I believe Kilcullen’s thesis is true. I’m just not sure it’s unique to this period of history? Reading the list of things states do now that are supposedly the tactics of non-state actors - sponsorship of militias and guerillas, promotion of coups, application of propaganda, assassination of political opponents, election interference etc - just sounds like a list of things the U.S. has done for many decades to maintain its hegemony. I imagine that is probably true of other hegemonic powers too (though my history is too rusty to provide more examples)
It feel it is likely that non-state actors have also used tactics of the state in the past too. Surely any movement hoping for revolution or usurption of the state does?
Kilcullen’s strength is instead in his closer read of history - how the ‘dragons’ (Russia, China) are using particular tactics of the ‘snakes’ in new ways. And likewise for the ‘snakes’. He knows his shit. The concrete grounds his universal concepts in the particularities of the relevant historical moment and makes them insightful for now. Even if they don’t necessarily signal a complete paradigm shift, you still get a comprehensive idea of the specific developments and dynamics that shape “the west and the rest” up until 2020
Quotes:
convergent evolution, the way in which unlike actors confronting a similar environment can come to resemble each other.
And to be sure, ISIS provides a striking example of one of these ideas-the increasing adoption by nonstate actors of statelike tactics, techniques, and technologies.
ISIS thought of itself as a state, levying taxes, establishing civilian governance structures, selling electricity and water, and trading oil on the international market. It fought like a state, adopting conventional tactics borrowed from nation-state adversaries or derived from the large portion of its leaders trained in Soviet tactics under Saddam Hussein. It acquired tanks, artillery, at least a couple of working aircraft, rockets, and mortars, and sought to seize and hold cities and control populations using remarkably conventional means. Its strategy-which amounted to seizing and holding territory, then expanding that territory through conventional military conquest supported by guerrillas, terrorist cells, and subversion efforts in its enemies' hinterland-was entirely statelike. The group's horrific atrocities and its mastery of social media tended to distract from its utterly statelike strategic approach. And though ISIS was eventually defeated as a territorial entity—in part because of its insistence on conventional warfare and on continuing to hold cities and control populations rather than melting away, as a traditional nonstate actor might have done—it came terrifying close to success
If ISIS represented one-half of the equation, the other major developments of 2014-15-Russia's seizure of Crimea, its use of guerrillas and proxies in combination with conventional armored battlegroups to invade Ukraine, the shooting down of MH17, and direct military intervention in Syria-illustrated the other. For, clearly, Russian efforts were not solely conventional or statelike; on the contrary, just as ISIS borrowed techniques, organizations, and equipment from nation-states, Russia proved increasingly adept at drawing from the playbook of nonstate ac-tors. Sponsorship of militias and guerrilla groups (both in the physical world and via cyber militias and botnets online), the promotion of coups and separatist movements, the application of agitation and propaganda to destabilize adversaries, the manipulation of migration, the assassination of political opponents, the weaponization of energy supplies, and election interference all showed Russia's willingness to adopt the techniques of nonstate actors while pursuing nation-state objectives. The election of Donald Trump in the United States, Britain's vote to leave the European Union, Catalonian separatism in Spain, an attempted coup in Montenegro, and ongoing attacks on Russias neighbors in the Baltic and Caucasus regions all showed signs of increasingly active Russian political and information warfare. At the same time, the unveiling of a series of advanced new weapon systems and a newfound swagger in international affairs showed that Russia was back to stay.
If there is one takeaway from the chapters that follow, it is that the military model pioneered by US forces in the 1991 Gulf War —the high-tech, high-precision, high-cost suite of networked systems that won the Gulf War so quickly and brought Western powers such unprecedented battlefield dominance in the quarter century since then—is no longer working.
Our enemies have figured out how to render it irrelevant, have caught up or overtaken us in critical technologies, or have expanded their concept of war beyond the narrow boundaries within which our traditional approach can be brought to bear. They have adapted, and unless we too adapt our decline is only a matter of time.
Throughout this book, I use the capitalized term "Western" or "the West" to describe a particular military methodology, along with the group of countries whose warfighting style is characterized by that methodology. In essence, it is an approach to war that emphasizes battlefield dominance, achieved through high-tech precision engagement, networked communications, and pervasive intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance (ISR). It is characterized by an obsessive drive to minimize casualties, a reluctance to think about the long-term consequences of war, a narrow focus on combat, and a lack of emphasis on war termination-the set of activities needed in order to translate battlefield success into enduring and favorable political outcomes.
On 90’s lack of great power conflict / focus on disparate non-state conflict: In the same vein, a 1992 book on Australian defense strategy was titled Threats without Enemies, while in Europe the French theorists Loup Francart and Jean-Jacques Patry characterized military operations of that era as contre-guerre, "counter-war" —where the phenomenon of war itself (not a particular armed adversary) was the enemy and the fundamental goal was to end the conflict, not to win it."
Decade after 2003 - focus narrowed to terrorism, in particular salafi jihadism
But the need to apply military decision-making processes, designed for the ragon during the Cold War, to the post-9/11 snakes, led by default to two-ided adversarial planning: as the National Security Strategy conceptualized he environment, there was something called "terrorism" and its allies on one side, with "civilization" and its allies on the other. This in turn led to the notion of terrorists being organized, structured, and motivated by long-term strategic goals that were equivalent, though diametrically opposed, to ours. This planning construct, always artificial, proved increasingly hard to sustain over time.
The 2002 National Security Strategys legislative counterpart was the 2001 Authorization for the Use of Military Force (AUMF), which authorized the president "to use all necessary and appropriate force against those nations, organizations, or persons he determines planned, authorized, committed, or aided the terrorist attacks that occurred on September 11, 2001, or harbored such organizations or persons."' Nineteen years later, this 275-word resolution, passed by Congress only seven days after 9/11, following an extraordinarily brief debate-and with only two abstentions in the Senate and a single "nay" vote in the House of Representatives —remains the sole legal basis for an ongoing, worldwide, functionally unlimited campaign, a "forever war" against an ever-expanding collection of mutating groups most of which did not even exist on 9/11 and some of which-notably Islamic State—are active enemies of the groups the 2001 AUMF was designed to combat.
The combination of sophisticated air power, advanced armor, precision targeting, Global Positioning Systems (GPS), and the integration of air, land, and sea capabilities into a networked system-of-systems had given the United States unprecedented battlefield dominance within one narrowly defined conventional form of warfare. The rapid, humiliating disintegration of Saddam's forces during the long-delayed re-match, in 2003, only underscored that lesson.
But by contrast, from the 2003 invasion onward, our ineffectual struggles to stabilize Iraq and Afghanistan showed our adversaries exactly how to fight us—using a dynamic swarm of self-synchronized small groups, with lightly equipped, fast-moving irregular forces that operated in the shadows, staying below the detection threshold of our intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance (ISR) platforms, avoiding our major combat forces whenever possible, targeting the vulnerable populations and infrastructure we needed to protect, and attacking or subverting our (often unreliable) local partners. By taking the long view, avoiding our strongest units and most capable combat assets, and targeting the weakest links in our system (usu-ally civilian agencies, indigenous police, local government officials, and
at home), our opponents in these wars of occupation managed to evolve a form of protracted resistance warfare that enabled them to survive while running out the clock, waiting until our publics lost patience, our partners lost ground, and our politicians pulled out.
To borrow a term from US defense policy, our adversaries had adopted a suite of "offset strategies" to sidestep our conventional power
But while we were struggling to deal with these nonstate offset strategies, state adversaries were busy developing offset strategies of their own.
These included weapons of mass destruction (nuclear, biological, and chemical weapons) designed to deter us from attacking them, along with disruptive technologies (laser systems, cyberweapons, thermobaric explosives, distributed command-and-control tools) that also aimed to render conventional forces irrelevant. Entire new classes of weapons— miniaturized non-nuclear electromagnetic pulse (EMP) devices that could knock out all electronic systems within a specific distance, advanced chemical weapons with fearsome lethality and novel mechanisms of action, ballistic missiles that could target ships on the move at sea, and hypersonic missiles that could evade advanced air defenses—were all in the works.
While we were preoccupied with post-Cold War chaos in the 1990s and bogged down in the war on terrorism after 2001-beating the bushes to find the snakes-the dragons were watching and learning.
Iran's strategy was asymmetric because it would attack the U.S. consistently but at levels that would not trigger the U.S. to engage in a direct military response against Iran. The method of these attacks could be diplomatic, propaganda, financial sub-version, or support for terrorist proxies." The goal was to inflict enough pain to push the United States out of the Arabian Gulf, without prompting direct retaliation."
Iranian strategists were therefore some of the first to pursue what we might call a "liminal strategy" in relation to Western conventional power, seeking to ride the edge, doing just enough to frustrate the United States and further their own interests but not enough to trigger an outright military response.
We could also consider it a variation of the "selection-destruction cycle" advanced by the military sociologist Roger Beaumont in his seminal 1974 study of military elites. As Beaumont points out, one defining feature of specialized elite forces (mountain troops, rangers, special forces, elite light infantry, aircrew, submariners, and so on) is that they tend to select from the best available personnel-choosing fitter, more intelligent recruits with better leadership skills, initiative, and endurance than ordinary units do. They may even (as in Australian, British, and American special operations forces) recruit primarily from existing members of high-readiness units who themselves are already highly trained and subject to rigorous selection. But as Beaumont shows in a comprehensive study of twentieth-century elites, such forces also tend to have higher loss rates—they operate at the upper end of the stress bell curve. They are thrown into dangerous or demanding missions, experience higher than usual rates of death and wounding, and so erode more quickly than the
This selection-destruction cycle means that a force with too high a proportion of elites — an army with too many special forces units, a navy that diverts too many of its most aggressive junior commanders into the submarine arm, or an air force (like that of imperial Japan) with aircrew standards that prove unsustainable over a long war—can actually damage its adaptive potential. Such a force experiences a brain drain, where individuals who would have been leaders in regular units (and would likely have survived to spread their knowledge to others) are instead segregated into subgroups where, even if they survive, their talents are lost to the wider force. Meanwhile, major combat formations can cease to be much more than feeders for specialized units, providing the recruiting base for elite forces that increasingly usurp normal combat roles, exacerbating both the brain drain and the selection-destruction cycle that Beaumont describes.
Dunbar points out that human groups have "a distinctive layered structure with successive cumulative layer sizes of 15, 50, 150, 500 and 1500*31 and that this structure, which reappears in hunter-gatherer societies, offline and online social networks, campsites, kibbutzim, nomad bands, and subsistence villages, also seems to recur throughout history in military groups. This suggests that human organizations tend to fragment at distinct sizes, and Dunbar points out that "the question arises as to whether there are natural 'sweet spots' at which communities are likely to be more successful (i.e. survive longer without fissioning) because they map better onto natural grouping patterns and their underpinning psychology."
A fitness landscape maps all the potential combinations of characteristics for a given organism in that environment, so that any point on the landscape represents a particular combination.
The more adaptive (i.e., the more conducive to survival and success) a given combination turns out to be, the higher its elevation as plotted on the fitness landscape, making altitude a metaphor for fitness. Selection pathways—-the journeys toward greater fitness undertaken by evolving actors in the landscape—can thus be visualized as routes that climb upward to higher (more survivable) elevations, or fitness peaks.? There may be multiple peaks in a landscape-several distinct combinations that each offer significant advantages for a specific set of selective pressures. On rare occasions there may be a single peak only, representing a fitness terrain with just one optimal configuration. In other cases there are a great number of fitness peaks, so that the landscape (when plotted on a graph) looks like a hilly mountain range and is known as a rough or "rugged" fitness landscape.
Computer scientists and designers borrowed the notion of fitness landscapes from biologists to help them think about adaptation, innovation, and optimization strategies.'
The fitness landscape for adversaries (since the Cold War):
Air supremacy, but with severe limitations
Tightening self-imposed legal and political constraints
Omnipresenr surveillance, overwhelmed analysts
Proliferation of consumer smart systems (e.g., GPS, drones)
Adaptive traits of non-state groups:
Stealth
Dispersion
Modularity
Autonomy
Hiding in electronic plain sight
“Hugging” protected populations or systems opponents can’t disable
Media manipulation
Political warfare
Technology and connectivity hacking
Perhaps counterintuitively, effective air campaigns in fact rely heavily on capable ground forces, who play a crucial role in forcing enemies to concentrate (which ground troops must do to survive attack from another ground force), flushing them out of cover, or baiting them to draw them into the open, thereby creating targets that can be seen and struck from the air.
Conversely, dispersing to avoid air attack makes ground troops vulnerable to another land force, so that the presence of air forces helps ground units attack larger, more capable enemies, who cannot concentrate against them lest they be destroyed from the air. Recognizing this, modern tacticians try to create what they call a "combined arms" effect, catching adversaries on the horns of a dilemma in which, to defend against one arm (ground forces), they must expose themselves to another (air power) and vice versa.
9/11 cost $500k to organise and caused the US $500B direct financial impact and $2.8T from follow-on conflicts
AQ's survival in late 2001 came about largely through luck and the inability of Western airpower to find and finish key leaders, scattered in the Tora Bora hills, due to the lack of a capable partner ground force. A band of Afghan militia under a local warlord failed to close the AQ remnant's escape route into Pakistan, and there were simply too few US and Australian special operators on the ground to do the job themselves—an early example of two features of the environment (thinly spread airpower and shortage of effective ground forces) that were to become more obvious as time went on.
It was also, not for the last time, an instance of naive overconfidence among US leaders, epitomized by the decision of Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld and General Tommy Franks, head of United States Central Command, even as the battle at Tora Bora was still raging in December 2001, to pull assets away from the fight and redirect planning efforts toward war against Iraq.