Argument

Does Obama Have a Strategy for Africa?

Not yet.

Africa responded with joy when Barack Obama was elected. There was dancing in the streets of Liberia. Kenya declared his inauguration a public holiday. When Obama visited the continent in July 2009, far earlier in his term than the handful of other U.S. presidents that had actually traveled to Africa while in office, expectations only continued to rise. Obama's major address on Africa policy, delivered in Ghana, was generally well received, with African politicians across the spectrum broadly reassured by its themes of self-reliance and good governance. Many Africans (and many American Africa experts) assumed that, with a father born in Kenya, Obama's approach to Africa would be transformative.

Yet a number of forces, and some of the president's own decisions, have conspired to make this president's approach to Africa look a great deal like business as usual. Notably, Obama has put capable career officers in charge of the Africa bureaus at both State and the U.S. Agency for International Development. Putting career officers rather than hand-picked political appointees in these plum slots was a curious move, and virtually ensured that caution would be the watchword of our approach to the continent. (U.N. Ambassador Susan Rice certainly counts as a heavyweight political appointee with loads of Africa experience, but her portfolio on New York is so broad that she is no position to manage day-to-day Africa diplomacy.) The assistant secretary for Africa, Johnnie Carson, is a seasoned professional, as is Earl Gast at USAID. Carson was certainly a vast upgrade from Bush's assistant secretary for Africa, Jendayi Frazer. Frazer, a political appointee, all but left the bureau in smoking ruin, according to a highly critical Inspector General report issued shortly after she had left office.

But here is the rub: Political appointees tend to gravitate to the extremes in the bureaucracy. They can be either really good or really bad at their jobs. Able career officers like Carson and Gast run the show well, avoid obvious mistakes, and make sure they don't get so far out in front on any given policy that it will be a career-killer when the next administration rolls around. It is not a bad formula for governing, but it is not a recipe for delivering new or entrepreneurial policy, and particularly not in a region that struggles to get the attention of senior policymakers even on the best of days.

The lack of political muscle at State and USAID on Africa has come at a time when the Pentagon is increasingly active across the continent. The Pentagon's Africa Command, known simply as Africom, is well-resourced (established in 2007, Africom already has more personnel than the total number of USAID international staffers working on the continent), and wading into policy debates in ways that the Pentagon rarely did in the past when it came to Africa. Private discussions with military officials from both countries suggest that Pentagon encouragement was key in prompting Kenya to break from its traditional practice of regional military non-intervention last year and invade Somalia as part of an open-ended commitment to crush al-Shabab militants using that country as a base. Just this last week, the Washington Post ran a front-page feature on the Pentagon's disquieting practice of relying on private contractors "to spy on huge expanses of African territory."

Again, we bump up against some of the limits of the president putting career appointees in his key Africa slots. Few career officers are going to lock horns with the behemoth that is the Department of Defense over Africa policy, even at moments when that policy appears to be driven more by short-term security imperatives than a long-term vision for economic and political growth on the continent. The U.S. military has done a superb job hunting down extremists in Africa, but as a sometimes eye-popping six-part feature in the Military Times made clear, the Pentagon brass often acts with only a very limited understanding of the continent's complicated history and local politics. (As one military officer in charge of targeting in the Horn of Africa told the author: "We didn't understand the culture, we didn't understand the people ... in a real sense we didn't understand the players and how they related in the various organizations inside the various cities in the Horn.")

That also underscores a broader point about why Africa has been less of a focus for the administration. With ongoing conflicts in Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan, Syria, and Yemen; a eurozone still on an economic knife's edge; the Iranian nuclear program; and deeply unsettled transitions across the Middle East, the administration has not had a great deal of extra bandwidth with which to work. Coming up with a sweeping new policy vision for Africa has doubtless felt like a luxury in the daily grind of waking up to multiple front-page international crises. No administration will ever admit to being distracted, but this one has better reason to be than most.

The administration did release a new Africa policy last week. You can be forgiven if you did not notice; its rollout was discrete to the point of stealth. Some water cooler speculation posited that the policy had been rushed to press to help mitigate fallout from the aforementioned Washington Post report on contractors conducting surveillance across the region. Others noted that Africa is the only region in the world where a U.S. president could wait until June of his re-election year to announce a new strategy without setting off howls of protest or attacks from rival campaign surrogates. The policy itself, with its emphasis on trade and democracy, is sensible and bland (sample: "The United States will partner with sub-Saharan African countries to pursue the following interdepen­dent and mutually reinforcing objectives: (1) strengthen democratic institutions; (2) spur economic growth, trade, and investment; (3) advance peace and security; and (4) promote opportunity and development"). It sounds a great deal like similar policies announced under Presidents Clinton and Bush.

Obama's request for expedited authority from Congress to consolidate and reform the six U.S. trade promotion agencies and create a one-stop-shop for American businesses looking to do more business abroad probably would have more impact on Africa than any other region. That proposal, however, appears to have disappeared without a trace into the fevered partisan swamp that is Capitol Hill these days. U.S. companies, some of which view Africa as primed for explosive growth despite its many market inefficiencies, worry that America is simply not looking far enough over the horizon and providing an attractive alternative to the Chinese capital that is flooding the region in mercenary exchange for access to natural resources.

Africa's continued growth has been a good news story in an era of grim economic news. At least 12 African countries have seen their economies expand by more than six percent a year for six or more years, according to the Economist. That, more than anything, argues why a truly transformed approach to Africa is vital. The continent is accelerating toward enormous change even as America's instruments of diplomacy, development, and defense still lack a master plan for assisting this change.

That said, continuity in America's approach to Africa is not the worst thing in the world, and the Obama administration has done a solid, workmanlike job on the continent. But truly transformative diplomacy will have to wait for another day.

DERRICK CEYRAC/AFP/Getty Images

Argument

The Exclusion Zone

G-20 leaders are out of ideas and out of touch. No wonder their citizens are so angry.

As world leaders gathered in Los Cabos at the tip of the Baja California peninsula this week, they did so behind a monumental wall of security. Thousands of Mexican federal police and military personnel in heavily armed patrol cars cruised the tourist corridor connecting the twin resort towns of Cabo San Lucas and San José de Cabos; there were dozens of checkpoints through which both pedestrians and vehicles must pass; and the Convention Center in which the Group of 20 nations' summit played out is an impenetrable fortress for all but the specially accredited.

It is always thus at big world summit meetings, and the G-20 is no exception. So far, these comprehensive lockdowns have successfully kept heads of state out of harm's way since the summits began in Washington in 2008. But in securing themselves inside their conference chambers, governments have also put up a barrier to block out the people they claim to represent. Inside the aptly named "exclusion zone" -- the area that lies within a security perimeter lined with barricades and riot police and which often encompasses the relevant city's entire downtown area -- an eerie silence will prevail as vendors shut up shop and locals leave town to avoid the inconvenience. Accredited members of the press will be allowed into selected areas but will spend most of their time in a cavernous, warehouse-like structure refashioned as "the international media center," a frustrating arrangement that leaves journalists' physically detached from the attending leaders and their staff. They might as well watch the proceedings on C-SPAN.

But in terms of keeping the peace outside the security perimeter, the G-20 summits' track record is far from stellar. At Pittsburgh in September 2009, thousands of protesting anarchists smashed windows and threw rocks at riot police, who responded with tear gas. Nine months later, an even bigger melee stunned genteel Toronto, where 900 were arrested after rioters set fire to two patrol cars and smashed multiple storefronts. The Canadian government, taking a lesson from Pittsburgh, had spared no expense on summit security and had effectively turned downtown Toronto into a militarized zone. Perhaps this impressive array of firepower backfired. Maybe it gave the excitable crowd a target against which to vent its anger.

These clashes reflect more than the failure of the local police to contain a mob of testosterone-fired youths. They are a manifestation of the widespread public discontent with the dismal and unstable state of the world economy and of a profound and worrying loss of confidence in the capacity of policymakers to improve it. It's no coincidence that the only riots that Western countries experience these days -- save for the occasional hockey riot -- occur at these gatherings, where the world's governments gather with the goal of mending a dysfunctional global economic system but come away with little more than empty phrases of shared intent. And by putting up a wall of firepower to protect themselves, they accentuate the physical and symbolic divide that lies between them and an increasingly skeptical public.

You don't need to see people in the streets with Molotov cocktails to understand that public trust in governments is breaking down. It is playing out more broadly in voting booths. This is especially so in the crisis-wracked countries of Europe, where a commonly held view is that the now embattled euro was a project designed by and for elites with minimal public input. Witness the speed with which parties from the extreme left and right sprung out of nowhere in Greece and almost garnered enough of the vote in Sunday's election to render that beleaguered country ungovernable.

Yet the phenomenon of voter rebellion, and the challenge this poses for establishment parties, is also present in what were previously thought to be stable democracies. Governments have fallen or struggled to form majorities in Australia, Belgium, Britain, the Netherlands, and many other countries. Anti-immigrant, euro-skeptic parties have found renewed prominence in France and Finland. And comedians-turned-politicians have tapped a powerful protest vote to claim electoral victories in Iceland and Germany. In the United States, the Tea Party has diluted the Republican old guard's control over the GOP and all but destroyed what was left of bipartisanship in Washington.

In the Middle East, popular uprisings have led to the overthrow of corrupt, authoritarian regimes in Egypt, Libya, and Tunisia and have challenged them in various countries on the Arabian Peninsula and, most recently, in Syria. Meanwhile, the global Occupy Wall Street movement has given voice to people's frustrations over a uniquely Western form of power corruption: the control that large financial institutions wield over government policymaking. One of the more cynical reasons why protesters perceive the barricade-protected G-20 leaders to be cut off from the people they represent is because they sense that politicians' loyalties are captured by deep-pocketed Wall Street donors.

Most destructively, this mistrust plays out in the investment sphere. The boom that took gold prices to a record $1,900 an ounce in September 2011 -- three years after Lehman Brothers' collapse -- was the ultimate hedge against government incompetence. At its core, a bet on gold is a bet on government dysfunction, one that inherently reflects a foreboding mistrust in society's capacity to mend itself. Gold offers protection against a final breakdown in social and economic order, a world in which confidence in fiat currencies dries up as their depreciation against the goods they can buy depletes the value of people's savings.

Now that the looming threat of a second crisis has demonstrated that inflation is in fact a lesser risk than another recession, investors have since unwound their gold bets in acknowledgement that for the time being everyone would prefer cash to a metal of limited practical use. But they're not putting their money to work in productive investment projects; they are pouring it into the ultimate global "safe haven": U.S. Treasury bonds, whose yields have sunk as low as 1.5 percent for 10-year debt -- a record low. This fearful, mistrusting environment is not at all conducive to the kind of vibrant global capitalism needed to restore growth and fix the planet's many problems.

And yet, paradoxically, for all its failings and poor public relations, the G-20 is more important than ever. The biggest challenges facing our economies cannot be resolved with domestic solutions alone. They require policies to be coordinated and calibrated between different nation states. Problems such as China's excessive savings rate and the systemic risks attached to oversized U.S. and European banks form part of the same, sweeping distortions and poorly aligned incentives that have built up a gross misallocation of capital in the global economy and fostered the West's addiction to debt. These world imbalances can only be resolved through give-and-take negotiations at the international level, however frustrating they may be.

We live in a highly globalized economic environment, one in which $4 trillion in currency exchanges take place daily and where just one of the ubiquitous gadgets we own can contain components and labor inputs from a dozen different countries. If we are to avert another crisis, we desperately need our policymaking apparatus to break free of its domestic myopia and come into line with this, the reality of globalization. More than ever, we need effective multilateral solutions, and the G-20 is supposed to be the starting point for them.

There's much the G-20 could do to stabilize the world economy: draft treaties that establish rules for floating exchange rates; create enforceable agreements on fiscal and monetary policy adjustment; update the international monetary system to make way for an eventual alternative reserve currency; establish common minimum capital rules for banks to protect the global financial system from meltdown; reform the International Monetary Fund and World Bank to give emerging markets more of a say in international policymaking.

But none of these can happen or will carry any weight unless the G-20 itself earns legitimacy. As with its government members, the group's effectiveness depends on people having confidence in the institution itself. It's time for the G-20 to start building inclusion zones.

JEWEL SAMAD/AFP/GettyImages