Bush decided, initially, to confront Hussein—not invade Iraq. The president feared another attack, one perhaps even more dire than 9/11. Rogue states like Iraq, Bush worried, might share the world’s deadliest weapons with terrorists who desperately wanted to inflict pain on America, puncture its air of invincibility, undermine its institutions, and make Americans doubt the value of their freedoms.
Yet fear alone did not shape the president’s strategy. Bush’s faith in American might was equally important. From the outset of his administration, he aimed to expand American military capabilities, which already far exceeded those of any other nation. The use of airpower, special forces, and new technologies to expel the Taliban from Kabul in 2001 reinforced his sense of strength. America’s reach appeared to have no bounds. Washington, he felt, must not be dissuaded from helping its friends and protecting its interests, especially in regions harboring crucial raw materials and energy reserves. The U.S. had the power to do so and needed to demonstrate it.
Fear and power were reinforced by hubris. Bush insisted that all people wanted to live by American values—to be free to say what they pleased and pray as they wished. If the United States overthrew a brutal dictator, American officials could take satisfaction in knowing that they were enriching the lives of his benighted subjects.
Spurred by fear, growing confidence in American power, and a sense of moral virtue, Bush embraced coercive diplomacy. The strategy was appealing because almost everyone surrounding Bush believed that Hussein’s defiance would not cease until he was confronted by superior force. But the strategy was adopted without a clear goal—regime change or WMD elimination.
When, after the invasion, those weapons were not found, Bush shifted to a more ideological discourse. “The failure of Iraq democracy,” he warned, “would embolden terrorists around the world … Success will send forth the news, from Damascus to Teheran—that freedom can be the future of every nation.” When the U.S. got locked in an insurrectionary struggle and Islamic fundamentalism surged, neither Bush’s goals nor his strategy appeared to make sense. His critics mocked his naivete, accused him of dishonesty, and ridiculed his democratic zealotry.
These critics underestimated Bush’s qualities and misconstrued his thinking. Bush failed not because he was a weak leader, a naive ideologue, or a manipulative liar. He was always fully in charge of the administration’s Iraq policy, and he did not rush to war. He went to war not to make Iraq democratic but to remove a murderous dictator who intended to restart his weapons programs, supported suicide missions, and cultivated links with terrorist groups (even if not, actually, al-Qaeda).
In those narrow aims, Bush succeeded. Another attack on American soil did not occur and he did eliminate a brutal, erratic, and dangerous tyrant. But he did not achieve that at an acceptable cost. The war proved catastrophic for Iraq. Over the ensuing years, more than 200,000 Iraqis perished as a result of the war, insurrection, and civic strife, and more than 9 million people—about a third of the prewar population—were internally displaced or fled abroad.