Be a realist, not a lap dog: A cooling off period will improve ties with indonesia

Ours is an age that believes in action. Faced with a problem, virtually any problem, the demand is that someone—and these days it is invariably the state—should act immediately. Action is evidence of purpose, concern, energy, courage and decisiveness. The can-do guy is the admired man, the injunction ‘Don't just stand there, do something’ is the normal response to trouble. We are nearly all ‘proactive’ now.

Those of us who believe that, in a range of circumstances, there is much to be said for inaction (‘Don't just do something, stand there’) are in a very distinct and suspect minority, at best regarded with incomprehension, at worst as cynical.

Consider the instructive case of Daniel Patrick Moynihan. Back in 1970, when on his way from a Harvard professorship to becoming one of the most distinguished US senators of the modern era, he advocated a policy of ‘benign neglect’ towards America's racial problem. He did so because he believed that a cooling-off period, with less emotional rhetoric, would aid the shaping of an effective policy on racial issues. Moynihan's credentials were impeccable: a liberal sociologist who had done important work on topics such as ‘beyond the melting pot’ and ‘the negro family’. Despite this, for his violation of the spirit of the age, he was immediately and widely accused of racism and callous indifference. Given the prevailing mind-set, what other explanation was possible? (Things have not changed in the meantime. Paul Keating resurrected the phrase ‘benign neglect’ as a term of disparagement in his Manning Clark lecture last night.)

The case for inactivity was not always so suspect. Once there was widespread support for a policy of ‘masterly inactivity’, not only among conservatives but across the board. In the Britain of the 18th century—a dynamic period that saw the launching of the Industrial Revolution—the great Whig prime minister Robert Walpole famously believed in letting sleeping dogs lie. The liberals of the 19th century—an even more dynamic period—preached and largely observed a policy of laissez faire.

Through both centuries there was a general reluctance to turn to the state for decisive action. It was widely understood that the more that was demanded of the state the more power would have to be given to it; and the more power that was given to it, the less control there would be over how it used that power. Few people believe that today, when the state is widely regarded both as universal provider and the solver of first resort for all problems.

In the field of foreign policy, the most famous advice ever given to practitioners—Talleyrand's ‘Above all, gentlemen, not the slightest zeal’—showed a profound distaste for busyness. Recent decades provide copious evidence that Talleyrand's advice is both wise and routinely ignored.

Consider how a hyperactive Anthony Eden engineered the disaster of the Suez crisis; how Nikita Khrushchev's reluctance to leave a balance of power alone brought the world to the brink in the Cuba crisis; how can-do, hands-on men like Robert McNamara screwed things up in Vietnam; and how in the course of a few years that committed and much admired activist Mikhail Gorbachev effortlessly destroyed an empire and a superstate that had shown few signs of terminal crisis under the passive rule of his predecessors. More recently still, we have the spectacle of Tony Blair whizzing around the world to no purpose —an ultimate and pure example of activism for its own sake.

Coming closer to home, there are those who ardently argue for a more activist, bustling Australian policy with respect to its regional neighbours, particularly Indonesia. In a recent article in The Asian Wall Street Journal, for instance, Greg Sheridan deplores the infrequency of the Prime Minister's visits to the region and the paucity of that invaluable commodity, ‘dialogue’. He demands a policy seeking ‘maximum access, leverage and influence in Jakarta’. Many would echo his plea, would indeed see it as obvious commonsense.

But is it? Indonesia is, today, a country utterly engrossed in its own acute internal strife. The very existence of the state is under threat, and there is little that any outside actor can do to affect the outcome. All the political actors in the country have to give overriding priority to the dynamics of the intense political game now under way. Even in more stable times, the influence that Australia could exert in Indonesia's decision-making process was modest. Today it must be rated as close to nil. And even in the event of some declared diplomatic ‘triumph’, the chances of Indonesia actually being able to deliver on its promises are low.

Talk of maximising leverage and influence in these circumstances borders on fantasy. But it is not a harmless fantasy. For the more that Australia presses for access, the more anxious it shows itself to be for influence, the more it attempts to ingratiate itself (those over-eager smiles, that differential tilt of the body, those colorful local shirts gamely worn), the more Australia will be taken for granted. The less value will be placed on its goodwill, and the more inclined Indonesian politicians will feel to treat our leaders with disrespect. This is already evident. The Prime Minister was recently treated insultingly in Jakarta; and last week the head of a country that has done virtually nothing to curb its own extensive people smuggling gratuitously lectured those who take the problem seriously.

Australia's prestige and dignity, not negligible assets, are compromised by such a policy—as, indeed, at a deeper level are those of Indonesia itself, for in the last resort it amounts to treating that country not as an equal but as someone to be condescended to and indulged.

There is much to be said for a policy not exactly of benign neglect, but of benign calm and detachment. Let them do some of the running for a change. Instead of always worrying about adapting to the Javanese way, let them have a shot at the Australian way. A relationship in which all the courting and concessions are made by one party is not healthy or sensible.

None of this is to imply that forceful action is never justified. Of course it is, when the right conditions are met: when you have a clear sense of what you want; when you have established that what you want is achievable; when you have worked out a sustainable way of achieving it; and when you have satisfied yourself that pursuing it will not endanger other more important objectives.

Thinking in these terms involves giving priority to one's national interests, not to good relationships as ends in themselves, nor to activity for its own sake.
 

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About the Author:
Owen Harries, a former Editor of The National Interest in Washington, is a Senior Fellow at The Centre for Independent Studies in Sydney.