Can Trump Refrain from Repeating His Predecessor's Mistakes in Syria?

Flight operations on the flight deck of the aircraft carrier USS Carl Vinson. Wikimedia Commons/U.S. Navy

The crisis in Syria isn't a Republican or Democrat problem; it is a moral failing that places America on the wrong side of history.

The spark that started it all was an errant one.

Six years ago, on March 6, 2011, Syrian state security forces arrested fifteen young boys for spray painting anti-regime graffiti on a wall in the southern city of Daraa. Their prolonged detention prompted peaceful demonstrations in the city that were met by the regime’s brutal crackdown, including live fire and tear gas. By the time the children were released—beaten, bloodied, burned and with their fingernails pulled out—the flashpoints between the Syrian security services and the protesters had already claimed many lives. Their funerals became rallying points for further protests and more regime violence. The smoldering calls for political reform became a fiery chorus demanding an end to Bashar al-Assad’s rule and the descent toward civil war continued.

Having reached the six-year anniversary, the death toll is now counted by the hundreds of thousands with a refugee crisis tallied in the millions. The catastrophe in Syria remains a dark stain on the soul of humanity that challenges previously held norms and assumptions. While many who early on in the crisis urged American action based solely on humanitarian grounds were rebuffed, they still clung to the belief that there was some magic number of civilian casualties that would finally spur the world to action. Apparently, no such number exists.

Despite the use of chemical warfare; the uncovering of mass graves; the Amnesty International report of the regime conducting a mass hanging of thirteen thousand prisoners in just one prison; a UN report detailing how in the city of Aleppo alone, “warplanes targeted hospitals, bakeries and schools in a non-stop bombing campaign that lasted for months”—not to mention countless other individual and state-sanctioned atrocities and war crimes—the only sound heard in the Western capitals was that of crickets.

To be sure, American foreign policy tends not to be a reaction to strictly humanitarian situations. It isn’t constructed by the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and sold to the masses as a sad commercial in which Sarah McLachlan plays “In the Arms of an Angel” while images of mistreated animals flash across the screen. Nor was it a commercial made by UNICEF, which showcases Alyssa Milano and implores the viewer not to turn away from the images of suffering children as a haunting rendition of “You Are My Sunshine” slowly plays. Yet beyond the argument that the United States should intervene as “an act of geopolitical hygiene,” as Bret Stephens describes in his 2014 book, America in Retreat, there were compelling national-security concerns in Syria that would only worsen over time.

To that end, many others, including myself, argued for early intervention on both strategic and humanitarian grounds. We were rebuffed by those on both sides of the political aisle who said it wasn’t America’s fight, that it was a religious war the United States shouldn’t be involved in, and while the loss of human life was tragic, it didn’t represent a threat to the United States or a core American interest. It was further argued that there was no sense toppling a regime and ultimately incurring the wrath of the people. It tempted the Pottery Barn rule—“You break it, you own it”—that leads to nation building.

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