Does intervening in Uganda meet the Mathis Test?

Ooh. Self-referential headlines are ugly, aren't they? But back when President Obama announced the United States would intervene in Libya's civil war, I set out a list of questions to help guide me through decisions on supporting or not supporting America's military interventions abroad. Now that Qaddafi is dead, it's a good time to apply those questions to America's latest intervention—the sending of 100 troops to Central Africa to aid the fight against the brutal Lord's Resistance Army.

Here are the questions, slightly revised:

A: Does the party against whom the United States is considering military action threaten U.S. security? No. The Lord's Resistance Army isn't attacking the United States or United States' interests. Now that the U.S. is getting involved, though, maybe that changes.

B: Is the party against whom the United States is considering action committing genocidal-levels of violence, such that even by the standards of war or civil war the conscience is shocked? Yes. The numbers are staggering. LRA's campaign of terror in Uganda has displaced 2 million people; the forces are said to have raped, mutilated, or abducted another 66,000 residents; and Michael Gerson's account is especially striking: "But (LRA leader Joseph) Kony’s crimes are vivid at close hand. When I was there in 2006, I talked to a boy forced by LRA rebels to execute his neighbors in order to break his ties with the past and to deaden his sympathy. I met another who was forced to bow in Kony’s presence — the rebel leader claims divinity — but who dared to look up in curiosity. The LRA soldiers took out one of the boy’s eyes in punishment." The conscience is shocked, and this violence is taking place on a widespread level to destabilize and horrify an entire region. It's important to note that humanitarian reasons—while significant—aren't as important as national security when weighing these questions. Answering "yes" here doesn't necessarily mean we should send the troops.

C: If the answer to (A) or (B) is "yes," are there non-military means that could effectively mitigate the threat? No. The Lord's Resistance Army is a non-state actor; sanctions wouldn't work in this case.

D: If the answer to (C) is "yes," do that. If the answer to (C) is "no," then: What is the desired end state of U.S. military action? A return to a previous status quo? Regime change? What? I'd have to say the death or capture of Joseph Kony. He claims divinity for himself; he runs the LRA as a cult of personality. Cut off the personality, and the cult is likely to be greatly diminished.

E: What is the worst-case scenario that could develop from U.S. military intervention? Is the scenario more or less threatening to U.S. security than the current threat? That LRA, which has ignored the U.S., becomes motivated to attack America and its interests because of the 100 U.S. troops that are helping track him down. From a security standpoint, the potential costs of blowback are more than the costs of doing nothing. But how likely is that blowback? We probably wouldn't know until the attack occurred.

F: Does the United States have the military and financial resources to bear the burdens of that worst-case scenario? Yes. At 100 troops, our footprint is light and the cost—as these things go—is unlikely to break the federal bank.

This series of questions doesn't produce a neat, mathematical "yes" or "no" answer. On the "for intervention" side, you have the serious of Kony's acts, the inability to address them through non-military means, and the relative cheapness of the operation from a U.S. perspective. On the "against intervention" side, though, you have the fact that Kony doesn't now threaten U.S. security—but that intervening raises the likelihood he will.

And that's, ultimately, why I come down against the U.S. deployment to Central Africa—though it's a closer call, in my mind, than the Libya intervention. The U.S. troops are supposedly going there on a training mission, to "advise" the African troops on how best to combat the LRA and pursue Kony; they only shoot if shot at. Being there makes it quite likely they'll be shot at, and shoot. At that point, we're at war, even if minor. To what good end?

The interesting thing about the deployment is that it is, apparently, an effort to help the countries of Central Africa help themselves, by training troops from those countries on how to pursue Kony and battle the LRA. That's going in the right direction. If there's a way to do that without putting armed U.S. troops in the field against this villain, I might well support that.

Final thought: This set of questions almost certainly leads to a U.S. foreign policy that is a good deal more risk-averse and less adventurous than we've had in the post-Cold War era. I'm OK with us. I want our leaders to clear a high bar before taking us to war.

John Yoo: Obama didn't kill Qaddafi enough

Torture advocate John Yoo gives Obama some credit for Qaddafi's downfall, but with a caveat:

But Obama does not get full credit, I think, because he took so long to intervene. Recall that the U.S. intervened only after the U.N. Security Council approved intervention. Obama chose to wait until Qaddafi had driven the rebels into a last holdout in Benghazi. He chose to restrain our operations along the lines set out by the Security Council, which forbade ground troops. This prolonged the ouster of Qaddafi into a full-blown civil war and resulted in more disintegration of the nation’s institutions than was necessary. To the extent that it is harder to get a new government to stand up and to collect and control Libya’s arms, part of the blame must also go to Obama’s delay because of his undue sensitivity to foreign opinion and the U.N.

Yoo doesn't really offer a basis for American intervention into Libya's foreign affairs that would demand unilateral American action, though. In the absence of a threat against Americans or U.S. soil—and Qaddafi posed none—President Obama was exceedingly wise to partner with other nations in the matter, lest the whole thing look like a bit of American empire-building ... a perception that might actually damage our interests in the Middle East, not strengthen them.

I don't think there was a sound American basis for intervening militarily. I feel certain that President Obama's decision to go to war there was constitutionally suspect, and that Congress was feckless in exercising its own power over the matter. For John Yoo, though, the world is endless ticking time bombs that can be solved only with the power of an unchecked Imperial Presidency. Whatever you think about that attitude, it is not keeping with the best traditions of American governance.

The British Empire was the 'good' empire, right? Right?

In the British case, wherever they sought to plant their flag, they were met with opposition. In almost every colony they had to fight their way ashore. While they could sometimes count on a handful of friends and allies, they never arrived as welcome guests. The expansion of empire was conducted as a military operation. The initial opposition continued off and on, and in varying forms, in almost every colonial territory until independence. To retain control, the British were obliged to establish systems of oppression on a global scale, ranging from the sophisticated to the brutal. These in turn were to create new outbreaks of revolt.

Over two centuries, this resistance took many forms and had many leaders. Sometimes kings and nobles led the revolts, sometimes priests or slaves. Some have famous names and biographies, others have disappeared almost without trace. Many died violent deaths. Few of them have even a walk-on part in traditional accounts of empire. Many of these forgotten peoples deserve to be resurrected and given the attention they deserve.

The rebellions and resistance of the subject peoples of empire were so extensive that we may eventually come to consider that Britain's imperial experience bears comparison with the exploits of Genghis Khan or Attila the Hun rather than with those of Alexander the Great. The rulers of the empire may one day be perceived to rank with the dictators of the 20th century as the authors of crimes against humanity.

via guardian.co.uk

Is it time to outlaw spanking?

The Welsh assembly seems to think so. And admittedly, I thought the idea sounded silly—like a bit of overwrought European do-gooderism, until I hit upon this quote:

Christine Chapman, one of the backbenchers who put forward a motion to the assembly to outlaw smacking, said she was delighted that members had backed the principle of a ban. She said: "This is a moral victory, an important step. But in the end we must get legislation against smacking."

Chapman said the UK was "out of step" with many countries around the world that had outlawed slapping. It was against the law to hit adults and it was "nonsensical" that it was deemed acceptable to hit children, she said.

And that's a good point. Generally speaking, it's illegal for me to hit a person not in my care—but it's legal (within parameters) for me to spank a small, mostly defenseless person who depends on me for life?

I haven't spanked my 3-year-old son for while. But. There was a short period of time, after he turned 2, in which he started hitting people when things didn't go his way. We tried everything we could think of in the non-violent spectrum: Time-outs, stern talks, that kind of thing. But he only stopped when I made the decision to respond to his hits with three quick swats to his backside, followed by a time-out. His hitting behavior subsided quickly after that; he doesn't really resort to fists today. And yes, I'm aware of the irony of teaching my son to stop hitting by ... hitting.

I certainly don't think I was abusing my child; and anybody who ever tried reasoning with a toddler will understand the challenges of doing so. What's more, I restricted the swats to a very specific scenario: He doesn't get spanked for other misbehaviors, or because I'm annoyed. For me, limited spanking was effective.

But "effective" is not the same thing as "right," of course, and I find the Chapman's logic about the illegality of hitting adults to be somewhat compelling. On the other hand, if an adult hit me and I responded by flipping him over and delivering three quick swats to the backside, what would the charges be? Would I even be charged? Tough to say.

In the end, I suspect most parents can find a proper route for their families. I think I have—the fact that I haven't spanked my son in a long time suggests to me that my parameters were correctly and effectively deployed. But your mileage may vary. And in any case, we have laws on the books aimed at the abusers among us, people who strike their children out of malice instead of a sense of guiding correction. That system is imperfect, and it obviously doesn't save every child from harm, but I don't think the best response is to make a criminal of every adult to delivers a smack to the butt of an obstinate child. There should be limits, but there shouldn't be a prohibition.

In the age of the Internet, why does it matter than I live in the city?

A friend passes on a link to this interview with Witold Rybczynski, author of "Harvest: How a Cornfield Became New Daleville." This passage stood out:

Think of the difference between “town” and “country” one hundred years ago. It was absolute and affected what you ate, how you lived, the amenities to which you had access, and much more. I would argue that today the differences between amenities, resources, etc. available to someone living in an exurb outside Denver or Pittsburgh, and living in downtown Denver or Pittsburgh, while they have not disappeared, are slight. The fact that information, medical care, education, entertainment, and so on have dispersed is significant. I am not aruing that there are no differences at all, but rather that they have, for most people, diminished to the point of being trivial. Nor is the balance weighted to the city, as it once was. Suburban Philadelphians, for example, have more choice in department stores or food stores, than those living in Center City. On the other hand, we all have equal access to Netflix and Amazon.

I've alluded to this phenomenon before. Thanks to the rise of the Internet, my arrival in Philadelphia from Kansas didn't offer as stark a difference as it might've, say, 15 years ago. When I got here, I mostly continued reading the same (online) newspapers and listening to the same (online) radio stations that I did before. As I wrote for Metropolis: "The miracle of the Internet is that it can bring you news, music and video from anywhere on the planet. The curse of the Internet, it turns out, is that it can bring you news, music and video from anywhere on the planet. It's easy to avoid the local culture."

Being cognizant of that dynamic doesn't entirely remove it from the equation. Because of that, I've had to think long and hard over the last couple of years—through unemployment and illness—about why we stay in Philadelphia instead of heading back to Kansas.

What can I say? I've seen the Philadelphia Orchestra live on several occasions. Philadelphia is not as blindingly white as the town I left. Nor as overwhelmingly Christian. And there's a vibrancy to Center City life—Rittenhouse Square buskers, food carts, and the ability to run into an amazing cross-section of people—that doesn't quite exist in rural areas. We don't have to own a car here. The differences are mostly smelled and tasted, and to some people they might seem marginal, but they are real, and they are not unimportant to us.

Professionally, too, there's a difference. There are more media opportunities on the East Coast than in Kansas, obviously, but I do my work on the Internet. Shouldn't matter, right? Wrong. Weirdly, my move to the Big City somehow put me on the radar of more organizations that wanted coverage through my Scripps Howard column than when I was in Kansas and doing it on more of a full-time basis. Go figure.

City life isn't for everybody, and it's not as "exotic" to a rural-raised man like myself as it once would've been, but it's still different enough.

Why so many cops at Occupy Philly?

Juliana Reyes reports police lamentations that they're spending so much of their time and energy on the Occupy Philly protests:

For the first week and a half that Occupy Philly held court in City Hall, the Police Department's entire Neighborhood Services Unit was detailed to the protest to watch over its participants. That means for that week and a half, the roughly 30-officer unit, whose responsibilities include responding to abandoned vehicle complaints, recovering stolen cars and investigating reports of short dumping and graffiti, didn't exist in the rest of the city.

NSU's Sgt. Frank Spires said that all 3-1-1 complaints, as well as direct calls to the unit, were shelved until the detail was over.

It's a shame that neighborhoods will go without the service—but is that necessary? Consider this: The entire Philadelphia Police Department has roughly 6,650 officers to police a city of 1.5 million people—roughly one officer per 225 residents.

The population at Occupy Philadelphia is ever in flux. But let's be generous and say there's as many as 500 people there during the day. (That may be an extremely high estimate: One Twitter observer counted 140 activists at Tuesday night's General Assembly.) That means there is one officer for every 17 protesters on the ground.

Now: Policing a protest is a little different at policing neighborhoods. And City Hall probably deserves a higher level of protection than many spaces. But there hasn't been much in the way of crime or violence at Occupy Philly—I'm certain it would be national news if it had happened—and there's no indication the campers are going to turn into an angry mob.

So why not put, say, half the Neighborhood Services Unit back on the streets doing their regular job? That way the unit can keep performing its duties—even at a reduced rate—and the protesters can enjoy a still-extraordinary level of police protection. As it stands, diverting the entire unit doesn't appear to be a smart use of the city's resources.

Yeah, I like 'Amelie.' What of it? (Or: It's OK if you like the 'Star Wars' prequels.)

This Guardian essay on the 10th anniversary of 'Amelie' has me a little defensive, casting the movie as syrupy and cloying:

Amélie didn't bother to adjust to the 21st century at all. It revelled in its Eurodisneyfication of Montmartre, as Libération's Philippe Lançon put it. At the start of a decade of strife and realpolitik, it was already a film out of time, for the dreamers only. There is a pivotal scene where Audrey Tautou realises there is a banal explanation for the man who appears repeatedly in the album of discarded photobooth headshots: he is a photobooth repairman. This peek-behind-the-curtain feels like a Wizard of Oz homage, but unlike Dorothy, it doesn't liberate Amélie. She still needs someone else to shove her out of clotted fantasia, even when it threatens her happiness.

You know what? I still love 'Amelie," still adore Audrey Tatou's performance in the film. It is charming and winsome—and yeah, more than a bit precious. But so what? It's a movie that delights me every time I see it—makes me feel better, and even sometimes makes me feel more ambitious about my own life. I don't want to subsist on a diet of sugar, no—and 'Amelie' is a movie I can't really watch more than every couple of years—but every once in awhile just the right dessert can be an amazing thing.

We sometimes brandish our tastes—in art, music, and movies—as weapons: Sometimes used defensively, to avoid others thinking poorly of us, and sometimes offensively, to put others in their place. But what's treacle to me might be inspiring to you. I'm not against appraising works of art, putting them in their context, and trying to render some judgement on their quality. But I think I want to be confident and humble about those judgements—I like what I like, but it's OK if you don't. And I like 'Amelie.'

I'm moved to this statement not just because of The Guardian's 'Amelie' essay, but also because of Drew McWeeney's piece at HitFix about watching 'Attack of the Clones' with his young son. I hate the 'Star Wars' prequels, but reading about McWeeney's son proved revelatory:

But amidst the fun, "Clones" introduces some darker notes regarding Anakin's fall, and I was surprised how much Toshi was invested in that particular story thread. Ever since The Moment in "Empire," he's been troubled by the idea of a good guy who becomes a bad guy, and he's watching Anakin closely. When Anakin found his mother just before she died and then went on his killing spree in the Tusken Raiders camp, Toshi actually stood up. He walked closer to the screen, upset, needing to see every detail of what was happening, and when the scene was over, he asked me to pause the movie.

"Daddy, those people took Anakin's mommy, right?"

"That's right."

"And they hurted her, right?"

"They did."

"So then he wanted to kill them all so they can't hurt anybody else, right?"

"Is that the right thing to do?"

"No." The way he said it, though, it was more a question than a statement. "But they shouldn't have killed his mommy."

He was still wrestling with it when Anakin confessed to Padme a few scenes later that he had killed all of the Tuskens, even the women and children. That made him ask me to pause again, and he was upset by what Anakin said. "Jedi are good guys, and they should do good things, and he killed little kids and mommies, and that's bad." We talked about the reasons why and he told me that he was sad for Anakin, but he was also mad at him. He's always thought of Anakin as a hero, and seeing him start his fall and giving in to anger and rage is upsetting him deeply.

This is, when you think about it, sophisticated stuff for a young child to be contemplating: Sometimes good people do bad things, and sometimes those bad things create consequences from which there are no escape.

I'm not an 'Attack of the Clones' fan. I doubt that I ever will be. But in somebody's life, that movie is doing the work of art: Moving a person to contemplate motives and existence beyond their own experience, and offering entertainment in the process. That is no small thing. Recognizing that tempers my own judgements: I don't like 'Attack of the Clones,' but it's OK if you do.