Wars Are For Winning - America's Ignorance Of History, An Unwinnable War, And Ultimate Iranian Victory

The War in Iran should be over by now, but President Trump is still talking about negotiated deals, promises to denuclearize, keep the Strait of Hormuz open for shipping, recognition of Israel, and assurances that support of regional terrorists - Hamas, Hezbollah, the Houthis, ISIS, and a range of other equally violent Muslim organizations which are committed to an Islamist caliphate - will cease. 

Whistlin' Dixie of course.  The regime of the mullahs has never once in its almost fifty years of theocratic rule backed off from its determination to annihilate the Jews and wipe Israel off the map, extend Islamic hegemony across the region, and continue to threated the United States, 'The Great Satan'.  Why would Trump possibly believe that the Iranians want peace and want to be brought back into the commonwealth of civilized nations?

So, against all historical advice from Machiavelli to Clausewitz to Kissinger, the American President with no clear objective in mind, launched attacks on the Iranian regime. While these attacks were successful - the Ayatollah was eliminated along with his inner circle of advisers - they did nothing to bring the country to heel.  Iran had tens of thousands of missiles and drones deployed throughout the country, hidden in deep underground silos which even with the best Israeli intelligence, escaped destruction. 

More important, the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC), the real power in the country, is alive and well.  It is the force responsible for the murder of 30,000 peaceful protesters, a paramilitary army not stationed in barracks, encampments, and bases but scattered throughout the country and as effective as the Viet Cong as an enforcing, intimidating power.  The 'regime' may have been toppled but the wrong one. 

The attempts to eliminate the IRGC has been no different than America's attempts to destroy the Viet Cong in the War in Vietnam.  Rolling Thunder, a campaign in which thousands of giant B-52 bombers dumped their payloads on the critical Ho Chi Minh Trail, the main supply route from North to South, but the resilient Viet Cong simply went underground in tunnels and caves, waited until the bombers had passed, emerged, rebuilt the trail, and continued their effective village terror. 

The Iranian regime, however now it is constituted, is not alone in its fight against the United States.  America's arch-adversaries, Russia and China, let alone North Korea, continue to supply the country with thousands of drones and the wherewithal to produce missiles.  Iran is not a third world country without intellectual resources.  It is quite capable of building a nuclear capacity and a strong high-tech military. 

When asked what the purpose of the war is, the Trump Administration searches for answers. It is not regime change, they say, although after the first days of the war, the son of former Shah Reza Pahlavi went on national television to announce that he was ready to return to Iran and to oversee the building of a liberal democracy.  Only ridding the country of a regime responsible for the murder of so many innocent civilians would do. 

When that goal seemed impossible, the Trump Administration said that its purpose was to completely destroy Iran's military capability; but that proved to be just as hopeless.  Despite weeks of strategic bombing, Iranian drones and missiles were striking friends and foes alike. 

Then American attention turned to securing promises from the Iranians to keep the Straits of Hormuz open to shipping - an easy compromise since the Straits had always been open and under Iranian control; but the canny Iranians said that they would guarantee peaceful passage with conditions - unacceptable military and strategic conditions which would allow the regime to restore and rebuild. 

Finally, it has come down to 'a negotiated peace' which amounts to nothing less than a capitulation by the United States which was unable to topple the real regime, to destroy Iran's military capacity, and to extract concessions to cease and desist aggression in the Middle East. 

The media reported that the generals meeting with Trump in the War Room had even broached the nuclear option - do a Curtis Lemay and blow the whole bloody place off the map - but of course the calculus of nuclear warfare has changed since Harry Truman pushed the red button and unleased nuclear holocaust on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  Wars are no longer for winning if civilian populations must be killed along with military personnel.   Hitler and Hirohito were considered existential enemies to the West and to the very code of freedom it espoused, and any measure to defeat them was acceptable. 

Iran and radical Islam are no less existential threats, but the Iranian population - at least in the eyes of American moral exceptionalists - is not complicit as was shown by the massive street demonstrations before the start of the war.  Blowing Iran off the face of the map would mean annihilating millions of faithful, good, democratic spirited, secular-minded civilians. 

So the war drags on with no end in sight, particularly with no good results for the Unites States.  No matter how the war ends, Iran will be the victor.  It will continue producing and shipping oil, it will slowly but surely rebuild its nuclear capacity, and will continue to support its claims to regional Islamic hegemony. 

'Never begin a war you are not confident of winning', Clausewitz observed. In this view, war is not an independent activity but a means to achieve political objectives. The use of force, coercion, and military action is necessary to compel an opponent to submit to one’s will. Clausewitz emphasized that the value of the political goal determines the sacrifices—military, economic, and human—that should be made to achieve it. If the cost of pursuing a goal exceeds its value, the goal must be abandoned. 

The problem with the war in Iran was that the Trump Administration never was even able to define what 'winning' was.  It is one thing to study the calculus of invasion - the costs of fighting and the value of victory - another thing altogether to struggle to define purpose; and in this indefinability, victory was conceded to the Iranians before the first bomb was dropped. 

The greatest leader in world history, Genghis Khan, knew exactly what he was about when he led tens of thousands of horsemen thundering out of the steppes.  He wanted to conquer the known world, to bring each and every tribe, region, territory and jurisdiction under Mongol-Turk rule.  In the end, his empire was one of history's biggest and most powerful, and he did it only one way - with the brutal force of arms 

Genghis Khan was a charismatic and fearsome figure.  He and his armies were known for their cruelty and barbarity, and the sight of them advancing across the battlefield in a storm of dust, the earth shaking with the thunder of 50,000 hooves, was enough to send enemies into retreat. The thought alone of this terrible, bloodthirsty, and mighty warrior was enough to rout enemy armies. Genghis Khan was a man of absolute will and power, a frightening presence of power and vengeance.  He was a horseman of the Apocalypse. 

 

There have been many successful armies in the world.  Julius Caesar, Scipio Africanus, Pompey the Great, and Marcus Agrippa were as brilliant generals as Genghis Khan, and brought Roman organization, discipline, and management to the battle.  They won because of superior ability, armaments, and military thinking; yet it was Genghis Khan who, with an almost untamed savagery, conquered the world.  At its height the Mongol Empire extended from far eastern China to the Danube, the biggest empire the world has ever seen. 

Genghis Khan was a brilliant strategist, canny politician who through tact, intimidation, and offers of great spoils, enticed the warlike Turkic tribes to join his armies, nearly doubling their strength.  However, it was not only the might of his imposing armies, nor his ability to manage, discipline, and control such a large and diverse military force; nor even his tactical acumen and understanding of calculated risk which assured victory.  It was his indomitable, absolute, unalloyed will. 

Khan had no qualms, moral reservations, or ethical hesitancy.  Wars were for winning, civilians were complicit enemies, and total annihilation of any opposition was his modus belli. Not only would defeated populations be without the wherewithal to mount a resistance or counterattack, they would never dare to incite the bloody, murderous, savage wrath of the conqueror.

We have come a long way from Genghis Khan.  Many say we have progressed and become more considerate, humane, and compassionate.  We should look to an end of war, not ways to improve it.  Many others say that the calculus - human nature - has not changed.  Wars will always be a feature of human society and as such should be fought with only one thing in mind - winning. 

The Saga Of The White House Ballroom - Sturm Und Drang, Trump Hatred, And The Clown Show Of Gossipy Women

Marge Ellen Talbot threw the Washington Post on the table and shouted at her husband, 'Do you know what Trump just did?'. 

By now Harper Talbot was used to his wife's Trump hysteria, so he took another bite of toast, smiled, and waited. 

'The ballroom', she spluttered. 'The White House ballroom.  To get it through Congress he declared it a military facility! Can you imagine?'

Of course he could.  The man - Donald Trump - was a genius at driving the Left completely batshit over nothing, having a gay old time of it, watching their apoplectic Saint Vitus' dances, hip-hopping, flailing, and howling like the demented souls of Bedlam and Broadmoor. 

Harper was amazed that his wife - intelligent, the best schools, professional occupation, responsible mother had been so taken in by Trump's hilarious chicanery. How had she had so completely missed the point and gone so far  'round the bend with a million other middle class matrons over trivialities - the ballroom, the Victory Arch, the Field of American heroes, the Kennedy Center, etc.?

How could anyone not see what this vaudevillian impresario was doing?  He was in his second and last term, a billionaire, happy to retire to Mar-a-Lago and live out his life in luxury, unconcerned about legacy, history, or the yapping, carping street dogs that had pursued him without success for years.  

The Presidency was not exactly the Big Top, but along with reconfiguring foreign policy in a Machiavellian, America-first policy to match the nationalism and realpolitik of Russia and China; along with closing the borders, untethering the private sector from punitive regulations, rolling back woke idiocy, and dismantling the bureaucracy, he was having his jolly way with the Left. 

He loved to watch them squirm, loved to call out the stupidity of media shills at press conferences, and above all loved creating havoc with liberals’ sanctimonious, airy, impossibly foolish agenda.  Quite the guy, thought Harper Talbot. Quite the guy. 

Of course Harper kept all this to himself.  No reason to get into an argument with his wife who, like her colleagues, was fixed in stone when it came to Donald Trump.  Nothing he did, ipso facto, could be right, reasonable, or just.  He was an autocrat, an elitist Wall Street goon, a mountebank, a racist pig. 

Harper Talbot had been married long enough to overlook his wife's growing eccentricities.  They had had a good life together, had produced two children and many grandchildren, so let her rant and rave if it feels good.  

God only knows she wasn't the only one.  All he had to do was walk out the door, greet his neighbors, and get harangued over something that Trump had done.  

Women were the worst - something stuck more chokingly in the female craw than in the male, and these ordinarily sedate and centered women kept trying to cough up the bolus of Trump cat hair day and night. 

What was it about women, Harper wondered?  Why should they be so infected by this virus of insensate hate, this persistent animus, this emotional plague that kept them awake and kept them caterwauling night and day?  How was it that men saw through the Trump charade, the marvelous side show that was his Presidency, the over-the-top hilarity of his barbs, ad hominem arrows, and politically incorrect and rude behavior? 

Of course there were men and plenty of them who opposed Trump policies.  Harper had gone to Yale with a number of former North Shore, Piping Rock conservatives whose heads had been turned by the infamous William Sloane Coffin, Yale Chaplain, civil rights activist and first on the bus to Selma to march with Martin and Ralph.  

Anson White, scion of the White shipping conglomerate, brought up in solid patrician, dutiful patriotic ways, turned against family legacy and rode alongside the Reverend to do the right thing. 

But even he never went into the whirling dervish apoplexy that so characterized Harper's wife and her friends.  He harped on incessantly about the black man, the warming planet, the rights of asylees, the place of women, and the distortions of the capitalist markets, but he left all the rest aside. The ballroom, the arch, the reflecting pool, the gilding of statues were distractions from the real business of the day - radical progressivism. 

'How could he?, Marge Ellen wailed, looking around for something to grab.  She wanted to pick up Aunt Tilly's Victorian cruet - an ugly, ungainly piece that had stood as a centerpiece to the dining table for years - and throw it shattering against the wall.  'That man...we must...he's...', and with that she stormed off to the kitchen where she blew off steam by banging the pots and pans in the drainer. 

Tonight was her bi-weekly political meeting - a group of like-minded women who gathered together to commiserate and consider ways of protest; but it was really little more than a girls' night out, a gossipy affair which rarely got down to business.  

The women bitched all evening, but only with a half-hour before closing time did they get down to Donald Trump, and by then they were all spent what with Betty Helander's drinking problem, Louise Banner's afternoon dalliances, Felicity James' total parking disrespect, and the scrofulous Fletcher twins. 

Harper was no misogynist by any means.  He admired, respected, and loved strong, determined women; and so was initially befuddled and perplexed by their cattiness and gossipy flightiness.  The ballroom?  The arch? In his view, a male view, a subscript in the Trump text perhaps, but nothing more.  

The girls' nights out were what made the whole Trump thing crystal clear.  These women - and here Harper hated to generalize to all women, but again and again during the Trump Derangement Syndrome phase it was women who jumped around like mad chickens.

Women loved to gossip, to find fault, pounce on peccadilloes, to take their pound of flesh in small bites, to nitpick, insinuate, and cavil. Why shouldn't they take this spitefulness to the top?  The ballroom was no different than Hermione Baxter's depression or Randall Ives' run-in with the law. 

So much so that liberal women had become a laughing stock - a caricature, a freak show, a predictably and hilariously unhinged lot of clowns - and they, decked out in warpaint, dyed hair, piercings, and thrift store ensembles, played the part to a 'T'.  

Now, Harper's wife, Marge Ellen had not gone that far, although one day not long ago she and her coffee klatch friends boarded a school bus and went down to the Mall to demonstrate for abortion and against Trump's vile, misogynist, Bible-thumping posturing.  Best left to the younger generation they concluded after a hot, sweaty four hours in the sun; but they had at least put their money where their mouths were. 

When Marge Ellen had come in bedraggled, knackered, and ready to cry, Harper knew that she had overstepped her limits.  Better stick to Trump hatred from Bethesda, couched in girly gossip and righteousness. 

When Diversity Means Conformity - A Clown Show To Hide Serious Political Intent

 No rational observer takes the progressive canon on face value.  Diversity, equity, inclusion - the liturgy of social reform - is nothing more than a cover for a more serious political intent.  Who every thought that the Biden open border policy was a humanitarian gesture, a reprise of Ellis Island and multicultural early 20th Century America?  Anyone paying attention saw it for the calculated policy to engineer redistricting and ensure Democrat majorities; and to fill non-ID voter rolls with those thankful for Democrat generosity and largesse.  

 

Does any progressive who publicly champions the black man and commits to raising him atop the human pyramid, recognize his forest-sentient origins, his closeness to Nature and the Environment and his native power really believe in such cant?  The African diaspora is immured in dysfunctional urban cells - 'inner city' neighborhoods of crime, truancy, drugs, and violence; and the mother-lode, Africa itself is a failed continent on all points of the compass.  Black-love, the overrepresentation of black faces on television, cinema, political office, and public affairs, is nothing more than a convenient coverlet, a mantel of respectability to keep the black electorate in tow. 

Who in the progressive ranks actually believes that the basso profundo, ex-telephone lineman, barrel-chested femme teaching kindergarten is actually a woman? Or that late-term abortion is nothing more than removing an unwanted clot of phlegm and preserving the sanctity of women? Who, once they have returned from the barricades shouting down Wall Street and Silicon Valley billionaires in a loud endorsement of socialism has ever looked at the murderous, destructive, inhuman regimes of Stalin, Mao, Pol Pot, Castro and the Korean Kims?

'Idealism', say those who although in partnership with the Left, are more reserved about its current extremism.  Socialism appeals to the young because it promises equality, a communal end to unearned privileged, a utopia of good will, harmony, generosity, and compassion; and they are not expected to look further.  It is their idealism which is important for the nation, principles to guide democracy to a new, more verdant, understanding, and peaceful world. 

The same socialist ethos - assuring that every individual regardless of race, gender, or ethnicity, rich or poor is welcomed into the big tent of communalism and equality - underlies all verses of the progressive canon.  

'Stick to your own kind', the refrain from one of Leonard Bernstein's West Side Story has never been more true.  Ever since the first human settlements difference has been the rule - suspicion of the outside, the interloper, the curious.  Every society has been hierarchically defined, the most intelligent on top, the least able on the bottom and a scramble to move up and out. 

The Communists knew this like everyone else, but saw that their version of 'inclusivity' resonated particularly well after centuries of the czars.  With enough determination, will, and military power, Russian society could be re-formed into a socialist paradise.

Once American progressives achieve their goal of diversity and inclusion - i.e. all citizens espousing the same theology, singing the same hymns, and reciting the same prayers - political control will be easy.  The Soviets tried this but ruined the country, eliminated the most promising and productive of its citizens, and threatened world peace. 

Eleanor Potter who considered herself a thoughtful, reasonable person - after all, what was a Vassar education worth if not to instill the principles of analysis, objectivity, and exegesis? She had never thought of herself as liberal or progressive - at least not in the reformist way - and went through her college years and beyond acting out her own interests.  She married well, was professionally successful, and socially engaged, all of which pointed to a life of political moderation. 

Something happened along the way - perhaps a dalliance with a Fifth Avenue Jewish matron who despite her wealth and premier New York cachet, was a committed but secret socialist.  Their love affair - as quiet and closeted as Mrs. Rubenstein's politics - lasted only a summer, but the woman was as seductive about her ideas as she was about her body, and before back-to-school, Eleanor had become a believer. 

'You must come to New York again' said Mrs. Rubenstein at the train station, but of course neither woman believed in that promise; but neither regretted the affair, particularly Eleanor who had come away not only with the buds of her sexuality finally opened, but her mind as well. 

It was this fundament - the socialism so eagerly endorsed by her lover - that was at the heart of her turn to progressive politics.  As she listened to the blandishments of liberal advocates about immigration, abortion, climate change, gender fluidity, and racism, she understood what this potpourri, this grab bag of disparate causes, was all about.  Although the women who stormed the barricades in protest thought they were fighting for individual reforms, they were simply chess pieces in a much larger game. 

This was what Esther Rubenstein was all about - the fundament, the infrastructure - the need for revolutionary social change.  All the rest was just window dressing, attractive political shawls.  As Stalin knew, the state had to make the individual believe that his bit for social justice fit within the overall transformation of Russian society. 

Yes, the Jews were not well treated by the Russians, but they did defeat the Jews' worst enemy, the Nazis and for that Esther and her family would be eternally thankful; but that was now part of history, when the real struggle, the neo-socialist caliphate, was far more urgent.  And yes, Stalin overstepped his bounds with Siberia and the gulags; but his salutary vision was undimmed.  The world could simply not survive the divisive, separatist, Paleolithic world of greed and aggression. 

Esther saw the progressive potpourri - the smorgasbord of tasty bits on the reform agenda - as necessary treats for the unwitting faithful.  Let them dream of a transgender world, a mass of multiculturalism, a cooling, temperate, paradisical climate, she thought, while their efforts would eventually be stitched together into one, unified, perfect quilt. 

Eleanor, once back in Washington, never forgot Esther Rubenstein and became her political devotee and like her a secretive one.  No one in Eleanor's milieu - well-to-do McLean, Georgetown, and Great Falls matrons - would have tolerated a socialist in their group.  Progressive sympathies were as far as these women went; so Eleanor kept her own counsel.  

However, behind the scenes she supported those in the intellectual socialist underground - the Harvard, Duke, and Berkeley professors who were at the avant-garde of what they called 'revolutionary underpinnings'.  In their courses, their writings, and their public addresses, they were careful about overplaying their hand but carefully and seductively couched their revolutionary message in acceptably progressive terms. 

The movement was one of genius - the fragrant potpourri for the acolytes, the true believers in individual progressive causes; and the heady intellectual substance for those responsible for true intent.  It was a marvelously orchestrated, brilliantly conducted symphony.  The American Right simply fought battles with the minions - gender reassignment was imagined, open borders was destabilizing, climate change was fiction - but never honed in on the more insidious, seditious socialist intent which underlay all these disparate causes.  As such it was fighting a losing battle. 

Eleanor did meet Esther Rubenstein again after many years, a nostalgic reunion at the Plaza, afternoon tea of reminiscences, expressions of mutual affection; but Eleanor felt blessed that she had the opportunity to meet her benefactor, a true hero, a woman of merit.