In Afghanistan itself, U.S. and allied forces — together with their Afghan counterparts — launched a major offensive to clear the town of Marja, in the Helmand Province in southern Afghanistan. Billed as the largest effort of its kind since the fall of the Taliban in 2001, the Marja offensive seeks to clear a region that has been an important Taliban sanctuary and a hub for drug production and trafficking. The effort is notable for more than just its magnitude. U.S. commanders have tried to emphasize that Afghan government forces have been given a lead role in the operation. Although the bulk of the fighting has been borne by U.S. and British soldiers, it is true that a significant number of Afghan troops have been involved in the operation.

The Marja offensive is also notable for what it is not. Although sharp fighting was reported early in the operation, the most significant challenge—openly acknowledged by U.S. commanders—will come after the fighting has ended. Since 2006, the Taliban has been increasingly successful in undermining government legitimacy across wide swaths of Afghanistan. Fighters are drawn from the local population and are difficult for U.S. forces to target without more troops on the ground. As Taliban forces are attacked, they disappear among the population, only to re-emerge when U.S. forces depart — as they inevitably do. The Taliban have instituted “shadow” governments in parts of the country that allied forces could not secure and that the regime of President Hamid Karzai could not control. In Marja, the objective is to restore that control and regain government legitimacy. Once the region is cleared of Taliban fighters, U.S. and allied forces will hold and secure the area as the Afghan government attempts to provide police, services, and development assistance. “We've got a government in a box, ready to roll in,” said General Stanley McChrystal, commander of U.S. forces in Afghanistan. The challenge will lie in making the “government in a box” take root.

Just as U.S. and Afghan forces were beginning to clear Marja, news emerged of the capture of a major Taliban leader in Pakistan. U.S. and Pakistani intelligence agents arrested Mullah Abdul Ghani Baradar, the Taliban's military commander and the deputy to the movement's founder, in Karachi. He is the highest-ranking Taliban official yet arrested by U.S. or Pakistani forces, and he potentially could provide a wealth of intelligence about Taliban operations. His arrest also could place significant limitations on the capacity of the Taliban leadership, which might prove to be an important advantage as the Marja campaign unfolds. Several days after news of Baradar's arrest emerged, it was reported that two of the Taliban's “shadow governors” had also been arrested, also in Pakistan. Just as with Baradar's arrest, the capture of the shadow governors could provide a wealth of information and significantly hinder Taliban operations. At the very least, it provides a morale boost for U.S. and Afghan soldiers fighting in Marja.

Perhaps the most important fact about the recent Taliban arrests, however, is that they took place in Pakistan. In Baradar's case, the arrest occurred hundreds of miles from the Afghan border, giving immediate credence to the entire “AfPak” construction. The arrests could not have taken place without the cooperation of Pakistan's Directorate for Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI), which sponsored the Taliban's rise to power in Afghanistan in the 1990s. The ISI's support for the Taliban was deep-seated and complex, but it was rooted Pakistan's desire to have a stable western border. If that was possible, Pakistan could focus its defenses eastward, toward its main rival India. The U.S. invasion of Afghanistan upended this policy, forcing Pakistan into a very conflicted position. The tribal areas along the Afghanistan-Pakistan border have served as a base for Taliban fighters, but Pakistan has done little to eliminate their safe haven, despite facing its own growing threat from a Pakistani variant of the Taliban. The recent arrests may indicate a change of mood among the Pakistani leadership, particularly in the ISI. If they have become convinced that the Afghan Taliban and the Pakistani Taliban are pieces of a larger threat to the region, and if they see their own security threatened by a resurgent Taliban movement in Afghanistan, Pakistani authorities may be more willing to crack down on Taliban fighters in their midst.

Taken together, the operation in Marja and the arrests in Pakistan could signal an important shift of momentum in the Afghan war, away from a resurgent Taliban and toward U.S. and Afghan government forces. This would be a significant fulfillment of Obama's Afghanistan strategy, pieces of which have been developed and revealed over the past year. Richard Holbrooke, the person credited by many as the source for the “AfPak” term, was appointed by Obama as his special representative in the region early in his presidency. Months of diplomacy by him, Stanley McChrystal, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, and General David Petraeus (commander of the U.S. Central Command) may have helped convince Pakistan to cooperate more fully in fighting the Afghan Taliban. Last December, Obama announced the deployment of 30,000 additional troops to Afghanistan to bolster McChrystal's new counter-insurgency strategy. The Marja operation is an important test of that strategy, which requires more soldiers to defend the civilian population from Taliban influence and to give the Afghan government a chance to reassert control.

Even if recent events do signal a change in momentum, it isn't clear that this would be sufficient to defeat the Taliban in the long-run. As novel as McChrystal's population-centric counter-insurgency may appear — especially in comparison to earlier U.S. tactics in Afghanistan — it really is nothing new. The “clear, hold, build” strategy is a classic approach to dealing with a robust insurgency and a weak central government. It is premised on the fact that an insurgency's greatest source of strength is its popularity among the civilian population. If that loyalty can be transferred to the preferred governmental authorities—if their “hearts and minds” can be won, in other words—the insurgency can be deprived of its lifeblood. The problem is that while this strategy is eminently logical on paper, it is not foolproof in practice. It is true that each insurgency is unique, and there is no indication that the Taliban holds the genuine loyalty of many Afghans; whatever popular support the Taliban has comes from intimidation and ethnic Pashtun solidarity. But the tactics employed by McChrystal do not differ from those used unsuccessfully in countless other counterinsurgency operations through history. He is further burdened by the inherent corruption and ineffectiveness of the Karzai regime, which has yet to acquit itself well. U.S. and allied forces will undoubtedly be able to “clear” and “hold” Marja, but if the Afghan government cannot “build,” their effort will be for naught.

None of this may matter. The goals of Obama's Afghan strategy, as presented last December, are strikingly clear: deny al-Qaeda a safe haven; reverse the Taliban's momentum and deny it the ability to overthrow the Afghan government; and strengthen Afghanistan's security forces and government. Notably absent from those goals is any mention of “defeating” the Taliban. This is probably borne both of necessity and good judgment. Politically, it would have been difficult for Obama to send McChrystal the 80,000 additional soldiers he requested, and it is questionable whether even that number would have been sufficient to destroy the Taliban. Strategically, the notion of conclusively “defeating” an insurgency is as old as the “clear, hold, build” strategy itself; barring enormous investment of resources and a nearly limitless appetite for destruction, central governments have poor track record of crushing insurgencies (for more, see The Water's Edge, May 2009). It is to Obama's credit that his Afghanistan policy matches capability with ambition so closely. But to succeed, expectations must be equally realistic. The Taliban will not be defeated. With more troops, better tactics, and closer cooperation from Pakistan, the most that the United States and the Afghan government ultimately can hope for is some kind of negotiated settlement with the Taliban. Given the tumult of Afghan history, such an outcome would not be half bad.

Foreign Policy Association, 5 March 2010

As a U.S. senator before his presidential run, Obama's formal exposure to foreign policy was limited. But he did sit on the Foreign Relations Committee, and in that capacity he worked closely with Senator Dick Lugar (R-IN). One of Lugar's most notable accomplishments as senator was on the Nunn-Lugar Cooperative Threat Reduction (CTR) program, created in the early 1990s to provide assistance and expertise to states of the former Soviet Union to dismantle and safeguard their nuclear weapons materials. This program was remarkably successful and has been expanded several times over the past 20 years. Obama attached himself to Lugar soon after taking office and traveled with him to Russia and Ukraine to inspect ongoing CTR activities. The two senators eventually sponsored and helped pass an expansion of the program to cover conventional weapons and to help allies detect and interdict weapons of mass destruction. As a freshman senator, CTR was not an obvious issue to champion, and seeking Lugar as a mentor was not necessarily a politically smart choice. In other words, there were no votes to be gained through nuclear nonproliferation. Obama's active interest in the issue, then, could be interpreted as sincere.

Obama did not make nuclear nonproliferation a centerpiece of his election campaign, but in his first year in office, it became much more prominent. During one of his first major international trips as president, Obama delivered a major address on nuclear nonproliferation. In Prague in April 2009, Obama called for more than just enhanced efforts to halt the spread of nuclear weapons. He stated his intention to seek the eventual abolition of such weapons altogether. Although the notion of a “world without nuclear weapons” may have seemed fanciful, Obama addressed it in realistic terms, and the speech served as confirmation that Obama intended to prioritize the issue (for more, see The Water's Edge, April 2009). Later in the year, at the opening of the UN General Assembly in September, Obama chaired a session of the Security Council that adopted a resolution calling for tighter controls on nuclear materials. And one of the principal justifications beyond Obama's Nobel Peace Prize was his commitment to nuclear nonproliferation and disarmament.

If Obama clearly stated his commitment to nuclear nonproliferation and disarmament during his first year in office, the opportunities to begin realizing that commitment will come in his second year. Domestically, the Nuclear Posture Review (NPR) is a semi-regular assessment by the Pentagon of the country's nuclear forces, strategy, and readiness. New NPRs have been conducted at the beginning of each new presidential administration since the end of the Cold War, with the last one completed under President Bush in 2002. Originally intended for release late last year, the completion of Obama's new NPR has been pushed back until March at the earliest. Reports indicate that the delay is due to tensions between the Pentagon and White House over the future role of nuclear weapons in U.S. defense strategy, and to what extent the missions of deterrence, nonproliferation, and counterterrorism will be balanced. Although Obama has stated his belief that the U.S. arsenal plays an important deterrent role, Pentagon officials believe that his desired de-emphasis of nuclear weapons in U.S. defense strategy goes too far. Tensions also have emerged over how the U.S. nuclear stockpile is remained. Obama has been steadfast in his opposition to the Reliable Replacement Warhead (RRW), a new class of nuclear weapon designed to be more reliable than existing stock. His opposition is premised on the notion that the United States cannot be an honest broker for nuclear nonproliferation if it is building new nuclear weapons itself. But legitimate concerns exist about the reliability of existing U.S. nuclear weapons, many of which are decades old and cannot be tested. If the U.S. nuclear arsenal is to remain a trusted deterrent—as all sides say they want—reliability is key. If the RRW will not be produced, how the NPR addresses stockpile maintenance, modernization, and reliability becomes even more important, and even more contentious.

Internationally, Obama will also be facing important tests of his nuclear policy. The Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty (START), which governed reductions in the nuclear arsenals of the United States and Russia since 1994, expired in December 2009. Under the terms of START, the maximum allowable number of nuclear warheads for each country is 2200 and the maximum allowable number of launch vehicles is 1600. In July 2009, Obama and Russian President Dimitri Medvedev issued a joint memorandum of understanding that outlined what a START successor treaty should look like. It would reduce each country's strategic nuclear arsenal to between 1500 and 1675 warheads and limit their strategic delivery vehicles to between 500 and 1100. The Obama administration had hoped to negotiate a follow-on treaty before START expired in December, but failing that, both countries agreed to continue observing the terms of the treaty until a new treaty can be finalized. But the longer the delay until a new treaty can be finalized, the more uncertain future nuclear reductions become. Accounts suggest that the main sticking points concern the terms for the verification of future reductions. Whatever form it takes, the START follow-on treaty will require Senate ratification—a challenging prospect given the current political climate. Already, several senators are threatening to link their support for a START follow-on treaty with the outcome of Obama's NPR.

Although Obama faces challenges in implementing his nuclear positions both domestically and in a bilateral setting, perhaps the most important event in the coming year will be in the multilateral realm. In May, the United States will host a Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty (NPT) Review Conference. Held every five years, NPT Review Conferences bring together every country that is party to the NPT to consider changes or amendments to the original treaty, dating from 1970. Given Obama's vocal support, the prospects for strengthening the treaty look stronger than they did five years ago. But the outcome of the conference is by no means certain, due to the fact that the NPT largely depends upon faith in a bargain that has been unevenly enforced. The NPT divides the world into Nuclear Weapons States (NWS) that are permitted to have nuclear weapons, and Non Nuclear Weapons States (NNWS) that are not. The bargain between NWS and NNWS rests upon two pillars. The NNWS agree not to pursue nuclear weapons, thus countering the proliferation of such devices. In exchange, they have the right to peacefully pursue nuclear technology. They also secured pledges from the NWS to work toward the eventual disarmament of their nuclear arsenals. Given the thousands of nuclear warheads that remain throughout the world, the disarmament pillar of the NPT is its most tenuous—a fact that has never escaped the NNWS. Obama's call for nuclear disarmament is the most explicit statement of its kind from a U.S. president, and already, it has gone a long way toward making this year's review conference a smooth one. But operationalizing this good will and strengthening the NPT will depend heavily on the final nature of Obama's NPR and on the outcome of negotiations on the START successor treaty.

The Nuclear Posture Review, the START successor treaty, and the NPT Review Conference are only the most prominent markers of nonproliferation policy this year—and all will likely be concluded before June. In addition, Obama hopes to win Senate ratification of the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty (CTBT) and to advance a new treaty to prohibit the production of weapons-grade nuclear materials. Surely, he will not accomplish all of these things in one year, and Obama himself has explicitly noted the long-term nature of his goal of a “world without nuclear weapons.” But real accomplishments will be needed if a skeptical world is to be convinced that Obama's lofty rhetoric of the past has a legitimate future.

Foreign Policy Association, 29 January 2010

For one thing, the timing was nearly as remarkable as the speech itself. Earlier that week, Obama had announced the outcome of a months-long review of U.S. policy in Afghanistan, in which he revealed his intention to send an additional 30,000 troops to that country. The irony was overwhelming -- Obama received his peace prize only days after announcing the expansion of an increasingly unpopular war. And it was not his only war, as the president duly noted. Although Obama had outlined the U.S. withdrawal from Iraq several months ago, more than 100,000 troops remain stationed in that country. Although the security situation has improved markedly, Iraq remains dangerous and unstable. A recent spate of high-casualty bombings has only served to underscore this fact, along with the Iraqi government's difficulty in passing an elections law that was a necessary precursor to an eventual U.S. withdrawal. Obama's acceptance speech also overlapped with the first week of a major climate change summit in Copenhagen, where the United States (along with other industrialized countries) faced significant criticism regarding their inaction toward addressing the problem. And of course, Obama's quick trip to Oslo fell amidst a bruising domestic debate over health care reform. This didn't add any irony to Obama's speech, but it made its substance and seriousness all the more remarkable, as it fell during period in which one might expect the president's mind to be elsewhere.

Regardless of what Obama said, then, his speech in Oslo came at a tremendously busy time for him. Despite his famed oratorical skills, it would not have been surprising if Obama had given a listless speech of little substance or issued a passing note of defensiveness regarding his recent decision to expand the war in Afghanistan. Instead, he did neither. Obama's speech -- technically a lecture, in Nobel tradition -- was a fully formed, serious articulation of his foreign policy principles. And he did not simply make a passing reference to Afghanistan. He placed Afghanistan almost at the center of his speech, as an example of a "just war" that, he argued, is sometimes necessary to maintain peace. Although embracing the emphasis on love and mutual understanding that had characterized previous winners of the Peace Prize such as King and Mother Teresa, Obama also noted that non-violence would have done nothing to stop the aggression of Nazi Germany. He rejected the false choice between realism and idealism, suggesting that human rights and democracy are important security interests but also observing that countries cannot simply impose their values on others. He underscored the importance of U.S. military force in helping to secure the peace following World War II, and he emphasized the importance of multilateral institutions and global development.

Praise for Obama's speech was remarkably widespread. Many of his supporters, both in the United States and around the world, saw in it glimpses of what drew them to Obama in the first place. It was an intellectually serious speech that spoke both of U.S. modesty but also of the country's traditional belief in the power of international institutions and in practicing its long-uttered but not-always-followed principles of human rights. It recognized the inherent complexity of issues of peace and security and expressed a sharp skepticism about the utility (and ability) of armed force to solve all security challenges. Obama also reiterated the connection between economic development in poorer countries and the national security of richer ones, which is a link emphasized by many left-leaning scholars and advocates. Conservatives, too, seemed unusually glowing in their praise. Political figures such as Sarah Palin and Newt Gingrich reacted favorably to Obama's defense of the U.S. role in underwriting European security during the Cold War.

Obama's Nobel lecture was not without its detractors, however. Despite the fact that Obama directly addressed the irony of a wartime president receiving the Peace Prize, many in the United States and Europe felt that the contradiction undermined the spirit of the prize. They suggested that instead of using the speech to defend the role played by the U.S. military over the decades and to reassert the notion that war is sometimes necessary, Obama should have used the opportunity to rebut more vigorously the policies of his predecessor and announce the withdrawal of U.S. forces from Afghanistan. Others suggested that he should have taken advantage of the co-incidence of his speech with (and the geographical proximity to) the climate change summit in Copenhagen. He could have reiterated not only the urgency of climate change, but also his view that it represents a security challenge, as well, and committed the United States to aggressively confronting the threat. Undergirding Obama's entire speech was the notion that the United States is a powerful country, with its own interests, and with the prerogative to defend those interests however they may be defined. As the U.S. president, this is not an extraordinary assertion for Obama to make. But as a Nobel laureate, it is. Any assertion of a privilege or right to use force, or any opinion that violence may be necessary, is anathema to the audience of a peace prize acceptance ceremony.

The most uniform characteristic of the responses to Obama's speech did not concern their substantive assessment. Implicit among the reactions, favorable and otherwise, was a remarkable sense of surprise. The surprise stemmed not from the fact that Obama has been awarded the Peace Prize -- that sentiment had peaked at the initial announcement in October -- but that the content of his speech was somehow out of character with his policies or principles. Liberal supporters in the United States and elsewhere wondered how a president who claimed to represent "change" could expand the war in Afghanistan and speak so forcefully about the occasional necessity of violent action. Conservatives were shocked to find the "socialist" darling of the left assert so unequivocally that evil existed in the world and to hear him mount such an impassioned defense of the role of the U.S. military in preserving peace and security during the Cold War.

In reality, Obama's Nobel address was perfectly in character. Substantively, it was remarkably consistent with his foreign policy pronouncements dating back to his time as an Illinois state senator. Although famous for opposing the invasion of Iraq, Obama has always been clear that he did not oppose war on principle, and that he supported the effort in Afghanistan, in particular. As U.S. senator, he did not call for an immediate withdrawal of U.S. forces from Iraq, which upset many of his liberal supporters who projected onto him their own ideologies. Instead, he understood the fundamental complexity of the Iraq conflict, in which the decision to invade relied on an entirely different set of evaluative metrics than the decisions about how to manage the occupation. Obama also had regularly emphasized the connection between the individual security of people in the developing world with the immediate national security interests of those in the developed world. One of the most striking characteristics of Obama's young presidency, and a point that he highlighted in Oslo, was his singular focus on nuclear disarmament and non-proliferation. This was a topic that has animated Obama for years and influenced much of his early work in the U.S. Senate. For any observer familiar with Obama's foreign policy principles, his Nobel speech was remarkable for its consistency and utter lack of surprise.

On a more fundamental level, Obama has long frustrated ideologues of all stripes, including (and perhaps especially) those of his own party. He has made a habit of challenging simplistic characterizations and of focusing sharply on the most pragmatic means for achieving his policy ends. This tendency is reflected in Obama's principles and his oratory, and at its worst, it can come across as too detached or technocratic. At its best, however, it can inspire observers to feel that even if Obama does not quite share their own beliefs, he is at least a rational, thoughtful politician who is open to differing perspectives. Judged by his own criteria, then, Obama's Nobel speech was nothing remarkable at all.

Foreign Policy Association, 31 December 2009

A convenient way of interpreting such orientations is through political and economic geography. During the Cold War, U.S. foreign policy was oriented toward the containment of Communist expansion. This orientation was global in scale, but its geographic emphasis was Europe. Historically, this made sense. Both world wars had erupted in Europe, and the United States had invested significant resources in rebuilding and securing the continent after World War II. The region held a cultural affinity for millions of Americans, and it maintained close economic ties with the United States. Looking forward, the orientation on Europe also made sense. It represented the vanguard of Soviet expansion, with hundreds of thousands of troops in East Germany and the prospect of nuclear conflict representing the most dangerous security challenge in the world. Following the Cold War, the orientation of U.S. foreign policy began to drift, until 2001, when the 9/11 attacks refocused attention on the suppression of global terrorism.

Under President Obama, the suppression of terrorism still remains a paramount objective. But in his tone and his actions, it seems clear that terrorism is not the prism through which he views the world. Likewise, Obama places great value on the U.S. relationship with Europe. He has already paid several visits to the continent, and he is quite popular there. But from the U.S. perspective, the relative importance of Europe has been waning. This reality became increasingly clear in November.

During Obama's first trip to Asia this month, the president paid visits to Japan, Singapore, China, and South Korea. At each stop, the importance of Asia as Obama's prevailing foreign policy orientation became increasingly clear. Of all of the countries on his itinerary, it is Japan's relationship with the United States that has most resembled the United States' relationship with Europe. Japan rebuilt itself after World War II under the protection of the United States and developed a political and economic system that was friendly to the United States' Cold War ideology. To this day, Japan houses thousands of U.S. soldiers, and disagreement over the relocation of important U.S. bases on Okinawa dominated much of Obama's discussion with Prime Minister Yukio Hatoyama. Obama also used Japan, as the oldest and most reliable U.S. ally on his itinerary, as the venue to deliver a wide-ranging speech on the importance of Asia. He emphasized the importance of long-standing U.S. treaty obligations in the region and the value of cultivating economic “spheres of cooperation, not competing spheres of influence.” Obama also announced that the United States would engage with the Trans Pacific Partnership, a regional Asia-Pacific free trade agreement that currently includes only four countries but could eventually form the basis for a much wider trade bloc.

In Singapore, Obama both reiterated a long-standing commitment in the region and began a new one. He participated in the meeting of leaders from the Asia Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC) countries, which U.S. presidents have made a habit of doing in recent years. But Obama also participated in a summit with leaders from the Association of South East Asian Nations (ASEAN). This was the first time a U.S. president had met with ASEAN leaders in a formal summit, and the act carried significant symbolic value. Paving the way for the joint summit was Obama's willingness to meet with a leader from Burma, an ASEAN member but also a notoriously repressive state. Obama's meeting with Prime Minister Thein Sein was the first time a U.S. president had directly interacted with a Burmese leader in over 40 years, and it was a reflection of his new strategy of trying to engage with the military regime there in the hope of encouraging reform. Obama's meeting yielded little in the way of specific concessions, but the fact that he valued deeper engagement in the region over a long-standing refusal to meet with Burmese leaders was an important shift in U.S. policy.

Obama's visit to China could be considered the heart of his trip to Asia. He held a town hall meeting with students in Shanghai and met with President Hu Jintao in Beiing. Critics have suggested that Obama left China with few concessions from the Communist regime. They note that he was unable to secure wider broadcast of his town hall meeting in Shanghai or convince the government to modify its currency policy or support a tougher approach toward Iran. On these points, the critics are correct. Whether that necessarily represents a failure, however, is not as clear. The reality is that the United States cannot dictate to China as it once could, or as it might wish to today. Not only is its economy large and growing, China also holds $800 billion in U.S. debt. It plays a significant role in financing the U.S. economy, and it has assumed a greater stake in a wider range of U.S. domestic policy than it ever has before. China has become increasingly concerned, for example, with the effect that health care reform legislation will have on the U.S. budget deficit. This is not to suggest that China can now dictate terms to the United States. But the economic and political realities have shifted such that the United States and China must now engage each other on more equal terms.

Obama's tour of Asia coincided with important developments on the other side of the United States, in Europe. In October, the European Union cleared the final hurdles toward ratifying the Lisbon Treaty (for more, see The Water's Edge, October 2009). Among the treaty's most important reforms was the creation of the posts of president of the European Council and of high representative for foreign and security policy (essentially an EU foreign minister). These positions could potentially strengthen the collective voice of the EU on the international stage. At a meeting of EU heads of government this month, Europe's leaders selected Belgian Prime Minister Herman Van Rompuy to be president of the European Council and EU Trade Commissioner Lady Ashton of the United Kingdom as the high representative for foreign and security policy. By all accounts, these were sound selections. But neither individual has the stature of former British Prime Minister Tony Blair, who was rumored to be in the running for the Council presidency. By selecting such obscure personalities to fill these new positions, the leaders of the EU's individual member states took a deliberately cautious approach. Instead of taking advantage of the Lisbon Treaty to create a stronger international presence for the EU, Europe's leaders sought to prolong the status quo, in which foreign policy is largely directed from the 27 national capitals of the separate EU member states. In other words, serious change was deferred.

That Obama's trip to Asia overlapped with the EU's selection of new leaders was purely coincidental. But it underscored the shifting orientation of U.S. foreign policy. Where Asia presented a series of genuine challenges to a once pre-eminent United States, Europe deferred action that would have seriously increased its global stature. This is not to say that Europe will become any less important to U.S. interests or to suggest that any other issue (such as terrorism) will fade from the U.S. agenda. Nor is the shift of attention entirely due to any conscious decision, by Obama or anyone else. Instead, geographical and political reality has coincided with the term of a new U.S. president who is eager to conduct foreign policy in a fundamentally different manner than his predecessor. Compared to the historical emphasis placed on Europe, the relative importance of Asia for both U.S. domestic and foreign policy is increasing at a dramatic rate. Meanwhile, during George Bush's presidency, many Asian leaders felt ignored by a United States preoccupied with foreign wars. During his tour of the region, Obama hoped to send the message that “the United States is back.” This is the clearest indication yet that U.S. foreign policy will become increasingly oriented toward Asia, during Obama's presidency and beyond.

Foreign Policy Association, 3 December 2009

The origins of the European Union (EU) date back to the 1950s, when France, West Germany, and the Benelux countries formed the European Coal and Steel Community to centralize control of these strategic industries in member states. The effort was in direct response to the ravages of the Second World War, and it was felt that greater European integration would limit the excesses of radical nationalism and encourage peace. In the decades that followed, the institution that is now known as the EU broadened by taking in new member states and deepened by assuming greater responsibility. This seemingly inexorable trend culminated earlier this decade with the European Constitution, which would have replaced multiple, existing treaties with a single document that bound the EU more tightly together. After great effort was expended in the creation of such a comprehensive document and passed without referendum by most EU states, the voters of France and the Netherlands rejected the Constitution in 2005, pushing EU policymakers back to the drawing board.

Despite the rejection of the Constitution, many of the institutional problems that it had hoped to address remained serious challenges for the Union. As the EU expanded to include more than 20 member states, the demand for unanimity and absolute equality in decision-making became cumbersome. The Union also suffered from a “democratic deficit” in which voters felt distant and detached from EU decision-making bodies, including the popularly elected European Parliament. After several years of reflection, the member states negotiated a modified and stripped-down collection of institutional reforms known as the Lisbon Treaty. As with the Constitution (and any other EU treaty), the Lisbon Treaty required ratification by all member states. But each state had different methods of ratification. Ireland was the only member that required a referendum to approve the Lisbon Treaty, but in a vote in June 2008, Irish voters rejected it, causing great consternation across Europe. This month, Ireland held another vote on the Lisbon Treaty, and this time, Irish voters approved it, paving the way for the Treaty's near-certain adoption.

Along with a host of modifications to the EU's institutions and decision-making structures, the Lisbon Treaty would make significant changes to how the Union conducts its foreign policy. As a body in international politics, the EU has always been a unique and singular creature. Due to its common market and the combined size and wealth of its member states, the EU possesses clear economic weight. It frequently negotiates with one voice on matters of international trade, and it has its own representation at global bodies such as the G20. But the EU also consists of 27 independent countries, each of which jealously guards its foreign policy prerogatives. This is particularly true in the case of security and defense policy. When the United States invaded Iraq in 2003, the EU was sharply split on the decision, with the United Kingdom and Poland supporting the action and France, Germany, and others strongly opposed. There have been efforts to create a more coherent EU foreign policy, primarily in the form of the Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP), but the results have been limited by the institutional realities of the Union. These realities have existed for decades, frustrating Europe's allies. Henry Kissinger famously asked, “Who do I call if I want to call Europe?”

Right now, the answer to that question could include, at a minimum, any of three people. The highest authority of the EU is the European Council, consisting of the heads of government of the various member states. The presidency of the Council rotates among member states every six months, and during a member's presidency, its prime minister or president can present the public face of the EU. The European Commission is the executive arm of the EU, implementing and enforcing EU policies and regulations. It, too, has a president—completely unrelated to the Council presidency—that carries the weight of international recognition. (There is also a member of the Commission explicitly charged with managing External Affairs, but put that aside for a moment). In addition, the CFSP is managed by its own High Representative, who may be best positioned to represent the EU in an international setting. In short, it is difficult for the world to know who to “call” in Europe, or indeed how many people it needs conference in.

The Lisbon Treaty tries valiantly to answer Kissinger's question. It would replace the rotating, state-based EU presidency with an individual President of the European Council, elected to a two-and-a-half year term. The treaty would also combine the positions of High Representative for the CFSP and the Commissioner for External Affairs into a single EU “foreign minister,” and it would empower that position with a new External Action Service, which would essentially be an EU diplomatic corps. Member states could assign specific tasks to the new High Representative, and he or she will be able to implement commonly agreed actions. Both the Council President and the new High Representative would be selected through something called Qualified Majority Voting (QMV), which means that no single country could veto an appointment to either position. The Lisbon Treaty also clarifies the existing, complicated legal standing of the EU. Once in place, the Treaty would empower the Union with a single legal personality, making it less cumbersome for the Union to sign treaties and international agreements.

These changes are explicitly structural in nature. The EU will be granted no new foreign policy-making powers, and indeed, those foreign policies that it can implement will more strictly defined on an intergovernmental (as opposed to a supranational) basis. Essentially, the Lisbon Treaty will simply allow the EU to operate more efficiently on the world stage. That alone, however, will constitute a marked change in EU foreign policy, and this change could have important effects on Obama's foreign policy. As Obama considers the next steps in his Afghanistan strategy, one of the most important questions is whether he will order more U.S. troops to that country. Upon taking office, there was some hope that Obama would be able to convince European allies to send more soldiers and resources to Afghanistan. Such hopes have largely diminished, and in any event, the request would have been made through NATO channels. But centralizing the EU's limited foreign policy authority also centralizes its nascent security abilities. The prospect of an EU-led mission in Afghanistan is remote, especially while the security situation there remains so unstable. But it is conceivable that an EU stabilization or humanitarian mission could be useful in Afghanistan in the future, and having a single number to “call” in Europe would prove very helpful if Obama needed to coordinate that.

The treaty's reforms also might serve to amplify the EU's greatest foreign policy strength, which has always been in the realm of “soft power.” The Union has long used the prospect of membership as a carrot to induce neighboring states to reform their political, economic, and legal systems, and in doing so, it has served as force for stability in post-Cold War Europe. Its unique model of regional integration also serves as an example for similar intergovernmental bodies in South America, Africa, and Southeast Asia. Taken as a whole, the EU is the largest provider of global development funds on the world stage. Obama's recent Nobel Peace Prize was, in many ways, a reflection of the European preference for “soft power.” The award itself represents an intangible honor of immense reputational power but of limited practical import. And the justification for awarding it to Obama was, in part, his preference for the techniques of “soft power.” The citation for the prize lauded Obama's creation of a “new climate in international politics” and his capture of the “world's attention.” To be sure, the Peace Prize was granted in Norway, which is not an EU member. But pro-Obama sentiments appear to be widespread in Europe, and an empowered EU may prove to be a more useful partner for a U.S. president who speaks a language that Europeans understand and appreciate.

Despite Ireland's (second) vote, the Lisbon Treaty is not yet a reality. The sole remaining roadblock is the Czech Republic, where the parliament has approved the treaty but the strongly opposed president has deferred from signing it. The pressure on President Vaclav Klaus is intense, however, and it is unlikely that he will scuttle the treaty on his own. Once he signs the Lisbon Treaty, it will go into effect shortly thereafter, and the Council President and the High Representative can be selected. Until then, supporters of a more efficient EU—as well as a U.S. president eager for a coherent partner across the Atlantic—will need to wait a bit longer.

Foreign Policy Association, 22 October 2009

Under President Bush, the United States withdrew from the 1972 Anti Ballistic Missile (ABM) Treaty with Russia, and the Pentagon accelerated development of ground-based, sea-based, and air-based missile defense systems. The ground-based system, consisting of missiles that can be launched to intercept incoming warheads, was deployed in Alaska in 2004 and soon afterward in California. These locations were suitable to contend with missiles launched toward the United States from North Korea. But to counter the potential threat of Iranian missiles, the Bush administration proposed deploying missile defense systems to Eastern Europe. Under the approved scheme, a radar would have been built in the Czech Republic and interceptor missiles would have been based in Poland. In addition to defending the continental United States, this plan had two important side effects. It theoretically would have offered some degree of missile defense to NATO allies in Europe. And it would have greatly upset Russia.

Russia’s reaction to the proposed locations for the European missile defense system was impassioned and, to a degree, understandable. Ostensibly, it viewed the system as destabilizing and as a potential threat to its own security, despite assurances from the Bush administration to the contrary. In reality, the system envisioned by the Bush administration—with a total of 10 interceptor missiles, to be deployed by 2017—could not possibly have defended Europe (or the United States) from a determined Russian attack. Instead, Russia’s concerns focused on the geopolitical encroachment that the U.S. missile defense system represented. Although Poland and the Czech Republic have been NATO members for years, the positioning of such important and strategic U.S. military assets in what was once Russia’s sphere of influence represented a serious affront to the former superpower. Russia had opposed NATO expansion in the 1990s for similar reasons, but it lacked the leverage to halt it at the time. In recent years, under the centralizing leadership of Vladimir Putin and amid the global rise in energy prices, gas- and oil-rich Russia has gained greater influence. Its objections to the missile defense system could not be dismissed without consequence, although the Bush administration remained committed to the program to its final days.

Obama did not radically change Bush’s plans immediately upon taking office. Indeed, during his visit to Prague in April, he reaffirmed the fundamental purpose behind the European missile defense system: “As long as the threat from Iran persists, we will go forward with a missile defense system that is cost-effective and proven.” (for more, see The Water’s Edge, April 2009). His recent decision did not so much scrap the system as it aligned it to better meet his stated criteria of effectiveness. He will no longer move forward with the plan to deploy a ground-based system in Poland and the Czech Republic. Instead, he will implement a staged deployment of missile defenses centered on the sea-based AEGIS system. This alternative presents several advantages over the ground-based system. The sea-based system is less expensive than its ground-based counterpart, and it has a more successful testing record, as well. It can be deployed in stages, first on Navy destroyers and cruisers already equipped with the system, with the initial system of defenses becoming operational in 2011—far sooner than the ground-based system’s operational date of 2017. Obama’s alternative is also more suited to the predicted nature of the Iranian threat, in which an attack with large numbers of short-range missiles is more realistic than an attack with smaller numbers of long-range missiles. Tehran’s recent testing of just such a missile further antagonized those who view it as a threat to regional and global stability.

Perhaps the most significant implication of Obama’s policy change is its effect on several bilateral relationships of real importance to the United States. Russia, quite understandably, was pleased with Obama’s decision. From a technical standpoint, sea-based interceptors are less of a threat to Russia’s faster, longer-ranged ballistic missiles than ground-based interceptors. In the later stages of Obama’s plan, missiles and radars developed from the sea-based AEGIS system will be modified and deployed, on land, in Europe. But it is likely that those facilities could be placed in the Balkans or in Turkey, where they would pose less of a geopolitical threat to Russia. Russian parliamentarians praised Obama’s plan as “a victory for common sense,” while conservatives in the United States claimed that it smacked of weakness in the face of Russian assertiveness.

A key rationale behind Obama’s plan is an updated assessment of the threat posed by Iran. Indeed, if the assessment is correct, Obama’s plan will do more to neutralize an Iranian threat than Bush’s plan, and it will do so sooner. But many had suspected (or hoped) that Obama would use missile defense as leverage to compel Russia to take a harder line with Iran. Russia has sold weapons and nuclear technology to that country, and as a member of the UN Security Council, its cooperation with U.S. efforts to stifle Iran’s nuclear ambitions is vital. When Obama announced his decision, there was no public signal that Russia would offer more explicit support for U.S. diplomatic initiatives in return. It is possible, however, that a quiet deal was made. Several days before Obama announced the change in missile defense plans, the State Department accepted an Iranian offer for multilateral talks on a wide range of issues. Nuclear matters were not among the issues listed in the Iranian offer, but the dialogue is a promising sign. Any connection between the dialogue, the change in missile defense plans, and Russian leverage is unknown. But shortly after Obama’s announcement, at the opening of the UN General Assembly in New York, Russian President Dimitry Medvedev expressed a new-found openness to tougher sanctions on Iran. Given revelations of a secret Iranian nuclear facility that same week, Russia’s cooperation may become even more important in the coming months.

It would be logical for Poland and the Czech Republic to be unhappy with Obama’s decision. They had expended political capital in consenting to the placement of missile defense systems on their territory. But more importantly, they viewed the system as a way of further anchoring their security to the United States. Russia remains an intimidating force throughout Eastern Europe, which remains dependent on Russian energy supplies. By changing U.S. missile defense plans, Poland and the Czech Republic may feel somewhat abandoned in the face of an emboldened Russia. That the plan was announced on the 70th anniversary of the Russian invasion of Poland was inauspicious and unfortunate, to say the least.

The reaction from Polish and Czech leaders, however, did not betray significant disappointment. “I received President Obama’s words and declarations with great satisfaction,” said Polish Prime Minister Donald Tusk, after speaking with Obama about his decision. Czech President Vaclav Klaus declared that he was, “100 percent convinced that this decision of the American government does not signal a cooling of relations between the United States and the Czech Republic.” An important component of Obama’s plan is the placement of Patriot surface-to-air missiles in Poland and the Czech Republic. Although these will not be effective against long-range ballistic missiles, they can be effective against shorter ranged missiles. And unlike the interceptors of Bush’s ground-based anti-missile system, Patriot missiles can also be effective against attacking aircraft. In any event, the later stages of Obama’s plan call for the placement of more advanced missiles derived from the sea-based system on land, and Poland and the Czech Republic remain potential locations for those weapons.

Obama’s plan, then, clearly represents change. Aside from an effectiveness standpoint, his decision will have important effects on the United States’ bilateral relationships with Russia, Iran, and its Eastern European allies. But it may have a more important effect on an issue of even greater, more global concern. In the same speech in Prague in which Obama underscored his support for European missile defense, he called for a major effort toward nuclear nonproliferation and disarmament. One of the first steps in that effort is the negotiation of a new arms control treaty with Russia. By addressing Russia’s concerns over European missile defense, Obama may have made such a treaty not only more realistic, but potentially more ambitious, as well. If that sparks a movement toward a global reduction of nuclear stockpiles, then Obama’s decision on missile defense may represent an even greater change than it first appeared.

Foreign Policy Association, 30 September 2009

Japan’s export-oriented economy could not escape the crisis, however. Even prior to the collapse of Lehman Brothers, Japan’s economy had been shrinking, and the value of its exports had declined. By late 2008, Japan officially slipped into recession, and in early 2009, it experienced its first current account deficit in 13 years, as global demand plummeted. Under Prime Minister Taro Aso, Japan responded with debt-financed stimulus packages totaling $270 billon, or approximately 5 percent of the country’s gross domestic product. Unlike Japan’s failed stimulus efforts in the “lost decade” of the 1990s, these packages did not finance bloated and unnecessary infrastructure projects. Instead, they focused on providing services to laid-off workers and on investing in green energy projects. Many economists, however, feared that these efforts had come too late to be truly effective.

At this week’s G20 Summit in Pittsburgh, Japan is represented by a new prime minister. Yukio Hatoyama and his Democratic Party of Japan (DPJ) won a resounding electoral victory last month, sweeping away the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) and its nearly 55-year grip on power. Although he expressed generic disapproval with “American-style free-market economics” during the election campaign, Hatoyama’s economic policies differed little from Taro Aso’s. Instead, the DPJ campaign waged war on Japan’s underlying political structure. Hatoyama called for wholesale reforms of the bureaucratic machinery that had sustained the LDP’s longevity.

Achieving these structural reforms would be a tall order even in a solid economic climate. Today, they must compete with Japan’s pressing economic needs and its obligations to the global financial system. Hatoyama is something of an unknown quantity, especially on the diplomatic stage, and the G20 meeting represents his first international summit since taking office. Hatoyama will be closely watched by his fellow heads of government, as will his actions in the coming months. How he reconciles his desire for structural reform in Japan with the global imperative for economic crisis management is an open question. It is unclear yet if Hatoyama has an adequate answer.

The Asia Foundation, 23 September 2009

Japan has been a close ally of the United States since the end of Word War II. U.S. forces occupied the country until a formal treaty of surrender came into effect in 1952, and ever since, the United States has maintained a significant military presence in Japan. The transition from wartime enemy to peacetime ally largely was driven by the Cold War. Taking advantage of Japan's strategic position and the long-standing aversion to Communism among its ruling class, the United States found a useful and valuable ally to counter Soviet influence in the Pacific region. The long-term presence of U.S. military bases could partly be justified by Article 9 of Japan's post-war constitution, which formally prohibited an offensive military force and only permitted “self-defense” forces. Without the burden of maintaining an extensive military apparatus, Japan was able to focus its post-war economic development on export-driven growth. Its economic success since World War II can partly be attributed to its alliance with the United States.

The LDP initially came to power as a strong supporter of the U.S. alliance, and the strength and stability of the partnership has helped sustain its longevity in office. For decades, the success of the alliance with the United States—together with a growing economy and low unemployment—seemed to justify LDP rule. But as the party grew comfortable in its power and success, it increasingly fell victim to corruption and controversy. A series of scandals in the 1980s were navigated with savvy leadership changes, cabinet shuffles, and coalition building. Economic stagnation and the end of the Cold War in the 1990s, however, posed real threats to the LDP, as the growth and stability that had justified its leadership and fractured its political opposition began to wane.

Instead of succumbing to an outside rival, the LDP elevated Junichiro Koizumi to the premiership in 2001. Koizumi led a reform-minded faction within the party that advocated, among other things, a more assertive foreign policy. He was close personally with President Bush, and he deployed Japanese troops to support U.S. occupation efforts in Iraq. He also deployed Japanese refueling ships to aid U.S. naval efforts in the war in Afghanistan. Although Japanese forces were tightly constrained in both missions, these missions generated a great deal of controversy in Japan. Koizumi was adamant in his support of these missions, however, and they were but a piece of his iconoclastic and relatively reformist agenda. He attempted to change the LDP from within, and by appealing to voters directly, he was able to lead the party to a significant electoral victory in 2005. But since Koizumi stepped down in 2006, a succession of short-lived and increasingly unpopular LDP prime ministers has followed. Taro Aso has become known for his erratic and detached behavior, and approval ratings for his cabinet hover around 20 percent.

All signs point to a DPJ victory on August 30. In part, this is due to difficult economic conditions and to the dwindling patience for LDP rule. One consequence of a DPJ victory would be the humbling burden of responsibility that faces any party that moves from perpetual opposition to first-time governing. This transition would be particularly acute for the DPJ, as the LDP's bold on power has been so strong and persistent in recent Japanese history. In a general sense, the DPJ has emphasized the need for a more “equal partnership” in the U.S.-Japan alliance. Indeed, during Koizumi's tenure in office, the DPJ expressed opposition to the naval refueling mission in Afghanistan. But as victory has become more plausible in recent months, the clarity that comes from permanent opposition has seemed become more muddled. Early in the campaign, Hatoyama was unclear about whether he would end or continue the refueling mission if the DPJ won a governing plurality in the Diet. Since then, he has clarified his party's position: he will not end the mission immediately, but he will not seek to renew the law that authorized the mission when it expires in January. This is less extreme than positions offered by the DPJ in the past, but it represents a clear departure from the policy of the LDP.

On many issues of policy, though, the LDP and the DPJ hold remarkably similar positions. The main battleground in the election is Japan's administrative structure and the political culture that has sustained it. Although Japan is nominally a multiparty democracy, the pervasiveness and perseverance of the LDP has seemed to suggest otherwise. The LDP has maintained its decades-long dominance with an interdependent web of relationships between big businesses, powerful bureaucracies, and dynastic politicians. This web has proven remarkably resilient, as money, influence, and careers circulate through it with ease. But this powerful system also obscures lines of political accountability and is prone to inefficiency and corruption. The DPJ pledges to reform this system, curtail the influence of bureaucrats, and promote a “politician-led” government in which the real policymakers are accountable to voters and not entrenched in ministries. For the DPJ, structural reforms are the prerequisites for real policy change and for a politics that “values people above concrete projects.”

In that sense, the victor in Japan's election will be unlikely to radically change the nature of the alliance with the United States. The two countries will remain strong allies with many of the same interests in East Asia and around the world. But if the DPJ wins, as appears likely, the Obama administration may find itself facing a slightly different tone emanating from the new government in Tokyo. The DPJ will be keen to prove its independence both from the LDP's time-honored ways but also, to some degree, from the perception of dependence on the United States. Already, policymakers in Japan feel some anxiety toward an Obama administration that has seemed to identify China as the key state in East Asia. This anxiety was heightened with Obama's choice for U.S. ambassador to Japan. Many had expected the appointment to go to Joseph Nye, a widely respected international relations scholar with extensive government experience and ample knowledge of Japan. Instead, Obama selected John Roos, a prominent fundraiser during his election campaign with little grounding in international diplomacy. None of this will dramatically change or upset the U.S.-Japan alliance. But if the DPJ is victorious on August 30, the new U.S. ambassador's job may suddenly become a bit more interesting.

Foreign Policy Association, 27 August 2009

Although tiny glimmers of good news began to appear just this week, Japan has been hit very hard by the global economic downtown. Its economy shrank by more than eight percent in the past year, and its rapidly aging population makes long-term recovery and growth particularly challenging prospects. Unsurprisingly, the focus of the election is domestic and economic policy. The party manifestos of the LDP and the DPJ are similarly tinged by economic populism, and although they differ on some specifics, both parties broadly pledge to grow household income, increase employment, and cut taxes.

What’s remarkable, however, is the relative lack of ideological differentiation between the LDP and the DPJ. This is not by accident. Indeed, ideology is not even the main battleground in the election. It is instead primarily a fight over Japan’s administrative structure and the political culture that has sustained it. Although Japan is nominally a multi-party democracy, the sheer pervasiveness and perseverance of the LDP has seemed to suggest otherwise. Aside from a few months in 1993, the LDP has governed Japan uninterrupted since 1955. It secured power in the immediate post-war period through a combination of strong support for the Cold War alliance with the United States and a clear emphasis on export-driven growth.

Since then, the LDP has maintained its dominance with an interdependent web of relationships between big businesses, powerful bureaucracies, and dynastic politicians. This web has proven remarkably resilient, as money, influence, and careers circulate through it with ease. But this powerful system also obscures the lines of political accountability. Political change comes not from open competition among rival parties, but from opaque bureaucratic decree and from factional maneuverings within the LDP. Power – both wielding it and keeping it – has become the driving motivation for the party. This situation is prone to corruption and inefficiency, and it often deprives Japanese voters of a meaningful political choice.

For decades, the combination of a growing economy, low unemployment, and a steady alliance with the United States seemed to justify LDP rule. But as the party grew comfortable in its power and success, it increasingly fell victim to corruption and controversy. A series of scandals in the 1980s were navigated with savvy leadership changes, cabinet shuffles, and coalition building. Economic stagnation and the end of the Cold War in the 1990s, however, posed real threats to the LDP, as the growth and stability that had justified its leadership and fractured its political opposition began to wane.

Instead of succumbing to an outside rival, the LDP elevated Junichiro Koizumi to the premiership in 2001. Koizumi led a reform-minded faction within the party that advocated a more assertive foreign policy and the privatization of large state-operated enterprises. Koizumi waged an internal campaign to purge the LDP of his opponents, and he appealed to voters directly to help him in the effort. In 2005, Koizumi led the party to one of its largest-ever electoral victories. But since Koizumi stepped down in 2006, a succession of short-lived and increasingly unpopular LDP prime ministers have followed. Taro Aso has become known for his erratic and detached behavior, and approval ratings for his cabinet hover around 20 percent.

Poised for victory, the DPJ has not advocated radical policies; overthrowing the dominant political party and proving its own, untested ability to govern are challenges enough. The change it does promote, however, cuts to the heart of the LDP’s hold on power. The DPJ pledges to curtail the influence of bureaucrats and promote a “politician-led” government in which the real policymakers are accountable to voters, not entrenched in ministries. Budgeting authority and the responsibility for policy planning and execution will be centralized in the cabinet, while more funds will be placed under local governments’ control. Politicians will be placed deeper within ministries to enforce discipline and ensure accountability among bureaucrats. For the DPJ, these reforms are the prerequisites for real policy change and for a politics that “values people above concrete projects.”

The DPJ certainly has identified the major structural features that have sustained the LDP’s longevity and impeded accountable policymaking. And if the polls are a reliable guide, many Japanese agree with the diagnosis. But even if the DPJ wins a historic victory on August 30, it is unclear how its reforms will fare. The entrenched bureaucracy that the DPJ has marked as its enemy is entrenched for a reason. As an entity, it sees itself as indispensible, in part because it is. Together with LDP politicians and business leaders, the bureaucracy has created and sustained an administrative system in which it is an essential component. The bureaucracy defends its prerogatives well, and it has outlasted scores of crusading politicians. A change in governing party alone may not be enough to dislodge its influence.

Perhaps the greatest threat to the DPJ’s agenda is that of co-optation. The challenges facing Japan are urgent and real. In the current economic climate, the desire for policy change may outweigh the need for structural reform. The resilient system that has fueled the LDP’s longevity may survive by adapting to serve new times and new political masters, and the impulse for reform may gradually wane. If the DPJ is victorious on August 30, it may find it easier to compromise with the current system than to force it to change.

The Asia Foundation, 19 August 2009

On June 26, the House passed the American Clean Energy and Security Act (ACES) by a vote of 219-212. The bill contained a host of provisions, including energy efficiency requirements and mandates that electricity producers generate a certain portion of their energy from renewable sources. But at the heart of the bill was a scheme to cap greenhouse gas emissions in the United States and to establish a market in which emissions credits—essentially, permits to pollute—can be traded between producers who cannot meet the cap and those who exceed it. The “cap” portion of the bill would lower greenhouse gas emissions in the covered industries to 17 percent below 2005 levels by 2020 and to 83 percent below those levels by 2050. The passage of ACES in the House is a remarkable achievement, inconceivable only a few months ago. Climate change legislation was a key plank of Obama's domestic agenda, and the House action represents a significant victory for the president.

Two weeks later, fresh from his arms reduction talks in Moscow, Obama met with the leaders of the Group of Eight industrialized nations in Italy. Together with the leaders of Brazil, China, Mexico, South Africa, and other large developing countries, the G8 met as the Major Economies Forum on Energy and Climate. There, leaders pledged to keep global temperatures from rising more than 3.6 degrees Fahrenheit over pre-industrial levels and to work together to “identify a global goal for substantially reducing global emissions by 2050.” The leaders also agreed to cooperative on developing technologies to help countries adapt to the effects of climate change; to increase investment in low-carbon, climate-friendly technologies; and to financially support developing countries in these and other climate change efforts.

In reality, though the successes on climate issues were fleeting at best and illusory at worst. The ACES bill in the House was wildly contentious. It barely achieved a majority, and 44 Democrats voted against it, while only eight Republicans voted in favor. At over 1,300 pages in length, the bill was loaded with special exceptions and provisions that made little policy sense but were necessary to secure enough votes for passage. Many economists and environmentalists have argued that a straightforward tax on carbon emissions would be simpler and more efficient than a complex cap-and-trade scheme. Even among those who support this method, many insist that the government should auction the emissions credits and use the proceeds to reduce taxes or invest in clean energy research. Instead, ACES initially gives 85 percent of the emissions credits away to industry (although this figure declines over time). And if the fight for passage was difficult in the House, the prospects in the Senate are even worse. Should any bill clear that chamber, it likely will be weaker than the House version, further angering environmentalists, scientists, and everyone else who argues for strong, urgent action.

In Italy, the apparent victory was even more hollow. The G8 has been talking about climate change for years, and reaching agreement on broad goals and aspirations has never been the real challenge. The difficulty has long rested in the conflicting views of developed and developing countries. Since the dawn of industrialization, it has been the developed countries that have generated the most greenhouse gasses. But the carbon emissions of large developing countries, such as China and India, are growing rapidly. These countries resent being held to the same limits as the developed countries because they have an economic imperative to grow. A cap on carbon emissions would stunt their growth and place them under restrictions that the developed countries never faced during their period of rapid industrialization. One of Obama's goals in Italy was to forge a consensus between the leading developed and developing countries on this issue. His proposal would have called for worldwide emissions to be cut 50 percent by 2050, with developed nations cutting their emissions by 80 percent. But this plan fell apart due to disagreements over interim emissions goals and over promises of financial and technical assistance to developing countries. UN Secretary General Ban Ki-moon was uncharacteristically critical, noting that the commitments made at the G8 meeting were “welcome, [but] not sufficient.” But even had an agreement been reached, it hardly would have been binding on the G8 nations or on their negotiating partners in Italy. The limited agreement that was reached is just as illusory.

Of course, it was more than just Obama or his recent election that prompted this spate of climate change action. In part, the pace urgency of policy change will continue to accelerate, if only due to the science and scope of the problem. More immediate, however, is the United Nations Climate Change Conference that will take place in Copenhagen in December. This conference is a follow-on to the Kyoto conference in 1997, and its goal is to produce tighter and more enforceable global emissions standards. A major point of contention in Copenhagen will be the very same divide between developed and developing countries that emerged at the G8 meeting in Italy. In many ways, Copenhagen is driving all policy action regarding climate change, not only on the international level, but domestically, as well. If developing countries are to agree to emissions limits, they will need to trust that developed countries will make sacrifices of their own. In a sense, climate is a quintessential public good. All countries benefit from its health, but no one is willing to pay exclusively for its maintenance. Communal sacrifice—both the perception thereof and the reality—is necessary for this public good to be maintained, or even saved. If there is any hope of convincing developing countries to forego the cheapest, dirtiest path to economic development for the sake of stopping global warming, developed countries must make a genuine commitment to pay their fair share.

In this sense, both the House passage of ACES and the G8's pronouncements in Italy are crucially important, even if neither action really changed any policy. The symbolism of these actions counts for a great deal, and it contributes to the growing momentum leading up to the Copenhagen meeting. The United States never ratified the Kyoto protocol, and without worldwide application, it cannot be considered a success. Since Kyoto, the problem of climate change has only become more certain, more urgent, and more real; the stakes at Copenhagen are immeasurably greater. Climate change legislation in the United States remains uncertain, as does any concerted action on the part of the leading industrialized nations. But if the realization spreads throughout the developed world that climate change must be addressed, and that sacrifices must be made, the prospects for success in Copenhagen will be much greater. The policy symbolism of recent weeks, however, is absolutely necessary but not nearly sufficient. Sooner or later, the symbolism must translate into action.

Foreign Policy Association, 23 July 2009

During his election campaign, Barack Obama pledged to deliver a major speech on U.S. relations with the Islamic world from the capital of a Muslim country within the first 100 days of his administration. Although Obama's June 4 speech in Cairo missed his 100-day target (his April address to the Turkish parliament in Ankara apparently didn't count), it did not underwhelm in scope or ambition. Seeking a “new beginning between the United States and Muslims around the world, one based on mutual interest and mutual respect,” Obama stressed points of common interest between the United States and Islam. Although he reiterated his intention to pursue “violent extremism” and his view that the danger posed by al Qaeda is not an “opinion to be debated [but a] fact to be dealt with,” Obama also emphasized that the United States did not seek permanent military bases in Iraq or Afghanistan. He stressed the commonalty of themes such as democracy, women's rights, and economic development, and he sprinkled his speech with references to the Koran. The White House promoted the speech heavily and went to great lengths to ensure its translation and dissemination in languages and technologies widely used in the Muslim world. Reaction to Obama's speech was generally positive, with the main caveat that his conciliatory words needed to be translated into real action.

Just a few days after Obama's speech, on June 7, Lebanon held widely anticipated parliamentary elections. Long seen as a comparatively sophisticated and diverse corner of the Middle East, Lebanon has been wracked intermittently by civil war and outside intervention since the 1980s. The assassination of former Prime Minister Rafik Hariri in 2005 led to a popular uprising that drove occupying Syrian forces from the country. In 2006, Israel waged a war against Hezbollah, a militant and political organization based in Lebanon that is popular among the country's Shia population and that receives significant support from Iran. Last year, a power-sharing crisis boiled over into open conflict between Hezbollah and the Lebanese government. The June 7 election was seen not only as an important opportunity for the Lebanese to cast their votes, but also as a proxy in a wider contest of popular opinion between Iran (which supported Hezbollah) and the United States (which preferred a coalition led by Rafik Hariri's son, Saad). Hariri's coalition won more seats than the Hezbollah-led coalition, representing at the very least a perceived setback for Iranian and Sryian influence in Lebanese politics.

Among the closest observers of Obama's speech in Cairo was Israel. Concern about the steadfastness of Obama's support for Israel predates even his election, and many Israelis wondered if Obama would sacrifice U.S. support for Israel in his address to the Muslim world. Obama made no such sacrifice, and he reiterated the United States' strong and “unbreakable” bond with Israel. He did, however, express his opposition to Israeli settlements in the West Bank. On June 14, Israel's newly elected prime minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, delivered his own notable speech, in which he endorsed the creation of a Palestinian state. This was the first public endorsement of its kind for Netanyahu, who had developed a hawkish reputation during his previous stint as prime minister and in his recent election campaign. Netanyahu's endorsement was far from complete, however. It was conditional on the demilitarization of the new Palestinian state and on the recognition of Israel as a Jewish state, with Jerusalem as its capital. These conditions likely will not form the basis of an ultimate settlement. But the statement represented a notable shift in tone, if not necessarily in substance.

Potentially the most significant event in recent weeks is still ongoing. On June 12, Iranians went to the polls to elect a new president. In many ways, Iran lies at the heart of the U.S. relationship with the Middle East. Iran's nuclear program is of constant concern to the United States and its allies, and President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad has spoken openly of his desire to destroy Israel. Iran supports militant groups such as Hamas and Hezbollah, and it exerts influence in Iraq and Afghanistan. It also possesses significant quantities of oil, and it borders the strategic Straits of Hormuz. Most importantly, Iran has a long history of resentment toward the United States. The 1979 Islamic revolution was partly fueled by anger at the United States' long support of the Shah, and the revolution has served as inspiration for militant Islamic movements around the world. On June 12, Ahmadinejad faced off against an array of opponents, the most significant being Mir Hossein Mousavi, a conservative former prime minister who experienced a tremendous surge of support among reform-minded Iranians. The official tabulation showed Ahmadinejad winning with 63 percent of the vote—a far more lop-sided outcome than had been expected, and one that seemed rigged by the authorities. Since then, Iran has experienced its largest wave of protests since 1979. Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, Iran's Supreme Leader, has been resolute in resisting calls for a new election and in upholding Ahmadinejad's declared victory. The outcome of the election and the protests remains uncertain, but one thing is clear: this episode has unequivocally changed the nature of Iranian politics.

Individually, each of these events would have been significant and noteworthy. And to a certain degree, their clustering within a few weeks was the result of chance—the elections in Lebanon and Iran, in particular, were not scheduled to coincide with each other. But the scheduling of speeches is much more flexible than the scheduling of elections. Netanyahu, for example, likely scheduled his speech to follow Obama's. The prime minister had already received pressure from Obama on the question of settlements in the West Bank. It was important for him to address this pressure, and politically, it was useful for him to present a conciliatory front, if only as a negotiating tactic or to throw his rivals off-balance. Before he could do so, however, Netanyahu needed to see what Obama would say in his much-anticipated Cairo speech.

Indeed, it was Obama's speech in Cairo—the first in this sequence of events—that was most amenable to strategic timing. Obama seems well-aware of the symbolic value of his own election, not only in the United States but around the world. In part, this value rests upon the fact that he is not George W. Bush. But it also comes from his unique background, and to the role that his background can play in challenging negative misconceptions of the United States. Obama's campaign pledge to give a major address in a Muslim capital recognized this. Any U.S. president can address a Muslim audience. But only Obama could do so as a president with an international background, a childhood spent in a majority-Muslim country, and a middle name like “Hussein.” Obama likely knew the impact his speech could have in the Middle East, and he surely knew when Lebanon and Iran were holding their elections. Although the administration denies it, the timing of Obama's speech on the eve of these elections may have been very deliberate.

This doesn't mean that Obama's speech in Cairo was responsible for the victory of Hariri's coalition in Lebanon, or for the upheaval and uncertainty following Iran's election. But even if it had no direct effect, Obama's speech may have indirectly helped to preclude a more negative outcome, from the U.S. perspective. The Bush administration was very unpopular in the Middle East, and although Obama's election was a hopeful sign, there was little concrete evidence that his approach would be much different. His speech in Cairo reiterated to voters throughout the Middle East that his administration would a much more willing partner with receptive regimes. In other words, the promises made by reform-minded candidates in Lebanon and Iran would be much more realistic and achievable with President Obama in office. Elections and speeches, however, are only the first steps toward successful policies. Until the situation in Iran stabilizes, it is far too soon to judge Obama's timing.

Foreign Policy Association, 25 June 2009

The Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam, also known as the Tamil Tigers, were founded by Vellupillai Prahhakaran in 1976. From 1983, they waged a separatist war in the north and east of Sri Lanka, claiming to represent the country's ethnic Tamil minority against the majority Sinhalese government in a conflict that ultimately claimed over 80,000 lives. The LTTE was among the most sophisticated militant organizations in the world. For many years, they controlled much of northeastern Sri Lanka and operated as a ruling authority there, providing a full range of governmental services and effectively defending their territory through conventional military means. In addition to the land-based elements common to most insurgencies, the LTTE also had an air force and a navy, known as the “Air Tigers” and “Sea Tigers,” respectively. The LTTE had the dubious distinction of pioneering suicide bombing; their elite “Black Tigers” unit was responsible for the assassination of a former Indian prime minister and a Sri Lankan president. In short, the LTTE was among the most resilient and well-established insurgencies in the world.

Throughout the 26-year conflict, various attempts had been made to mediate between the Sri Lankan government and the LTTE. In the late 1980s, India deployed an ill-fated peacekeeping force to the island, and Norway spearheaded a mediation effort early in this decade. These efforts eventually came to naught, and in 2008, the government launched a full-scale offensive against LTTE-held territory in the north of the country. In January of this year, the government intensified its campaign in an effort to deal the LTTE a final blow. As the LTTE retreated into densely populated regions, it made extensive use of civilians as human shields against government attack. But the government largely disregarded this tactic, as well as UN-mediated cease-fires and designated “safe zones” in which civilians could seek refuge. It pursued its offensive aggressively, inflicting severe civilian casualties. By April, the UN estimated that nearly 6,500 civilians had been killed in the offensive and about 14,000 had been injured.

In a sense, the Sri Lankan offensive created the first man-made humanitarian crisis of Barack Obama's presidency. In April, as the LTTE was being squeezed into an ever-smaller plot of territory, Obama expressed his “deep concern” about the situation and called for an immediate cease-fire. He also “call[ed] upon the Government of Sri Lanka to stop shelling the ‘safe zone' and blocking international aid groups and media from accessing those civilians who have managed to escape.” This month, just days before the LTTE's final defeat, Obama prefaced a televised statement on his decision to withhold photographs of detainee abuse—arguably a far more salient issue to a U.S. audience—with further concerns about the situation in Sri Lanka. He specifically “urge[d] the Tamil Tigers to lay down their arms and let civilians go,” and he repeated his calls for government forces to stop indiscriminately shelling civilian areas and to give international aid groups access to civilian refugees. The president's comments were amplified by similar statements from Secretary of State Hillary Clinton and UN Ambassador Susan Rice.

Behind the proclamations, however, was something more remarkable: concrete action. The Obama administration acted to delay a $1.9 billion IMF loan to Sri Lanka due to the humanitarian crisis. According to one U.S. official, “the problem … [was] that the Sri Lankans have refused to engage on the humanitarian crisis as a priority,” and that delaying the loan was “an attempt to get [Sri Lankan] priorities back where they should be.” The administration acknowledged that the loan was only being delayed, not canceled, and that there was no particular expectation that the delay would compel the Sri Lankan government to change its behavior. Even so, the delay of the IMF loan—coupled with the administration's strong, coordinated criticism of the Sri Lankan government—represented a far more robust response to a humanitarian crisis than had been made by previous administrations in similar circumstances. The Clinton administration's tepid response to the 1994 Rwandan genocide, in particular, is known to have shaped the thinking of some Obama advisors; the president himself may have been similarly motivated.

Obama's response, however strong, did not stop the Sri Lankan government's offensive or delay the LTTE's ultimate demise. Humanitarian concerns aside, the conclusive endgame of Sri Lanka's civil war presents unsettling questions for the United States' own ongoing counter-insurgency operations. Recent military history suggests that the best (if not the only) way to defeat an ethnic- or religious-based insurgency is by protecting the civilian population, trying to win the “hearts and minds” of local noncombatants, and utilizing a “light” military footprint. Essentially, the goal is to deprive an insurgency of its base of support. An aggressive military response, on the other hand, plays into the insurgents' plans. It increases local resentment of the dominant power in the region and drives supporters to the insurgent cause. And given the irregular and asymmetrical method of insurgent warfare, blunt military responses rarely achieve their objectives; tanks and bombers cannot kill insurgents hiding in an urban area without putting a much greater number of civilians at risk, which ultimately serves an insurgent's political objectives. The evolution of the U.S. war in Iraq—from the 2003 invasion, to the bloody occupation period of 2004-2006, to the present “surge” strategy spearheaded by General David Petraeus—only reinforces these lessons.

In Sri Lanka, however, the government did not abide by these principles. It used an abundance of brute force to liquidate the LTTE insurgency. Tanks, planes, and artillery were utilized liberally, and little effort went into winning the “hearts and minds” of the local population. Instead of coaxing the LTTE to lay down its arms or persuading civilians to withdraw their support, the Sri Lankan government pummeled the insurgency mercilessly, along with anything or anyone in its immediate proximity. This strategy is not “supposed” to work. Yet it did. As President Obama oversees a large-scale reinvestment in the U.S. war in Afghanistan, the Sri Lankan experience raises some pertinent questions. Do the lessons that have been learned in Iraq and in previous insurgencies still hold? How and why did the Sri Lankan government succeed? Will the blatant humanitarian costs incurred by its approach eventually outweigh the military defeat of the LTTE, either in the short-term or in the long-term?

Although these are important questions, it is clear that each insurgency is different. Counter-insurgency campaigns must be tailored to local conditions and cannot be transposed or grafted from one dissimilar conflict to another. It is entirely possible, if not probable, that the Sri Lankan government's aggressive approach may have planted the seeds for long-term resentment and instability that could temper the short-term success it has just achieved. The endgame of the Sri Lankan civil war certainly has been fraught with irony. The LTTE was a violent organization and the civil war was immensely destructive; the end of both is clearly a good thing. But the Sri Lankan government's final offensive was indiscriminate in its brutality, and it created a genuine humanitarian crisis.

As if to reinforce the irony, the Sri Lankan government has actually credited President Obama with playing a major role in the success of their offensive. “It is undeniable that the LTTE effectively folded shortly after President Barack Obama told the world that the terrorists were holding innocent Tamil civilians as hostages. He was one of the few world leaders to note that fact so forcefully … I believe that the president's statement had a great influence on the LTTE,” noted Jaliya Wickramasuriya, Sri Lanka's ambassador to the United States. If such a sentiment is genuine, Obama faces a new opportunity. He could use his new-found clout with the Sri Lankan government to urge it to relieve the still-ongoing humanitarian crisis and to build the foundation for a sustainable peace.

Foreign Policy Association, 28 May 2009

At first glance, seeking a “world without nuclear weapons” may seem naïve, at best. Clearly, nuclear weapons are immensely destructive tools of state (or potentially, non-state) power. Having less of a destructive thing naturally would seem good. But nuclear weapons cannot simply be “wished” away. The fundamental principles underlying nuclear weapons are widely known, and the technology and expertise to develop nuclear technology has spread extensively over the past 60 years—such knowledge and technology cannot be “un-invented.” In addition, it is possible that nuclear weapons can provide a degree of strategic stability to the international system. Consider, for instance, the fact that no global conflict akin to the World Wars has taken place since nuclear weapons have been developed. Nuclear weapons may have raised the potential cost of war to such a degree that would-be aggressors thought twice about initiating hostilities. Although the Cold War was a period of intensive diplomatic and ideological struggle, the United States and the Soviet Union never engaged in a full-scale military conflict. If neither country had possessed nuclear weapons, the Cold War might have become much hotter.

If Obama's “zero nukes” posture was naïve to some, it was outright dangerous to others. For decades, the United States has negotiated arms reduction treaties with the Soviet Union and Russia. These treaties stipulated that both parties reduced their nuclear arsenals in a pre-determined, synchronized, and verifiable fashion. This was important for several reasons. As with any armament, the relative balance of forces between two rival states has a significant effect on the stability of their relationship. If two states are evenly matched, or if an imbalance in one category of armament is offset by an inverse imbalance in another category, neither state is likely to initiate hostilities with the other. But the consequences of an imbalance in nuclear forces are much greater than those of an imbalance in tanks or planes. If a country felt that the balance of nuclear forces had tilted in its favor, it might become more inclined to launch a first strike. For this reason, the United States and the Soviet Union always tried to reduce their arsenals in sync with each other, so that the relative nuclear balance was maintained even while the number of weapons was cut. As much as Obama may wish to rid the world of nuclear weapons, and as easily as he could cut the U.S. arsenal unilaterally, such an action would be ill advised. An uncoordinated and unilateral disarmament could radically destabilize the international system, and make the United States (and other countries) less safe.

Critics of Obama's Prague declaration, then, have a clear, logical argument. But that does not necessarily mean it is correct. Obama included a hefty dose of realism in his speech. He acknowledged that the objective of zero nuclear weapons “will not be reached quickly—perhaps not in my lifetime.” He also matched his seemingly lofty goal with concrete steps to achieve it. Obama pledged to reduce the role of nuclear weapons in the U.S. national security strategy and to work with Russia on a new round of arms reduction negotiations. He also promised to push for Senate ratification of the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty (CTBT), which the United States has signed but which a Republican-led Senate refused to ratify in 1999. Obama also advocated a treaty that would end the production of fissile material that could be used in nuclear weapons.

The steps Obama proposed were specific and pragmatic, but on their own, they were nothing new. In his first term as president, George Bush had agreed on disarmament objectives with then-Russian President Vladimir Putin. President Clinton signed the CTBT in the 1990s and the Senate debated the treaty extensively (and in a partisan manner) almost ten years ago. For years, disarmament experts have advocated a Fissile Material Cut-Off Treaty (FMCT) that would prohibit the production of fissile material for nuclear weapons. Beyond the apparent lack of novelty of Obama's proposals, it is unclear if they would make meaningful progress toward achieving his stated goal of a nuclear-free world. It is difficult to envision the United States and Russia reducing their arsenals to zero anytime soon, and a simple ban on nuclear testing would not eliminate the weapons that already exist. A verifiable FMCT would probably limit the proliferation of nuclear weapons, but like the CTBT, what would it do for the nuclear weapons that already exist?

These critiques may be valid, but they are equally shortsighted. The nuclear arsenals of the United States and Russia are far larger than any other state's. Each country possess thousands of warheads, while the arsenals of the United Kingdom, France, China, India, Pakistan, Israel, and North Korea each number in the hundreds at the very most. For this reason, most of the major nuclear arms reduction treaties have been exclusively between the United States and Russia. But as these two countries reduce their arsenals, they may eventually count their warheads not in the thousands, but in the hundreds. At that point, they will have rough parity with the other nuclear states, and the arms reduction playing field will become more equitable. Instead of being bilateral affairs, arms reduction treaties could include more of the world's nuclear powers, if not all of them. This would make every nuclear warhead in existence eligible for a negotiated elimination.

Even U.S. action on multilateral treaties such as the CTBT and a potential FMCT could be very meaningful. For the past 40 years, the foundation of nuclear disarmament diplomacy has been the Non Proliferation Treaty (NPT). The NPT essentially splits the world into two camps: the Nuclear Weapons States (NWS), which include the United States, Russia, the United Kingdom, France, and China; and the Non-Nuclear Weapons States (NNWS), which includes everyone else. The treaty formalizes an implicit bargain: if the NNWS pledge not to seek nuclear weapons, the NWS will work towards global disarmament. As Iran and North Korea have pursued nuclear weapons, the great emphasis has been on the nonproliferation provisions of the NPT. Often overlooked, however, are the pledges of the NWS to work toward the disarmament of their nuclear arsenals. If the NWS, including the United States in particular, are seen to be shirking their disarmament obligations under the NPT, the NNWS may become less inclined to cooperate on international nonproliferation efforts. Even worse, they may decide that the NPT represents a hypocritical bargain and abandon the regime altogether. This is all to suggest that U.S. participation in, and leadership of, multilateral nonproliferation diplomacy can have ripple effects beyond the literal power of the treaty itself. By sheer power of example, the United States can nudge the world in the direction of gradual disarmament.

In a general sense, Obama's speech should been seen as much as a political speech as a policy one. By clearly signaling his policy preferences, he removed a great deal of ambiguity about U.S. national intentions. That ambiguity can only be eliminated through the direct, specific policy actions that Obama outlined. Even then, the world may not be free of nuclear weapons, as Obama readily acknowledged. But just because a goal is unattainable does not mean it should not be pursued. Even if the world cannot rid itself of nuclear weapons, surely it would be a better place with fewer of them, especially if the reductions came about in a verifiable, deliberate, and multilateral manner. In this sense, the goal of global disarmament is similar to the goal of “energy independence.” It is exceedingly unlikely that the United States could reduce its energy imports to zero, but if the goal serves as motivation and inspiration to pursue clean energy technologies, conservation, and efficiency, then it is a worthy political tool applied to desirable policy ends. And that, if nothing else, is what Obama's Prague speech may come to represent, long into the future.

Foreign Policy Association, 23 April 2009

George Bush famously included Iran in his “axis of evil” in 2002, and although the country's nuclear ambitions preceded that date, international interest in its nuclear program certainly increased afterward. Iran's long history of antagonism and resentment toward the United States—from the CIA's meddling in its internal politics in the 1950s, to the Islamic Revolution and the hostage crisis in the 1970s, to the country's support of anti-U.S. and anti-Israel terrorist groups from the 1980s to today—mean that its nuclear intentions are certainly to be of great concern to any U.S. president. That Iranian leaders have regularly referred to the United States as “the Great Satan” and spoken hypothetically about the destruction of Israel has not done much to alleviate fears.

Intelligence about the real progress of the Iranian nuclear program, however, is far less certain. Iran clearly has a nuclear program, but it has consistently declared its ambitions to be peaceful in nature and fully within its rights under the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT). In 2007, a U.S. National Intelligence Estimate (NIE) declared that Iran had halted its nuclear weapons program in 2003. But the Obama administration has made clear that it suspects Iran is still pursuing nuclear weapons. During his confirmation hearings, CIA Director Leon Panetta said that he had “no question that they are seeking [weapons] capability.” Obama himself has spoken of Iran's “development of a nuclear weapon.” Last month, an inspection report from the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) concluded that Iran has acquired a sufficient amount of low-enriched uranium to produce a single, crude bomb. Understandably, this caused a great deal of anxiety, especially among those who have always been skeptical of Iranian intentions. But shocking headlines overwhelmed the nuance of the report. To produce a bomb, Iran would need to process its low-enriched uranium to make highly enriched uranium—something that would take several years and require the eviction of the IAEA inspectors already in place in Iran.

During the election campaign, Obama differentiated himself from his Democratic and Republican rivals by promoting a more open and transparent engagement of potential U.S. rivals. So far, he has largely kept that promise. This month, on the occasion of the Iranian New Year, he recorded a video message that was meant to directly address the Iranian people. In the message, Obama emphasized common traits that Americans and Iranians shared, in an empathetic tone very similar to many of his own campaign themes: “You will be celebrating your New Year in much the same way that we Americans mark our holidays—by gathering with friends and family, exchanging gifts and stories, and looking to the future with a renewed sense of hope.” He also spoke clearly about the approach he planned to pursue, noting that his “administration is now committed to diplomacy that addresses the full range of issues before us, and to pursuing constructive ties among the United States, Iran and the international community.” Perhaps most notably, he expressed the U.S. desire for “the Islamic Republic of Iran to take its rightful place in the community of nations.” This was a remarkable gesture of respect because U.S. presidents traditionally have not formally or publicly acknowledged the Islamic government of Iran or referred to the country by its formal name.

Iran's supreme leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, responded to Obama's message in relatively short order. As might be expected, he did not embrace the president's gesture wholeheartedly. “They chant the slogan of change but no change is seen in practice,” Khamenei noted, perhaps mocking Obama's famous campaign theme. He cited specific changes that have yet to be made: “Has your hostility towards the Iranian nation changed? … Have you unblocked Iran's assets [frozen in US banks]? Have you lifted the oppressive sanctions? Have you stopped insulting us and making accusations against our great nation and its leaders? Have you stopped your unconditional support for Israel?” Such rhetoric, however, does not mean Obama's gesture was fruitless. Iran's leaders have their own domestic political concerns; although the United States is popular among many younger Iranians, the conservative, hard-line constituency is still vitally important to the reigning political and clerical establishment. Indeed, Khamenei did not entirely rebuff Obama's message. He noted that Iran has “no prior experience of the new president of the American republic and of the government, and therefore we shall make our judgment based on his actions.” In other words, Iran would respond to U.S. actions, and not just its words. This is an entirely reasonable response, and it is in the nature of diplomacy that “words” almost always precede meaningful “actions.” Obama's message, then, might not have been made in vain.

The United States, however, is not the only country with a serious interest in Iran's nuclear program. Literally and figuratively, Israel is far closer to the core issues surrounding Iran's nuclear program than the United States. It is the only Middle Eastern country that possesses a nuclear arsenal, and although it is clearly intended as a deterrent against attacks, Israel's Muslim neighbors view it in a far more offensive light. Iran's leaders have long spoken explicitly about their desire to destroy Israel, and the country actively supports anti-Israel militant groups such as Hezbollah in Lebanon and Hamas in the Palestinian territories. Whereas the United States may see a nuclear-armed Iran as a nuisance, Israel sees it as an existential threat. The respective thresholds of action for the United States and Israel, therefore, are very different. The Iranian nuclear program may well reach a point at which Israel sees preventative military action as necessary, while the United States perceives more room for diplomacy and sanctions. The conflicting interpretations of the latest IAEA report highlight the risks here: no one can say with any certainty how close Iran is to acquiring a nuclear weapon. And where some might see the potential for diplomacy and negotiation in such uncertainty, others (in Israel, in particular) see a mortal threat.

Obama, then, faces no easy choices. In Iran, he is presented with a country with a long history of antagonism toward the United States that might be close to acquiring weapons of mass destruction. Or, because the intelligence is often so ambiguous, it might not be so close. On top of that, his closest ally in the region threatens to upend his diplomatic initiatives due to very different perceptions of the same threat. He cannot disregard Israeli concerns, but at the same time, there is no scenario under which a preventative military strike against Iran would have a clearly positive outcome. Obama's tack, so far, appears sound. It is a tentative, flexible, but definitive break with the aggressive rhetoric of George Bush. He applied his potent skills of empathy by speaking directly to the Iranian people in a way that may be interpreted as more sincere than the words of his predecessor; if it has not yielded immediate results, it quite possibly has laid the groundwork for future progress. Obama would be well advised to expand his application of empathy beyond the Iranian people and toward the Iranian leadership. Consider their situation: Iran is surrounded by nuclear powers locally (Israel, Pakistan), regionally (India, Russia), and internationally (U.S. forces based in Iraq, Afghanistan, and the Persian Gulf). It is a country with a long and proud history that has regularly been squeezed and exploited by outside powers. Essentially, the Iranian regime is insecure. But they are also smart. They witnessed what happened when a U.S. adversary did not possess nuclear weapons (the invasion of Iraq) and what happened when a U.S. adversary did possess such weapons (the acquiescence to the North Korean nuclear program).

If Obama applied his unique skills of empathy in this manner, what might he find? Clearly, fewer nuclear weapons are better than more. But he must define U.S. objectives in a rational manner. Does he seek to prevent Iran from developing nuclear weapons? Or does he seek to prevent Iran from acquiring the capacity to develop nuclear weapons? These are very different policy thresholds, and each demands a very different technical, diplomatic, and military approach. Obama, then, must not only apply his ample skills of empathy in dealing with Iran's leaders, but also a clear-headed assessment of what the U.S. interest really is, and how best to achieve it. In this sense, Iran is no different than any other foreign policy challenge. But of course, the stakes are much higher, and Obama's margin for error is that much slimmer.

Foreign Policy Association, 26 March 2009

Clinton's inaugural overseas trip took her to Japan, Indonesia, South Korea, and China. The choice of Asia for her first trip is notable. It reflects the emerging view that East Asia is a region of tremendous growth and dynamism, in terms of economics, demographics, and security. There was a time when the most important U.S. allies—and the first destination for a new secretary of state—would be in Europe. Japan and South Korea are strong U.S. allies, and a visit to their capitals represents a useful maintenance of that relationship. Indonesia is the world's largest Muslim-majority country and a burgeoning democracy, not to mention the boyhood home of the new U.S. president. Clinton is wise to take advantage of the President Obama's popularity in Indonesia, and the United States has a clear interest in strengthening that country's relatively young democracy. And China represents perhaps the most important bilateral U.S. relationship today, with the ongoing (and largely false) choice between treating the country as an ally or an adversary dominating many headlines. Any tour of East Asia that did not include China would be unthinkable.

Substantively, Clinton's trip was noteworthy as well. Before departing, Clinton laid out the broad objectives of her trip. She hoped to encourage the resumption of the Six-Party Talks with North Korea and to pursue cooperative efforts on climate change policies, especially with China. She also stressed the particular importance of the State Department's work on one the so-called “three D's” of national security --defense, diplomacy and development. “Too often, development is regarded as peripheral to our larger foreign policy objectives. This will not be the case in the Obama Administration. We will energetically promote development around the world … which we happen to believe will advance our shared security interests,” Clinton said Compared to much of the rest of the world, however, many countries in East Asia did not clamor eagerly for a change in U.S. presidents or policies. President Bush got along well with conservative governments in Japan and Australia, he championed a controversial nuclear agreement with India, and he managed relations with China in a low key but largely effective manner. In terms of policy, then, Clinton was not necessarily offering anything truly groundbreaking.

Stylistically, however, Clinton made a more distinct impression. In Indonesia, she appeared on a popular television talk show called “Awesome” and talked about her favorite bands (she cited the “music of [her] youth,” such as The Beatles and The Rolling Stones). In South Korea, she answered questions from students about how she fell in love with her husband. In China, State Councilor Dai Binggou complimented the Secretary of State on more than just her negotiating skills: “You look younger and more beautiful than you look on TV.” Some of this was to be expected—a new secretary of state, representing a new administration, is bound to get a great deal of attention on her first trip abroad. But the attention that Clinton received went beyond that. It is important to remember that her background is not as a diplomat but as an elected politician. More than that, Clinton endured the singular spotlight that only falls upon those select few who have lived in the White House for eight years. She knows how to draw attention, how to hold attention, and how to use it for her purposes; Clinton is a celebrity.

The skills of a political celebrity can be of tremendous value for a diplomat, who essentially conducts politics on a global scale. Even if Clinton did not promulgate any new policies or craft new diplomatic agendas in Asia, her trip must be considered a success because she was received in the countries she visited as a star. This kind of public diplomacy was in short supply during the Bush administration, and Barack Obama based much of his election campaign on changing the tone that the United States used to portray itself to the world. In this context, his selection of Hillary Clinton as secretary of state—as opposed to someone with a deeper or more specific background in diplomacy—makes a great deal of sense.

Clearly, Hillary Clinton is more than just a political celebrity. But her selection (and, so far, success) as a high profile secretary of state may hint at how the Obama administration as a whole will conduct its foreign policy. Regardless of political ideology, every president has an institutional interest in centralizing power in the White House. Obama is no different. Clinton may be the public face of U.S. diplomacy, and she may have populated the State Department with her chosen staff. But the real policymaking apparatus may actually exist in the National Security Council at the White House, which Obama has filled with aides and advisors for whom he has developed a trusting relationship over the course of his Senate career and his presidential campaign. Alternatively, Obama may have realized long ago that his early months and years as president would be dominated by his domestic agenda and the worsening economic situation. Entrusting foreign policy to a high-profile figure such as Clinton may have been a low-risk way of “outsourcing” a policy realm for which Obama has, at least for the time being, little time or interest.

These theories are not mutually exclusive, nor are they necessarily true. But Obama's appointment of a high profile, former political rival as secretary of state was an unexpected move when it was announced late last year. Although Clinton has performed ably so far, it is important to remember how implausible her appointment seemed just a few short months ago. Despite any inclination to centralize power at the White House, Obama cannot use the State Department simply as a public relations tool. And even if he was primarily interested in domestic policy, he cannot outsource foreign policy to a political celebrity. The likeliest theory, then, is simply that Obama picked the best person for the job, in order to help him fulfill his political agenda. Based on Clinton's first road-trip as the nation's top diplomat, Obama may well have chosen wisely.

Foreign Policy Association, 26 February 2009