Real Battles and Empty Metaphors

September 10, 2002
By Susan Sontag

Since last Sept. 11, the Bush administration has told the American people
that America is at war. But this war is of a peculiar nature. It seems to be,
given the nature of the enemy, a war with no foreseeable end. What kind of
war is that?

There are precedents. Wars on such enemies as cancer, poverty and drugs are
understood to be endless wars. There will always be cancer, poverty and
drugs. And there will always be despicable terrorists, mass murderers like
those who perpetrated the attack a year ago tomorrow - as well as freedom
fighters (like the FrenchResistance and the African National Congress) who
were once called terrorists by those they opposed but were relabeled by
history.

When a president of the United States declares war on cancer or poverty or
drugs, we know that "war" is a metaphor. Does anyone think that this war -
the war that America has declared on terrorism - is a metaphor? But it is,
and one with powerful consequences. War has been disclosed, not actually
declared, since the threat is
deemed to be self-evident.

Real wars are not metaphors. And real wars have a beginning and an end. Even
the horrendous, intractable conflict between Israel and Palestine will end
one day. But
this antiterror war can never end. That is one sign that it is not a war but,
rather, a mandate for expanding the use of American power.

When the government declares war on cancer or poverty or drugs it means the
government is asking that new forces be mobilized to address the problem. It
also means that the government cannot do a whole lot to solve it. When the
government declares war on terrorism - terrorism being a multinational,
largely clandestine network of enemies - it means that the government is
giving itself permission to do what it wants. When it wants to intervene
somewhere, it will. It will brook no limits on its power.

The American suspicion of foreign "entanglements" is very old. But this
administration has taken the radical position that all international treaties
are potentially inimical to the interests of the United States - since by
signing a treaty on anything (whether environmental issues or the conduct of
war and the treatment of prisoners) the United States is binding itself to
obey conventions that might one day be invoked to limit America's freedom of
action to do whatever the government thinks is in the country's interests.
Indeed, that's what a treaty is: it limits the right of its signatories to
complete freedom of action on the subject of the treaty. Up to now, it has
not been the avowed position of any respectable nation-state that this is a
reason for eschewing treaties.

Describing America's new foreign policy as actions undertaken in wartime is a
powerful disincentive to having a mainstream debate about what is actually
happening. This reluctance to ask questions was already apparent in the
immediate aftermath of the attacks last Sept. 11. Those who objected to the
jihad language used by the American government (good versus evil,
civilization versus barbarism) were accused of condoning the attacks, or at
least the legitimacy of the grievances behind the attacks.

Under the slogan United We Stand, the call to reflectiveness was equated with
dissent, dissent with lack of patriotism. The indignation suited those who
have taken charge of the Bush administration's foreign policy. The aversion
to debate among the principal figures in the two parties continues to be
apparent in the run-up to the commemorative ceremonies on the anniversary of
the attacks - ceremonies that are viewed as part of the continuing
affirmation of American solidarity against the enemy. The comparison between
Sept. 11, 2001, and Dec. 7, 1941, has never been far from mind.

Once again, America was the object of a lethal surprise attack that cost many
- in this case, civilian - lives, more than the number of soldiers and
sailors who died at Pearl Harbor. However, I doubt that great commemorative
ceremonies were felt to be needed to keep up morale and unite the country on
Dec. 7, 1942. That was a real war, and one year later it was very much still
going on.

This is a phantom war and therefore in need of an anniversary. Such an
anniversary serves a number of purposes. It is a day of mourning. It is an
affirmation of national solidarity. But of one thing we can be sure. It is
not a day of national reflection. Reflection, it has been said, might impair
our "moral clarity." It is necessary to be simple, clear, united. Hence,
there will be borrowed words, like the Gettysburg Address, from that bygone
era when great rhetoric was possible.

Abraham Lincoln's speeches were not just inspirational prose. They were bold
statements of new national goals in a time of real, terrible war. The Second
Inaugural
Address dared to herald the reconciliation that must follow Northern victory
in the Civil War. The primacy of the commitment to end slavery was the point
of Lincoln's exaltation of freedom in the Gettysburg Address. But when the
great Lincoln speeches are ritually cited, or recycled for commemoration,
they have become completely emptied of meaning. They are now gestures of
nobility, of greatness of spirit. The reasons for their greatness are
irrelevant.

Such an anachronistic borrowing of eloquence is in the grand tradition of
American anti-intellectualism: the suspicion of thought, of words. Hiding
behind the humbug that the attack of last Sept. 11 was too horrible, too
devastating, too painful, too tragic for words, that words could not possibly
express our grief and indignation, our leaders have a perfect excuse to drape
themselves in others' words, now voided of content. To say something might be
controversial. It might actually drift into some kind of statement and
therefore invite rebuttal. Not saying anything is best.

I do not question that we have a vicious, abhorrent enemy that opposes most
of what I cherish - including democracy, pluralism, secularism, the equality
of the sexes, beardless men, dancing (all kinds), skimpy clothing and, well,
fun. And not for a moment do I question the obligation of the American
government to protect the lives of its citizens. What I do question is the
pseudo-declaration of pseudo-war. These necessary actions should not be
called a "war." There are no endless wars; but there are declarations of the
extension of power by a state that believes it cannot be challenged.

America has every right to hunt down the perpetrators of these crimes and
their accomplices. But this determination is not necessarily a war. Limited,
focused military engagements do not translate into "wartime" at home. There
are better ways to check America's enemies, less destructive of
constitutional rights and of international agreements that serve the public
interest of all, than continuing to invoke the dangerous, lobotomizing notion
of endless war.

Susan Sontag, a novelist and essayist, is author of the forthcoming
"Regarding the Pain of Others.''