Satrap? You can say that again . . .
Melbourne Age Date: October 20 2002
Being a satrapy is no bed of roses. In fact, it can be downright dangerous, writes Terry Lane.
Being a satrapy is no bed of roses. In fact, it can be downright dangerous. Your run-of-the-mill satrapy is an irresistibly soft target for any malcontent with a grudge against the imperial power that is too strong to be attacked directly.
I am using the term satrapy here to mean a province that has voluntarily surrendered its autonomy to the emperor and elects to play the role of sycophant, sometimes because it seems to be the prudent thing to do - buying imperial protection for the price of obsequious arse-licking - and sometimes because the provincial governor is easily flattered by a red carpet, a limousine and a state nosh-up at the imperial capital.
The Greek, Persian, Roman and British empires all numbered satraps amongst their provincial governors - toadying underlings who could be relied upon to keep the locals in check and send a few soldiers into the field when called upon to do so.
The danger for the satrapy is that it runs all the risks of the imperial power without having the military and economic power needed to repel the barbarians. The satrapy is the weakest point in the empire's defences, and emperors are reluctant to imperil the defence of the capital by wasting the army on the borders of remote provinces.
Empires, by their very nature, are powerful at the centre and get progressively weaker towards the periphery. And the organised military model, which is effective in defending the imperial centre, is a great, lumbering waste of space on the edges. The biggest military machine the world has ever seen looks merely ridiculous up against a fanatic with a bomb in his car boot.
The moral of the story is that, no matter how superficially attractive a military alliance with the empire might seem, the arrangement is bad news for the citizens of the compromised province. You become a proxy for the real thing, with all that that implies.
The New Rome has defined its historic mission thus: "The US national security strategy will be based on a distinctly American internationalism . . ." This is from The National Security Strategy of the United States of America, published by the President last month.
Distinctly American internationalism's aim "is to help make the world, not just safer, but better. Our goals on the path to progress are clear: political and economic freedom, peaceful relations with other states and respect for human dignity".
Who would argue with that? If only it were not for the words "distinctly American" that stir uneasiness in the gut. If it were all about American audacity, ingenuity, optimism and energy, it would not be so bad. But, as Nikita Khrushchev once said (I know, he was no paragon when it came to running an empire with more than its fair share of satrapies - but even the bad guys get occasional flashes of insight): "The US is like a big, friendly dog in a small room. Every time it wags its tail, it knocks over another piece of furniture." What I like about that aphorism is the recognition that there is an inclination to friendliness in American destructiveness. But don't test the dog's goodwill by poking at it.
However, the worrying thing about the national security strategy document is that every word has been carefully chosen and run past public-relations consultants to sanitise the imperial hubris. In plain American, what the document is saying is what right-wing commentator Charles Krauthammer says more bluntly elsewhere: "America is no mere international citizen. It is the dominant power in the world, more dominant than any since Rome. Accordingly, America is in a position to re-shape norms, alter expectations and create new realities. How? By unapologetic and implacable demonstrations of will."
As Krauthammer and his pals in the White House go about the business of making the world American, a lot of us are going to get hurt. That has been the historical fate of satrapies everywhere.