It is hard to watch a society's political virtues mocked as weakness by an uncomprehending foe. The fireball attacks of September 11 against the World Trade Center towers and the Pentagon consumed the lives of more than 3,000 ordinary people—Americans and foreign visitors , business people, secretaries, schoolchildren visiting the Pentagon, travelers flying home. Like Joseph Conrad's terrorist who wished to destroy pure mathematics and settled for the Greenwich clock tower, this was an attack on civil society and global economy, and worst of all, on the innocence of noncombatants.

On December 8, 2003, the International Court of Justice was requested by the United Nations General Assembly to give an advisory opinion on the “legal consequences” of the security fence under construction by Israel in the West Bank, also variously called “security barrier” and “wall.” The General Assembly sought referral to the Court by a vote of 90 states—but another 74 states abstained, and 8 states voted in opposition. Careful consideration of the case was rendered especially difficult by the decision of the Court to set a truncated briefing schedule, permitting only six weeks for written submissions on jurisdiction and the merits. An even greater concern was the danger, perhaps realized, that the Court’s opinion might be read as prejudging issues central to negotiations in the “Roadmap” political process seeking peace in the Middle East. The hope for some coherence in the approach of the international community to the resolution of a difficult and violent conflict is not otiose, especially where a stable settlement will require ongoing diplomatic, economic, and security support. For that very reason, two of the road map’s sponsors—the United States and the Russian Federation—urged the Court to take account of the impact that any decision might have on the negotiating process. The European Union, as a third member of the “Quartet” sponsoring the road map, together with the ten acceding states to the European Union and fifteen other states, urged the Court to decline to render any advisor)’ opinion at all because of the “compelling” circumstances of the peacemaking process.

In a world of sovereign states, gathering evidence is one of the major challenges for the new international criminal tribunals. The decision in Prosecutor v. Blaškić, by the Appeals Chamber of the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia, shows some of the difficulties. The Tribunal finds it has the power to issue compulsory orders to sovereign states for the production of evidence, although not to issue a subpoena as such. The Tribunal also assumes the power to review a state's national security privilege, a holding that may challenge the more protective provisions of the new Rome treaty for a permanent International Criminal Court. However, the Appeals Chamber's declaration that there is no power to summon particular government officials, even for eyewitness testimony, that document production must be limited, and that its orders cannot be directly enforced, may hobble the Tribunal's capacity to muster the necessary proof at trial.

At long last, the people of Iraq are freed from the brutality of Saddam Hussein. The swift success of the coalition’s military campaign has been followed by predictable difficulties in organizing a hew government, restoring an economy, rebuilding civic society, and quelling violence from remnants of the old regime. But these challenges are kept in scale by recalling a dictator who murdered three hundred thousand fellow citizens. Saddam chose weapons of mass destruction as the central symbol of his domestic and international swagger—using the same internal security apparatus to parry United Nations inspectors and to extinguish domestic political dissent. Removing Iraq’s Ba’athist regime has ended a looming danger to regional neighbors, including Kuwait and Saudi Arabia. The crucial hopes for Middle East peace may also be enhanced by the change. And a new government in Baghdad lessens the chance that weapons matériel will be transferred to ill-intentioned nonstate actors.

It is now more than an academic question whether one should regard terrorism as crime or as war. The attacks mounted by the Al Qaeda organization on September 11, 2001, were of unprecedented scale, heretofore seen only in wartime, killing three thousand people in a few hours’ time. Most victims were civilians, and most were Americans, yet the dead included people from eighty-seven countries. Had the emergency evacuation of the World Trade Center towers not run efficiently, as many as twenty-five thousand more might have died.

The psychological sense that this was an act of war is founded on the extraordinary destructiveness of the act. In the past, even terrorism has evinced an implicit set of expectations—using violence to intimidate or gain publicity, targeting civilians so as to undermine the confidence placed in organized authority, but generally stopping short of this irrational magnitude of destruction. Only nihilism might seem to explain a scale of wreckage that serves no programmatic demands or political ambition.

The aftermath of military conflict can be an occasion for transforming politics and society. In postwar Europe, aided by the Marshall Plan, statesmen such as Jean Monnet and Konrad Adenauer rebuilt the smoking ruins of an international conflict into an economic community with a strong democratic ethos, a common political identity, and a workable social balance. The old rivalries of the continent were abated by joint-security commitments, and the sense of Europe as a political space was strengthened by the human rights standards of the Helsinki process.