American Armadas: A Comedy of Compliance

Had it been a Chinese vessel, the city would have been on high alert. The usual suspects would be out in force: "Beware of debt traps! They’re here to stay! They’ll take the whole harbour!" But the Americans? Why, they’re just good old Uncle Sam, right?

Uppercut

Two mighty ships sailed into our waters recently, the USS O’Kane and the USS Spruance, and I must admit, Colombo’s waters have never been so well-tended. Not a ripple of protest. Not a single banner waving in the air. Just a polite wave, a quick refill, and off they go. The American destroyers came, replenished, and departed as though they were merely stopping by for a casual sip of tea at a friend’s house. And we, ever the gracious hosts, obliged.

Two warships, no fuss—just another day at the fuel pump for Uncle Sam, while we quietly clap from the sidelines. [File Illustration]

It’s almost endearing, this lack of uproar. Had it been a Chinese vessel, the city would have been on high alert. The usual suspects would be out in force: “Beware of debt traps! They’re here to stay! They’ll take the whole harbour!” But the Americans? Why, they’re just good old Uncle Sam, right? They’re just popping in for a friendly visit. Nothing to see here.

Let’s pause for a moment to appreciate this comedic masterpiece, a satire written not by me, but by realpolitik itself. Henry Kissinger, that grandmaster of geopolitical chess, once said, “America has no permanent friends or enemies, only interests.” And how right he was. But here’s the joke: while America plays by that rule, we, down here at the bottom of the global totem pole, pretend otherwise. We pick our outrage based not on principle but on who’s in the driver’s seat of the battleship.

It’s funny, in a tragic sort of way. The USS O’Kane, an Arleigh Burke-class destroyer led by Commander Richard Ray, and the USS Spruance arrive, refill their bellies with fuel and supplies, and not a single person questions why we’re hosting these vessels. But the moment China so much as sends a tugboat, we act like the world is ending. The irony is richer than the finest Sri Lankan tea. I can almost hear the ghosts of ancient philosophers chuckling in the background.

“War is nothing but a continuation of politics by other means,” said Carl von Clausewitz. If that’s true, then we’re not even playing the game. We’re sitting on the sidelines, watching as American warships refuel and patting ourselves on the back for staying out of trouble. Except, we’re not out of trouble, are we? We’re just the quiet bystanders in someone else’s geopolitical theatre, occasionally offering refreshments to the actors.

Speaking of actors, let’s not forget the ongoing tragedy unfolding in Bangladesh. Sheikh Hasina had the audacity to say “no” when the Americans came knocking, asking for a naval base. A daring gamble, if we are to believe her revelations from the Delhi hideout. But what has it ultimately won her? A most ignominious departure, marked by a hasty escape across the border to India, seeking refuge rather than redemption. Truly, a spectacle of tragic irony. A reminder that even in this day and age, sovereignty is just a nice word in a history book. Modern realpolitik is as naked as it gets—say “no” to the right people, and you’ll find yourself facing a coup in no time. Maybe we should be thankful that our “yes” policy has kept us out of the crosshairs… for now.

But back to Colombo. Two ships, armed to the teeth, 154 meters of pure naval dominance, come in for a quick pit stop, and we act like it’s just another day at the docks. No questions, no fuss. In ancient Greece, Thucydides wrote that “The strong do what they can, and the weak suffer what they must.” Have we, too, resigned ourselves to this fate? Are we so comfortable in our subservience that we no longer even recognise it?

It’s not that we’ve lost our sense of outrage. No, we still have it—just selectively. We save it for the moments when the media tells us to be angry, when the powers that be need us to be up in arms about sovereignty and independence. But those powers are remarkably quiet when it’s the Americans dropping anchor in our ports. “Nothing to see here, folks, just a friendly visit,” they whisper. And we nod along, like the good little islanders we’ve become.

Perhaps Machiavelli had it right all along. “He who wishes to be obeyed must know how to command.” America, it seems, has mastered this art, commanding not through force, but through expectation. They arrive, and we comply. No need for grand displays of power—just a subtle reminder that they’re here, and we’re hosting them, quietly, dutifully, as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

As the USS O’Kane and USS Spruance sail off into the horizon, perhaps we should ask ourselves: when did we become so predictable? So pliable? And how long can we keep pretending that this comedy of compliance is anything other than what it is—a farce, where we are both the audience and the punchline?