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Yet another reason for the Yanks to appreciate Canada: we taught them how to fight
America's Distinctive Way Of War
U.S. military doctrine derives not from the two world wars, or our own Civil War, but from 200 years of battle with our Canadian neighbors to the north.
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970203687504577005804147626694.html?mod=googlenews_wsj
By Eliot Cohen
Why do Americans conduct wars the way they do?
In January 2003, the European Union's high representative for foreign policy, Javier Solana, thought he had the answer: "Europe has been the territory of war, and we have worked to prevent war through building relations with other countries. The U.S. has never been the territory of war—that's why September 11 was so important: It was the first time their territory had been attacked."
A breathtaking piece of ignorance, that. But it was only one variant of a common misunderstanding of American history: that the oceans shielded the U.S. from the brutalities of world politics until the convulsions of the 20th century left us no choice but to venture into them, innocent and unprepared.
Not so. America has participated in every global conflict since the end of the 17th century. What European colonists in North America called King William's War, Queen Anne's War, King George's War, and the French and Indian War went by other names in Europe (the War of the Spanish Succession, for example), but they were parts of the same conflict. America's War of Independence turned into a global war, and France's revolution and imperial wars also came to these shores in 1812.
The American way of war originated not in the 20th century, and not even in our own Civil War, but rather in a protracted contest with our most enduring and effective enemy of all: Canada.
For almost two centuries, Canada was the greatest threat to England's American colonies and the young United States. The main theater in this contest was what Indians called "the Great Warpath," the 200-mile route of water and woodland paths that connected Albany and Montreal—and, by extension, New York and Quebec cities. It was here that Americans faced threats, conceived doctrines, and demonstrated martial qualities that we recognize today.
Confronting state-sponsored terrorism? That arguably began with a French-led raid on Schenectady, N.Y., in 1690. On a wintry night, more than 200 attackers (more Europeans than Indians) stormed the town, slaughtered 60 civilians, burned the houses, and withdrew with several dozen captives. It was the product not of spontaneous rage, but a coolly calculated policy of strategic distraction intended to pin down English forces on the frontier and deflect them from an attack on Quebec.
Demanding unconditional surrender? The American reaction to the Schenectady raid was to seek the conquest of Canada with the aim of eliminating France's political presence in North America once and for all. The brutality of frontier warfare, including events like the massacre of part of an Anglo-American garrison after the fall of Fort William Henry in 1757 (a more complicated event than books and films like "Last of the Mohicans" would suggest), convinced Americans that there could be no compromise with the enemy to the north.
Special operations? Look no further than the Seven Years War of 1756 to 1763 and the Ranger unit raised by Robert Rogers that engaged in the no-man's-land bordered by Lake George and Lake Champlain. The Army's 75th Ranger Regiment traces its lineage to that outfit.
A military composed of mutually mistrustful citizen soldiers and professionals? The tale of the Great Warpath includes the disputes of leaders like Seth Warner, military leader of Vermont's Green Mountain Boys, and Arthur St. Clair, British regular turned American general, who attempted to impose on free citizens the professional discipline and outlook of the British army at New York's Fort Ticonderoga in 1777.
War in the name of democracy? In 1775, the rebelling colonies—not even yet the United States—launched an invasion of Canada. The Continental Congress ordered the covert distribution of propaganda pamphlets in what is now Quebec province. The opening line: "You have been conquered into liberty." Congress subsequently sent Benjamin Franklin north with a few companions to consolidate the conquest of Montreal, spread parliamentary government, and familiarize the baffled habitants of Canada—ruled for over a decade with mild firmness by a British governor—with the doctrines of habeas corpus and a free press.
The American way of war is distinctive. If the armed services have an unofficial motto, it is "Whatever it takes"—a mild phrase with ferocious implications. All that those words imply, including a disregard for military tradition and punctilio, the objective of dismantling an enemy and not merely defeating him, and downright ruthlessness, can be found in the battles of the Great Warpath.
It is often a paradoxical way of war. "Conquering into liberty" sounds absurd or hypocritical. In the case of Canada, it failed (though of course Canada took its own path to free government). In the cases of Germany, Italy and Japan after World War II, it succeeded. In the case of Iraq, who knows? In all of these episodes American motives were deeply mixed—realpolitik and idealism intertwining with one another in ways that even the strategists conceiving these campaigns did not fully grasp. What matters is that the notion of conquering into liberty is rooted deep in the American past, and in the ideas and circumstances that gave this country birth.
One of the relics carefully preserved at the Fort Ticonderoga museum is the knapsack of Benjamin Warner, a some time soldier during the Revolution who, like many of his fellow citizens, fought, went home and returned to fight again, and not once but half a dozen times. Fifty years later, he left the battered canvas bag to his oldest son, with instructions to transmit it "to the latest posterity. And whilst one shred of it shall remain, never surrender your liberties to a foreign invader or an aspiring demagogue." In this age of uncertainty and self-doubt, that spirit is yet another legacy of the Great Warpath worth pondering.
Mr. Cohen teaches at Johns Hopkins University's School of Advanced International Studies. His "Conquered into Liberty: Two Centuries of Battles Along the Great Warpath That Made the American Way of War" will be published by Simon & Schuster on Nov. 15.
America's Distinctive Way Of War
U.S. military doctrine derives not from the two world wars, or our own Civil War, but from 200 years of battle with our Canadian neighbors to the north.
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970203687504577005804147626694.html?mod=googlenews_wsj
By Eliot Cohen
Why do Americans conduct wars the way they do?
In January 2003, the European Union's high representative for foreign policy, Javier Solana, thought he had the answer: "Europe has been the territory of war, and we have worked to prevent war through building relations with other countries. The U.S. has never been the territory of war—that's why September 11 was so important: It was the first time their territory had been attacked."
A breathtaking piece of ignorance, that. But it was only one variant of a common misunderstanding of American history: that the oceans shielded the U.S. from the brutalities of world politics until the convulsions of the 20th century left us no choice but to venture into them, innocent and unprepared.
Not so. America has participated in every global conflict since the end of the 17th century. What European colonists in North America called King William's War, Queen Anne's War, King George's War, and the French and Indian War went by other names in Europe (the War of the Spanish Succession, for example), but they were parts of the same conflict. America's War of Independence turned into a global war, and France's revolution and imperial wars also came to these shores in 1812.
The American way of war originated not in the 20th century, and not even in our own Civil War, but rather in a protracted contest with our most enduring and effective enemy of all: Canada.
For almost two centuries, Canada was the greatest threat to England's American colonies and the young United States. The main theater in this contest was what Indians called "the Great Warpath," the 200-mile route of water and woodland paths that connected Albany and Montreal—and, by extension, New York and Quebec cities. It was here that Americans faced threats, conceived doctrines, and demonstrated martial qualities that we recognize today.
Confronting state-sponsored terrorism? That arguably began with a French-led raid on Schenectady, N.Y., in 1690. On a wintry night, more than 200 attackers (more Europeans than Indians) stormed the town, slaughtered 60 civilians, burned the houses, and withdrew with several dozen captives. It was the product not of spontaneous rage, but a coolly calculated policy of strategic distraction intended to pin down English forces on the frontier and deflect them from an attack on Quebec.
Demanding unconditional surrender? The American reaction to the Schenectady raid was to seek the conquest of Canada with the aim of eliminating France's political presence in North America once and for all. The brutality of frontier warfare, including events like the massacre of part of an Anglo-American garrison after the fall of Fort William Henry in 1757 (a more complicated event than books and films like "Last of the Mohicans" would suggest), convinced Americans that there could be no compromise with the enemy to the north.
Special operations? Look no further than the Seven Years War of 1756 to 1763 and the Ranger unit raised by Robert Rogers that engaged in the no-man's-land bordered by Lake George and Lake Champlain. The Army's 75th Ranger Regiment traces its lineage to that outfit.
A military composed of mutually mistrustful citizen soldiers and professionals? The tale of the Great Warpath includes the disputes of leaders like Seth Warner, military leader of Vermont's Green Mountain Boys, and Arthur St. Clair, British regular turned American general, who attempted to impose on free citizens the professional discipline and outlook of the British army at New York's Fort Ticonderoga in 1777.
War in the name of democracy? In 1775, the rebelling colonies—not even yet the United States—launched an invasion of Canada. The Continental Congress ordered the covert distribution of propaganda pamphlets in what is now Quebec province. The opening line: "You have been conquered into liberty." Congress subsequently sent Benjamin Franklin north with a few companions to consolidate the conquest of Montreal, spread parliamentary government, and familiarize the baffled habitants of Canada—ruled for over a decade with mild firmness by a British governor—with the doctrines of habeas corpus and a free press.
The American way of war is distinctive. If the armed services have an unofficial motto, it is "Whatever it takes"—a mild phrase with ferocious implications. All that those words imply, including a disregard for military tradition and punctilio, the objective of dismantling an enemy and not merely defeating him, and downright ruthlessness, can be found in the battles of the Great Warpath.
It is often a paradoxical way of war. "Conquering into liberty" sounds absurd or hypocritical. In the case of Canada, it failed (though of course Canada took its own path to free government). In the cases of Germany, Italy and Japan after World War II, it succeeded. In the case of Iraq, who knows? In all of these episodes American motives were deeply mixed—realpolitik and idealism intertwining with one another in ways that even the strategists conceiving these campaigns did not fully grasp. What matters is that the notion of conquering into liberty is rooted deep in the American past, and in the ideas and circumstances that gave this country birth.
One of the relics carefully preserved at the Fort Ticonderoga museum is the knapsack of Benjamin Warner, a some time soldier during the Revolution who, like many of his fellow citizens, fought, went home and returned to fight again, and not once but half a dozen times. Fifty years later, he left the battered canvas bag to his oldest son, with instructions to transmit it "to the latest posterity. And whilst one shred of it shall remain, never surrender your liberties to a foreign invader or an aspiring demagogue." In this age of uncertainty and self-doubt, that spirit is yet another legacy of the Great Warpath worth pondering.
Mr. Cohen teaches at Johns Hopkins University's School of Advanced International Studies. His "Conquered into Liberty: Two Centuries of Battles Along the Great Warpath That Made the American Way of War" will be published by Simon & Schuster on Nov. 15.
