This fortnight the president ordered soldiers into an American city over the objection of its elected government, and across the world Israel opened all-out war on Iran, and these look like two separate stories, the domestic and the foreign, but they are the same story told at two scales, and the connective tissue between them is a single ancient mechanism: that a polity mobilised for war outward requires, and therefore produces, an enemy within. The troops in the city are not a response to a discovered threat. They are the domestic face of a war footing, and the threat they answer is one the war footing itself calls into being, because that is what war footings do.
Carl Schmitt, the most dangerous political theorist of the last century precisely because he was right about the thing he was evil about, defined the political itself as the distinction between friend and enemy, and argued that a state coheres, finds its unity and its intensity, by naming an enemy against which the friends are gathered. What Schmitt described admiringly, as the essence of sovereignty, I describe with horror, as its pathology: that power under strain reaches, almost automatically, for an enemy to define itself against, and that when the external enemy is distant, an internal one is required to make the threat feel present, to convert the abstract war abroad into a concrete danger at home that justifies the soldier on the corner. The enemy within is not a fact that states discover. It is a function that states require, and the identity of the enemy is almost incidental, filled by whoever is available, marginal, and already half-suspected: the migrant, the protester, the minority, the city that voted the wrong way.
The counterargument is real and I will not dodge it: sometimes there is actual disorder, actual violence, actual threat, and a state has a genuine duty to keep order, and to treat every deployment of force as manufactured paranoia is to deny that public safety is ever a real concern and to make oneself absurd the first time a riot is not imaginary. I grant it completely. Disorder can be real; the duty to protect is real; not every troop movement is a Reichstag fire. But the test is not whether some disorder exists, because some disorder always exists, somewhere, sufficient to be pointed at; the test is the proportion between the threat and the response, and the direction the response travels. When the force vastly exceeds the disorder, when it is aimed at a city's own elected government, when it coincides with a war opening abroad and a rhetoric of enemies everywhere, then the disorder is not the cause but the pretext, the available raw material from which the required internal enemy is being manufactured. The threat is real in the trivial sense that some broken window exists; it is manufactured in the sense that matters, which is that it is being inflated into a justification it cannot honestly bear.
I know the far end of this mechanism because my own people have been its raw material for a quarter of a century, the available enemy within, conscripted into that role not because of anything we did but because a state at war abroad needed a face for the danger at home and ours was to hand. I have watched the friend-enemy line drawn straight through my community, watched ordinary people converted into a standing suspicion, watched the wars in distant countries reach back to license the surveillance, the suspicion, the soldier's glance, in the airports and neighbourhoods of countries at peace. So I recognise the machinery operating this fortnight not as a theory but as a thing I have lived inside, and I recognise its universality: today the available enemy is the migrant and the dissenting city, yesterday it was my coreligionists, tomorrow it will be whoever is marginal enough to be plausible and weak enough to be safe.
That is the warning I want to leave, and it is not addressed to the enemy of the moment but to everyone watching who feels safely outside the category. The friend-enemy machine does not stop at its first target, because its function is not to neutralise a particular threat but to supply the internal enemy that a war footing perpetually demands, and its appetite renews. Whoever is available this fortnight is available because they are marginal, and margins move. The soldier on the corner of another man's city is not there for a reason that will stay confined to that city, or that enemy, or that war. He is there because the state has decided it needs an enemy within, and a state that has decided it needs one will never, ever run out of candidates. It will simply, when the current enemy is exhausted, find the next available someone, and the only question that has ever mattered is how long you have before it is you.