FOR MORE THAN A CENTURY, INSURGENCY HAS BEEN A FOCAL POINT in foreign affairs; its principal tactics—terrorism and guerrilla warfare—have been employed from Indonesia to Ireland and from Colombia to China. People of all races, cultures, climates, economies, religions, and languages have engaged in it. Since it is so widespread, and so costly and painful for all its participants, we must ask why it is so prevalent.
We should begin by noting what is common to all insurgencies. No matter how they differ in form, duration, and intensity, a single thread runs through them all: opposition to foreigners. This propensity to protect the home community arises because all human beings are territorial. Among primitive peoples territoriality is immediate and physical. It is usually expressed by a kin group or clan living together in a defined area small enough that the members are in daily contact. Anthropologists have found that such groups seldom exceed a hundred individuals. They are people who know one another intimately, live side by side, hunt or herd together, and often own their property in common. They are bonded by the absolute imperative to protect the resources that sustain their lives. Today such groups are rare, but the way they live is how all our ancestors lived for millions of years, conditioned over millennia to turn inward to rally support and outward to repel intruders.
As people settled down, first to become farmers, then townsmen, and finally to amalgamate into nations and even larger agglomerations, as most living people have done, territoriality has become more abstract, so that people who are not bound together by kinship may identify with one another without close physical contact as fellow members of an emotional, ideological, religious, or cultural “neighborhood.”
Thus, at one extreme, the operative society is a single clan; at the other, millions of people may form a nation or ethnic or religious group that takes on some of the sense of cohesion so evident in a small kin group. Regardless of size or definition, however, the society is the touchstone of individual identity. Consequently, while members may accept outsiders as guests or “guest workers” and even on occasion allow them to join, they rarely and usually only temporarily are willing to accept foreigners as rulers. The very presence of foreigners, indeed, stimulates the sense first of apartness and ultimately of group cohesion. This is a process that is partly automatic but is often fostered both by native leaders and by the actions of their foreign enemies. Natives tend to react violently if they perceive that foreigners are changing or corrupting their way of life, while the imperial or colonial government seeks to suppress their rebelliousness. In the action and reaction, what I have called the climate of insurgency is created. As each loses legitimacy in the eyes of the other, both employ violence. The government uses force to attempt to overawe native opponents, to create stability, and to prevent lawlessness. For the natives, who cannot otherwise convince the foreigners to leave, insurgency becomes the politics of last resort.
Is insurgency really that consistent? No, obviously there is considerable variation. In the following chapters, I will show how different cultures, ideologies, and degrees of political consciousness among insurgents—and also among their foreigner overlords—have shaped the nature of struggles all over the world during the last three centuries. But from this analytical history will emerge, I argue, that they do so without altering the fundamental motivation of violent politics. That motivation and the course of action to which it gives rise aim primarily to protect the integrity of the native group from foreigners. That the heart of insurgency is essentially anti-foreign is the central thesis of this book.
I believe authors owe their readers an account of how they arrived at their analysis. Here is mine.
From the summer of 1961, when I became a member of the Policy Planning Council of the U.S. Department of State, I was given access to the full range of information flowing into the government. My first assignment that would eventually influence this book was to head the interdepartmental task force monitoring and preparing to deal with the Algerian guerrilla war against the French. I will describe what I then learned in Chapter Eight. Algeria was an eye-opener, but even before entering government service, I had already observed, sometimes quite closely, several guerrilla wars. So it was natural that I paid particular attention to the growing conflict in Vietnam.
In Algeria, America played a minor and peripheral role, but in Vietnam, the State Department, Agency for International Development, Central Intelligence Agency, Department of Defense, and the separate armed services, as well as journalists and nongovernmental organizations, began to accumulate enormous collections of facts. No country was ever so reported upon as was Vietnam by Americans. From 1962, shortly before the major escalation of American activities began, I spent part of each day perusing the deluge of cables, intelligence reports, and summaries that poured across my desk on Vietnam. Of these a small fraction subsequently ended up in The Pentagon Papers.
In all the mass of materials, thousands upon thousands of pages, however, one looked in vain for a satisfying definition, much less a coherent and penetrating analysis, of guerrilla warfare. Everything I came across was episodic, without historical depth, short on questions but quick with answers that often seemed unrelated to events. As the months passed, I came to believe that our lack of any evident means to make sense of the daily events was so dangerous—already we were fairly deep into Vietnam and obviously were headed deeper—that I took six weeks off from my regular tasks at the Policy Planning Council and read everything I could find on insurgency.
Learning about my study, the National War College invited me to summarize my findings for its graduating class of the “best and brightest”—army, air force, and marine colonels and navy captains—who were headed for senior command. I was delighted, as the occasion would force me to try out what I had learned on a very critical audience, one preparing for combat in Vietnam. Before them, I then argued that guerrilla warfare was composed of three elements—politics, administration, and combat. I had concluded that combat was the least important element in the struggle. I told the audience that we had already lost the political issue—Ho Chi Minh had become the embodiment of Vietnamese nationalism. That, I suggested, was about 80 percent of the total struggle. Moreover, the Viet Minh or Viet Cong, as we had come to call them, had also so disrupted the administration of South Vietnam, killing large numbers of its officials, that it had ceased to be able to perform even basic functions. That, I guessed, amounted to an additional 15 percent of the struggle. So, with only 5 percent at stake, we were holding the short end of the lever. And because of the appalling corruption of South Vietnamese government, as I had a chance to observe firsthand, even that lever was in danger of breaking. I warned the officers that the war was already lost.
The War College audience was disciplined to be polite, but the officers were furious. They knew how to fight and were anxious to prove their skill and determination. Vietnam was the prime opportunity of their professional careers. The idea that we would lose Vietnam was regarded in 1963 as rank heresy. Moreover, I was just a civilian. They were soldiers. I was dealing only with theory; they would make facts on the ground. That we would lose the war in Vietnam was unthinkable. The officers were not alone in this conclusion. The chairman of the Policy Planning Council, my boss Walt Rostow, who later as head of the National Security Council came to be regarded as the architect of our Vietnam policy, admonished me for being a Cassandra. I accepted the designation; after all, Cassandra had been right. Although we remained friends, we never resolved our differences over Vietnam, and in due course I resigned.
But then a curious thing happened. In 1967, when I had become president of the Adlai Stevenson Institute of International Affairs and professor of history at the University of Chicago, I was invited to lecture again at the War College on more or less the same topic. Expecting a hostile audience of the current class of senior officers, I hedged my remarks somewhat by saying that my intent was to provoke thought. Thereupon an army brigadier general stood up and said that he did not understand my diffidence. Laughing, I recounted my previous experience, to which he replied, “But we have all been there now.”
As president of the Adlai Stevenson Institute of International Affairs, while I did not myself speak often about Vietnam, I arranged fellowships that enabled David Halberstam to write his book on the formation of American policy, The Best and the Brightest; Neil Sheehan to begin his study of counterinsurgency that led to his book A Bright and Shining Lie; and Richard Pfeffer to bring together in a conference the leading critics and proponents of American activities in Vietnam, from whose writings and papers he edited No More Vietnams? The War and the Future of American Foreign Policy.
Like many observers, I hoped that Vietnam would be the final lesson for Americans that no matter how many soldiers and civilians were killed, how much money was spent, how powerful and sophisticated were the arms employed, foreigners cannot militarily defeat a determined insurgency except by virtual genocide. We came close to genocide in Vietnam—where we dropped more bombs than all the armed forces of the world exploded during the Second World War, poisoned or burned vast tracts of the country, and killed about two million people. Despite all this, we still lost the war. We did not learn the lesson in Vietnam. We still have not.
According to the Oxford English Dictionary, “guerrilla,” the Spanish word for “small war,” was introduced into English in an 1809 dispatch from the Duke of Wellington during the Anglo-Spanish campaign against Napoleon’s army. With unintended irony, the editors of the Dictionary commented that “it is now somewhat rare.”
Now somewhat rare! Forty years later with perhaps $2 trillion wasted and about thirty thousand Americans and millions of people of other lands wounded or killed, books on Spain, Cuba, Colombia, Ireland, the Basque country, Cyprus, Afghanistan, Çeçnya, the Uighur areas of China, Sri Lanka, Burma, the Philippines, Malaysia, East Timor, the Sudan, Somalia, Yemen, Vietnam, Algeria, Iraq—I cannot list them all—fill my shelves. It is obvious just from the ones I have named that insurgency and its most dramatic manifestations, guerrilla warfare and terrorism, are worldwide phenomena of the greatest importance, yet very few of the authors of books on current conflicts offer insightful social, political, cultural, or economic analysis.
Those who set out to analyze the nature of insurgency emphasize—many exclusively—the military aspects. These, as I mentioned and will show in the following chapters, are the least important. Many concern themselves only with weapons; some even just with uniforms. They seem to believe that the symbols shape the movements. Then there are the eyewitness accounts that attempt to give a vision of battle or the life of combatants. Rarely are there meaningful accounts of the history of the people or any attempt to understand their societies and cultures. Yet these, after all, are what give rise to the conflicts.
I have cast my account in eleven chapters, each designed to show how a particular climate of insurgency was created, how an outbreak of violence was triggered, the stages through which the insurgents progressed, and finally the outcome of each struggle. I have adopted this approach because I want to show both the ways in which various peoples—Muslims, Christians, Jews, Hindus, Buddhists, and atheists; Africans, Asians, Americans, and Europeans; advanced societies and the less developed—have adopted terrorism and guerrilla warfare when they decided that other means of politics were unavailable.
I will also use the historical record to bring out what I see as the stages through which insurgencies evolve. Each of the insurgencies with which I deal—and others that are too numerous to be fully recounted here—begins with almost ludicrously tiny groups of disaffected people who sally forth against vastly superior armies and police forces. The odds appear impossible—even absurd. Consider the record:
In this preliminary stage, the insurgents are too few to fight as guerrillas so they fight as terrorists. This was what happened in Cyprus, where fewer than eighty men attacked the ruling British colonial government that was supported by thousands of troops and police. In the Palestine Mandate, a tiny group to be known as Irgun Zeva’i Le’umi split off from the Jewish Agency’s military force, the Haganah, to attack the British administration; briefly during the Second World War, the Irgun ceased attacks on the British and Avraham Stern split off to form a new group, known as Stern or LEHI, and gathered a handful of followers, probably fewer than twenty, to continue attacks on the British. Stern’s most spectacular action was the murder of the senior British official in the Middle East in 1944. Stern was so successful that Irgun, by then under the leadership of Menachem Begin, swung back toward Stern’s policy and in 1946 blew up the largest hotel in Jerusalem, where a number of senior British officials were housed. By that time, Irgun and Stern numbered perhaps a hundred men. Most other groups were similarly tiny at inception. In Yugoslavia, for example, Drazha Mihailovic (also written Mihailovich), a Serb who had been a colonel in the defeated royalist army, began the Cetniks with only twenty-six like-minded former officers and soldiers. In Greece, the resistance was formed by only fifteen men. Then, in Vietnam, the first action by the Viet Minh against the French in 1944 involved their total force—only thirty-four Vietnamese. Such small groups could not engage in guerrilla warfare. For them, acts of terrorism were the only possible acts. So terrorism is often the first stage of insurgency.
As terrorist acts succeed, other angry men and women join or form similar small groups. When the dominant government seeks to suppress them, two things frequently happen. Almost inevitably the government disrupts the lives of innocent bystanders and hurts or kills still more. In 1808 in Spain Napoleon’s soldiers routinely hanged all rebels they caught and those suspected of favoring them. The relatives and friends of the hanged quickly came to hate the French. Against the Philippine rebels, first the Spaniards and then the Americans undertook search and destroy operations that killed thousands of people in the 1890s, tortured or humiliated many more, and burned scores of villages. Doing so triggered Philippine resistance. In Yugoslavia during the Second World War, the Germans employed a draconian system of reprisals, executing not only all the partisans they captured but hundreds of civilian hostages in retaliation for the death of each German soldier. The relatives, neighbors, and friends of those killed by foreign troops sought revenge, and the place to get it was in the ranks of insurgents. So from a handful, their numbers grew.
On Cyprus, the insurgent force tripled in a year, from about 80 to 273 active combatants backed up by perhaps three times that many part-time fighters. Castro overthrew the foreign-supported Batista dictatorship with a rebel force that grew from a dozen or so to a force of about 1,500 within a year. The Viet Minh military force grew from 34 in 1944 to about 5,000 in just a few months. In Algeria, the guerrillas began with fewer than a hundred and ultimately reached about 13,000 in their fight against 485,000 French and Foreign Legion soldiers.
Numbers were important because they made possible the spread of insurgency and also because they attenuated the forces of their opponents, whom they forced to protect more territory. More important than numbers, however, was that in their operations, the insurgents came to symbolize the nationalist cause. Mao thought that identifying with the people was the single most important task of the guerrilla. Tito captured the position of national leader because, unlike Mihailovic who temporized, husbanded his resources, and even made deals with the Italians and Germans, he fought. In Vietnam, similarly, so firmly did Ho Chi Minh come to symbolize the nationalist cause that the Americans realized that he would win perhaps 80 percent of the vote in a free election even in the American-controlled south.
Thus, we can observe that after shadowy beginnings, the insurgency in what we can call Phase 1 both gains a critical mass for extended operations and achieves recognition as the national champion. This, as the record will demonstrate, is the most critical event in insurgency. In Vietnam, that event occurred long before the first American soldiers arrived.
However, some insurgencies never progress beyond this first, terrorist, phase. The reasons are several. Among them, perhaps the two most likely are that the original group fails to capture the aura of legitimacy or leadership and so cannot recruit enough followers, or that it cannot find sufficient space for maneuver into true guerrilla warfare. Both of these factors affected the Irish Republican Army (IRA) and the Basque Separatist Movement (ETA).
Toward the end of the first phase, groups of men, often numbering only a score or so, begin to seek targets that will yield what they most desperately lack: weapons. Often, at this time, the insurgents have only shotguns or even just agricultural tools with which to fight; so what the seizure of a small outpost can yield, rifles or even a machine gun or two, is literally priceless. The attackers pick isolated targets where they can achieve superiority. The booty they seize enables them to attract more followers, while the arms they acquire give them more capability. If they are beaten off, as certainly many have been, they run, drop their weapons, and hide. If they have prepared the neighborhood, they can pretend to be just peasants working in the fields. To use Mao Tse-tung’s famous phrase, they behave as fish and seek shelter and sustenance among the people, the sea.
Phase 2 of an insurgency comes about when the combatants disrupt the administration of the dominant power and its local allies. The French journalist Bernard Fall searched the French police records to discover the way this happened in South Vietnam. There the local branch of the Viet Minh, the Giai Phong Quan, systematically murdered government-appointed village officials. Fall estimated that the Giai Phong Quan killed about seven hundred during 1957–1958, twenty-five hundred from 1959 to 1960, and four thousand from 1960 to 1961. But it was not just the officials who were liquidated. As George Carver of the CIA wrote in 1966 in Foreign Affairs, “The terror was directed not only against officials but against all whose operations were essential to the functioning of organized political society, school teachers, health workers, agricultural officials, etc.” Thus, by the time the Americans became active in Vietnam, the South Vietnamese government had virtually ceased to function. It could not collect taxes or even deliver mail much beyond downtown Saigon. Its officials could move only during daylight. Even in Saigon, as I witnessed one night, government patrols avoided the streets when darkness fell.
Disruption is followed by substitution. Having killed or chased away the representatives of the regime, the insurgents immediately begin to create an alternative administration or “anti-state.” We can see this most recently in the struggle of the Viet Minh against the French, but it was evident in the American Revolution, where “Committees of Safety” became local governments; the Spanish war against the French, where juntas replaced both the old royalist government and the French invaders. Tito, inspired by having observed peoples’ committees, known as soviets, during the Russian Revolution, created odbors (people’s councils) to manage local affairs; the committees opened schools, published a newspaper, and even arranged sports events. Similarly in Greece the National Liberation Front (Ethnikon Apeleftherotikon Metopon, or EAM) underground created village councils that collected taxes to support the andartes (combatants). Each committee was headed by a “responsible person” (Greek: Ipefthinos), a local man who was almost invariably a member of the Communist Party. In turn, each Ipefthinos became a member of the council of a group of villages and so on to create a political pyramid that effectively ruled occupied Greece.
This process is the guerrilla version of what the leading French counterinsurgent, Colonel (later General) Joseph Gallieni, called the tache d’huile, or oil spot. Gallieni argued that as each “spot,” each village or district, was secured, it would merge with other spots until the whole country was under control. The theory was sound, but the French found that it was easier for guerrilla oil spots to spread than for those of counterguerrillas. Americans, in their turn in Vietnam, found the same.
Why is this? Mao Tse-tung and other guerrilla leaders provide an answer. It is that control of territory has exactly the opposite meaning for guerrillas and counterinsurgents. When counterinsurgents acquire territory, they create new targets for the guerrillas, and so to protect their installations, they have to spread out their forces and go on the defensive. Thus, in any given place, the guerrillas are apt to be able to concentrate to attack with overwhelming force. When guerrillas move into an area, they are not trying to protect installations; their objective is to take control and win over the people. To prevent them from doing so, the counterinsurgents are forced into repressive and unpopular actions. In Malaya first and then in Vietnam, experiments were tried to so isolate the people that the rebels could not reach them. In Malaya the British even prevented villagers from cooking their own food so that they could not pass any of it to the rebels; in Kenya the British put about 150,000 people in concentration camps; in Vietnam the Americans forced virtually the entire rural population to move out of their villages into strategic hamlets, ap-chien-luoc. As the editors of the Pentagon Papers wrote, “The long history of these efforts were marked by consistency in results as well as in techniques: all failed dismally.”
Occasionally, however, neither the guerrillas nor their enemies managed to create organizations outside of small autonomous areas or even single villages. This was the situation in Afghanistan during the resistance to the Soviet Union. The lack of unity made it impossible for the Russians to defeat the guerrillas, but also made it impossible for the guerrillas to defeat the Russians. It left as its legacy the warlords who destroyed much of their own country after the Russians left and created the conditions that made the Afghans welcome the Taliban. It is a legacy that still shapes Afghan society and politics.
Sometimes, in the rebel-controlled areas, even those that were only temporarily secured, quite sophisticated organizations were created. Tito, whose Partisans were nearly always on the run from the far superior German forces, used one period of relative security to organize factories to manufacture rifles and even to turn out cigarettes. Later in the war, his Partisans ran a postal service on a captured railroad. The Viet Minh created repair shops for the weapons they captured and even manufactured duplicates of captured light machine guns. In wartime Greece the EAM organized a system of taxation and countrywide reconstruction support. In Spain, during the war against Napoleon, one guerrilla organization took over and ran the customs for external trade. Although far less sophisticated, the Mau Mau guerrillas in Kenya set up shops in the jungle to convert door bolts and springs into the crude firearms they used against the British. In short, during Phase 2, those insurgent organizations that ultimately were successful created anti-administrations, anti-economies, and ultimately anti-governments for their increasingly large groups of fighters and even larger groups of supporters.
Up to this point, the tactics that have served the guerrillas—hit and run, ambush and fade away, wear down the enemy piecemeal, and concentrate on winning over the general population—no longer seem sufficient. In a memorable passage the American scholar Robert Taber compared the guerrilla to a flea: “The guerrilla fights the war of the flea. The flea bites, hops, and bites again, nimbly avoiding the foot that would crush him. He does not seek to kill his enemy at a blow, but to bleed him and feed on him, to plague and bedevil him, to keep him from resting and to destroy his nerve and his morale. All of this requires time. Still more time is required to breed more fleas. What starts as a local infestation must become an epidemic, as one by one the areas of resistance link up, like spreading ink spots on a blotter.”
The insurgent commanders lose patience. They worry that their supporters will tire or even go over to the enemy. Their men age or get wounded or killed. By this time, guerrilla formations have reached a comparatively large scale. Their leaders then seek to transform the combat from small-scale, hit-and-run combat to regular warfare. So they are tempted to seek the means to strike a mortal blow. Thus, Phase 3 sees the bulk of the fighting.
In his 1937 pamphlet on guerrilla warfare, Mao Tse-tung wrote that in the final phase of the struggle “there must be a gradual change from guerrilla formations to orthodox regimental organization” that can meet the enemy on his own terms. For Mao, timing was crucial: to make the transition before the conditions were propitious was to court disaster. Mao took his time—more than a decade—but some other commanders have tried to move too quickly. In Vietnam, the Viet Minh strategist Vo Nguyen Giap threw his army into three disastrous campaigns against superior French forces during 1951 that almost wiped it out.
Mao’s and Giap’s transformations of their forces almost certainly were done for objective tactical reasons, but, as I will point out, others appear to have moved for subjective or prestige reasons. Some aspired to match their opponents’ formality and even appearance. In the American Revolution, George Washington despised not only the guerrillas who operated successfully far from his command but even the militia on which he had to rely. He found them to be “an exceeding dirty and nasty people [evincing] an unaccountable kind of stupidity.” As quickly as he could, he dispensed with both and devoted his energies to creating a British-type army, the Continental Line. As a result, he was defeated time after time and almost lost the war. As his great critic in that war, General Charles Lee, put it, to use “Hyde Park tactics,” as Washington wanted to do, was bound to fail. It took years to create the kind of army the British had. The Americans could hope to be only amateurs and to pit them against “a disciplined Enemy, would, in my Opinion, be downright Murder [at best] they will make an Awkward Figure, be laugh’d at as a bad Army by their Enemy, and defeated in every Rencontre which depends on Manoeuvres.” But, as we shall see, more leaders followed Washington than Lee. Military commanders choose to overlook the Kenyan proverb that proclaims the power of the flea—“A flea can trouble a lion more than the lion can harm a flea.” Most generals would rather be lions than fleas.
Two questions remain. First, what happens if the guerrillas do not get the foreigners and their local allies to give up? And, second, what happens if they do?
The short answer to the first question is that the resistance is almost certain to continue, year after year, even generation after generation.
The second question requires a more complex answer, but to reduce it to the main point, the evidence is that once an insurgency achieves what the leaders and enough of the public regard as an acceptable outcome, usually meaning that the foreigners leave and their local surrogates give up power, the guerrillas become superfluous. At that point, their leaders often become leaders of the government. That is what happened when Éamon de Valera became president of Ireland, Tito became president of Yugoslavia, Ahmad Ben Bella became president of Algeria, and Castro became president of Cuba. At that point, the old guerrilla organization comes to seem not only an anachronism but a threat. The new regime then usually sidelines or suppresses it. That is what de Valera, Tito, Ben Bella, and Castro did. As natives and as national heroes, they could do what foreigners could never do. Thus, the insurgency dies.
With this general background, I will analyze the course of some of the most important and revealing insurgencies and then, in the conclusion, apply the principles—the lessons—to the current American interventions in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Somalia and warn of others being planned.