zen and the art of political war

Classicist Camille Paglia—no political conservative, she—wrote this in response to the third presidential debate almost four years ago:

The big news, surprisingly, is how Bush reacted to Gore's hammy, manic affectations. It's not clear whether this was the result of superb coaching or his own gut instinct, but when it was Bush's turn to speak, he treated the camera as if it were an intimate, as if he and the viewers at home were in league against a hectoring wind machine. Gore's deafening, indiscriminate blather became so annoying after a while that whatever Bush said, no matter how disjointed or tottering the syntax, came as a palpably physical relief, like cool rain after a broiling sun. Bush was so sly and deft in undercutting Gore that at one point I said to myself, “This is like Zen!” That is, Bush made himself a reed bending to the wind. He projected modest self-containment — but it was the strategy of a fox.

And it is a strategy that has served him well as President. The best example is from the spring and summer of 2002. Grim times: at least as grim as now. The Taliban were gone in Afghanistan, though the country was in chaos; the Palestinians were churning out suicide bombers at a rate unparalleled before or since; the strategic vision for the war—as stated so clearly in the fall of 2001—seemed adrift.

But there were two presidential speeches that served as bookends for that summer. First came the 24 June address that fundamentally changed US policy towards the Palestinian Authority. It was largely overlooked at the time (though with certain notable exceptions), but has had far-reaching implications. Despite the pretense that there is a “Quartet” of diplomatic powers working towards a final mideast solution, Russia, the UN, and the EU remain at best junior partners, with little influence over the diplomatic facts on the ground.

During the rest of summer 2002 the Administration remained coy about Iraq. Speculation ran rampant in the press; the “wobbly watch” meme infected warbloggers like some exotic fever. But then came the President's 12 September speech before the UN General Assembly, which once again changed the terms of the debate, only this time in a most obvious manner.

Time and again, Mr. Bush has allowed, or even encouraged, his opponents to underestimate him. The pattern is by now familiar, as Steven Den Beste noted some sixteen months ago.

Facing some sort of major political problem, Bush keeps silent and doesn't really comment. Opponents criticize him, and the head of their rhetoric rises as they smell blood and feel as if he is on the run. His lack of response encourages them, and they seem to make points.

And then Bush will make a speech, and everything changes. He will lay out a coherent policy and explain it. But even more important, after he does so the context of the discussion itself will have changed, for everyone involved. In the first couple of days after the speech there is a muted silence from his critics as they realize, in stunned silence and then in rising horror, how deeply he's snookered them. And they realize that his previous silence and apparent inaction was actually a sign of his patience and determination, and that he'd been giving them rope to hang themselves.

Call it Zen-like, or rope-a-dope: a powerful strategy indeed, especially when your opponents are convinced that they are just so much smarter than you. Yet it can become perilous when there are too many uncontrolled variables.

Like now, for instance. Which is one reason why the President's speech on Monday night does not fit the established pattern, even though some of the required elements are present. The Administration has for many weeks allowed its opponents—the press in particular—opening after opening, with little response, and predictably this opposition has overextended. This much was almost certainly deliberate: once again, the “reed bending to the wind,” doomsaying amongst some conservatives notwithstanding.

Nonetheless: this time considerable damage has been inflicted, though under largely false pretenses, for the situation in Iraq is far less dire than conventional wisdom suggests (more here). In the current climate, no single speech could possibly have the effects described above. The White House assuredly knows this—hence the slightly wonkish presentation in Monday's address.

But if rope-a-dope is no longer an option, at least for the present season, then what is the strategy? My guess is that it is twofold; but neither aspect is likely to provide much comfort to Administration supporters in the coming months.

First: Sheer repetition. The President will make at least five more speeches on Iraq policy in as many weeks, with an eye towards the transfer of sovereignty on June 30. The message will sharpen with practice, and as the shape of the transitional government becomes certain. It remains to be seen whether that message can be heard through the numbing level of noise generated by the media punditocracy.

(As an aside: The fact that the broadcast networks did not deign to air Monday's speech will not be nearly so significant as, say, CNN's coverage of the forthcoming speeches, especially those towards the end of June. I predict that network will, a few weeks hence, decide that the President's prime time addresses regarding Iraq no longer merit interrupting the regular evening schedule.)

Second: Faith—that the overall strategy behind this battle in the war on militant Islamism has been sound; that where mistakes have been made since the beginning of reconstruction, the Coalition has been able to pragmatically adapt; and that the truth about conditions in Iraq will eventually out, all efforts by the media and the intelligentsia of the Left notwithstanding.

Hang on. It's going to be a white knuckle ride.