ROBERT FISK - The Great War for Civilisation: The Conquest of the Middle East

Chronicling the last half-century of history in one of the world’s most volatile and complex regions is no small task. This is particularly true when the author is Robert Fisk – one of the most highly acclaimed yet divisive journalists around – and the region is the Middle East – a political quagmire t the best of times. The gravity of this task is immediately evident in The Great War for Civilisation: The Conquest of the Middle East as it spans over a thousand pages and covers events as diverse as the Armenian genocide and the Algerian civil wars, as well as such seminal events as the Iran-Iraq War and the two Gulf Wars.

Anyone looking for a conventional, text-book-style history, however, should perhaps look elsewhere. Relying on first-hand sources and his own wealth of experience, Fisk imparts a deep and nuanced understanding of a Middle East where, having spent the majority of his life living and working, he has come to understand that (on a national/diplomatic level at least) there are no ‘good guys’. However, without any clear referencing to provide the appearance – and, on this subject more than an other, it is only ever an appearance – of objective truth, Fisk’s work at times demands a level of trust in his own judgement and motives which can leave the reader feeling somewhat vulnerable.

That said, The Great War for Civilisation does give a massively detailed and highly personal account of some of the most important events and issues of our time, from a perspective it can be almost impossible to get elsewhere. Fisk’s writing is always extremely thorough but, at the same time, incredibly eloquent. In fact, the author’s mastery of language is such that the reader could at times be excused for thinking they are reading a great literary work, such is the descriptive and symbolic power of Fisk’s writing. This, however, is always short-lived, as Fisk’s trademark passion, honesty and, some would say, cynicism are always lurking, ready to bring you back down to earth with a painful, often heart-wrenching, bump.

At his best, Fisk toys with you, playing on your preconceptions, your partisanship and your powers of empathy. At one moment, Fisk brings you to believe fervourously in the evil of one group and, thus, to side unquestioningly with the victimised other; only to then – and here we are talking a matter of sentences rather than chapters – challenge the very foundations of what you have some to believe as the truth, by demonstrating how profoundly flawed your new heroes are. Thus, by pointing your attentions in one direction, then another, and another, and then back again; and by whipping you into a state of near frenzy at every turn, Fisk not only bamboozles you with a dazzling described array of pain and injustice, but also holds up a mirror, in which even the most conscious, careful and critically minded of us can hopefully come to see, and become eminently aware of, our own gullibility and willingness to be led.

Ultimately, the book does read as a catalogue of western failure, ignorance and exploitation. While no one is spared the sharpness of Fisk’s tongue or the fire of his fingertips, it is the US and Britain in particular whose morality emerges tattered, torn and burn to a singe, if it emerges at all. It is for this that Fisk has become a much maligned figure in many circles. Undoubtedly, Fisk lays the blame disproportionately at the feet of Western actors. When their dictators lie, they use a Western manner of lying; when they are brutal, they are utilising Western means of brutality; when they are corrupt, they are following the Western method of corruption. While the evidence given to support such suggestions is indeed compelling – the Iran-Iraq War and the actions of the FIS in Algeria are perfect examples – it does not pin the blame exclusively on the West. Rather, it proves that for every assault on humanity by a Middle Easter demagogue, there is a history of similar abuses – equally worthy of our indignation – by western democracies to pull from beneath us any moral high-ground upon which we are tempted to stand.

The book, however, should not be misconstrued as another bible of ‘white-guilt’. In pointing to the ways in which we are, albeit only partly, accountable for their problems, Fisk is not trying to absolve Arab leaders and peoples of their guilt (his own unpopularity with Middle Eastern leaders can attest to that). Instead, Fisk is providing the missing story in our narrative about the Middle East, and the missing link in our public understanding of how one of the richest regions of the world in terms of history, culture and natural resources, has become one of the poorest. The Great War for Civilisation is written for a western audience, designed to tell us a few home truths; to show how our power is misused and how our very presence has a provocative and inhibiting influence.

Thus, for those unfamiliar with Fisk’s writing, it may be worth doing some background reading of his articles in The Independent newspaper; for his wry humour and unrelenting criticism of all parties involved in the region (particularly the West) make his work a somewhat acquired taste. However, for anyone familiar with his writing, or anyone considering a career in journalism, The Great War for Civilisation is an essential read. Fisk’s vast experience, coupled with his unerring ability to see through the rhetoric of public figures and be concerned only with the underlying human cost of war makes his testimony all the more damning on a political level, yet all the more inspiring on a personal and journalistic one.