In Panama, Our Bumbling Has Merit : Current Standards for Use of Force Haven’t Been Met

“Brutal wrongdoing,” Theodore Roosevelt wrote in 1904, “may finally require intervention by some civilizing nation; and in the Western Hemisphere the United States cannot ignore this duty.” The current object of this injunction is Panama’s Gen. Manuel Antonio Noriega. But nobody is quite sure how to do it or whether the price is worth paying.

Noriega’s “brutal wrongdoing” does not meet the standard that has prompted most modern American interventions, in either hemisphere. He hasn’t invaded a neighboring country--indeed, he is one of the Central American peacemakers in the so-called Contadora process. He isn’t a communist or a Soviet stooge, although he allegedly has had some unseemly transactions with Cuba’s Fidel Castro. And he hasn’t overthrown a democratic, civilian government--at least not lately. In fact, for most of his rule he has been our kind of guy in providing peace and tranquility in his tiny but strategically important nation. And we rewarded him for it.

The Panamanian strongman does resemble one other contemporary object of American anger and action: Libya’s Col. Moammar Kadafi. Both stand accused less of disturbing the peace than of committing crimes against individual Americans: Kadafi of terrorism and Noriega of “terrorizing” American society as a big-league drug dealer. And in recent years, the impact of foreign events on the lives of individual Americans has become increasingly important in shaping U.S. foreign policy.

As the crisis builds, there is little questioning in the United States, from any point of the political spectrum, about the value of seeing Noriega deposed and deported. His actions in making America’s drug problem worse seem beyond dispute. There would also be a sense of accomplishment in seeing him go--although he is unlikely to be brought to justice--even if a likely successor from the Panamanian military carries on where Noriega leaves off. So most of the criticism of the Reagan Administration’s strategies has been limited to their effect--or lack of effect.

In February the Administration encouraged President Eric A. Delvalle to dismiss Noriega and seemed nonplussed when Noriega returned the favor and dismissed Delvalle. It imposed economic sanctions that, like most other occasions when this tactic has been tried, have not done the job. In its efforts to cleanse Panama of this one man, the United States has created an economic mess that will take a long time and large resources to clean up. In contemplating “dirty tricks,” the secretary of state reportedly favored kidnaping Noriega and bringing him to trial in the United States. Yet the secretary earned opprobrium for suggesting the idea without the benefit of its having happened.

The relative paralysis of U.S. policy stands in contrast to many other interventions in the postwar world, especially in this hemisphere. U.S. troops went to the Dominican Republic (1965) and Grenada (1983), and the United States sponsored an ill-fated emigres’ invasion of Cuba (1961). The Central Intelligence Agency intervened in Guatemala (1954), purportedly helped to overthrow a government in Chile (1973) and engaged in all sorts of monkeyshines against Castro. Why, therefore, doesn’t the United States just “do what is necessary” to get rid of Noriega?

Times have changed. Assassination is immoral and, fortunately, now illegal. Kidnaping, even if condoned, is difficult to accomplish and would create a legal quagmire. Military action that risks killing innocent civilians tends to inhibit action, as we have seen with efforts to counter terrorism. And the United States has been progressively held to a higher standard--by both American and foreign public opinion--on the moral basis for using force. Thus it is denied the luxury of a double standard: opposing military coups in, say, the Philippines and perpetrating one in Panama.

In recent years there has also been growing reluctance in the United States to bite off more than we can chew. Americans, frustrated by an intractable drug problem, may want Noriega simply to disappear. But experience with drawn-out conflict in Nicaragua, tragedy in Lebanon and the imponderables of terrorism have weakened the national will to become entangled in messy affairs.

When emotion is removed from concern over Noriega’s role as a drug trafficker, it is possible to measure the benefits of getting even with him--his drug threat to Americans has largely been neutralized by exposure--against political costs in the hemisphere. Many West Europeans did not agree that terrorism against a few American citizens justified the 1986 air raid on Libya; similarly, few Latin Americans care to see los norteamericanos throw their weight around. The ends of such U.S. action might be valued. But the means will always be suspect.

What appears to be the Administration’s bumbling thus has merit. Noriega’s departure must clearly have the strong support of Panamanians, not just be something made in Washington. Otherwise, the cure could contribute to a worse disease.

Patience is rarely an American quality, especially when an issue is joined as clearly as that involving the drug-dealing general. But that is the course of wisdom here. Increasingly, it is the course of necessity in deciding whether to intervene in other countries to right the world’s ills.