Displaced Iraqi families from the Yazidi community. Photo: Getty
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What does the US response to stranded refugees in Iraq mean for David Cameron?

As the US reports fewer stranded refugees on Mount Sinjar than expected, how can the PM respond to the decreasing likelihood of a rescue operation?

The Prime Minister cut his holiday one day short to return to the UK to chair a Cobra meeting yesterday. He revealed that “detailed plans” are being put in place for Britain to help in a rescue operation to save stranded Yazidi refugees in Iraq.

Although insisting that it is “unnecessary to recall parliament” in order for the House of Commons to debate military intervention in Iraq, David Cameron did say Britain would be involved in an international mission to rescue the swathes of refugees stranded on Mount Sinjar.

Cameron announced that the UK would play a role in airlifting the refugees, who are trapped by Islamist fighters, from the mountain, and a government official last night added that Downing Street was “not ruling out” sending ground troops to the site, though in a non-combat role. However, in spite of growing calls for Britain to take more of an active role in the situation, the PM was firmly focused on the humanitarian support the UK can provide the trapped refugees.

Yet the news this morning from the US could change those “detailed plans” hinted at by the UK government. The US, which sent a Special Forces team to the mountain to inspect the situation, has said it has found fewer stranded people than first thought, and also that they are in a better situation than expected.

The Pentagon said in a statement:

"The Yazidis who remain are in better condition than previously believed and continue to have access to the food and water that we have dropped… Based on this assessment... an evacuation mission is far less likely."

What does this development mean for Cameron? It’s clear that he was taking the lead from the US so far on his approach to the situation of the stranded Yazidis. A UK government official said last night, referring to potentially sending troops to the area, that it was, “important to remember it is a US-led plan and Kurdish forces are on the ground already”.

But now the US has almost certainly decided against a mission to evacuate the trapped Iraqis, what are Cameron’s options? In spite of the US saying a rescue operation is unlikely, it and Britain are continuing to drop aid to the refugees, which highlights the fact that there remains a substantial number of people in dire need of help from the international community.

However, from International Development Secretary Justine Greening’s interview on the BBC’s Today programme this morning, it seems the UK is reluctant to take a lead on this beyond America’s stance.

Greening admitted to the programme that it, “has been difficult to get the exact facts of what’s happening on the ground,” but accepted that, “the US has given us a more accurate on-the-ground assessment of what their estimate [of the number of people left on the mountain] is”.

She said Britain would continue doing airdrops alongside the US, as “we do know that there are many people left on that mountain in desperate straits”, but suggested that it would only take more direct action if it could follow its international ally: “The PM’s been very clear that if there is a rescue effort, we would be part of that – work alongside international partners, which would mean the Americans.”

Although refusing to say outright that there would be no rescue operation, and also declining to comment on what the UK’s reconnaissance jets, sent in three days ago, have found, Greening did hint that the remaining refugees would be there for some time. “We need to look ahead to the fact that people won’t be going home immediately,” she admitted, adding we need to focus on “how to get them through the winter”.

It seems Cameron’s options are rather limited by America’s actions. Although this restricts the UK government’s response, it could be a relief for the PM, who has been doing his best this week to concentrate on the humanitarian effort over discussions of military intervention.

Anoosh Chakelian is deputy web editor at the New Statesman.

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How Donald Trump is slouching towards the Republican nomination

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb.

In America, you can judge a crowd by its merchandise. Outside the Connecticut Convention Centre in Hartford, frail old men and brawny moms are selling “your Trump 45 football jerseys”, “your hats”, “your campaign buttons”. But the hottest item is a T-shirt bearing the slogan “Hillary sucks . . . but not like Monica!” and, on the back: “Trump that bitch!” Inside, beyond the checkpoint manned by the Transportation Security Administration and the secret service (“Good!” the man next to me says, when he sees the agents), is a family whose three kids, two of them girls, are wearing the Monica shirt.

Other people are content with the shirts they arrived in (“Waterboarding – baptising terrorists with freedom” and “If you don’t BLEED red, white and blue, take your bitch ass home!”). There are 80 chairs penned off for the elderly but everyone else is standing: guys in motorcycle and military gear, their arms folded; aspiring deal-makers, suited, on cellphones; giggling high-school fatsos, dressed fresh from the couch, grabbing M&M’s and Doritos from the movie-theatre-style concession stands. So many baseball hats; deep, bellicose chants of “Build the wall!” and “USA!”. (And, to the same rhythm, “Don-ald J!”)

A grizzled man in camouflage pants and combat boots, whose T-shirt – “Connecticut Militia III%” – confirms him as a member of the “patriot” movement, is talking to a zealous young girl in a short skirt, who came in dancing to “Uptown Girl”.

“Yeah, we were there for Operation American Spring,” he says. “Louis Farrakhan’s rally of hate . . .”

“And you’re a veteran?” she asks. “Thank you so much!”

Three hours will pass. A retired US marine will take the rostrum to growl, “God bless America – hoo-rah!”; “Uptown Girl” will play many more times (much like his speeches, Donald J’s playlist consists of a few items, repeated endlessly), before Trump finally looms in and asks the crowd: “Is this the greatest place on Earth?”

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb. Only a minority within a minority of Americans, it was assumed, could possibly be stupid enough to think a Trump presidency was a good idea. He won New Hampshire and South Carolina with over 30 per cent of the Republican vote, then took almost 46 per cent in Nevada. When he cleaned up on Super Tuesday in March, he was just shy of 50 per cent in Massachusetts; a week later, he took 47 per cent of the votes in Mississippi.

His rivals, who are useless individually, were meant to co-operate with each other and the national party to deny him the nomination. But Trump won four out of the five key states being contested on “Super-Duper Tuesday” on 15 March. Then, as talk turned to persuading and co-opting his delegates behind the scenes, Trump won New York with 60 per cent.

Now, the campaign is trying to present Trump as more “presidential”. According to his new manager, Paul Manafort, this requires him to appear in “more formal settings” – without, of course, diluting “the unique magic of Trump”. But whether or not he can resist denouncing the GOP and the “corrupt” primary system, and alluding to violence if he is baulked at at the convention, the new Trump will be much the same as the old.

Back in Hartford: “The Republicans wanna play cute with us, right? If I don’t make it, you’re gonna have millions of people that don’t vote for a Republican. They’re not gonna vote at all,” says Trump. “Hopefully that’s all, OK? Hopefully that’s all, but they’re very, very angry.”

This anger, which can supposedly be turned on anyone who gets in the way, has mainly been vented, so far, on the protesters who disrupt Trump’s rallies. “We’re not gonna be the dummies that lose all of our jobs now. We’re gonna be the smart ones. Oh, do you have one over there? There’s one of the dummies . . .”

There is a frenzied fluttering of Trump placards, off to his right. “Get ’em out! . . . Don’t hurt ’em – see how nice I am? . . . They really impede freedom of speech and it’s a disgrace. But the good news is, folks, it won’t be long. We’re just not taking it and it won’t be long.”

It is their removal by police, at Trump’s ostentatious behest, that causes the disruption, rather than the scarcely audible protesters. He seems to realise this, suddenly: “We should just let ’em . . . I’ll talk right over them, there’s no problem!” But it’s impossible to leave the protesters where they are, because it would not be safe. His crowd is too vicious.

Exit Trump, after exactly half an hour, inclusive of the many interruptions. His people seem uplifted but, out on the street, they are ambushed by a large counter-demonstration, with a booming drum and warlike banners and standards (“Black Lives Matter”; an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, holding aloft Trump’s severed head). Here is the rest of the world, the real American world: young people, beautiful people, more female than male, every shade of skin colour. “F*** Donald Trump!” they chant.

After a horrified split-second, the Trump crowd, massively more numerous, rallies with “USA!” and – perplexingly, since one of the main themes of the speech it has just heard was the lack of jobs in Connecticut – “Get a job!” The two sides then mingle, unobstructed by police. Slanging matches break out that seem in every instance to humiliate the Trump supporter. “Go to college!” one demands. “Man, I am in college, I’m doin’ lovely!”

There is no violence, only this: some black boys are dancing, with liquid moves, to the sound of the drum. Four young Trump guys counter by stripping to their waists and jouncing around madly, their skin greenish-yellow under the street lights, screaming about the building of the wall. There was no alcohol inside; they’re drunk on whatever it is – the elixir of fascism, the unique magic of Trump. It’s a hyper but not at all happy drunk.

As with every other moment of the Trump campaign so far, it would have been merely some grade of the cringeworthy – the embarrassing, the revolting, the pitiful – were Trump not slouching closer and closer, with each of these moments, to his nomination. 

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism