A view on Syria from the US: Obama's enemies scent blood

How did Obama find himself in such a rococo mess, pinned between haters in the House and his KGB rival?

Barely a week ago, when Barack Obama asked Congress to approve the degradation of Bashar al-Assad’s poison gas stocks, he became the hostage of obstructionist Tea Party members hell-bent on his downfall and of his own pacifist base, incapable of voting for war. The vote in Congress was heading for certain defeat. In an effort to rescue his rash gambit, Obama toured the talk shows and was billed to address the nation on television. What could he possibly say to turn back the tidal wave against war?
 
Enter the least likely character to save the US president from embarrassment, Vladimir Putin. A stray or perhaps not so stray remark by Secretary of State John Kerry that Syria could avoid attack if it surrendered its poisongas arsenal triggered a hectic Russian initiative to oblige Assad to do just that. Obama’s broadcast, a forlorn last chance to persuade Americans to live up to their responsibilities, turned out a damp squib: another passionless plea for military action, a delay to the congressional vote, and the granting of time for the Russians to strong-arm Syria.
 
In terms of high drama, no complaints so far. But how did Obama find himself adrift in such a rococo mess, pinned between haters in the House and his KGB rival? When it comes to big gestures it is best to ask questions only if you know the answer. When Obama invited Congress to share in the decision to bomb Syria, he must have known the House would oppose him. Not since he appeared vacant and distracted during his first presidential election debate with Mitt Romney has his judgement caused such consternation and despair among Democrats. What could he have been thinking?
 
The appeal to Congress remains a gamble. Until the Russian deal has run its course and Congress has, or perhaps has not, been asked to endorse military action, the presidency remains in severe jeopardy. A defeat in Congress would amount to a personal vote of no confidence on perhaps the most important decision any president can make: when to act to defend the nation’s safety. In his 10 September address Obama repeated that failure to act in Syria would lead to a proliferation of poison-gas attacks that put US national security directly at risk. As commander-in-chief, he does not need congressional consent to act in such circumstances, so the wonder is he has not already fired the cruise missiles. Which is what most of his allies wish he had done at the beginning of this month.
 
Instead, Obama chose the stony path. Some of his reasoning appears to be constitutional: he believes that the executive has too often ignored the legislature when making decisions about war and he, a Harvard constitutional law scholar, felt obliged to go through the niceties, whatever the risk of failure. Part of the reason, too, was the pivotal stance he took against the Iraq war that set him apart from Hillary Clinton in the 2008 primary debates. He believes Congress should play a key role in going to war.
 
There was, however, a recklessness about throwing the vote to Congress, which, since he lost the House in the midterm elections of 2010, has hampered him at every turn. The president has long lectured recalcitrant members of the House on playing chicken with America’s financial prestige – in order to keep America solvent by lifting the debt ceiling and by passing taxes to fund public spending. The vote for war is a similar test. Would Republicans risk harming America’s international reputation to satisfy their visceral dislike of him? Obama must have concluded that they wouldn’t dare, which is a bet few others would make.
 
By inviting the vote, Obama placed his tormentors in a torment of their own. Lawmakers have not thanked Obama for asking them to share the Syria decision. Americans are suffering war fatigue and the thought of another attack, however surgical, is unpopular in red and blue states alike. Being forced out into the open when opinion is so strongly against war is uncomfortable for a congressman. Best for those hoping to avoid an awkward primary to dodge the issue rather than be seen defying the will of the people.
 
For a couple of days Congress wriggled on the hook. In the Republican Party, mutating from a conservative to a libertarian movement, fiscal hawks now outnumber defence hawks. The old-school neocons and centrists such as John McCain and Lindsey Graham, who have ruled the roost on defence matters for the past decade and are backing the president, have been reduced to a handful. Many Republicans who had happily backed the unnecessary Iraq war are scrambling to find reasons to deny Obama the sanction to bomb Syria. For the sake of their president, Obama Democrats who opposed Iraq from the start are struggling to smother their pacifism and back another war.
 
Obama’s gamble has thrown everything in the air, but at enormous risk to his future authority. When a president finds his fate lies in the hands of the Tea Party and of Putin, he is in trouble. He faces opposition from a majority in the House of Representatives, almost half the Senate, and four out of every five Americans. His broadcast on Tuesday will not have changed minds. Like members of Congress who grabbed the Russian deal to save face, Obama must now hope that Putin can force Assad to keep his word.
 
The alternative for Obama is horrible. A failed Russian deal would reinstate the vote in the House and the Senate. If Congress rejects the measure, Obama will be profoundly weakened at home and in the eyes of the world – unless he bombs Syria anyway. The president might justify such an action by saying that Congress was asked to be wise and was found wanting.
 
Congress may reply that for a president to contradict a clear message from Congress is an impeachable offence. 
Hack or hostage? By mistiming and misdirecting the decision on a response to use of chemical weapons, Obama has put himself at the mercy of Putin.

Nicholas Wapshott’s Keynes Hayek: the Clash That Defined Modern Economics is published by W W Norton (£12.99)

This article first appeared in the 16 September 2013 issue of the New Statesman, Syria: The deadly stalemate

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Arsène Wenger: how can an intelligent manager preside over such a hollowed-out team?

The Arsenal manager faces a frustrating legacy.

Sport is obviously not all about winning, but it is about justified hope. That ­distinction has provided, until recently, a serious defence of Arsène Wenger’s Act II – the losing part. Arsenal haven’t won anything big for 13 years. But they have been close enough (and this is a personal view) to sustain the experience of investing emotionally in the story. Hope turning to disappointment is fine. It’s when the hope goes, that’s the problem.

Defeat takes many forms. In both 2010 and 2011, Arsenal lost over two legs to Barcelona in the Champions League. Yet these were rich and rewarding sporting experiences. In the two London fixtures of those ties, Arsenal drew 2-2 and won 2-1 against the most dazzling team in the world. Those nights reinvigorated my pride in sport. The Emirates Stadium had the best show in town. Defeat, when it arrived in Barcelona, was softened by gratitude. We’d been entertained, more than entertained.

Arsenal’s 5-1 surrender to Bayern Munich on 15 February was very different. In this capitulation by instalments, the fascination was macabre rather than dramatic. Having long given up on discerning signs of life, we began the post-mortem mid-match. As we pored over the entrails, the curiosity lay in the extent of the malady that had brought down the body. The same question, over and over: how could such an intelligent, deep-thinking manager preside over a hollowed-out team? How could failings so obvious to outsiders, the absence of steel and resilience, evade the judgement of the boss?

There is a saying in rugby union that forwards (the hard men) determine who wins, and the backs (the glamour boys) decide by how much. Here is a footballing equivalent: midfielders define matches, attacking players adorn them and defenders get the blame. Yet Arsenal’s players as good as vacated the midfield. It is hard to judge how well Bayern’s playmakers performed because they were operating in a vacuum; it looked like a morale-boosting training-ground drill, free from the annoying presence of opponents.

I have always been suspicious of the ­default English critique which posits that mentally fragile teams can be turned around by licensed on-field violence – a good kicking, basically. Sporting “character” takes many forms; physical assertiveness is only one dimension.

Still, it remains baffling, Wenger’s blind spot. He indulges artistry, especially the mercurial Mesut Özil, beyond the point where it serves the player. Yet he won’t protect the magicians by surrounding them with effective but down-to-earth talents. It has become a diet of collapsing soufflés.

What held back Wenger from buying the linchpin midfielder he has lacked for many years? Money is only part of the explanation. All added up, Arsenal do spend: their collective wage bill is the fourth-highest in the League. But Wenger has always been reluctant to lavish cash on a single star player, let alone a steely one. Rather two nice players than one great one.

The power of habit has become debilitating. Like a wealthy but conservative shopper who keeps going back to the same clothes shop, Wenger habituates the same strata of the transfer market. When he can’t get what he needs, he’s happy to come back home with something he’s already got, ­usually an elegant midfielder, tidy passer, gets bounced in big games, prone to going missing. Another button-down blue shirt for a drawer that is well stuffed.

It is almost universally accepted that, as a business, Arsenal are England’s leading club. Where their rivals rely on bailouts from oligarchs or highly leveraged debt, Arsenal took tough choices early and now appear financially secure – helped by their manager’s ability to engineer qualification for the Champions League every season while avoiding excessive transfer costs. Does that count for anything?

After the financial crisis, I had a revealing conversation with the owner of a private bank that had sailed through the turmoil. Being cautious and Swiss, he explained, he had always kept more capital reserves than the norm. As a result, the bank had made less money in boom years. “If I’d been a normal chief executive, I’d have been fired by the board,” he said. Instead, when the economic winds turned, he was much better placed than more bullish rivals. As a competitive strategy, his winning hand was only laid bare by the arrival of harder times.

In football, however, the crash never came. We all wrote that football’s insane spending couldn’t go on but the pace has only quickened. Even the Premier League’s bosses confessed to being surprised by the last extravagant round of television deals – the cash that eventually flows into the hands of managers and then the pockets of players and their agents.

By refusing to splash out on the players he needed, whatever the cost, Wenger was hedged for a downturn that never arrived.

What an irony it would be if football’s bust comes after he has departed. Imagine the scenario. The oligarchs move on, finding fresh ways of achieving fame, respectability and the protection achieved by entering the English establishment. The clubs loaded with debt are forced to cut their spending. Arsenal, benefiting from their solid business model, sail into an outright lead, mopping up star talent and trophies all round.

It’s often said that Wenger – early to invest in data analytics and worldwide scouts; a pioneer of player fitness and lifestyle – was overtaken by imitators. There is a second dimension to the question of time and circumstance. He helped to create and build Arsenal’s off-field robustness, even though football’s crazy economics haven’t yet proved its underlying value.

If the wind turns, Arsène Wenger may face a frustrating legacy: yesterday’s man and yet twice ahead of his time. 

Ed Smith is a journalist and author, most recently of Luck. He is a former professional cricketer and played for both Middlesex and England.

This article first appeared in the 24 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The world after Brexit