July 24, 2008
Foreign process
Although the Iraq war has been a dominant foreign policy issue in the presidential election, it certainly is not the only conflict to demand the candidates' attention. The conflict in Afghanistan has gained increasing prominence in the campaigns of Republican John McCain and Democrat Barack Obama, who just paid his first visit to the country during his highly publicized overseas tour. This subtle shift of emphasis is due not only to increased levels of violence in Afghanistan, but also to the concurrent (and relative) decrease of violence in Iraq. U.S. policy in both countries is inextricably linked—it is impossible to sensibly discuss the policy for one war without considering the other. At the same time, the politics of the Afghanistan war are unique. They demonstrate that the right policy alone may not be enough to achieve the desired objectives.
The war in Afghanistan has always held a unique place in U.S. politics, especially compared to its more prominent counterpart in Iraq. It was, and is, the conflict most directly tied to the attacks of 9/11; the country had served as host to the al Qaeda leaders who planned the attacks and functioned as a training ground for the attackers themselves. In the days following 9/11, Congress overwhelmingly passed (with only a single dissenting vote in the House) the Authorization for Use of Military Force Against Terrorists, under which the war in Afghanistan has been waged. The initial invasion was very successful. The Bush administration assembled a broad international coalition, the ruling Taliban regime in Afghanistan was quickly overthrown, and a pluralistic political process was set in motion.
Since 2002, the war in Afghanistan has been somewhat overshadowed by the threat, real or perceived, from Iraq and the ensuing invasion and occupation of that country. But as the Iraq war maintained its grip on the headlines over the years, the conflict in Afghanistan remained persistently unresolved. Bin Laden not only remained free, but he and his lieutenants released communiques on a semi-regular basis. Remnants of al Qaeda's infrastructure seemed to have relocated and re-established themselves in Pakistan, just across the border from Afghanistan. The Taliban did not disintegrate, and in fact seemed to grow in size and capabilities over the years. In recent months, the level of violence in Afghanistan has increased notably. In May, coalition casualties in Afghanistan exceeded those in Iraq for the first time—a pattern that was repeated the next month. Since then, the Taliban has carried out a spate of spectacular attacks, including an assault on a Kandahar jail that freed hundreds of prisoners, a suicide bombing outside of the Indian embassy in Kabul that killed dozens, and a direct attack on a U.S. base in Kunar Province that killed nine soldiers.
As things have appeared to get worse in Afghanistan, the situation in Iraq has seemed to improve; hence the subtle shift of emphasis in the presidential campaign. Among all of the candidates, Obama has been uniquely positioned to frame the debate. Since the beginning of the nomination contests, he has been the only major candidate of either party who both supported the invasion of Afghanistan and opposed the initial invasion of Iraq. He made a point of this in the 2002 speech in which he announced his opposition to the forthcoming invasion of Iraq, specifically saying that he didn't oppose all wars, just “dumb wars.” Given the geopolitical realities at the time (al Qaeda had not been conclusively defeated in Afghanistan) and the facts that have since been confirmed (Iraq had neither weapons of mass destruction nor a meaningful relationship with al Qaeda or 9/11), it is remarkable that Obama was the only major candidate who could claim such an auspicious record.
In the campaign, Obama has taken advantage of his record and used it as evidence of superior judgment. His current position on Afghanistan is a natural evolution. He views the war in Iraq as a distraction from the continuing threat posed by al Qaeda. By withdrawing the majority of U.S. forces from that country, he would gain the flexibility to send at least two additional combat brigades Afghanistan. He proposes an extra $1 billion in non-military aid to Afghanistan, with an emphasis on rural development, drug eradication, and anti-corruption initiatives. He has also reiterated his commitment to both increase non-military aid to Pakistan and to strike at al Qaeda targets in that country, if Pakistan is unable or unwilling to do so itself (for more, see The Water’s Edge, November 2007).
McCain, for his part, has focused more on Iraq than on Afghanistan. Although he supported the invasion of Iraq, he shares with Obama a point of distinction on that conflict. He was a critic of former Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld and was a vocal champion of the 2007 troop surge, which is partly responsible for the decreasing levels of violence in Iraq. McCain used these points to distinguish himself during the Republican primary, and he continues to emphasize them as evidence of his foreign policy acumen. Moving forward, McCain speaks often of the need to secure a “victory” in Iraq, and he dismisses any suggestion of significant troop withdrawals or timetables for departure (for more, see The Water’s Edge, June 2008).
All of this has a direct bearing on McCain's policy toward Afghanistan, which until recently was poorly defined. In a recent foreign policy address, McCain called for sending three additional combat brigades to Afghanistan and for U.S. forces there to adopt the counter-insurgency strategy that has produced the recent successes in Iraq: “What we need in Afghanistan is … a nationwide civil-military campaign plan that is focused on providing security for the population.” In terms of troop increases, at least, this position appears very similar to Obama's. But Afghanistan does not exist in isolation; tactics are not the same as strategy, and policy goals are useless without a plausible way to achieve them. Both Obama and McCain may want to send more combat brigades to Afghanistan. But given the severe strain that long-term, concurrent wars have placed on the armed forces, this will be hard for any president to do if troops are not redeployed from Iraq.
Even if the additional brigades could be sent, the few thousand soldiers they represent would not be sufficient to bring security to Afghanistan. Unlike in Iraq, many NATO allies operate alongside U.S. forces in Afghanistan. Some countries—most notably the United Kingdom, the Netherlands, and Canada—permit their soldiers to engage in dangerous (and costly) counter-insurgency operations. But others, such as France and Germany, only allow their soldiers to operate in calmer portions of the country. This has generated understandable tensions in the alliance. Perhaps the greatest value of any additional U.S. troops in Afghanistan would be as force multipliers—as leverage to secure greater commitments from recalcitrant NATO allies or as confidence building measures for nascent Afghan governing institutions. It is perfectly reasonable and understandable that Obama and McCain would share the goal of a more secure Afghanistan. But the goals alone are not sufficient. Just as important is how policy makers align these goals with others (both allies and adversaries), rally support for their objectives, and build a sustainable basis for achieving them. In other words, diplomacy counts.
It is in this context that Obama made his overseas tour. To be sure, the trip was meant to bolster his image as a worldly figure, able to hold his own in the international arena. But a week long trip does not give a candidate foreign policy “experience.” Such experience can really only be gained through service in the executive branch—something that neither Obama nor McCain can claim. But after eight years of an administration widely perceived as being undiplomatic, and with global challenges far too great to solve unilaterally, Obama's trip was still more than just an electoral ploy. It was a way for him to demonstrate that his potential presidency would offer not just a substantive difference from Bush or McCain, but a stylistic one as well. A foreign policy is only as good as the process used to achieve it.
Foreign Policy Association, 24 July 2008
Posted by Daniel Widome at 11:29 PM to Europe, Middle East, Trans-geographical, U. S. Politics | TrackBack (0)
June 26, 2008
Occupation justification
The war in Iraq is clearly one of the most important foreign policy issues in this year's presidential campaign. Arguably, it was the issue that single-handedly shaped the parties' nomination battles. The success of Senator Barack Obama (D-IL) rested in large part on his early (and then-unpopular) opposition to the Iraq invasion. Senator John McCain (R-IL) supported the invasion, but he staked his candidacy on his steady criticism of occupation policy and his steadfast (and politically risky) support for the 2007 troop surge. In the general election, the two candidates remain defined by their views on Iraq. As the presidential campaign unfolds, however, the situation in Iraq evolves as well, placing pressure on policy positions the candidates have barely changed over the past 18 months. But even as the candidates struggle to adapt to changing real-world conditions, their policy records will continue to define them.
Although Iraq has hardly become a stable or peaceful place, the good news in recent months is heartening. The rate of U.S. casualties has declined, the influence of foreign fighters and Sunni extremists has decreased, and the central government has had success in asserting its authority against Shiite militias in several parts of the country. These successes cannot be attributed to any single action or policy. The so-called “Sunni awakening,” in which Sunni tribal leaders have turned against the al Qaeda-inspired elements in their midst and allied with U.S. forces, has yielded positive results. The 2007 troop surge in Baghdad may partially account for the greater coherence and authority of Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki's central government. Although military and civilian casualties continue to mount, they are climbing at a slower rate than in recent years. Unquestionably, this is all very good.
As the situation in Iraq has evolved, however, the public positions of Obama and McCain have remained relatively static, especially since the primary campaign began in early 2007. Obama has called for a phased withdrawal of all U.S. combat forces from Iraq over a 16-month period, at a rate of one or two brigades per month. He would allow for residual forces to remain in Iraq and the region to protect the U.S. embassy, to fight al Qaeda elements, and—if Iraq makes political progress—to continue training Iraqi security forces. He renounces any claim to permanent U.S. bases in Iraq. McCain, for his part, is a strong advocate of continuing the current strategy as implemented by General David Petraeus. His objective is a stable, prosperous, democratic, and peaceful Iraq that poses no threat to its neighbors. He is opposed to any significant troop withdrawals until that objective is achieved.
But before they launched their campaigns, each senator approached the situation in Iraq differently. Obama opposed the initial invasion itself. But after Saddam Hussein had been deposed, he did not immediately call for a withdrawal of U.S. troops. As late as 2005, he stated that, “U.S. forces are still a part of the solution in Iraq.” He explicitly favored a reduction of U.S. forces in Iraq (not a full withdrawal), and he opposed a specific timetable for any withdrawal. By 2007, shortly before he announced his presidential candidacy, he had settled on his present position. McCain supported the original invasion but became sharply critical of the Bush administration's handling of the occupation. Specifically, he said on several occasions that he had “no confidence' in then-Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld, and he consistently advocated for a larger troop presence in Iraq. Since the 2007 troop surge began—and the presidential campaign kicked off—McCain has largely supported the Bush administration's policy in Iraq, and he pledges to continue it.
None of this history should condemn either candidate. Indeed, it is good that policy makers adjust their positions as the real-world situation changes. Unfortunately, electoral politics places a premium on consistency, so until the election, neither Obama nor McCain are likely to radically alter the positions they adopted 18 months ago. But this doesn't mean that their records cannot (or should not) illuminate their potential policies as president, especially on the central question of how long U.S. troops should remain in Iraq.
At the end of this year, the UN resolution that formally permits U.S. troops to operate in Iraq will expire. The Bush administration is keen to provide a continuing legal framework for the U.S. occupation and has been actively negotiating two separate agreements with the Iraqi government. A Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA) would codify the specific legal terms under which U.S. forces could operate in Iraq; the United States already has negotiated dozens of SOFAs with other countries that house U.S. troops. A “strategic framework agreement” likely would cover broader (and more contentious) issues such as the political, military, and economic relationship between the United States and Iraq and what functions U.S. troops could perform in Iraq. Reports have leaked that in negotiating these agreements, the Bush administration is seeking 58 permanent bases, control of Iraqi airspace, and immunity for troops and contractors.
Right now, neither Obama nor McCain would offer an absolute answer to the question, “how long will the United States stay in Iraq?” Obama would say that he would withdraw all combat troops in less than two years and he would disavow permanent bases, but he would remain vague about the size, location, and duration of the residual force he proposes. McCain is even more explicit in de-emphasizing the question. Earlier this year, he famously commented that he would not object to U.S forces remaining in Iraq for 100 years, and when questioned on that point in a recent interview, he noted that it is “not too important” when U.S. forces leave Iraq. The important thing, he said, was whether U.S. forces were suffering casualties. McCain highlighted the presence of U.S. troops in Japan, Korea, and Germany as examples of what he would consider acceptable analogues for Iraq.
Despite their respective ambiguity (or perhaps because of it), the policy records of Obama and McCain are particularly helpful in figuring out how they now interpret the role of U.S. forces in Iraq. In McCain's example, U.S. troops did not face insurgencies in Japan, Korea, or Germany like they do today in Iraq; by the time those occupations had begun in earnest, the wars that preceded them had largely concluded. Within a short period of time, each country had gained a stable and secure sovereign government. But even after the fighting had ended and stable governments had been formed, the fifty-year U.S. presence in those countries had a very specific purpose: to deter Communist aggression in the context of the Cold War. McCain's parallel, then, poses a very important question. Once the violence in Iraq is quelled, its government is stable, and U.S. troops are no longer taking casualties, what would be the objective of the remaining U.S. forces? Who would they be deterring, and in what context?
The answer to this question lies in the original rationale for the invasion itself, in the debate that raged in 2002 and early 2003. Supporters of the invasion used a variety of reasons to support their argument: Saddam Hussein was a tyrant and had to be toppled; he possessed weapons of mass destruction that presented a threat to others; he was allied with al Qaeda; a new, Arab democracy would be a beacon of change in the turbulent Middle East. None of these reasons, on their own, seemed to justify an invasion, and the Bush administration used them interchangeably.
Since then, many of the justifications for invasion have proven to be exaggerated or outright inaccurate. But one justification, alluded to in comments by policymakers since the invasion, was downplayed at the time: the geostrategic motivation. Iraq is in a very important corner of the globe, located near some of the United States' most valuable allies and some of its most distrusted adversaries. It also has a lot of oil. In other words, Iraq was a good place for the United States to plant its flag in the real-world game of Risk.
Sensible people may disagree about whether this geostrategic rationale was sufficient to justify the invasion of Iraq. But as it applies to the presidential candidacies of Obama and McCain, there is a clear difference. Obama opposed the introduction of U.S. forces into Iraq at the outset and has consistently renounced permanent bases there; nothing in his subsequent ambiguity about the specifics of occupation policy changes that. McCain supported the original invasion and is unabashed in his support for a continued U.S. presence in Iraq. Indeed, his “100 years” comment may be the most honest acknowledgment yet of the geostrategic rationale for invasion. In an electoral sense, this is a great thing. Beneath the candidates' superficial ambiguity, their positions are starkly different. In this election, on Iraq, the choice for voters is a real one.
Foreign Policy Association, 26 June 2008
Posted by Daniel Widome at 01:22 PM to Middle East, U. S. Politics | TrackBack (0)
May 22, 2008
Appeasement politics
Now that the Democratic nomination is all but settled, Senator Barack Obama (D-IL) is transitioning from the primary campaign to the general election. His Republican opponent, Senator John McCain (R-AZ), has been waiting for him there. But in recent days, the man they each hope to succeed has inserted himself into the emerging general election. By implicitly attacking Obama's approach to foreign policy during a speech before Israel's Knesset, President Bush prematurely initiated a debate among the presidential candidates on the role of diplomacy in dealing with U.S. adversaries. As with many other supposed fault-lines in this political season, the differences between Obama and McCain on foreign policy are real. But they are not the differences that they might appear to be.
Bush addressed the Knesset, Israel's parliament, on the occasion of that country's sixtieth anniversary. Apart from his requisite statements of solidarity and praise, Bush's implicit comments on the presidential race earned the most attention: “Some seem to believe that we should negotiate with the terrorists and radicals, as if some ingenious argument will persuade them they have been wrong all along … [w]e have an obligation to call this what it is—the false comfort of appeasement, which has been repeatedly discredited by history.” Although he didn't mention him by name, it was widely assumed that the president was referring to Obama's professed willingness to conduct direct diplomacy with the leaders of unfriendly countries, specifically with President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad of Iran (for more, see The Water’s Edge, August 2007). He further implied that Obama would be willing to negotiate with groups like Hamas and Hezbollah. Bush's comments were all the more notable because they violated the time-honored aphorism that U.S. domestic politics should stop “at the water's edge.”
The president's comments generated an understandable stir. “George Bush knows that I have never supported engagement with terrorists,” Obama said. “The president's extraordinary politicization of foreign policy and the politics of fear do nothing to secure the American people or our stalwart ally Israel.” Obama also used the occasion to reiterate his opposition to Bush's 2003 invasion of Iraq, which he said had actually strengthened Iranian influence in the region. McCain responded with similar vigor. Although he did not repeat Bush's charge of “appeasement,” he did advance the attack on Obama, suggesting that it was “reckless to suggest that unconditional meetings [with U.S. adversaries] will advance our interests.”
Politically, both campaigns seemed to welcome this fight. Obama enjoyed the attention he received as his party's presumptive nominee, and he was glad to link McCain with Bush's unpopular presidency. McCain has always believed one of his greatest strengths was on national security and foreign policy, and he welcomed the chance to debate Obama on ground that he found favorable. But the spat also engendered a fair amount of hyperbole. For all of the talk of the sacredness of the “water's edge” rule, it has always been selectively applied. It is impossible to completely separate domestic politics from foreign policy, especially given the nature of modern communications technologies and media practices. It certainly might have been in poor taste for Bush to make his comments where he did (in the parliament of a uniquely consequential U.S. ally) and when he did (on the anniversary of that ally's still-controversial creation). But it is likely that Obama was more pleased to exploit the political opening that Bush presented him than he was personally offended at the president's comments.
Bush's comments, and the debate they initiated, were full of hyperbole and misunderstanding on policy grounds, as well. The charge of “appeasement” has been a favorite political attack since World War II, most frequently used by conservatives but also by many politicians trying to justify aggressive (often military) action. It is rooted in the Munich Agreement of 1938, when British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain allowed Adolf Hitler to annex portions of Czechoslovakia in exchange for pledging to refrain from further aggression—a pledge that was quickly broken. Although based upon this historical episode, the political charge of “appeasement” has since evolved. It is now routinely applied to anyone who would rather negotiate with an adversary than confront them head-on. That the charge is rooted in the aggression of Adolf Hitler, the paragon of twentieth century evil, is also very convenient. Comparing any potential adversary to Hitler is a useful and graphic way to convince skeptics of the gravity of the threat at hand.
But as is often the case, political rhetoric has corroded the historical record. “Appeasement” is to “placate someone by acceding to their demands.” Chamberlain certainly did that in 1938. But it is a rare politician who today openly advocates acceding to the demands of their country's adversaries, and surely it is the rare adversary that matches the danger presented by Hitler in the late 1930s. Today, “appeasement” has become conflated with “negotiation,” when in fact the two are completely different things. In some cases, this may be due to deliberate obfuscation of the facts; in others, it may be due to historical ignorance.
In either event, the charge of “appeasement” is a particularly useless one. No matter how aggressive or nationalistic a country's leader may be, it is practically impossible to exist in the international system without relying to some degree on negotiation. President Bush certainly knows this and has regularly negotiated with U.S. adversaries, such as Libya and North Korea. Senator McCain, who in certain cases may be more open to diplomacy and negotiation than President Bush, surely knows this as well. On the other hand, Obama himself has been at pains to emphasize that he would not negotiate directly with non-state actors such as Hamas and Hezbollah; he certainly has not indicated that he would “appease” anybody.
Political hyperbole aside, real differences do exist between Obama and McCain on foreign policy. The differences, however, may rest more in their respective means than in their ends. In the case of Iran, for example, Obama and McCain would want many of the same things. They each would want that country to stop pursuing nuclear weapons technology, to withdraw its support for Hezbollah and recognize the state of Israel, and to play a more productive role in Iraq. Neither candidate, through their records or their rhetoric, has placed themselves too far outside of the existing, bipartisan, foreign policy mainstream—Obama would be unlikely to rely on face-to-face negotiation alone, and McCain would be unlikely (not to mention unable) to deal with Iran in a purely military fashion. And in a political season, neither candidate's campaign pronouncements should be read too literally as final policy statements.
The real differences between Obama and McCain on foreign policy largely concern public perceptions, including those explicitly promoted by the candidates themselves and those implicitly assigned by voters and foreign actors alike. Obama pitches himself as an agent of change and as a keen internationalist, both in terms of personal identity and political inclination. He is more likely to pursue different and more creative approaches to solving international problems than have been the norm under President Bush. His opposition to the invasion of Iraq—and his support for a greater investment of resources into the conflict in Afghanistan—indicates how a President Obama may apply military force. McCain, for his part, identifies as a war hero and a staunch advocate of not just U.S. power, but in many cases of U.S. primacy. There is reason to suspect that a President McCain would engage in a more assertive and unilateral foreign policy than Obama, though perhaps not to as great an extent as President Bush. His aggressive rhetoric on the threat posed by “radical Islamic extremism” hints at the way McCain thinks about matters of national security.
In a presidential campaign, many issues are vulnerable to hyperbole and distortion. Removed from the day-to-day concerns of many voters, foreign policy is particularly susceptible to such obfuscation. In many cases, a candidate's own words can fail to provide a clear picture of his or her foreign policy priorities. This is why it's often difficult to divine a candidate's specific policy on individual issue areas. But by looking at the breadth of their rhetoric and the depth of their records, voters can construct broad impressions of how each candidate thinks about foreign policy. Until then, it's safe to assume that no politician supports a policy of “appeasement,” regardless of what their opponents may say.
Foreign Policy Association, 22 May 2008
Posted by Daniel Widome at 11:49 AM to Middle East, U. S. Politics | TrackBack (0)
March 27, 2008
Five years
The fifth anniversary of the invasion of Iraq generated a good deal of reflection on the course of the war so far. Unsurprisingly, much of this commentary emanated from the presidential candidates. Each one underscored the distinctions on Iraq and on foreign policy that have been inherent throughout their respective campaigns. But more than simply rehashing their plans for how to deal with the ongoing war, the candidates also reminded voters—subtly or not—of their positions on the original invasion itself, five years ago. It is these archival positions, perhaps more so than the candidates' current and future plans for Iraq, that provide a meaningful glimpse into how each one would conduct foreign policy as president.
Senator Barack Obama (D-IL) delivered two major speeches on the Iraq war on the occasion of the anniversary. The first addressed the conflict from a military and foreign policy perspective, in which he suggested that ending the occupation would, “allow us to more effectively confront other threats in the world.” These lingering threats included violent extremism, nuclear proliferation, global poverty, climate change, and economic competitiveness. The second speech examined the opportunity costs of the Iraq war on domestic policy. Obama argued that the costs of the war could be better spent on health care, infrastructure, education, and other domestic priorities. His underlying points differed little from what he has argued throughout his campaign. Obama was the only candidate to oppose the invasion from the beginning, and although he would “end” the war by gradually withdrawing most U.S. troops from Iraq, he would allow some to remain to protect diplomats and for counter-terrorism operations.
Senator Hillary Clinton (D-NY) also delivered a speech to commemorate the anniversary of the invasion. In many ways, it was broadly similar to Obama's speeches. Clinton advocates a gradual withdrawal of most U.S. troops from Iraq, but like Obama, she would allow for some forces to remain for counter-terrorism and other missions. Unlike Obama, however, she supported the initial invasion, and she voted for the 2002 authorization to use military force against Iraq. Much of her argument was based on credibility: “I believe what matters in this campaign is not just the promises we've made to end the war; what matters is what we've actually done when it came time to match words with action.” Clinton also echoed themes her campaign had been promoting in recent weeks, asserting that she had gained valuable foreign policy experience during her husband's administration in Bosnia and in Northern Ireland and implying that only she could be trusted to handle early morning phone calls on national security emergencies.
Senator John McCain (R-AZ) found himself in a somewhat different position. He had already secured the Republican nomination for president, so while his potential Democratic rivals continued their intramural campaigning in the United States, he led a congressional delegation to the Middle East and Europe. The trip offered an opportunity for McCain to bolster his image as a trusted foreign policy hand. Although he did not deliver a formal speech commemorating the invasion anniversary, his visit to Baghdad highlighted the success of last year's troop surge, which McCain strongly supported. Indeed, although McCain supported the initial invasion of Iraq, he was very critical of the manner in which former Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld managed the aftermath. McCain's foreign trip made its greatest headlines, however, when he mistakenly asserted that, “al-Qaeda is going back into Iran and receiving training and are coming back into Iraq from Iran.” In fact, it is Shiite extremists who have received support from Iran, not al Qaeda fighters.
Clearly, there are many differences between the ways the candidates approached the invasion anniversary. Among the Democrats, Obama wanted to amplify his differences with Clinton, specifically on the topic of his opposition to the initial invasion. Clinton, on the other hand, wanted to diminish these differences, pointing to the similarity of their Senate voting records since 2005. The problem with this construction, however, is that the “Iraq war” is not a static policy. In many ways, the original invasion and the subsequent occupation of Iraq are very different issues. Although Clinton is correct in noting that she and Obama have each voted to fund the war, this has no bearing on the fact that Obama opposed the invasion before it happened while Clinton supported it. Indeed, this is perhaps the most relevant issue, because the decision to invade Iraq was the one from which all of the subsequent tough choices and tragic losses sprang.
The candidates' positions on the initial invasion also raise a larger question of strategy. Essentially, it differentiates those who thought the war has simply been mismanaged from those who thought it was a fundamentally flawed concept from the start. Obama, Clinton, and McCain would all agree that the war was has been grossly mismanaged, at least at certain points over the last five years. But having supported the initial invasion, one might assume that Clinton and McCain believe in the strategy that was used to justify the war in the first place. Such a strategy, pioneered by the infamous “neoconservatives” in the Bush administration, amplifies the role of the military in deterring potential threats and promoting democratic reform abroad. It is a strategy that risks conflating state-based threats with non-state actors, and it shapes U.S. public diplomacy in an unyielding way.
The candidates' positions on the initial invasion might also speak to their underlying judgment and political courage. The congressional vote on the Iraq war resolution in October 2002 was deliberately stage-managed by war advocates within the Bush administration. It was held in an environment of lingering post-9/11 fear, immediately prior to a mid-term election. Polls at the time suggested that many people were generally supportive of military action against Iraq. In such an environment, and regardless of a senator or congressman's honest position, it was politically very difficult to oppose the war resolution. In retrospect, however, it may also have been very prescient.
Any differences among the Democrats pales in comparison to the differences between them and the Republicans. Although Obama and Clinton speak of the need to “end” the war, McCain is unabashed in his support for continuing it. Such support is indicative of his broader foreign policy thinking. Since he ran for president in 2000, McCain has been a strong advocate for an assertive and aggressive foreign policy. He has spoken of maintaining U.S. military supremacy around the world and of confronting threats before they become too dangerous. In this context, McCain's arguments for continuing the war in Iraq are actually quite valid. If U.S. troops were to withdraw from Iraq, the country could descend into a level of violence far greater than what it has already experienced. An unstable Iraq could serve as a base for al Qaeda or other terrorist groups, and the country could be highly susceptible to the influence of an assertive, hostile Iran. Indeed, many Democrats' calls for an immediate U.S. withdrawal from Iraq fail to adequately address these concerns.
But McCain's misstatement in Jordan, about the non-existent connection between al Qaeda and Iran, is eerily reminiscent of one of the greatest mistakes made by invasion advocates five years ago: the conflation of disparate and unique threats into single, undifferentiated menace. Al Qaeda and Iran are not allies, much like Al Qaeda and Saddam Hussein were not allies. As a Defense Department review of over 600,000 Iraqi documents determined just this month, there was no “direct operational link” between Saddam Hussein's Iraq and al Qaeda. If McCain's foreign policy is premised on an aggressive assertion of U.S. power, a vital pre-condition for such a policy would be an accurate understanding about the threats facing the country and valid intelligence as to its whereabouts. It might be easy, and perhaps tempting, to dismiss McCain's misstatement as a simple, inadvertent slip of the tongue. But given his promise of an assertive foreign policy, McCain's misstatement could raise questions about what lessons he has learned about the events set into motion five years ago.
None of this is to suggest that similarities on Iraq do not exist among the presidential candidates. All of them acknowledge that troops will remain Iraq for some time, albeit in different numbers and for different reasons. For Democrats, in particular, this could come as an unpleasant shock. But it reflects the bureaucratic and geopolitical reality. Strategically, Iraq is simply a good place to plant the U.S. flag, and if the bases are already there, it will be exceedingly difficult for any politician—of any party—to fight the bureaucratic and political inertia of just staying put. This is yet another reminder of why the single, most important decision of the entire war was the one made five years ago: the original decision to invade Iraq. Fortunately, on that basis if on no others, there is a clear distinction among the candidates.
Foreign Policy Association, 27 March 2008
Posted by Daniel Widome at 06:07 PM to Middle East, U. S. Politics | TrackBack (0)
October 25, 2007
Inferiority complex
In recent weeks, the House of Representatives has dipped its toe into a pool of international and historical animosity. The partial success of a resolution condemning the 1915 mass killings and deportations of Armenians by the Ottoman Empire—it passed a House committee but has not yet been considered by the full House—took many by surprise. In reality, the furor surrounding this resolution was simply the latest episode in the long story of Congressional involvement with overseas historical controversies, particularly by the House. But in its repeated attempts to prove relevant and meet narrow constituent demands, the House of Representatives inadvertently risks becoming a detrimental force in U.S. foreign policy.
On October 10, the House Foreign Affairs Committee passed House Resolution 106 by a vote of 27 to 21. The resolution did not mandate any specific action, but it offered official condemnation of the mass killings and deportations of Armenians by the Ottoman Empire during World War I. Support from Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-CA) and dozens of co-sponsors suggested that the resolution might make it to the House floor, where it very likely would win passage. On a factual basis, the resolution stood on solid ground. Scholars and experts agree that the Ottoman Turks deported and killed anywhere from a few hundred thousand to several million ethnic Armenians during World War I—actions that may fairly be described as genocide. Representative Tom Lantos (D-CA), Chair of the Foreign Affairs Committee, noted that, “one of the problems we have diplomatically globally is that we have lost our moral authority which we used to have in great abundance.”
On a political basis, however, the resolution generated enormous controversy. Modern Turkey—the geographic successor to the Ottoman Empire—has always been extremely (if not irrationally) sensitive about this period in its history. Turkey briefly recalled its ambassador to the United States, and its top general, Yasar Buyukanit, proclaimed, “if this resolution passed in the committee passes the House as well, our military ties with the U.S. will never be the same again.” All eight living former U.S. secretaries of state signed a joint letter to Pelosi warning that the resolution “would endanger our national security interests.” In the face of these attacks, as well as opposition from the Bush administration and from military leaders who noted Turkey's logistical importance in supporting the war in Iraq, Pelosi has backtracked from her early willingness to move the resolution to the House floor: “Whether it will come up for a floor vote or not, what the action will be remains to be seen.” For now, the resolution lies in limbo.
This wasn't the first time the House has inserted itself into a matter of historical controversy abroad. In July, it passed a resolution calling on Japan to formally acknowledge its coercion of women from China, Korea, and other occupied countries into sexual slavery as “comfort women” during World War II. Although wartime abuses by the Japanese military are firmly established as historical fact, the question of how contemporary Japanese governments acknowledge such abuses is very much a contentious issue. Japan's ambassador to the United States, Ryozo Kato, said passage of the resolution, “will almost certainly have lasting and harmful effects on the deep friendship, close trust and wide-ranging cooperation our two nations now enjoy.” Unlike the Armenian genocide resolution, the comfort women resolution ultimately passed both the Foreign Affairs Committee and the full House. But the two resolutions shared many similarities. Each was non-binding, each dealt directly with important U.S. allies overseas, and each unearthed old historical controversies.
Perhaps the most important similarity between the Armenian genocide resolution and the comfort women resolution is their shared functional origin: the House of Representatives. Under the Constitution, the House is clearly designated as the lower chamber of the legislature. Although all revenue bills must originate there, it is the Senate that must approve executive appointees and ratify international treaties. To be sure, the legislature is inherently limited in the foreign policy role it can play. But by design and by tradition, the Senate has always been the pre-eminent chamber of Congress in terms of foreign policy. This has stuck the House with something of an inferiority complex. Passing non-binding resolutions on seemingly obscure, historical issues often seems like a good way for an internationally-handicapped House to have a voice in foreign policy.
The House's foreign policy inferiority complex is magnified by structural factors. The House has always been the “people's chamber.” Senators serve six-year terms, represent entire states, and have only been directly elected for less than 100 years. Representatives, on the other hand, serve two-year terms, represent much smaller and more homogenous districts, and have been directly elected throughout U.S. history. The distinctions between the two chambers are very much by design. The Senate was to be a sober, deliberative body somewhat insulated from rapid swings of public opinion, while the House was to be more directly responsive to the immediate, localized interests of the electorate. To a remarkable degree, the structure works as intended. The main sponsor of the Armenian genocide resolution is Representative Adam Schiff (D-CA), whose district is home to approximately 75,000 Armenian-Americans—one of the largest concentrations of ethnic Armenians in the United States. The main sponsor of the comfort women resolution was Representative Mike Honda (D-CA), who represents a district that is nearly 30% Asian—a figure that includes many Chinese- and Korean-Americans.
The fact that House members are particularly responsive to their constituents' interests (and money) is perhaps a good thing—it's how representative democracy is supposed to work. But the House is doubly limited in its influence on U.S. foreign policy. Not only does it face the functional limitations inherent to the legislative branch, the House must also cope with the structural handicap that comes from being the lower chamber of Congress. This means that its forays into foreign policy often carry the unfortunate distinction of being both toothless and shortsighted. Neither the Armenian genocide resolution nor the comfort women resolution mandated any change in U.S. policy. But by digging up far-away historical controversies in order to prove relevant and meet narrow constituent demands, the House risks overlooking vital contemporary context.
Although measures condemning the Armenian genocide have been introduced in Congress in the past, the timing of this most recent resolution is uniquely counterproductive. In recent years, Turkey has become increasingly wary of the West, in general, and the United States, in particular. Turks overwhelmingly opposed the 2003 U.S. invasion of Iraq, and since then, Turkish popular perception of the United States has only worsened. According to the Pew Global Attitudes Project, just 9% of Turks had a favorable impression of the United States this year, down from 52% in 2000. Shortly after the House Foreign Affairs committee passed the Armenian genocide resolution, the Turkish parliament authorized its government to strike PKK strongholds in Kurdish-controlled northern Iraq—a move motivated, in part, by perceived U.S. inaction toward recent attacks by that group in southeastern Turkey. As a secular, democratic, and predominantly Muslim state located in a strategic corner of the globe, Turkey is an indispensable U.S. ally. Although modern Turkey is far too sensitive about abuses committed by its imperial predecessor, measures such as the Armenian genocide resolution threaten to embolden vitriolic and nationalist elements in Turkey that could turn the country away from the West. However real the Armenian genocide may have been, it serves no one's interests to endanger the U.S.-Turkey relationship for reasons of limited contemporary value and zero substantive consequence.
The effects of the comfort women resolution were somewhat less severe, but they were equally unhelpful, and equally unintended. For many reasons, East Asian politics continue to be shaped by World War II and by the region's conflicting interpretations of wartime history. Japan has never truly grappled with or acknowledged its wartime responsibility, and Japan's neighbors frequently use this fact to inhibit current relations. There is no doubt that the Japanese military forced women from occupied countries into sexual slavery during the war. But when presented with the House resolution, nationalistic Japanese politicians felt compelled to respond. “It is extremely regrettable that the resolution is definitely not based on facts,” noted Taro Aso, then Japanese Foreign Minister. This comment and others like it had little direct effect on U.S.-Japan relations. But in the hypersensitive diplomatic world of East Asia, where historical slights can inflame contemporary problems, such comments do not help Japan’s relations with China, Korea, or any other formerly occupied country.
None of this is to suggest that members of the House of Representatives should remain silent on issues of foreign policy. It is their responsibility as elected officials to represent their constituents and to shape public policy. Indeed, in a democracy, it is absolutely vital that citizens are engaged in the foreign policy-making process, and the House facilitates this function. But in its attempts to simultaneously prove relevant on the international stage and meet narrow constituent demands, the House of Representatives risks being counterproductive, if not outright harmful. As it continues to delve into contentious issues of history and foreign policy, the House would be well advised to temper its passion with a dose of much-needed context.
Foreign Policy Association, 25 October 2007
Posted by Daniel Widome at 05:17 PM to Asia, Middle East, U. S. Politics | TrackBack (0)
September 03, 2007
Bleak comparison
Parallels between the war in Iraq and the war in Vietnam practically draw themselves. Many have long since noted the most obvious similarities: In each conflict, the United States struggled to defeat an unconventional enemy, using unorthodox tactics, in an unforgiving environment.
Recently, President Bush drew his own parallel: “Then as now, people argued the real problem was America’s presence and that if we would just withdraw, the killing would end.” Of course, any comparison between the wars in Vietnam and Iraq is bound to be nearly as controversial as the conflicts themselves. But beyond the hyperbole, relevant comparisons are there to be made. And as the momentum to exit Iraq gathers steam, the lessons from Vietnam can be particularly illuminating.
During the U.S. war in Vietnam, roughly from 1965 to 1973, troop levels varied greatly, climbing to a peak of over 500,000 in early 1969. The withdrawal of combat troops, however, actually began in earnest that very same year, as President Nixon tried to implement his “Vietnamization” policy of shifting the burden of the fight to the South Vietnamese. Troop levels dropped gradually over the coming years, as South Vietnam shouldered a greater combat burden and as negotiations with North Vietnam progressed in fits and starts. Withdrawal of combat troops from Vietnam was completed in 1972 (although “advisers” remained behind), and the Paris Peace Accords — which formally ended U.S. involvement in the Vietnam War — were signed in early 1973. From the U.S. perspective, these accords provided an expedient cover for the military withdrawal, or a “peace with honor,” as Nixon described it. Of course, neither the United States nor its South Vietnamese allies saw much of either. The Paris accords ultimately fell apart, and South Vietnam fell to the North in 1975.
By contrast, U.S. troop levels in Iraq have remained fairly consistent through the war — 100,000-200,000 since the invasion, in 2003. This has remained true both through Bush’s own strategy of “Vietnamization” (when the emphasis was on training Iraqis to assume security responsibilities from the United States) as well as his latest “surge” strategy (emphasizing the security of Baghdad with U.S. troops).
Moving forward, the comparison with Vietnam falls apart even more. The various Iraqi resistance groups lack a formal state sponsor with which the U.S. could negotiate a withdrawal; despite its clear influence, Iran cannot play the role of North Vietnam today. A regional diplomatic dialogue may emerge alongside the withdrawal process, and the U.S. will surely try to coordinate its departure with the Iraqi government. But the eventual U.S. withdrawal will probably not be accompanied by the same kind of political or diplomatic cover that the Paris Accords offered in Vietnam. As unsuccessful as the Paris Accords were, though, it isn’t clear that such cover is really that valuable.
Despite these differences, one important lesson can be gleaned: Withdrawal does not occur for withdrawal’s sake alone. The U.S. departure from Vietnam did not occur in isolation, and the eventual U.S. withdrawal from Iraq won’t, either. In each case, the military departure will be part of a broader political and military strategy with goals beyond the simple extrication of U.S. forces. Given its global standing, the United States does not have the luxury of simply leaving devastated, chaotic countries in its military’s wake. Rather, any military withdrawal from Iraq will be but one component of a broader strategy designed to ensure stability and security in that country. This is not to say that such a strategy will be successful; it certainly wasn’t so in Vietnam, and the prospects are dim for anything better in Iraq. But it does suggest that the withdrawal from Iraq will not be quick, and it will not be easy. This is a reality that will confront Democrats and Republicans alike.
Another interesting parallel between Vietnam and Iraq does present itself. Throughout the prolonged, gradual withdrawal from Vietnam, the United States continued to suffer casualties. It also remained very engaged in combat operations, specifically in the form of the aerial bombardment of North Vietnam. From the perspective of many on both sides of the conflict, then, the U.S. withdrawal process was somewhat illusory — the troops may have been leaving, but the war was still on. The same will probably be true in Iraq. The United States has invested so much in its military infrastructure in Iraq that a complete, 100 percent withdrawal remains unlikely for the foreseeable future. And even as the troops begin to leave, their air cover will remain in place, based from carriers in the Persian Gulf and from other bases throughout the region.
Compared with Vietnam, the bombers over Iraq may be faster and their bombs smarter. But as in Southeast Asia, it’s unlikely that the Iraq war will end when the last U.S. soldier leaves the battlefield.
Providence Journal, 4 September 2007
Posted by Daniel Widome at 11:43 PM to Asia, Middle East, U. S. Politics | TrackBack (0)
July 28, 2007
Terror questions
As Congress engaged in another round of contentious debate over the Iraq war—this time, complete with a successful overnight filibuster by Republicans—the country was reminded of the nagging, perpetual fear of terrorism. A spate of attempted and botched terrorist attacks in the United Kingdom renewed the sense that the threat of religious-inspired violence remains real. A new National Intelligence Estimate (NIE) was released that painted a discouraging picture of the Bush administration's anti-terrorism campaign. As the death toll mounts in Iraq, and the prospects for a change in strategy grow dimmer, many in Congress and elsewhere are questioning with increasing intensity the connection between the war in Iraq and the "war on terror." Together, these various threads beg serious questions about the current U.S. anti-terror strategy and how Congress might move to address its deficiencies.
In recent weeks, the United Kingdom experienced a rapid spate of terrorist-related incidents. On June 29, British police discovered and disarmed two rudimentary car bombs in central London. The next day, two men rammed a jeep filled with propane cylinders into the main terminal at Glasgow Airport in Scotland. Although neither incident resulted in civilian loss of life, and the Glasgow Airport attack only caused minor damage, they prompted the United Kingdom to raise its terror alert status to its highest level. Because the foreign policy of the United Kingdom is so closely aligned with that of the United States, a threat in one country can justifiably raise fears in the other. Perhaps with such fears in mind, Homeland Security Secretary Michael Chertoff admitted to feeling some discomfort: "[I have] kind of a gut feeling that we are in a period of increased vulnerability."
A few weeks later, the Bush administration released a declassified version of its latest NIE. The report, billed as the U.S. intelligence community's "most authoritative written judgment on national security issues," notes that nearly six years after the 9/11 attacks, the group has "protected or regenerated key elements of its [h]omeland attack capability, including a safe haven in [Pakistan], operational lieutenants, and its top leadership." These assessments provided a great deal of ammunition for Bush administration critics in Congress, who suggested that the president's "war on terror" has been less than successful. "It is a travesty that Osama bin Laden remains at large nearly six years after the 9/11 attacks, and that the Bush administration and most congressional Republicans remain stubbornly wedded to a flawed strategy in Iraq," said Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid (D-NV).
The release of the NIE, incidentally, occurred in the midst of Congress' latest debate on the Iraq war. Some suspected that such timing was no accident, and that the Bush administration thought that such a bleak assessment of the "war on terror" would encourage legislators to support his steadfast strategy in Iraq. The NIE explicitly notes that the central al Qaeda organization would "seek to leverage the contacts and capabilities of al-Qaeda in Iraq (AQI), its most visible and capable affiliate and the only one known to have expressed a desire to attack the [h]omeland." Indeed, the president himself has often sought to link the "war on terror" with the Iraq war. In May, he declared that, "the enemy in Vietnam had neither the intent nor the capability to strike our homeland [but] the enemy in Iraq does."
The administration's approach, however, is fraught with risk. In addition to Iraq's purported weapons of mass destruction, the Bush administration's original case for invasion rested on that country's affiliations with al Qaeda. It is now known that any such affiliations were tentative at best, and that al Qaeda-inspired militancy in Iraq is largely a by-product of the U.S. occupation. AQI—the organization cited in the NIE and a group that rose to bloody prominence under Abu Musab al-Zarqawi—only came into being after the U.S. invasion of Iraq, and it swore allegiance to Osama bin Laden after its precursor organizations had already established an independent reputation for sectarian violence. In other words, AQI was not involved in the 9/11 attacks. And even if it seeks to attack the United States directly, the organization's priorities clearly lie in Iraq, where it has ready access to U.S. targets. Democrats in Congress were quick to emphasize this point. "It is not true, categorically not true, that there was al Qaeda in Iraq before we invaded," said Representative Jane Harman (D-CA), chair of the Homeland Security subcommittee on intelligence.
Despite the pointed language, the debate in Congress failed again to produce a definitive change in Iraq war strategy. But the latest reminder of the intersection between the Iraq war and the "war on terror" provides an opportunity to re-evaluate U.S. prosecution of the latter. The term itself –"war on terror"—has always been somewhat controversial. Even among the vast majority of policy makers that agree that terrorism is a serious threat, many question whether an approach that emphasizes a military response is the best strategy. Rhetorically, the term "war on terror" evokes unfavorable comparisons with the "war on poverty" or the "war on drugs," not to mention its grammatical irregularity. Given these inconsistencies, some have suggested a radical revision of U.S. anti-terror strategy. In an article in the Atlantic Monthly last year, James Fallows suggested a straightforward approach: simply declare victory in the "war on terror" and transition to a more measured, less inflammatory anti-terror strategy. He notes that although al Qaeda itself does not constitute an existential threat to the United States, a poor U.S. response to al Qaeda provocation does. The initial U.S. military campaign in Afghanistan in 2001 evicted the ruling Taliban and deprived the central al Qaeda organization of its safe haven; it was clearly a success. But Fallows cites the U.S. war in Iraq and its galvanizing effect on Islamic militants around the world as an example of how a solely military response to terrorism can be counter-productive. Of course, as the latest NIE points out, al Qaeda has re-established some degree of shelter in the border region between Afghanistan and Pakistan. But as Fallows noted optimistically last year, "[al Qaeda's] destiny is no longer in its own hands." Perhaps time remains for Congress to push for a different strategy that takes advantage of this reality.
Even if Congress does not take up this challenge, it appears that others might. In the wake of the terrorist incidents in the United Kingdom, a number of foreign-born, Muslim physicians were arrested. One of the two men who rammed a vehicle into the Glasgow Airport terminal was Iraqi. Given such evidence, one could imagine how authorities might jump at the opportunity to link terrorism in Western countries with the war in Iraq—the need to fight them "there," before they attack us "here." As former U.S. Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld remarked in 2005, "U.S. forces are in Iraq to … fight the terrorists there, so we don't have to fight them here in the United States." Instead of taking a similar approach, the newly installed British Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, adopted a notably measured tone in addressing the incidents and the resulting arrests. He was more likely to define culprits as "criminals" rather than "terrorists," and he refrained from identifying them explicitly as "Muslim" or "Islamic." The rhetorical distinctions are subtle, but revealing. In using such language, Brown was attempting to deny the culprits the prestige of being soldiers in a war, and to decouple the religion from the crime.
Some in the United States are pushing for a new strategy more loudly than others. Democratic presidential candidate John Edwards has made a point of refuting the "war on terror" rhetoric, calling it "a slogan designed only for politics, not a strategy to make America safe." But the president is unlikely to change his rhetoric or his strategy before he leaves office, and if Congress cannot pass legislation to govern a conflict as discrete and unpopular as the war in Iraq, it is not likely to be able to do the same with a conflict as nebulous and important as the "war on terror" or its equivalent. The emerging British example under Brown may offer a glimmer of hope for a different approach to anti-terror strategy, but don't expect a change anytime soon.
Foriegn Policy Association, 26 July 2007
Posted by Daniel Widome at 11:05 AM to Europe, Middle East, Trans-geographical, U. S. Politics | TrackBack (0)
July 19, 2007
Election correction: Turkey and the EU
On Sunday, Turks will go to the polls to elect a new parliament. This earlier-than-expected election will be the latest chapter in the decades-long debate over secularism and democracy that has defined modern Turkey, as well as the culmination of months of political tension. In April, Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan and his Justice and Development (AK) Party nominated Abdullah Gul, Turkey's foreign minister, to be the country's next president. But the nomination was stymied in parliament--the body charged with electing the country's largely ceremonial president--over concerns about Gul's religiosity and the AK Party's mildly Islamist roots. Even more ominously, the Turkish military registered its disapproval by suggesting that Gul's election would be part of a "growing threat" to the secular republic. Instead of nominating a less controversial figure that could have broken the political impasse, Erdogan decided instead to try and renew his popular mandate by calling for Sunday's early elections.
But the factors at play in this weekend's election extend beyond Turkey's borders. For decades, Turkey's tortured courtship of the European Union proceeded at a snail's pace. But after the AK Party won a parliamentary majority in 2002 and Erdogan became prime minister the following year, Turkey made remarkable progress in implementing the liberal reforms needed for eventual EU membership. In recent years, however, the vision of Turkish accession to the EU has grown dimmer, and the prospects for the continuation of much-needed reform in Turkey have dimmed with it. A victory for the AK Party on Sunday will leave the path to reform open. But, ultimately, the success of Turkey's reform movement rests not just with Erdogan, but with the EU itself.
***
Turkey's road to EU membership began in 1959, when it applied for associate membership of the European Economic Community, a predecessor of the EU. The next four decades were marked by ambiguity, setbacks, and half-victories in Turkey's quest. In recent years, however, significant progress toward accession has been made. The EU agreed to begin formal membership negotiations in 2004, and launched such talks the next year.
The greatest catalyst for progress, however, was the election of Erdogan and the AK Party. Historically, governing majorities in the Turkish parliament have relied upon fragile coalitions that were unable to implement bold policy changes. The AK Party, however, won an uncompromised majority in parliament, riding to victory on a uniquely Turkish combination of religiously inspired social conservatism, staunch adherence to the secular principles of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk (the founder of modern Turkey), and fierce devotion to the goal of EU accession. Erdogan, in other words, had both the ability and the desire to work toward EU membership, and he did so with gusto. He has moved to distance the Turkish military from the political process and to expand political and social rights both for Turks and the country's minority Kurds, and he has overseen robust economic growth.
From the perspective of many Europeans, however, Turkish membership in the EU has always been unpopular. Concerns have typically centered on economic factors (how could developed EU countries deal with a flood of unskilled Turkish labor?) and cultural ones (does Muslim Turkey really belong in Christian Europe?). In recent years, as Turkish accession has become a more realistic prospect, such sentiment has increasingly seeped into formal EU policy. The French rejection of the EU constitution in 2005 was fueled largely--and somewhat misleadingly--by fears of eventual Turkish membership. Since then, German Chancellor Angela Merkel and French President Nicholas Sarkozy have each ridden to election victories on platforms that prominently opposed full Turkish accession, favoring instead vague alternatives such as "privileged partnership." The accession of Cyprus in 2004--after that country's rejection of a comprehensive settlement with its Turkish-dominated and isolated northern half--introduced a strong anti-Turkish voice into the EU. Late last year, continued mutual intransigence over the divided island compelled the EU to suspend negotiations on eight of the 35 "chapters" needed to complete Turkey's accession process.
As with all symbiotic relationships, the health of one party is dependent on the health of the other--when one gets sick, the other usually follows suit. EU membership has long been a popular goal for Turks; many see it as the ultimate realization of Ataturk's dream of a modern, secular Turkey. But as European politicians eagerly campaign for votes at Turkey's expense, and as ancient rivalries seem to arbitrarily derail accession talks, Turks have begun to wonder whether EU membership is worth the hassle. Increasingly, they seem to think not. In a recent poll, only one in three Turks said that they definitely want their country to join the EU--about half the figure in similar polls only a few years ago. And as EU membership plummets in popularity, so too does the rationale for many of the tough political and social reforms required for accession, especially those that work toward unfinished goals such as cutting public corruption and expanding freedom of expression. Erdogan, for his part, remains resolute. He pledged late last year that the "reform process will continue with the same decisiveness," regardless of what the EU says or does. But it is clear that Erdogan's patience is also wearing thin.
The most pernicious result of the EU's vacillation is that the forces opposed to Erdogan have found it easier to array against him. The Turkish military, which has long fancied itself as the ultimate guardian of the secular state, has always been wary of the AK Party's Islamist roots, and it resents Erdogan's efforts to remove it from the political process. Turkish nationalists have also long been skeptical of Erdogan's religiosity, in addition to his relatively measured approach in dealing with Kurdish issues and his devotion to EU membership in general. Mainstream secular political parties, which represent the bulk of Erdogan's parliamentary opposition, are eager to capitalize on any failures they can attribute to Erdogan, even if they share his goal of EU membership.
Ironically, as these varied forces align against Erdogan, they also align against their own best interests. Urban, secular Turks--those who would find themselves most at home in Europe--protest Erdogan's religiosity, giving cover to the military's ominous and blatantly anti-democratic rhetoric in the process. Rural, socially conservative Turks--those who might gain the most from expanded trade and investment with Europe and who might best identify with the AK Party's roots--support nationalist political elements that would realign Turkey's domestic and foreign policies for the worse. If Erdogan's opponents succeed in derailing his reforms, they would return Turkey to a darker period of its own history--military-dominated politics, vitriolic nationalism, or ineffectual coalition governments.
To be sure, Erdogan's opponents would seek his defeat regardless of the EU's attitude toward Turkish accession. But deficiencies of political will, strategic foresight, and structural capacity have made the EU and its leaders complicit in the potential failure of Erdogan's reforms. Merkel and Sarkozy's predecessors faced similar degrees of domestic opposition to Turkish membership, yet they still remained steadfast in their own support for accession. But despite their strength of will, Gerhard Schroeder and Jacques Chirac were unable (or unwilling) to articulate to their constituents the geopolitical and cultural imperative of Turkish accession, not just for Turkey, but for the EU itself.
Most importantly, the EU is structurally handicapped as a foreign policy actor, perpetually forced to contend with the divergent international agendas of its 27 member states. In other words, speed and clarity are not its strong suits. Where it can succeed on the international stage, however, is through its power of example. Over the past 15 years, the allure of EU membership encouraged and strengthened liberal reform in the former communist states of Eastern Europe, and these countries were ultimately rewarded with accession. A similar effect continues to extend east and south along the EU's periphery, but it requires the legitimate prospect of accession to achieve the same liberalizing results. Turkey could become the ultimate validation of this kind of indirect "foreign policy by example." It could also become its ultimate failure.
***
Fortunately for Turkey, the AK Party is likely to retain its parliamentary majority in Sunday's elections, although perhaps by a reduced margin. If it does, it will be due to Erdogan's distinctly Turkish brand of politics. His deft blending of social conservatism, institutional secularism, and political liberalism make him uniquely suited to enact the reforms that will secure EU membership and strengthen Turkish democracy. It is unclear if Erdogan will re-nominate Gul for the presidency, and if he does, how the military would respond--much depends on the ultimate size of the AK Party's majority. But a resounding victory by the AK Party would provide a needed boost for the prospects of genuine reform in Turkey. This, in turn, could nudge the EU in a more encouraging direction, ultimately leading to greater progress toward Turkish accession.
Such a course correction is sorely needed. The EU has unnecessarily and myopically gone out of its way to make things worse for Turkey's political and social reform, and at the worst possible time. In addition to its struggles with EU accession, Turkey finds itself surrounded and bedeviled by a multitude of challenges. The war in Iraq, the re-emergence of Kurdish militarism, an increasingly assertive Russia, and the omnipresent threat of genuine Islamic extremism will continue to place ever-greater strains on Turkey. In such a turbulent environment, Erdogan's electoral victory alone cannot ensure the long-term success of his liberal reforms. This makes the EU's continued (and promised) support for his efforts--and ultimately, for membership--that much more important.
The New Republic, 20 July 2007
Posted by Daniel Widome at 09:22 PM to Europe, Middle East | TrackBack (0)
April 26, 2007
Iraq pushback
In the past few months, the Congressional debate over the Iraq war has come into much greater focus. In January, Democrats in the House and Senate—freshly installed as the majority party in each chamber—generated a raft of proposals to rein in President Bush’s conduct of the Iraq war (for more, see Capitol Watch, January 2007)). Now, after weeks of steadily amplifying rhetoric, words will soon be translated into political action. Congress has staked its position, and the president his, but the resulting confrontation is unlikely to dramatically change the situation in Iraq.
In March, the House approved a $109 billion supplemental spending bill to fund the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. The vote—largely along partisan lines—was 218-212. Unlike previous supplementals, however, this bill placed conditions on the president’s use of the appropriated funds. It required that U.S. troops meet certain readiness standards before deploying to Iraq, and it set benchmarks for the Iraqi government to meet as conditions for continued U.S. support. If such benchmarks are not met, U.S. troops could begin withdrawing from Iraq as early as July 1. Even if conditions improved in Iraq, U.S. forces would need to begin leaving in March 2008, with most combat forces out of the country by August 31, 2008. Anticipating a close vote, Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-CA) successfully motivated her caucus prior to the roll call: “The American people do not support the war without end and neither should this Congress.”
The very next week, the Senate approved a companion $122 billion supplemental spending bill. It, too, passed the chamber with a largely partisan vote (51-47). The Senate bill required the president to begin withdrawing U.S. forces from Iraq within four months and set a goal of ending combat operations by March 31, 2008. Although this non-binding “goal” for complete withdrawal differed in both force and date from the House bill’s “deadline,” the Senate vote was in some ways a greater jolt to the administration. The Senate has always been considered the more deliberative chamber of Congress, where the perpetual threat of a filibuster makes controversial bills more difficult to pass than in the House. The Senate has also traditionally held greater sway in the realm of foreign policy. Most importantly, as a follow-up to the House’s action, the Senate vote marked the first time that the full Congress had rebuked the president’s Iraq war policy with binding legislation. “The Senate and the House have held together and done what we’ve done,” Senate Majority Leader Harry M. Reid (D-NV) said. “It’s now in [the president’s] corner to do what he wants to do.”
The House and Senate have just reconciled their respective bills, and the resulting compromise—which keeps the House’s readiness standards for U.S. troops but adopts the Senate’s non-binding date for complete withdrawal—will be sent to the president in the coming days. In doing so, Congress will speak in a rare, unified, and assertive manner. The war of words already has ascended to match this new level of earnestness. President Bush has made clear his intent to veto any bill containing timetables or deadlines. “When we've got a troop in harm's way, we expect that troop to be fully funded," he said. “We expect there to be no strings on our commanders.” Among the candidates in the 2008 presidential race (who are increasingly assuming the mantle as their respective parties’ most visible spokespersons), opinions largely fell along partisan lines, with some notable wrinkles. “[Nobody] wants to play chicken with our troops,” Sen. Barack Obama (D-IL) said, causing a minor stir that was quickly seized upon by one of his Democratic rivals. “This is not a game of chicken,” sniped former senator John Edwards. Senator John McCain (R-AZ) didn’t want to miss the chance to score political points, either. “I hope Democrats in Congress will heed the advice of … Senator Obama, and immediately pass a new bill to provide support to our troops,” he politely opined.
Beneath the electoral posturing, the war of words primarily is about responsibility. The argument is governed by two facts: The war in Iraq requires funding that only Congress can provide, but Congress cannot muster the super-majorities needed to override a presidential veto. So if the president vetoes the supplemental spending bill passed by Congress, will he be responsible for cutting off funding to troops in Iraq? Or will Congress be culpable for not passing a “clean” bill, free of restrictions or deadlines on combat operations? The president and his allies argue that the troops in Iraq are in urgent need of additional funding for weapons, body armor, and materiel. Democrats in Congress, on the other hand, dismiss this stance as overly dramatic and misleading, suggesting that troops in Iraq are not in danger of going hungry or unarmed.
To a certain extent, both sides of the argument have been exaggerated and abstracted. According to instructions recently issued to military commanders by Army Comptroller Nelson Ford, the Pentagon is taking “prudent [accounting] measures” to ensure that it has enough money to fund the Iraq war through June. In other words, troops in Iraq will not be cut off. And regardless of the political outcome, manipulating appropriations is inherently a blunt, imprecise, and imperfect way to affect the details of war policy. This is clear in the Constitution, which effectively grants Congress an “on/off switch” for war but reserves the “dimmer switch” for the president.
Nonetheless, the tactical implications of these rhetorical fireworks are very relevant and entirely clear. There is, in fact, a game of chicken afoot, and one side—the legislature or the executive—will have to blink. For institutional reasons, Congress is likely to compromise first, for the simple reason that the legislature must contend with the agendas of 535 ambitious individuals while the executive must only deal with the agenda of one. So when the president receives the final bill from Congress, he almost certainly will fulfill his promise to veto it.
Even then, Congress still will have several ways to constrain the president’s war policy. One likely option would have Congress pass a funding bill without restrictions or deadlines, but with a limited duration. Once the funding expired (after, say, three months), the president would need to request additional money from Congress, which could then pass another funding bill of limited duration, and so on. As each funding deadline passes, the political pressure on the president will ratchet ever higher, conceivably forcing a change in war policy or winning a veto-proof majority in Congress.
For those opposed to the war, however, such a tactic is not without risk. The original House and Senate bills passed by very slim margins, and even those majorities contained legislators whose support was only grudging. Even those who oppose the Iraq war and are inclined to manipulate appropriations to change its course may not be comfortable with the prospect of keeping the president on such a short leash. This much is clear: Whatever its course of action, Congress’ margin for error is much slimmer than the president’s.
In the end, none of this may matter. The House-Senate compromise bill that will be sent to the president in the coming days sets a 2008 withdrawal date from Iraq. Given the president’s likely veto and Congress’ likely response, any movement of this target withdrawal date—either in legislation or in principle—will be toward the future, thus inching into the term of the next president. That may be the first real opportunity to change Iraq policy (for more, see Capitol Watch, August 2006).
But even then, the path of Iraq war policy remains uncertain. The leading Democratic candidates for president—all of whom use anti-war rhetoric and advocate aggressive plans for redeployment from Iraq—leave allowances for residual forces in the country. Senator Hillary Clinton (D-NY) has noted that, “we have remaining vital national security interests in Iraq … I think we [will] have a remaining military as well as political mission.” And for the leading Republican candidates, any kind of pro-withdrawal stance would be politically untenable, regardless of the popular support for such a position.
The passage of binding legislation on the Iraq war by both the Senate and the House is a remarkable achievement, one that would have been unthinkable even a few months ago. But however the rhetorical war plays out, the overall political and institutional climate continues to bode poorly for a significant change in war policy in the near future.
Foreign Policy Association, 26 April 2007
Posted by Daniel Widome at 11:44 AM to Middle East, U. S. Politics | TrackBack (0)
January 30, 2007
Missing the point
Senator Russ Feingold (D-WI) is a smart guy, and it was totally in character for him to hold these hearings today on the extent of Congress' war powers. It appears he's planning to follow-up on them:
Tomorrow, I will introduce legislation that will prohibit the use of funds to continue the deployment of U.S. forces in Iraq six months after enactment. By prohibiting funds after a specific deadline, Congress can force the President to bring our forces out of Iraq and out of harm’s way.
I've noted elsewhere my thoughts on how successful such efforts ultimately will be. But Feingold's bold pronouncement isn't the most telling passage in his statement:
This legislation will allow the President adequate time to redeploy our troops safely from Iraq, and it will make specific exceptions for a limited number of U.S. troops who must remain in Iraq to conduct targeted counter-terrorism and training missions and protect U.S. personnel. (emphasis mine)
This seemingly secondary declaration highlights a fundamental but overlooked truth of the Iraq adventure -- upon invading Iraq, the United States never had any intention of leaving. As valid and necessary as the debates over withdrawal timetables surely are, they merely fiddle on the margins of the issue. Even Feingold's comparatively bold legislation includes an allowance for a permanent U.S. military presence in Iraq. To be sure, his bill is a big step in the right direction; hopefully it will move the debate closer to grappling with the underlying issues at play here. But as smart and principled as Feingold is, even he cannot easily escape the straight-jacket that Iraq has placed on generations of U.S. foreign policy.
Posted by Daniel Widome at 02:40 PM to Middle East, U. S. Politics | TrackBack (0)
January 25, 2007
Surge protection
On January 10, President Bush announced plans to send a “surge” of 21,500 additional troops to Iraq. By most accounts, this was a bold move on his part. In November, the Democrats won control of Congress due largely to the growing unpopularity of the Iraq war. In December, the bipartisan Iraq Study Group issued its report, which broadly called for a withdrawal of U.S. forces from Iraq and expanded diplomatic efforts in the region. It was in such a context that opposition to the president's “surge” emanated from Congress, from Democrats and Republicans alike. But so far, this opposition has only been rhetorical. Many questions remain regarding Congress' ability and intent to force a change in the president's new Iraq plan. But one thing is clear: despite the intensity demonstrated over the past year, congressional opposition to the Iraq war has yet to peak.
Since the opening of the Democratic-controlled Congress on January 4, a plethora of proposals to counter the president's “surge” have been introduced or announced. Senators Joe Biden (D-DE), Chuck Hagel (R-NE), and Carl Levin (D-MI) introduced a non-binding resolution that would express disapproval of the president's plan. Senator Edward Kennedy (D-MA) and Congressman Ed Markey (D-MA) introduced similar bills that will prohibit the president from sending additional troops to Iraq or spending additional money on such a plan without congressional approval. Senators Christopher Dodd (D-CT) and Hilary Clinton (D-NY)—both contenders for the Democratic presidential nomination—have each offered proposals that would cap the total number of U.S. troops in Iraq. Congresswomen Barbara Lee (D-CA), Maxine Waters (D-CA) and Lynn Woolsey (D-CA) introduced legislation that would establish a 6-month timeframe for withdrawal for all U.S. military forces from Iraq.
Senators and congressmen who wish to register their opposition to the Iraq war, then, clearly have a wide menu of legislative options to choose from. And given the current national mood, it is likely that at least one option will pass both houses of Congress. But congressional passage is just a single measure of success, and it is by no means the ultimate one. Consider the resolution sponsored by Biden, Levin, and Hagel. As a concurrent resolution, it will require only simple majorities in each chamber of Congress to pass, and it will not be submitted to the president for his signature. As such, it will not have the force of law—hence its description as “non-binding.” For those wishing to send a loud message of opposition to the president, this could be a good thing. Legislators who disapprove of the course of the Iraq war but are reluctant to restrain the president's freedom of action (Republicans, mostly) could readily support this resolution.
But the resolution's sponsors have attempted to make the case that their proposal is not merely a symbolic one. Biden has indicated that the resolution is akin to a vote of no confidence, and that, “if this were a parliamentary system … it would bring the government down.” This is, in part, political posturing—Biden recently announced his own presidential intentions. But his comments also raise an important constitutional issue. In parliamentary systems of government, both executive and legislative functions are performed by the legislative body, or parliament. If the opposition party passes a no confidence measure, the executive falls and new elections are held. In the presidential system of the United States, however, executive and legislative functions are explicitly separate; short of impeachment in the Senate and prosecution in the House, Congress cannot remove the president from office. For some time, Congress attempted to exercise a “legislative veto,” whereby majorities in both houses of Congress could override or reject actions by the executive. But in INS v. Chadha (1983), the Supreme Court ruled that legislative vetoes violated the constitutional principle of separation of powers. Accordingly, Bush would be fully within his constitutional rights to ignore Biden's concurrent resolution.
Those proposals that would actually constrain the president's actions pose challenges of their own. Putting aside the constitutional questions as to whether Congress can actually cap troop levels in Iraq, cut off funding for additional troops, or mandate the withdrawal of those forces already there, the president is unlikely to sign any such bill emanating from the legislature. Any proposal along these lines, then, would most likely be attached as an amendment to a separate measure, one that is consequential and would otherwise garner wide support, such as an appropriations bill. Assuming the amended bill passes both houses of Congress, the president will be forced to make a difficult decision. But given his past determination on Iraq, it seems likely that the president would veto any bill—no matter how important its non-Iraq elements—that constrained his freedom of action in pursuing the war. And although the mood of Congress has turned clearly against the Iraq war, it is doubtful that a veto-proof, two-thirds majority in either chamber would vote for a binding measure against the president.
A third alternative exists that blends the potential risks and rewards of the various binding and non-binding legislative options. In passing the original Authorization for Use of Military Force Against Iraq (AUMF) in October 2002, Congress declared that the measure fulfilled the requirements outlined in the War Powers Resolution (for more, see Capitol Watch, August 2006). The AUMF cited Iraq's purported weapons of mass destruction and links to the 9/11 attacks as justification for military action. Clearly, the U.S. military purpose in Iraq is very different today. To reflect this changed mission, Senator John Warner (R-VA) suggested a different course of action by Congress last summer: “I think we have to examine very carefully what Congress authorized the president to do in the context of the situation if we are faced with an all-out civil war. And whether [we] have to come back to Congress to get further indication of support.”
Warner has not publicly reiterated this sentiment, opting instead to co-sponsor a non-binding resolution similar in content but less strident in tone to the one proposed by Biden et al. But the War Powers Resolution nonetheless remains a valuable tool in Congress's arsenal. Although every president since Nixon has denied its constitutionality, each one has abided by its requirements, and it has not yet been challenged in the judiciary. Instead of bothering with non-binding and symbolic measures, or with indirect and improbable methods for changing war policy, Congress could address the issue head-on by using its ability under the War Powers Resolution to re-evaluate and re-authorize the Iraq war. Such a direct and unambiguous action would surely be opposed by the Bush administration, on both substantive and constitutional grounds, but it would be far more difficult to ignore out-of-hand than some of the other proposals that have been floated. Already, there are early indications that Senator Robert Byrd (D-WV) may pursue such a course, as well as Biden himself: “I've drafted … I'm not going to introduce it right now … an authorization for the use of force that renders the last one null and void.”
Regardless of the success of Bush's “surge” policy and of congressional efforts to thwart it, the national mood on the Iraq war clearly has changed. By last summer, the war already had become widely unpopular; antiwar candidates such as Ned Lamont were able to defeat pro-war incumbents like Joe Lieberman (I-CT) in their party primaries. But in the few brief months since, the popularity of the Iraq war has sunk even lower. What were once hypothetical, long shot ideas to impede the president's prosecution of the war have become realistic and widely supported proposals. On Iraq, the question now is not whether Congress will assert itself. It's how far it is willing to go.
Foreign Policy Association, 25 January 2007
Posted by Daniel Widome at 10:30 PM to Middle East, U. S. Politics | TrackBack (0)
September 29, 2006
There to stay
As the midterm elections rapidly approach, the calls for a U.S. withdrawal from Iraq have grown louder and more consistent. In some cases, they have even come in a bipartisan flavor. Such sentiment is only natural. The bloodshed in Iraq is increasing at a gruesome rate, and the U.S. mission there has haphazardly meandered into something seemingly intended to save the country from its own internal divisions.
Some suggest that the very presence of U.S. troops in Iraq is responsible for the violence and instability there. Others counter by suggesting that U.S. forces are the only thing standing in the way of genocide. Both arguments have merit, but they both miss the point. The debate over the length of the U.S. occupation of Iraq was settled before the initial attack was even launched in 2003. Its resolution lies squarely with the very rationales for the invasion itself.
From September 2001 to March 2003, the Bush administration offered a slew of reasons to invade Iraq -- WMDs, regime change, links to al Qaeda and more. But the logic behind each rationale seemed tenuous and forced, and the constantly shifting emphasis diluted the strength of each one. Most damning, however, was the post-invasion evidence that the administration may have exaggerated its arguments to get the war it wanted. If the ostensible reasons to invade were exaggerated, then, a key question remains: Why did the Bush administration really want to invade Iraq?
This is best answered by imagining a traditional Russian nesting doll, in which each visible invasion rationale can be peeled away to reveal another, less presentable one. The most exterior argument, and the one that could bear not only public scrutiny but also that of the United Nations, was Iraqi possession of illicit WMDs. Insufficiently proven to justify invasion on its own (in part because Iraq did not possess any WMDs at the time), this exterior layer of rationalization must be peeled away to reveal more nested pro-invasion arguments.
One such argument was based on regime change. This rationale could be used publicly, but not at the United Nations, for Saddam Hussein -- like every other dictator in the world -- violated no U.N. Security Council resolution just by being an odious leader. In a similar vein, if the administration originally intended to promote democracy in Iraq, its initial post-invasion plans would have included more than a simple reliance on Ahmed Chalabi. Even at its best moments, the Bush administration could prove nothing more than weak and circumstantial links between Iraq and al Qaeda. It had absolutely no convincing argument linking Hussein to 9/11.
Peeling away these various layers of rationalization ultimately reveals the nub of the pro-invasion argument: pure geopolitics. This argument, unlike the others, could not be made publicly to justify a war of choice. It was based on a long-held belief by many in the Bush administration that the United States must remain in a position of global supremacy, and that force should be used to deter or defeat any potential challenges to such supremacy. That this belief coincided neatly with the country's post-9/11 paranoia and with neoconservative dreams of democratizing the world was, to put it mildly, exquisitely convenient.
Invading Iraq put U.S. power in a vitally important part of the world, positioned neatly over abundant energy reserves and between Iran, Syria and Saudi Arabia. Iraq was a perfect place to plant the U.S. flag; everything else was ancillary to this central cause. Practically speaking, this geopolitical argument translates into permanent basing rights. Although U.S. troop levels may well fluctuate in the coming months and years, the Pentagon has constructed at least four so-called "enduring bases" in Iraq. These facilities -- fortified and cordoned off from their Iraqi neighbors and served by such staples of U.S. culture as Burger King and Subway -- are designed to house U.S. forces for an extended period of time. Perhaps this is why Iraqis have never received a definitive indication that U.S. forces will ever completely leave their country.
The debate over withdrawal timetables is thus almost ludicrous. Fundamentally, the United States invaded Iraq to stay in Iraq; upon arrival, the Bush administration never had any intention of leaving. U.S. forces will remain, based at Hussein's former military bases, ready to deter challenges to U.S. supremacy and to project power in a chronically unstable corner of the globe.
This brings us to today, where the debate over invasion rationales can illuminate the one over occupation dilemmas. The United States must refute its root cause for invasion and disavow any intention of permanent or "enduring" bases in Iraq. Various administration officials have muttered words loosely to this effect before, but never to an Iraqi audience and never while addressing the apparent contradiction of the "enduring" military facilities that have been established. To be effective, a genuine disavowal must be backed by genuine intent. Such a disavowal would not solve Iraq's problems overnight -- the current violence and instability are far too deeply rooted for that. But it would be an important first step. It would place any timetable for eventual withdrawal firmly in Iraqis' collective hands, truly contingent upon their own political and security development. Withdrawal would become something desired by the United States, not something deferred.
More importantly, such a disavowal could raise the level of trust between the United States and the international community. Just as Americans questioned the administration's invasion rationales, so too did the world, and so too do Iraqis today. Coming to grips with the real reasons behind the invasion could pay long-term dividends. That little bit of honesty would help not only Iraq, but also the United States' own sagging international reputation.
Alas, no disavowal will ever come. The Bush administration will never renounce permanent bases in Iraq, for doing so would undermine its root rationale for invasion. One could expect no better from the other party, either. Thus far, congressional Democrats have been reluctant to question the Pentagon's construction of the "enduring" bases in Iraq, for doing so might leave them vulnerable to the charge that they do not support safe, comfortable facilities for the U.S. troops there. More important, the geopolitical appeal of ready-made bases in Iraq is hard to resist. It is simply a bipartisan truism that Iraq is a perfect location from which to project U.S. power.
This is where the debate over the U.S. presence in Iraq ultimately returns, back to the decision to invade and to the fundamental nature of political and military power. It just so happens that when you're the one wielding the power, it doesn't seem so bad after all.
San Francisco Chronicle, 29 September 2006
Posted by Daniel Widome at 08:45 AM to Middle East, U. S. Politics | TrackBack (0)
August 25, 2006
Limited powers
Although the culmination of this election year will not arrive until November, political battles are already being won and lost. In Connecticut, challenger Ned Lamont defeated incumbent Joseph Lieberman in the Democratic primary for U.S. Senate. Many suspect that Lieberman's steadfast support for President Bush's Iraq policy was responsible for his defeat, and it is certainly true that the persistent violence and instability in that country has fed domestic discontent with the war for some time. But Lamont's primary victory suggests that such discontent has moved beyond the editorial pages; it may have reached a critical mass where it could actually affect electoral politics. If that discontent really does reshape Congress in November, however, the legislature may not be able to do much to affect U.S. policy in Iraq.
The Constitution explicitly gives Congress the power to declare wars and to raise and support the armed forces. It also makes the president the "commander in chief" of those same armed forces. This tension between the executive and the legislative branches over the country's war making powers is long and storied. Through much of U.S. history, a very rough rule applied: major military conflicts between the United States and another state were marked by a war declaration from Congress, while smaller military engagements could be managed by the executive without a formal war declaration. There have been only five declared wars in U.S. history. The number of overseas U.S. military engagements, however, far exceeds that number.
In the past 60 years, formal war declarations by Congress have fallen out of favor as the speed of international politics and military strategy have advanced. The Vietnam War represented for many a prime example of how the war powers had shifted too far in favor of the executive. In response, Congress adopted the War Powers Resolution in 1973. Passed over President Nixon's veto, the Resolution mandated that the president consult with Congress prior to the start of any military action and formally notify Congress that such action has commenced within 48 hours of it having done so. If Congress does not declare war or otherwise authorize the use of force within 60 days, the President would be obligated to remove U.S. forces from the hostilities.
On the surface, the Resolution seems to give great leeway to the executive to engage in military actions. But by formally codifying what previously had been an informal custom, the Resolution actually serves to constrain the executive. Accordingly, each president since Nixon has challenged the Resolution's constitutionality, although the courts have never ruled definitively on the matter. Yet despite this habitual opposition from the executive, each president has abided by the Resolution's requirements in every major military engagement since the 1970s.
The 2003 invasion of Iraq was no exception. In October 2002, Congress passed the Authorization for Use of Military Force Against Iraq Resolution (AUMF), which granted President Bush the authority to use military force to "defend the national security of the United States against the continuing threat posed by Iraq." It cited a laundry list of offenses as part of this "continuing threat," including Iraq's efforts to thwart UN weapons inspectors, its repression of its citizens, and its supposed links to terrorists associated with the 9/11 attacks. The AUMF also specifically declared that its passage fulfilled the authorization requirements of the War Powers Resolution. Such authorization from Congress was more valuable to the administration than any similar statement from the United Nations, and so with its passage, its most significant hurdle to military action against Iraq had been cleared.
As subsequent events have proven, however, the assumptions made in the October 2002 AUMF were flawed. Iraq was not in possession of any weapons of mass destruction, and its links to al Qaeda under Saddam Hussein were circumstantial at best. Accordingly, U.S. forces in Iraq have found their mission evolve as their occupation continues. First their mission was to depose Saddam Hussein; then it was to prepare for a return to power by Iraqi exile groups; then it was to rebuild the country and establish democratic institutions; then it was to suppress various indigenous and foreign-led insurgencies. In recent months, many have suggested that U.S. forces in Iraq are now attempting to ward off a Sunni-Shia civil war. A close reading of the original AUMF will find scant mention of any such mission.
This, at least, is the sense of some members of Congress. A recent hearing by the Senate Armed Services Committee elicited some revealing responses from members of the military leadership. General Peter Pace, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, noted that the recent violence in Iraq could possibly "[devolve] to a civil war." When asked by Senator John McCain (R-AZ) whether he anticipated this situation one year ago, Pace paused for several seconds before somberly replying "no, sir." In response to this gloomy assessment by Pace and concurring testimony from General John Abizaid and Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld, Senator John Warner (R-VA) suggested a new course of action by Congress: "I think we have to examine very carefully what Congress authorized the president to do in the context of the situation if we are faced with an all-out civil war. And whether [we] have to come back to Congress to get further indication of support."
Although this is a remarkable suggestion, there are any number of reasons why a new authorization measure will not be debated in Congress. It would give the president's political opponents an ideal stage upon which to attack his Iraq policy; one can be certain that he accordingly will use his influence to prevent any resolution from being introduced. Any public debate on the mission of U.S. military forces could easily be construed as "not supporting the troops" and have damaging political effects on whomever that accusation were leveled. And politics aside, the executive--including the military leadership at the Pentagon--is the "commander in chief" of the armed forces. If Congress passed a resolution calling for the withdrawal of U.S. forces from Iraq, the president would be on firm political ground to interpret that request loosely, based on the demands of military expedience as well as on the "facts on the ground."
Even if popular discontent with the president's Iraq policy results in a major electoral shift in November, Congress' ability to force a change in that policy may be limited. It could apply its "power of the purse" and threaten to withhold funding to support operations in Iraq. But senators and congressmen have tried this tactic before, to little effect. And so far, both Congress and the president have abided by the requirements of the War Powers Resolution.
The most likely effect of an electoral shift on Iraq policy would be one of perception. If Democrats secure a majority in one or both houses of Congress, they will gain leadership of congressional committees and the subpoena power that comes with it. They could hold hearings and conduct investigations that would draw even greater attention to the pitfalls of current Iraq policy. That, in turn, could further focus public opinion, which ultimately is the most important determinant for any kind of policy adjustment. The legislature can focus and reflect public opinion, but only the executive can truly change military policy. And for that, the country may have to wait two more years.
Foreign Policy Association, 24 August 2006
Posted by Daniel Widome at 09:26 AM to Middle East, U. S. Politics
June 26, 2006
Prisons and policy
The vast network of overseas U.S. military bases has long been a source of international discontent. Most bases generate this ill will by taking up valuable local real estate, through the misbehavior of U.S. servicemen based abroad, or by use of the facilities for unpopular combat operations. But arguably the most contentious U.S. base fits none of these criteria and is notorious for a completely different reason. And despite widespread outcry and the efforts of several Senators and Congressmen, the legislative branch can do little to rectify the situation.
Guantanamo Bay Naval Base has always been an anomalous base. A relic of the United States' first imperial forays in the early twentieth century, Guantanamo has existed in a unique legal limbo since Fidel Castro seized power over 40 years ago. The treaty governing the U.S. lease can only be broken with the consent of both parties, which the United States has yet to provide. In protest, Cuba has refused to accept the annual rental dues paid by the U.S. government.
Guantanamo's hazy legal status--it is U.S. controlled, but it is not technically U.S. territory, nor is it the territory of a sensitive U.S. ally--has contributed to the base's negative image. Since early 2002, Guantanamo has been used as a detention facility for "enemy combatants" captured in the so-called war on terror. The term "enemy combatants" deliberately situates the detainees somewhere between POW status (with which they would be entitled protection under the Geneva Convention) and criminal status (with which they would have to be formally charged and tried for a crime).
The legal limbo in which Guantanamo detainees are held, as well as the reportedly poor conditions at the facility, have understandably elicited outrage from the Muslim world. But many western governments and human rights groups have also attacked Guantanamo. German Chancellor Angela Merkel and UN Secretary General Kofi Annan have called for its closure, as did a recent report by the UN Committee Against Torture. Amnesty International has referred to Guantanamo as the "gulag of our times." The pressure to close the facility began shortly after its creation in 2002 and has only increased since.
In recent weeks, however, several events have given this chorus of condemnation new focus. In May, the U.S. military reported the most serious prisoner revolt yet at the base, when several inmates staged a suicide attempt to draw guards into a room, at which point other prisoners attacked the guards with makeshift weapons. More recently, guards discovered three inmates who had succeeded in killing themselves. Although there had been many unsuccessful suicide attempts by Guantanamo detainees since 2002, these were the first to succeed. Rear Admiral Harry Harris, commander of Joint Task Force-Guantanamo, described the suicides not as "[acts] of desperation, but [as acts] of asymmetric warfare committed against us," and Colleen Graffy, Deputy Assistant Secretary of State for Public Diplomacy, described them as a "good PR move to draw attention."
The widespread opposition to Guantanamo, both domestically and internationally, has not escaped Congress' attention. Late last year, Sen. John McCain (R-AZ) succeeded in adding an amendment to a defense appropriations bill that read, in part: "No individual in the custody or under the physical control of the United States Government, regardless of nationality or physical location, shall be subject to cruel, inhuman, or degrading treatment or punishment." McCain's amendment, while not specifically limited to the treatment of detainees at Guantanamo, was certainly motivated by the international crit