Love Flows, President to President


November 19, 2014

Love Flows, President to President

http://www.nytimes.com/2014/11/12/books/41-george-w-bushs-portrait-of-george-h-w-bush.html?ref=books&_r=0

’41,’ George W. Bush’s Portrait of George H. W. Bush

Review by Michiko Kakutani@www.nytimes.com

Bush-Senior-and-JuniorThe relationship between George W. Bush and his father, George H. W. Bush, might just be the most dissected filial relationship in modern history — compared, variously, to Shakespearean history, Greek tragedy and opéra bouffe. In his new book, the 43rd president draws an affectionate portrait of the 41st president that’s short on factual revelations and long on emotion.

In “41,” Mr. Bush sheds little new light on his fateful decision to invade Iraq in 2003 or on other pivotal moments of his presidency, nor does he tell us much about his father’s tenure in the White House that we didn’t already know. Instead, he’s written what he calls a “love story” about his dad. At its best, the book has the qualities of the younger Mr. Bush’s recent and much-talked-about paintings: It’s folksy, sharply observed and surprisingly affecting, especially for someone not exactly known for introspection. At its worst, the book reads like a banquet-dinner-type testimonial about his father, with transparent efforts to spin or sidestep important questions about his own time in office.

Since George W. Bush stepped onto the national stage, journalists, other politicians and even family members have been comparing and contrasting father and son. Whereas Bush senior was famous for his self-effacing New England manners and quiet diplomacy, Bush junior became known as a proud, outspoken gut player, with Texas swagger. Whereas Bush senior’s policies were grounded in foreign policy realism and old-school Republican moderation, Bush junior’s tilted toward neoconservatism and a drive to export democracy and remake the world. Bush senior was not crazy about “the vision thing,” whereas Bush junior was big on big ideas.

“On everything from taxes to Iraq,” the New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd wrote in 2002, “the son has tried to use his father’s failures in the eyes of conservatives as a reverse playbook.” When Bush 41 went to war against Saddam Hussein in 1991 (after Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait), he made a decision not to go on to Baghdad and topple Iraq’s dictator, later explaining that if we had gone in and created “more instability in Iraq, I think it would have been very bad for the neighborhood.”

The younger Mr. Bush writes, somewhat defensively here, that in ordering the invasion of Iraq in 2003, he “was not trying ‘to finish what my father had begun,’ as some have suggested. My motivation was to protect the United States of America, as I had sworn an oath to do.”

He also elaborates on a surprising statement he once made to Bob Woodward — that he couldn’t remember consulting his father about his decision to go to war. In “41,” he says: “I never asked Dad what I should do. We both knew that this was a decision that only the president can make. We did talk about the issue, however. Over Christmas 2002, at Camp David, I gave Dad an update on our strategy.”

His father, he says, replied: “You know how tough war is, son, and you’ve got to try everything you can to avoid war. But if the man won’t comply, you don’t have any other choice.”

The oddly dysfunctional inability of father and son to discuss policyGeorge Bush Sr. and politics — out of fear, it seems, of meddling or stepping on each other’s toes — is a recurrent theme in this book. The younger Mr. Bush says his father did not directly caution him against running for Congress in the late ’70s, but instead sent him to talk with a friend who told him he couldn’t win. (He didn’t.)

For many concerned about the war drums beating within the younger Bush’s White House in 2002, something similar occurred when the elder Bush’s former national security adviser and close friend, Brent Scowcroft, wrote an op-ed piece in The Wall Street Journal warning that another attack on Saddam could “seriously jeopardize, if not destroy, the global counterterrorist campaign we have undertaken.”

George W. Bush also writes that his father had little to say, in 1993, about his decision to run for governor of Texas, and that he didn’t ask his father whether he should run for president in the 2000 election, adding, “I knew he would support whatever choice I made.”

Biographers and journalists have often observed that the young George W. Bush (whose hard-drinking, irresponsible youth had made him a black sheep in the family next to Jeb, the golden boy) frequently felt overshadowed by his father. And they have speculated that, as President, he was driven to outdo his dad by taking Saddam Hussein down for good, and by winning a second term — arguments the Bush family has dismissed as psychobabble.

In “41,” the younger Mr. Bush talks at length about his dad’s early success. (“Few could claim the trifecta of war hero, Phi Beta Kappa and captain of the baseball team” at Yale, he writes.) And there is certainly fodder for readers searching for clues to an Oedipal rivalry. Mr. Bush says that his father’s college dreams of a baseball career were foiled because “he didn’t have a big enough bat to make the major leagues,” and also frets about his well-mannered father looking “weak” in a debate against Ronald Reagan, recalling a press account that said he showed “the backbone of a jellyfish.”

He writes, however, that his dad gave him “unconditional love,” and that he and his siblings felt “there was no point in competing with our father — no point in rebelling against him — because he would love us no matter what.” He celebrates his father’s well-known generosity, his talent for friendship and his willingness to take risks (from enlisting at the age of 18, not long after Pearl Harbor, to moving to Texas after college, to diving into politics after a stint in the oil business).

Like many, 43 hails 41 for his diplomatic handling of the end of the Cold War, reaching out to the Soviet leader Mikhail S. Gorbachev and wisely refusing to gloat over the fall of the Berlin Wall. In some ways, the younger Mr. Bush says, his father was “like Winston Churchill, who had been tossed out of office in 1945 just months after prevailing in World War II.”

The most persuasive sections of this book deal not with the political, but with the personal. Mr. Bush’s writing doesn’t have the earnest charm of his father’s letters (“All the Best, George Bush“) or the literary gifts displayed by his wife, Laura, in her memoir, “Spoken From the Heart.” But unlike his earlier books (his perfunctory 1999 campaign memoir, “A Charge to Keep,” and his dogged 2010 autobiography, “Decision Points”), this volume comes close to capturing Mr. Bush’s distinctive voice — by turns jokey and sentimental, irreverent and sincere.

There is very little here about his other siblings (his brother Jeb, the potential presidential candidate, is mentioned only in brief asides), but the passages devoted to his younger sister Robin’s death from leukemia in 1953 are heartfelt and moving.

“In one of her final moments with my father,” Mr. Bush writes, “Robin looked up at him with her beautiful blue eyes and said, ‘I love you more than tongue can tell.’ Dad would repeat those words for the rest of his life.”

As for Mr. Bush’s descriptions of the West Texas world that greeted him and his parents in the 1950s, they are evocative in a way that attests to his painterly eye. “We lived briefly at a hotel and then moved into a new 847-square-foot house on the outskirts of town,” he recalls. “The neighborhood was called Easter Egg Row, because the developers had chosen vibrant paint colors to help residents tell the houses apart. Our Easter egg at 405 East Maple was bright blue.”

Although George senior’s failure to win a second term in the White House led to a sense of despondency, his son writes, he would find “something positive about his defeat in 1992 — it had given rise to the political careers of two people” (that is, the author and Jeb) “whom he had raised and loves.” Had his dad been re-elected that year, the younger Mr. Bush says, “I would not have run for governor” of Texas in 1994 — nor, presumably, run for president and ascended to the White House in the too-close-to-call election of 2000 that went to the Supreme Court. History works in strange ways.

Book Review: ‘Worthy Fights,’ by Leon E. Panetta


October 10, 2014

On Actions Taken, or Not

‘Worthy Fights,’ by Leon E. Panetta

by Michiko Kakutani (10-06-14)

Book Review: ‘The Innovators,’ by Walter Isaacson


October 4, 2014

Sunday Book Review

Geek Squad

http://www.nytimes.com/2014/10/05/books/review/the-innovators-by-walter-isaacson.html?ref=review

Innovators--Book

‘The Innovators,’ by Walter Isaacson

Krugman’s Review of ‘Seven Bad Ideas,’ by Jeff Madrick


October 2, 2014

Sunday Book Review

http://www.nytimes.com/2014/09/28/books/review/seven-bad-ideas-by-jeff-madrick.html?ref=books

The Dismal Science

‘Seven Bad Ideas,’ by Jeff Madrick

The Colour of Inequality: Development and Malaysia’s New Economic Policy


September 21, 2014

The Colour of Inequality: Development and Malaysia’s New Economic Policy

by Kamal Salih@www.nst.com.my

Dayak Headhunter

IN development thinking and practice, no policy has captured the imagination nor created more controversy in its implementation among scholars, politicians and the public alike than the New Economic Policy (NEP), introduced some 45 years ago. A generation had debated, lived and benefited from the NEP, until its formal ending in 1990. Or so it seems in hindsight.

The policy debate and the concerns surrounding the policy never really ended, for the issues of inequality along class and ethnic lines in our multiracial country remained stubbornly intransigent, even after its success (a controversial notion in itself) and new incarnations of the NEP in subsequent years. Emotions, politics and myth-making continue to track the development debate even when statistics were adduced to support its successes (read economic growth, poverty eradication, rising middle class, inter-ethnic distribution).

Now a new post-NEP generation has taken over. Dr Muhammed Abdul Khalid is a member of this second generation of scholars and policymakers. His book is an important scholarly contribution to development economics in Malaysia, in particular, to clarifying the controversies surrounding the NEP.

Employing historio-statistical narrative, his book, The Colour of Inequality, rightly addresses the core ofInequality the NEP debate. This latest entry into the development policy debate, now clothed in the notion of inclusive growth, deals head-on with the central issue of development in this millennium: inequality in all its dimensions.

Most importantly, as the Latin American economist Hernando de Soto had shown two decades ago, that asset ownership and wealth are crucial to success and livelihood in the capitalistic economy. In my view, Muhammed, at some risk of being politically incorrect, has bravely succeeded, by using the latest data at his disposal, to cut through to the core issues of economic inclusion and inequality through the prism of ethnicity and class.

NajibThe NEP reincarnations, in particular the Bumiputera agenda, slowly lost steam towards the end of the Mahathir era, was regenerated under the Abdullah Badawi administration through the Ninth Malaysia Plan and generalised further the distributive mission in the Malaysia Plans through the introduction of the New Economic Model.

In many ways, Tun Abdul Razak Hussein, our second Prime Minister and the main author of the NEP, had launched the first transformation in Malaysia’s development experience. The New Economic Model and the ETP/GTP, introduced by Datuk Seri Najib Razak, a generation after his father, is the second transformation.

For those wanting to understand the history of development policy in Malaysia over the last 45 years, to know what had been achieved, what has failed and what’s next in our drive towards developed status and social justice, Muhammed’s book is indispensable reading. This is his contribution to the next generation of politicians, policy advisors and implementors, as well as the new millenials.

NOTE:

Ini lah Melayu by Usman Awang. The NEP is not about helping the Malays at the expense of other Malaysians. It is about national unity and eradication of poverty.

 

BOOK REVIEW: Francis Fukuyama’s ‘Political Order and Political Decay’


September 16, 2014

Francis Fukuyama’s ‘Political Order and Political Decay’

From the Industrial Revolution to the Globalization of Democracy(Vol.2)

In 1989, Francis Fukuyama published an essay in The National Interest entitled “The End of History?” that thrust him into the center of public debate. Although often misunderstood and maligned, its central argument was straightforward and sensible: With the collapse of Communism, liberal democracy stood alone as the only form of government compatible with socio­-economic modernity. Over the years since, Fukuyama has continued to argue the case, and has now summed up his efforts with a two-­volume magnum opus that chronicles global political development from prehistory to the present. A quarter-century on, he remains convinced that no other political system is viable in the long run, but concludes his survey with a sobering twist: Liberal democracy’s future is cloudy, but that is because of its own internal problems, not competition from any external opponent.

Francis-Fukuyama

Fukuyama (above)began the first volume, “The Origins of Political Order,” which appeared in 2011, by stating that the challenge for contemporary developing countries was how to “get to Denmark” — that is, how to build prosperous, well-governed, liberal democracies. This, in turn, required understanding what “Denmark” — liberal democracy — actually involved.

Drawing on the insights of his mentor Samuel Huntington, Fukuyama argued that political order was all about institutions, and that liberal democracy in particular rested on a delicate balance of three distinct features — political accountability; a strong, effective state; and the rule of law. Accountability required mechanisms for making leaders responsive to their publics, which meant regular free and fair multiparty elections. But elections alone were not enough: A true liberal democracy needed to have its institutions of accountability supplemented by a central government that could get things done and by rules and regulations that applied equally to ­everyone.

Fukuyama showed how throughout human history these three factors had often emerged independently or in various combinations. China, for example, developed a state long before any existed in Europe, yet did not acquire either the rule of law or political accountability. India and much of the Muslim world, by contrast, developed something like the rule of law early on, but not strong states (or, in much of the Muslim world, political accountability). It was only in parts of Europe in the late 18th century, Fukuyama noted, that all three aspects started to come together simultaneously.

“Political Order and Political Decay” picks up the story at this point, taking the reader on a whirlwind tour of modern development from the French Revolution to the present. Fukuyama is nothing if not ambitious. He wants to do more than just describe what liberal democracy is; he wants to discover how and why it develops (or does not). So in this volume, as in the previous one, he covers a vast amount of ground, summarizing an extraordinary amount of research and putting forward a welter of arguments on an astonishing range of topics. Inevitably, some of these arguments are more convincing than others. And few hard generalizations or magic formulas emerge, since Fukuyama is too knowledgeable to force history into a Procrustean bed.

Thus he suggests that military competition can push states to modernize, citing ancient China and, more recently, Japan and Prussia. But he also notes many cases where military competition had no positive effect on state building (19th-century Latin America) and many where it had a negative effect (Papua New Guinea, as well as other parts of Melanesia). And he suggests that the sequencing of political development is important, arguing that “those countries in which democracy preceded modern state building have had much greater problems achieving high-quality governance than those that inherited modern states from absolutist times.” But the cases he gives as examples do not necessarily fit the argument well (since Prussia’s state eventually had trouble deferring to civilian authorities and the early weakness of the Italian state was probably caused more by a lack of democracy than a surfeit of it). In addition, he surely understands that authoritarianism is even more likely to generate state weakness than democracy since without free media, an active civil society and regular elections, authoritarianism has more opportunities to make use of corruption, clientelism and predation than democracies do.

Perhaps Fukuyama’s most interesting section is his discussion of the United States, which is used to illustrate the interaction of democracy and state building. Up through the 19th century, he notes, the United States had a weak, corrupt and patrimonial state. From the end of the 19th to the middle of the 20th century, however, the American state was transformed into a strong and effective independent actor, first by the Progressives and then by the New Deal. This change was driven by “a social revolution brought about by industrialization, which mobilized a host of new political actors with no interest in the old clientelist system.” The American example shows that democracies can indeed build strong states, but that doing so, Fukuyama argues, requires a lot of effort over a long time by powerful players not tied to the older order.

Yet if the United States illustrates how democratic states can develop, it also illustrates how they can decline. Drawing on Huntington again, Fukuyama reminds us that “all political systems — past and present — are liable to decay,” as older institutional structures fail to evolve to meet the needs of a changing world. “The fact that a system once was a successful and stable liberal democracy does not mean that it will remain so in perpetuity,” and he warns that even the United States has no permanent immunity from institutional decline.

Over the past few decades, American political development has gone into reverse, Fukuyama says, as itsFukuyama From the Industrial Revolution to the Globalization of Democracy state has become weaker, less efficient and more corrupt. One cause is growing economic inequality and concentration of wealth, which has allowed elites to purchase immense political power and manipulate the system to further their own interests. Another cause is the permeability of American political institutions to interest groups, allowing an array of factions that “are collectively unrepresentative of the public as a whole” to exercise disproportionate influence on government. The result is a vicious cycle in which the American state deals poorly with major challenges, which reinforces the public’s distrust of the state, which leads to the state’s being starved of resources and authority, which leads to even poorer performance.

Where this cycle leads even the vastly knowledgeable Fukuyama can’t predict, but suffice to say it is nowhere good. And he fears that America’s problems may increasingly come to characterize other liberal democracies as well, including those of Europe, where “the growth of the European Union and the shift of policy making away from national capitals to Brussels” has made “the European system as a whole . . . resemble that of the United States to an increasing degree.”

Fukuyama’s readers are thus left with a depressing paradox. Liberal democracy remains the best system for dealing with the challenges of modernity, and there is little reason to believe that Chinese, Russian or Islamist alternatives can provide the diverse range of economic, social and political goods that all humans crave. But unless liberal democracies can somehow manage to reform themselves and combat institutional decay, history will end not with a bang but with a resounding whimper.