Kissinger Revisited

By Michael Brenner, Reader Supported News

14 October 15

enry Kissinger is back. Of course, he never has been out of view for very long, thanks to a steady stream of commentaries, serious publication, and unmatched access to the inner sanctums of high policy. It is the attention given the questions of the man's place in history, his philosophy and his enduring influence on how American elites think about the world that fluctuates. Two sobering new excursions into those realms are absorbing those who are intrigued by attempts to provide answers.* They probe the man, his mind, his actions and their bearing on the present troubled state of America's external relations.

The common avenue of entry into Kissingerian universe is the hoary issue of idealism vs realism. That is entirely understandable in the light of Kissinger's life-long discomfort with the prevailing American conception of a conflictual world at odds with the national faith in enlightened reason, betterment of man in society, and the beneficence of the United States' acting as a force for good in the world -- on those occasions when it chooses to do so. As far as rhetoric is concerned, American leaders always have been and always will be Wilsonian. Practice is quite another issue -- whether during the era of so-called isolationism or in more recent times of global activism.

Kissinger, by contrast, has lived in quite a different mental universe. It is the perspective defined and formed by the turbulent experience of the Old Continent. Oddly, Kissinger has refrained from offering a succinct statement of his philosophy of international relations despite his voluminous writings on the subject. Perhaps the closest he came was in his early account of the Council of Vienna and in his expansive Diplomacy -- each of which featured on its cover pictures of great statesmen in stern pose around a conference table. Indeed, Diplomacy should have been titled Power Politics had the principle of truth in advertising been observed. Selecting the actual title was but another indication of how sensitive Kissinger has been to the intellectual distance that separates him from the American lexicon of foreign affairs. His success nonetheless is a tribute to his own diplomatic skills which as displayed in.

Washington may well have exceeded their demonstration abroad. Let's recall that this was the man who almost succeeded in convincing Ford and Reagan to run on a single ticket in 1976 with the proviso that he stay on as Secretary of State. Not bad for the devoted adviser and admirer of Nelson Rockefeller.

Ferguson and Grandin both take exception to this depiction of Kissinger as an arch realist. The former discovers previously invisible signs of a peculiar Kissingerian idealism to justify the subtitle of his work. Ferguson's rather convoluted argument harks back to the man's thesis at Harvard on the Kantian view of Free Will and history. He argues that Kissinger harbors an abiding commitment to democracy that dovetails with the claim that he "never was a Machiavellian." These assertions are hard to sustain, much less reconcile, with his conduct of American foreign policy or his writings. Kissinger has expressed on numerous occasions the enormous challenge to classic diplomacy imposed by the institutional and political restrictions of American democracy. These pronounced views came out in spite of his constant awareness that he was looked at as "alien" by many in the national Establishment and the public. It would be fairer to say that Kissinger was an English Whig of the Burkean variety -- although his political reference points were always more Central European than British. It is only slightly more of a reach to postulate that the model political system for the statesman, to his mind, was Wilhelmine Germany minus the anti-Semitism.

Grandin's take is more interesting. He develops the thesis that Kissinger should be seen as a foreign policy "existentialist" rather than a "realist." For Grandin, "realism" is only about national interest defined in terms of security and control with the manipulation of power the means to gain relative advantage in a system determined game of utilitarian calculation. "Existentialism" focuses on spontaneous action and creative will operating free of strict rules or structurally dictated regularities. There is something artificial about the distinction, though. In the real world, "realists' are obliged to interpret and to decide in situations that are unique. None is exactly like any other. Any leader who did try to follow a formulaic approach was doomed to impotence or failure. There is ample support for that intrinsic 'existential' element in the fine-grained accounts we have of the crisis leading up to the Great War.

Grandin is correct in stressing the place of individual will in Kissinger's characteristic approach. The opening to China is cited often as the prime example. Still, the core logic of that historic move was dictated by standard balance-of-power principles. No assessment of Kissinger as statesman, much less of Kissinger the man, can ignore his super-sized ego or his hunger for the limelight. Recall that this is the immigrant boy from Furth who, in the notorious interview with an Italian journalist Oriana Fallaci, visualized himself as Gary Cooper in High Noon alone on the dusty street steeled to do battle against evil. Having Grace Kelly waiting in the wings surely added to the allure.

The more cutting debate about Kissinger and his works has to do with his conduct rather than his philosophy. Indochina, above all -- with Chile, Cyprus, East Timor, Yom Kippur War, etc following in train. Were his policies a success or failure in political terms? Did he act immorally? Of course, anyone who engages in this discussion should preface the analysis by acknowledging that Richard Nixon in every instance was an equal if not greater protagonist. The Ferguson mode of approach emphasizes the agony of decision. A notion that brings us back to that early preoccupation with Kantian Free Will and ethical choice. The two questions are intertwined. For the statesman typically operates in a domain where the ethic of ultimate ends does not apply; where the ethic of responsibility does. At the core of this latter are the inescapable trade-offs that a political man must make between ends and means, and in weighing outcomes (either as possibilities of alternative policy choices or as the actual effects of actions that produce multiple impacts). It follows logically that any attempt to answer either question will be influenced by how one appraises those ends and outcomes.

For example, if one values very highly the opening to China as facilitated by Pakistan -- and ascribes to it all kinds of positives for the United States and the world over time -- then Pakistani military atrocities in the Bangladesh war of secession might be judged less severely than if less positive value were attached to the China initiative.

It is much harder to make this argument vis-a-vis Indochina. That is true on several counts. One, the casualties were several orders of magnitude greater. The mass slaughter of a million Cambodians by the Khmer Rouge, for example, was made possible in part by the political ramifications of the United States' secret war against the Vietcong in Cambodia and the policy of undercutting Prince Sihanouk.

Two, the Vietnam policy was an abject failure insofar as Nixon and Kissinger aimed to reconcile a very gradual American withdrawal with the building of an ARVN political and military capability that would give it a fighting chance to resist the Communists while ensuring no precipitate, embarrassing collapse. To this end, the two men were prepared to accept tens of thousands of additional American casualties and countless Indochinese casualties. In the event, the cost to American reputation and moral standing was enormous -- leaving aside the bitter divisions at home that still haunt us. It can be argued, as does Ferguson, that the Indochina policies were elements of a grander strategy of which the opening to China was the centerpiece. Unless Washington could demonstrate its staying-power as a force in Asia by persevering in Vietnam, it is said, that strategy would lack credibility. So the two premises justifying the human costs of what Nixon and Kissinger did are: 1) the positive value of the China gambit outweighed them; and 2) holding on in Vietnam was critical for it to be viable.

I personally do not find this line of rationalization persuasive -- by either standard of ethical conduct. On the moral scale, a million plus deaths cannot be justified by any diplomatic maneuver -- especially when neither national survival nor even vital interests are engaged. On the political scale -- a demonstration of American resolve in Vietnam was unlikely to have been the deciding factor in Mao's judgment given however powerful was the strategic logic pointing to a modus vivendi with the United States.

Kissinger's tolerance for the human costs of playing the power political game is even clearer in Latin America. The crucial American role in the Pinochet coup makes it culpable for the horrors that followed. That same mentality made us an accomplice to the Argentinian junta's similar defenestration of its opponents -- whatever their political stripe. In the perspective of history, these policies clearly are failures of political judgment as well as of moral conduct. They reflect a quite simplistic conception of the displaced Cold War with the USSR. This is not merely a matter of 20-20 hindsight. Even at the time, there was no serious American national security interest at stake in either country. So what if a leftist coalition ruled in Chile? So what if some melding of Peronistas and diverse leftist elements displaced the Argentinian oligarchy?

The Kissinger cum Establishment response was a pale version of the Southeast Asian domino theory. It was all about momentum -- political and ideology. The fear was of a Cuban inspired tide sweeping over the continent, with Che's black beret as its symbolic Holy Grail, that could tilt the global balance-of-power in the Kremlin's favor. This was evident nonsense in the 1970s as much as it appears to us as nonsense today.

Grandin cites American policies in Latin America in both periods in support of an original, if ultimately unconvincing thesis that Kissinger's quasi-revolution in how the United States viewed the world, and its readiness to use coercion to get its way, have exercised an enduring influence. It goes far, he argues, to explain what we have been doing in the Middle East as well as other regions. One does observe some elements of striking continuity; however, there are slim grounds to place blame for them on Kissinger's shoulders. Interestingly, interventions in Latin American designed to topple "leftist" governments are a striking case in point. The Bush and Obama administrations all but declared war on reformist governments throughout the region -- despite their being democratically elected (and, in some cases, reelected). They targeted for regime change: Venezuela, Honduras, Bolivia, Paraguay and Ecuador. Washington provided political and even material backing for opposition movements that sought to unseat uncongenial leaders. They succeeded in Honduras and Paraguay.

Their motivations are baffling. There is no Cold War. No Soviet Union. No Fidelistas. There is mounting Chinese influence via economic avenues; but we are impotent to do anything at all about that and it is concentrated in countries like Brazil and Argentina where we dare not blatantly encourage opposition forces. So what is on the minds of Washington officials? Protection of vested American business interests is one consideration. Challenges to the neo-liberal ideological juggernaut central to the Obama worldview is a related consideration. Then there is the historically grounded habit of taking license to throw Yankee weight around south of the border. Kissinger cannot be held accountable for those long entrenched attitudes.

Kissinger is more visible as an ideological and personal presence re: American wars in the Middle East as integral to the GWOT. He lent his support to the invasion and occupation of Iraq. He has urged that very effort be bent to upgrade our military capacity in the region. And, he has pronounced Iran as the greatest threat to Middle East stability. On Iran, he is a staunch advocate of the Israeli-Saudi-Republican line. Indeed, he drafted a public letter opposing the nuclear deal with Iran and urged Congress to vote against it. Although co-signed by George Shultz, Kissinger took the initiative and Shultz today has misgivings about his role.

What do the two books noted above tell us about Kissinger's thinking that led him to take such a radical, hard to justify position? Kantian 'idealism?' Classic 'realism?' Appreciation for democracy? None of this rings true. Atavism looks to be the surprising answer. Ferguson reminds us of Kissinger's searing experience in Nazi Germany, of family exterminated, of the Furth Jewish community wiped out -- albeit Kissinger himself has never made much of these experiences in public.

Indeed, we should recall the account of one conversation he had in the Oval Office where Nixon baited him by posing the hypothetical question of what the United States' response should be if the Kremlin leadership were to turn on Russian Jews and launch their version of the Final Solution. Kissinger, the obedient courtier, replied that from the perspective of American national interest there should be no lasting break in treating with Moscow -- the moral horror notwithstanding. He added, of course, that outraged condemnation should be vociferously expressed.

Iran, nuclear weapons, Ahmedi-nejad's heated rhetoric -- together, they seem to have opened old psychic wounds. Kissinger, the ultimate realpolitiker, had no qualms about dealing with Mao, the Soviet leadership, the North Vietnamese and an assortment of minor villains whom we thought useful. He always affirmed that it is national interest rather than ideology that ultimately determines a country's foreign policy. He thought that the structure and distribution of power were the prime factors that defined choices. He preached relativism rather than absolutes. Diplomatic success was to be found in accepting the less than ideal arrangement because alternatives were more dangerous. This Kissinger has criticized the hostile reaction to Putin's actions in Ukraine in explaining his voiced concerns about how the American move to shift the country into the NATO/EU bloc threatened Russia's legitimate geostrategic interests.

So, what has happened to that Kissinger when it comes to Iran? For the Kissinger who rails against the Islamic Republic is neither idealist nor realist. Instead, he appears like a man reverting to tribalism. Has the rationalist and realist been swept up by the emotions of the blood feud. In that, is he exercising his Free Will?

"Michael Brenner is a Senior Fellow at the Center for Transatlantic Relations and a Professor of International Affairs at the University of Pittsburgh."

Reader Supported News is the Publication of Origin for this work. Permission to republish is freely granted with credit and a link back to Reader Supported News.

Peace Process Over, It's Year Zero for Israelis and Palestinians

By Lisa Goldman, Al Jazeera America

14 October 15

Analysis: Israel’s shift to the right has entrenched the occupation for the foreseeable future

month from now, Israel will mark 20 years since the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin, the prime minister who signed the Oslo Accord. The night he was shot by a Jewish nationalist, Yigal Amir, Rabin appeared onstage at a peace rally in Tel Aviv, where he joined singer Miri Aloni, delivering an off-key and embarrassed rendition of the famous 1960s anti-war song “Shir LaShalom” (“Song to Peace”). A blood-spattered leaflet bearing the song’s lyrics was found in his suit pocket and became an enduring metaphor for the tragedy.

Worse was to come: Thousands of Palestinians and hundreds of Israelis have been killed in the two decades of violence that followed — a cycle once again on the uptick. Today Aloni makes her living as a busker. Twice a week, she cradles her guitar on a stool outside Tel Aviv’s squalid Carmel Market and performs her golden oldies for spare change, yelling at people who try to take her photograph. Thus the fortunes of what was once known as Israel’s peace camp.

Two decades after Rabin’s assassination, the occupation that was supposed to be ended by the Oslo process has been deepened and widened. The physical restrictions under which Palestinians live are far more onerous today than they were in 1987, when the first intifada broke out. Back then, Palestinian residents of the West Bank and East Jerusalem could still travel freely throughout the territory between the Mediterranean Sea and the Jordan River. And there were several hundred thousand fewer settlers living in those occupied territories. Still, back then Palestinians were also jailed for involvement in any kind of political activity, even for waving a Palestinian flag. And, as today, those living under occupation had no democratic rights in the state that ruled over them and were denied civil liberties. One difference, of course, is that today there’s a willing Palestinian participant in that repression, in the form of the Palestinian Authority’s security services.

The uprising of 1987 to 1990 that saw Palestinian youths facing down Israeli armor with stones and Molotov cocktails may have been an expression of hopelessness and despair. But it led to something that was, at the time, considered a victory: The Madrid Conference, followed by the Oslo Accord, the return of Yasser Arafat to Palestinian territory, the raising of the Palestinian flag and the establishment of the Palestinian Authority to preside over the infrastructure of self-governance ahead of a transition to Palestinian statehood.

Many Israelis and Palestinians saw these developments as launching an irreversible momentum toward ending the conflict by creating a Palestinian state at peace with Israel. That remained conventional wisdom among many for the first six years after Rabin’s assassination, despite election of Benjamin Netanyahu — an implacable opponent of Oslo — as prime minister. Many viewed even the ongoing settlement expansion as an irrelevant, last-gasp provocation from the right that would inevitably be reversed when a final agreement was concluded.

For Palestinians, however, the ongoing settlement expansion not only meant more land confiscated and increased restrictions on their freedom of movement; it was also taken as a sign that Israel had no real intention of withdrawing from the occupied territories.

The failure of the Camp David and Taba talks to conclude the Oslo process confirmed that suspicion in the minds of many, and what followed was the second intifada and the suicide bombings and the Israeli army’s reoccupation of much of the West Bank.

Ariel Sharon, whose provocative show of force in the precincts of Al-Aqsa Mosque in August of 2000 triggered the protests that marked the start of the second intifada, used the suicide bombings to justify building the security barrier, which was planned under previous governments. Sharon, a longtime champion of the settler movement, was elected prime minister in 2001 and used the building of the wall as an excuse to carry out a land grab — its route deviated from the Green Line boundary between Israel and the occupied territories, resulting in the uprooting and dispersion of Palestinians whose homes were demolished and the separation of villages from their farmland to make room for the wall.

Those settlements have only expanded in the ensuing decade, gobbling up more privately held Palestinian land, while the Palestinian Authority has coordinated with Israel to suppress all political and security challenges. Even more desperate is the plight of Palestinians in occupied East Jerusalem, who live in squalor and despair as more and more settlers arrive, in violation of international law but sanctioned by Israel’s courts and under the protection of Israeli security forces.

The end of Oslo and, with it, the prospect of ending the occupation and creating a Palestinian state alongside Israel, was Netanyahu’s stated intention when he emerged as a contender for prime minister back in the early ’90s. During the months leading up to Rabin’s assassination, Netanyahu gave fiery anti-Oslo speeches at settler rallies where participants denounced Rabin as a traitor — and the slain prime minister’s widow, Leah Rabin, publicly blamed Netanyahu and his party for creating the atmosphere that led to his murder.

Today, Netanyahu, in his fourth term, looks set to remain in power for many years to come. The Israeli peace camp barely exists in a society that has shifted so sharply to the right that there are few discernible differences between the government and the opposition when it comes to relations with the Palestinians.

Netanyahu never changed his mind about Oslo, even if diplomatic expediency occasionally prompted him to declare a willingness to accept a two-state solution — but only upon fulfillment of a series of conditions that rendered it effectively impossible.

Oslo has been dismantled, but nothing has been built in its place. The Israeli-Palestinian conflict is back at Year Zero, although this time with a more primal, intimate form of violence. Teenage Palestinians stab random strangers; security forces in Israel shoot young Palestinians armed with knives while Israeli crowds scream encouragement. The mayor of Jerusalem drives his Mercedes through Palestinian East Jerusalem with one hand on the wheel and the other on an automatic weapon, while ostensibly responsible politicians call for vigilante violence against Palestinians. No one knows what the endgame is this time. There doesn’t seem to be one.