End the ‘Forever War’ Cliché
from Middle East Program
from Middle East Program

End the ‘Forever War’ Cliché

Senators Mike Lee (R-UT), Bernie Sanders (I-VT) and Chris Murphy (D-CT) speak after the senate voted on a resolution ending U.S. military support for the war in Yemen on Capitol Hill in Washington, U.S., December 13, 2018.
Senators Mike Lee (R-UT), Bernie Sanders (I-VT) and Chris Murphy (D-CT) speak after the senate voted on a resolution ending U.S. military support for the war in Yemen on Capitol Hill in Washington, U.S., December 13, 2018. REUTERS/Joshua Roberts/File Photo

The war in Afghanistan needed to wind down. But Washington is learning the wrong lesson.

Originally published at Foreign Policy

June 11, 2021 2:37 pm (EST)

Senators Mike Lee (R-UT), Bernie Sanders (I-VT) and Chris Murphy (D-CT) speak after the senate voted on a resolution ending U.S. military support for the war in Yemen on Capitol Hill in Washington, U.S., December 13, 2018.
Senators Mike Lee (R-UT), Bernie Sanders (I-VT) and Chris Murphy (D-CT) speak after the senate voted on a resolution ending U.S. military support for the war in Yemen on Capitol Hill in Washington, U.S., December 13, 2018. REUTERS/Joshua Roberts/File Photo
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Current political and economic issues succinctly explained.

Last week, President Joe Biden announced the withdrawal of U.S. forces from Afghanistan after two long and frustrating decades. Amid the praise and recriminations that followed, the phrase “ending endless wars”—and its variant, “ending forever wars”—was on repeat among pundits.

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The planned withdrawal from Afghanistan by Sept. 11 poses a question for the foreign-policy community, however: Now what? “Ending endless wars” has become a neat and effective political slogan for analysts on the left and the right, but what does it actually mean for U.S. foreign policy after Afghanistan?

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This is not to quibble with the president’s decision to withdraw. Once regarded as the “good war”—in contrast to the invasion of Iraq—the U.S. encounter in Afghanistan suffered from mission creep, interest creep, spectacular corruption, double-dealing partners, ineffectual partners, and an American public that remained mostly unaware of the conflict for the last two decades. The withdrawal from Afghanistan is hardly risk-free. Any objective observer must (or should) worry about the resurgence of the Taliban and what that means for the Afghan people and counterextremism efforts. Still, Americans have proved over and again that they cannot fix Afghanistan. Knowing this, Biden decided to end what truly seemed to be an endless war.

But in recent years, the term “endless wars” has extended far beyond Afghanistan and is used by a group of analysts and policymakers—commonly known as “restrainers”—to describe an array of U.S. efforts across the Middle East. Take Syria as an example. In 2014, then-President Barack Obama sent forces back into Iraq to fight the Islamic State after it had captured Mosul. The counter-Islamic State campaign included a deployment of U.S. forces to Syria, where the self-declared caliphate had established its capital in Raqqa. Some of those soldiers remain to maintain pressure on the remnants of the Islamic State, keep an eye on Iran, and maintain some leverage with Russia. The United States supports the fall of the Assad regime but not directly through military action. One can argue with these goals, but is it fair to describe Syria as a forever war?

Similarly, is Yemen an endless war? It may be for Saudi Arabia, which stupidly waltzed into Yemen thinking it would accomplish its mission, whatever it was, in a matter of months. It doesn’t seem to be a forever war for the United States, however. The United States seems to be in the process of disentangling itself from Riyadh’s folly with a Biden administration pause in arms sales that could be used in the conflict that may very well become permanent. And what about World War II? After all, the United States still has forces stationed in Europe and Asia that are a legacy of that conflict, as well as of the Cold War. I don’t mean to be needlessly snarky, but definitions are important, and without a rigorous one that tells us something unique and useful about what constitutes “endless wars,” the slogan can be applied to just about any ongoing military mission at all.

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The invocation of “endless” and “forever” suggests that there is a temporal aspect to these conflicts. So, when does a war become a forever war? After five years? A decade? Or does the term instead refer to a military intervention that failed to achieve its goals regardless of the war’s length? That could happen before a war became “endless,” if we only knew what that was. If any place fits the bill for a forever war, it is Afghanistan, where the United States has been fighting since October 2001 with little to show for it. At the same time, the American experience in that country differs greatly from the U.S. military presence in other places around the world, which diminishes Afghanistan’s usefulness as a comparison. In other words, maybe Afghanistan is unique in being the only forever war.

Since there is no good definition of a “forever” or “endless” war, ending them has become a calling card and catch-all phrase for both progressives and conservatives who share a desire to get out of the Middle East. It is easy to understand their reasoning given America’s recent record of failure and wasted resources in the region. The appeal of the withdrawal is more mainstream, however. Americans elected two presidents in a row who explicitly criticized the overly ambitious foreign policies of their predecessors, and the new president has been equally clear about de-emphasizing the Middle East. Of course, Obama, Donald Trump, and Biden were not elected solely or even principally because they condemned the regional policies of their predecessors. Yet their withering critiques of U.S. policy in the Middle East were part of the underlying (and successful) logics of their presidential campaigns.

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Perhaps Obama, Trump, and other advocates of ending forever wars are correct or maybe they are not; either way, folks are going about determining the best approach to the Middle East in the entirely wrong way, even backward. Starting with one’s preferred outcome is not analysis––it is advocacy. The policies the United States pursues in the region should be based on an understanding of what is important and the resources it has at its disposal to achieve its objectives. For some time, America’s goals in the Middle East were securing the free flow of energy resources; ensuring Israeli security; promoting counterterrorism and nonproliferation measures; and maintaining U.S. dominance in service of those other goals. Now is as good a time as any to consider whether these objectives remain important to the United States and, if so, to determine how best to achieve them.

Advocates of ending forever wars have done a valuable service challenging the foreign-policy community on its assumptions. There are limits to American power, and not every problem has an American solution. Yet aiming to end forever wars is too pat, too neat. It does not allow for course corrections or any possibility that the United States has been or can once again be a constructive actor in the Middle East. It may well be that restraint is what is called for in the U.S. approach to the region, but the way that restraint is combining with the “ending forever wars” mantra is too limiting. After trillions of dollars spent, lives lost, people maimed, politics warped, Americans need to be careful in the Middle East, but that does not mean becoming wedded to a nifty slogan. The risks are too great.

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Artificial Intelligence (AI)

Sign up to receive CFR President Mike Froman’s analysis on the most important foreign policy story of the week, delivered to your inbox every Friday afternoon. Subscribe to The World This Week. In the Middle East, Israel and Iran are engaged in what could be the most consequential conflict in the region since the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. CFR’s experts continue to cover all aspects of the evolving conflict on CFR.org. While the situation evolves, including the potential for direct U.S. involvement, it is worth touching on another recent development in the region which could have far-reaching consequences: the diffusion of cutting-edge U.S. artificial intelligence (AI) technology to leading Gulf powers. The defining feature of President Donald Trump’s foreign policy is his willingness to question and, in many cases, reject the prevailing consensus on matters ranging from European security to trade. His approach to AI policy is no exception. Less than six months into his second term, Trump is set to fundamentally rewrite the United States’ international AI strategy in ways that could influence the balance of global power for decades to come. In February, at the Artificial Intelligence Action Summit in Paris, Vice President JD Vance delivered a rousing speech at the Grand Palais, and made it clear that the Trump administration planned to abandon the Biden administration’s safety-centric approach to AI governance in favor of a laissez-faire regulatory regime. “The AI future is not going to be won by hand-wringing about safety,” Vance said. “It will be won by building—from reliable power plants to the manufacturing facilities that can produce the chips of the future.” And as Trump’s AI czar David Sacks put it, “Washington wants to control things, the bureaucracy wants to control things. That’s not a winning formula for technology development. We’ve got to let the private sector cook.” The accelerationist thrust of Vance and Sacks’s remarks is manifesting on a global scale. Last month, during Trump’s tour of the Middle East, the United States announced a series of deals to permit the United Arab Emirates (UAE) and Saudi Arabia to import huge quantities (potentially over one million units) of advanced AI chips to be housed in massive new data centers that will serve U.S. and Gulf AI firms that are training and operating cutting-edge models. These imports were made possible by the Trump administration’s decision to scrap a Biden administration executive order that capped chip exports to geopolitical swing states in the Gulf and beyond, and which represents the most significant proliferation of AI capabilities outside the United States and China to date. The recipe for building and operating cutting-edge AI models has a few key raw ingredients: training data, algorithms (the governing logic of AI models like ChatGPT), advanced chips like Graphics Processing Units (GPUs) or Tensor Processing Units (TPUs)—and massive, power-hungry data centers filled with advanced chips.  Today, the United States maintains a monopoly of only one of these inputs: advanced semiconductors, and more specifically, the design of advanced semiconductors—a field in which U.S. tech giants like Nvidia and AMD, remain far ahead of their global competitors. To weaponize this chokepoint, the first Trump administration and the Biden administration placed a series of ever-stricter export controls on the sale of advanced U.S.-designed AI chips to countries of concern, including China.  The semiconductor export control regime culminated in the final days of the Biden administration with the rollout of the Framework for Artificial Intelligence Diffusion, more commonly known as the AI diffusion rule—a comprehensive global framework for limiting the proliferation of advanced semiconductors. The rule sorted the world into three camps. Tier 1 countries, including core U.S. allies such as Australia, Japan, and the United Kingdom, were exempt from restrictions, whereas tier 3 countries, such as Russia, China, and Iran, were subject to the extremely stringent controls. The core controversy of the diffusion rule stemmed from the tier 2 bucket, which included some 150 countries including India, Mexico, Israel, Switzerland, Saudi Arabia, and the United Arab Emirates. Many tier 2 states, particularly Gulf powers with deep economic and military ties to the United States, were furious.  The rule wasn’t just a matter of how many chips could be imported and by whom. It refashioned how the United States could steer the distribution of computing resources, including the regulation and real-time monitoring of their deployment abroad and the terms by which the technologies can be shared with third parties. Proponents of the restrictions pointed to the need to limit geopolitical swing states’ access to leading AI capabilities and to prevent Chinese, Russian, and other adversarial actors from accessing powerful AI chips by contracting cloud service providers in these swing states.  However, critics of the rule, including leading AI model developers and cloud service providers, claimed that the constraints would stifle U.S. innovation and incentivize tier 2 countries to adopt Chinese AI infrastructure. Moreover, critics argued that with domestic capital expenditures on AI development and infrastructure running into the hundreds of billions of dollars in 2025 alone, fresh capital and scale-up opportunities in the Gulf and beyond represented the most viable option for expanding the U.S. AI ecosystem. This hypothesis is about to be tested in real time. In May, the Trump administration killed the diffusion rule, days before it would have been set into motion, in part to facilitate the export of these cutting-edge chips abroad to the Gulf powers. This represents a fundamental pivot for AI policy, but potentially also in the logic of U.S. grand strategy vis-à-vis China. The most recent era of great power competition, the Cold War, was fundamentally bipolar and the United States leaned heavily on the principle of non-proliferation, particularly in the nuclear domain, to limit the possibility of new entrants. We are now playing by a new set of rules where the diffusion of U.S. technology—and an effort to box out Chinese technology—is of paramount importance. Perhaps maintaining and expanding the United States’ global market share in key AI chokepoint technologies will deny China the scale it needs to outcompete the United States—but it also introduces the risk of U.S. chips falling into the wrong hands via transhipment, smuggling, and other means, or being co-opted by authoritarian regimes for malign purposes.  Such risks are not illusory: there is already ample evidence of Chinese firms using shell entities to access leading-edge U.S. chips through cloud service providers in Southeast Asia. And Chinese firms, including Huawei, were important vendors for leading Gulf AI firms, including the UAE’s G-42, until the U.S. government forced the firm to divest its Chinese hardware as a condition for receiving a strategic investment from Microsoft in 2024. In the United States, the ability to build new data centers is severely constrained by complex permitting processes and limited capacity to bring new power to the grid. What the Gulf countries lack in terms of semiconductor prowess and AI talent, they make up for with abundant capital, energy, and accommodating regulations. The Gulf countries are well-positioned for massive AI infrastructure buildouts. The question is simply, using whose technology—American or Chinese—and on what terms? In Saudi Arabia and the UAE, it will be American technology for now. The question remains whether the diffusion of the most powerful dual-use technologies of our day will bind foreign users to the United States and what impact it will have on the global balance of power.  We welcome your feedback on this column. Let me know what foreign policy issues you’d like me to address next by replying to [email protected].

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