Book Review: Daniel Immerwahr's "How to Hide an Empire"

When you think of an empire, what comes to mind? For many, probably Britain first, the country the colonies fought in order to gain their independence. Perhaps the Axis Powers in WWII, Germany and Japan. Or our WWII ally turned Cold War foe, the Soviet Union. What these examples show is that  for many Americans, empire has a decidedly negative connotation, associated with autocratic nation-states that eschew democratic values of self-determination and consent of the governed, and impose their rule without regard to the well-being of its subject peoples. So there's no way that the home of the free and land of the brave was (is) an empire in its own right? Right? Turns out we were and are. Historian Daniel Immerwahr takes us on a tour of the American territories whose stories, despite their centrality to American history, have been relegated to the periphery of the national consciousness in his 2019 book How to Hide an Empire.

How did we get to where we are today, with the United States occupying virtually every corner of the world in its 800 bases and outposts? Well, it all starts with the familiar story of the western frontier and manifest destiny in the 19th century, whereby the United States achieved its familiar lower-48 dimensions by the forced removal of Native Americans from prized lands. Once it had secured Alaska and Hawaii to bring the total to 50 states, America continued to look outward, equal parts eager to gain international prestige on par with the European imperial powers and also to claim critical economic and military footholds in the Pacific and Caribbean.

Before the post WWII era of rapid technological progress allowed for the streamlined movement of people, goods, and ideas around the world (the advent of the radio, telegraph, and Internet, various logistical technologies, standardization and more), there were overwhelming geopolitical incentives to hold sway over as much land as possible. One was control over the sources of (and markets for) critical raw materials not yet amenable to duplication in a laboratory setting, like arable land, rubber, palm oil, and even bird guano. (Yes, bird guano. Turns out that it's a decent fertilizer.) Second, with enough territory comes the ability to secure critical military outposts, used to protect the imperial borders, quell the on-and-off insurrections, cow external threats (i.e. other imperial powers), and better control the movement of both people and trade within one's borders. Lastly, the more land and peoples under your country's sway, the better the opportunity to spread your economic and cultural values into as many hearts and minds as possible.

Thus began the second wave of American imperialism, bringing various archipelagos and islands like the Philippines, Puerto Rico, and the less well known Guano Islands into the fold, inextricably tying their economies and political identities closer to the mainland. Over time, the inhabitants of the territories gained at the very least the status of U.S. nationals and statutory citizenship and the fundamental rights that come with it. However, the Insular case (1901) rulings established U.S. colonial doctrine that allowed only the territories that the government deemed on the path to statehood the full protection of the Constitution, while citizens in territories not on the statehood path were left vulnerable to a repeal of their statutorily granted status as a U.S. national or citizen and only had partial protection of the Constitution. Oh, and they don't have official representation in the Congress that had the power to revoke or alter such statutes. This legal limbo led to carte blanche medical experimentation in territories like Puerto Rico and the unfettered architectural redesign of the Philippines' main island.

Surprisingly though, after WWII, the United States suddenly and rapidly decolonized in a moment of postwar ascendancy that many countries would have taken full advantage of to expand their power and territorial holdings. While there probably was some altruistic sentiment underlying it, relating to U.S. values surrounding self-determination, Immerwahr shows that the U.S. did this for overwhelmingly selfish, yet pragmatic reasons.

Nationalist movements capitalized on the postwar devastation of their imperial overlords, asking for self-determination and independence in exchange for helping fight in the war. At the same time, the need for countries to hold large swaths of territory was diminishing with the development of alternative mechanisms of power projection and control, backed up by the improved ability to synthesize necessary raw materials combined with vast improvements in telecommunications, transportation and logistical technologies. Also, it's very expensive to hold large territories. All in all, these factors made it more pragmatic to hold smaller swaths of land in key zones of national interest, backing up economic clout with military power where necessary.

Therefore, the U.S. dropped many of its territories in exchange for investing in a vast worldwide logistical network of smaller swaths of land containing military bases and outposts that we see today. Immerwahr sees this as a new kind of empire, a kind of third wave of imperialism, borne of the realities of globalization, but without many of the overtly negative markers associated with traditional models of empire building. Many other powers seemed to have adopted this model of power, for better or worse, like China.

All in all, what does this mean for the United States going forward? For Immerwahr, it means that the mainland can no longer ignore the crucial role that U.S. territories and military outposts play in continuing to exert U.S. power around the world. As a country, we've largely been expansionist, and continue to be, despite our protestations; we crave territorial influence, but without the baggage associated with having formal political dominion over large swaths of territory and peoples. Our decisions on how to project power had consequences in the past and will continue to do so into the future, especially in our present age of globalization and inter-connectedness. Through this entertaining and riveting jaunt through history, Immerwahr makes it clear that U.S. foreign policy needs to keep these territories and outposts in mind in order to better secure U.S. interests and spread U.S. values without provoking devastating military conflict.

Works Cited:

Immerwahr, Daniel. (2019). How to Hide an Empire: A History of the Greater United States. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux.

Book Review: Jill Lepore's "These Truths"

What is America? Who is America, what do Americans believe in, and how does one define an American way of life? The answer to these questions go beyond America's demarcation on a map as one of 194 recognized nation-states around the world, a republic of 325 million people, composed of some 50 states and five territorial outposts. Author and professor of history Jill Lepore is one of many in a long line of scholars that attempts to answer these difficult questions by way of an ambitious 932-page volume of America's history, These Truths: A History of the United States (2018). Here, the epic saga of American history is explored not just by the time-honored practice of rote chronological recitation of major events, but also by the examination of their ideological and philosophical underpinnings, forces and debates that continue to drive the complicated and ever-evolving American experiment forward.

To understand where we are today, Lepore takes us way back to the 16th century to show that, above all, we are a country of contradictions, and have been from the beginning. A nation that started from the chaos of revolution naturally will have its fits and starts. In an age of postmodernism, where truths seem few and far between or up to interpretation, Lepore begins her examination by asking if American history has lived up to its lofty ideals enshrined in the Declaration of Independence and Constitution (i.e. America's "truths").

From the time of Columbus landing in the Bahamas to the colonial era, European colonizers and explorers brought their ideas of "equality, sovereignty, and consent" (see the Magna Carta, for example) with them (Lepore, 2018, p. 787). Despite believing in these higher-truths, they did not necessarily apply them to the Native Americans they encountered, who appeared backwards to them in their darker skins, practice of pagan religions, and seeming inability to cultivate (read: build/develop/own) their lands in the ways of modern societies. These were not necessarily new ideas, as the conquerors, in their debates over what they were doing in the New World was right, dug up Aristotle, who believed in a natural hierarchy, where some were born into slavery and others into the ruling classes. Stable societies needed hierarchies, that's just how it is.

Those precedents seemed like biological truths rather than the products of sociopolitical realities and would serve, for a time, to sustain certain oppressions in the United States alongside almost utopian conditions of freedom and equality in governance.

"A nation born in contradiction, liberty in a land of slavery, sovereignty in a land of conquest, will fight, forever, over the meaning of its history." (Lepore, 2018, p. 786)    

So when the United States of America was established out of a bloody severance from Great Britain in the name of freedom and liberty, there were many groups of people left out of the promises of a truly democratic society, namely Native Americans, African Americans, women, poor and non-propertied white men (later on, immigrants and the LGBTQ community would be slighted as well in this regard and would agitate to secure their rights). These resulting frictions built up plenty of strain in the sociopolitical tectonics of the nation, with releases coming often as reactionary calamities and a halt or backwards regression of the expansion of equal rights, before another generation would come along and realize the error of its forebears and make corrections.

Add a new technological revolution with both the potential of unity and division among a growing electorate. Shake. Rinse, repeat. As a result of this turbulent national environment, both conservatives and liberals have taken turns being either the champions of or opposing reactionaries to reforms such as emancipating the slaves (result: the Civil War) to the regulation of labor conditions, legislation of civil rights, and equal rights for women. The echoes of these fights remain with us today, giving us such partisan philosophies as identity politics and creeds of law and order that threaten to undermine the continued fights for the realization of true equality.

In the end, Lepore spares no one in her critiques of the past, showing how peoples of all political persuasions are complicit in either the nation's successes or failures, and that ultimately, the nation is better off for having brought in more of its people underneath the big tent of citizenship (and all of its accompanying obligations). She pushes for continued improvement of the American experiment, taking pride in its successes and asking us to learn from our past grievous errors. Because of the ongoing nature of our national experiment, an epic tale Lepore tells with elegance, no definitive conclusion can be reached on whether or not our nation has, in fact, realized its fundamental truths for all of its citizens. Of course, this means that there is more work to be done, a new generation that needs to wrestle with its history and take the nation into the future.


Works Cited:

Lepore, Jill. (2018). These Truths: A History of the United States. New York: W.W. Norton & Company.