervening in sovereign countries in an attempt to remake the world in our own image are over.”

It was not an anti-interventionist speech, for May followed this by insisting that we cannot “afford to stand idly by when the threat is real and when it is in our own interests to intervene. We must be strong, smart and hard-headed. And we must demonstrate the resolve necessary to stand up for our interests.” She also spoke of the UK’s contribution to anti-Isis operations as well as international peacekeeping.

According to the media, presumably reflecting a briefing, May was repudiating Tony Blair’s Chicago speech of April 1999. The BBC described her speech as “arguably the biggest by a British prime minister” since “Mr Blair first advocated active military interventionism to overturn dictators and protect civilians”.

As I was outed many years ago as the one who provided the first draft of the relevant section of the Chicago speech, I have an almost proprietary interest in how it is interpreted. It is one of the curiosities of my career that, despite having written many books and articles, my best-known piece of writing was produced in a day and went out under somebody else’s name. Chicago is widely considered to have set the framework for what happened later in Iraq. My connection to the speech was highlighted as soon as I was appointed to the Chilcot ­inquiry, and was usually mentioned with the rider that I was not to be trusted.

It might, therefore, be useful to go back to the words of the speech and consider what I was trying to do with my draft. It should be noted that I contributed to only one section of a long speech and that there were material differences between my draft and the speech as delivered. Most importantly, what matters in the end is not what the speechwriter has in mind but what the politician who takes responsibility for the words thinks it means.

The immediate context was the Kosovo campaign, which was struggling at that time, and a coming Nato summit in Washington to mark the 50th anniversary of the Atlantic Treaty. As we now know, a difference of opinion between Tony Blair and Bill Clinton – about the need for a change of strategy if the Serbian leader Slobodan Milosevic was to be persuaded to budge – was dominating the pre-summit diplomacy. It was only because of the intensity of that diplomacy in the two weeks preceding the summit that I was asked by Jonathan Powell, Blair’s chief of staff, to help out with ideas for a speech. It was probably for the same reason that the draft was not seen by the Foreign Office before the speech was given.

Operation Desert Fox was also part of the backdrop to the speech. For three days the previous December, US and UK strikes had sought to “degrade” Iraqi weapons of mass destruction. We now know that these strikes made little difference to Iraqi capabilities, as there was little to degrade. The operation required the United Nations weapons inspectors to leave Iraq, and they were never allowed back in. That was why knowledge of what was going on there became even more scarce.

These operations against Iraq and Serbia, rather than an anticipation of regime change, led to the references in the speech to those two “dangerous and ruthless men – Saddam Hussein and Slobodan Milosevic”.

The issue was not how to take the interventionist impulse to the next stage of toppling dictators, but rather how to contain the impulse. Demands to intervene would be frequent and in many cases justified. Yet not all these demands could be met. This is why the speech described the “most pressing foreign policy problem” of the 1990s as one of identifying “the circumstances in which we should get actively involved in other people’s conflicts”.

Blair reminded the Chicago audience that “non-interference . . . in the affairs of other countries” had long been “considered an important principle of international order” and should not be jettisoned readily. The speech said: “One state should not feel it has the right to change the political system of another, or foment subversion or seize pieces of territory to which it feels it should have some claim.”

So this was hardly a call to remake the world in our image or overthrow dictators. The speech also pointed out that the non-interference norm had already been qualified in important respects – for instance, with genocide, when oppression has caused large flows of refugees, or when regimes have lost legitimacy, such as during the apartheid era in South Africa.

Having identified times when intervention would be justified, the next step was to observe that there were “many regimes that are undemocratic and engaged in barbarous acts. If we wanted to right every wrong that we see in the modern world then we would do little else [other] than intervene in the affairs of other countries. We would not be able to cope.”

Hence the need for what the draft called “tests” and the speech described as “con­siderations” – a less demanding term. So, what were these tests, and where did they come from?

 

***

 

The idea of tests to help decide whether to engage in a discretionary war came from the US secretary of defence Caspar Weinberger after the chaotic and painful American intervention in Beirut in the early 1980s, which he had opposed. In a speech in November 1984 he warned of the dangers of getting too involved in what he called “grey-
area conflicts”. These were his six tests:

l the United States should commit forces to overseas combat only when the particular engagement or occasion was deemed vital to national interests or those of allies;

l unless combat troops were to be used wholeheartedly, and with the clear intention of winning, they should not be committed at all;

l forces committed to overseas combat should have clearly defined political and military objectives;

l the relationship between these objectives and the forces committed – their size, composition and disposition – must be continually reassessed and adjusted if necessary;

l there must be some reasonable assurance of the support of the American people and their elected representatives in Congress;

l the commitment of US forces to combat should be a last resort.

These guidelines were clearly meant to be restrictive. The first was a national interest test and the last required the exhaustion of diplomacy. Three others reflected military demands for clarity about objectives and latitude on methods; the troops should know the job they were intended to do and have the means to do it properly. The penultimate test was about public opinion, reflecting the lingering impact in America of the Vietnam War.

In the 1990s, Colin Powell, as chairman of the joint chiefs of staff in the Clinton administration, followed the path set by Weinberger. Powell was careful to warn that there could be no “when-to-go-to-war” doctrine that would always work. The basic theme was that armed forces should not be misused – but that, when used, they should be able to get on with the job in hand.

By 1999, largely because of the war in Bosnia, it was evident that these tests were inadequate. Intervention involved becoming part of another country’s political struggles. The troops committed to a half-hearted engagement could become hapless witnesses to massacres, as in Srebrenica in 1995. UN resolutions, of which there were many on Bosnia, needed to be enforced. Now Kosovo was confirming the lesson that even though air power could make a big impact, only “boots on the ground” were likely to make a significant difference to Milosevic’s calculations. But this meant putting forces in harm’s way and risking political controversy back home, even more so if the action resulted in a long-term commitment. Once foreign forces were shoring things up it was going to be hard to remove them, which led to concerns about “exit strategies”. But if the conditions for an orderly exit were to be created it would require political and economic efforts alongside the military presence. Otherwise, exit could just lead to a quick return to the circumstances that had prompted intervention in the first place.

The Weinberger tests, therefore, no longer answered the question posed in my draft about when to get involved in other people’s conflicts. The tests I came up with survived in headline form from my draft to the final speech. Changes were made to the supporting arguments, in part to make them punchier, but also to relate them more directly to the ongoing conflict in Kosovo.

This was my first test:

 

Are we sure of our case? Many conflicts are confused in their origins. We must not rush in on the basis of media reports of terrible events that lack any context. We must acknowledge that war, as we have seen, is an imperfect instrument for easing humanitarian distress. In the process of doing good, innocents can easily get hurt. But war is sometimes the only means of dealing with the political forces ready to inflict such distress, and to ensure that they enjoy no lasting gain.

 

With Iraq in mind, the priority of being sure of the case now looks prescient and to a degree pointed. But it was there to ensure that evidence existed to support the claims being made about humanitarian need. (There had been an example in 1996 of a UN intervention force almost going to Zaire – now the Democratic Republic of Congo – when the situation was still confused.) This was already an issue with Kosovo, with critics of the operation claiming that the refugee crisis was a consequence, rather than a cause, of the Nato bombing, and dismissing allegations about Serb atrocities.

The speech, as delivered by Tony Blair, simply said: “First, are we sure of our case? War is an imperfect instrument for righting humanitarian distress; but armed force is sometimes the only means of dealing with dictators.” The effect was to change my meaning from a general humanitarian case to one that urged the need to deal forcefully with dictators, and specifically Milosevic, when they caused humanitarian distress.

The second test:

 

Have we exhausted all diplomatic options? At times we must negotiate with evildoers and negotiate seriously. This requires enormous clarity about our concerns and objectives. Of course a desperate desire for compromise can be exploited – but so can a refusal to compromise.

 

The final speech deleted everything after the first sentence and added: “We should always give peace every chance, as we have in the case of Kosovo.” This was a critical test, a warning against rushing into war, and one that had also appeared on Weinberger’s list. The speech as delivered insisted that there had been no such rush with Kosovo.

The third test:

 

On the basis of a practical assessment of the situation, are there military operations that we can sensibly and prudently undertake? At the moment the might of Nato is taking on a relatively small country in the middle of Europe and it has not been easy. We would give

false hope if we pretended to be able to deal with every outrage.

 

This captured the military concerns reflected in the Weinberger/Powell ­criteria without being over-prescriptive. The speech as delivered removed everything after the first sentence. It was somewhat naive of me even to think that a Nato leader would utter the second sentence at that time.

The fourth test:

 

Are we prepared for the long term? We have perhaps in the past talked too much of the need for “exit strategies” for the good reason that we do not want our forces to be tied up indefinitely. But it is a matter of fact that once we have made a commitment to these unfortunate societies we cannot simply walk away once the fighting is over. There will always be a job of political and economic reconstruction. Better to stay with moderate numbers of troops than to return for repeat performances with large numbers.

 

This was meant as a direct rebuke to the US line in Bosnia. Having taken the effort to stabilise a country, it was irresponsible then to talk only of how soon you hoped to leave, especially as that gave clues to the enemy about strategies they could adopt. Reference to the “long term” also indicated that events might not turn out as expected and that strategies would have to be adjusted. The speech simplified this without changing it substantially, the one exception being that it removed the reference to political and economic reconstruction.

The fifth test:

 

Do we have national interests involved? The case for action will always be stronger when national interests are at stake. The

Iraqi occupation of Kuwait was a blatant aggression that had to be reversed: there is nothing to be ashamed of in pointing out that this took place in a strategically important oil-producing part of the world. The mass expulsion of ethnic Albanians from Kosovo demanded the notice of the rest of the world: it does make a difference that this is taking place in such a combustible part of Europe.

 

 

The change in the speech as given was to remove the reference to Iraq, mainly, I suspect, to keep the focus on Kosovo.

I remember thinking hard about whether to include this test but I did so because I doubted that there would be many purely humanitarian interventions. It was a nod in the direction of the realists but it was also important to demonstrate that there was more at stake than just doing good.

Elsewhere in his speech, Blair sought to demonstrate that national and international interests had to be and could be closely aligned, perhaps thereby rendering this test meaningless. This was not my argument and I don’t think it was his. If anything this was the test that could trump the others, providing a reason to stay out as well as go in, whatever the other tests suggested.

This was therefore the test most open to interpretation. Different governments would have different views on what constituted the national interest. In addition, official definitions of the national interest often lump together a number of desiderata that can be in contradiction with each other. This is why Theresa May’s focus on the national interest in her Philadelphia speech still leaves her with considerable latitude.

 

***

What was missing? There was no reference to maintaining public support for intervention. My view was that if the case was strong enough, that was a matter for political leadership. In the light of Iraq, I would probably now warn more of the problems of going to war with a divided country.

Another notable gap is a legal test. After Blair delivered his speech, this worried ­Foreign Office lawyers, who were already explaining the legality of Kosovo with a new rationale based on humanitarianism. The difficulty at the time, to which the speech alluded, was that the UN Security Council was increasingly divided on these matters. The hope was expressed that a new unity could be achieved, but this turned out to be forlorn.

Do such tests have much value? One difficulty is that they can easily be overruled when a strong political current is pushing matters towards unwarranted activity (or unwarranted passivity). Another is that although it might be expected that they will be met in prospect, the position can look very different in retrospect. Finally, if one of the tests was not met would that invalidate the whole exercise, or can the various criteria be weighed against each other?

While these problems argue for handling the Chicago tests with care, they still point to issues that will always need to be addressed. Certainly, once a government has set out a framework for thinking about the use of armed force it is not unreasonable to turn to it when evaluating possible actions.

Which brings us to Iraq. The Chilcot inquiry accepted that Blair was sure of his case, though with hindsight this was poorly founded and there were plausible military options. It criticised the decision to go to war, because invading Iraq was not a last resort. The inspections process was far from exhausted and the only reason to start operations in March 2003 was the US military timetable. The inquiry also condemned the preparations for the long haul as wholly inadequate. I suspect that for Blair the national interest test – the need to sustain the special relationship in the aftermath of the 11 September 2001 attacks – was ­overriding. Tellingly, in his memoir he observed: “In retrospect, applying those tests to Iraq shows what a finely balanced case it was, and why I never thought those who disagreed were stupid or weak-minded.”

This article is based on the David Davies Memorial Lecture, delivered on 7 February 2017 at the University of Aberystwyth. A longer version will appear in the June 2017 issue of the quarterly International Relations

This article first appeared in the 06 April 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Spring Double Issue

Show Hide image

Why Jeremy Corbyn is a new leader for the New Times

In an inspired election campaign, he confounded his detractors and showed that he was – more than any other leader – in tune with the times.

There have been two great political turning points in postwar Britain. The first was in 1945 with the election of the Attlee government. Driven by a popular wave of determination that peacetime Britain would look very different from the mass unemployment of the 1930s, and built on the foundations of the solidaristic spirit of the war, the Labour government ushered in full employment, the welfare state (including the NHS) and nationalisation of the basic industries, notably coal and the railways. It was a reforming government the like of which Britain had not previously experienced in the first half of the 20th century. The popular support enjoyed by the reforms was such that the ensuing social-democratic consensus was to last until the end of the 1970s, with Tory as well as Labour governments broadly operating within its framework.

During the 1970s, however, opposition to the social-democratic consensus grew steadily, led by the rise of the radical right, which culminated in 1979 in the election of Margaret Thatcher’s first government. In the process, the Thatcherites redefined the political debate, broadening it beyond the rather institutionalised and truncated forms that it had previously taken: they conducted a highly populist campaign that was for individualism and against collectivism; for the market and against the state; for liberty and against trade unionism; for law and order and against crime.

These ideas were dismissed by the left as just an extreme version of the same old Toryism, entirely failing to recognise their novelty and therefore the kind of threat they posed. The 1979 election, followed by Ronald Reagan’s US victory in 1980, began the neoliberal era, which remained hegemonic in Britain, and more widely in the West, for three decades. Tory and Labour governments alike operated within the terms and by the logic of neoliberalism. The only thing new about New Labour was its acquiescence in neoliberalism; even in this sense, it was not new but derivative of Thatcherism.

The financial crisis of 2007-2008 marked the beginning of the end of neoliberalism. Unlike the social-democratic consensus, which was undermined by the ideological challenge posed by Thatcherism, neoliberalism was brought to its knees not by any ideological alternative – such was the hegemonic sway of neoliberalism – but by the biggest financial crisis since 1931. This was the consequence of the fragility of a financial sector left to its own devices as a result of sweeping deregulation, and the corrupt and extreme practices that this encouraged.

The origin of the crisis lay not in the Labour government – complicit though it was in the neoliberal indulgence of the financial sector – but in the deregulation of the banking sector on both sides of the Atlantic in the 1980s. Neoliberalism limped on in the period after 2007-2008 but as real wages stagnated, recovery proved a mirage, and, with the behaviour of the bankers exposed, a deep disillusionment spread across society. During 2015-16, a populist wave of opposition to the establishment engulfed much of Europe and the United States.

Except at the extremes – Greece perhaps being the most notable example – the left was not a beneficiary: on the contrary it, too, was punished by the people in the same manner as the parties of the mainstream right were. The reason was straightforward enough. The left was tarnished with the same brush as the right: almost everywhere social-democratic parties, albeit to varying degrees, had pursued neoliberal policies. Bill Clinton and Tony Blair became – and presented themselves as – leaders of neoliberalism and as enthusiastic advocates of a strategy of hyper-globalisation, which resulted in growing inequality. In this fundamental respect these parties were more or less ­indistinguishable from the right.

***

The first signs of open revolt against New Labour – the representatives and evangelists of neoliberal ideas in the Labour Party – came in the aftermath of the 2015 ­election and the entirely unpredicted and overwhelming victory of Jeremy Corbyn in the leadership election. Something was happening. Yet much of the left, along with the media, summarily dismissed it as a revival of far-left entryism; that these were for the most part no more than a bunch of Trots. There is a powerful, often overwhelming, tendency to see new phenomena in terms of the past. The new and unfamiliar is much more difficult to understand than the old and familiar: it requires serious intellectual effort and an open and inquiring mind. The left is not alone in this syndrome. The right condemned the 2017 Labour Party manifesto as a replica of Labour’s 1983 manifesto. They couldn’t have been more wrong.

That Corbyn had been a veteran of the far left for so long lent credence to the idea that he was merely a retread of a failed past: there was nothing new about him. In a brilliant election campaign, Corbyn not only gave the lie to this but also demonstrated that he, far more than any of the other party leaders, was in tune with the times, the candidate of modernity.

Crises, great turning points, new conjunctures, new forms of consciousness are by definition incubators of the new. That is one of the great sources of their fascination. We can now see the line of linkage between the thousands of young people who gave Corbyn his overwhelming victory in the leadership election in 2015 and the millions of young people who were enthused by his general election campaign in 2017. It is no accident that it was the young rather than the middle-aged or the seniors who were in the vanguard: the young are the bearers and products of the new, they are the lightning conductors of change. Their elders, by contrast, are steeped in old ways of thinking and doing, having lived through and internalised the values and norms of neoliberalism for more than 30 years.

Yet there is another, rather more important aspect to how we identify the new, namely the way we see politics and how politics is conceived. Electoral politics is a highly institutionalised and tribal activity. There have been, as I argued earlier, two great turning points in postwar politics: the social-democratic era ushered in by the 1945 Labour government and the neoliberal era launched by the Tory government in 1979.

The average Tory MP or activist, no doubt, would interpret history primarily in terms of Tory and Labour governments; Labour MPs and activists would do similarly. But this is a superficial reading of politics based on party labels which ignores the deeper forces that shape different eras, generate crises and result in new paradigms.

Alas, most political journalists and columnists are afflicted with the same inability to distinguish the wood (an understanding of the deeper historical forces at work) from the trees (the day-to-day manoeuvring of parties and politicians). In normal times, this may not be so important, because life continues for the most part as before, but at moments of great paradigmatic change it is absolutely critical.

If the political journalists, and indeed the PLP, had understood the deeper forces and profound changes now at work, they would never have failed en masse to rise above the banal and predictable in their assessment of Corbyn. Something deep, indeed, is happening. A historical era – namely, that of neoliberalism – is in its death throes. All the old assumptions can no longer be assumed. We are in new territory: we haven’t been here before. The smart suits long preferred by New Labour wannabes are no longer a symbol of success and ambition but of alienation from, and rejection of, those who have been left behind; who, from being ignored and dismissed, are in the process of moving to the centre of the political stage.

Corbyn, you may recall, was instantly rejected and ridiculed for his sartorial style, and yet we can now see that, with a little smartening, it conveys an authenticity and affinity with the times that made his style of dress more or less immune from criticism during the general election campaign. Yet fashion is only a way to illustrate a much deeper point.

The end of neoliberalism, once so hegemonic, so commanding, is turning Britain on its head. That is why – extraordinary when you think about it – all the attempts by the right to dismiss Corbyn as a far-left extremist failed miserably, even proved counterproductive, because that was not how people saw him, not how they heard him. He was speaking a language and voicing concerns that a broad cross-section of the public could understand and identify with.

***

The reason a large majority of the PLP was opposed to Corbyn, desperate to be rid of him, was because they were still living in the neoliberal era, still slaves to its ideology, still in thrall to its logic. They knew no other way of thinking or political being. They accused Corbyn of being out of time when in fact it was most of the PLP – not to mention the likes of Mandelson and Blair – who were still imprisoned in an earlier historical era. The end of neoliberalism marks the death of New Labour. In contrast, Corbyn is aligned with the world as it is rather than as it was. What a wonderful irony.

Corbyn’s success in the general election requires us to revisit some of the assumptions that have underpinned much political commentary over the past several years. The turmoil in Labour ranks and the ridiculing of Corbyn persuaded many, including on the left, that Labour stood on the edge of the abyss and that the Tories would continue to dominate for long into the future. With Corbyn having seized the political initiative, the Tories are now cast in a new light. With Labour in the process of burying its New Labour legacy and addressing a very new conjuncture, then the end of neoliberalism poses a much more serious challenge to the Tories than it does the Labour Party.

The Cameron/Osborne leadership was still very much of a neoliberal frame of mind, not least in their emphasis on austerity. It would appear that, in the light of the new popular mood, the government will now be forced to abandon austerity. Theresa May, on taking office, talked about a return to One Nation Toryism and the need to help the worst-off, but that has never moved beyond rhetoric: now she is dead in the water.

Meanwhile, the Tories are in fast retreat over Brexit. They held a referendum over the EU for narrowly party reasons which, from a national point of view, was entirely unnecessary. As a result of the Brexit vote, the Cameron leadership was forced to resign and the Brexiteers took de facto command. But now, after the election, the Tories are in headlong retreat from anything like a “hard Brexit”. In short, they have utterly lost control of the political agenda and are being driven by events. Above all, they are frightened of another election from which Corbyn is likely to emerge as leader with a political agenda that will owe nothing to neoliberalism.

Apart from Corbyn’s extraordinary emergence as a leader who understands – and is entirely comfortable with – the imperatives of the new conjuncture and the need for a new political paradigm, the key to Labour’s transformed position in the eyes of the public was its 2017 manifesto, arguably its best and most important since 1945. You may recall that for three decades the dominant themes were marketisation, privatisation, trickle-down economics, the wastefulness and inefficiencies of the state, the incontrovertible case for hyper-globalisation, and bankers and financiers as the New Gods.

Labour’s manifesto offered a very different vision: a fairer society, bearing down on inequality, a more redistributive tax system, the centrality of the social, proper funding of public services, nationalisation of the railways and water industry, and people as the priority rather than business and the City. The title captured the spirit – For the Many Not the Few. Or, to put in another way, After Neoliberalism. The vision is not yet the answer to the latter question, but it represents the beginnings of an answer.

Ever since the late 1970s, Labour has been on the defensive, struggling to deal with a world where the right has been hegemonic. We can now begin to glimpse a different possibility, one in which the left can begin to take ownership – at least in some degree – of a new, post-neoliberal political settlement. But we should not underestimate the enormous problems that lie in wait. The relative economic prospects for the country are far worse than they have been at any time since 1945. As we saw in the Brexit vote, the forces of conservatism, nativism, racism and imperial nostalgia remain hugely powerful. Not only has the country rejected continued membership of the European Union, but, along with the rest of the West, it is far from reconciled with the new world that is in the process of being created before our very eyes, in which the developing world will be paramount and in which China will be the global leader.

Nonetheless, to be able to entertain a sense of optimism about our own country is a novel experience after 30 years of being out in the cold. No wonder so many are feeling energised again.

This article first appeared in the 15 June 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Corbyn: revenge of the rebel

Martin Jacques is the former editor of Marxism Today. 

This article first appeared in the 15 June 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Corbyn: revenge of the rebel

0800 7318496