The presence of self-legitimating ideological boundaries is evident in the discussion about empire. When writing a book about ancient Rome, I discovered that much of the historic literature on empire is rather favorable.3 Empires have been hailed as grand accomplishments, bringing stability and peace where before there had been only squabbling tribes. We even give empires laudatory peace names, such as Pax Romana and Pax Britannica.
Empires also are sometimes seen as innocent unintentional accretions that arise stochastically—that is, by chance, without benefit of any kind of “conspiratorial” planning or even consistent causality. Years ago we used to hear that the British Empire was put together in a “fit of absentmindedness.” More recently, four months after the United States invaded Iraq, and referring to that event, The Economist, a conservative British publication, wrote, “Empires are born in funny ways, and sometimes via the law of unintended consequences by accident.”4
In fact, empires are not innocent, absent-minded, accidental accretions. They are given purposive direction by rulers who consciously mobilize vast amounts of personnel and materials in order to plunder other lands and peoples. The British, for instance, did not just happen to find themselves in India. They pushed their way in with all deliberate force and rapacious intent. The Americans did not just mistakenly stumble into Iraq because of some misinformation that the Iraqis were linked to Al Qaeda and possessed weapons of mass destruction. The White House coterie that pursued war had been calling for intervention against Iraq for at least a year before the 2001 attack on the World Trade Center, and well before there was ever any thought of Al Qaeda terrorist networks in Baghdad or Iraqi weapons of mass destruction.5
Despite the sympathetic treatment accorded empires by numerous historians and others, the term empire was not comfortably applied to the United States during most of the twentieth century, at least not by us Americans. Other countries had colonies, but America had “territories” and “possessions”—so I was taught in grade school. The word empire remained suspect, an unbecoming appellation that besmirched our shining republic.
No wonder that when I wrote my book Against Empire in 1995, some of my American compatriots thought it was wrong of me to call the United States an empire. It was widely believed that US rulers did not pursue empire; they intervened abroad only out of self-defense or for humanitarian rescue operations or to restore order in a troubled region or overthrow tyranny and propagate democracy. But some few years later, oddly enough everyone started talking about the United States as an empire and writing books with titles like Sorrows of Empire, Follies of Empire, Twilight of Empire, Empire of Illusion—all referring to the United States.
One professor, writing in Harvard Magazine, was unequivocal about his country’s force majeure role in the world: “We are militarily dominant around the world. . .. A political unit that has overwhelming superiority of military power, and uses that power to influence the behavior of other states is called an empire. . .. [O]ur goal is not combating a rival but maintaining our [supreme] imperial position and maintaining imperial order.”6
One also could hear right-wing pundits announcing on television that we are an empire, with all the responsibilities and opportunities of empire, and as the strongest nation in the world we have every right to act as such—as if having the power gives US leaders an inherent entitlement to exercise it upon others as they see fit. So liberals and conservatives began to lay claim to the notion of empire and treat it as worthy of public embrace.
What is going on here? I asked myself at the time. How is it that after years of denial and denunciation, many individuals now feel free to talk about empire when they mean American empire? The answer, I realized, is that the word has been divested of its full meaning. “Empire” seems to mean simply dominion and power, most notably military power. Thus Chalmers Johnson tells us that the United States has an empire of bases rather than colonies. He sees a US government that is “obsessed” with maintaining military dominance over the entire world. The 730 or more US military bases that ring the globe, he claims, are proof that the “United States prefers to deal with other nations through the use or threat of force rather than negotiations, commerce, or cultural interaction.” (In fact, the United States constantly uses negotiations, commerce, and cultural interaction along with a whole arsenal of other modes of influence.) The rise of American militarism, Johnson goes on to say, is accompanied by layers of bureaucracy and secrecy designed to circumvent public scrutiny and keep power in the hands of the Pentagon.7
What is missing from these kinds of analyses and even more so from the public discourse in general is the political-economic content of empire. In other words, while we hear a lot about empire and militarism, we hear very little about imperialism. This is strange, for imperialism is what empires do. Imperialism is the very activity of empire. (Another name for empire is imperium.)
By imperialism I do not mean just power and dominion; I mean the process of transnational investment and capital accumulation. Nor would I pretend to be the only investigator who thinks of imperialism that way. There are a number of advanced scholars—such as James Petras, Eva Golinger, Gregory Elich, Gerald Horne, Henry Veltmeyer, Francis Shor, and David Harvey—who offer a more developed and accurate view of the forces of imperialism.8
For latter-day liberal converts like Chalmers Johnson, however, the word imperialism is used in the same empty way as is the word empire: to denote dominion and control with little attention given to the powerful economic interests that operate as a motor force behind US policy. Johnson and a host of others have produced shallow critiques of empire, characterizing US interventionist policies as "reckless," "misguided," "inept," "bumbling," "insensitive," "overreaching," "self-deceptive," "deluded," "driven by false assumptions," and "presuming a mandate from God," while ladened with "tragic mistakes" and "imperial hubris."9 They see all this as a mindless proclivity embedded in the American psyche or culture. We are left to conclude that US leaders are chronically deluded, stupid, and incapable of learning from past experience; they lack the splendid intelligence of their liberal critics. For the critics, empire has little to do with economic class interests and is mostly a product of an aggrandizing national temperament incited by myopic overweening leaders.