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The Carter Administration is vulnerable, both politically and geopolitically, but not because of its handling of this particular crisis. Given the bizarre nature of the siege, the Administration may have had some excuse for being caught by surprise. It had no choice but to proceed with extreme caution. There is room for second-guessing the wisdom of dispatching a presidential emissary to the Ayatullah. Kibitzers, like Columnist Joseph Kraft, say that the very willingness to negotiate was a craven capitulation to blackmail. But if Ramsey Clark's mission had succeeded, it would have been hailed as a brilliant ploy. In a game that began because the other side broke the rules, the U.S. must play the long shots. Carter deserves credit for the right measure of firmness and prudence. The charge of ineffectually does not wash—not in this extraordinarily ticklish test of his leadership.
Carter's problem, instead, is one of context. It arises not from the Iran crisis per se so much as from an accumulation of controversial initiatives and responses, stretching back to the outset of his Administration. Many of them were justifiable in and of themselves but troublesome when strung together, because they suggest a pattern of uncertainty, inconsistency, inaction and weakness: the ambitious opening SALT proposal that was scrapped when the Soviets rudely rejected it; the presidential order to withdraw American troops from South Korea, since rescinded; the surprise and helplessness of the U.S. as the Shah was driven from Iran; the superficially similar expulsion of Tacho Somoza and the leftward lurch of Nicaragua; and the Administration's panic over its own discovery of a Soviet combat brigade in Cuba—first declaring it unacceptable, then, after some artful obfuscation, accepting it.
All this has contributed to the perception of a President who reacts rather than acts, who adjusts to change rather than guides it. In international relations and domestic politics alike, such perceptions can have the force of reality; enemies can exploit impressions more readily than actualities, since impressions are, by nature, more malleable. Countering the impression of weakness will be difficult for Carter. It would also be difficult for any successor, even if he were a tough talker who rode the present wave of anger right into the White House. The supercharged atmosphere of the current presidential campaign is a bit like the TV land parodied in the 1977 movie Network. The candidates risk falling into the role played by the late Peter Finch, that of a deranged anchorman who became a prime-time superstar by leading a coast-to-coast chant of "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it any more!" Giving vent to the present national mood of frustration, with its over tones of jingoism, is much easier than prescribing a way of getting the hostages out alive, and salvaging America's prestige in the process. Criticizing Carter for sending the wrong signals is much easier than suggesting concrete actions that will send the right ones once this crisis is over. Contenders like Ted Kennedy, who have chastised Carter for not having a contingency plan, and critics like Henry Kissinger, who have decried his making "impotence a declaration of policy," have yet to assert—much less agree—where and exactly how the U.S. should throw its weight around.