The situation would have produced strong pressures on the United
States to escalate the air war. Attacks on Serbia itself, which a
large number of the advocates of intervention (though not the Clinton
administration itself) had always advocated, would almost inevitably
have followed. Whether these attacks would have reached Belgrade's
infrastructure, as some proposed, is unclear; that this was seriously
suggested is a depressing commentary on the expedients to which the
mismatch between our high objectives and our unwillingness to expose
American forces seems regularly to lead. It does seem clear, in any
case, that carrying the air war into Serbia would not have ended the
conflict, and that its only effective function would have been to
punish the Serbs. Taken together with the stated aims of policy,
"lift and strike" promised nothing so much as a further enlargement of the doughnut
of "Lebanonization", narrowing the inner circle and extending the outer one,
potentially at grave cost to our real interest in European order.

What is at Stake?

It is a striking feature of the debate over the Balkan war that the
critically important issue of interest has only seldom been
seriously addressed. When interest has not simply been
denied or subordinated to humanitarian claims, it has more
often than not been invoked in terms of universal principle.
Thus it has been contended by many urging America's
intervention in the conflict that the vital national interest at
stake in Bosnia is nothing less than world order. On this view,
the principle forbidding aggression is the very basis of the world
order, and it requires that Serbia's aggression against Bosnia be
repelled. The debate over interest has been carried on between
those entertaining radically opposed positions, between those
who find very little at stake and those who find almost everything
at stake, between those who do not see beyond Bosnia and
those who soar over the Balkans and Europe and see the
the world. As a result,  the critical middle ground of interest,
Europe, has been neglected.

The inadequacy with which interest has been considered
in the debate over Bosnia is equally apparent in the
unfolding of American policy.While the Bush
Administration did consistently oppose any partition  
of Bosnia, it made very little effort to clarify the interests at  
stake in supporting Bosnia's territorial integrity. A policy of  
encouraging the Muslims to resist any kind of feasible settlement  
with the Serbs, which necessitated accepting a partition of some  
sort, was attended by the refusal either to give the Muslims any  
active military support or even to assist them in obtaining arms from  
abroad by ending the UN embargo on arms.

The Clinton administration came to office highly critical of its  
predecessor's record, particularly the Bush Administration's  
failure to work toward lifting the arms embargo. It did not appear to  
come to office with a clearer view of the nation's interests in the  
Balkan war. Mr. Clinton's view of the conflict had always been  
marked by a certain confusion. Intent as a candidate on helping the  
Bosnians, he was also determined that we must not get involved in the  
quagmire. This insistence that help must be given but involvement  
avoided has persisted. On the eve of deciding upon the pursuit of a  
"lift and strike" policy in Bosnia, in the spring of 1993, Mr.  
Clinton was still determined that "The United States is not, should  
not, become involved as a partisan in a war."

Given this insistence upon altering the course of the conflict while  
standing aside from it, of becoming involved while remaining  
withdrawn, the president's failure to articulate the nation's  
interests consistently and persuasively in the Balkan conflict is not  
surprising. Occasionally, Mr. Clinton has insisted that our interest  
is strictly humanitarian. Taken by itself, however, it has never been  
clear why this should constitute an interest sufficient to justify  
American intervention, for if this is the basis the number of cases  
in which it ought to be applied is very large indeed.

On only one public occasion has the president given a considered  
statement of the interests at stake in the Balkan conflict. Speaking  
before a World Bank conference on May 7, 1993, Mr. Clinton declared:

The Serbs' actions over the past year violate the principle that  
internationally recognized borders must not be violated or altered by  
aggression from without. Their actions threaten to widen the conflict  
and foster instability in other parts of Europe in ways that could be  
exceedingly damaging. And their savage and cynical ethnic cleansing  
offends the world's conscience and our standards of behavior.

It does not help in assessing the administration's position that  
this statement has since been contradicted, and on more than one  
occasion, by Mr. Clinton's secretary of state. While the president  
in the above quoted address stated that the nation does have  
"fundamental interests" at stake in the Bosnian conflict, his  
secretary of state has declared that the war "does not involve our  
vital interests." The war in Bosnia, Mr. Warren Christopher has  
explained, involves our "humanitarian concerns" only, not our  
strategic interests. Indeed, having decided to distance themselves  
from the war as a result of their failure to persuade the European  
allies to support a "lift and strike" policy, both the president  
and the secretary of state began to characterize Bosnia as a civil  
rather than an international conflict. The change, though not  
consistently adhered to, was indicative of what may yet prove to be  
the complete abandonment of a position to which the president had so  
recently appeared firmly committed.

Mr. Clinton may always reclaim the position he took in May. Having  
changed his position in the past, he may change it again. If he does,  
it will be to embrace a view that was flawed then and remains flawed  
today. It will not do to identify America's interest in the Balkan  
conflict primarily with the prevention of aggression. It will not do  
if only because the war did not arise as a simple case of aggression  
and the endless repetition that it did will neither make it true nor  
persuade a skeptical public. Even if that view of the origins did  
gain more acceptance than might reasonably be expected, it still  
could not be counted on to support the anticipated costs of military  
intervention. It did not do so in the Persian Gulf, where the  
interest in oil was clear and compelling, and it would not do so in  
Bosnia. Nor would humanitarian concerns succeed where a world order  
interest had failed.

If there is a vital American interest at stake in the Balkan war, it  
is to be found not in world order but in European order. The great  
issue of foreign policy Bosnia has raised-or at least should have  
raised-is that of our interest and role in Europe, now that the Cold  
War is over. Earlier circumstances were such as to make our interest  
apparent and compelling. A Soviet dominated Europe, it was believed,  
would seriously endanger the security and independence of the United  
States. It would do so by virtue of the immense resources that a  
Soviet-dominated Europe would place at the disposal of a state that  
insisted on seeing us as their enemy. Beyond these considerations,  
the American interest in Europe extended to the preservation of a  
political and economic order in which free institutions would flourish.

All this ensured that whatever the differences we had with our  
European allies-whether over extra-European issues, over  
burdensharing, over strategy for meeting the Soviet threat, or even  
over what constituted the requisite degree of loyalty to the alliance  
itself-would be overcome by the need that each side of the Atlantic  
had for the other. In the phrase that was often used to characterize  
the transatlantic relationship, Europe and the United States shared  
a "community of fate", and although the phrase surely overstated  
the nature of the bonds between the two sides of the Atlantic, it  
also expressed a profound truth about a relationship of mutual  
dependency that did exist. It may be recalled that only a decade ago,  
during the Euromissile crisis, this truth was put to the test in  
circumstances that were seen by many American and Europeans alike as  
heralding a serious crisis in the alliance, even perhaps eventuating  
in its breakup. But the institution that was judged at the time by  
not a few expert observers as having become an "empty shell"
survived and went on to play a significant role in the concluding  
chapter of the Cold War.

It is a measure of the distance we have come in the very few years  
since the end of the Cold War that an American secretary of state can  
refer to a war that may well have serious consequences for Europe's  
stability as "a humanitarian crisis a long way from home, in the  
middle of another continent." It is perhaps a still more striking  
indication of the change in the relationship that formed the  
principal pillar of the post World War II order that Mr. Christopher  
can characterize America's role to date in the Balkan conflict as  
"proportionate to what our responsibilities are" and to insist  
that "we can't do it all." These statements, taken together with  
a corresponding pattern of behavior, raise the question: is Bosnia a  
portent of a readiness to abandon a once Eurocentric policy? And if  
it is, what is the rationale for so momentous a change? Mr.  
Christopher has said, and the president apparently agrees, that the  
Balkan war is primarily a European problem. But the evidence is  
abundant that it is a European problem that has already had a  
damaging impact on the credibility and integrity of the western  
alliance. It is also clear that the image of the European Community  
has suffered greatly from its failure to resolve satisfactorily the  
war being fought on its doorstep. Nor is it only the collective  
impotence of the Community that must cause concern, for the Balkan  
war has prompted the leading states of Europe to pursue separate and  
often conflicting policies toward the war in a manner reminiscent of  
a past that few wish to see revived.

Is an American government now to remain largely indifferent to these  
and other consequences of a failure to deal effectively and  
satisfactorily with the Balkan conflict? To respond that the conflict  
is primarily a European problem is to acknowledge that the possible  
consequences of failure do not engage our interest or, at any rate,  
do not engage our interest sufficiently to warrant committing  
ourselves militarily in a manner the American government has so far  
refused to do. But if this is the case, then a momentous change has  
indeed occurred in the nation's foreign policy. It has occurred not  
because our resources are limited and we cannot impose our will  
everywhere, all of which is certainly true, but because we have  
determined, consciously or unconsciously, that what was once our most  
vital interest no longer merits even the modest commitment (modest by  
former standards of the Cold War) that Bosnia might require. It no  
longer merits this commitment, not because the Europeans could  
themselves satisfactorily resolve the problems of Bosnia if they had  
sufficient will to do so, which is assuredly the case, but because we  
no longer have the interest to do so. We are playing a game with  
Europe that we have played before. During the Cold War, that game was  
always won by Europe, since the American interest in the security and  
independence of Europe in the end assured Europe of victory. The game  
has apparently changed, however, and Europe may now become the loser.

Europe would become the loser at a critical juncture in its history.  
In the wake of a bad outcome in the Balkans, one that left the door  
open to a wider conflict in southeastern Europe and that was  
productive of still greater disarray in the alliance, European  
stability would be put at risk. In the recriminations that would  
inevitably ensue, the United States could not be expected to withdraw  
entirely its military presence from Europe but its commitment to  
Europe would almost assuredly be weakened. So too, the EC would be  
further weakened. Having failed to act cooperatively and effectively,  
the major European states could be expected to fashion their own  
separate policies to deal with future instability in eastern and  
southeastern Europe. In these circumstances, the great problem of  
order in a post-Cold War Europe would almost surely be exacerbated.

That problem, at the heart of which is the question of how to  
accommodate German power with the least amount of tension and  
instability, has yet to be squarely addressed. It cannot be postponed  
indefinitely. Eventually, the most powerful state in Europe will  
entertain pretensions to a role and status commensurate with its  
power. In doing so, it is bound to stimulate the suspicions and  
unease of a continent that has not forgotten the past. In the absence  
of the United States, and of a still credible American military  
presence, how would Europe deal with the problem of German power?  
Simply to pose the question is tantamount to articulating the  
principal reason for maintaining the substance of the American  
relationship of the past half century with Europe. The withdrawal of  
America's power from and commitment to Europe would leave Germany  
dominant yet insecure. Indeed, its very dominance might well prove to  
be the principal source of its insecurity, for it could not fail to  
sense the fears others would entertain of its dominant role. A  
familiar cycle might set in, one that in the past has all too often  
resulted in an expansionist policy. That in this instance the  
expansion would take an economic rather than a military expression  
would not thereby render its consequences harmless. The fears of  
others might still prove strong enough to generate a rising  
instability and to deal a setback to European cooperation from which  
it would not recover.

It is difficult to believe that the American government is now  
indifferent to these prospects or that it is unmindful of the need to  
fit German power into a European order in which the constraints of  
the Cold War are no more. The balancing of German power and the  
reassurance of Germany's neighbors cannot be done without the  
continued commitment (and presence) of American power-a power that  
in the course of balancing German power would also serve to reconcile  
Europe to that power. Whether the United States is capable of playing  
this role may well be questioned. It is not one particularly  
congenial to the nation's diplomatic traditions. Nor does it accord  
with America's post World War II experience in Europe. That the  
nation would have to play this complex and difficult role at a time  
when its power in Europe will in any event be declining can only add  
to the difficulty of the task. Still, this is the task that will have  
to be addressed if America's interest in a stable European order is  
to be maintained. Yet it is this interest that the Administration's  
response to the conflict in the Balkans has placed in question. That  
response must raise profound doubt about America's continued  
willingness and ability to remain the ultimate guarantor of order in  
post-Cold War Europe.

It is painfully clear that the war in Bosnia provides an inauspicious  
occasion for reaffirming the continuity of the American interest in  
Europe. The circumstances attending any American intervention in  
Bosnia are such as to hold out the real possibility of failure, one  
that could prove disastrous for America's presence and future role in  
Europe. But passivity must also entail a price, and it is likely to  
be very high. Had American governments never deigned to take serious  
note of Bosnia, the risks of inaction might have been kept modest.  
This was not the course that was taken, however, and now the  
consequences of our previous actions must be faced.

The End Game

The  great defect of American policy toward Bosnia has stemmed from  
the disjunction between ends that were overly ambitious and means  
that were plainly inadequate to the stated objections. The  
alternative to the policy that was followed would have been to  
combine an insistence on limited ends with a determination to employ  
forcible means. An armed mediation conducted on the basis of a  
territorial partition would have had several advantages over the  
course which was followed. By tying the threatened use of force  
against the Serbs to limited territorial objectives, it would have  
offered the Serbs terms that, though falling well short of their  
maximal territorial aims, would nevertheless have respected their  
vital interests and provided them with a strong incentive toward  
reaching a compromise settlement. At the same time, it would have  
made clear at the outset to the Muslims that Western support was  
conditional upon their acceptance of the principle of partition,  
instead of encouraging the delusion-for delusion it was-that  
outside intervention would achieve their dream of establishing a  
unitary Bosnian state. Finally, had the American position been framed  
in these terms, it would have provided the basis for a unified and  
credible NATO strategy.

Whether the general elements of such a strategy can be reconstituted  
today may well be questioned. The disarray within the Western  
alliance, the contempt with which the Serbs have learned to treat  
Western threats of intervention, and the general deterioration of  
Muslim defenses have combined to produce a precarious situation on  
the ground. Nevertheless, there are changes in the American position  
that could make a real difference in the Bosnian end game, and that  
ought to be vigorously pursued.

The first is strong American support for the principle of territorial  
partition. No useful purpose is served at this late date by repeating  
the undoubted truth that partition sets a bad example and ought to be  
resisted wherever possible. For the more relevant truth is that it is  
the worst of solutions except when it is the only one. Given the  
ferocity of the fighting that has occurred, it is against nature to  
expect that the three nations can restore at any time in the near  
future the decent relations that once existed among them. With few  
exceptions, they cannot live side-by-side and must be separated.  
Resistance to partition also carries with it the signal disadvantage  
of weakening the connection between the Bosnian Serbs and Croats and  
their co-religionists in Belgrade and Zagreb. It would be far better  
from the standpoint of enforcing a settlement if the Serb and Croat  
entities in Bosnia proposed under the Serb-Croat partition plans were  
abolished and the territories they received in a settlement absorbed  
by the mother states. Any workable settlement must rest on the  
ability and willingness of Serbia and Croatia to rein in their own  
extremists; the establishment of separate Serbian and Croatian states  
within Bosnia works strongly against this criterion.

A territorial settlement that left the Muslims at the mercy of their  
enemies would evidently not constitute a satisfactory long-term  
solution. It should therefore be a basic objective of Western  
diplomacy to get for the surviving remnant of Bosnia as much  
territory as we can while providing it with credible military  
guarantees. Although it is difficult to speculate on the form these  
boundaries might take, a few guidelines are apparent. The Muslims  
ought to be accorded between 30 and 35 percent of Bosnian territory  
in east central Bosnia and Bihac, and they ought to be given  
Sarajevo. As the Serbs are a largely rural population and worked  
nearly 60 percent of the land before the war, it is not unreasonable,  
quite apart from their existing position of military dominance, that  
they be given a larger territorial share. Nor ought they to be denied  
a defensible corridor in the north linking Serb territories. By the  
same token, however, the largely urban character of the Muslim  
population, together with the success of the collective presidency in  
maintaining a multi-ethnic coalition, gives the Izetbegovic  
government a strong claim to Sarajevo, whose division would in any  
case provide a fertile ground for future controversy. On the  
indispensable condition that the Izetbegovic government accepts a  
territorial compromise, the United States and its allies should hold  
out for these terms and should be prepared to go to war if the Serbs  
and Croats will not agree to them. Such a threat cannot be confined  
to air strikes but must include a willingness to introduce  
substantial NATO ground forces into central Bosnia.

A settlement among the parties obviously provides the most desirable  
outcome of the Bosnian war. It should be that settlement at which  
U.S. diplomacy is primarily aimed even while we accept war against  
Bosnia's Serbs (and possibly against the Croats) as a possible  
outcome of our diplomatic posture. No such settlement is likely to be  
reached, however, in the absence of a willingness on the part of the  
Western powers to guarantee it. That such a settlement must include a  
definitive territorial resolution of the Serbo-Croatian conflict and  
the end of economic sanctions against Serbia seems clear. If it is to  
be politically effective and morally tolerable, it must also make  
adequate provision for the critical period of transition. It is in  
the first stages of a partition that the dangers to human life are  
greatest; the beginning stages of the agreement's implementation  
therefore require a large scale commitment of allied forces. Once the  
lines have stabilized, this force might be drawn down substantially,  
and its mission would change from ensuring the rescue, protection,  
and resettlement of civilians to policing clear borders. People would  
enjoy the right of going to, or staying in, the territories in which  
they felt safest.

However strong the case for American intervention, it remains a  
distressing fact that the kind of intervention that is most justified  
is also the one the United States seems least inclined to undertake.  
The most insistent advocates of intervention want a war of righteous  
indignation to "restore Bosnia" and punish the Serbs, a crusade  
that could only be carried out in defiance of our NATO allies. It  
would be supremely ironic were such advocacy to badly prejudice the  
possibility of containing the magnitude of the catastrophe befalling  
the Muslims, but such has been the record thus far. The maximalists  
on Bosnia imagine that their vehemence can do no harm if it pushes  
the government forward with a plan of intervention; they neglect to  
consider that the prospect of a war informed by maximalist aims  
inevitably provokes the passionate opposition of states with whom-
given the interests at stake-we ought and need to act in concert.  
Their heated rhetoric retards, rather than advances, the prospect of  
an intervention, and it has done so from the beginning.

Clinton's policy, by contrast, works within the constraints set by  
allies who despise the maximalists and maximalists who despise the  
allies; hence both its desire to key its threats of force to the  
lowest common denominator-the continuation of the humanitarian aid  
missions-and its unwillingness to embrace the principle of  
partition. Unfortunately, a policy so constrained is likely to  
succeed only in perpetuating the war through another winter. The  
American government badly needs to break the mold it has set for  
itself and pledge its power to a definitive settlement.