War, terror, and the space in between

I believe that the war on terrorism can be won, but the first, critical, stage is to get the definitions correct. We must mean what we say, and we must know what we mean. Let us take the most obvious example of a misplaced dictionary. George Bush went to war in Iraq ostensibly to find illegal weapons of mass destruction. Let me suggest the names of two nations with weapons of mass destruction without the approval of legitimate world bodies. India and Pakistan possess nuclear weapons that were condemned as illegitimate, and which provoked international sanctions. Neither the United States nor Britain has considered invading either Delhi or Islamabad. Bush should have said what he meant; that he was not going after weapons of mass destruction, but rogue governments that he could not trust. That story would have had a happier ending.

The problem with war on terrorism is that while there is now sufficient consensus on the meaning of terrorism, there is equal confusion about the definition of war. Where is the primary battlefield of that war, on the ground, or in the mind? The dilemmas only begin at this point. What if the suicide-missionary is born in the rubble of a mistake, or the devastation of injustice? What if the pursuit of terror multiplies its dimensions? Is there any count of Iraqi teenagers who only wanted an education yesterday but want a gun today? Are the terrorists of Chechnya taking revenge for some terror that never appeared on our television screens? These questions would have inevitably flowed from the debate that Bush initiated and Kerry aborted.

To my knowledge there have been at least three notable victories by the state over urban/rural insurrections: in Malaysia in the 1950s, when a Communist challenge was neutralised; in large parts of India in the last part of the 1960s and the early part of the 1970s, when Naxalites were quelled; and in Punjab in the 1980s, when Sikh separatists were defeated. The key to each success was the protection of public opinion. While mistakes were made -- sometimes ones that extracted a very heavy price, as Operation Bluestar and the Sikh riots of 1984 did -- the rebels never succeeded in getting more than temporary or partial sympathy from the people. One reason was ideological. Atheism did not appeal to the Muslims in Malaysia. The Naxalites similarly alienated themselves from Indian nationalism with their declaration that Chairman Mao was their chairman. And the broad mass of Punjab's peasantry never quite understood why they should separate from the motherland. But there was also a simultaneous political process that assuaged the reasons for discontent. The British, who were an imperial power in Malaysia, realised that their time was over, and left once the job was done. It is also important that they kept the conflict at the level of a police operation, rather than depending totally on the Army. This was true of the Indian government's response to Naxalites as well. The distinction is vital. The police is not only civilian in its uniform. It is civilian in its thinking. This does not necessarily make it civil. But the police know how to use and mobilise resources from the population, and involve the people. The battle is never for bodybags alone. The state can always kill a multiple of the number it loses. The battle is also for advantage in the mind.

During the Naxalite movement and the Punjab rebellion, the Indian state was on the side of Indian nationalism. This is why it prevailed.

The great mistake made by George Bush in Iraq and Vladimir Putin in Chechnya is that they may have gifted nationalism to fundamentalists and suicide-missionaries. Iraq's nationalist aspirations go back to before the First World War, when small but significant groups sought independence from the Ottoman Caliph. This exploded into an insurrection when the British continued their occupation after the end of the war. Winston Churchill, the colonial secretary of the empire, bought a sort of peace by nominating Feisal, a Hashemite prince who had never set foot in Iraq, as the Arab king. But the struggle for power against variations of neo-colonialism continued. At least one Iraqi monarch, Ghazi, openly supported nationalist forces and ended up being assassinated. Oil and nationalism are synonymous in the region, and one reason for Saddam Hussein's initial popularity was his successful, even brilliant, nationalisation of Iraqi oil. (Success went to his head, and he soon turned into a megalomaniac.) It is entirely logical that the sabotage of oil supplies is on the top of the agenda of the forces fighting the American presence in Iraq.

In the Caucasus, nationalism has inspired war for nearly two hundred years. The Chechens resisted Tsarists in 1818 and the Bolsheviks in 1917. Just as certain army officers in Iraq tried to use the Germans to get rid of the British in the Second World War; just as an Indian called Subhas Bose took the help of the Germans and the Japanese to march against the British in the Second World War; the Chechens took the help of the Germans against the Russians in 1942. Stalin's response after victory was not gentle. When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, the Chechens again demanded independence. Boris Yeltsin's response would have pleased Stalin.

Nothing is irreversible, and I thought I glimpsed the first sign of honest uncertainty in Bush's statement. Recognition of the truth is halfway to solving the problem. The need in both Iraq and Chechnya is surely to wrench nationalism back from those who believe that their salvation lies in taking schoolchildren hostage. Perhaps Bush does mean what he says when he wants democracy in Iraq. But the fundamental principle of democracy is to let power go where it may. If the popular will is with those you do not like, then popular will must prevail over your preferences. A stooge government invites more ridicule than an occupying authority. It is also an invitation to violence.

If you want to see how power can change character consider the remarkable case of Abdul Rasul Sayyaf, once famed as warlord and fundamentalist, and mentor of Khalid Shaikh Mohammed, the brains behind 9/11. So where is Sayyaf as we head towards September 11, 2004? Being courted by America's favourite Afghan, Hamid Karzai, for support in the coming elections in Afghanistan, and one of the key players in the Kabul establishment. Yesterday's fundamentalist is today's American ally, despite 9/11. This is a welcome development. I know at least one former Naxalite who became a minister in Delhi. That is the way challenge is absorbed by a sensible political system. By creating space for today's adversaries in Iraq and Chechnya, Bush and Putin could make them tomorrow's friends. Bullets have only limited power, for death is never a good substitute for life.

MJ Akbar is Chief Editor of the Asian Age.