美国在哪里培养了国家暴力的味道
安德烈-帕利亚里尼
2020年6月5日
美国在哪里培养了国家暴力的味道
从印度尼西亚到巴西，美国以反共产主义的名义培养了一个残酷镇压的全球网络。
JOSE DURAN/AFP/GETTY IMAGES
1987年4月，在智利，支持民主的示威者抗议奥古斯托-皮诺切特的镇压政权。
在离国会山几个街区的地方，一名妇女举起了火炬。她是民主女神的青铜复制品，这是1989年学生抗议者在天安门广场竖起的雕像，后来被中国政府镇压。20世纪90年代中期，她坚毅的面容被共产主义受害者纪念基金会所接受，该组织为她的创建向国会游说。2007年6月12日，乔治-W-布什总统在女神的揭幕仪式上讲话。他说："以共产主义的名义被杀害的人的数量是惊人的，"他说，"如此之大，以至于不可能进行精确的统计。" 布什称所有有良知的人都有责任承认那些死去的人和那些仍生活在 "共产主义恐怖 "下的人。
雅加达方法。华盛顿的反共斗争和塑造我们世界的大规模谋杀计划
作者：文森特-贝文斯
在书店购买
PublicAffairs，320页，28.00美元
此后，VOCMF每年都会在女神像前主办一次献花仪式。参与者通常来自前苏联的国家，那里的共产主义版本在二十世纪使数百万人受害。但在2019年，来自两个南美国家的代表首次出席。代表委内瑞拉的是国民议会领导人胡安-瓜伊多任命的外交官，他在推翻公开的社会主义者尼古拉斯-马杜罗的失败尝试中自称总统。巴西也参加了这次活动，它最近选出了一位总统，他的上台是由对十多年来中左翼治理的强烈反弹所推动的，对他来说，冷战从未真正结束。事实上，雅伊尔-博尔索纳罗（Jair Bolsonaro）的崛起，这位退役的极右翼陆军上尉成为拉丁美洲最大国家的领导人，显示了反共主义作为一种激励力量在世界大部分地区的持久性。
在某种程度上，考虑到冷战在大约三十年前就已结束，这种力量令人惊讶。但是，尽管反共可能不再是美国的首要任务，它的遗产在其他地方是显而易见的。在《雅加达方法》中。曾广泛报道拉丁美洲和东南亚的记者文森特-贝文斯(Vincent Bevins)在《雅加达方法：华盛顿的反共十字军和塑造我们世界的大屠杀计划》中指出，在巴西和印度尼西亚这些全球南方有影响力的大国进行的冷战，不仅对这些国家而且对全世界都产生了破坏性和持久的影响。
为了防止1960年代中期所谓的共产党的进步，美国鼓励和支持这两个国家的武装部队部门，可以指望他们消灭那些政治上不方便的人。该书的标题指的是印度尼西亚庞大的首都，那里发生了 "最大和最重要的 "反共产主义灭绝计划。在随后的几年里，以巴西和印度尼西亚为榜样，世界各地的镇压性政权将以反共的名义杀害数百万人，他们的动机与长期的国内对立和宏大的意识形态斗争联系在一起。贝文斯说，这些暴力运动既为政治目的服务，也为经济目的服务。他的书既是一个萦绕着冷战回声的故事，在更深的意义上，也是关于为什么半个世纪前贫穷的国家今天仍然如此。
随着美国和苏联之间的紧张局势在战后西欧的废墟上加剧，许多当时刚刚摆脱殖民化的国家，以及那些由于地理和政治距离的原因而没有被拉入战斗的国家，努力避免站在任何一方。他们试图不参与资本主义和共产主义之间刚开始的竞争，并避开超级大国的干涉。他们把自己称为 "第三世界"，这个词是在20世纪50年代初引入的，以示独立于以美国为首的资本主义国家（第一世界）和围绕苏联的卫星国系统（第二世界）。在它形成许多人认为是贬义的内涵之前，第三世界是一个解放的理想。
1955年，在印度尼西亚城市万隆举行的一次会议上，来自29个亚洲和非洲国家的代表齐聚一堂，共同推动这一承诺成为现实。他们审议了经济发展、非殖民化和第三世界在冷战中的作用等问题。"与和平一样，自由是不可分割的。没有半点自由，就像没有半点生命一样。"印度尼西亚富有魅力的第一任总统苏加诺在其传奇性的讲话中宣称。通过将对社会正义的追求植根于广泛的反殖民主义斗争中，而不是反帝国主义本身，苏加诺试图团结不结盟国家，同时不与美国对立，因为美国最近在危地马拉和伊朗策划了政变。在苏加诺的领导下，一个第三世界可以称之为自己的、意识形态上一致的政府间集团似乎正在形成，而苏加诺自己的国家在六年前才从荷兰人手中获得独立。巴西派出了一名 "非正式的外交观察员"，但没有正式支持这一努力。
"与和平一样，自由是不可分割的。没有半点自由，就像没有半点生命一样，"苏加诺宣称。
有一段时间，从华盛顿的角度来看，第三世界坚持外交政策的独立性是很好的，只要共产党人被控制住了。随着1959年1月1日古巴革命的成功，这种情况发生了决定性的变化。到1960年代中期，印度尼西亚和巴西等重要国家的领导人似乎不再愿意或能够遏制共产主义的发展。需要一只更坚定的手。1964年3月21日，林登-B-约翰逊政府负责美洲事务的助理国务卿托马斯-曼提出，"美国今后不会对通过军事政变上台的政府采取先验的立场。" 这一政策被称为 "曼恩主义"，被巴西的军事阴谋家视为对若昂-古拉特总统采取行动的绿灯。这位民选领导人在两周内就在一场右翼政变中被推翻了。
曼恩在古拉特下台后不久与约翰逊进行了交谈。他说："我希望你和我一样对巴西感到高兴，"他补充说，巴西的政变可能是自古巴革命以来在本半球发生的 "最重要的事情"。约翰逊很高兴，但对美国的参与在国外可能被认为如何敏感。"他说："我希望他们给我们一些荣誉而不是地狱。美国总统在那个时刻期待巴西人的感激之情是有道理的。首先，这是对战略自恋的精辟阐述，即认为美国的利益是世界的默认利益。但约翰逊的评论也表明，他真诚地相信中断民主进程以阻止共产主义的正义性。不要忘记，巴西实际上并没有处于共产主义接管的边缘。保守派疯狂地猜测，可能是在某个时候，一个预示着高拉特灭亡的暗示。安全总比遗憾好。
第二年，在11,000英里之外，印尼共产党，即PKI，是中国和苏联之外世界上最大的共产党，在一次详尽和极其残酷的镇压中成为目标。自1914年成立以来，PKI在国家政治中发挥了有影响力的作用，甚至是领导作用，而且，贝文斯解释说，它是 "苏加诺的新印度尼西亚的一部分"。1965-66年的大屠杀消灭了党的信徒，但并没有就此罢休。PKI成员和无数其他人被卷入了一场永远重塑印尼社会的谋杀大网。虽然全国约有四分之一的人加入了PKI，但在屠杀开始后，很少有人会承认与该党有任何联系。这种不承认正是暴力事件的目的所在。在一次残酷而迅速的过渡中，这个曾在冷战的严格约束之外引领第三世界发展的国家落入了冷酷无情的亲美将军苏哈托的掌控之中。
巴西和印度尼西亚的残暴政权将激发附近国家的类似运动--如1973年的智利和1975年的东帝汶--从而形成一个监视、酷刑、失踪和谋杀的跨国网络。贝文斯用轻快而有把握的散文叙述了巴西和印度尼西亚如何成为 "华盛顿的对外干预所创造的最好盟友"。这些政策的破坏性遗产，比它们所产生的具体的不可描述的暴力行为更重要，是本书的主要主题。
在华盛顿看来，对第三世界的军事干预是防止诅咒的一种祝福。但巴西和印度尼西亚等地的共产党在20世纪60年代初大多反对武装叛乱。甚至古巴共产党也不承认菲德尔早期通过武力夺取政权的企图。尽管如此，反共人士认为左派的颠覆活动无处不在，这是一种蠕动的危险，会逐渐渗透到放松警惕的国家中。在重要的方面，反共主义只是为远离地缘政治权力中心的精英们长期以来所感受到的不安全感提供了一个新的框架。他们主宰贫穷的大多数人的生活的能力依赖于传统和暴力的暗示，但本质上是不稳定的。民众的躁动让这些精英们感到焦虑。冷战时期反共产主义的紧迫性给了他们以压倒性的力量来镇压它的理由。
贝文斯不是第一个注意到冷战经常在第三世界燃烧的人，但他擅长展示这场史诗般的意识形态斗争的人类代价。他讲述了两个年轻的智利水手，在20世纪60年代末，他们听到指挥官幻想通过援引印度尼西亚的案例，在全国范围内实施反共暴力。"'如果我们把雅加达计划付诸实施，杀一两万人，那就可以了，'一位军官说。'那么这就是所有的抵抗，我们就赢了。" 年轻的水手们试图警告文职领导人，但被拦截，被海军囚禁，并多次受到酷刑。到20世纪70年代初，印度尼西亚首都的名字被用作政治暴力的一个令人不寒而栗的缩写，被画在墙上，打在给左翼政府官员和共产党员的匿名明信片上--"雅加达来了，"他们宣称。
1973年，奥古斯托-皮诺切特将军在一次暴力军事政变中夺取了政权，并开始围捕和杀害成千上万的人。巴西在1970年代末也有自己的Operação Jacarta，其目的是在军方似乎准备放弃权力的时候升级国家压迫。同时，在雅加达本身，苏哈托被证明是美国努力摧毁任何共产主义活动迹象的自愿伙伴。当尼克松政府担心东帝汶可能成为 "亚洲的古巴 "时，印度尼西亚入侵了这个隔壁的小国家。它将继续杀害多达30万人。贝文斯写道，在1975年至1979年期间，"华盛顿在东南亚最亲密的盟友消灭了东帝汶多达三分之一的人口，这一比例高于在柬埔寨波尔布特手下死亡的人。"
当尼克松政府担心东帝汶可能成为 "亚洲的古巴 "时，印度尼西亚入侵了这个隔壁的小国家。
在贝文斯概述的每一个案例中，反共产主义暴力不仅仅是为了消除一个被认为的政治威胁。相反，它有一个更广泛的目标，那就是支撑起一个维持着难以忍受的不平等水平的政治秩序。例如，即使是打破和重新分配集中在少数权贵手中的大地产的温和计划，也被看作是共产党即将接管的预兆。整个第三世界对民主化改革的强烈拒绝，有效地巩固了华盛顿的政策制定者所青睐的消费驱动、个人主义、基于市场的经济模式。土地改革、扩大政治选举权和关键资源的国有化在很大程度上被搁置，阻止了穷国 "追赶 "富国的步伐。
贝文斯认为，这是他的设计。在书的最后，他要求1965年大屠杀的印度尼西亚幸存者反思今天的世界，指出 "他们在一个混乱、贫穷、裙带资本主义的国家中度过最后的岁月，他们几乎每天都被告知，他们想要不同的东西是一种犯罪"。
对于反共主义造成的损失，几乎没有人做过解释。相比之下，每个人都知道斯大林、古拉格和克格勃的情况。朝鲜是一个国际贱民。当古巴出现在美国政治中时，通常是为了谴责其侵犯人权的行为。因此，VOCMF感叹 "自由世界从未要求对共产主义政权的罪行进行道义上的清算"，或对 "整整一代美国人对集体主义思想持开放态度，因为他们不知道真相 "感到震惊，这都是很荒谬的事情。
第三世界大多数接受共产主义的人更多地把它看作是缓解寡头资本主义造成的贫困和不平等的一种手段。在冷战时期，少数美国政策制定者和思想家认识到这一点。例如，在1962年，公共事务研究所警告说，第三世界的合法不满情绪有可能引发革命。
在整个拉丁美洲的大部分地区，人们普遍认为政府被那些对低收入群体的需求漠不关心的人所控制，而这些群体将利用军队来阻止任何更具代表性的政府掌权。
事实上，正如格雷格-格兰丁所写的，"民族主义、社会主义、马克思主义和共产主义的世俗意识形态--那些自由主义的危险子孙--确实激励了人们的生活，并给予了安慰......通过提供所需的燃料和钢铁来对几乎无法容忍的条件进行抗争。" 这种抗争导致了大规模的死亡，对许多美国人来说，这些地方可能是另一个星球。换句话说，反共主义有它自己的谋杀历史。这是真正的道德清算，仍然悬而未决。它似乎不太可能很快发生。
Andre Pagliarini @apagliar
安德烈-帕格里尼是汉普顿-悉尼学院的历史学助理教授，也是华盛顿巴西办事处和昆西负责任国家技术研究所的非驻地研究员。他正在写一本关于现代巴西的民族主义政治的书。
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Andre Pagliarini
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June 5, 2020
Where America Developed a Taste for State Violence
From Indonesia to Brazil, the United States fostered a global network of brutal repression in the name of anti-communism.
JOSE DURAN/AFP/GETTY IMAGES
Pro-democracy demonstrators protest the repressive regime of Augusto Pinochet in Chile, in April 1987.
A few blocks from Capitol Hill, a woman raises a torch. She is a bronze replica of the Goddess of Democracy, a statue student protesters erected in Tiananmen Square in 1989 before being suppressed by the Chinese government. In the mid-1990s, her stoic visage was embraced by the Victims of Communism Memorial Foundation, the organization that lobbied Congress for her creation. President George W. Bush spoke by the Goddess at her unveiling on June 12, 2007. “The sheer numbers of those killed in Communism’s name are staggering,” he said, “so large that a precise count is impossible.” Bush called it the duty of all people of conscience to recognize those who died and those who yet live under “Communist terror.”
The Jakarta Method: Washington’s Anticommunist Crusade & the Mass Murder Program That Shaped Our World
by Vincent Bevins
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PublicAffairs, 320 pp., $28.00
Every year since, the VOCMF has sponsored a wreath-laying ceremony at the Goddess statue. Participants usually come from the countries of the former Soviet Union, where a version of communism victimized millions in the twentieth century. But in 2019, representatives from two South American countries attended for the first time. On behalf of Venezuela were diplomats appointed by Juan Guaidó, the leader of the National Assembly who proclaimed himself president in a failed attempt to oust avowed socialist Nicolás Maduro. Brazil also took part, having recently elected a president whose ascent was fueled by virulent backlash to more than a decade of center-left governance, a man for whom the Cold War never really ended. Indeed, the rise of Jair Bolsonaro, the retired far-right army captain at the head of Latin America’s largest nation, demonstrates the sheer endurance of anti-communism as a galvanizing force in much of the world.
In a way, this potency is surprising considering that the Cold War ended some three decades ago. But although anti-communism may no longer be the overriding imperative for the United States, its legacy is palpable elsewhere. In The Jakarta Method: Washington’s Anticommunist Crusade & the Mass Murder Program That Shaped Our World, journalist Vincent Bevins, who has covered Latin America and Southeast Asia extensively, argues that Cold War battles in Brazil and Indonesia, big influential countries in the global south, produced devastating and enduring effects not only for those countries but for the world.
To prevent purported Communist advances in the mid-1960s, the U.S. encouraged and supported sectors of the armed forces in both countries that could be counted on to eliminate people with inconvenient politics. The book’s title refers to the sprawling capital city of Indonesia, where “the largest and most important” program of anti-Communist extermination took place. In subsequent years, with Brazil and Indonesia as models, repressive regimes around the world would kill millions of people in the name of anti-communism, their motives as bound up with long-standing domestic antagonisms as with grand ideological struggle. These violent campaigns, according to Bevins, served political as well as economic ends. His book is both a story of haunting Cold War echoes and, in a deeper sense, about why countries that were poor a half-century ago remain so today.
As tensions mounted between the U.S. and Soviet Union amid the postwar rubble of Western Europe, many of the countries then emerging from colonization, along with those that had not been pulled into the fighting for reasons of geographic and political distance, worked hard to avoid taking sides. They tried to stay out of the incipient contest between capitalism and communism, and steer clear of superpower interference. They referred to themselves as the “Third World,” a term introduced in the early 1950s to signal independence from the capitalist countries led by the U.S. (First World) and the system of satellite states orbiting the Soviet Union (Second World). Before it developed what many see as pejorative connotations, the Third World was an emancipatory ideal.
At a conference in the Indonesian city of Bandung in 1955, representatives from 29 Asian and African nations gathered in solidarity to push that promise toward reality. They considered matters of economic development, decolonization, and the role of the Third World in the Cold War. “Like peace, freedom is indivisible. There is no such thing as being half free, as there is no such thing as being half alive,” proclaimed Sukarno, Indonesia’s charismatic first president, in his legendary address. By rooting the pursuit of social justice within a broad anti-colonial struggle rather than anti-imperialism per se, Sukarno sought to rally nonaligned nations while not antagonizing the U.S., which had recently engineered coups in Guatemala and Iran. An ideologically coherent intergovernmental bloc that the Third World could call its own seemed to be forming, led in large part by Sukarno, whose own country had secured independence from the Dutch only six years previously. Brazil sent an “unofficial diplomatic observer” but did not formally embrace the effort.
“Like peace, freedom is indivisible. There is no such thing as being half free, as there is no such thing as being half alive,” Sukarno proclaimed.
For a while, Third World insistence on foreign policy independence was well and good from Washington’s perspective so long as Communists were kept in check. This changed definitively with the success of the Cuban Revolution on January 1, 1959. By the mid-1960s, it no longer seemed that the leaders of important countries like Indonesia and Brazil were willing or able to contain Communist advances. A firmer hand was needed. On March 21, 1964, Thomas Mann, assistant secretary of state for inter-American affairs in the Lyndon B. Johnson administration, suggested that “the United States will not in the future take an a priori position against governments coming to power through military coups.” This policy, which became known as the Mann Doctrine, was seen by military conspirators in Brazil as a green light to move against President João Goulart. The democratically elected leader was ousted in a right-wing coup within two weeks.
Mann spoke with Johnson shortly after Goulart’s fall. “I hope you’re as happy about Brazil as I am,” he said, adding that the coup in Brazil was probably “the most important thing” to happen in the hemisphere since the Cuban Revolution. Johnson was pleased but sensitive to how U.S. participation might be perceived abroad. “I hope they give us some credit instead of hell,” he said. That the U.S. president would expect gratitude from Brazilians in that moment is telling. For one thing, it is a pithy articulation of strategic narcissism, the idea that U.S. interests are the default interests of the world. But Johnson’s comment also indicates a sincere belief in the righteousness of interrupting democratic processes to box out communism. Never mind that Brazil was not actually on the verge of a Communist takeover. Conservatives speculated wildly that it could be, at some point, an inkling that spelled Goulart’s demise. Better safe than sorry.
The following year, 11,000 miles away, the Indonesian Communist Party, or PKI, the largest in the world outside of China and the Soviet Union, was targeted in an exhaustive and extremely brutal crackdown. The PKI had played an influential, if not leading, role in national politics since its creation in 1914 and had been, Bevins explains, “part of Sukarno’s new Indonesia.” The 1965–66 massacre decimated the party faithful but did not stop there. Members of the PKI and countless others were swept up in a murderous dragnet that forever reshaped Indonesian society. Although around a quarter of the country was affiliated with the PKI, after the killings began, very few would admit to any association with the party. This disavowal was precisely the intent of the violence. In a brutally swift transition, the country that had led the charge for Third World development outside the strict binary of the Cold War fell under the sway of the ruthless pro-U.S. General Suharto.
The brutal regimes in Brazil and Indonesia would inspire similar movements in nearby countries—such as Chile in 1973 and East Timor in 1975—resulting in a transnational web of surveillance, torture, disappearances, and murder. In brisk but assured prose, Bevins recounts how Brazil and Indonesia became “the best allies that Washington’s foreign interventions had ever created.” The ruinous legacy of these policies, more than the specific acts of unspeakable violence that they engendered, is the book’s main subject.
As Washington saw it, military interventions in the Third World were a blessing to forestall a curse. But Communist parties in places like Brazil and Indonesia for the most part opposed armed insurrection in the early 1960s. Even the Cuban Communist Party had disavowed Fidel’s early attempts to seize power through force. Nonetheless, anti-Communists saw leftist subversion everywhere, a creeping peril that would gradually infiltrate the nation that let down its guard. In important ways, anti-communism was simply a new framing for the insecurities that elites far from the centers of geopolitical power had long felt. Their ability to dictate the lives of impoverished majorities rested on tradition and the intimation of violence but was inherently precarious. Popular restlessness made these elites anxious. The urgency of Cold War anti-communism gave them a justification to put it down with overwhelming force.
Bevins is not the first to note that the Cold War frequently burned hot in the Third World, but he excels at showing the human costs of that epic ideological struggle. He tells of two young Chilean sailors who, in the late 1960s, heard commanding officers fantasizing about carrying out anti-Communist violence at a national level by invoking the Indonesian case: “‘If we just put the Jakarta plan into place, kill ten or twenty thousand, then that’s it,’ one officer said. ‘Then that’s all the resistance and we win.’” The young sailors tried to warn civilian leaders but were intercepted, imprisoned by the Navy, and tortured repeatedly. By the early 1970s, the name of the Indonesian capital was being used as a chilling shorthand for political violence, painted on walls and typed in anonymous postcards to left-wing government officials and members of the Communist Party—“Jakarta is coming,” they proclaimed.
In 1973, General Augusto Pinochet seized power in a violent military coup and proceeded to round up and kill thousands. Brazil, too, had its own Operação Jacarta, in the late 1970s, which aimed to escalate state repression just as it appeared the military was preparing to relinquish power. Meanwhile, in Jakarta itself, Suharto proved a willing partner in the U.S. effort to destroy any hint of Communist activity. When the Nixon administration worried that East Timor might become “Cuba in Asia,” Indonesia invaded the small country next door. It would go on to kill up to 300,000 people. Between 1975 and 1979, Bevins writes, “Washington’s closest ally in Southeast Asia annihilated up to a third of the population of East Timor, a higher percentage than those who died under Pol Pot in Cambodia.”
When the Nixon administration worried that East Timor might become “Cuba in Asia,” Indonesia invaded the small country next door.
In every case Bevins outlines, anti-Communist violence was not only about eliminating a perceived political threat. Rather, it had the broader aim of shoring up a political order that sustained unbearable levels of inequality. Even moderate plans to break up and redistribute large estates concentrated in the hands of a powerful few, for example, were seen as harbingers of an impending Communist takeover. The forceful rejection of democratizing reforms across the Third World effectively entrenched the consumer-driven, individualistic, market-based economic model favored by policymakers in Washington. Land reform, expanded political enfranchisement, and the nationalization of key resources were largely set aside, preventing poor countries from “catching up” with the rich ones.
This, Bevins suggests, was by design. Near the end of the book, he asks Indonesian survivors of the 1965 massacre to reflect on the world today, noting that “they are living out their last years in a messy, poor, crony capitalist country, and they are told almost every single day it was a crime for them to want something different.”
Little has been done to account for the toll of anti-communism. By comparison, everyone knows about Stalin, gulags, and the KGB. North Korea is an international pariah. When Cuba comes up in U.S. politics, it is usually to denounce its human right violations. There is therefore something absurd about the VOCMF’s lament that “the free world never demanded a moral reckoning for the crimes of communist regimes” or its alarm that “an entire generation of Americans is open to collectivist ideas because they don’t know the truth.”
The majority of those in the Third World who embraced communism saw it, more than anything, as a means of easing the poverty and inequality wrought by oligarchic capitalism. At one point in the Cold War, a few U.S. policymakers and think thanks recognized this. In 1962, for example, the Public Affairs Institute warned about the revolutionary potential of legitimate grievances in the Third World:
Throughout much of Latin America there is a prevailing belief that the governments are under the control of men who are indifferent to the needs of the lower-income groups, and that these groups will use the armies to prevent any more representative government from taking power.
Indeed, as Greg Grandin has written, “secular ideologies of nationalism, socialism, Marxism, and communism—those dangerous scions of liberalism—did motivate and give solace to people’s lives … by providing the fuel and steel needed to contest the terms of nearly intolerable conditions.” That contestation led to mass death in places that, for many Americans, might as well be another planet. Anti-communism, in other words, has its own murderous history. This is the real moral reckoning still pending. It seems unlikely that it will happen soon.
Andre Pagliarini @apagliar
Andre Pagliarini is an assistant professor of history at Hampden-Sydney College and a non-resident fellow at the Washington Brazil Office and Quincy Institute for Responsible Statecraft. He is writing a book on the politics of nationalism in modern Brazil.
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Read More: Books, Culture, Communism, Anticommunism, Cold War, Indonesia, Jakarta, Brazil, Jair Bolsonaro, Suharto, Sukarno, Juan Guaidó, Decolonization, Lyndon Johnson, Critical Mass
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