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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What happens when a president refuses to step down?

An approaching constitutional crisis has triggered deep political unrest in the Congo.

Franck Diongo reached his party’s headquarters shortly after 10am and stepped out of a Range Rover. Staff and hangers-on rose from plastic chairs to greet the president of the Mouvement Lumumbiste Progressiste (MLP), named after the first elected leader of the Democratic Republic of Congo.

Diongo, a compact and powerfully built man, was so tightly wound that his teeth ground as he talked. When agitated, he slammed his palms on the table and his speech became shrill. “We live under a dictatorial regime, so it used the security forces to kill us with live rounds to prevent our demonstration,” he said.

The MLP is part of a coalition of opposition parties known as the Rassemblement. Its aim is to ensure that the Congolese president, Joseph Kabila, who has been president since 2001, leaves office on 19 December, at the end of his second and supposedly final term.

Yet the elections that were meant to take place late last month have not been organised. The government has blamed logistical and financial difficulties, but Kabila’s opponents claim that the president has hamstrung the electoral commission in the hope that he can use his extended mandate to change the rules. “Mr Kabila doesn’t want to quit power,” said Diongo, expressing a widespread belief here.

On 19 September, the Rassemblement planned a march in Kinshasa, the capital, to protest the failure to deliver elections and to remind the president that his departure from office was imminent. But the demonstration never took place. At sunrise, clashes broke out between police and protesters in opposition strongholds. The military was deployed. By the time peace was restored 36 hours later, dozens had died. Kabila’s interior minister, claiming that the government had faced down an insurrection, acknowledged the deaths of 32 people but said that they were killed by criminals during looting.

Subsequent inquiries by the United Nations and Human Rights Watch (HRW) told a different story. They recorded more fatalities – at least 53 and 56, respectively – and said that the state had been responsible for most of the deaths. They claimed that the Congolese authorities had obstructed the investigators, and the true number of casualties was likely higher. According to HRW, security forces had seized and removed bodies “in an apparent effort to hide the evidence”.

The UN found that the lethal response was directed from a “central command centre. . . jointly managed” by officials from the police, army, presidential bodyguard and intelligence agency that “authorised the use of force, including firearms”.

The reports validated claims made by the Rassemblement that it was soldiers who had set fire to several opposition parties’ headquarters on 20 September. Six men were killed when the compound of the UDPS party was attacked.

On 1 November, their funerals took place where they fell. White coffins, each draped in a UDPS flag, were shielded from the midday sun by a gazebo, while mourners found shade inside the charred building. Pierrot Tshibangu lost his younger sibling, Evariste, in the attack. “When we arrived, we found my brother’s body covered in stab marks and bullet wounds,” he recalled.

Once the government had suppressed the demonstration, the attorney general compiled a list of influential figures in the Rassemblement – including Diongo – and forbade them from leaving the capital. Kinshasa’s governor then outlawed all political protest.

It was easy to understand why Diongo felt embattled, even paranoid. Midway through our conversation, his staff apprehended a man loitering in the courtyard. Several minutes of mayhem ensued before he was restrained and confined under suspicion of spying for the government.

Kabila is seldom seen in public and almost never addresses the nation. His long-term intentions are unclear, but the president’s chief diplomatic adviser maintains that his boss has no designs on altering the constitution or securing a third term. He insists that Kabila will happily step down once the country is ready for the polls.

Most refuse to believe such assurances. On 18 October, Kabila’s ruling alliance struck a deal with a different, smaller opposition faction. It allows Kabila to stay in office until the next election, which has been postponed until April 2018. A rickety government of national unity is being put in place but discord is already rife.

Jean-Lucien Bussa of the CDER party helped to negotiate the deal and is now a front-runner for a ministerial portfolio. At a corner table in the national assembly’s restaurant, he told me that the Rassemblement was guilty of “a lack of realism”, and that its fears were misplaced because Kabila won’t be able to prolong his presidency any further.

“On 29 April 2018, the Congolese will go to the ballot box to vote for their next president,” he said. “There is no other alternative for democrats than to find a negotiated solution, and this accord has given us one.”

Diongo was scathing of the pact (he called it “a farce intended to deceive”) and he excommunicated its adherents from his faction. “They are Mr Kabila’s collaborators, who came to divide the opposition,” he told me. “What kind of oppositionist can give Mr Kabila the power to violate the constitution beyond 19 December?”

Diongo is convinced that the president has no intention of walking away from power in April 2018. “Kabila will never organise elections if he cannot change the constitution,” he warned.

Diongo’s anger peaked at the suggestion that it will be an uphill struggle to dislodge a head of state who has control of the security forces. “What you need to consider,” he said, “is that no army can defy a people determined to take control of their destiny . . . The Congolese people will have the last word!”

A recent poll suggested that the president would win less than 8 per cent of the vote if an election were held this year. One can only assume that Kabila is hoping that the population will have no say at all.

This article first appeared in the 01 December 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Age of outrage