Who Told Flynn to Call Russia?
Let’s stop focusing on the resignation, and start focusing on the real issue here: The mystery of Trump’s Russia ties.
By DANIEL BENJAMIN
Hours after national security adviser Michael Flynn resigned amid reports that he misled top officials about his pre-inauguration talks with the Russian ambassador, President Donald Trump took to Twitter to encourage everyone to move on. “The real story here is why are there so many illegal leaks coming out of Washington?” he tweeted out Tuesday morning.
In a sense, Trump is right: The real story is not Flynn. But it isn’t government leaks, either. No, the “real story here” is Trump himself—and the continuing mystery of his ties to Russia.
As official Washington and the press home in on the permanent disarray in the White House, whether the disgraced Flynn broke the law and who will succeed him after his three-week tenure, the key question is getting lost in the shuffle: Who told Flynn to call Sergey Kislyak, the Russian ambassador to the United States? Because I’m convinced Flynn didn’t do it of his own accord. Flynn is a bit player in a much larger story regarding the president’s relationship with the Kremlin, and it’s this story the press needs to focus on.
There is little doubt that Trump elevated Flynn because of his loyalty and the optics of having a recently retired three-star general parroting his views, which few other generals of that rank would consider doing. But Flynn was no grand strategist. He would not have been capable of running a complex political realignment with Russia, and he was woefully ill-cast for the role of national security adviser. An army intelligence officer who had spent most of his career in the Middle East and Afghanistan, Flynn had no background in diplomacy, not to mention Asian or European affairs. And it strains credulity that someone with such limited experience was acting on his own initiative when he spoke with Kislyak on December 29, the day of the sanctions announcement. If, as reported, he called five times in a single day, then he was on a mission, and probably not of his own devising.
My view is informed by several years of knowing and following Flynn. After being fired as head of the Defense Intelligence Agency—where he was already behaving erratically—Flynn slid into ever stranger behavior.
During a weeklong visit that I arranged for Flynn here at Dartmouth College in April 2015, he repeatedly made oddball remarks. I had known Flynn as a capable and genial colleague from my time in government, and I was surprised by the change I saw. He was warm and engaging, especially with students, but his views on Islam and the terrorist threat seemed increasingly extreme—a line about Islam not being a religion but a political ideology, which he would use frequently in later months, struck me as a sign that he had moved beyond mainstream U.S. government thinking. But what stuck out most was his fixation on Iran. His visit coincided with the sprint to the end of the framework negotiations for the nuclear deal, and Flynn declared repeatedly in public events and private discussions that Iran’s perfidy was so diabolical, it “didn’t deserve a place at the negotiating table.” When asked who should negotiate on behalf of Iran, he had no answer but insisted it shouldn’t be Iran. (Full disclosure: Despite the troubling remarks, which left faculty and students bemused, Flynn was a fine guest, meeting with everyone and, remarkably, declining the negotiated honorarium for his weeklong stay.)
Over the next year and a half, his behavior became even stranger—reckless Islamophobia, chanting “lock her up” at Trump rallies (referring to Hillary Clinton)—all bizarre for a military officer, let alone a three-star general. Recent reporting suggests he was lost in his West Wing office, too, unaware, for example, that the State Department and Congress play central roles in arms sales and clueless about how to call up the National Guard in an emergency. Phoning Kislyak—inexplicably oblivious to the likelihood that his call would be heard by U.S. intelligence—is another indication that Flynn wasn’t operating at a level one would have expected for an incoming national security adviser.
Aside from his inexperience, there is another reason to doubt that Flynn was carrying on an unauthorized dialogue with the Russians: Unlike Trump, he has no longtime, demonstrated affection for Putin. While he was at DIA from 2013 to 2014, he had tried to build a better relationship with Russian intelligence, but that by itself tells us little. Out of uniform, he accepted a paid speaking gig in Moscow and wound up at an RT dinner seated next to Putin in December 2015, raising more than a few eyebrows. (How far along he was in his courtship with candidate Trump at that point is unclear.)
But Flynn was still talking tough on Russia until late 2015. In The Field of Fight: How We Can Win the Global War Against Radical Islam and its Allies, which he co-wrote with controversial foreign policy analyst (and, I would argue, conspiracy theorist) Michael Ledeen and which came out in mid-2016, Flynn counted Russia as one of those allies. Indeed, on the second page of the book’s introduction, he included Russia with North Korea, China, Cuba and Venezuela as the “countries … who though not religious fanatics, share their hatred of the West, particularly the United States and Israel.” He later added to the list: Iran, Syria, Bolivia and Nicaragua. (This litany of purported jihadist allies is just another sign of Flynn’s seriously misguided views.)
This all brings us back to the question: If Flynn didn’t initiate the discussion, who did tell him to call Kislyak? More than that, what is the nature of Trump’s relationship with Putin, and did the two collude on the hacking of the election?
Virtually all the reporters covering the Flynn imbroglio have lost track of this glaring mystery, focusing exclusively on the former general’s improprieties. In doing so, they are doing the White House a gigantic favor.
Politico Magazine
Donald Trump is trying to implement some sartorial rigour within his administration. According to intelligence from the White House, the president believes his staff should “have a certain look” and aspire to “be sharply dressed”. Men should wear a tie. Female colleagues have been told to “dress like a woman”, whatever that means. Perhaps he wants them to swing through the White House on tree vines, wearing jungle pelts in the manner of Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Jane?
As with so many of his executive orders so far, it’s predictably disappointing. And possibly misguided. One of the few joys to find in this new world order is in observing just how uniformly shambolic and ill-matched it is. I assumed the administration’s chaotic deportment was in fact a marvellously choreographed campaign to deflect “the opposition party” from the fine details of the day.
What better way to disguise your flailing incompetence at a press briefing, for example, than by wearing a tie of such exceptional ugliness that no one will really hear what you’re trying to say? Sean Spicer knows how to make headlines. The White House press secretary’s clumsy attempts to explain the botched military operations that led to the death of civilians and a Navy seal following a raid on Yemen last week were overlooked as focus fell instead on the diagonally striped monstrosity in poison yellow and navy tied around his neck.
I just assumed the tie was sartorial spin. Call it Project Blind: dull the people to the ineptitude of your policymaking and practice by wearing an eye-wateringly unattractive wardrobe. Donald Trump’s ill-fitting suit, Fanta complexion and feathery comb-over are already well documented: but he looks almost suave compared to the unshaven Steve Bannon, with his livid red proboscis, stained T-shirts and straining shirt buttons. So slovenly is he, and so swollen with choler, he seems to ooze with an especially Chaucerian brand of humour. Watching him slumped in his flannel shirts in the Oval Office, I am reminded of The Nun’s Priest Tale: “For God’s love, as tak som laxatyf.”
Then there’s Mike Pence, who wears smarter white button-down shirts, electric-coloured ties and navy suits, with all the self-possession of a Weeble. Or secretary of defence James Mattis, cadaverous in camo. Attorney-general Jeff Sessions wears pocket-sized suits and ties in reflux yellow and spotted vermilion: he carries them both with the skittery, overly keen mien of a warm-up host.
For comic opportunities alone, I hope Trump has directed his female staffers to follow the lead of Kellyanne Conway in their efforts to look “like a woman”. The counsellor to the president is the undisputed star of this fashion circus: a feisty, former cheerleader who, to judge by the state of her inauguration ensemble, takes her style inspiration from the Peruvian refugee Paddington Bear.
; a muddle of lurid jackets and look-at-me ensembles in primary brights — citrine, vermilion, blood — that are every bit as jarring as her coarse rhetoric. She embraces the type of womanly power glamour observed by weather girls and newscasters: her sleeveless dresses testify to a woman’s right to bare arms or, in the case of the ruffled gold jacket she wore to canvass at Trump Tower last November, the right to resemble a gilded valance sheet. But time has been cruel to Conway. Where once she might have been described as perky, the first weeks in office have lent her sleep-starved, kohl-rimmed looks the ravaged expression of a raptor. I can’t wait to see what she’ll wear next.
Whatever about “dressing sharp”. It must take a concerted effort, a willingness even, to look so collectively dreadful. It’s also in keeping with the evolution (or should that be devolution?) of world-leader style. After years of slick homogeny on the political stage — slim, dark-suited, smug — we’re now seeing a return of the fashion maverick: think Yanis Varoufakis and his football manager leathers, or Nigel Farage in his Toad-of-Toad-Hall Crombie and tulip-pink ties.
Similarly, British prime minister Theresa May’s affection for a voluminous tartan suit by Vivienne Westwood has been much discussed in recent weeks. As with the fabled leopard-print shoes in which she strode to power, May has worn the suits in moments of political — and personal — vulnerability, to announce her determination to lead the Conservative party, for example, or lay down a challenging Brexit strategy. Like Spicer’s tie, the tartan suit has proven a nifty decoy: capable of sucking up headlines and loud enough to distract from the political business of the day.
It may look daft, but the wacky wardrobe is a formidable weapon: bad clothes stimulate alternative conversations, they’re diverting and normalising. Conway’s flowerpot hats are awful, Bannon’s flak jacket is filthy and Spicer’s ties are plain obnoxious, but they all throw light on the individual that wears them. They give the wearer personality. Even more significantly, the clothes are humanising: one could almost feel sorry for Spicer; while Bannon’s gorilla-like bearing has become as morbidly fascinating as his guerrilla-style of governance. It’s all quite stupefying to behold — which, presumably, is the point.
So rather than insist his aides smarten up, if I were Trump I’d order everyone to keep on clowning around: brighter ties, Hawaiian print shirts, lots of gold lamé. Dressing like a fool never seemed so wise.
