Antonin Scalia Professor, Harvard Law School

Author: Stephen Sachs (Page 22 of 25)

Aid and comfort. The Sunday Times (reg. req’d.) is reporting that France regularly provided Saddam’s regime with accounts of private meetings with U.S. diplomats. According to files found in the Foreign Ministry, in September 2001 the French ambassador briefed Iraqi officials on the contents of talks between Chirac and Bush; the files also reported Powell and Hubert Vedrine’s discussions of new U.N. resolutions. (A free CNN account is at the bottom of this page–link courtesy of OxBlog.)

Of course, maybe these were intended leaks; maybe the U.S. was trying to send Iraq a message through French intermediaries. But much of the information France provided–such as U.S. plans to challenge Russia over its support for Iraq–we wouldn’t want Saddam to know. The better explanation seems to be that France just didn’t mind handing diplomatic secrets to its friends in Baghdad.

(What Russian support, you ask? According to documents described in the Daily Telegraph, Russia provided Iraq with secret intelligence on conversations between Tony Blair and Silvio Berlusconi, as well as details of its arms deals and lists of assassins in Western countries.)

Well, at least they’re not on the Security Council or anything.

More reports on the way. I had several thoughts while on the trip that I’ve been meaning to post, but they’ll have to wait until after my six hours of exams in the morning.

(Yes, I have work too, no matter what Steve Wu might think…)

Because it’s too darn cold. From the Associated Press:

“However, Tannous Basil, a 47-year-old cardiologist in Sidon, Lebanon, said Saddam’s regime was a ‘dictatorship and had to go.’

“‘I don’t like the idea of having the Americans here, but we asked for it,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we see the Americans going to Finland, for example? They come here because our area is filled with dictatorships like Saddam’s.'”

Well, this American is going to Finland. Tune in ten days from now for reports from the front.

Prime numbers and prize money. On May 24, 2000, the Clay Mathematics Institute announced a prize of $1 million to anyone who could solve one of seven famous problems in mathematics. As OxBlog reports, a new result in prime number theory may help point the way to a proof of the Riemann Hypothesis. Yet Josh Chafetz worries that this sort of prize will only delay mathematical progress–giving individual researchers an added incentive not to publish their intermediate results, for fear that another mathematician will then swoop in to complete the proof.

For my money, all sane mathematicians who thought they were within striking distance of the Riemann Hypothesis would have already gone into hiding. (Andrew Wiles, who proved Fermat’s Last Theorem, was famously secretive about his work.) The Riemann Hypothesis is one of the most celebrated unproved conjectures in mathematics–it was famous enough a century ago to be included as number 8 on the list of Hilbert’s problems. Anyone who solved it would have glory for the ages; the million bucks would only be gravy.

The Clay prizes were never really meant to motivate mathematicians with money. (Would the mathematical community expend substantially more effort if the prize were $1.5 million?) Instead, the prizes were meant to grab the public’s attention and to focus research on certain deep questions in mathematics. Over the years, the pursuit of celebrated problems has inspired many important results and new proof techniques, not to mention generations of young mathematicians.

The Clay prizes are just one more way of speeding that process along. Not every list of problems gets a lot of press–not everybody is Hilbert–and along with the dollar signs come an awful lot of outside attention. But as with Hilbert’s problems, those actually engaged in the work of seeking solutions are searching for fame, not fortune.

Best-Case Scenario: I’ve been thinking recently about what the world would have been like had the U.S. and Britain not decided to go to war three weeks ago. Specifically, what would the chances have been for some type of democratic reform in Iraq?

The Guardian, a few weeks before war broke out, asked 48 different opponents of the war to suggest an alternative policy toward Iraq. A number of them, such as former Nasser adviser Mohamed Heikal, suggested that lifting the sanctions would have allowed the Iraqi people to rise up on their own. Sanctions make Iraqis dependent on the regime for basic necessities, Heikal argued; if they were lifted, the Iraqi people, “who are at the end of their patience,” would “take their destiny into their own hands.”

Based on what we’ve seen over the past three weeks, I’m trying to envision the most likely scenario in which an indigenous uprising against Saddam would actually have succeeded. What I can’t understand is why anyone would prefer that scenario to the invasion that’s going on now.

Let’s look at the criteria. The first is civilian casualties; the most frequent argument employed against a U.S. invasion is that it would lead (and has led) to the death of non-combatants. But it’s nearly impossible to imagine any local uprising resulting in fewer civilian casualties than the campaign we’re now witnessing. The U.S. military has some of the best force protection in the world; American soldiers are protected by air cover, armored personnel carriers, and bulletproof vests, none of which would be available to Iraqi revolutionaries. In an uprising, there would be no computer-assisted targeting of artillery units, no air strikes to reduce the enemy’s strength before an attack, no sabotage of Saddam’s communications networks. The army divisions and Republican Guard troops that have been so woefully ineffective (thus far) against the U.S. would be a far, far more dangerous adversary against civilians — and those who participated in the uprising could expect the regime to target their parents and children, who are even more vulnerable.

Moreover, while the U.S. military was able largely to pass by the cities and do its heaviest fighting in the desert, an uprising would have to be fought street by street and block by block, with all the attendant horrors of urban combat. The fedayeen and Ba’ath paramilitaries, whom the British had to fight for weeks to gain control of Basra, would have had free reign to make war on their own people. In a civilian uprising, it would be impossible for the government’s forces to distinguish combatants from non-combatants–even assuming that they cared about the distinction, which they don’t. And let’s not forget what might happen when the regime found itself losing its grip on power: chemical weapons are much more effective against civilians who don’t have gas masks, antidotes, and protective suits.

The second criterion is the danger of involving other regional powers. True, an internal rebellion would be less likely to involve Israel or to spark a wider regional war. But would the Turkish army, which has been restrained from crossing the border and occupying northern Iraq only by the pleas and promises of the U.S., be less likely to invade if the Kurds themselves were doing most of the fighting? Would Iran, which is believed to have already sent agents into Iraq, resist the temptation to supply–or even intervene on behalf of–the Shiites in the south?

The third criterion is the likelihood of establishing democratic government. After a successful uprising, it must be admitted, the Iraqi people would have achieved their freedom through a collective struggle. But collective struggles rarely involve all of the people equally, and at the end of the uprising, there would be little incentive for the dominant rebel group to hand over power to any new democratic government. Saddam’s regime has systematically destroyed any institutions that could serve to organize civil society after his fall; the opportunities for any kind of “Velvet Revolution” would be extremely limited. An uprising in Iraq would be less like the American Revolution, which was fought by colonial governments recognized as legitimate by their citizens, than like the French or Russian Revolutions, which swept away previous social institutions and which ended in dictatorship. Without international forces on the ground to enforce the transition to democracy–why should we expect the Security Council to send such forces, and why should we expect the rebels’ interim government to welcome them?–a newly freed Iraq would be ruled by whoever had the most guns. And if the uprising took the form of a coup d’etat, there would be a far greater chance that a different general would simply take control and that a new autocracy would be established.

The fourth criterion is the preservation of Iraq’s territorial integrity. The Kurds, whom the U.S. has pressured to accept autonomy within a federal Iraq rather than an independent state of their own, would be much less likely to make these concessions if they had won their freedom by their own efforts. Divisions among Iraqis would be heightened, rather than reduced, by an uprising that was organized along tribal, ethnic, or religious lines–and no other lines of organization suggest themselves. A post-uprising Iraq would not have nearly as much incentive to protect the rights of ethnic minorities as would an external occupying force. In fact, all the worries about Iraq becoming a new Yugoslavia, with Shiites taking revenge on Sunnis and violence spiraling out of control, would seem far more plausible in the anarchy of an internal revolt.

Finally, there is a fifth criterion, namely preventing the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction. One of the biggest dangers of the war is that the fruits of Saddam’s weapons program, having been well hidden from inspectors, may fall into the wrong hands during the chaos following the invasion. But the regime’s supply of chemical and biological weapons, assuming they were not used, would be even harder to account for without U.S. teams on the ground actively looking for them. And if the downfall of the regime took place through multiple local rebellions rather than a single organized effort, that would only increase the temptation for a local warlord, upon finding a store of chemical weapons, to sell them to the highest bidder.

None of this, of course, means that the U.S. invasion will be problem-free, or that we don’t face substantial risks of disaster ahead. A botched American occupation of Iraq could spur terrorism, hurt America’s standing in the world, and permanently destroy our relations with many nations in the region–none of which would occur if the liberation were homegrown. But given the choice that the U.S. faced, it’s hard to say that the alternative policy–that of letting Saddam remain in power and abandoning those under his rule to their own devices–would necessarily have done the Iraqi people any favors.

Alaska on the Euphrates. One idea for the reconstruction of Iraq that seems to have gained momentum in the past couple weeks is that of giving the nation’s oil wealth to the Iraqi people–literally. In Alaska, part of the revenue from oil production is placed in a permanent rainy-day fund, but another part is divided and doled out each year to every citizen of the state. A similar program in Iraq, according to Michael Barone, could pay an annual dividend as high as $1,000 a year to every man, woman, and child–a small fortune “in a country where Umm Qasr dockworkers make $30 a month.” A similar suggestion is made by Steven C. Clemons in an NYT op-ed; putting oil revenues into an independent fund, Clemons writes, would simultaneously reduce suspicion of American motives, prevent the concentration of oil wealth by a corrupt governing elite, and make individual Iraqis stakeholders in the success of their new society.

But there’s one more advantage such a plan might have: forcing other Gulf states to do the same. In a region with gross inequalities between rulers and ruled, the example of an Iraq whose people share in its prosperity–who are made quite well-off by regional standards, actually–would be a potent weapon in the hands of reformers.

It’s good that this proposal is gaining currency in the press; here’s hoping that someone in the administration is listening.

Divesting from defense? As I suspected, it was Prof. Yve-Alain Bois who accused Harvard of “war profiteering”; he did it again in a letter to Tuesday’s Harvard Crimson. Rather than make a straightforward demand for divestment from defense contractors, Bois called only for “debate,” which took place (although in a somewhat muted fashion) at the next faculty meeting.

Unfortunately, Bois’s letter doesn’t really clarify the argument in favor of divestment. One possibility is that by investing in defense contractors, Harvard is increasing their ability to produce death and devastation abroad (especially in Iraq). But in fact, the reverse may very well be the case: providing more capital to the defense industry, and thereby making American weaponry more lethal and more precise, probably has the effect of shortening wars and saving the lives of both American troops and foreign civilians. A well-equipped U.S. military is invaluable to the current global security system. As my brother points out, imagine what would happen if defense companies’ products were only 50 percent as effective–would America and the world be any safer?

These are the grounds on which The Crimson’s editors, in an in an uneven but generally sensible editorial, oppose the call for divestment. In order to justify divesting from U.S. defense contractors, one would have to show that the companies involved really are doing more harm than good–which is the claim of the editorial’s dissenters, who raise the issue of arms sales to repressive governments. I don’t have enough information to judge this argument; American arms traders may be doing some awful things, and if so Harvard may be obliged to divest from them. But it’s important to note that even if the dissenters are right, their criticism has nothing whatsoever to do with the rights and wrongs of war in Iraq.

A second argument for divestment is that it would be immoral for Harvard to derive a benefit from an unjust war. This argument is much closer to Bois’s heart; he finds “the idea that Harvard should be made richer by the present war morally repugnant.” As someone who benefits from Harvard’s wealth, he feels personally “stained” and “soiled” by such enrichment. In fact, Bois isn’t just worried about the defense industry, but also about Harvard’s investments “in the oil and construction companies that will directly gain from the war, notably through the lucrative contracts they will get for the reconstruction of Iraq.”

This position confuses me. Why should Harvard be ashamed of its investments in a company that is working to rebuild damaged Iraqi hospitals and schools? Regardless of one’s views of the war, isn’t such a company doing the Lord’s work? The need for post-war reconstruction is the same regardless of whether the war is just or not. The fact that an unjust war is the but-for condition of a company’s involvements seems pretty irrelevant, actually. Trauma surgeons working on a gunshot victim, environmental lawyers suing a polluter, and firefighters combating arson are all employed because of the immoral actions of others, but that doesn’t mean that their salaries are somehow morally tainted. And at some level, isn’t almost any firm in the economy affected, to a greater or lesser degree, by the demand for goods and services in the process of reconstruction?

It’s not even clear that Harvard has really made any money here. For instance, Raytheon (in which Harvard owns more than 68,000 shares) has gone up by about 30 cents since the war began, but the stock has also lost about a third of its value since last June. In fact, the developments of the past 10 months seem to have diminished the company’s share price rather than increased it. So how is the financial benefit from the war to be measured? (Bois’s argument here is not helped by his admission that “I do not have the foggiest idea of how the stock market operates.”)

Some of Bois’s points raise deeper questions about exploitation and market incentives. Part of why it seems wrong to profit from others’ misfortunes is that by doing so, one chooses to bank on suffering instead of working to reduce it. If you hear that a drought-afflicted country is experiencing bread shortages, the argument goes, the moral response is to donate some food, not to call your broker and invest in wheat futures. On the other hand, the market is able to meet a large number of different needs in part because prices adjust in cases of scarcity. If no one were allowed to raise prices for a scarce good, there would be no profit opportunity and thus no incentive for outside firms to increase their production. Could it be immoral for any particular firm to raise prices, yet morally necessary that prices be allowed to rise?

But no matter how these questions are resolved, the moral difficulties they describe arise only after a deliberate decision to invest on the basis of other people’s misfortunes–not a simple continuation of past practice. There is no evidence that Harvard purchased defense stocks with the intent of profiting from an unjust war; the university is being accused only of holding on to its previous investments. And if those investments have not facilitated the suffering of others (indeed, they may have reduced it), there is no reason for Harvard to withdraw them. Whatever financial windfall the university receives–remembering that there’s little evidence of one thus far–shouldn’t be regarded as ill-gotten gains. If anything, it’s a silver lining.

In the wake of war: I just read Thomas Friedman’s NYT column on the looting in Umm Qasr. I don’t know enough to judge whether this degree of disorder is at all unusual for wars (what was Berlin like in 1945?), but I can’t imagine a situation in which this kind of unrest is in our strategic interest. It discredits America in the eyes of ordinary Iraqis, and the economic damage it inflicts will make reconstruction that much more difficult. And the fact that plans for policing Iraq are still in the planning stages doesn’t give one much confidence.

So why hasn’t the military done more to preserve order in the areas we’ve captured? Was this a logistical necessity, determined by the limited number of personnel and our limited ability to deploy and supply them? (It’s only been a few weeks since the whole thing started, and I don’t know how many military police we have on hand in Kuwait.) Was this a security decision, made on the assumption that military police would be in too much danger–from the fedayeen and other Saddam sympathizers–so long as the regime was still perceived as being in control? Or was this a cynical (and likely short-sighted) move to give the new civil authorities more legitimacy? After all, if the troops had left a military policeman on every corner as they went through, everyone would have been screaming ‘occupation.’ But if the establishment of an American-led government brings the end of looting and a return to daily life, well…

Or was it just plain foolishness?

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