The State Department Can’t Be Trusted with Iran Sanctions

The U.S. Treasury is far more willing and equipped to make sanctions truly biting.

The U.S. Congress is very close to sending President Barack Obama a bill designed to sanction Iran's energy industry -- and potentially stop Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and his coterie from getting a nuclear bomb. The Iran Refined Petroleum Sanctions Act is taking its final steps toward congressional reconciliation. If passed, the new law will hammer Iran's lucrative energy sector, making it even harder for cash-strapped Tehran to finance its illicit nuclear program.

The act as it stands is an important step. But there's one more thing Congress should do to make sure the law's provisions actually work: hand over responsibility for enforcing sanctions to the Treasury Department instead of Foggy Bottom. This is not an issue of inside-the-Beltway turf wars -- it's about effectiveness. Over the past three decades, the Treasury Department has shown that it's far more capable and willing to enforce sanctions than the State Department is -- and the sanctions in the new law are just too important to risk implementing halfway.

As it stands now, the Treasury Department mostly handles the sanctions portfolio stemming from presidential executive orders. In the case of Iran, it has placed targeted financial sanctions (freezing assets and banning transactions) on several Iranian terrorist groups, following from Executive Order 13224. It has, for example, cut off funds from the Iranian Quds Force, an elite unit within the country's Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC), which was designated as a terrorist entity in 2007.

The broader IGRC was placed on the terrorist list the same year, but it had already been under "smart sanctions" since Executive Order 13382 of 2001. Notorious for cracking down on protesters after last June's sham election, the IRGC is also a dominant player in the Iranian energy industry. In 2006, for example, the IRGC's engineering and construction arm, "Ghorb," received more than $7 billion in energy-related contracts from the regime. And this is where the Treasury sanctions proved especially useful.

Over the last four years, the Treasury Department has sought to financially isolate Ghorb, its leadership, its affiliates, and more than four dozen Iranian entities (including seven large Iranian banks) that play a role in the regime's nuclear, terrorist, and even fiscal activities.

Then there's the behind-the-scenes work of Treasury Undersecretary Stuart Levey. Doggedly determined to thwart Iran's nuclear ambitions, Levey has traveled the world in recent years to convince foreign financial institutions to cut ties with Iran. More than 80 financial institutions have done so. And though Levey alone cannot halt the Iranian nuclear drive, his example makes clear how useful the Treasury Department's work can be.

Contrast this with the State Department, which mostly manages the portfolio of sanctions imposed by congressional legislation. That responsibility traces back to the State Department's management of the annual list of state sponsors of terrorism, created by the 1979 Export Administration Act.

In retrospect, Congress probably should not have given the State Department this portfolio. The department's mission is maintaining and repairing relations with foreign countries, not antagonizing them by targeting foreign companies that do business with rogue regimes.

So it should not be surprising that the State Department has failed to enforce meaningful sanctions against Iran. In recent years, the department was responsible for enforcing the Iran and Libya Sanctions Act signed into law by President Bill Clinton in 1996 as well as its successor, the 2006 Iran Sanctions Act. The legislation requires the president to impose at least two out of seven specific sanctions on foreign companies that invest more than $20 million in a given year in Iran's energy sector. How many violators has the State Department pursued? None. Sadly, the department's apparent unwillingness to punish offenders ensured that Iran never paid the price for supporting terrorism worldwide. Nor, as we now know, did Iran's ruling mullahs pay a price for developing a nuclear program.

So, as members of the House and Senate gather to discuss the ways that Iran energy sanctions should be administered and enforced within the U.S. government, these conferees should think twice about bestowing the State Department with this important portfolio -- one that could potentially affect efforts to stop the Iranian bomb. The Treasury Department is much better equipped (and far more eager) to pursue hard-hitting, targeted sanctions against the IRGC and the front companies that play a dominant role in Tehran's energy sector.

And if Congress wanted to ensure the Treasury Department's success, it could empower the Energy Information Administration, an arm of the Energy Department, to begin publicly listing the companies doing business with Iran's energy sector. It used to do exactly that but stopped after reportedly losing a turf battle with the State Department over the matter. Renewing this flow of information will be critical to the effort to accurately identify sanctions targets under the new legislation.

In short, Congress should reward good work with more work. It should give the Treasury Department increased authority to target the Iranian energy sector and give sanctions every opportunity to stop Iran's drive to build a nuclear bomb.

Alex Wong/Getty Images


Sometimes An Earthquake Is Just an Earthquake

Last month's temblor on the Tibetan plateau hasn't had the political aftershocks Beijing feared. But that doesn't mean all's well in China's wild west.

In a photograph printed in the May 3 edition of the state-run China Daily newspaper, Wen Jiabao, China's grandfatherly premier, and an ethnic Tibetan earthquake survivor stand face to face in a flattened village, flashing each other an enthusiastic thumbs-up. He wears a black jacket; she holds a prayer wheel. Both grin. It was taken in Yushu county, Qinghai province, where April 14's earthquake killed more than 2,200 people, decimated schools, and flattened rows of modest, mud and wood homes. "Premier Wen Jiabao congratulates a Tibetan woman and other earthquake survivors on their resilience," reads the caption.

Nearly one month after a magnitude 7.1 earthquake hit this isolated stretch of the Qinghai-Tibet plateau in western China, search-and-rescue efforts have ceased, and a state-led reconstruction effort is under way. The government aims to clear debris within weeks and rebuild within three years. The propaganda push is equally ambitious: "There will be new schools! There will be new homes!" President Hu Jintao wrote on the blackboard during a visit to a makeshift tent school. "We can overcome the disaster and improve national unity," Wen told survivors on his second visit, adding, "No matter whether you are Tibetans or Hans, you are all in one family."

And there, of course, is the rub.

The earthquake that rattled Qinghai laid bare a politically inconvenient truth: Despite an aggressive campaign to "modernize" China's western reaches, life on the Qinghai-Tibet plateau is tough -- and decidedly Tibetan. The first, grainy images from the scene -- rawboned herders and monks digging through muddy rubble by hand -- do not square with China's portrait of the region. In China, Tibet means politics, not people. Aside from oblique references to the "Dalai clique," state media focuses on economic development ("China builds sheds, fodder bases for herdsmen on Qinghai-Tibet Plateau") or flashes pictures of delegates in flashy ethnic dress. Yushu doesn't fit that script -- hence Hu and Wen's rather forceful insistence that all's well.

Yushu is thousands of miles from Beijing and far, too, from what Beijing wants the west to be. It sits close to the northeast edge of Tibet Autonomous Region, near the western edge of Sichuan province. The Qinghai-Tibet railway runs some 125 miles to the north, bypassing the region. From the provincial capital, Xining, it takes at least 12 hours by bus to reach the main town, Jiegu. The distance shows. During a trip through Tibetan areas of Sichuan, Gansu, and Qinghai provinces last fall, I saw dozens of ethnic Tibetan towns transformed by state-led development projects and migrants from the east. They had rows of brand-new, whitewashed apartment blocks and lots of police. In Zoige, a dusty, Tibetan town in Gansu province, two pristine, 40-seat police buses dwarfed the police station. At dusk, squad cars paced up and down the streets. Yushu, though, felt different.


When I traveled to Jiegu last October, it was clear that the people placed their allegiance with Lhasa, not Beijing. The Chinese government maintains a small military presence -- state media reported there were People's Liberation Army soldiers stationed there at the time of the quake -- but Jiegu didn't look or sound like a Chinese city. Most of the architecture was Tibetan. The town's central square featured a statue of Gesar, a Tibetan folk hero. Few people spoke Mandarin Chinese. There were illegal portraits of the Dalai Lama everywhere -- "His Holiness," as the locals call him, graced tea shops, wallets, and rearview mirrors. The people I met knew much more about Dharamsala than eastern, central, or southern China. One young monk told me that he'd never heard of Hong Kong. When my travel companion, a Chinese-American photographer, said she'd spent time in Indiana, his face lit up: "The Dalai Lama went there!"

It's no wonder, then, that China's ruling party is worried about Qinghai: Not only is the government struggling with the ethnic tensions the quake brought to the fore, but it's also dealing with lingering questions over construction that have plagued it since the 2008 Sichuan earthquake. These worries are written all over the headlines: "Environment, local culture key to Yushu reconstruction," one China Daily headline reads. "Wen calls for scientific rebuilding of quake zone," assures a Xinhua article. The media has highlighted praise from foreign leaders: "DPRK lauds China's quake relief efforts," Chinese state media notes.

After the quake, I wondered whether footage from the scene might change the way China talked about Tibetans. A article argued it would. The Qinghai quake would help "the average Chinese to see both the poverty and humanity of a region they're used to seeing only in political terms," wrote correspondent Isaac Stone Fish. The story, of course, was censored in China -- though it did run, as an excerpt, in a paper called Cankao Xiaoxi (translation here). In that version, the sentence I've quoted was excised, as was most everything else. If footage from the scene did change minds on the ground, we may never know. On the matter of the state's response to the Qinghai earthquake, the state has delivered its verdict: two thumbs up. And that, for now, is the end of the story.