The Battle of Algiers: The Folly of Occupation

This review was published originally on cinekklesia on August 2, 2006.

In terms of debates about U.S. foreign policy, perhaps no other rhetorical device is used as much as the analogy. The United States has been involved in so many different types of wars in so many disparate countries that our pundits find it easy to pluck an example from the annals of history in order to score debating points. These days, the historical example with the most currency is, of course, Vietnam, and those who are opposed to the U.S. occupation of Iraq (or at least fearful of its long-term consequences) are keen to remember our quagmire in Southeast Asia during the 1960's and 70's. The other side may note that such one-to-one analogies are faulty: Vietnam and Iraq have very different historical, cultural, and political contexts. Besides, the American military of 2006 is significantly better than its predecessor from 40 years ago.

Yet, perhaps the underlying issue has nothing to do with analogies per se but with the specific analogy that one is using. Recently, Gillo Pontecorvo's The Battle of Algiers (1966) has been receiving some attention, due to its unintended echoing of the current situation in Iraq. (For example, former National Security Advisor—under Carter—Zbigniew Brzezinski mentioned it during a debate with the Council on Foreign Relations' Walter Russell Mead.) With a gritty, black-and-white realism, Pontecorvo relays 1950's and 60's urban warfare between members of the French military, occupying Algeria, and the National Liberation Front (FLN). (For a brief overview, check out Wikipedia's entry on Algerian history, particularly the sections on Nationalism and Resistance and the War of Independence.)

The parallels are eerie: a Western military occupying a predominantly Muslim country, insurgents utilizing terrorist tactics, clear physical and geographic divisions between locals and occupiers, etc. One difference, perhaps, is the attitude of the French commander in the film: he essentially admits to using torture and says that he is merely doing what it takes to fulfill the policy mandate from Paris — i.e., if France wants to hold onto Algeria as colonial territory, then his soldiers must use brutal tactics to achieve that end. (It's too bad that such rhetoric is politically unfeasible today, since it at least would add some honesty to the debate.) Pontecorvo clearly sides with the Algerians in his film, and he has two simple messages for his Western viewers: (1) colonialism is morally wrong, and (2) while colonial occupiers may have strong militaries, they will have to be ready to spill a lot of blood and spend a lot of cash in order to maintain their control.

At this point, supporters of the U.S. war effort in Iraq (a number that seems to dwindle by the day) may argue that even with the Arab-Islamic connection, one cannot make a one-to-one analogy between Algeria and Iraq. For one thing, the U.S. is not (explicitly, at least) attempting to foist colonial rule, and the current situation in Iraq is not so much a war of independence as it is a sectarian struggle between Sunnis and Shiites (as though that were better).

Fair enough: let's dispense with the analogous rhetoric, which is certainly too simplistic, and recognize the real value of historical case studies like Vietnam and Algeria — they provide insights into trends. If one-to-one relationships prove problematic, then what do the adventures of Western powers in far-off lands show us in general? Unfortunately, it seems that such cases demonstrate how long-term occupations are a recipe for disaster.

The first reason should be obvious: occupied peoples usually don't want to be occupied. Given a choice, most groups do not want to be assimilated into larger and/or more powerful political bodies, do not want foreign troops patrolling their streets, and do not want to pay taxes/tribute to external leaders. I am sure that readers can find exceptions to my claim (e.g., Puerto Rico), but I sense that my general observation stands on solid ground. Even groups that have been occupied for decades or centuries try to strike out on their own again (e.g., the Chechens in Russia, the Basques in Spain), if an opportunity presents itself. Even if the occupying power claims to be doing the locals a favor by, say, investing in local infrastructure or installing democracy, the probability is high that resentment against said power will grow. (On a related note, foreign policy analyst Ted Galen Carpenter recently lambasted those who believe that Iranians would welcome a U.S. military strike, if that strike would help oust the unpopular theocratic rulers. Carpenter notes what should be an obvious point: most people, regardless of their political views, would not appreciate a third party bombing their neighborhoods, despite that party's intentions.)

The second reason why occupation makes for bad policy is cost. The occupier expends a huge amount of resources (human and financial) trying to control a population that doesn't want to be controlled. By definition, locals in occupied lands aren't going anywhere and are fighting on "home turf," while occupying forces (along with their administrators, contractors, and equipment) have to be shipped in from far away. Almost every empire in history has had to contend with the expense of its enterprise and with the transfer of huge amounts of wealth from productive purposes (free markets) to unproductive ends (command-and-control systems that are the hallmark of occupation).

Unfortunately, in what appears to be an endless cycle, historical lessons about the folly of occupation fall on deaf ears. New generations of political leaders often don't appreciate the live-and-let-live approach to foreign policy—which promotes an effective, though non-interventionist, national defense—and opt instead to promote democracy at the barrel of a gun or to maintain control, at all costs, over an ethnic minority itching for autonomy. Such egregious ignorance of (or reckless disregard for) the most basic historical lessons regarding military occupation is not just short-sighted — it is morally reprehensible.