The war in Afghanistan has always held a unique place in U.S. politics, especially compared to its more prominent counterpart in Iraq. It was, and is, the conflict most directly tied to the attacks of 9/11; the country had served as host to the al Qaeda leaders who planned the attacks and functioned as a training ground for the attackers themselves. In the days following 9/11, Congress overwhelmingly passed (with only a single dissenting vote in the House) the Authorization for Use of Military Force Against Terrorists, under which the war in Afghanistan has been waged. The initial invasion was very successful. The Bush administration assembled a broad international coalition, the ruling Taliban regime in Afghanistan was quickly overthrown, and a pluralistic political process was set in motion.

Since 2002, the war in Afghanistan has been somewhat overshadowed by the threat, real or perceived, from Iraq and the ensuing invasion and occupation of that country. But as the Iraq war maintained its grip on the headlines over the years, the conflict in Afghanistan remained persistently unresolved. Bin Laden not only remained free, but he and his lieutenants released communiques on a semi-regular basis. Remnants of al Qaeda's infrastructure seemed to have relocated and re-established themselves in Pakistan, just across the border from Afghanistan. The Taliban did not disintegrate, and in fact seemed to grow in size and capabilities over the years. In recent months, the level of violence in Afghanistan has increased notably. In May, coalition casualties in Afghanistan exceeded those in Iraq for the first time—a pattern that was repeated the next month. Since then, the Taliban has carried out a spate of spectacular attacks, including an assault on a Kandahar jail that freed hundreds of prisoners, a suicide bombing outside of the Indian embassy in Kabul that killed dozens, and a direct attack on a U.S. base in Kunar Province that killed nine soldiers.

As things have appeared to get worse in Afghanistan, the situation in Iraq has seemed to improve; hence the subtle shift of emphasis in the presidential campaign. Among all of the candidates, Obama has been uniquely positioned to frame the debate. Since the beginning of the nomination contests, he has been the only major candidate of either party who both supported the invasion of Afghanistan and opposed the initial invasion of Iraq. He made a point of this in the 2002 speech in which he announced his opposition to the forthcoming invasion of Iraq, specifically saying that he didn't oppose all wars, just “dumb wars.” Given the geopolitical realities at the time (al Qaeda had not been conclusively defeated in Afghanistan) and the facts that have since been confirmed (Iraq had neither weapons of mass destruction nor a meaningful relationship with al Qaeda or 9/11), it is remarkable that Obama was the only major candidate who could claim such an auspicious record.

In the campaign, Obama has taken advantage of his record and used it as evidence of superior judgment. His current position on Afghanistan is a natural evolution. He views the war in Iraq as a distraction from the continuing threat posed by al Qaeda. By withdrawing the majority of U.S. forces from that country, he would gain the flexibility to send at least two additional combat brigades Afghanistan. He proposes an extra $1 billion in non-military aid to Afghanistan, with an emphasis on rural development, drug eradication, and anti-corruption initiatives. He has also reiterated his commitment to both increase non-military aid to Pakistan and to strike at al Qaeda targets in that country, if Pakistan is unable or unwilling to do so itself (for more, see The Water’s Edge, November 2007).

McCain, for his part, has focused more on Iraq than on Afghanistan. Although he supported the invasion of Iraq, he shares with Obama a point of distinction on that conflict. He was a critic of former Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld and was a vocal champion of the 2007 troop surge, which is partly responsible for the decreasing levels of violence in Iraq. McCain used these points to distinguish himself during the Republican primary, and he continues to emphasize them as evidence of his foreign policy acumen. Moving forward, McCain speaks often of the need to secure a “victory” in Iraq, and he dismisses any suggestion of significant troop withdrawals or timetables for departure (for more, see The Water’s Edge, June 2008).

All of this has a direct bearing on McCain's policy toward Afghanistan, which until recently was poorly defined. In a recent foreign policy address, McCain called for sending three additional combat brigades to Afghanistan and for U.S. forces there to adopt the counter-insurgency strategy that has produced the recent successes in Iraq: “What we need in Afghanistan is … a nationwide civil-military campaign plan that is focused on providing security for the population.” In terms of troop increases, at least, this position appears very similar to Obama's. But Afghanistan does not exist in isolation; tactics are not the same as strategy, and policy goals are useless without a plausible way to achieve them. Both Obama and McCain may want to send more combat brigades to Afghanistan. But given the severe strain that long-term, concurrent wars have placed on the armed forces, this will be hard for any president to do if troops are not redeployed from Iraq.

Even if the additional brigades could be sent, the few thousand soldiers they represent would not be sufficient to bring security to Afghanistan. Unlike in Iraq, many NATO allies operate alongside U.S. forces in Afghanistan. Some countries—most notably the United Kingdom, the Netherlands, and Canada—permit their soldiers to engage in dangerous (and costly) counter-insurgency operations. But others, such as France and Germany, only allow their soldiers to operate in calmer portions of the country. This has generated understandable tensions in the alliance. Perhaps the greatest value of any additional U.S. troops in Afghanistan would be as force multipliers—as leverage to secure greater commitments from recalcitrant NATO allies or as confidence building measures for nascent Afghan governing institutions. It is perfectly reasonable and understandable that Obama and McCain would share the goal of a more secure Afghanistan. But the goals alone are not sufficient. Just as important is how policy makers align these goals with others (both allies and adversaries), rally support for their objectives, and build a sustainable basis for achieving them. In other words, diplomacy counts.

It is in this context that Obama made his overseas tour. To be sure, the trip was meant to bolster his image as a worldly figure, able to hold his own in the international arena. But a week long trip does not give a candidate foreign policy “experience.” Such experience can really only be gained through service in the executive branch—something that neither Obama nor McCain can claim. But after eight years of an administration widely perceived as being undiplomatic, and with global challenges far too great to solve unilaterally, Obama's trip was still more than just an electoral ploy. It was a way for him to demonstrate that his potential presidency would offer not just a substantive difference from Bush or McCain, but a stylistic one as well. A foreign policy is only as good as the process used to achieve it.

Foreign Policy Association, 24 July 2008

Although Iraq has hardly become a stable or peaceful place, the good news in recent months is heartening. The rate of U.S. casualties has declined, the influence of foreign fighters and Sunni extremists has decreased, and the central government has had success in asserting its authority against Shiite militias in several parts of the country. These successes cannot be attributed to any single action or policy. The so-called “Sunni awakening,” in which Sunni tribal leaders have turned against the al Qaeda-inspired elements in their midst and allied with U.S. forces, has yielded positive results. The 2007 troop surge in Baghdad may partially account for the greater coherence and authority of Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki's central government. Although military and civilian casualties continue to mount, they are climbing at a slower rate than in recent years. Unquestionably, this is all very good.

As the situation in Iraq has evolved, however, the public positions of Obama and McCain have remained relatively static, especially since the primary campaign began in early 2007. Obama has called for a phased withdrawal of all U.S. combat forces from Iraq over a 16-month period, at a rate of one or two brigades per month. He would allow for residual forces to remain in Iraq and the region to protect the U.S. embassy, to fight al Qaeda elements, and—if Iraq makes political progress—to continue training Iraqi security forces. He renounces any claim to permanent U.S. bases in Iraq. McCain, for his part, is a strong advocate of continuing the current strategy as implemented by General David Petraeus. His objective is a stable, prosperous, democratic, and peaceful Iraq that poses no threat to its neighbors. He is opposed to any significant troop withdrawals until that objective is achieved.

But before they launched their campaigns, each senator approached the situation in Iraq differently. Obama opposed the initial invasion itself. But after Saddam Hussein had been deposed, he did not immediately call for a withdrawal of U.S. troops. As late as 2005, he stated that, “U.S. forces are still a part of the solution in Iraq.” He explicitly favored a reduction of U.S. forces in Iraq (not a full withdrawal), and he opposed a specific timetable for any withdrawal. By 2007, shortly before he announced his presidential candidacy, he had settled on his present position. McCain supported the original invasion but became sharply critical of the Bush administration's handling of the occupation. Specifically, he said on several occasions that he had “no confidence' in then-Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld, and he consistently advocated for a larger troop presence in Iraq. Since the 2007 troop surge began—and the presidential campaign kicked off—McCain has largely supported the Bush administration's policy in Iraq, and he pledges to continue it.

None of this history should condemn either candidate. Indeed, it is good that policy makers adjust their positions as the real-world situation changes. Unfortunately, electoral politics places a premium on consistency, so until the election, neither Obama nor McCain are likely to radically alter the positions they adopted 18 months ago. But this doesn't mean that their records cannot (or should not) illuminate their potential policies as president, especially on the central question of how long U.S. troops should remain in Iraq.

At the end of this year, the UN resolution that formally permits U.S. troops to operate in Iraq will expire. The Bush administration is keen to provide a continuing legal framework for the U.S. occupation and has been actively negotiating two separate agreements with the Iraqi government. A Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA) would codify the specific legal terms under which U.S. forces could operate in Iraq; the United States already has negotiated dozens of SOFAs with other countries that house U.S. troops. A “strategic framework agreement” likely would cover broader (and more contentious) issues such as the political, military, and economic relationship between the United States and Iraq and what functions U.S. troops could perform in Iraq. Reports have leaked that in negotiating these agreements, the Bush administration is seeking 58 permanent bases, control of Iraqi airspace, and immunity for troops and contractors.

Right now, neither Obama nor McCain would offer an absolute answer to the question, “how long will the United States stay in Iraq?” Obama would say that he would withdraw all combat troops in less than two years and he would disavow permanent bases, but he would remain vague about the size, location, and duration of the residual force he proposes. McCain is even more explicit in de-emphasizing the question. Earlier this year, he famously commented that he would not object to U.S forces remaining in Iraq for 100 years, and when questioned on that point in a recent interview, he noted that it is “not too important” when U.S. forces leave Iraq. The important thing, he said, was whether U.S. forces were suffering casualties. McCain highlighted the presence of U.S. troops in Japan, Korea, and Germany as examples of what he would consider acceptable analogues for Iraq.

Despite their respective ambiguity (or perhaps because of it), the policy records of Obama and McCain are particularly helpful in figuring out how they now interpret the role of U.S. forces in Iraq. In McCain's example, U.S. troops did not face insurgencies in Japan, Korea, or Germany like they do today in Iraq; by the time those occupations had begun in earnest, the wars that preceded them had largely concluded. Within a short period of time, each country had gained a stable and secure sovereign government. But even after the fighting had ended and stable governments had been formed, the fifty-year U.S. presence in those countries had a very specific purpose: to deter Communist aggression in the context of the Cold War. McCain's parallel, then, poses a very important question. Once the violence in Iraq is quelled, its government is stable, and U.S. troops are no longer taking casualties, what would be the objective of the remaining U.S. forces? Who would they be deterring, and in what context?

The answer to this question lies in the original rationale for the invasion itself, in the debate that raged in 2002 and early 2003. Supporters of the invasion used a variety of reasons to support their argument: Saddam Hussein was a tyrant and had to be toppled; he possessed weapons of mass destruction that presented a threat to others; he was allied with al Qaeda; a new, Arab democracy would be a beacon of change in the turbulent Middle East. None of these reasons, on their own, seemed to justify an invasion, and the Bush administration used them interchangeably.

Since then, many of the justifications for invasion have proven to be exaggerated or outright inaccurate. But one justification, alluded to in comments by policymakers since the invasion, was downplayed at the time: the geostrategic motivation. Iraq is in a very important corner of the globe, located near some of the United States' most valuable allies and some of its most distrusted adversaries. It also has a lot of oil. In other words, Iraq was a good place for the United States to plant its flag in the real-world game of Risk.

Sensible people may disagree about whether this geostrategic rationale was sufficient to justify the invasion of Iraq. But as it applies to the presidential candidacies of Obama and McCain, there is a clear difference. Obama opposed the introduction of U.S. forces into Iraq at the outset and has consistently renounced permanent bases there; nothing in his subsequent ambiguity about the specifics of occupation policy changes that. McCain supported the original invasion and is unabashed in his support for a continued U.S. presence in Iraq. Indeed, his “100 years” comment may be the most honest acknowledgment yet of the geostrategic rationale for invasion. In an electoral sense, this is a great thing. Beneath the candidates' superficial ambiguity, their positions are starkly different. In this election, on Iraq, the choice for voters is a real one.

Foreign Policy Association, 26 June 2008

Bush addressed the Knesset, Israel's parliament, on the occasion of that country's sixtieth anniversary. Apart from his requisite statements of solidarity and praise, Bush's implicit comments on the presidential race earned the most attention: “Some seem to believe that we should negotiate with the terrorists and radicals, as if some ingenious argument will persuade them they have been wrong all along … [w]e have an obligation to call this what it is—the false comfort of appeasement, which has been repeatedly discredited by history.” Although he didn't mention him by name, it was widely assumed that the president was referring to Obama's professed willingness to conduct direct diplomacy with the leaders of unfriendly countries, specifically with President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad of Iran (for more, see The Water’s Edge, August 2007). He further implied that Obama would be willing to negotiate with groups like Hamas and Hezbollah. Bush's comments were all the more notable because they violated the time-honored aphorism that U.S. domestic politics should stop “at the water's edge.”

The president's comments generated an understandable stir. “George Bush knows that I have never supported engagement with terrorists,” Obama said. “The president's extraordinary politicization of foreign policy and the politics of fear do nothing to secure the American people or our stalwart ally Israel.” Obama also used the occasion to reiterate his opposition to Bush's 2003 invasion of Iraq, which he said had actually strengthened Iranian influence in the region. McCain responded with similar vigor. Although he did not repeat Bush's charge of “appeasement,” he did advance the attack on Obama, suggesting that it was “reckless to suggest that unconditional meetings [with U.S. adversaries] will advance our interests.”

Politically, both campaigns seemed to welcome this fight. Obama enjoyed the attention he received as his party's presumptive nominee, and he was glad to link McCain with Bush's unpopular presidency. McCain has always believed one of his greatest strengths was on national security and foreign policy, and he welcomed the chance to debate Obama on ground that he found favorable. But the spat also engendered a fair amount of hyperbole. For all of the talk of the sacredness of the “water's edge” rule, it has always been selectively applied. It is impossible to completely separate domestic politics from foreign policy, especially given the nature of modern communications technologies and media practices. It certainly might have been in poor taste for Bush to make his comments where he did (in the parliament of a uniquely consequential U.S. ally) and when he did (on the anniversary of that ally's still-controversial creation). But it is likely that Obama was more pleased to exploit the political opening that Bush presented him than he was personally offended at the president's comments.

Bush's comments, and the debate they initiated, were full of hyperbole and misunderstanding on policy grounds, as well. The charge of “appeasement” has been a favorite political attack since World War II, most frequently used by conservatives but also by many politicians trying to justify aggressive (often military) action. It is rooted in the Munich Agreement of 1938, when British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain allowed Adolf Hitler to annex portions of Czechoslovakia in exchange for pledging to refrain from further aggression—a pledge that was quickly broken. Although based upon this historical episode, the political charge of “appeasement” has since evolved. It is now routinely applied to anyone who would rather negotiate with an adversary than confront them head-on. That the charge is rooted in the aggression of Adolf Hitler, the paragon of twentieth century evil, is also very convenient. Comparing any potential adversary to Hitler is a useful and graphic way to convince skeptics of the gravity of the threat at hand.

But as is often the case, political rhetoric has corroded the historical record. “Appeasement” is to “placate someone by acceding to their demands.” Chamberlain certainly did that in 1938. But it is a rare politician who today openly advocates acceding to the demands of their country's adversaries, and surely it is the rare adversary that matches the danger presented by Hitler in the late 1930s. Today, “appeasement” has become conflated with “negotiation,” when in fact the two are completely different things. In some cases, this may be due to deliberate obfuscation of the facts; in others, it may be due to historical ignorance.

In either event, the charge of “appeasement” is a particularly useless one. No matter how aggressive or nationalistic a country's leader may be, it is practically impossible to exist in the international system without relying to some degree on negotiation. President Bush certainly knows this and has regularly negotiated with U.S. adversaries, such as Libya and North Korea. Senator McCain, who in certain cases may be more open to diplomacy and negotiation than President Bush, surely knows this as well. On the other hand, Obama himself has been at pains to emphasize that he would not negotiate directly with non-state actors such as Hamas and Hezbollah; he certainly has not indicated that he would “appease” anybody.

Political hyperbole aside, real differences do exist between Obama and McCain on foreign policy. The differences, however, may rest more in their respective means than in their ends. In the case of Iran, for example, Obama and McCain would want many of the same things. They each would want that country to stop pursuing nuclear weapons technology, to withdraw its support for Hezbollah and recognize the state of Israel, and to play a more productive role in Iraq. Neither candidate, through their records or their rhetoric, has placed themselves too far outside of the existing, bipartisan, foreign policy mainstream—Obama would be unlikely to rely on face-to-face negotiation alone, and McCain would be unlikely (not to mention unable) to deal with Iran in a purely military fashion. And in a political season, neither candidate's campaign pronouncements should be read too literally as final policy statements.

The real differences between Obama and McCain on foreign policy largely concern public perceptions, including those explicitly promoted by the candidates themselves and those implicitly assigned by voters and foreign actors alike. Obama pitches himself as an agent of change and as a keen internationalist, both in terms of personal identity and political inclination. He is more likely to pursue different and more creative approaches to solving international problems than have been the norm under President Bush. His opposition to the invasion of Iraq—and his support for a greater investment of resources into the conflict in Afghanistan—indicates how a President Obama may apply military force. McCain, for his part, identifies as a war hero and a staunch advocate of not just U.S. power, but in many cases of U.S. primacy. There is reason to suspect that a President McCain would engage in a more assertive and unilateral foreign policy than Obama, though perhaps not to as great an extent as President Bush. His aggressive rhetoric on the threat posed by “radical Islamic extremism” hints at the way McCain thinks about matters of national security.

In a presidential campaign, many issues are vulnerable to hyperbole and distortion. Removed from the day-to-day concerns of many voters, foreign policy is particularly susceptible to such obfuscation. In many cases, a candidate's own words can fail to provide a clear picture of his or her foreign policy priorities. This is why it's often difficult to divine a candidate's specific policy on individual issue areas. But by looking at the breadth of their rhetoric and the depth of their records, voters can construct broad impressions of how each candidate thinks about foreign policy. Until then, it's safe to assume that no politician supports a policy of “appeasement,” regardless of what their opponents may say.

Foreign Policy Association, 22 May 2008

One particularly important difference involves health care. The difference, however, is not so much one of policy. It is really a distinction of process.

On substantive grounds, their health plans are very similar. Both would maintain the employer-based system of private insurance while introducing a public insurance option for consumers. Both would place significant new regulations on private insurers, forbidding them from denying coverage or charging higher rates to those with "pre-existing conditions."

But there is one major distinction: Clinton's plan includes a governmental mandate that every individual has health coverage, and Obama's doesn't.

Clinton argues that without a mandate, healthy people will not buy insurance and will seek health care only when they get sick. This could raise costs for everyone else and threaten the viability of any reformed health care system. Obama argues that the problem is not that people don't want health coverage; it's that they cannot afford it.

Much of the rhetoric between the candidates has muddled the issue: Is the ultimate goal of health reform an individual mandate or expanded coverage? One is an intermediate step; the other is the policy objective itself. Indeed, Obama is not opposed to the concept of mandates; his plan includes one for children, and he has repeatedly said he would consider one for adults if needed. Mandates aren't the issue - universal coverage is.

Or is it? Some have suggested that Obama's plan would leave more people uninsured than Clinton's. As a result, Obama no longer describes his plan as "universal." Clinton, however, still does. This only adds to the confusion. "Mandating" is not "providing" - just because the government requires something does not make it so.

The only truly "universal" system would be a single-payer model, in which the government automatically insures everyone. Neither candidate currently advocates such a system, or anything else that is really "universal." Rightly or wrongly, both Clinton and Obama are champions of the "near-universal."

But assume that mandates really are indispensable. In a health system still dependent on private insurers (as both Clinton and Obama propose), the clearest beneficiaries of an individual mandate would be private insurers. The mandate represents a bargain: The government gets tighter regulation of the insurance industry, and private insurers receive millions of guaranteed new customers in return. Clinton's plan, with its explicit mandate, concedes this deal up front. Obama's plan, without a mandate, does not. He simply starts from a stronger negotiating position than Clinton.

The health care debate actually highlights a far more important distinction between Clinton and Obama, one that goes beyond differences in their policy objectives to whether either candidate could actually achieve them as president.

Throughout their careers, Clinton and Obama have earned and deliberately nurtured distinct political personas. Clinton is the policy wonk and political street fighter, a tough survivor who seems to enjoy the fight as much as the outcome. She spearheaded the failed attempt to reform health care in 1993-94 - an effort stymied by secrecy, complexity and an unwillingness to consider outside ideas.

Obama is the community organizer - more results-oriented than ideological, more likely to see potential allies than certain enemies, and equipped with a keen sense of power relationships and negotiating strategy. His political career has been marked by pragmatism and a commitment to make government more transparent and accountable.

Essentially, Clinton's persona is divisive, while Obama's is inclusive. This has been reflected on the campaign trail, where Clinton has relied upon a core of Democratic partisans and Obama has depended on a broader base of people new to politics. These coalitions will affect the performance of either candidate in the general election. But they also will determine each candidate's effectiveness as president, where good governance is nothing without principled, successful coalition building.

Indeed, the greatest difference between Clinton and Obama is not over policy, but over process. Clinton and Obama may share similar policy destinations, but they would take very different paths to get there.

Despite the heated campaigning of recent weeks, no one should doubt the core principles of either Clinton or Obama. Both candidates have demonstrated their commitment to meaningful health care reform. The question is who is more likely to produce results, on health care and other issues. On that basis alone, the distinction is clear.

San Francisco Chronicle, 30 April 2008

In every election, candidates vie for the mantle of “reformer” or otherwise market themselves as change agents. This year, however, the issue has taken on a new level of prominence. In his slogans, speeches, and advertisements, Obama explicitly frames his candidacy in terms of “change.” Instead of downplaying his relatively brief time in Washington DC, Obama trumpets it as evidence of his outsider status: “I haven't spent a lot of time learning the ways of Washington. But I've been there long enough to know that the ways of Washington must change.” Both Obama and Clinton take advantage of the unpopular incumbency of a Republican administration. After eight years of President George Bush's particularly partisan style of governing, a simple change of parties alone would seem like a significant reform to many. Even the Republican nominee, John McCain, claims the mantle of reform. He has a record of bucking his own party and championing issues that would clean up the political process, such as campaign finance reform.

One of the more common ways the candidates have attempted to prove their reformist credentials is by trying to convince voters that they are more independent-minded than their competitors. On the Democratic side, both candidates believe it serves their electoral purposes to disassociate themselves from big businesses and other “special interests.” In a recent television advertisement in Pennsylvania, Obama claimed that he “didn't take money from oil companies.” Clinton immediately challenged this claim, noting that it has been illegal for corporations to contribute money directly to federal candidates since 1907. She also ran her own advertisements that highlighted the contributions Obama has received from individuals who work in the oil and gas industries.

Like an increasing number of disputes in the campaign, this particular episode was both relevant and superfluous, in ways that neither candidate had necessarily intended. It is certainly true that Obama has not taken money directly from oil companies; it is also true that no candidate has directly taken any money from any company, of any kind, for over 100 years. But corporations, like candidates, have long since adapted to this reality. For decades, they have been able to form political action committees (PACs) to promote their interests or those of their wider industries. PACs face specific limits on how (and from whom) they can raise money, and on how they may then use it to support their preferred political cause. But they are a common vehicle for corporations, unions, and other like-minded communities to channel financial support to a political candidate.

Obama often notes that his campaign does not accept contributions from lobbyists or from federally registered PACs (although he has received support from state-based PACs in previous campaigns). Clinton, on the other hand, does accept contributions from these sources. This political reality, however, is not easily boiled down to a 30 second television commercial or reduced to a pithy sound bite. When Obama claims not to have taken money from oil companies, he is technically correct. When Clinton criticizes him for making a meaningless assertion, she too is technically correct. And when Obama rebuts Clinton by noting that he, unlike her, takes no money from lobbyists or PACs, he is again technically correct. But by this point, the original distinction has been parsed and obscured to the point of irrelevance. The fact is that there is a legitimate distinction between Obama and Clinton on this particular issue. But the primary campaign has become so heated that legitimate distinctions are buried under the weight of rhetorical combat and political point scoring.

On the Republican side, John McCain faces something of a dilemma. He has a well-earned reputation as a political reformer. Along with Senator Russell Feingold (D-WI), McCain championed a major revision of campaign finance laws in 2002. He has taken positions at odds with many in his party, including his support for a cap-and-trade system to reduce greenhouse gas emissions, immigration reform, and his vocal opposition to torture. But as the nominee of the incumbent party, McCain cannot easily maintain his image as a sincere agent of change. Indeed, his Democratic opponents are sure to paint a potential McCain win, fairly or not, as four more years of Bush.

McCain has found that the scrutiny of a presidential campaign makes it nearly impossible for him to remain a pure reformer. In 2007, when the prospects for his campaign looked dim, McCain entered the presidential public financing system. This decision made him eligible to receive federal matching funds, but it also obligated him to abide by strict spending limits. In 2008, as his campaign rebounded, McCain sent a letter to the Federal Elections Commission (FEC) to announce his withdrawal from the public financing program. But McCain has exceeded the $54 million spending limit mandated under the public financing system, and the FEC has not been able to resolve the matter due to vacancies on the commission. The question is not just whether McCain successfully withdrew from the public financing system before he broke the spending limits, but if he was even permitted to leave the system after entering it in the first place. The issue may ultimately prove to be a minor one. But no matter how it is resolved, the mere impression that McCain broke campaign finance laws could seriously damage his reputation as a political reformer.

The question of which candidate is the more genuine “reformer” is a vexing one. On one hand, it is quite trivial. Unlike health care or tax policy, the issue of “reform” is amorphous, unspecific, and somewhat arbitrary. It is a great vehicle for a candidate to exaggerate their own credentials and unfairly attack another's qualifications. But on the other hand, “reform” is extremely important. At its heart, it is an issue of process. A policy is only as good as the likelihood of its enactment. If a candidate is financially beholden to a specific group, their policies may reflect the interests only of that group, at the unfair expense of others. Likewise, if a candidate is seen as bending the political rules for their own personal benefit, it will be more difficult for them to achieve their desired policy objectives. Process-based questions such as these are particularly important in the realm of foreign policy and national security, where the president has great ability to act independent of Congress. In a situation where the president has such freedom of action, a transparent and trustworthy process is the best way (and in some cases, the only way) to ensure some modicum of accountability.

In the hypersensitive context of a competitive campaign, however, it is impossible for any candidate—regardless of their qualifications, records, or credentials—to maintain the image as a pure reformer. If voters understand that no candidate's record is spotless, than the pretense of purity can be dismissed. But if no candidate can realistically hope to live up to their own lofty projections as reformers, they can only be judged (imperfectly) on their campaign rhetoric. In this sense, there are distinctions among the candidates. Each one emphasizes their reforming credentials in different ways, and each one relies upon reform-based arguments to different degrees. If a candidate speaks more often about change or reform, they will be more easily held accountable to such language if they win office. It is an imperfect way to measure the candidates, but with the campaign rhetoric at such a fevered pitch, it may have to suffice for now.

Foreign Policy Association, 24 April 2008

Senator Barack Obama (D-IL) delivered two major speeches on the Iraq war on the occasion of the anniversary. The first addressed the conflict from a military and foreign policy perspective, in which he suggested that ending the occupation would, “allow us to more effectively confront other threats in the world.” These lingering threats included violent extremism, nuclear proliferation, global poverty, climate change, and economic competitiveness. The second speech examined the opportunity costs of the Iraq war on domestic policy. Obama argued that the costs of the war could be better spent on health care, infrastructure, education, and other domestic priorities. His underlying points differed little from what he has argued throughout his campaign. Obama was the only candidate to oppose the invasion from the beginning, and although he would “end” the war by gradually withdrawing most U.S. troops from Iraq, he would allow some to remain to protect diplomats and for counter-terrorism operations.

Senator Hillary Clinton (D-NY) also delivered a speech to commemorate the anniversary of the invasion. In many ways, it was broadly similar to Obama's speeches. Clinton advocates a gradual withdrawal of most U.S. troops from Iraq, but like Obama, she would allow for some forces to remain for counter-terrorism and other missions. Unlike Obama, however, she supported the initial invasion, and she voted for the 2002 authorization to use military force against Iraq. Much of her argument was based on credibility: “I believe what matters in this campaign is not just the promises we've made to end the war; what matters is what we've actually done when it came time to match words with action.” Clinton also echoed themes her campaign had been promoting in recent weeks, asserting that she had gained valuable foreign policy experience during her husband's administration in Bosnia and in Northern Ireland and implying that only she could be trusted to handle early morning phone calls on national security emergencies.

Senator John McCain (R-AZ) found himself in a somewhat different position. He had already secured the Republican nomination for president, so while his potential Democratic rivals continued their intramural campaigning in the United States, he led a congressional delegation to the Middle East and Europe. The trip offered an opportunity for McCain to bolster his image as a trusted foreign policy hand. Although he did not deliver a formal speech commemorating the invasion anniversary, his visit to Baghdad highlighted the success of last year's troop surge, which McCain strongly supported. Indeed, although McCain supported the initial invasion of Iraq, he was very critical of the manner in which former Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld managed the aftermath. McCain's foreign trip made its greatest headlines, however, when he mistakenly asserted that, “al-Qaeda is going back into Iran and receiving training and are coming back into Iraq from Iran.” In fact, it is Shiite extremists who have received support from Iran, not al Qaeda fighters.

Clearly, there are many differences between the ways the candidates approached the invasion anniversary. Among the Democrats, Obama wanted to amplify his differences with Clinton, specifically on the topic of his opposition to the initial invasion. Clinton, on the other hand, wanted to diminish these differences, pointing to the similarity of their Senate voting records since 2005. The problem with this construction, however, is that the “Iraq war” is not a static policy. In many ways, the original invasion and the subsequent occupation of Iraq are very different issues. Although Clinton is correct in noting that she and Obama have each voted to fund the war, this has no bearing on the fact that Obama opposed the invasion before it happened while Clinton supported it. Indeed, this is perhaps the most relevant issue, because the decision to invade Iraq was the one from which all of the subsequent tough choices and tragic losses sprang.

The candidates' positions on the initial invasion also raise a larger question of strategy. Essentially, it differentiates those who thought the war has simply been mismanaged from those who thought it was a fundamentally flawed concept from the start. Obama, Clinton, and McCain would all agree that the war was has been grossly mismanaged, at least at certain points over the last five years. But having supported the initial invasion, one might assume that Clinton and McCain believe in the strategy that was used to justify the war in the first place. Such a strategy, pioneered by the infamous “neoconservatives” in the Bush administration, amplifies the role of the military in deterring potential threats and promoting democratic reform abroad. It is a strategy that risks conflating state-based threats with non-state actors, and it shapes U.S. public diplomacy in an unyielding way.

The candidates' positions on the initial invasion might also speak to their underlying judgment and political courage. The congressional vote on the Iraq war resolution in October 2002 was deliberately stage-managed by war advocates within the Bush administration. It was held in an environment of lingering post-9/11 fear, immediately prior to a mid-term election. Polls at the time suggested that many people were generally supportive of military action against Iraq. In such an environment, and regardless of a senator or congressman's honest position, it was politically very difficult to oppose the war resolution. In retrospect, however, it may also have been very prescient.

Any differences among the Democrats pales in comparison to the differences between them and the Republicans. Although Obama and Clinton speak of the need to “end” the war, McCain is unabashed in his support for continuing it. Such support is indicative of his broader foreign policy thinking. Since he ran for president in 2000, McCain has been a strong advocate for an assertive and aggressive foreign policy. He has spoken of maintaining U.S. military supremacy around the world and of confronting threats before they become too dangerous. In this context, McCain's arguments for continuing the war in Iraq are actually quite valid. If U.S. troops were to withdraw from Iraq, the country could descend into a level of violence far greater than what it has already experienced. An unstable Iraq could serve as a base for al Qaeda or other terrorist groups, and the country could be highly susceptible to the influence of an assertive, hostile Iran. Indeed, many Democrats' calls for an immediate U.S. withdrawal from Iraq fail to adequately address these concerns.

But McCain's misstatement in Jordan, about the non-existent connection between al Qaeda and Iran, is eerily reminiscent of one of the greatest mistakes made by invasion advocates five years ago: the conflation of disparate and unique threats into single, undifferentiated menace. Al Qaeda and Iran are not allies, much like Al Qaeda and Saddam Hussein were not allies. As a Defense Department review of over 600,000 Iraqi documents determined just this month, there was no “direct operational link” between Saddam Hussein's Iraq and al Qaeda. If McCain's foreign policy is premised on an aggressive assertion of U.S. power, a vital pre-condition for such a policy would be an accurate understanding about the threats facing the country and valid intelligence as to its whereabouts. It might be easy, and perhaps tempting, to dismiss McCain's misstatement as a simple, inadvertent slip of the tongue. But given his promise of an assertive foreign policy, McCain's misstatement could raise questions about what lessons he has learned about the events set into motion five years ago.

None of this is to suggest that similarities on Iraq do not exist among the presidential candidates. All of them acknowledge that troops will remain Iraq for some time, albeit in different numbers and for different reasons. For Democrats, in particular, this could come as an unpleasant shock. But it reflects the bureaucratic and geopolitical reality. Strategically, Iraq is simply a good place to plant the U.S. flag, and if the bases are already there, it will be exceedingly difficult for any politician—of any party—to fight the bureaucratic and political inertia of just staying put. This is yet another reminder of why the single, most important decision of the entire war was the one made five years ago: the original decision to invade Iraq. Fortunately, on that basis if on no others, there is a clear distinction among the candidates.

Foreign Policy Association, 27 March 2008

The apology introduced by Australia's new prime minister, Kevin Rudd, was unanimously approved by that country's parliament. Specifically, it recognized and apologized for the Australian government's formal role in the “Stolen Generations” The term applies to the government's forced removal of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children from their families and placing them into state orphanages and other institutions. This state-sanctioned practice took place from the late 1800s until 1970, and it was designed to assimilate Aboriginal peoples into “white” Australian culture. Indeed, in a grotesquely paternalistic way, many viewed the practice as beneficial to those Aboriginal children removed from their families. Since the 1970s, as the government's role in creating the Stolen Generations has become more understood and less defensible, the momentum for a formal apology has grown. Rudd, fulfilling a campaign promise, issued the apology at the very opening of Australia's parliament: “We apologize especially for the removal of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children from their families, their communities and their country. For the pain, suffering and hurt of these Stolen Generations, their descendants and for their families left behind, we say sorry.”

Many other countries face or have faced similar experiences of national shame that demand formal apologies. These experiences can be purely domestic, as in Australia's case. The United States formally apologized for its World War II detention of Japanese-Americans in 1988 and issued a similar apology for its nineteenth century overthrow of the Hawaiian Kingdom in 1993. Without much fanfare, the Senate this month passed an Indian health care bill that contains an amendment apologizing to Native Americans for “official depredations, ill-conceived policies and the breaking of covenants.” Other situations demand apologies that cross international borders. Germany has issued many unambiguous apologies for its actions during World War II, and Japan has done the same, though in arguably more ambiguous terms.

There are several ways to evaluate these kinds of formal apologies. On the most immediate level, many are paired with direct, substantive action, such as reparation payments. Germany has paid billions of dollars to Holocaust survivors and the state of Israel since World War II. Other apologies may not include direct compensation for victims but create other structures or systems to provide tangible benefit to the aggrieved. Rudd ruled out reparations for members of the Stolen Generations in Australia, but his apology was matched by a pledge to create a “war cabinet” that would bridge partisan divides and work to address social and economic disparities between indigenous Australians and the rest of the country. He promised that the “war cabinet” would work to improve levels of education, health care, and housing for indigenous Australians within a five-year time frame.

The easiest apology, of course, is the one made with words alone. One reason the Senate's apology to Native Americans has not achieved greater attention is because it has been attached as an amendment to an otherwise routine bill. The United States has a long and disgraceful history of mistreatment of Native Americans, but because the apology neither appropriates new funds nor creates new programs, it can be issued as a legislative amendment with little fanfare. To be fair, these same characteristics make the apology much easier to offer in the first place. Even if an apology is paired with a change in policy, it can be perceived as insufficient. Although Rudd's apology to indigenous Australians was widely popular, there were some grumblings that his “war cabinet” was not enough. Aboriginal leader Aboriginal leader Patrick Dodson claimed that, “any group of people who have been treated badly under laws … deserve to pursue compensation judicially, legally, or politically, and they deserve our support.”

Less helpful are the apologies that appear ambiguous. Japan's first official “apology” for its actions during World War II came when it re-established diplomatic relations with China in 1972. In a Joint Communique with his Chinese counterpart, Prime Minister Kakuei Tanaka asserted that, “the Japanese side is keenly conscious of the responsibility for the serious damage that Japan caused in the past to the Chinese people through war, and deeply reproaches itself.” Japanese Prime Ministers and governments since then have elaborated on this statement, but never in terms that were absolutely unequivocal. As a result, the culpability for Japan's actions during World War II remains uncertain for many people throughout East Asia—in China, Korea, and even in Japan itself. This historical ambiguity continues to sour regional relations to this day (for more, see The Water's Edge, October 2007).

The least helpful apologies are the ones that aren't made. For years, under former Prime Minister John Howard, Australia refused to apologize for the Stolen Generations. This was not only very unpopular among many Australians, but it created a very negative impression of the country abroad. The United States is burdened with the similar impression. No U.S. president or Congress has ever formally apologized for slavery in the United States. There are many arguments about what form an apology for slavery could take, if direct reparations to the descendants of slaves would be a part of such an apology, and how useful an apology itself would even be. But in an international environment in which many already see the United States as a unilateral, selfish, and reckless actor, a formal apology for slavery could send a message of humility that would be useful on a global stage. Acknowledgement and remorse for past misdeeds, even if state-sanctioned, is by no means a sign of present-day weakness. Indeed, such honesty and transparency can convey national confidence and strength

It is impossible to determine the precise value of these formal, state apologies for past misdeeds. They may simply be “feel-good” exercises with no present-day relevance. Or, alternatively, they could play a major role in reconciling divisions within a society and in improving perceptions of a country beyond its own borders. In Australia, Rudd has made clear that he views the recent apology not as the end of a tragic chapter in that country's history but as the beginning of a new, more hopeful one. As a symbolic statement alone, the apology will have lasting value. And in foreign policy, symbolism is often as valuable as substance. This is a lesson applicable to all countries, regardless of past misdeeds or contemporary apologies.

Foreign Policy Association, 28 February 2008

To be sure, the issues surrounding identity are more symbolic than substantive. While important foreign policy differences do exist between Clinton and Obama, they are not based on her gender or on his race — each candidate’s broad policy objectives are similar, both in substance and in opposition to those likely to be held by the eventual Republican nominee. But somewhat uniquely among world powers, the U.S. president is both the head of state and the head of government. He (or she) represents not just the government in power at a given time, but also the United States as a sovereign state. Compared to the United Kingdom, for example, the U.S. president plays the roles of both queen and prime minister. In such a situation, symbolism and substance can overlap in myriad ways, and this can have a real policy impact.

Both Clinton and Obama would break powerful symbolic barriers, both would exemplify the better ideals of “American exceptionalism,” and both would send a positive message abroad. But for Obama, the effect would be somewhat different, and arguably more concrete. Obama’s unique identity is not based on race alone. His father was Kenyan (and he still has family there), he spent a significant portion of his childhood in Indonesia, and he was raised in multiethnic Hawaii. This allows Obama to plausibly stake a claim to a greater sense of empathy with non-Americans, their interests, and their perceptions of the United States. In other words, Obama’s unique identity is qualitatively and substantively distinct from (though not necessarily “better” than) Clinton’s unique identity. Based on identity alone, both Clinton and Obama would make a strong symbolic statement as president. But Obama’s identity might arguably carry greater symbolic weight abroad, and it could even be of important substantive value.

The true substantive value of a candidate’s unique identity, however, is difficult to measure—identity exists, by definition, independent of merit. For this reason alone, it is tempting to dismiss identity politics as provincial, illogical or downright counterproductive. But this is a limited interpretation. In a sense, identity politics is democracy boiled down to its basics. Beneath all of the slogans and rhetoric, the policy papers and resumes, the endorsements and campaign cash, only the candidate’s irreducible identity remains constant. Such identity is immediately recognizable and requires no filter or interpretation. Voters support the candidate who looks, sounds, or acts like them, in the expectation that their support will be repaid once the candidate wins.

If not outright bad, this kind of identity politics is certainly primordial in nature. Strict identity politics is the norm in many tenuous democracies around the world. Political parties are often based not on ideology or principle but on tribe or ethnic group. People vote for “their guy,” and national politics frequently devolves into a contemporary extension of age-old, identity-based power struggles. Political systems intended to mitigate the excesses of identity politics (such as proportional representation) or detangle the roles of head of state from head of government (such as parliamentary government) sometimes even make the problems worse.

In an odd coincidence of old and new, identity politics abroad recently intersected with its U.S. cousin. In elections in Kenya in December, international observers witnessed tens of thousands of ballots altered in favor of incumbent President Mwai Kibaki (a member of the Kikuyu tribe). Despite the clear irregularities, Kibaki had himself sworn in as president literally minutes after the polls closed. Supporters and co-tribalists of Kibaki’s main opponent, Raila Odinga (a member of the Luo tribe), rioted violently in protest of the rigged election, resulting in the deaths of hundreds of Kikuyu. Amidst the post-election violence and uncertainty, Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice asked Obama — then campaigning in Iowa — to tape a message of conciliation for the Kenyan people for broadcast on Voice of America. Obama’s Kenyan father was Luo, as are his remaining family members in that country. Evidently, many Luo joke that the United States will have a Luo president before Kenya does.

Thankfully, identity politics in the U.S. presidential campaign has not devolved to similar levels of tribalism and excess — yet. Although the United States does not possess the tribal complexities of Kenya, it does contain political “tribes” of its own. Clinton, of course, is the spouse of former President Bill Clinton. Although she was not born into her political “tribe,” she is an integral component of an immensely successful and highly organized political family, with all the loyalties, rivalries, and habits common to every tribe, ethnic or otherwise. If she wins the Democratic nomination and then the presidency, she will become the reigning member of a legitimate political dynasty.

In a country ever-conscious of identity, and in a presidential race steeped in its barrier-breaking potential, Clinton’s identity as a dynastic heir is just as unique and relevant as her identity as a women, or Obama’s as an African American. Indeed, identity is at once both permanent and malleable. Politicians always strive to create favorable identities in order to assemble winning coalitions of voters. But to a certain degree, they can never escape or reframe who they truly are. In the end, it is up to voters to make the final assessment.

San Francisco Chronicle, 1 February 2008

Foreign Policy Association, 24 January 2008

In recent weeks, both the Democratic and the Republican fields have witnessed late challenges to the prevailing front runners. The successes of Senator Barack Obama (D-IL) and former Arkansas Governor Mike Huckabee are unique phenomena, but some have suggested that they share a common root: Neither candidate has much in the way of traditional foreign policy “experience,” and with good news (or no news) recently emerging from the “axis of evil” countries of Iraq, Iran, and North Korea, voters are becoming less concerned with international affairs.

On the surface, this argument has some merit. In Iraq, U.S. military deaths have declined from 126 in May 2007 to 37 in November 2007. Casualties among Iraqi security forces and civilians have also declined, although they still remain high. This trend is at least partly the result of shifts in U.S. policy. The “surge” of troops into Baghdad that began early in 2007 is increasing security in that city (although the decline in violence there is also attributable to a greater segregation of Sunni and Shia neighborhoods), and the U.S. policy of cooperating with Sunni tribal leaders against al Qaeda-inspired elements in their midst is also bearing fruit. At this point, the reasons behind the relative decline in bloodshed have little bearing on the intra-party primary campaigns—Republican candidates generally support the war, while Democrats generally do not. But voters in both parties are getting the impression that things in Iraq aren’t as bad as they once were.

Such good news, or the perception thereof, has also emanated from Iran. In December 2007, a new National Intelligence Estimate (NIE) was released that cast significant doubt on Iran’s nuclear program. Specifically, it “judge[d] with high confidence that in fall 2003, Tehran halted its nuclear weapons program.” It further noted that, “the program probably was halted primarily in response to international pressure, suggest[ing] Iran may be more vulnerable to influence on the issue than we judged previously.” This remarkable assessment contradicted years of foreboding rhetoric from the Bush administration, which recently suggested that Iranian nuclear know-how would be a harbinger of World War III. The NIE greatly diminished the likelihood of a direct military confrontation between the United States and Iran, at least over the short-term. Almost overnight, Iran has been relegated from a seemingly imminent threat to a rational, deterrable actor. Consciously or not, this perception may be leading voters in the early primary and caucus states to de-emphasize traditional foreign policy “experience” in their evaluation of the presidential contenders.

In a similar vein, the once-imposing threat presented by North Korea has seemed to recede in recent months. In February 2007, an agreement was reached in the six-party talks that would lead to a full disclosure and ultimate abandonment of North Korea’s nuclear program. The implementation of the agreement has fallen behind schedule—North Korea will likely miss the December 31, 2007 deadline of fully disabling its Yongbyon nuclear facility. But the fact that the agreement was reached, and that all parties agree that it is being implemented, goes a long way toward mitigating the perceived threat from North Korea. In fact, in a move that would have been unthinkable a few years ago, President Bush recently wrote a letter directly to North Korean leader Kim Jong Il, urging him continue fulfilling the six-party agreement. Addressing the man he once called a “tyrant” and a “pygmy” more respectfully as “Dear Mr. Chairman,” Bush wrote, “I want to emphasize that the declaration [of North Korea’s nuclear programs] must be complete and accurate if we are to continue our progress.”

Taken together, the recent news from Iraq, Iran, and North Korea makes the “axis of evil” seem a little less so, conceivably opening the door to candidates with less in the way of traditional foreign policy “experience.” For the Democrats, the front runner status of Senator Hillary Clinton (D-NY) has rested in large part on her foreign policy credentials: her perceived “experience” and her perceived “strength.” But in terms of foreign policy “experience,” the differences between Clinton and Obama have never been terribly stark. The only way a legislator can gain foreign policy “experience” is by serving on a relevant committee—something that both Clinton (on the Senate Armed Services Committee) and Obama (on the Senate Foreign Affairs Committee) have done. Clinton has differentiated herself, however, on the matter of “strength,” especially of the military variety. Her initial support for the Iraq invasion and her vote in favor of the Kyl-Lieberman amendment in September 2007—which declared that U.S. forces in Iraq should be used to deter Iranian influence—positioned her as more hawkish than many of her fellow Democrats. Obama, on the other hand, opposed the invasion of Iraq in 2002 and has consistently advocated for a more direct and transparent form of diplomacy than Clinton. His expressed openness to meet with leaders of unfriendly countries, such as Iran, appears prescient in the wake of the latest NIE (for more, see The Water’s Edge, August 2007).

For the Republicans, the picture is somewhat murkier. Depending on the poll, former New York Mayor Rudy Giuliani, former Massachusetts Governor Mitt Romney, or Senator John McCain (R-AZ), could each stake a reasonable claim to front runner status. Each could argue, in their own way, that they possessed foreign policy “experience:” Giuliani was mayor of New York during the 9/11 attacks, Romney was an international businessman, and McCain is war veteran and longtime member of the Senate Armed Services Committee. But in recent weeks, Huckabee has emerged out of seemingly nowhere to take the lead in many statewide polls and to make impressive gains in national polls. As a former governor of Arkansas, he would struggle to make even a strained claim to foreign policy “experience.” But his newfound popularity generates newfound scrutiny, and every serious presidential contender must present his foreign policy thinking. Huckabee certainly has done this, most recently in an article in Foreign Affairs. He takes some shots at the current president, suggesting, “the Bush administration's arrogant bunker mentality has been counterproductive at home and abroad.” He says that a Huckabee administration, “will recognize that the United States' main fight today does not pit us against the world but pits the world against the terrorists” without “surrender[ing] any of our sovereignty.”

The real question, though, is whether good news abroad is serving to de-emphasize the importance of foreign policy in the primary race, opening the door to traditionally inexperienced candidates like Obama and Huckabee. Although attempting to rationalize electoral preferences is a risky business, there does appear to be some correlation with the good news from abroad and the late surges in the primary. But correlation is not causation. The casualty figures from Iraq may be declining, but U.S. soldiers are still dying on a daily basis and the military is only becoming more strained. Meanwhile, little progress has been made toward political reconciliation among Iraq’s ethnic and religious groups. Iran may have suspended its nuclear program in 2003, but why did U.S. intelligence agencies get it wrong in their 2005 NIE? What if they’re wrong now? And even if North Korea is moving to dismantle its nuclear infrastructure, it remains a source of uncertainty in an increasingly dynamic region of the world. Despite appearances to the contrary, the world beyond U.S. borders is still there, and it’s still deeply troubled. To assume that good news (or no news) from overseas trouble spots would lead voters to forget that—especially in the midst of the ongoing wars in Iraq and Afghanistan—is to dangerously underestimate the U.S. electorate.

The movement in the primary race is more likely due to the simple vagaries of presidential politics—surprises, especially late in the game, should be expected. But the rise of Obama and Huckabee, and indeed the rise and fall of any presidential candidate, raises questions about the true nature of foreign policy “experience.” Although a presidential contender can master the legislative process by serving in the Senate or acquire keen executive skills by serving as governor, he or she cannot gain true foreign policy expertise just by holding elective office. Perhaps more than any other policy domain, foreign policy emphasizes style as much as substance. A candidate may never have been Secretary of State or held an ambassadorship, but if they speak about international affairs in a clear, consistent, and logical manner, a voter could reasonably expect the candidate to conduct their foreign policy in a similar way (for more, see The Water’s Edge, September 2007). As the January caucuses and primaries approach, that may be all that voters have to go on.

Foreign Policy Association, 20 December 2007

On November 3, Pervez Musharraf—both President of Pakistan and chief general of its army—declared a state of emergency rule in his country, effectively suspending the constitution and imposing martial law. Since taking power in a bloodless coup in 1999, Musharraf has walked an increasingly precarious tightrope. He has had to manage the conflicting interests of often-corrupt leaders of Pakistan's main political parties, of historical rival India, of Islamic extremists in neighboring Afghanistan and within Pakistan itself, and of the United States and its post-9/11 efforts to fight terrorism. For much of the past eight years, Musharraf has deftly played these conflicting forces off of each other and maintained his hold on power. But increasing pressure from all fronts compelled him to declare the present state of emergency. Musharraf shut down private television stations and detained opposition figures in the political, judicial, and private sectors. He even cited Abraham Lincoln to justify his actions, noting that Lincoln had one “consuming passion during [the U.S. Civil War], and this was to preserve the Union … towards that end, he broke laws, he violated the Constitution, he usurped arbitrary power, he trampled individual liberties.” Musharraf has recently suggested that he will permit parliamentary elections early next year, but given the uncertainty surrounding the situation, his promises may carry little weight.

From the U.S. perspective, the turmoil in Pakistan presents a unique problem. The country is crucially important to U.S. interests, but the president and Congress have limited leverage to shape events there. In recent months, as the growing instability of Musharraf's rule was demonstrated by his disputes with Pakistan's Supreme Court, the Bush administration tried to broker a compromise of sorts. It promoted a plan whereby exiled former Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto, who faced potential corruption charges in her own country, would return to Pakistan. Musharraf would drop the corruption charges against her and allow her to lead her party in parliamentary elections that, if successful, would make Bhutto prime minister again. In return, Bhutto would not protest Musharraf's continued tenure as president and grant his administration a veneer of democratic legitimacy. The current state of emergency has upset those plans in unpredictable ways. Musharraf even placed Bhutto under house arrest for several days, ostensibly for the former prime minister's own protection. U.S. Deputy Secretary of State, John Negroponte traveled to Pakistan in an unsuccessful attempt to restart political reconciliation there and to convince Musharraf to lift the state of emergency. “I urged the government to stop such actions, lift the state of emergency and release all political detainees,” he said. “Emergency rule is not compatible with free, fair, and credible elections.”

For Congress, the most obvious lever to affect the situation in Pakistan is the foreign aid that the United States provides to that country. Since 9/11, the United States has given over $10 billion in aid to Pakistan. The bulk of that amount—more than $6 billion—has come in the form of “Coalition Support Funds,” which are intended to reimburse U.S. allies for their assistance in the “war on terrorism.” Fifteen percent of the total aid has gone toward security assistance, which Pakistan has used primarily to purchase major weapons systems, while another 15 percent has gone toward budget support, which represents direct cash transfers to the Pakistani government. Just 10 percent of U.S. aid has fallen under the category of development and humanitarian assistance. Many experts have questioned the accountability of this aid—especially the 90 percent that goes directly to the Pakistani military or to Musharraf's government, and in particular the aid that falls under the categories of “Coalition Support Funds” and budget support. “We don't have a good sense of where it goes,” says Rick Barton of the Center for Strategic and International Studies.

Accordingly, several presidential candidates have seized on U.S. aid to Pakistan as a potential point of leverage. Senator Joe Biden (D-DE), chair of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, proposed a plan that would triple non-security aid to Pakistan to $1.5 billion annually and condition security aid on performance. “I'd spend more if we get better returns—and less if we don't,” said Biden. He would also provide Pakistan with a “democracy dividend” of an additional $1 billion in aid during the country's first year of democratic rule. Senator Barack Obama (D-IL)—like Biden, a presidential contender and a member of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee—proposed similar steps. In a letter to the Senate Appropriations Committee, Obama suggested that aid to Pakistan should continue in the areas of counter-terrorism, public education, health, micro-enterprise development, humanitarian assistance, and democracy and rule of law programs. He further called for a temporary suspension of all other funding for Pakistan until the Bush administration certifies that no U.S. assistance is being used to repress the democracy; that parliamentary elections have been scheduled, restrictions on the media have been lifted, and those detained as a result of state of emergency have been freed; and that Pakistan has developed a comprehensive strategy to root out Taliban and al Qaeda forces in northwest Pakistan.

Republican presidential candidate Senator John McCain (R-AZ) expressed a concern of many policy makers and experts about the risk of Pakistan's nuclear weapons falling into the hands of Islamic extremists. “If they gain control … we are going to have big problems in Afghanistan and the area," McCain said. Such concerns prompted the New York Times to publish a story on assistance that the United States has given to Pakistan to help it secure its nuclear arsenal. The newspaper had refrained from publishing the story for three years, due to requests from the Bush administration, but recent events prompted a change in policy. Evidently, since 9/11, the administration has spent $100 million—buried in secret portions of the federal budget—to help Pakistan secure its nuclear arsenal. The aid primarily took the form of equipment and training, but concerns on both sides limited the extent of the program. U.S. officials were wary of divulging sensitive technology or procedures about its nuclear arsenal, and Pakistan was wary of giving the United States too much access or information about its own fledging arsenal. So far, the Bush administration insists that Pakistan's nuclear weapons remain safe. “I don't see any indication right now that security of those weapons is in jeopardy, but clearly we are very watchful, as we should be,” said Admiral Mike Mullen, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

The crisis in Pakistan has also highlighted a more fundamental question about U.S. foreign policy, one that was raised in a highly truncated form by the CNN moderator in a recent debate among the Democratic presidential candidates: “Is human rights more important than American national security?” From a political standpoint, the answer is clear. Few self-respecting politicians would publicly suggest that anything is more important than U.S. national security, and most of the candidates at the debate gave this safe, predictable answer. But Obama challenged the premise of the question itself, noting that human rights and national security “are not contradictory … they are complimentary.” He further noted that, “Pakistan's democracy would strengthen our battle against extremists.” Coming from a candidate who had made headlines with previous pronouncements regarding Pakistan, this was a very sensible perspective (for more, see The Water's Edge, August 2007). Perhaps more importantly, the episode demonstrated the folly—if not outright danger—of trying to address fundamental questions of U.S. foreign policy in 30-second sound bites at a raucous, highly politicized debate.

U.S. interests in Pakistan are clear, and they are profound. A solid case can be made that the current instability is at least partially the result of U.S. policy toward the region over the past five, 10, or 50 years. Certainly, it's important to understand how poor policy choices in the past may have created complex problems today. But in the current election season, the eyes of politicians and voters alike are directed toward the future. Although the prospects of affecting the situation in Pakistan in the short-term may be dim, U.S. policies today will surely help shape the politics and economies of the region far into the future. If for no other reason, voters should ensure that their elected officials understand the issues at hand and have clear ideas about how to address them.

Foreign Policy Association, 22 November 2007

On October 10, the House Foreign Affairs Committee passed House Resolution 106 by a vote of 27 to 21. The resolution did not mandate any specific action, but it offered official condemnation of the mass killings and deportations of Armenians by the Ottoman Empire during World War I. Support from Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-CA) and dozens of co-sponsors suggested that the resolution might make it to the House floor, where it very likely would win passage. On a factual basis, the resolution stood on solid ground. Scholars and experts agree that the Ottoman Turks deported and killed anywhere from a few hundred thousand to several million ethnic Armenians during World War I—actions that may fairly be described as genocide. Representative Tom Lantos (D-CA), Chair of the Foreign Affairs Committee, noted that, “one of the problems we have diplomatically globally is that we have lost our moral authority which we used to have in great abundance.”

On a political basis, however, the resolution generated enormous controversy. Modern Turkey—the geographic successor to the Ottoman Empire—has always been extremely (if not irrationally) sensitive about this period in its history. Turkey briefly recalled its ambassador to the United States, and its top general, Yasar Buyukanit, proclaimed, “if this resolution passed in the committee passes the House as well, our military ties with the U.S. will never be the same again.” All eight living former U.S. secretaries of state signed a joint letter to Pelosi warning that the resolution “would endanger our national security interests.” In the face of these attacks, as well as opposition from the Bush administration and from military leaders who noted Turkey's logistical importance in supporting the war in Iraq, Pelosi has backtracked from her early willingness to move the resolution to the House floor: “Whether it will come up for a floor vote or not, what the action will be remains to be seen.” For now, the resolution lies in limbo.

This wasn't the first time the House has inserted itself into a matter of historical controversy abroad. In July, it passed a resolution calling on Japan to formally acknowledge its coercion of women from China, Korea, and other occupied countries into sexual slavery as “comfort women” during World War II. Although wartime abuses by the Japanese military are firmly established as historical fact, the question of how contemporary Japanese governments acknowledge such abuses is very much a contentious issue. Japan's ambassador to the United States, Ryozo Kato, said passage of the resolution, “will almost certainly have lasting and harmful effects on the deep friendship, close trust and wide-ranging cooperation our two nations now enjoy.” Unlike the Armenian genocide resolution, the comfort women resolution ultimately passed both the Foreign Affairs Committee and the full House. But the two resolutions shared many similarities. Each was non-binding, each dealt directly with important U.S. allies overseas, and each unearthed old historical controversies.

Perhaps the most important similarity between the Armenian genocide resolution and the comfort women resolution is their shared functional origin: the House of Representatives. Under the Constitution, the House is clearly designated as the lower chamber of the legislature. Although all revenue bills must originate there, it is the Senate that must approve executive appointees and ratify international treaties. To be sure, the legislature is inherently limited in the foreign policy role it can play. But by design and by tradition, the Senate has always been the pre-eminent chamber of Congress in terms of foreign policy. This has stuck the House with something of an inferiority complex. Passing non-binding resolutions on seemingly obscure, historical issues often seems like a good way for an internationally-handicapped House to have a voice in foreign policy.

The House's foreign policy inferiority complex is magnified by structural factors. The House has always been the “people's chamber.” Senators serve six-year terms, represent entire states, and have only been directly elected for less than 100 years. Representatives, on the other hand, serve two-year terms, represent much smaller and more homogenous districts, and have been directly elected throughout U.S. history. The distinctions between the two chambers are very much by design. The Senate was to be a sober, deliberative body somewhat insulated from rapid swings of public opinion, while the House was to be more directly responsive to the immediate, localized interests of the electorate. To a remarkable degree, the structure works as intended. The main sponsor of the Armenian genocide resolution is Representative Adam Schiff (D-CA), whose district is home to approximately 75,000 Armenian-Americans—one of the largest concentrations of ethnic Armenians in the United States. The main sponsor of the comfort women resolution was Representative Mike Honda (D-CA), who represents a district that is nearly 30% Asian—a figure that includes many Chinese- and Korean-Americans.

The fact that House members are particularly responsive to their constituents' interests (and money) is perhaps a good thing—it's how representative democracy is supposed to work. But the House is doubly limited in its influence on U.S. foreign policy. Not only does it face the functional limitations inherent to the legislative branch, the House must also cope with the structural handicap that comes from being the lower chamber of Congress. This means that its forays into foreign policy often carry the unfortunate distinction of being both toothless and shortsighted. Neither the Armenian genocide resolution nor the comfort women resolution mandated any change in U.S. policy. But by digging up far-away historical controversies in order to prove relevant and meet narrow constituent demands, the House risks overlooking vital contemporary context.

Although measures condemning the Armenian genocide have been introduced in Congress in the past, the timing of this most recent resolution is uniquely counterproductive. In recent years, Turkey has become increasingly wary of the West, in general, and the United States, in particular. Turks overwhelmingly opposed the 2003 U.S. invasion of Iraq, and since then, Turkish popular perception of the United States has only worsened. According to the Pew Global Attitudes Project, just 9% of Turks had a favorable impression of the United States this year, down from 52% in 2000. Shortly after the House Foreign Affairs committee passed the Armenian genocide resolution, the Turkish parliament authorized its government to strike PKK strongholds in Kurdish-controlled northern Iraq—a move motivated, in part, by perceived U.S. inaction toward recent attacks by that group in southeastern Turkey. As a secular, democratic, and predominantly Muslim state located in a strategic corner of the globe, Turkey is an indispensable U.S. ally. Although modern Turkey is far too sensitive about abuses committed by its imperial predecessor, measures such as the Armenian genocide resolution threaten to embolden vitriolic and nationalist elements in Turkey that could turn the country away from the West. However real the Armenian genocide may have been, it serves no one's interests to endanger the U.S.-Turkey relationship for reasons of limited contemporary value and zero substantive consequence.

The effects of the comfort women resolution were somewhat less severe, but they were equally unhelpful, and equally unintended. For many reasons, East Asian politics continue to be shaped by World War II and by the region's conflicting interpretations of wartime history. Japan has never truly grappled with or acknowledged its wartime responsibility, and Japan's neighbors frequently use this fact to inhibit current relations. There is no doubt that the Japanese military forced women from occupied countries into sexual slavery during the war. But when presented with the House resolution, nationalistic Japanese politicians felt compelled to respond. “It is extremely regrettable that the resolution is definitely not based on facts,” noted Taro Aso, then Japanese Foreign Minister. This comment and others like it had little direct effect on U.S.-Japan relations. But in the hypersensitive diplomatic world of East Asia, where historical slights can inflame contemporary problems, such comments do not help Japan’s relations with China, Korea, or any other formerly occupied country.

None of this is to suggest that members of the House of Representatives should remain silent on issues of foreign policy. It is their responsibility as elected officials to represent their constituents and to shape public policy. Indeed, in a democracy, it is absolutely vital that citizens are engaged in the foreign policy-making process, and the House facilitates this function. But in its attempts to simultaneously prove relevant on the international stage and meet narrow constituent demands, the House of Representatives risks being counterproductive, if not outright harmful. As it continues to delve into contentious issues of history and foreign policy, the House would be well advised to temper its passion with a dose of much-needed context.

Foreign Policy Association, 25 October 2007

To be sure, the candidates have been issuing political hyperbole for some time. At a Republican debate in May, Republican candidate Mitt Romney, the former governor of Massachusetts, was asked about his views on the terrorist detention facility at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. “Some people have said we ought to close Guantanamo. My view is we ought to double Guantanamo,” said Romney. As a political statement, this won Romney points from Republican voters who value the perception of “toughness” against terrorists. Indeed, it's mildly surprising that none of Romney's Republican competitors tried to raise his claim and offer to triple or quadruple the size of Guantanamo. As a policy statement, however, Romney's statement was nonsensical, akin to claiming a desire to double the size of the U.S. prison population, without any consideration of guilt, innocence, or due process.

The former Massachusetts governor is not alone. Congressman Tom Tancredo (R-CO), also competing for the Republican nomination, has noted, “if it is up to me, we are going to explain that an attack on this homeland … would be followed by an attack on the holy sites in Mecca and Medina.” Such a statement is clearly outrageous, and to their credit, many of Tancredo's fellow Republican candidates repudiated his comments. Indeed, his comments set off a peculiar exchange with the State Department, which described his statements as “absolutely crazy.” Instead of taking offense at the castigation, however, Tancredo seemed to revel in it: “Boy, when they [the State Department] start complaining about things I say, I feel a lot better about the things I say, I'll tell you right now.” This response demonstrated a larger point: Tancredo's statement was intended to differentiate his candidacy for a domestic audience, not necessarily to advocate his policy for an international one. Recklessness, evidently, is a small price to pay for attention.

Democratic candidates are not immune to the temptation for hyperbole, either. Bill Richardson, the governor of New Mexico, has insisted that all U.S. troops should leave Iraq and that an all-Muslim UN force be inserted deployed in their place. Calling for a withdrawal from Iraq has long-since become mainstream among Democrats. Although experts may quibble about the details of a withdrawal, the fundamental policy premise is sensible. But insisting on the deployment of a UN force—much less an all-Muslim one—is something beyond the abilities of a U.S. president. Despite its international heft, the United States cannot simply compel the United Nations to do something on its own. Beyond that, it is highly questionable that the UN could muster a sufficient force from only its Muslim member states. Just as the United States cannot compel the UN to deploy peacekeepers, the UN cannot compel unwilling member states to contribute soldiers. As an ultimate policy objective, Richardson's ideas might make sense. But in a domestic political campaign, vital context and nuance fall by the wayside, and the public is left misinformed.

Former senator John Edwards shares Richardson's desire to withdraw U.S. forces from Iraq. A major piece of his plan, and one that he cites frequently, is an “immediate withdrawal of 40,000-50,000 combat troops.” This may sound great to Democratic primary voters who oppose the war in Iraq and seek a quick end to it. But the position is also strikingly arbitrary. Why, for example, would Edwards withdraw 40,000-50,000 troops and not 30,000, or 60,000? Indeed, assuming that it would take at least several weeks (if not months) to “immediately” withdraw 40,000-50,000 troops, why does he not call instead for an “immediate” withdrawal of all U.S. troops? Edwards does not offer explanations for these legitimate policy questions, but then again, he doesn't have to. His statements are, first and foremost, political in nature. If he had any reason to believe that further details would boost his standing in the polls or help his fundraising efforts, Edwards would surely jump at the chance to provide them.

Such comments, designed for domestic consumption, can clearly make an impact overseas (for more, see Election Watch, August 2007). Election Watch, August 2007). Because Guantanamo Bay is as divisive an issue abroad as it is in the United States, Romney's full-throated support of its detention facilities shape the world's view of him. Tancredo's indelicate thoughts on deterring terrorism earned condemnation from the speaker of Pakistan's National Assembly, among others. On the issue of Iraq, foreign leaders are fully aware that it will be very difficult for Democrats to begin a significant withdrawal of U.S. forces as long as President Bush remains in office. They further know that any critique emanating from governors or former legislators—such as Richardson and Edwards—carries less weight than that coming from current senators.

Even if it must be discounted as electoral posturing, and although it may have unintended or damaging effects abroad, this season's political hyperbole does serve a certain purpose: It offers an insight into a candidate's underlying worldview and their substantive rigor. Voters may not be able to trust that Romney would actually “double Guantanamo,” but they can confidently infer that he would pursue aggressive policies against suspected terrorists and support the expanded powers of the executive branch. Democrats know that as a mere candidate, Edwards cannot “immediately” withdraw 40,000-50,000 troops from Iraq. But if his campaign pronouncements lack detail or consistency, his policies as president may be similarly plagued. The same principle is applicable elsewhere. If a campaign experiences a great deal of staff turnover, voters could infer that the candidate is a poor manager. If he or she is a listless public speaker, they may well have difficulty mustering popular support for important policies. The reverse can also be true. If a candidate shies away from excessive political hyperbole, one could infer that they value sound governance over winning-at-any-cost. Alternatively, voters could suspect that the candidate lacks the stomach for a political fight.

Clearly, sifting through political hyperbole can resemble fortune telling. It is, after all, no more or less trustworthy than anything else a politician might say. But the hyperbole does represent a window—albeit a distorted one—into the candidate's underlying worldview and their substantive rigor. The hyperbole will, by definition, exaggerate or mischaracterize these underlying truths. But however obscured they may be, hints of such truths remain present in every breathless pronouncement or faux display of earnestness a candidate makes. And as extreme as their hyperbole may seem, candidates are almost always better judged by their own words than by those of their competitors. For that reason alone, voters nationwide would be well advised to stay patient. The rising volumes of rhetoric emanating from Iowa and New Hampshire aren't just hot air.

Foreign Policy Association, 27 September 2007

Critics interpreted these episodes as evidence that Obama was naïve, irresponsible, or just plain unprepared. But taken together, Obama's pronouncements can be seen as constituting a broad critique of the largely opaque manner in which the Untied States has conducted its foreign policy for decades. His campaign is mining this critique for all its political value, framing it as a debate between “common sense” and “conventional Washington thinking.” Says Obama, “It's time to turn the page on conventional foreign policy thinking.” Perhaps the more relevant question, however, is whether the critique has any practical value.

“Conventional Washington thinking,” as defined by Obama, is manifested through a time-tested means of conducting foreign policy. Such an approach has a long history, but really came into its own during the Cold War, when slight diplomatic miscues could upset the delicate balance of power between the United States and Soviet Union. In the dawn of the nuclear age, an entire vocabulary was developed to manage a foreign policy increasingly fraught with risks and consequences. In the diplomatic world, this vocabulary became familiar. The foreign policy establishment in government, business, and academia spoke mutually intelligible languages, and countries conducted business with each other in a well-orchestrated charade of communiqués, joint declarations, and multilateral resolutions.

This specialized, nuanced manner of conducting foreign policy essentially created an elite class of foreign policy practitioners that reigns to this day. Such foreign policy elitism possesses many inherent advantages. All the key players know the rough parameters of the debate and can easily self-regulate their diplomatic discourse. The opacity that comes from foreign policy elitism allows for a great degree of discretion; certain goals or objectives that are best kept secret can be obscured through the complexity of foreign policy discourse. Even when broad objectives are clear, diplomatic opacity can keep adversaries guessing regarding preferred methods or approaches—for example, an unfriendly regime is not sure if the United States will confront it with sanctions or with force.

When dealing with allies, too, foreign policy elitism has its advantages. The specialized vocabulary and expertise that define the foreign policy elite provides a venue and a means to communicate quickly and efficiently across international borders. Such elitism offers domestic political advantages, as well. It provides politicians with a ready-made means to control their foreign policy message and allows them to offer stock platitudes to describe their foreign policy views in a consistent manner. Once accepted by the electorate—which historically has viewed foreign policy as secondary to domestic concerns—such consistent salesmanship allows policymakers the freedom of maneuver on the international stage that they require.

Foreign policy elitism also has a negative side. In a republic, political transparency is more than just a virtue. It is an indispensable prerequisite of an honest government that is responsible to its constituents. To be sure, the complexity of modern public policy precludes absolute transparency—not all information can be made available to all citizens, and not all citizens would be able to evaluate policy information in a substantive manner. But the aphorism that “politics stops at the water's edge”—a reference to the supposed nonpartisan continuity of U.S. foreign policy—is easily abused. To make informed political decisions, citizens must engage (and be engaged) in an open and transparent debate about the foundations of U.S. foreign policymaking. Such a debate surely would highlight differences between political candidates and parties. But the argument that an open airing of such differences would severely harm U.S. interests overseas is difficult to support. The expertise offered by the foreign policy elite is surely required at the level of policy implementation, in much the same way that government requires a technocratic and bureaucratic class to manage complex domestic programs such as Social Security and Medicare. But at the point of policy formulation, republican government requires transparent, honest debate. To suggest that foreign policy should be immune from such a requirement strains credulity.

For example, when a presidential candidate is faced with a question about meeting with Mahmoud Ahmadinejad of Iran or Hugo Chavez of Venezuela, the safe answer prescribed by the foreign policy elite would be a resounding “no.” Certainly, the foreign policy elite allows for some modest variation of that answer, to account for partisan politics. But the ultimate answer will always be the same, and for more or less the same reason: U.S. enemies could use diplomatic meetings as propaganda tools. The validity of this claim is never really tested—it is simply taken at face value. So when Obama provided an answer that contradicts the established views of the foreign policy elite, he presented a challenge that extended beyond partisan, presidential politics. The merits of his statement became obscured in the process.

The same is true with Obama's comments on U.S. nuclear policy, which has always been a particularly sacred issue with the foreign policy elite, and for good reason. The standard, public response to questions concerning U.S. nuclear posture has been to avoid addressing specific hypothetical scenarios. As with much of the foreign policy elite's thinking, the premise of this response is actually quite sound. A reliable nuclear deterrent is dependent upon U.S. adversaries believing that the United States would be willing to use nuclear weapons. If a nuclear-armed adversary doubted U.S. will in this regard, an attack on the United States could become much more plausible. But this traditional response to questions of U.S. nuclear policy needlessly stifles nuance for the sake of absolute consistency. For his part, Obama noted that he would not use nuclear weapons to attack al Qaeda targets in Afghanistan and Pakistan. On a gut level, Obama was right—the use of nuclear weapons in any setting is difficult to contemplate. And on a substantive, rational level, Obama was also right—nuclear weapons would be the wrong tool for the hypothetical job presented. But his response contradicted the traditions of the foreign policy elite, and for that reason alone, Obama's comments became controversial.

Obama's critics, and defenders of the foreign policy elite, suggest that international relations is a field that requires immense delicacy. Essentially, tone matters as much as substance, and words uttered in a domestic political campaign can easily be disseminated around the world and mistaken as quasi-official pronouncements of U.S. policy. This is surely a valid critique. Obama's expressed willingness to attack al Qaeda targets in Pakistan stirred protests in that country and earned pointed denunciations from its government. “It's a very irresponsible statement, that's all I can say," said Pakistan's Foreign Minister Khusheed Kasuri. "As the election campaign in America is heating up we would not like American candidates to fight their elections and contest elections at our expense." It's unclear if this suggests that U.S. political candidates should censor their thoughts on foreign policy when they contradict those of the Washington elite. But it does demonstrate that the United States faces a unique level of scrutiny that derives from its global standing. Local issues in this country can have consequences around the world, and politicians of all stripes need to be mindful of this reality.

The question of tone is also relevant in the domestic sense, amid the battlefields of presidential politics. Upon close inspection, it becomes clear that Obama's Democratic rivals do not disagree much with the substance of his positions. Seeking an opportunity for political gain, their critiques of his foreign policy pronouncements largely boil down to questions of tone: They don't disagree on the value of greater diplomacy, but on how open the United States should be in pursuing it; they don't disagree on the use of military force or nuclear weapons to fight al Qaeda, but on how clearly U.S. policy should be articulated. In one sense, this minimizes the recent debate surrounding Obama's foreign policy by placing it firmly within the realm of electoral politics. But tone matters in international relations, too, and as events in Pakistan demonstrated, allies and adversaries around the world are not ignorant about U.S. domestic politics. As the presidential campaign continues to unfold, and as the political bickering rises to a fever pitch, domestic and foreign audiences alike will be watching with a keen eye.

Foreign Policy Association, 24 August 2007

In reality, most of these attacks have little substantive basis, and they simply represent the standard give-and-take found in all presidential campaigns. But beyond that, the attacks are rooted in a basic misunderstanding of Obama's unconventional approach to both policy and to politics. Essentially, they reveal something fundamentally unique about Obama's political character and his overall worldview.

Substantively, the specific questions about Obama's foreign policy proposals are not exactly unimportant, but they are off base. In a Democratic presidential candidates debate several weeks ago, Obama expressed his willingness to meet with unfriendly foreign leaders, such as those from Iran and Venezuela. Contrary to charges of "naivete" from Sen. Hillary Clinton, he actually made no commitment or pledge to hold such meetings. Forced into political battle by Clinton's attack, however, Obama fought back, portraying his unvarnished emphasis on diplomacy as transparent, sensible, and entirely uncontroversial. Indeed, each of Obama's fellow Democratic candidates has stressed a need for greater diplomacy throughout their respective campaigns, but in far hazier terms. Obama's position, then, was notable more for its tone than for its substance, which itself was a relevant distinction. In politics as in diplomacy, style often is substance.

In a speech outlining his anti-terrorism proposals a week later, Obama suggested that he would attack high-value al Qaeda targets in Pakistan, if that country wouldn't do so itself. This assertion was welcomed with attacks from the political left, which seemed to confuse Obama's opposition to the Iraq war with an opposition to fighting al Qaeda. On its merits, Obama's statement was hardly scandalous. The area in which Osama bin Laden is suspected of hiding - in the rough terrain bordering Afghanistan - is a veritable no-man's land, nominally part of Pakistan, but in reality beyond any state's control. For more than a decade, U.S. policy has held that al Qaeda targets in such regions were fair game for attack. President Bill Clinton launched cruise missiles against al Qaeda targets in Afghanistan and Sudan in 1998, and President Bush used a missile-carrying drone to destroy a vehicle carrying an al Qaeda leader in Yemen in 2002. Obama's position, then, was more sensible than revolutionary, as the subsequent concurrences of his fellow Democratic candidates only confirmed.

Finally, in a recent interview, Obama ruled out the use of nuclear weapons against al Qaeda targets in Afghanistan and Pakistan, raising suspicions that he was somehow "weak" in his determination to defend the United States. But like Obama's other statements, the controversy surrounding this one was more contrived than useful. Al Qaeda is, by definition, a non-state actor. It does not wield any degree of territorial sovereignty, and it will never offer targets so large, so fixed, or so hardened as to justify a nuclear strike. As Obama limited his statement to al Qaeda-related targets only, his assertion had no bearing on the grisly, but necessary, deterrent role played by the U.S. nuclear arsenal against potential state-based threats. As several foreign policy experts subsequently noted, Obama's sin (if any) was one of excessive honesty, not of policy impropriety.

Even beyond the substance of these recent spats, and essential to understanding their real significance, Obama presents a fundamental challenge to the reigning political orthodoxy. This challenge is rooted in his political upbringing as a pragmatic community organizer, not as an ideological street fighter. Obama's instincts emphasize results, consensus, and transparency over doctrinal loyalty, needless conflict, and self-serving obfuscation. His more myopic critics deride this emphasis on pragmatism over ideology as a kind of soft bipartisanship. To be sure, compromise for its own sake - bereft of independent principle - can be as useless and damaging as ideological artifice. But this has never been Obama's political style. Instead, he regularly attempts to transcend the self-limiting political constructs of "left," "right," and "centrist" with an approach that emphasizes results.

These political instincts were best demonstrated in 2002, with Obama's succinct explanation of why he opposed the impending invasion of Iraq: "I am not opposed to all wars. I'm opposed to dumb wars." At that time - in the wake of 9/11 and before the quagmire of Iraq - political passions were uniquely inflamed. For many, the choice was stark: support the Bush administration's aggressive policies in Afghanistan and Iraq, or oppose them. Defenders of the reigning political orthodoxy portrayed these policy options as a binary choice, on opposite ends of a two-dimensional spectrum, with seemingly little tolerance for a position that didn't fit into their prescribed framework. Obama's position - in support of the effort in Afghanistan, but opposed to an invasion of Iraq - seems strikingly sensible today. But in 2002, it was something of a heretical view on the national stage, and it flouted the political orthodoxy ensconced in Washington.

Obama's critics, then as now, are unable to pin him down ideologically. They find themselves unwittingly confounded by his refusal to play the traditional games expected of a national political figure. The choice that Obama implicitly offers to voters is not between competing ideologies, which is the choice traditionally presented in presidential elections and was the one provided prior to the invasion of Iraq in 2002. Rather, the choice offered by Obama is between pragmatism and ideology. Lacking the appropriate political vocabulary, and threatened by Obama's campaign success thus far, his critics mistake his unconventional thinking for naiveté, his nuance for inconsistency, and his clarity for obfuscation.

Contrary to the assertions of many of his critics, the policy positions revealed by Obama in recent weeks are part-and-parcel of an entirely consistent worldview. In April, Obama delivered a comprehensive foreign policy speech that was peppered with just the kind of sensible, pragmatic, and straightforward ideas that have come to defin