The West’s moral supremacy has also been eroded, which is paradoxical to say the least, given that the Western model has no competitor and the appeal of the European and American lifestyle is stronger than ever not only in Warsaw and Manila, but also in Tehran, Moscow, Cairo, Shanghai, Chennai, Havana and everywhere else. Yet there exists a real problem of trust between the centre and the periphery. It is a problem which is rooted in the unhealthy relationship that was established in previous centuries between the Western powers and the rest of the world, and which today contributes to making people unable to manage their diversity, formulate shared values or envisage a common future. And that makes them incapable of facing today’s growing dangers.
Chapter 6
Part of the reason why the West has been unable to take full advantage of its victory over Communism is that it has not managed to share its prosperity beyond its cultural borders.
For example, the spectacular effects of the European project, which enabled several countries in the south and then the east of the continent to catch up after centuries of being left behind, has never managed to cross the narrow Strait of Gibraltar and reach the other side of the Mediterranean. There today there exists a high wall which may be invisible but is none the less as real, cruel and dangerous as the one which used to divide Europe.
The millennial crisis in the Muslim world may be responsible in part; it may even be the most significant factor. But it is certainly not the only one. Because if you look at the New World — a vast territory where Islam has never taken root — you will see a similar phenomenon: the United States has been unable to extend its prosperity to its Mexican neighbour south of the Rio Grande, to the point that the Americans felt the need to build their own protective wall (a real one in this case), which has caused distrust and resentment throughout Latin America, a continent which is, of course, as Christian as Europe and North America.
This makes me think that the failings of the Muslim world, however real and tragic they may be, are not the whole story. The Western world has its own historical blind spots and moral failures. And it is often these blind spots and moral failures that have coloured the experience of subjugated peoples over the last few centuries. When the United States is mentioned in Chile or Nicaragua, or France in Algeria or Madagascar, or Great Britain in Iran, China or the Middle East, or Holland in Indonesia, the names that come to mind are not Benjamin Franklin, Condorcet, Hume and Erasmus.
The Western reaction to this issue today is often an impatient one along the lines of: ‘Stop blaming us! Stop beating us up over this! Not all the world’s troubles are the fault of colonialism.’ This is an understandable reaction, and strikes a chord with many people who, like me, were born in countries of the South and get irritated when they hear their compatriots blaming the colonial period for all their woes. That period did undoubtedly cause lasting traumas, especially in Africa, but the period since independence has often proven to be yet more disastrous, and I for one have no time for the countless incompetent, corrupt or tyrannical leaders who are always quick to offer the convenient excuse of colonialism.
I believe that the period of the French mandate in my own country, Lebanon, which lasted from 1918 to 1943, and also the final phase of the Ottoman presence (1864–1914), were much less harmful than the various regimes which have succeeded them since independence. It may be politically incorrect to set it down in black and white, but this is how I read the facts. (A similar pattern can be seen in several other countries, but out of tact I shall mention only my own.)
But if the excuse of colonialism is no longer acceptable to justify the failure of leadership in the Third World, the issue of the unhealthy relationship between the West and its former colonies remains crucial. It can’t be shrugged off with a quip or an irritated grumble.
For my part, I remain convinced that Western civilisation has contributed more than any other to the creation of universal values, but it has proved unequal to the task of transmitting them effectively. The whole of humanity is now paying the price for this failure.
The easy explanation is that other peoples are not ready for the transplant. This is a tenacious idea which gets passed on unquestioningly from generation to generation and century to century, so obvious does it seem. Its most recent outing came with the war in Iraq. ‘The Americans’ mistake’, so it is alleged, ‘was wanting to impose democracy on a people who didn’t want it.’ The statement is uttered like a judgement which admits of no appeal, and everyone gets something out of it, both Washington’s detractors and its supporters: the former mock the folly of such an undertaking and the latter praise its naive nobility. Such is the cunning of this received idea, which fits every shade of opinion and intellectual fashion. To those who are respectful of other peoples, it seems respectful; but those who are contemptuous or even racist also have their prejudices confirmed.
It is an assertion with the appearance of a realistic assessment; but from my point of view it is quite simply the opposite of the truth. What really happened in Iraq is that the US was unable to bring democracy to a people who longed for it.
Every time the Iraqis have had the chance to vote, they have flocked in their millions, even at the risk of their lives. Is there any other people on earth who would have queued outside polling stations in the certain knowledge that there would be suicide and car bombs? These are the people who we are told did not want democracy. This is repeated in the papers and in debates on the radio and on TV, and almost no one takes the time to examine it critically.
The other part of the assertion — that the US wanted to impose democracy — strikes me as equally dubious. It is possible to come up with more or less credible reasons that may have influenced the US decision to invade the country in 2003: the fight against terrorism and regimes suspected of aiding terrorists; the fear of a ‘rogue state’ developing weapons of mass destruction; the desire to get rid of a leader who threatened the monarchies of the Gulf and worried Israel; the wish to control the oil fields; and so on. Explanations with psychoanalytic overtones have even been put forward: for example, that President Bush wished to finish off the job that his father had left incomplete. But no serious observer, none of the witnesses or researchers who have combed through the accounts of meetings at which the decision to go to war was taken and who have produced a voluminous literature in recent years, has reported a shred of evidence to suggest that the real motive for the invasion was to install democracy in Iraq.
While it would be pointless to base a judgement on intent, it must be conceded that from the very first weeks of the occupation, the US authorities put in place a system of political representation based on religious or ethnic origin, which immediately triggered outbreaks of violence unprecedented in the country’s history. From my own firsthand experience in Lebanon and elsewhere, I can attest to the fact that communitarianism never causes democracy to flourish, to put it mildly. Communitarianism is a negation of the very idea of citizenship, and a civilised political system cannot be built on such a foundation. For all that it is crucial to take account of the different constituents that make up a nation (in a way that is subtle, flexible and implicit, so that every citizen feels he or she is represented), it is nonetheless pernicious and even destructive to set up a quota system which divides the nation permanently into rival tribes.
That the great American democracy brought the Iraqi people this poisoned gift of sacrosanct communitarianism is a shame and an indignity. If it was done out of ignorance, it is distressing; if it was a cynical calculation, it is criminal.
It is true that before the invasion and throughout the conflict there was much talk of freedom and democracy. Such utterances have been a matter of course everywhere and always. Whatever the objectives of a military operation, it is preferable to say that it was undertaken for justice, progress or civilisation; for God and his prophets; for widows and orphans; and also, of course, for legitimate self-defence and out of a love of peace. No leader wants people to say that his real motives were vengeance, greed, fanaticism, intolerance, the will to dominate or the desire to silence his opponents. The role of propagandists is to conceal the real aims behind noble disguises, and the role of free citizens is to scrutinise their actions to strip away the lies that cloak them.
That said, in the wake of the attacks of 11 September 2001 there was undoubtedly in the United States a
