The No-Guts, No-Glory Guys

By Bruce W. Nelan

Though his cool exterior showed no cracks, Secretary of State Warren Christopher was fed up with a series of insistent questions on Haiti from Jesse Helms, the conservative Republican. "Senator," Christopher said in his deadpan tone, "a few people have sometimes misunderstood my courtesy for a lack of resolve. But I think they've been sorry when they've made that mistake."

That may have been true in the boardrooms of Los Angeles, where Warren Christopher worked for decades as a highly successful lawyer, but it works less well in the Hobbesian jungle where U.S. foreign policy faces considerable challenges. Which ruthless leaders are actually sorry about mistaking Christopher's courtly bearing for lack of resolve? Not Serbian President Slobodan Milosevic, whose forces are bombarding Sarajevo; not Haitian strongman Raoul Cedras, whose thugs are thumbing their nose at the U.S.; not General Mohammed Farrah Aidid, the clan boss ravaging Mogadishu.

Christopher and the other two members of the troika that helps run U.S. foreign policy -- Secretary of Defense Les Aspin and National Security Adviser Tony Lake -- share all the virtues in the Boy Scout Oath and then some: they are talented, intelligent, hardworking men who rarely backstab or second-guess one another. They argue correctly that they have done well enough on the issues that affect the country's most vital interests, including Russia, the Middle East, relations with Japan, and the future of NATO. It is also true that Bosnia, Somalia and Haiti are intricate problems with no easy solutions. Yet the U.S. performance in each of these countries has been marked by vacillating objectives, bad staff work and a reluctance by any of the trio to take the lead in shaping policy. And it is the mishandled episodes rather than the well-managed issues that create the image of a team out of its depth. Moreover, they work for a President who himself faces a steep learning curve on foreign policy and sometimes treats international issues as nuisances that keep him from dealing with priorities at home.

Last week, in what looked like a first effort to face the problem, the State Department's No. 2 man, Deputy Secretary Clifton Wharton, stepped down. It was not what it seemed. Wharton, a successful educator and investment executive, had never functioned as Christopher's policy deputy; he handled mostly organizational tasks. "Nice man, wrong job," says an Administration official. Christopher asked Wharton to take a less important post, and when details of their talk were leaked last week, Wharton resigned on the spot. But since he was not actually part of the policymaking, his departure is not a solution.

Under Secretary Christopher's stewardship, U.S. foreign policy is being questioned from Capitol Hill to capitals of the world, in editorial columns and on TV panel shows. Bosnia, Somalia and Haiti have become symbols of U.S. efforts going nowhere. Foreign leaders wonder at the passivity they detect in the U.S. and whether it will change when the next major crisis arrives, as it inevitably will. Public attention has focused on the trouble spots and the Administration's disorganized, amateurish response to them. Says a former U.S. diplomat: "The top levels don't know what they want to accomplish."

The apparent vacuum at the top is beginning to catch up with the Administration. A TIME/CNN poll last week showed that 52% of respondents disapproved of Bill Clinton's handling of foreign affairs, and only 33% thought the President's chief advisers were doing a good job. The decision makers in Washington are well aware of the low marks they are getting, and have begun consultations on what to fix -- and whom to fire. Says Christopher: "We need to assess what's going on in foreign policy, and I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't talk to the President about mid-course changes."

The Secretary of State's problems start with his boss. Clinton puts domestic policy first, often resents the time he must spend on foreign affairs, and hopes that good lawyers like Christopher can go out and negotiate solutions to the world's troubles without bothering him much. "Clinton is very bright and capable, as good at foreign policy as the next guy," says Paul Nitze, a senior veteran of cold war policymaking. "But he gives the impression of not caring about it." Under the circumstances Clinton could use a strong vicar to set the course and capture his attention. "Now," says a former senior official, "we have three guys who say, 'What do you think?' "

Christopher is careful not to sound critical, but he conceded in an interview with TIME last week that if Clinton does not spend enough time on foreign issues, "it's because the lesson of the campaign -- that it's the economy -- was overlearned." He has asked Clinton to set a regular weekly session for general discussions with his top security advisers. The first such meeting was held last Friday and reviewed the North American Free Trade Agreement, Haiti, the Middle East and U.N. peacekeeping. These meetings aren't for making decisions; as one participant put it, "they offer the opportunity for talking things through in a more contemplative way" and allowing the principals to see the quality of Clinton's thinking. "The weekly lunch or breakfast needs to be added," says Christopher, "as a way to regularize his getting involved in the whole agenda, not piecemeal."

Critics also contend that the Secretary fails to exert tight enough command over his own building. Weak links in his senior staff prevent the department from conceptualizing well, then following through. "Foreign policy is like a pointillist painting," says a former U.S. diplomat. "You put a bunch of dots on the canvas and when you stand back you have a picture. These guys stand back and they have a bunch of dots." Christopher admits that the State Department will have to "pull up our socks, tighten up our operation." Two of its success stories have been Dennis Ross's efforts as special coordinator for the Middle East and Ambassador-at-Large Strobe Talbott's consultations with Russia, Ukraine and the other former Soviet republics, so Christopher is seeking more high achievers to handle major issues. "When it looks like a presidential policy is going to require day-to-day management," says a senior official, "we're going to look to heavyweight coordinators to do it, and to be accountable for any drift."

Traditionally, the State Department assigned such tasks to strong Under Secretaries, but Christopher does not have them. Peter Tarnoff, the Under Secretary for Political Affairs, fell under a dark cloud last May when he suggested the U.S. was too poor to support an activist policy abroad. More recently, according to two well-placed officials, Clinton suggested that Christopher consider firing him, out of concern that he was not properly overseeing the State Department's regional bureaus. But the Secretary, an old and close friend of Tarnoff's, resisted, according to the sources, arguing that he should be reassessed after a new Deputy Secretary relieved Tarnoff of some of his work load. Christopher flatly denies that Clinton asked him to fire Tarnoff. Nevertheless, many officials charge Tarnoff has been "Peter- principled" above his skills.

| Christopher must now select a new No. 2 who can run the department while he's away. The Secretary will be traveling a great deal in the coming months, says a senior aide, "so he needs someone here who can manage the other big issues, who can really serve as alter ego." One candidate is Thomas Pickering, now the ambassador to Russia, who has an excellent reputation for getting things done, albeit by leaving a lot of smashed crockery in his wake.

When the Clinton team members arrived in Washington they vowed they would avoid the interdepartmental warfare that marred the Carter Administration, in which most of them served. They have succeeded up to now, but the good manners are beginning to fray slightly. State Department officials believe their boss is slammed for things that should be blamed on the Pentagon or the National Security Council NSC. Christopher tells his aides not to finger-point, but last week one of them confided, "He has taken criticism for a number of things he didn't take the lead on. You know, he doesn't conduct military operations."

That finger is aimed at Defense Secretary Aspin, whose appearance with Christopher before congressional leaders last month to explain the heavy U.S. casualties in Mogadishu was a particular disaster. Aspin, pushed by the White House into meeting the legislators before Clinton had made key policy decisions on Somalia, understandably stumbled. Moreover, he dismayed lawmakers eager for answers by asking for their advice. He thought he was "consulting," but some of those present considered it their worst meeting ever with an Administration witness.

A member of Congress for 22 years, chairman of the House Armed Services Committee for eight, Aspin owes some of his problems to lack of bureaucratic prowess -- a necessary skill in running the Pentagon. He is a frenetic man in motion, physically and mentally. He is not helped by some of the worst tailoring in Washington; only recently have aides persuaded him to stop wearing his baggy light tan suits to military ceremonies. "Les is always searching for a new idea," says one of his aides. Yes, says Congresswoman Patricia Schroeder, who serves on the Armed Services Committee, but "his folksy style sometimes just doesn't square with the requirements of the office."

Aspin's supporters insist that he served the President well by alerting him to the ramifications of putting U.S. ground forces into Bosnia and successfully arguing against the deployment of troops in Haiti. His advocates also cite his accomplishments in internal Pentagon matters, from opening the ranks for women to hammering out a major base-closing program. "It's this image thing," contended an aide. "Les Aspin runs this place far better than most of his predecessors, but he doesn't look like it."

Arriving at the Pentagon, Aspin inherited two big human problems: Bill Clinton and General Colin Powell, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Aspin could never have as much influence with the armed forces as Powell, and he could never fully win the confidence of the men and women in uniform who resent the President's efforts to avoid the draft during the Vietnam War. For those reasons, Aspin approached his duties with diffidence.

Even now, he says, "I'm Secretary of Defense, not Secretary of State. I come to the table feeling I should concentrate on issues of direct concern to my department." But he has sharp critics on departmental issues too. Andrew Krepinevich, director of Washington's Defense Budget Project, says that Aspin's ballyhooed "bottom up" reviews of budget and strategy have failed to balance those two elements. The armed forces and weapons programs Aspin has recommended, says Krepinevich, "cannot be sustained by the Clinton defense budget."

State Department officials also say Tony Lake's NSC has too many academic types and too few experienced military, intelligence and Foreign Service professionals. For months Lake had proved his dedication to collegial relations by remaining almost invisible so he would not outshine the Secretary of State. "That's a nice thesis when you have a strong Secretary," says a congressional staff member. "Here you have two men who aren't radiant." In response to this kind of criticism, Lake is now making forays into the public arena, giving interviews himself and allowing his aides to brief reporters on his policy role. He wants Washington officials to be more alert to information from the field, so they can pick up early-warning signals before crises occur. Like Clinton, Lake believes the Administration's foreign policy problem is essentially one of communication -- skill in "articulating the vision," as staff members say -- and could be solved with better public relations. Put another way, they think the fault is not in the policy or its execution but in the public's ability to understand it.

Clinton's chief spin doctor, David Gergen, has been brought in to do some patching up, but he is nettled by reports that he is muscling in on NSC % meetings uninvited. "I'll sit wherever the President wants me to sit," he says. "I do not pretend to be a foreign policy authority. My involvement will be in helping to build domestic support, and international support, for the goals and policies set forth by the foreign policy team." Translation: Gergen will try to generate some political backing for Clinton's policies.

To win that backing, however, the President must lead. The blots on his record -- in Bosnia, Somalia, Haiti -- arise from letting others unfriendly to the U.S. take the initiative, while he tries to avoid hard decisions.

Over the past two months, Christopher and others have enunciated the general course for U.S. policy. Now that policy must be implemented and sold to a nation that enjoys the idea of being a superpower but is unwilling to pay the price of behaving like one in places where it sees no obvious national interest. Congress and the public would be more likely to follow if Clinton, Christopher, Aspin and Lake all marched smartly in the same direction.

With reporting by James Carney, J.F.O. McAllister and Bruce van Voorst/Washington