The Long Game (27 page)

However, foreign policy is about choices. American power can grow, but it is not endless. Recognizing this fact again makes Obama a direct descendant of Eisenhower, who made “balance” a central theme of his famous 1961 farewell address. Good judgment, Eisenhower explained, “seeks balance and progress; lack of it eventually finds imbalance and frustration.”
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The necessity of balance can also be looked at another way—and as a reason to inspire confidence. It is a manifestation of America's special role. While Obama believes the US “can't fix everything,” it remains essential. “If we don't set the agenda, it doesn't happen,” he says, observing that he has never attended an international meeting where the US was not looked upon to drive the discussion.
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Therefore balance is required because the United States must grapple with more demands, diverse goals and interests than any other global player. Despite all the talk of America's decline, no other country is as desirable or enjoys such expectations from so many corners of the world.

This has practical implications. Reflecting on the hundreds of meetings I hosted or attended with foreign officials during my time in the Obama administration, it is hard to think of many who asked for less of the United States (notably, the Chinese are the only ones who come to mind). They all wanted more of our time, our attention, our assistance, and our resources. Because the cumulative effect of these demands can make maintaining balance so hard, they can be seen as a burden. But this also presents a tremendous opportunity—when there is a problem in the world, few countries first look to Beijing or Moscow for solutions and guidance. They look to the US.

Sustainability.
If something is imbalanced, it is also unsustainable; something that is teetering will eventually fall. Obama almost always thought several moves ahead, acutely focused on the second-or third-order consequences of his decisions, asking whether a policy would be sustainable beyond his time in office. The comparison he made to being a relay swimmer reveals his thinking; while it was his turn in the race he wanted to make as much progress as he could, and then be in a position to hand things off in the best possible way.

The emphasis on sustainability stemmed in large part from what Obama inherited when he entered the White House. He believed he was handed a situation at home and abroad that was fundamentally and dangerously untenable. Without a dramatic course correction, America would slide further into decline. He often stated his determination not to leave the same kind of mess to his successor; he wants to leave a “clean barn.”
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However, sustainability is about more than not wanting to pass the buck to whomever comes next. Most foreign policy achievements are made when policies are sustained over time—think of how containment defeated the Soviet Union, or how the decades of support the US has provided allies in Asia and Europe has enabled them to thrive.

On almost every issue, Obama established policies that were more sustainable than as he found them. The American military is no longer overstretched. The economy is off the precipice, with unemployment the lowest it has been in nearly two decades. The United States is closer to energy independence (oil imports are down 60 percent from 2008 levels). It remains the underwriter of the global order, and has stronger partnerships and alliances abroad, with improved relations in Asia, Latin America, and Europe. Iran's nuclear weapons ambitions are in check. There is greater transparency in the ways the US government uses some of its more controversial national security tools, from surveillance to the use of drones, which Obama believes is essential to sustaining support for their future use.

On other issues—specifically in the Middle East and the threat of ISIS—the sustainability of Obama's course is less certain. By avoiding the pitfall of military occupation and not trying to govern large swaths of the region, Obama's intent was to build a strategy that would withstand the test of time.

It has not been about being “hands-off” or “withdrawing” America from the Middle East, turning its back on the problems there, but
pursuing policies that are sustainable. This is what Obama has strived to do regarding ISIS, acknowledging that the threat will not be “defeated” during his presidency, but instead is a generational struggle. He sought to achieve what the Pentagon calls a “steady state” or “new normal” of activities. Yet the strategy relies on maintaining an acceptable level of risk—and even Obama admits that if the threat becomes too great, or if the US were to suffer a catastrophic terrorist attack, it would have to respond even more forcefully.

Restraint.
Strategy is as much about what one decides
not
to do than what one does. On many questions the administration faced—especially when it involved military force—the issue was not whether the US was capable of doing something, but whether it should.

Because the United States has so much capability, it is often tempting to pretend trade-offs don't exist or are easy to manage. When problems are viewed in isolation—what one could do about Russia, or Syria, or Ukraine, or Libya, or China—it is often clear how the US could do more. But the challenge policymakers face is figuring out how to pursue multiple, and often competing, goals simultaneously. Restraint proved to be a hard sell: emphasizing what one will not do may be responsible, but it is rarely stirs emotion. As Kissinger observed in his landmark first book,
A World Restored,
the dilemma of statecraft is that “it is not balance which inspires men but universality, not security but immortality.”
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Obama caught a lot of flak for being uninspiring by explaining his foreign policy as “don't do stupid stuff.” Hillary Clinton even dinged him for it, saying that this was not the doctrine of a great power. Yet in foreign affairs, like in medicine, avoiding mistakes is critical (recall the Hippocratic Oath, “First do no harm”), and leaders usually do not get enough credit for keeping us out of trouble. To avoid mistakes, Obama was usually careful to avoid rhetorical traps. He understood that while chest-thumping might be politically advantageous—and
sometimes his advisors lamented that they wished he would do more of it—it establishes a logic that then one is expected to act on. This was certainly a lesson he took from the instances in which his rhetoric got out in front of him, such as with the red line in Syria.

Of course, restraint is not right in every circumstance. Just as doing “more” of everything is not a strategy, neither is doing “less” of everything. The test of leadership is choosing the right time to push more chips on the table. Obama is a calculating gambler willing to make big bets—consider the Iran nuclear deal, the Libya War, the bin Laden raid, and countless other special operations forces raids to kill terrorist leaders or free hostages. But he is not a bluffer.

To critics who say that Obama's restraint is simply “retreat”—an effort to reduce American obligations for its own sake—one must ask what a less restrained policy would look like, and how that would be balanced with other interests and made sustainable over time. Most critics elide such questions, preferring to emphasize the critique rather than grapple with the consequences of the alternatives they suggest.

Precision.
Obama demands specific approaches for particular problems. To him, it is almost always better to wield a scalpel instead of a hammer. His approach is clinical, focused on the causal relationship between the action and desired effect. He needs to be convinced a recommended step will actually have a chance of working—and will intensively probe assumptions and thinking based on generalizations.

The emphasis on precision is also a reason Obama favors discrete instruments of power like special operations forces raids, “signature” drone strikes and targeted killings against terrorist plotters, and targeted economic sanctions—very precise tools that can be used against specific individuals. In a July 2015 speech before the Veterans of Foreign Wars, Obama made a special point of naming the terrorist
leaders American forces had killed or captured in places like Pakistan, Yemen, Somalia, and Libya—names few Americans would be familiar with. By doing so, he was making clear he had no compunction about taking finely targeted lethal action.
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In this way, Obama has sought greater precision in how the US defined the enemy, replacing the amorphous “war on terror” framework with the more specific goals of defeating al-Qaeda and its adherents. And he has tried to replace the broad legal framework to authorize US military actions in the wake of the 9/11 terrorist attacks with a new congressional authorization tightly tailored to the fight against ISIS (so far unsuccessfully).

As a matter of strategy, precision helps the United States keep its freedom of action—or what Kissinger called “maneuver” and what military strategists describe as maintaining the initiative. Obama believed the US needed greater flexibility in its actions, and when approaching decisions he always sought to maintain flexibility for himself. It was always important to protect the president's “decision space,” to pursue precise policies so as not to lock in a course that would turn out to be imbalanced and unsustainable—and therefore unwise.

Patience.
A strategy needs time to unfold. In an era where everything is instant—opinions, access to information, answers—and the incentives call for greater and greater speed, maintaining strategic patience is especially hard. Obama's most significant successes—such as the Iran deal—required patience over years. On other issues—such as the rebalance to Asia, or the defeat of ISIS, or addressing climate change—even more patience is required. Again, this is reminiscent of Eisenhower, who said that the key to a successful foreign policy was the “element of time.” In words Obama would echo over five decades later, Eisenhower warned in his farewell address against the “recurring temptation to feel that some spectacular and costly action could become the miraculous solution to all current difficulties.”
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One part of patience is about giving policies time to work; another is staying persistent and sticking to the steady, often painstaking effort required to get results—especially when there are calls to quit and do something different. The work of diplomacy, former secretary of state George Shultz has said, is akin to the more mundane skills of gardening. It entails methodically working every day to keep alliances healthy, pulling the weeds before they rage out of control, and combating the dangerous pests that want to steal or destroy the fruit.

The gardening analogy captures much of what US foreign policy actually is—the steady pursuit of America's interests abroad through the constant nurturing of a complex array of actors, interests, and goals. And like gardening, successful foreign policy also requires one to be patient—not to get flustered by distractions, and to keep faith that with the right skills and circumstances (and a little luck), the desired result will be achieved with time. Perhaps it is no coincidence such successful strategists as John Quincy Adams, George F. Kennan, and Dean Acheson were also avid gardeners.
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Preferring sports to gardening, Obama describes his policy as a methodical one of “hitting singles and doubles,” or where he compares himself to an NFL quarterback dropping back for a pass, in which “you can't be distracted by what's around you, you've got to be looking downfield.”
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Yet one must be sure there is time for the play to work before the defense closes in and you get sacked. Too much patience can lead a policy to be overtaken by events—what bureaucrats call “OBE”—missing the opportunity to act. The danger is that patience becomes a euphemism for inaction. What some consider as careful patience others perceive as spinning indecision—and yes, sometimes Obama has found himself playing catch-up.

To maintain support for a patient approach, the American people must understand it and have confidence it is working. It is not enough to do a good job executing a policy; one must also successfully sell it.
And in a world in which everything is expected to be done instantly, this is very hard to do.

Fallibility.
Obama's willingness to acknowledge America's imperfections is one of the most controversial aspects of his leadership. However, he sees it as an essential part of generating American power and influence. America's greatness derives not from asserting perfection, but from conceding wrongs, learning from mistakes, and correcting course. Obama is willing to discuss openly the fact that America's record abroad is mixed, that while it has been a force for good, “at other times America's policies have been misguided, based on false assumptions…[that] undermine our own credibility, and make for a more dangerous world.”
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By admitting such things Obama has been ridiculed for being unpatriotic, “apologizing” for America. Yet Obama believes that self-criticism is a measure of American maturity and confidence.

The recognition of fallibility also cautions a leader to exercise power, especially military force, with great care. Obama believed in using force to achieve goals, and did so often. But he understands that, as he said in his 2009 Nobel Peace Prize speech, “war promises human tragedy.” Therefore he always considered whether certain military actions would bring civilian casualties, potentially creating more terrorists. It was another reason he prized precision—in taking out the enemy, he wanted to limit the damage as much as possible.

The belief that no one is free of original sin, that no society is innocent, and that even the just exercise of power can bring tragedy draws on the arguments of Reinhold Niebuhr. Obama has studied Niebuhr, and has said he finds inspiration in the theologian's admonition that while the US should fight evil and hardship, it should do so with humility, remaining “modest in our belief we can eliminate those things.” David Brooks, another Niebuhr admirer who talked with Obama in 2007 about the theologian's influence on him, explained
Niebuhr's central lesson as reminding us of our imperfections because “we are never as virtuous as we think we are, and that our motives are never as pure as in our own accounting.”
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