After a short and successful war with Iraq, President George H.W. Bush claimed in 1991 that “the ghosts of Vietnam have been laid to rest beneath the sands of the Arabian desert.” Bush was referring to what was commonly called the “Vietnam syndrome.” The idea was that the Vietnam War had so scarred the American psyche that we forever lost confidence in American power.
The elder President Bush was partially right. The first Iraq war was certainly popular. And his successor, President Clinton, used American power — in the former Yugoslavia and elsewhere — with the general approval of the media and the public.
But when the younger Bush, Clinton’s successor, launched wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, the Vietnam syndrome came back with a vengeance. Barely three weeks after the U.S. attacked Afghanistan on Oct. 7, 2002, famed New York Times correspondent R.W. Apple penned a piece headlined “A Military Quagmire Remembered: Afghanistan as Vietnam.”
“Like an unwelcome specter from an unhappy past,” Apple wrote, “the ominous word ‘quagmire’ has begun to haunt conversations among government officials and students of foreign policy, both here and abroad.”
“Could Afghanistan become another Vietnam?” he rhetorically asked. “Echoes of Vietnam are unavoidable,” he asserted.
Over the next 12 months, the newspaper ran nearly 300 articles with the words “Vietnam” and “Afghanistan” in them. The New York Times, Washington Post, Chicago Tribune and Los Angeles Times ran articles mentioning Iraq and Vietnam at an average rate of more than twice a day (I looked it up 20 years ago).
The tragic irony is that President George W. Bush did what his father couldn’t: He exorcised the specter of “another Vietnam” — but he also replaced it with the specter of “another Iraq.”
That’s what’s echoing in the reaction to President Trump’s decision to attack Iran’s nuclear facilities. We’re all familiar with cliches about generals fighting the last war, but journalists and politicians have the same habit of cramming the square peg of current events into the round hole of previous conflicts.
Trump’s decision to bomb Iran — which I broadly support, with caveats — is fair game for criticism and concern. But the Iraq syndrome cosplay misleads more than instructs. For starters, no one is proposing “boots on the ground,” never mind “occupation” or “nation-building.”
The debate over whether George W. Bush lied us into war over the issue of weapons of mass destruction is more tendentious than the conventional wisdom on the left and right would have you believe. But it’s also irrelevant. No serious observer disputes that Iran has been pursuing a nuclear weapon for decades. The only live question is, or was: How close is Iran to having one?
Tulsi Gabbard, the director of national intelligence, told Congress in March — preposterously in my opinion — that “Iran is not building a nuclear weapon.” On Sunday, “Meet the Press” host Kristen Welker asked Vice President JD Vance, “So, why launch this strike now? Has the intelligence changed, Mr. Vice President?”
It’s a good question. But it’s not a sound basis for insinuating that another Republican president is again using faulty intelligence to get us into a war — just like Iraq.
The squabbling over whether this was a “preemptive” rather than “preventative” attack misses the point. America would be justified in attacking Iran even if Gabbard was right. Why? Because Iran has been committing acts of war against America, and Israel, for decades, mostly through terrorist proxies it created, trained, funded and directed for that purpose. In 1983, Hezbollah militants blew up the U.S. Embassy in Lebanon, killing 63. Later that year, it blew up the U.S. Marine barracks, also in Beirut, killing 241 Americans. In the decades since, Hezbollah and other Iranian proxies have orchestrated or attempted the murder of Americans repeatedly, including during the Iraq war. It even authorized the assassination of President Trump, according to Joe Biden’s Justice Department.
These are acts of war that would justify a response even if Iran had no interest in a nuclear weapon. But the fanatical regime — whose supporters routinely chant “Death to America!” — is pursuing a nuclear weapon.
For years, the argument for not taking out that program has rested largely on the fact that it would be too difficult. The facilities are too hardened, Iran’s proxies are too powerful.
That is the intelligence that has changed. Israel crushed Hezbollah and Hamas militants and eliminated much of Iran’s air defense system. What once seemed like a daunting assault on a Death Star turned into a layup by comparison.
None of this means that things cannot get worse or that Trump’s decision won’t end up being regrettable. But whatever that scenario looks like, it won’t look much like what happened in Iraq, except for those unwilling to see it any other way.
Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.
A golden tray sits on the Resolute Desk as President Donald Trump speaks during an announcement on American nuclear innovation in the Oval Office at the White House on July 24, 2026, in Washington, D.C. Trump is signing multiple executive orders targeting the nuclear energy sector and easing rules for new reactors and nuclear fuel supply chains.
Trump’s hubris rivals the fallen heroes of ancient Greek mythology
In January, the New York Times asked President Donald Trump if there were any limits on his global powers.
“Yeah,” the president responded, “there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.”
That was eight months ago, but fortunately Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster adaptation of “The Odyssey” has made ancient Greek literature newly relevant. Before that window closes, I’d like to talk about hubris.
Today, the term mostly means excessive pride or arrogance. That’s part of what the Greeks meant by it too, but the meaning was a bit richer and more specific. Hubris was an insolent or outrageous act that offended the gods, often because the transgressor was claiming abilities or authorities that solely belonged to supreme beings.
Nolan renamed and slightly modified the concept of xenia for the film, calling it “Zeus’ law.” In the director’s telling, mortals should follow the rules laid out by the gods, specifically the requirement to treat strangers with respect lest they be gods in disguise.
In a sense, hubris is the opposite, or at least the rejection, of xenia. The hubris of the suitors, and at times Odysseus himself, invites punishment by the gods and their mortal instruments.
Which brings me back to Donald Trump. His claim that there are no constraints on his personal power to dictate events on the global stage was one of the greatest expressions of hubris ever uttered by a political leader.
Trump’s claim was obviously false when he made it.
He vowed that he could end the Russia-Ukraine war in 24 hours. He’s proved powerless to make that happen. If he had divine powers to work his will, why would he have balked at implementing his tariffs so often that Wall Street adopted the “TACO trade” term for his deals? “TACO” stands for “Trump always chickens out.”
And why would Trump have made so many embarrassing concessions to China — from rescinding tariffs on Chinese goods to allowing them to buy crucial and incredibly valuable computer chips?
But Trump saw his success at capturing Venezuelan strongman Nicolas Maduro as proof of his ability to launch missiles to the same effect as Zeus’ lightning bolts. Trump believed he was the most powerful man who ever lived.
This is no exaggeration. In March, when the Iran invasion seemed successful, Trump gave a document penned by“Presidential Historian David King” to New York Times reporters Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan purporting to prove that Trump was “the most powerful person to have EVER walked this planet.” King was, in fact, a businessman and occasional caddy for legendary golfer Gary Player.
King compared Trump favorably to many of history’s most powerful, and often heinous, figures: Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, William the Conqueror, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin, Genghis Khan, Mao Tse Tung, Adolf Hitler and Vladimir Lenin. Many of these men thought they were the most powerful person in the world, too. And many were defeated precisely because they believed it.
At least Napoleon and Hitler had a string of truly impressive victories before they learned the folly of hubris. The limits on Trump’s power have been exposed by far less august forces than the combined might of the allies in World War II or the fearsome Russian winter.
Iran is a comparatively middling power. But the regime’s ability to absorb punishment while imposing its will on the Strait of Hormuz has proved to be a greater constraint on Trump’s power than his morality or mind. We should note that, at least rhetorically, his morality has not proved much of a constraint. He has repeatedly promised to destroy Iranian “civilization” if the regime refuses to capitulate.
But they haven’t — and won’t anytime soon — because the regime’s tolerance for pain far outstrips Trump’s. The combined fear of skyrocketing oil prices, outrage of Gulf state potentates, diminishing weapon supplies and domestic unpopularity is doing the work that international law, congressional oversight and the collective opinion of foreign policy experts can’t or won’t do.
If I considered Trump more heroic than reason and facts could allow, I would say his Sisyphean predicament has the whiff of Greek tragedy to it. Trump is vexed by the fact that the Iranians won’t honor deals or ratify his countless premature claims of victory — giving new meaning to his vow that his presidency would make people tired of winning. It’s almost like they’re out-Trumping Trump.
Things might have gone better if he’d heeded that great Greek tragedian Sophocles: “For Zeus utterly abhors the boasts of a proud tongue.”
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Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.