Not the least worrying feature of these chaotic times is that the members of my transatlantic analyst tribe—whether American or European—have stopped being smug or snarky about goings-on on the other side of the Atlantic. For two decades, the mutual sniping was my personal bellwether for the rude (literally) health of the relationship.

No more. Now my American neocon buddies are lining up to sign scorching open letters against the GOP frontrunner, begging the Brits not to brexit, and lambasting Obama because he’s not doing more to help German Chancellor Angela Merkel. Heck, they would even let him take in Syrian (Muslim Syrian, if necessary!) refugees if it helps her. 

My fellow Europeans have been shocked into appalled politeness by the recognition that The Donald has genuine competition in the U.K.’s Boris Johnson, France’s Marine le Pen, Hungary’s Viktor Orban, the Netherlands’ Geert Wilders, Slovakia’s Robert Fico, Turkey’s Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, or Russia’s Vladimir Putin. They recognize that the roar of Trump’s supporters is echoed on streets and social media websites across their own continent—including in my country, Germany, which is reeling after taking in more than a million refugees last year.

Adding to the general weirdness, parliamentarians of Germany’s Die Linke (successor to East Germany’s Communist party) have been casting longing glances at the Bernie Sanders phenomenon. "Who would have thought a democratic Socialist could get this far in America?" tweeted Stefan Liebich. His fellow Member of Parliament Wolfgang Gehrcke, a co-founder of the West German Communist Party DKP in 1968, wistfully confessed his regret on German national radio recently at never having visited the United States. The Linke has been getting precious little traction out of the turmoil at home, despite their chief whip Sahra Wagenknecht, who rocks a red suit and is herself no slouch at inflammatory rhetoric.

Like [political elites], we [analysts] mostly ignored or took for granted that the essential domestic underpinnings of foreign policy were hardwired into our constitutional orders: political pluralism, economic opportunity, inclusion.

One would have to be made of stone not to be entertained by all this. Rather less funny is the fact that we, the analysts, have been as badly surprised by these developments as the politicians. We are indeed guilty of much of the same complacency that political elites are currently being punished for on both sides of the Atlantic. Like them, we mostly ignored or took for granted that the essential domestic underpinnings of foreign policy were hardwired into our constitutional orders: political pluralism, economic opportunity, inclusion. In other words, a functioning representative democracy and a healthy social contract. 

That was a colossal oversight. George Packer’s "The Unwinding" is a riveting depiction of the unraveling of America. Amanda Taub, Thomas Frank, and Thomas Edsall have written compelling recent pieces about the fraying economic and social conditions which offer a potent explanation for the current dark mood of much of the American electorate. Yet "Europe" could be substituted for "America" in many of these studies with equal plausibility. 

A thread which runs through all these analyses is the enormous fear and anger directed at international trade—a feeling stoked masterfully by Trump, but likewise by his European counterparts. Another common element is the increasing inability of representative democracy and its politicians to deal with these problems—whether because they are being deliberately undermined (e.g. by Russia), or are simply overwhelmed by it all. 

“Europe“ could be substituted for “America“ in many of these studies with equal plausibility.

The implications for foreign and security policy are already on view. Western governments find themselves increasingly on the defensive at home as they try to grapple with fierce divisions in Europe and in the transatlantic alliance on how to handle war and human misery in the Middle East, to prevent Europe’s eastern neighborhood from succumbing to failure, to save a faltering transatlantic trade agreement, and to support and protect the liberal global order. Even Chancellor Merkel, who has been pushing hard for an EU-Turkey deal to manage the flow of refugees to Europe, is finding herself besieged at home by an insurgent challenger in form of the right-wing Alternative for Germany (AfD).

So, as you watch the primaries in Washington, D.C. and Wyoming (March 12) and Florida, Illinois, Missouri, Ohio, and North Carolina (March 15), you may also want to give some attention to three regional elections in my country. Three of Germany’s sixteen states or Länder—Baden-Württemberg, Rhineland-Palatinate, and Saxony-Anhalt—go to the polls, on what Germany’s media are already calling Super Sunday. The AfD, which was only founded in 2013 (when it narrowly missed the 5 percent threshold to get into the federal legislature), is already present in five states. It is expected to rake in double-digit percentages in all three upcoming votes.

One thing’s for sure already: There will be little to be smug about.

Editor's Note : In this piece from South Asia Hand, Teresita Schaffer and her husband, Howard Schaffer, reflect on how India and Pakistan sometimes find it difficult to shift gears to solve problems, even when they would greatly benefit from doing so. The authors develop this theme more fully in their forthcoming book, "India at the Global High Table: The Quest for Regional Primacy and Strategic Autonomy." The book will be published by Brookings Institution Press this spring.

A deadly avalanche that killed ten Indian soldiers earlier this month on the disputed 20,000 foot high Siachen glacier in Kashmir received extensive coverage in the Indian and Pakistani media. The avalanche prompted some commentators in both countries to call for an early settlement of what seemed to them and to many others (including ourselves) a senseless dispute.

Their voices were largely drowned out in India by an outpouring of patriotic fervor that cast the dead soldiers as “Bravehearts” who had died for their country. The Indian Defense Minister publicly dismissed pleas that both sides pull back from the 47-mile long glacier where they have confronted one another since 1984. Possibilities for a settlement seem remote.

Siachen is one of several disputes between India and Pakistan that range in importance from the future status of Kashmir to the precise location of a small stretch of their international boundary near the Indian Ocean. The Siachen dispute arose because the Line of Control drawn between the contending armies in Kashmir terminates in the high Himalayas. India and Pakistan have different versions of where it should go from there as it makes its way toward the Chinese border. This made the glacier a no-man’s land.

Anticipating a Pakistani move in 1984 to seize Siachen, the Indian army struck first. Since then it has controlled most of the glacier, including the main range. Pakistan also deploys troops in the area. Published figures say that the two countries together maintain about 150 outposts. Published figures would put the numbers of troops somewhere around 1000-2000 for each side. These are small numbers for both armies, but there is a long and complicated logistical and support chain that goes with them. India’s formal reports to parliament put the numbers of soldiers killed from 1984 to date at just under 900; Pakistani losses are variously estimated at 1000-3000.

Some fighting took place in the earlier years, but a ceasefire was worked out in 2003 and remains in place. The real enemy is nature, in this high altitude freezing desert. There have been no deaths by enemy fire in recent years. At the post most recently struck by an avalanche, the oxygen is so thin that it cannot support fire for cooking. Over time, both sides learned to deal more effectively with the bitter cold and piercing winds. The mudslides and avalanches that have kept up a steady stream of death have been triggered both by climate change and by human activity that unsettled the packed snow on the glacier itself. The recent disaster was by no means the most deadly: in April 2012, 140 Pakistani soldiers were buried by another avalanche.

Sporadic efforts to resolve the dispute have included the idea of converting Siachen into an “international peace park.” Less idealistic approaches have focused on the demilitarization of the glacier, but only after both sides had reached an agreement delineating the areas they had occupied before withdrawing and pledging not to try to take them back. These efforts won some support within the government headed by Indian National Congress party leader Manmohan Singh in the 2000s. But they were stoutly opposed by the Indian Army, one of the few security issues on which the normally apolitical uniformed military has taken a public stand.

This was particularly evident in 2006, when India and Pakistan seemed to be coming close to an agreement on the issue. In a telegram later released by Wikileaks, the U.S. Embassy in New Delhi reported in May of that year that “Army Chief J.J. Singh appears on the front page of the Indian Express seemingly fortnightly to tell readers the Army cannot support a withdrawal from Siachen.” The embassy went on to note that “given India’s high degree of civilian control over the armed forces, it is improbable that Gen. Singh could repeatedly make such statements without Ministry of Defense civilians giving it at least tacit approval.” It concluded that “[w]hether or not this is the case, a Siachen deal is improbable while his – and the Army’s – opposition continues to circulate publicly.” After the most recent tragedy, LtGen D. S. Hooda, who heads the Northern Command of the Indian army, has maintained this position. He was quoted in a Kashmiri paper as saying that despite these tragic casualties, India must remain in its present positions. He specifically ruled out the mutual demilitarization suggested by Pakistan.

The Indian public has had ample opportunity to read about the terrible human cost of Siachen, but civilian public opinion is unlikely to force the issue. For Indians, the avalanche tragedy was heightened by the apparently miraculous survival of one of the soldiers, who was reportedly buried under twenty-five feet of snow for six days before being rescued. Medically evacuated to New Delhi, he was visited in the hospital by Prime Minister Narendra Modi and became an instant, highly publicized hero. His death a couple of days later made him a national martyr.

Siachen has been one of the issues discussed between India and Pakistan in the on-again, off-again dialogue they initiated in the late ‘90s. Plans to recommence these wide-ranging discussions in January were postponed following the attack on an Indian air base by Kashmiri dissidents whom the Indians were convinced had been directed from within Pakistan.

Progress on Siachen is unlikely when and if these talks actually begin. Although the Modi government was willing to exchange with Bangladesh a small number of enclaves along their border, abandoning territory in Kashmir would strike a much different nerve both in the ruling BJP, the army, and the country at large. (It would be easier for the Pakistanis to accept since their military, which calls the shots on these issues, could argue that Pakistan had got the better deal by forcing the Indians off the main glacier range.)

So the issue is likely to continue to perplex outsiders like ourselves. Retired Indian Army friends have told us how important Siachen is for Indian security. But we find it difficult to accept the assertion that Siachen is a potential invasion route. The difficulty both Pakistan and India have had sustaining small forces in that terrain would be magnified many-fold if one attempted a major military operation. By the same token, we wonder how important Siachen would be in India’s strategy against China. It has long struck us as a great waste of men and material which, were the two sides to act rationally, could be satisfactory resolved. Worse, the deaths suffered by both sides are only likely to increase as climate change increases the risk of avalanches and mudslides.

But Indians and Pakistanis are not the only people in the world who don’t always act rationally on emotionally-charged issues.

Editors’ Note: In Southeast Asia, democratization went hand in hand with Islamization, writes Shadi Hamid. So where many assume that democracy can’t exist with Islamism, it is more likely the opposite. The Aspen Institute originally published this post.

In both theory and practice, Islam has proven to be resistant to secularization, even (or particularly) in countries like Turkey and Tunisia where attempts to privatize Islam have been most vigorous. If Islam is exceptional in its relationship to politics — as I argue it is in my new book Islamic Exceptionalism — then what exactly does that mean in practice?

As Western small-l or “classical” liberals, we don’t have to like or approve of Islam’s prominent place in politics, but we do have to accept life as it is actually lived and religion as it is actually practiced in the Middle East and beyond. What form, though, should that “acceptance” take?

If Islam is exceptional in its relationship to politics ... then what exactly does that mean in practice?

First, where the two are in tension, it means prioritizing democracy over liberalism. In other words, there’s no real way to force people to be liberal or secular if that’s not who they are or what they want to be. To do so would suggest a patronizing and paternalistic approach to the Middle East — one that President Barack Obama and other senior U.S. officials, and not just those on the right, have repeatedly expressed. If our own liberalism as Americans is context-bound (we grew up in a liberal democratic society), then of course Egyptians, Jordanians or Pakistanis will similarly be products of their own contexts.

One should be suspicious of “models” of any kind, since models, such as Turkey’s, tend to disappoint. That said, there are good examples outside of the Middle East that deserve a closer look. Indonesia and to a lesser extent Malaysia are often held up as models of democracy, pluralism, and tolerance. Yet, perhaps paradoxically, these two countries feature significantly more shariah ordinances than, say, Egypt, Tunisia or Morocco.

In one article, the Indonesia scholar Robin Bush documents some of the shariah by-laws implemented in the country’s more conservative regions. They include requiring civil servants and students to wear “Muslim clothing,” requiring women to wear the headscarf to receive local government services, and requiring demonstrations of Quranic reading ability to be admitted to university or to receive a marriage license. But there’s a catch. According to a study by the Jakarta-based Wahid Institute, most of these regulations have come from officials of ostensibly secular parties like Golkar. How is this possible? The implementation of shariah is part of a mainstream discourse that cuts across ideological and party lines. That suggests that Islamism is not necessarily about Islamists but is about a broader population that is open to Islam playing a central role in law and governance.

Islamists need secularists and secularists need Islamists. But in Indonesia and Malaysia, there was a stronger “middle.”

In sum, it wasn’t that religion was less of a “problem” in Indonesia and Malaysia; it’s that the solutions were more readily available. Islam might have still been exceptional, but the political system was more interested in accommodating this reality than in suppressing it. There wasn’t an entrenched secular elite in the same way there was in many Arab countries. Meanwhile, Islamist parties were not as strong, so polarization wasn’t as deep and destabilizing. Islamism wasn’t the province of one party, but of most. In a sense, Islamists need secularists and secularists need Islamists. But in Indonesia and Malaysia, there was a stronger “middle,” and that middle had settled around a relatively uncontroversial conservative consensus.

In Southeast Asia, then, democratization went hand in hand with Islamization. To put it more simply, where many assume that democracy can’t exist with Islamism, it is more likely the opposite. What distinguishes Indonesia and Malaysia, as well as their electorates, isn’t some readiness to embrace the gradual privatization of religion. The difference is that their brand of Islamic politics garners much less attention in the West, in part because they aren’t seen as strategically vital and, perhaps more importantly, because the passage of Islamic legislation is simply less controversial domestically. There has been a coming to terms with Islam’s role in public life, where in much of the Middle East, there hasn’t — at least not yet.

Once upon a time, long ago, the development industry was fixated on measuring aid from richer to poorer countries. They called it ODA, standing for Official Development Assistance. For decades this aid has been codified, reported, and tracked, mostly by the Development Assistance Committee of the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (DAC/OECD), a club of advanced economies. In advance of the Spring Meetings of the IMF and World Bank, the DAC announced that ODA has risen by 6.9% over 2014 levels to 132 billion dollars, a record amount. Importantly, ODA increased even after stripping out funds spent on refugees.

The United Nations has established targets for ODA—like the famous 0.7 percent of national income—which have taken on legendary status as benchmarks of national generosity. Only six out of 28 DAC countries met this target last year: Denmark, Luxembourg, The Netherlands, Norway, Sweden and the United Kingdom.

Some institutions and lobby groups remain fixated on ODA, but many development actors now reject it as flawed. A major theme of the Spring Meetings is how to move beyond ODA and expand other forms of financing for development. ODA is, among other things, symptomatic of a charity perspective, rather than investment; inappropriate for South-South cooperation; and unable to capture the big new landscape of public-private links. What’s more, it is riddled with self-serving quirks like scoring numerous flows—the cost of university places in donor countries, and administrative costs of aid agencies—that never reach developing countries.

Perhaps the most telling weakness of ODA is that emerging powers like China and India see little merit (and arguably, some residual stigma) in this concept and, therefore, will not report on that basis to a club to which they do not belong. As their share of the world economy and their interactions with other “developing” countries continue to grow, this means ODA will inevitably start to represent an ever smaller share of official financing for development.

TOSSD stands for Total Official Support for Sustainable Development. The idea, still being fleshed out, is to have a universally accepted measure of the full array of public financial support for sustainable development. TOSSD should differ from ODA in at least three ways:

• First, it should take a developing country perspective rather than a donor country perspective. So it should cover the value of all funding for development that is officially supported, from pure grants to near-market loans and equity investments, as well as guarantees and insurance.
• Second, it should measure cross-border flows from all countries, not just the rich members of the OECD’s Development Assistance Committee.
• Third, it should include contributions to global public goods needed to support development, like U.N. peacekeeping and pandemic surveillance.

There are many complications behind any international attempt to define and track such a huge range of activities. Some are technical, but can probably be resolved with enough goodwill and professionalism. So, for example, we can debate how to establish whether and how official support to private investors changes their behaviour, delivering “additional” development results compared to a situation without that support. In the end, sensible solutions and workarounds will be found.

More difficult are a couple of politically sensitive challenges, which at the same time underlie the value of reaching consensus on a new measure. How far, for example, should the new measure recognise indirect spending on global public goods? Take for example public research on an AIDS vaccine that could lead to prevention of millions of deaths in developing countries. Right now, this would not count as ODA because the promotion of the economic development and welfare of developing countries is not its main objective.

We tend to think that consideration of globe-spanning benefits like these, which do not fit the simple mould of money crossing borders, is an essential feature of a new measure of development finance. However, it will need to be bounded sensibly, not least because of underlying suspicions that the countries that are today most likely to deploy such tools, and claim them as a large part of their distinctive contribution, are among the “old rich”—though that could change quickly. We suggest that spending on a defined list of global public goods should be included, perhaps those that support Agenda 2030, such as U.N. peacekeeping or a global research consortium like GAVI, the Vaccine Alliance.

A second potentially divisive issue, already alluded to, is how to value non-monetary flows, like technical assistance, and in a fair way across countries. We think it would be a powerful positive signal for international cooperation if even modest contributions by low- and middle-income countries are recognised, celebrated, and valued according to the contribution being made, not the cost of providing the assistance. The assistance provided by professionals from developing countries (think Cuban doctors) should be measured at the same prices as assistance provided by professionals from rich countries. Some form of purchasing power parity equivalence would need to be defined and used.

This is a hugely contentious question. Neither of the most obvious answers, the well-organised but globally unloved OECD and the legitimate but under-resourced U.N. secretariat, are likely to be acceptable without some changes. A preferred candidate has to have a sufficiently broad group of countries prepared to self-report on even a loose set of definitions in order to get momentum. At a minimum all the major economies of the world, for example members of the G-20, should be willing to participate. It should also have the technical capacity to help countries provide information in a consistent way.

The International Monetary Fund or World Bank could be candidates—most countries already report to them on a range of data, including financial flows. The Global Partnership for Effective Development Cooperation, with its membership of many development actors and technical support, could be another. Or a new group could be created in much the same way as the International Aid Transparency Initiative. This could even be a revamped Development Assistance Committee that operates with broader support in much the same way as the OECD’s tax work has many non-OECD members participating. What is important is that the guiding principle be to measure official cross-border financial resources that support the new universally-agreed Sustainable Development Goals, and to start now and learn by doing.  Such initiatives are too easily killed by subjecting them to endless external criticism that a perfect solution has not been found.

TOSSD may be one of the least attractive acronyms on offer today. Without disrespect to its OECD authors, it will anyway have to change to something that works for all the major stakeholders, and is not visibly invented in Paris and that also encourages players who are not strictly speaking “official,” like foundations, to sign up. We tend to favor a plainer, simpler wrapper like International Development Contributions (IDC), or Defined Development Contributions (DDC). 

The loss of the Afghan provincial capital Kunduz was a psychological shock to the Afghan people, a strategic and tactical defeat for both Afghanistan and the United States, and a tragedy for those at the Doctors Without Borders hospital there. Yet the shock may prompt essential changes. It is important to examine both Afghan and U.S. responsibility for the disaster, what is happening now and what needs to be done. President Obama’s decision Thursday to maintain existing U.S. force levels into next year was absolutely correct to achieve the goal he stated of “sustainable Afghan capacity and self-sufficiency.”

Kunduz, which has since been recaptured by Afghan forces, was more than just the first provincial capital to be taken by the Taliban; its fall was highly symbolic because it was the site of the Taliban’s last stand in 2001. The poor initial performance of Afghan security forces and the tragic bombing of a nongovernmental organization hospital in the midst of a chaotic response to the attack sparked national disappointment in Afghanistan and international concern. All this came on the back of a dismal year in which many more Afghan civilians died than did so while international forces fought the Taliban, and the national unity government, which came into office on a wave of hope a year ago, stalled on filling essential positions and reforming governance.

The United States and its allies share responsibility for the military losses. We built security forces that depend on air power and need continued intelligence and advisory support. But instead of ensuring that these capabilities are available, we have severely limited air support, transferred key intelligence enablers to Iraq and created a patchwork system that left key areas, including Kunduz, without effective advisers. Our withdrawals from these vital functions based on politically driven timetables ignored reality on the ground, including Taliban capabilities and the embrace of the Islamic State by some militants.

But Afghans need to understand that U.S. support is not, and should not, be a blank check. Both the government and the opposition need to work to improve their military, political and governance performance, and come together instead of pulling the country apart.

The Kunduz setback does not mean the war is lost. Elite Afghan commandos delivered by recapturing critical areas. Whereas Mosul in Iraq remains in enemy hands a year after it fell, Kunduz has returned to government control. President Ashraf Ghani and Chief Executive Abdullah Abdullah appear to be heeding the call to action. During our recent 10-day visit to Afghanistan, each told us that they have agreed to an accelerated appointment process. Five new governors have been named, including three to critical provinces; further appointments and the long-delayed replacement of numerous senior officers is promised and must happen quickly. Appointments must involve effective individuals and cannot be merely political payoffs. Ghani has created a commission to investigate Kunduz, with a mandate to recommend action, that is led by opposition voices, including a former head of intelligence, though it sadly lacks female members.

If government performance takes off, public confidence could begin to be restored. More remains to be done. Afghan power brokers, intent on advancing personal agendas, seek to replace the government. They need to be pressed to stand down. The effort to reduce predatory governance in the provinces and Kabul cannot be shoved aside. Ghani and Abdullah must work effectively together despite the rapacious desires of their supporters and opponents. Broader consultation with the Afghan people is needed.

The United States needs to continue to step up to its own responsibilities, as well. Ground combat troops are not needed, but advisers and air power must be kept in place and not reduced on some blind, years-old timetable. Air power must be available to preempt attacks and not confined, as it is now, to desperate defense after attacks have begun. Afghan and foreign officials we spoke to foresee a crescendo of Taliban attacks as international forces withdraw. An even bigger Taliban offensive next year is likely to stretch battered Afghan forces further. We have not ended a war, only left it to the Afghans too soon.

The United States should maintain its current forces and funding levels, which are less than 10 percent of expenditures a few years ago, and focus on effectively advising Afghan forces. A reduction of the U.S. effort to a “pure” counterterrorism effort, still foreshadowed by the president’s hope of getting to about half the current force level sometime next year, would be disturbingly similar to what President George W. Bush tried a decade ago. Such a premature drawdown would abandon Afghan forces before they are ready, increasing the risk that a renewed terrorist haven will emerge.

Asking our allies to do jobs they are not equipped to do raises the risk of more reversals such as Kunduz and tragedies like the hospital bombing. Obama’s decision to maintain forces properly avoids preempting his successor’s choices about a difficult and evolving situation. That focus, and not a predetermined timetable, should continue to guide decisions throughout the remainder of this administration. The president’s public determination to maintain our current training and advising effort until Afghan forces do not need such help will provide a needed boost to both Afghans and our NATO allies — some of whom have been ahead of us in urging that we stay. And it is the right thing to do for our national interests.

This piece was originally published by The Washington Post.

The gruesome theatrics of the Islamic State (IS) captivate the world’s attention, instilling fear in the public from Los Angeles to Paris to Beirut. Yet while arrests are made in Europe and airstrikes continue in Raqqa, Americans ignore developments on another worn-out battlefield: Afghanistan.

Afghanistan faces numerous crises in 2016 that could rock the country and threaten U.S. security investments. The United States still has 10,000 troops stationed in the country. It must take decisive action not to supply vast numbers of troops or massively increase spending, but instead abandon inadequate policies before something catastrophic occurs. These must be more than incremental policy changes that merely stave off disaster for the interim, as this would compound the seriousness of each crisis. After traveling to Afghanistan in October 2015, we have identified key security risks and steps the United States can take to forestall disaster.

In 2015, Taliban violence resulted in more Afghan civilian, police, and military casualties than in any year since U.S. and NATO forces began fighting in Afghanistan. More fighters, better weapons, and new tactics made the 2015 Taliban offensive their most effective yet, with a recent attack in Parwan province that killed six U.S. soldiers serving as a terrible reminder of this grim reality. Next year, the Taliban will aim to take provincial cities, pounce on Kandahar, and spread fear through spectacular attacks. A major Taliban offensive following this year’s fierce assault is almost certain. Indeed, as a recent Department of Defense report describes, the security situation in Afghanistan has grown more precarious over the last year.

The Afghan army has done its best to counter the Taliban assault. Afghan forces retook Kunduz and pushed back serious Taliban offensives in other cities, including Ghazni. While attrition is high due to soldiers overstaying leaves, desertion, and Taliban threats to soldiers’ families, recruitment of new forces has exceeded losses. Yet, strong ground forces cannot compensate for inadequate air support, modern intelligence capabilities, well-functioning logistics (to maintain vehicles and keep essential supplies available), and higher-order assistance for Afghanistan’s still-nascent security institutions. The United States must help fill these critical gaps while maintaining its promises to complete these critical, but unfinished, programs. The United States must also amend the very restrictive rules of engagement that currently limit air support capabilities, and restore intelligence assets that have been withdrawn. Stronger battlefield intelligence capabilities are essential, as we learned after the tragic bombing of the Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) hospital in Kunduz. More effective air attacks and improved intelligence could seriously disrupt Taliban operations in Afghanistan.

But the Taliban is no longer the only threat to stability in Afghanistan. The influence of the Islamic State is growing, as it recruits more extremist Taliban members and brings in fighters from non-Afghan communities, including Uzbeks and Pakistanis. These IS-inspired groups challenge the new Taliban leader, Mullah Akhtar Mansour, who seeks to cement his leadership after the years-long deception over the death of his predecessor, Mullah Omar. The Taliban fragmentation and competition from IS, especially prominent in the provinces of Zabul and Nangarhar, have led to increased violence, including the recent beheadings of minority Hazaras. The renewed violence reduces already slim hopes for a negotiated peace in Afghanistan.

The United States and NATO must intensify actions against IS in Afghanistan. Like al Qaeda, the group must be a priority target for air and counter terrorist missions. Now is the time to destroy it. At a minimum, coalition forces must restrain the growth of this hostile force before it becomes a significantly larger threat.

Afghanistan is undertaking a unique experiment in elected government. Nearly 70 percent of the electorate voted in 2014, despite threats from the Taliban to kill or mutilate anyone who did so. However, the results were clouded by accusations of widespread fraud. After an extended political impasse, the United States brokered a peaceful settlement and a power-sharing agreement between the two contenders in the run off. The National Unity Government (NUG) was formed with Ashraf Ghani serving as president and his chief rival, Abdullah Abdullah, as chief executive officer.

Military solutions alone cannot solve all of the country’s woes, as the electorate’s participation and the elected officials’ ability to govern are as critical to a stable state as a strong security apparatus. Now, at a time when insurgent attacks need a strong response and the government needs to stop its internal wrangling and start delivering services to civilians, the NUG finds itself politically distracted. Ex-president Hamid Karzai and mujahedeen leaders continue to undermine the government in an attempt to spur its collapse. These attempts are little more than a naked power grab that, if successful, would usher in months of political paralysis while the victors squabble over the spoils of power. This would be disastrous, at a time when insurgent attacks need a strong response and the government needs to start delivering services. The United States and other coalition nations must voice strong opposition to all efforts to change the constitution through a Loya Jirga or the scheduling of early elections. Without first reforming the electoral system, another massively fraudulent election will surely follow. Quiet opposition will be taken as willingness to see the NUG undone.

Despite some positive developments, the Afghan government is losing popular support. More and more Afghans believe that the country is heading in the wrong direction. Thousands of Afghans are fleeing the country, and along with them goes the potential for economic growth. Crime and insecurity in the cities contribute to this brain and asset drain. Stakeholders in Afghanistan must demand governance improvements from the NUG – including opposition to vicious ethnic discrimination and power abuse, which the Taliban exploited in Kunduz – that the Afghan people crave. The government should focus on increasing effective anti-criminal and anti-corruption policing in the major cities, such as Kabul, Herat, and Jalalabad. This would require significant government action against some major power brokers. Additionally, a concerted foreign advisory effort with the police is needed to improve civilian security. These actions require vigorous U.S. and international backing.

Doubts are growing about the United States’ and NATO’s commitment to long-term support for Afghanistan. While President Barack Obama’s decision to retain major security hubs in Afghanistan was a step in the right direction, this progress was undercut by the planned force reductions at the end of 2016. In a worsening security environment, Afghans fear being abandoned by their international partners. To rebuild confidence, a U.S.-led NATO review of conditions on the ground and a demonstrated willingness to fill major gaps, such as air support, would counteract this sense of abandonment.

Not all is gloom. Unlike Karzai, who blamed the United States for most of Afghanistan’s problems and refused to move against massive corruption, Ghani remains committed to reform. There is progress in revenue collection, enforcement action against fraud in Kabul Bank, and some members of the new cabinet are making progress in less visible but important reforms like speeding business licensing and settling land titles. Unlike in Syria and Iraq, militias do not yet dominate either politics or the battlefield. Actions are still available to minimize the looming crises. But planning and decisions are needed now, not after the crises explode.

This piece was originally published by Foreign Policy. 

The GOP presidential candidate said he would ban immigrants from sending money home to Mexico.

Donald Trump’s proposal to force Mexico to pay for a Wall guarding against the flux of immigrants into the U.S. made news this week, and rightfully so. Trump’s idea would be to curtail the ability of banks, credit unions, and wire transmission companies to send money abroad — a sharp departure from policy and law whose bipartisan aim has been to bring remittances to all countries into the financial mainstream and out from the shadowy illegal word of people moving cash in suitcases.

Encouraging remittances to go through the financial system benefits everyone: it enhances the ability to combat terrorist finance and money-laundering, it reduces crime in both the U.S. and abroad, it increases economic growth in the U.S. and overseas, and it provides for greater competition and market incentives to allow people to keep more of their hard-earned money to use as they see fit. Moving in the opposite direction would be a major mistake.

This is a big issue that affects a lot more people than one might think – more than just sending money to Mexico. In America today, more than 40 million people were born in other countries, a record number. This translates into just more than 1 in 8 Americans, a sharp increase from 1970 when fewer than 1 in 25 Americans were foreign born. Thus, it is not surprising that many people perceive America to have more foreign-born people than any time in their lifetime. However, that is not the case for the lifetime of America. Between the Civil War and the 1920s, America had as high — or higher — share of foreign born as we do today.

Remittances are not a new phenomenon. Most American families likely sent remittances at some point whenever their family first immigrated. My great-grand father sent money back to what is today the Czech Republic so that his wife and their children (including my grandmother) could come and join him and escape what became the Second World War. Today, remittance flows go toward the new generation of American immigrants and the children of those immigrants. More than $120 billion was sent abroad in 2012 according to the Pew Center and while it is true that Mexico received the largest amount at just under $23 billion, the rest of the top 5 countries may surprise you: China ($13 billion), India ($12 billion), Philippines ($10.5 billion), and Nigeria ($6 billion). And old habits remain as Germany ($2.5 billion) and France ($2 billion) are still among the top 15 countries that receive remittances from the United States.

This money comes in lots of small chunks, which can make sending it expensive. The typical new migrant worker sends money home around 14 times a year, which corresponds to once a month plus Mother’s Day and Christmas. These are usually small sums (less than $300) and represent an extraordinary level of savings given the worker’s income. The money goes through both the formal banking system including banks, credit unions, and wire transmitters who eventually use banks like Western Union and MoneyGram. Some goes through informal means, including “viajeros” who are people that literally carry cash in suitcases on planes that are often breaking the law and outside of the standard anti-money laundering and terrorist finance enforcement system. Why would anyone want to encourage that?

The idea of using this flow of funds to try to implement other policy objectives, such as border control, would be a sharp departure from current practice. The Patriot Act and subsequent federal law governing remittances in financial laws like the Dodd-Frank Act were never intended to be used to threaten to cut off the flow of migrant worker remittances. These laws were intended to track and crack down on the flow of money laundering or support for illegal and terrorist organizations while at the same time providing consumer protections to workers who are sending hard-earned cash back home to their parents, grandparents, and children. In fact, the bipartisan goal of policy concerning remittances has been to encourage the flow of money to come into the official system and to discourage the flow of funds through the underground network.

In 2004, then Federal Reserve Governor Ben Bernanke made clear that, “The Federal Reserve is attempting to support banks’ efforts to better serve immigrant populations, with remittances and other money transfers being a key area of interest.” House Financial Services Chairman Mike Oxley (R-OH) told President Bush’s then-Treasury Secretary John Snow, “Remittances between established and emerging economies foster growth in both types of economies simultaneously. I will be interested in hearing your views on how unnecessary costs can be eliminated in this area.” When Senator Paul S. Sarbanes (D-MD) introduced legislation that became the basis for today’s law that covers remittances, he had the simple goal to “increase transparency, competition and efficiency in the remittance market, while helping to bring more Americans into the financial mainstream.”

The longstanding bipartisan support for bringing remittances into the financial mainstream is based on the fact that most immigrants, regardless of whether they are U.S. citizens, legal residents, or undocumented, send remittances. A system that tried to assert proof of citizenship or legal status upon wiring money overseas would be burdensome, costly, and ineffective at best and if effective, it would simply drive more money into illegal transmission schemes while increasing crime here in the U.S. and abroad. Imagine if an entire community knew that someone would be walking through their immigrant neighborhood with a suitcase full of tens of thousands of dollars in cash.

Thought of another way, if I went to the bank to send money to my mother who lives in France part of the year, how would I prove that I’m a citizen? My driver’s license alone is not proof of legal status. Would I need to bring my passport? What if, like the majority of Americans, (62% according to the State Department) I don’t have a valid passport? Would I have to bring my birth certificate to the local Western Union? I guess the one positive thing from such a system is that it would help stop the email scams asking for money from a Nigerian Prince….

Aaron Klein is a fellow at the Brookings Institution and served as Deputy Assistant Secretary of the US Treasury Department from 2009 to 2012. He also serves as an unpaid member of the Clinton campaign’s Infrastructure Finance Working Group; he has not served as an advisor on any banking or finance issues.

Editor’s note: This piece originally appeared on Fortune.

Last month, we experienced yet another breakthrough in the epic battle of man against machine. Google’s AlphaGo won against the reigning Go champion Lee Sedol. This success, however, was different than that of IBM’s Deep Blue against Gary Kasparov in 1987. While Deep Blue still applied “brute force” to calculate all possible options ahead, AlphaGo was learning as the game progressed. And through this computing breakthrough that we can learn how to better leverage the data revolution.

In the game of Go, brute-force strategies don’t help because the total number of possible combinations exceeds the number of atoms in the universe. Some games, including some we played since childhood, were immune to computing “firepower” for a long time. For example, Connect Four wasn’t solved until 1995 with the conclusion being the first player can force a win. And checkers wasn’t until 2007, when Jonathan Schaeffer determined that in a perfect game, both sides could force a draw. For chess, a safe strategy has yet to be developed, meaning that we don’t know yet if white could force a win or, like in checkers, black could manage to hold on to a draw.

But most real-life situations are more complicated than chess, precisely because the universe of options is unlimited and solving them requires learning. If computers are to help, beyond their use as glorified calculators, they need to be able to learn. This is the starting point of the artificial intelligence movement.  In a world where perfection is impossible, you need well-informed intuition in order to advance. The first breakthrough in this space occurred when IBM’s Watson beat America’s Jeopardy! champions in 2011. These new intelligent machines operate in probabilities, not in certainty.

That being said, perfection remains important, especially when it comes to matters of life and death such as flying airplanes, constructing houses, or conducting heart surgery, as these areas require as much attention to detail as possible. At the same time, in many realms of life and policymaking we fall into a perfection trap. We often generate obsolete knowledge by attempting to explain things perfectly, when effective problem solving would have been better served by real-time estimates. We strive for exactitude when rough results, more often than not, are good enough.

By contrast, some of today’s breakthroughs are based on approximation. Think of Google Translate and Google’s search engine itself. The results are typically quite bad, but compared to the alternative of not having them at all, or spending hours leafing through an encyclopedia, they are wonderful. Moreover, once these imperfect breakthroughs are available, one can improve them iteratively. Only once the first IBM and Apple PCs were put on the market in the 1980s did the cycle of upgrading start, which still continues today.

In the realm of social and economic data, we have yet to reach this stage of “managed imperfection” and continuous upgrading. We are producing social and economic forecasts with solid 20th century methods. With extreme care we conduct poverty assessments and maps, usually taking at least a year to produce as they involve hundreds of enumerators, lengthy interviews and laborious data entry. Through these methods we are able to perfectly explain past events, but we fail to estimate current trends—even imperfectly.

The paradox of today’s big data era is that most of that data is poor and messy, even though the possibilities for improving it are unlimited. Almost every report from development institutions starts with a disclaimer highlighting “severe data limitations.” This is because only 0.5 percent of all the available data is actually being curated to be made usable. If data is the oil of the 21st century, we need data refineries to convert the raw product into something that can be consumed by the average person.

Thanks to the prevalence of mobile device and rapid advances in satellite technology, it is possible to produce more data faster, better, and cheaper. High-frequency data also makes it possible to make big data personal, which also increases the likelihood that people act on it. Ultimately, the breakthroughs in big data for development will be driven by managerial cultures, as has been the case with other successful ventures. Risk averse cultures pay great attention to perfection. They nurture the fear of mistakes and losing. Modern management accepts failure, encourages trial and error, and reaches progress through interaction and continuous upgrading.

Editors’ Note: Donald Trump has exposed the tension between democracy and liberal values—similar to the Arab Spring, writes Shadi Hamid. This piece originally appeared on The Atlantic.

When I was living in the Middle East, politics always felt existential, in a way that I suppose I could never fully understand. After all, I could always leave (as my relatives in Egypt were fond of reminding me). But it was easy enough to sense it. Here, in the era of Arab revolt, elections really had consequences. Politics wasn’t about policy; it was about a battle over the very meaning and purpose of the nation-state. These were the things that mattered more than anything else, in part because they were impossible to measure or quantify.

The primary divide in most Arab countries was between Islamists and non-Islamists. The latter, especially those of a more secular bent, feared that Islamist rule, however “democratic” it might be, would alter the nature of their countries beyond recognition. It wouldn’t just affect their governments or their laws, but how they lived, what they wore, and how they raised their sons and daughters.

Perhaps more than at any other time, millions of Americans are getting a sense, however mild in comparison, of what it might feel like to lose your country—or at least think about losing your country—because of what people decide to do in the privacy of the voting booth. It still remains (somewhat) unlikely that Donald Trump, the now presumptive Republican nominee, can win a general election. Regardless of the final outcome, however, the billionaire’s rise offers up a powerful—and frightening—reminder that liberal democracy, even where it’s most entrenched, is a fragile thing.

* * *

When I hear my friends debating how, exactly, so many of their fellow citizens could support someone like Trump, it reminds me a bit of Egypt. In my forthcoming book, I relay a telling conversation I had four years ago, which has stayed with me since. A few days after the country’s first post-revolutionary elections concluded in January 2012, I visited my great aunt in her extravagant flat in the posh Cairo suburb of Heliopolis. She was in a state of shock, but worse than that was the confusion. It was one thing for the Muslim Brotherhood, long Egypt’s largest opposition group, to win close to 40 percent of the vote, but how could 28 percent of Egyptians vote for ultraconservative Salafi parties, which believed in the strict implementation of Islamic law?

Like most Egyptians, she personally knew Brotherhood members even if she didn’t quite like them, but she hadn’t had much experience with Salafis and seemed totally unaware that they had extended their reach deep into Egyptian society. She realized, perhaps for the first time, that the country she had thought was hers for the better part of 70 years would never quite be the same. It hadn’t really even been hers to begin with.

What if voters don’t want to be liberal and vote accordingly?

What my aunt feared was that Egypt would become an “illiberal democracy,” a term popularized by Fareed Zakaria in his 2003 book The Future of Freedom, but one that’s still difficult for Americans to fundamentally relate to. In the American experience, democracy and liberalism seemed to go hand in hand, to such an extent that democracy really just became shorthand for “liberal democracy.”

As Richard Youngs writes in his excellent study of non-Western democracy, liberalism and democracy have historically been “rival notions and not bedfellows.” Liberalism is about non-negotiable personal rights and freedoms. Democracy, while requiring some basic protection of rights to allow for meaningful competition, is more about popular sovereignty, popular will, and accountability and responsiveness to the voting public. Which, of course, raises the question: What if voters don’t want to be liberal and vote accordingly?

* * *

When the stakes are high, there is more to lose, and if there is more to lose, those on the losing end of a ballot box have powerful incentives to play “spoiler.” Fortunately, in the post-Civil War United States, the stakes have never reached what political scientist Barry Weingast calls the “threshold” at which citizens decide to defend themselves through extra-constitutional means, including by appealing for the military to take sides. This, in part, is why (good) constitutions are so important: They lower the stakes, reassuring citizens that even if their preferred party loses the election, it’s still just that—an election.

Donald Trump, or more specifically what he represents, calls some of these assumptions into question. Trump himself isn’t quite an Islamist, but he is a proponent of a kind of “illiberal democracy,” even if he himself may not be familiar with the term. Drawing on a wellspring of white nativism and machismo, candidate Trump has regularly made demeaning statements about entire groups of people, including African-Americans, Mexicans, and women. His commitment to the protections enshrined in U.S. constitution are questionable, at best, and if we assume the worst, downright frightening (the difficulty with Trump is that he’s not precise with words, so it’s sometimes hard to make sense of what he’s saying). He has expressed support for registering Muslims in a database, elaborating that they could “sign up at different places.” When a reporter asked how this was different from requiring Jews to register in Nazi Germany, Trump said “you tell me,” prompting The Atlantic’s David Graham to note that “it’s hard to remember a time when a supposedly mainstream candidate had no interest in differentiating ideas he’s endorsed from those of the Nazis.” Trump, for good measure, has also refused to disavow President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s internment of Japanese-Americans.

The U.S. Constitution includes robust civil-liberties protections, enshrined in the Bill of Rights. But these protections are not unlimited. Contrary to popular belief, majorities—if they’re large enough—can, in fact, do nearly anything they want, even in established democracies. It’s only really a question of how high the majoritarian bar is. In the United States, two-thirds of Congress and 75 percent of the states can amend or repeal articles of the Constitution. They could theoretically pass a constitutional amendment banning abortion. In countries like Egypt, Tunisia, and Turkey, where alcohol is currently legal and relatively easy to find, the issue of alcohol consumption is a touchstone for endless “what if” hypothesizing. Yet, Prohibition happened not in any of those countries but in America, with large majorities in the Senate and House of Representatives as well as 46 of 48 states backing the 18th Amendment (of course, banning alcohol in the U.S. wasn’t justified on primarily scriptural grounds, while in Muslim-majority countries, prohibition is seen as fulfilling an explicitly Quranic directive).

In other words, built-in constraints and constitutional “guarantees” aren’t enough on their own to preclude illiberal outcomes. What Americans really depend on, then, is a shared political culture and the ideas and ideals that undergird it. As James Fallows notes, “Liberal democracies like ours depend on rules but also on norms—on the assumption that you’ll go so far, but no further, to advance your political ends.” But all it apparently takes is one man with charisma and an unusually perceptive understanding of the human psyche to change that. There are norms against politicians suggesting that minorities should have special identification cards. There are norms against saying you want to kill the families of terrorists. There are norms against encouraging your supporters to use violence against their political opponents. It’s not entirely clear why you don’t do or say these things (because Trump clearly has), but you just don’t. The very fact that Trump has made such frightening comments on national television—without any corresponding “disqualification” or decline in popular support—has already undermined these longstanding norms.

The United States has had demagogues before, but they rarely make for viable presidential candidates. This is democracy’s blessing as well as its curse: that people you really don’t like—people who you think might threaten the Republic—can actually win. In the specific context of the Republican nomination, Trump opponents basically called for prioritizing good outcomes over democratic ones. They continued to search for possible paths to denying Trump the nomination, despite the fact that, barring acts of God, he was certain to win the popular vote and a plurality of delegates in the primaries.

Even if Trump reached the magic number of 1,237 delegates, which would normally settle the matter, there were those who still seemed intent on scouring the rulebooks, parliamentary procedure, and delegate details in the hope of averting disaster. Democratic norms, the thinking goes, are great in normal contexts, but sometimes the stakes are simply too high to let democratic outcomes stand. As the columnist Walter Shapiro wrote, “[W]ith the threat of the first takeover of a modern political party by an authoritarian who traffics in racism and exudes contempt for the First Amendment ... [t]here would be nothing anti-democratic about GOP leaders using every mechanism in their power to stop Trump.” Nate Silver pointed out that “technically [Republicans would] be able to deny Trump the nomination even if he had a delegate majority by changing the rules at the last minute.” They could still theoretically do something like this, even after Trump’s decisive victory in Indiana. The Republican Party is not a country, and the party can disregard the preferences of primary voters if it so chooses, but elite pacts and back-room negotiations would seem decidedly antiquated during an unusually populist moment in American politics.

[T]here will no doubt be a temptation to defy or otherwise undermine a democratically elected Trump.

This particular debate in some ways mirrors arguments over the tensions between democracy and liberalism, a debate that will only intensify if Trump gains ground on Hillary Clinton in the coming months. It is probably time to err on the side of imagination, since party elites and pundits failed to imagine the unthinkable once already. What if Trump actually wins the presidency? How would we as Americans deal with an outcome that at least some of us see as a potential danger to our Constitution as well as our livelihoods?

If Donald Trump wins, he would have, whether we liked it or not, a democratic mandate. Once in power, he might moderate his rhetoric and policies (yet another data point in the debate over the “inclusion-moderation hypothesis”), rendering at least some of this discussion moot. Yet it’s also possible that, facing a growing terrorist threat and a sputtering economy, more and more Americans might, like their newly elected president, dispense with the norms of reasonable conduct and support extreme measures. Still, a President Trump would be a legitimate president, having been freely and fairly elected by enough Americans. He would be, as much as it pains me to say it, our president. Still, there will no doubt be a temptation to defy or otherwise undermine a democratically elected Trump. For those of us who study the Middle East, the idea of not respecting democratic outcomes is business as usual, but I never thought it would be up for debate in the United States.

* * *

“Deep state” is a phrase that’s used to describe the constellation of autonomous and self-perpetuating institutions, namely the judiciary, military, and security services, which operate outside the glare of the public and are immune to the electorate’s whims. This deep state, acting as the guardian of national identity, puts limits on what elected politicians can hope to accomplish. The deep state was responsible for four coups in Turkey, the most recent of which deposed the country’s first-ever democratically elected Islamist prime minister in 1997.

It would be difficult for Americans to think about their own government—or “regime”—in such terms. The U.S. military is subject to civilian control, while Supreme Court justices, though unelected and appointed to life terms, are nominated by the president and confirmed by the Senate. It is possible, however, to imagine a president so reckless as to activate state institutions against him or her, in a way that makes the notion of an American deep state more meaningful and relevant.

Former CIA Director Michael Hayden ignited some speculative debate when he said that the military “would refuse to act” if ordered by a President Trump to take actions that were clearly illegal, such as killing the families of terrorists. Moreover, he said, military commanders are “required not to follow an unlawful order.” Even short of flagrant illegality, the military can still do what it’s done, at times, with nearly every sitting president. Peter Feaver, a leading expert on civil-military relations, notes that “the historical record is replete with cases of the military shirking—withholding information and options, slow-rolling, end-runs to Congress and the media, inflating cost estimates, etc.—to thwart civilian policies they deem to be unwise.” Considering, however, that Trump would likely be more “unwise” than most past presidents, such tensions could intensify well beyond what America’s political system is accustomed to.

"[C]oup”...is not a word that Americans should ever get used to hearing in everyday political discourse.

One can also easily imagine left-of-center (and right-of-center) civil servants in the Departments of State and Defense working against the president from within to mitigate his effectiveness and even his authority. This would be good, insofar as Americans wouldn’t want their president doing things that were crazy, illegal, or both. But it would still raise difficult questions about democratic legitimacy and how far an elected president can pursue his preferred policies, especially when it comes to issues that aren’t clear-cut. If the military refused to obey orders, however justified their refusal, then it could very well erode norms against military intervention in domestic politics. In response to Hayden’s comments, host Bill Maher joked that the former CIA director was floating “a coup.” This is not a word that Americans should ever get used to hearing in everyday political discourse. The norm against “coups” is a powerful one, which explains why American analysts (if not the U.S. government) are generally uncomfortable with military coups in foreign countries. No one teaches us that military coups are bad. Rather, it’s something we absorb in the process of being American. It goes without saying, so it’s rarely said.

Recently, a few friends (who work on Middle East issues) and I had an interesting although ultimately frightening conversation, as Trump extended his delegate lead over Ted Cruz. Sometimes it’s useful to game out worst-case scenarios, however unlikely they might seem. We tried imagining a dystopian future and came up with internment camps, (threats of) military coups, and pro-Trump militias. Soon enough, the last didn’t seem nearly so farfetched, with volunteers offering to provide security at Trump rallies (for Trump supporters).

* * *

It is hard to imagine such things because, despite a long, low-intensity war on terrorism, America hasn’t faced a large-scale terrorist attack on the homeland since September 11, 2001. Democratic systems produce self-perpetuating norms, because they are accountable to a voting public. It’s this very responsiveness, though, that can be a source of vulnerability, if enough citizens, in the grip of fear, decide to prioritize “security” over liberty. As the legal scholar Christopher Kutz writes in the suggestively titled article “How Norms Die,” democracy can be “at the same time both fertile and toxic: fertile as a source of humanitarian values and institutions, but toxic to the very institutions it cultivates.”

This is something we can measure. As Daniel Bush observed, after analyzing Pew survey data from 2002 to 2014: “During each campaign season, respondents reported having a higher negative impression of Muslim Americans than in non-election years.” This is a bit more mild than the link between elections and religious riots in India. As the historian of religions Michael Cook notes, “There is no doubt that Hindu nationalist politicians believe that communal riots can get out the Hindu vote for them. ... Under the right conditions the communal riot is a winning [electoral] strategy.”

Norm shifting of an even more dangerous kind than India’s can happen rather quickly in countries where democracy is not yet consolidated. For example, millions of Egyptians who demanded freedom and democracy in 2011 turned seemingly against it in less than two and half years, supporting not just a return to authoritarian rule but the August 14, 2013 massacre of more than 800 protesters—what Human Rights Watch calls the “worst mass killing in [Egypt’s] modern history.”

The kinds of shifts that occur in established democracies are less nefarious, but they can happen just the same. Torture is a good example. Kutz calls the spread of global norms against torture “one of the most impressive successes of the post-war period.” Yet, in the United States, these norms began to erode after the attacks of September 11th. Soon enough, torture—or what some were now euphemistically calling “enhanced interrogation”—came to enjoy broad support among the American public. The lesson again is clear. However strong they may first appear, norms, particularly those relating to national security, are more fragile than we might like to think. Once their sanctity is undermined by authority figures (whether presidents or presidential candidates), others can judge that what was once considered shameful is now not just socially tolerated but also necessary, good, and just. This is why “political correctness”—even if it seems irritating and is sometimes abused to restrict reasonable debate—still represents a public good: It makes us think twice about saying things that might contribute to the erosion of liberal and democratic norms.

[N]orms, particularly those relating to national security, are more fragile than we might like to think.

We have now reached a point where current or former presidential candidates from both parties have flirted with the idea of internment camps (former Democratic candidate Wesley Clark has called for “segregating” radicalized Muslims who are “disloyal to the United States”). In a series of incidents that have received less attention, a Tennessee State Representative called for using state institutions, in this case the National Guard, to “round up” Syrian refugees. Meanwhile, the mayor of Roanoke, Virginia, called for suspending assistance to refugees, but went further in an official statement on government letterhead. “I’m reminded,” he wrote, “that President Franklin D. Roosevelt felt compelled to sequester Japanese foreign nationals after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, and it appears that the threat of harm to America from ISIS now is just as real and serious as that from our enemies then.”

No less than Supreme Court justice Antonin Scalia believed that it could happen here. On this, he is on strong ground, since it has, of course, already happened. In 1944, the Supreme Court upheld Roosevelt’s internment of Japanese-Americans in Korematsu v. United States. While Scalia said that the decision was “wrong,” he also issued a warning in his blunt style: “You are kidding yourself if you think the same thing will not happen again.”

The norm against internment has been undermined, even though Americans do not face anything close to the threat presented by the Nazis and Japan during World War II. Which raises the question of what a plurality, or even a majority, of Americans might be willing to support if they had to confront a threat that was truly existential. We Americans are not, today, at war, at least not in the normal sense. I hope to God that we never will be again. But we might be. And this is where Scalia’s words that day were perhaps most chilling, in part because he was right. Evoking the Latin expression inter arma enim silent leges, he reminded the audience that “in times of war, the laws fall silent.” All we will have then are the things we still believe in—our norms. But, by then, they might not be enough.