Romney is exaggerating his foreign policy differences with Obama

On foreign policy, the Republican candidate and the US President share a method and a worldview.

This year’s presidential election inverts the foreign policy attributes of the 2008 candidates: Barack Obama is now tough and experienced, Mitt Romney fallow and untested.

One of John McCain’s more memorable assertions in 2008 was that he would "follow Osama Bin Laden to the gates of hell." Obama’s actions have spoken louder than McCain’s hyperbole. When the president sanctioned the raid that killed Bin Laden in Pakistan on 2 May 2011 – declining to inform Pakistan of US intentions and using ground forces instead of launching an airstrike – he largely armoured himself to Republican attacks on his lack of fortitude. So where can Romney land meaningful blows now?

Romney’s main problem is that he is running against an incumbent who – through a step-change in the frequency, audacity and lethality of drone attacks – has arguably waged war on Al Qaeda more effectively than his predecessor, and unarguably at a lower human and financial cost. (Predator strikes, while ethically problematic, kill fewer people than ground wars.) In this context how does Romney communicate a greater desire to confront America’s enemies without sounding like Barry Goldwater in 1964, whose belligerence was an electoral godsend to Lyndon Johnson?

Romney is rarely less convincing than when seeking to out-hawk Obama on facing down Iran, Russia – "without question our number one geopolitical foe" – and China. Perhaps it is self-awareness that explains his discomfort in espousing such views. For Romney’s operating principles closely resemble Obama’s. Indeed, during his acceptance speech at the Republican National Convention in Tampa, Romney failed to name a single substantive difference with Obama on foreign policy.

Romney won the governorship of Massachusetts because he knows where to find the centre, and he sought out the median voter through this year’s fractious Republican primaries. The Tea Party ensured that this point was farther to the right than at any time in his party’s history. But the key point is that Romney is hardwired to operate in the middle-ground of whatever constituency he is charged with persuading. And the world looks more like pluralist Massachusetts than it does a bloc of Republican primary voters.

As a serious candidate in the 2007 primaries, Romney was commissioned to write a thought-piece for Foreign Affairs. The purpose of the article was to mollify and reassure in a polarized political environment. In it he stakes out little new ground, instead identifying points of agreement among so-called realists and neoconservatives.

Romney observes that the United States is in need of ‘an overarching strategy that can unite the United States and its allies,’ but cautions that this should be formed "not around a particular political camp or foreign policy school but around a shared understanding of how to meet a new generation of challenges. Romney’s emphasis is on achieving results not on pursuing agendas.

His speech at the Citadel last October was his most important foreign policy speech to date. Its purpose was to characterise Barack Obama as defeatist and out of tune with American values – in the same way that Senator Henry ‘Scoop’ Jackson and Ronald Reagan lambasted Henry Kissinger through the 1970s. So Romney accused Obama of issuing an "eloquently justified surrender of world leadership," a depiction far removed from reality. The president is utterly devoted to ushering in another "American century," as his well-documented admiration for Robert Kagan – author of The World America Made, and a key adviser to Romney – amply illustrates.

There are, of course, clear differences in each person’s style. Romney consciously emulates Ronald Reagan’s optimism and moral certainties. But like Reagan in his second term, Romney is likely to talk and act in substantively different ways. Rich Williamson, a veteran GOP foreign policy adviser, has struggled to differentiate his man from Obama. Williamson identifies "fundamental differences about a naive faith in engagement and a dangerous reliance on the Security Council versus having an approach where you have strength, where you're willing to lead, and where you have strong relationships with our friends and allies." But who could honestly say that Obama is not willing to lead or have strong relationships with friends and allies? And would Romney really ignore the UN when it might serve a useful function? Obama and Romney are cut from the same cloth; a source of angst to the base of both parties.

Writing in the Weekly Standard earlier this year, William Kristol observed that "Mitt Romney is an intelligent, hardworking, pragmatic problem-solver with a conservative disposition. He might as well present himself that way." This is true, though it fails to acknowledge the fact that Romney’s primary virtues – his competence, diligence and "small c" diplomatic conservatism – are also Obama’s.

A chasm separates the candidates on domestic policy and Congress is an alarmingly polarised and ineffectual place. On foreign policy, however, Obama and Romney share a method and a worldview. As an "etch-a-sketch" – as adviser Eric Fehrnstrom ill advisedly described him – Romney has shown a willingness to say and erase whatever it takes to win. But he will surely pursue a modest diplomatic agenda if a stagnant economy allows him to defeat Obama on election day. Authoring foreign policy with a permanent marker tends to concentrate the mind.

David Milne, senior lecturer in political history at the University of East Anglia, is the author of America’s Rasputin: Walt Rostow and the Vietnam War. A longer version of this article appears in the Chatham House journal, International Affairs.

Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney speaks during a campaign rally in Jacksonville, Florida. Photograph: Getty Images.

David Milne is senior lecturer in political history at the University of East Anglia, and the author of America’s Rasputin: Walt Rostow and the Vietnam War.

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Britain has built a national myth on winning the Second World War, but it’s distorting our politics

The impending humiliation of Brexit is going to have a lot more in common with Suez.

The Crown, Peter Morgan’s epic drama covering the reign of Elizabeth II, ended its first series with a nemesis waiting just off-stage to shake up its court politics. In the final episode, Egyptian president Gamal Nasser gives a rip-roaringly anti-imperialist – and anti-British – speech. The scene is set for the Suez Crisis to be a big plot point in Season 2.

Suez has gone down in history as the great foreign policy debacle of postwar Britain. The 1956 crisis – which saw Israel, France and Britain jointly invade Egypt to take control of the Suez Canal, only to slink off again, nine days later, once it became clear the US wasn’t having any of it – is seen as the point at which it became clear that even the bigger states of Europe were no longer great powers in the world. “President Eisenhower’s humiliation of Britain,” Jack Straw wrote in his 2012 memoir, “had been total.”

This was, though, a fairly limited sort of humiliation. Britain was not invaded or occupied; there was no sudden collapse in living standards, let alone a significant body count. Our greatest national debacle is nothing more than the realisation that Britain could no longer do whatever it wanted without fear of reprisal. As humiliations go, this one’s up there with the loss of status men have faced from the rise of feminism: suddenly, Britain could do what it wanted a mere 80 per cent of the time.

The Crown begins in 1947, when Prince Philip gives up his Greek and Danish royal titles and becomes a British subject, so that he can marry Princess Elizabeth. That year saw another British foreign policy debacle, one on which the show remains oddly silent. In the partition which followed India’s independence from the British Empire, 70 years ago this week, upwards of a million people died; in the decades since, the borders drawn up at that time have been the site of numerous wars, and Kashmir remains a flashpoint.

All this, one might think, might count as a far bigger regret than Suez – yet it doesn’t feature in the national narrative in the same way. Perhaps because partition was about the withdrawal of British forces, rather than their deployment; perhaps it’s simply that it all happened a very long way away. Or perhaps we just care less about a body count than we do about looking bad in front of the Americans.

I think, though, there’s another reason we don’t talk about this stuff: the end of empire is hidden behind a much bigger part of our national myth. In the Second World War, Britain is undeniably one of the good guys; for 12 months, indeed, Britain was the only good guy. Never mind that it still had the largest empire the world had ever seen to fall back on: Britain stood alone.

The centrality of the Second World War to the national myth warps our view of history and our place in the world in all sorts of ways. For starters, it means we’ve never had to take an honest account of the consequences of empire. In a tale about British heroes defeating Nazi villains, British mistakes or British atrocities just don’t fit. (Winston Churchill’s role in the 1943 Bengal famine – death toll: three million – by ordering the export of Indian grain to Britain rarely comes up in biopics.) In this dominant version of the national story, the end of empire is just the price we pay to defeat fascism.

More than that, our obsession with the Second World War creates the bizarre impression that failure is not just heroic, but a necessary precursor to success. Two of the most discussed elements of Britain’s war – the evacuation of Dunkirk, and the Blitz – are not about victory at all, but about survival against the odds. The lesson we take is that, with a touch of British grit and an ability to improvise, we can accomplish anything. It’s hard not to see this reflected in Brexit secretary David Davis’s lack of notes, but it’s nonsense: had the Russians and Americans not arrived to bail us out, Britain would have been stuffed.

Most obviously, being one of the winners of the Second World War infects our attitude to Europe. It’s probably not a coincidence that Britain has always been both one of the most eurosceptic EU countries, and one of the tiny number not to have been trampled by a foreign army at some point in recent history: we don’t instinctively grasp why European unity matters.

Once again, Suez is instructive. The lesson postwar France took from the discovery that the imperial age was over was that it should lead a strong and unified Europe. The lesson Britain took was that, so long as we cosied up to the US – Athens to their Rome, to quote Harold Macmillan – we could still bask in reflected superpower.

Until recently, Britain’s Second World War obsession and national ignorance about empire didn’t really seem to affect contemporary politics. They were embarrassing; but they were also irrelevant, so we could cope. Brexit, though, means that hubris is about to run headlong into nemesis, and the widespread assumption that Britain is a rich, powerful and much-loved country is unlikely to survive contact with reality. India will not offer a trade deal for sentimental reasons; Ireland is not a junior partner that will meekly follow us out of the door or police its borders on our behalf. The discovery that Britain is now a mid-ranking power that – excepting the over-heated south-east of England – isn’t even that rich is likely to mean a loss of status to rival Suez.

Morgan says he has planned six seasons of The Crown. (This looks entertainingly like a bet the Queen will be dead by 2021; if not, like Game of Thrones before it, he might well run out of text to adapt.) It’ll be interesting to see how the show handles Brexit. It began with the royal family facing up to a vertiginous decline in British power. As things stand, it may have to end the same way. 

Jonn Elledge edits the New Statesman's sister site CityMetric, and writes for the NS about subjects including politics, history and Brexit. You can find him on Twitter or Facebook.

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear