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February
7, 2008
The Illusion
of Competence
Empowered
Dingalings,
Magical Supersecret Whatevers with Lots of Flashing
Lights,
Total Cluelessness, and Other Chronicles of
Washington
by Fred Reed
Fraud is rife, I tell you. At a glance the
citadels of power in Washington seem imposing. One
thinks of imperial Rome, or the intergalactic
empires of science fiction. Along Pennsylvania
Avenue, on Capitol Hill, in Foggy Bottom, in
monumental buildings in Federal Greek style, men
and women of erudition seem to manage the world.
Across the river in the Pentagon, spangled generals
operate an inconceivably powerful military that can
strike anywhere within hours of deciding to do so.
At Langley in Virginia and Fort Meade in Maryland
the intelligence agencies spy on the world, sucking
in vast amounts of information from secret
satellites and undersea taps and massive antenna
farms. The whole enterprise reeks of inexorability
and omniscience.
And so with other governments and empires. But
on slightly more penetrating examination, one sees
that countries blunder about like idiot children
more often than they act wisely, or even
sentiently. This is obvious in all fields of
national endeavor, but most conspicuously so in
matters martial. Armies usually aren't very
good.
For example, in WWI neither the alleged
statesmen of Europe, nor the most betinselled of
their generals had the faintest idea of how the war
would go. In WWII neither the Nazis nor the
somewhat more rational Japanese Army understood the
implications of attacking the United States. Come
Vietnam, the Pentagon's swarms of well-paid
analysts provided no notion of what the war would
become, despite the recent example of the French
experience. All of these catastrophes seem less to
be understandable miscalculations than wanton
stupidity.
The bewilderment never ends. The clownish
American defeat in Mogadishu, the amateur-hour
business of the Marine barracks in Beirut -- on and
on. They never see it coming, or suspect that it
might come. Today in Iraq the government is
fighting a war it didn't remotely foresee, and
doing it badly. Consequently we have the comic
spectacle of the world's mightiest military being
fought to a standstill by yet another group of
ragtags with rifles. Ah, but we will remember it as
glorious, not as an embarrassing botch.
Surprise is said to be the first element of
strategy. The Pentagon is always surprised.
The reasons for governmental puzzlement vary
with the system of government. Under royalty, the
next ruler is the king's eldest son, though he be a
twitching half-wit. (The same principle may be seen
at work in the Bush dynasty.) In democracies the
ruler is the most popular, a quality having no
relation to the capacity to rule. In America the
president is usually a provincial governor with no
knowledge of the world.
Thus came Reagan, an amiable fool of
entertaining intellectual incoherency (having since
been packaged by conservatives as a hybrid of
Mother Theresa and the saintly Abraham Lincoln,
himself heavily remanufactured). Thus such
pedestrian items as the elder Bush, Truman, the
endlessly moralizing Carter, all better suited to
town councils than to presiding over a world power.
Understandably they just don't do it well.
In war, much of the explanation is that the
intelligence services seem peculiarly unable to
find out what is going on in the world; if they do
find out, they are likely to be ignored. No one
notices this because spies are wrapped in an
emotional mantle of eerie potency that distracts
attention from their dismal record. In part the
unmerited admiration they enjoy springs from the
secrecy that enshrouds them: We don't know what
they are doing (and neither do they). The CIA, NSA,
Mossad, OGPU, NKVD, KGB, DIA, Savak, MI6--all loom
relentless, omniscient, coldly effective, almost
spectral -- like Batman. You can't run and you
can't hide. The Shadow knows. They have the dark
appeal of ruthlessness and are thought to have
secret powers deriving from mysterious electronics
and poisons.
At a second glance, they are unimpressive. Pearl
Harbor happened because it didn't occur to the Navy
to wonder where the Japanese fleet was. The Korean
War took Washington utterly by surprise as did,
later, the Chinese intervention. The CIA completely
miscalculated Cuban support for the Bay of Pigs.
(Not for nothing is it known as the Children's
Agency.) In Viet Nam the entire Viet resistance
caught the intel people by durprise, and there was
the comic-opera business of the Son Tay Raid.
(American forces swooped into Hanoi to rescue
prisoners of war, the intelligence people not
having noticed that said prisoners had been
moved.)
The rise of the Berlin Wall surprised the intel
people, as did its fall. Indeed our multibillion
dollar, Crayed-to-the-gills, mathematized,
secret-satellited three-letter outfits missed the
coming collapse of the Soviet Union, their chief
object of study. And they missed 9/11. And the
Iraqi resistance. And their success in finding Bin
Laden captivates the imagination. And
.
The illusion of competence.
How can such incontinently funded agencies of
very smart people accomplish so little? I can
guess. Americans love technology, at which they are
very good. The spookies confuse phenomenally
advanced technology for the gathering of data with
knowing what to do with it once they have it. They
then try to analyze it for those who are supposed
to pay attention to it, but won't unless it fits
their preconceptions. Too many geeks, too few feet
on the ground.
The ideology of the last gatekeeper determines
what intelligence reaches the top. Bureaucratic
infighting often trumps the pale appeal of facts.
Starting in the late Fifties the nonexistent
missile gap was insisted on by Air Force
intelligence, which wanted money for bombers of
greater intricacy and elaboration. The Navy saw no
such gap. Bush the Little wanted there to be WMD,
and so there were -- except, of course, there
weren't. Spooks spend thirty years sitting in
secret rooms behind five cipherlocks, associating
only with people trained like themselves, and
unable to talk things over with anyone in the real
world on penalty of going to Leavenworth. They've
probably all got Captain Marvel Secret Decoder
Rings. None of this engenders judgement.
The illusion of competence.
An advantage of getting older, or at least an
effect, is that you cease believing that adults
know what they are doing. Finally you cease to
believe that there are any adults. If I were
sixteen, I might see Dick Cheney as a statesman who
knew all sorts of things hidden from me. Daddy
knows best. But I am of his age. He looks to be a
puffed-up bureaucratic bully hiding behind an
extensive array of character disorders. I think,
"This wingnut is running a country, for
God's sake? I need a drink."
I propose a federal law requiring that all
babies be fitted with helmets. Too many are dropped
on their heads, and bubble up to Capitol Hill,
where they impersonate grownups. The illusion of
competence.
Reed
Archive
Copyright 2008 by Fred Reed and reproduced here by
permission of the author.
About
the Author (by the author):
Fred Reed is a Marine combat veteran, police
reporter, amateur biochemist, former long-haul
hitchhiker, and part-time sociopath living in
Mexico. Fred, a keyboard mercenary with a
disorganized past, has worked on staff for Army
Times, The Washingtonian, Soldier of Fortune,
Federal Computer Week, and The Washington
Times. He has been published in Playboy,
Soldier of Fortune, The Wall Street Journal, The
Washington Post, Harper's, National Review, Signal,
Air&Space, and suchlike. He has worked as a
police writer, technology editor, military
specialist, and authority on mercenary soldiers. He
is by all accounts as looney as a tune.
Visit the "Fred
on Everything" website to read his previous
columns and sign up for his regular e-mail
feature.
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The essays in A Brass Pole in
Bangkok, are sometimes wildly funny,
sometimes deadly serious, always merciless
in their unmasking of the pretenses and
charlatans of society. Fred, a former
Marine, subscribes to no ideology ("an
ideology is just a systematic way of
misunderstanding the world") but
exuberantly wreaks havoc on practically
everything, and delights in everything
else: the psychotherapy swindle, squalling
feminists, race racketeers, damn fool
wars, red-light districts in Asia, and
tequila fests in Mexico, where he
lives.
A
Brass Pole in Bangkok: A Thing I Aspire To
Be, by Fred Reed
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Buy Fred's new reprehensible book,
Nekkid In Austin! Another
collection of Fred's collected outrages,
irresponsible ravings, and curmudgeonry
from "Fred On Everything" and some
innocent magazines that, he says,
foolishly published him. Wildly funny,
sometimes wacky, always provocative essays
on the collapse of America.
Nekkid
in Austin: Drop Your Inner Child Down a
Well, by Fred Reed
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included. It is your job to be a critical
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