https://www.bloomberg.com/opinion/articles/2021-02-23/iran-and-the-arab-states-need-to-start-talking

They should start by agreeing to cooperate on maritime security.

The U.S. and Iran appear poised to resume diplomacy, with a view to reviving the multilateral nuclear deal scrapped in 2018 by President Donald Trump. Last week, the Biden administration said it would accept a European invitation to participate in meetings with Iran the other signatories to the agreement, known as the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action.

But one of the most significant flaws of the JCPOA was that it did not address the tensions between Iran and its Gulf Arab neighbors. This omission rendered the agreement highly vulnerable to pressure within the American political system, informed — and at times encouraged — by some Gulf governments. If the new Biden initiative is to be successful, this needs to be remedied.

How, though? Although the Biden team has said it will consult with Iran’s neighbors, there’s little prospect that the U.S. will be able to bring the Arab states to the negotiating table, alongside the other world powers, with the Islamic Republic. Iran has said it won’t abide by such an arrangement, and the other signatories aren’t especially keen on the idea.

What’s needed is parallel dialog between Iran and the Arabs, most notably Saudi Arabia. Getting this started will not be easy, but not impossible either.  There has already been some outreach toward Iran — especially from the United Arab Emirates but also Saudi Arabia. Iran, too, has signaled an interest in open-ended talks.

High-level interest in dialog is reflected in two extraordinary opinion columns coauthored by Saudi intellectual Abdulaziz Sager, who is close to King Salman’s circles, and Iran’s former nuclear spokesperson, Hossein Mousavian, who is familiar with the national security apparatus in Tehran. The first, in May 2019, simply called for regional dialog. Last month, the two again wrote jointly, laying out 12 fundamental principles for talks.

But the principles don’t add up to a plausible process. Iran has been pushing for a regional security framework. This is a worthy long-term goal, but it is a big leap from the current tensions to such a broad understanding. The practical course is for both sides to build confidence over time and in stages, starting with the least contentious issues.

Maritime security, for instance, is very much in their common interest, since Iran and its Gulf Arab neighbors all export hydrocarbons through the Strait of Hormuz and the Gulf of Oman. Tehran plainly felt excluded from the de facto Gulf maritime security arrangement. In pushing back against the Trump administration’s “maximum pressure” sanctions, Iran repeatedly attacked commercial shipping in the Gulf waters, sending the clear message: If we can’t sell our oil, nobody can.

A formal Arab-Iranian understanding to ensure maritime security in the Gulf would be an obvious win-win for everyone. When Iran eventually resumes full-scale oil exports, it will have a stake in preventing disruption of the sea lanes.

Arab-Iranian cooperation on ending the war in Yemen is a heavier lift, but achievable. Saudi Arabia needs a way out of that quagmire, but the Iran-backed Houthi rebels currently have no incentive to provide one. Tehran could help by pulling back its own military support — just as the Biden administration has for the Saudi-led coalition — and pressing the Houthis to enter peace negotiations, and half cross-border attacks into Saudi territory.

Iran has found harassing Saudi Arabia in Yemen to be a useful way to keep its rival busy in a conflict that’s not a major strategic concern for Tehran. Helping the Saudis find a face-saving exit from the conflict would give the Iranians a path towards more serious dialogue with their neighbors and a way to show the Islamic Republic can be a force for stability in the region, and not just an agent of chaos.

Harder still will be to get a hands-off agreement on countries like Syria and Iraq, where the Arabs believe Iran wields undue influence through proxy militias, and Tehran says the Arab states are working with the U.S. and Israel to encircle Iran. But if both sides can agree, as Sager and Mousavian suggest, to respect the sovereignty and territorial integrity of all states, direct interference could conceivably be contained, if not eliminated.

The biggest challenge will be the question of non-state actors, in particular Iran’s network of proxy militias in Lebanon, Syria, Iraq and elsewhere. This is obviously intolerable for its neighbors and incompatible with regional stability. Yet it is the main means by which Iran projects its power and influence in the Arab world.

One of the key goals of Arab-Iranian dialogue would be the delineation of spheres of influence. For that to work, Iran will have to decide where its priorities lie. If it wants a regional security framework, then it must allow the states of the region to exercise sovereign authority without being undermined by armed gangs. If it wants to maintain a network of fanatical and sectarian militia groups in other countries, then there can’t be a regional security framework.

But at the very least, dialog between Iran and its Arab neighbors would give both sides a clear picture of their options.

https://www.thenationalnews.com/opinion/comment/rush-limbaugh-is-gone-has-he-taken-the-republican-party-with-him-1.1169913

If Biden can succeed in ambitious governance, Limbaugh/Trump-style of grievance may be doomed.

The United States is plainly undergoing an historic social and political transformation. The outcome is in doubt, but the competing worldviews are clear. The true contest isn’t essentially between Republicans and Democrats or even left versus right, but an agenda of governance and results versus a largely performative politics of bombast and outrage.

Last week, a key architect of indignation politics passed away. Veteran radio host Rush Limbaugh did more than almost anyone to evangelise raw demonisation. Without Limbaugh’s decades of rage-fuelled diatribes, the ultimate practitioner of grievance politics, Donald Trump, probably couldn’t have become president.

Unlike Mr Trump, who spent decades as a fairly liberal Democrat (with the notable exception of some of his views on race), Limbaugh was always a passionate and extreme right-winger. Yet his broadcasts were notably unfettered by any consistent philosophical or policy orientation.

Indeed, he rarely engaged in substantive arguments at all. He almost invariably championed Republican presidents and whatever was the most right-wing iteration of the party at any given time.

He was, therefore, at the beginning of his career an ardent supporter of Ronald Reagan and a champion of Mr Trump at the end of it, despite the vast chasm between those two presidents on a range of key issues, including immigration, race, trade, alliances, multilateralism and deficit spending, among many others.

Limbaugh never acknowledged these vast contradictions, or explained why he and most Republicans had changed their minds so drastically on such fundamental questions or which orientation was correct and why.

He is typically referred to as a “conservative”, but if that is meant to imply someone with a coherent philosophy of government and society, he was never any such thing.

He certainly was right-wing, in the sense of being a political and social reactionary scandalised and offended by any effort to redress traditional inequalities – especially discrimination against racial and ethnic minorities, particularly African-Americans, women and LGBTQ communities.

For Limbaugh, like Mr Trump, political orientation isn’t primarily defined by one’s own orientation, let alone what one intends to achieve through governance or policies. Instead, one is defined by what and, especially, who one passionately denounces.

Most contemporary Republican politics is primarily about demonstrating that one has the correct enemies, and Limbaugh shoulders much of the responsibility for that. When Mr Trump and other Republican demagogues recite litanies of grievance and demonisation of others, they are simply replicating the style and substance of Limbaugh’s highly influential radio programmes.

He was a crucial figure on the right because he demonstrated that there is an enthusiastic cultural and political market for overtly and passionately reactionary rhetoric. He was also a key pioneer of a now-popular dodging tactic for populist politicians when they go too far, which is to claim they are just kidding and then promptly reiterate the offensive remark.

Limbaugh was almost never actually joking, and neither are the others. They trust their followers to enjoy thoroughly the theatrically disingenuous disavowals.

Limbaugh was a pioneer in popularising wild conspiracy theories, including the fabrication that Barack Obama was not born in the US and was, therefore, an illegitimate president.

That cynical lie was, of course, the starting point of Mr Trump’s political career. The former president acknowledged his manifest debt to Limbaugh by awarding him the prestigious Medal of Freedom last year.

The politics of pure performance and endless grievance are hardly restricted to the right, and can easily be identified among some prominent left-wing Democrats. But, at least at the national level, there is still a genuine political commitment among most left-wing democrats to achieving results, at least economically.

Meanwhile, performative grievance politics has come to dominate the Republican Party at the state level, in the House of Representatives and, especially, among the party base. Some Senate Republicans are the last significant bastion of even an attenuated, strikingly limited, results-oriented conservativism. But that group may be headed towards extinction.

Mr Trump has little chance of being reelected president. Yet his grip on the party and its voters remains rock-solid. If his current Republican critics like Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell ever really try to marginalise him and his style, any success will be partial and require a long, slow process.

By contrast, Democrats under Joe Biden have collectively bet on the politics of tangible deliverables for most Americans. They rallied around a candidate, and now president, who wastes virtually no time on grievances and is focused instead on some of the most ambitious government initiatives in decades.

Recognising the depth of America’s crises, and taking his cue from former president Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who led the US out of the Great Depression, Mr Biden is beginning with a massive $1.9 trillion Covid-19 relief measure that seems likely to pass into law. Beyond that he is plainly hoping to secure major infrastructure, climate change and other programmes that would significantly reshape the role of government in the lives of ordinary Americans.

If Mr Biden can secure a large part of this extraordinarily ambitious agenda – much of which is extremely popular among voters, including many Republicans – that would probably reshape the political landscape for at least a generation in favour of Democrats.

Republicans in Congress and the Supreme Court may try to block these measures. But success feeds itself, and a $1.9tn stimulus initiative could be a decisive early intervention.

If Mr Biden’s gamble pays off, the nearly simultaneous passing of Limbaugh and Mr Trump’s presidency could prove the death knell for right-wing performative and grievance politics. With Democrats producing tangible results for most Americans, if Republicans remain addicted to performative indignation, their party could become largely uncompetitive at the national level.

The future of Republicans, therefore, probably depends largely on the fortunes of Democrats. For now, though, the rhetoric of outrage championed by Limbaugh seems thoroughly dominant.

Limbaugh was among the most consequential commentators in American history. Yet his impact was largely to poison the cultural waters he powerfully prowled, and he may prove to have been steering Republicans towards political oblivion.

https://www.thenationalnews.com/opinion/comment/trump-may-have-been-acquitted-but-this-is-far-from-an-exoneration-1.1165936

Seven Republicans, instead of just one last year, found him guilty – a historically unprecedented rebuke.

For a few minutes on Saturday morning in the US, it looked as though the plans of both Republican and Democratic leaders for the second impeachment trial of former US President Donald Trump were suddenly disintegrating. For their own reasons, each wanted to avoid any prolonged proceeding involving witness testimony.

Everything was going as expected, with Mr Trump headed towards acquittal but several Republicans probably voting against him.

But on Friday night, Republican Representative Jaime Herrera Beutler confirmed that House Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy told her that he called Mr Trump during the January 6 attack on Congress, begging for help. Mr Trump refused, expressed no concern about safety, and praised the rioters as “more upset” about the election than Republican lawmakers.

This flatly contradicts trial claims by Mr Trump’s lawyers that the former president had no idea about the violence at Congress, was horrified and immediately sent help.

All of that is obviously untrue, but it is instructive that his dereliction of duty included a real-time, expletive-laden shouting match with his chief enabler in Congress.

This revelation posed quandaries for both sides. Democrats couldn’t ignore such powerful evidence of Mr Trump’s guilt. Republicans couldn’t dismiss it because it came from their own colleagues.

So, they jerry-rigged a compromise that left Mr Trump acquitted – again – on a jurisdictional technicality. Seven Republicans, instead of just one last year, found him guilty. Though 17 were needed to convict him, this is a historically unprecedented rebuke.

It never made any sense, except politically, to try Mr Trump for inciting the January 6 insurrection without seeking more evidence, especially of the president’s words and deeds on that day. His own testimony was plainly indispensable.

He was invited to testify but declined, absurdly dismissing the trial as unconstitutional. Yet Congress could have compelled his testimony. If fact-finding were its paramount purpose, it certainly would have.

There are dozens of relevant witnesses and key documents. But both sides feared a lengthy and contentious process. After all, efforts to secure testimony from Former White House counsel Donald McGahn for last year’s impeachment are still being litigated.

Republicans, overwhelmingly still loyal to Mr Trump, fear additional evidence because the former president manifestly did exactly what the article of impeachment accuses him of. He is plainly guilty.

They were mostly determined to acquit him anyway, but the stronger the case against him, the worse the Republicans look. An accumulation of damning evidence could shift public opinion, further increasing pressure.

They have every reason to fear him. In a recent survey, about one third of Republicans said they would definitely join a new Trump-led party if one were formed, and another third said they would consider it.

Such numbers tend to render bloody insurrection somewhat less objectionable.

Meanwhile, President Joe Biden has made it abundantly clear he wants to move on from Mr Trump and focus on his own agenda.

He believes providing deliverables to much of the public that is hugely suffering from the coronavirus and economic crises is the key to a successful presidency and even an unusually positive midterm election performance.

The new president is focused on results, legislation and confirmation of officials. He therefore views the past conduct and political future of his predecessor as an annoying distraction and opposed any protracted process.

The stunning new evidence, which only emerged through the press and not the impeachment process, threatened to undo the tacit understanding for a quick resolution.

Democrats absolutely had to ensure it became part of the record. Backed by several Republicans, they passed a resolution allowing for witnesses and new evidence.

Mr Trump’s supporters were obviously alarmed that more evidence might make acquitting him even more shameful and embarrassing. And Mr Biden’s camp faced the unpalatable prospect of weeks, and probably months, of ongoing tumult, likely only resulting in Mr Trump’s eventual acquittal anyway.

Senate Republicans were also reportedly threatening to block Covid-19 relief efforts if the impeachment trial was prolonged, and Democrats had contacted many former Trump aides who did not wish to testify.

So, both sides pulled back by agreeing to enter Ms Herrera Beutler’s statement into the record, proceed to closing arguments and take the final vote.

Senate Republicans have walked a remarkably timorous middle ground in dealing with Mr Trump since the November election. They declined to help him overthrow the US system and stay in office despite a decisive loss. But they have now refused to hold him accountable for his numerous unprecedented, improper and unlawful actions, including the attack on Congress, to try to do just that.

They have not stood firmly with or against him, being – as the Bible says of those who cannot commit – “neither hot nor cold” but “lukewarm”. They will hope not to be “spat out”, as the verse suggests such ambivalence provokes.

Democrats have deeply disappointed their supporters by not pursuing more evidence at the trial.

But their goal couldn’t really have been to convict Mr Trump and bar him from future office. That was never plausible. Instead, it was clearly to create public awareness and establish an official record. In that, it had already succeeded.

Republican senators claim they voted not guilty based on the specious assertion that former officials cannot be impeached and tried. The Constitution’s language, precedent and traditions all clearly demonstrate they can. And the Senate, which alone decides this matter, last week confirmed that.

Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell said he acquitted Mr Trump on this spurious and formally-foreclosed basis, even though he admits “there is no question – none” that the former president is “practically and morally responsible” for the January 6 mayhem.

More facts must now be pursued by a national commission or at least Congressional hearings.

Congress could adopt a censure resolution, or even use section 3 of the 14th amendment to bar Mr Trump from federal office. Or Democrats could just move on, as Mr Biden wants.

If nothing else, the Senate trial produced the first unified, coherent narrative of January 6, and it is exceptionally damning.

Mr Trump may have been legally acquitted and thus not banned from re-election. But he was morally convicted of inciting an insurrection against the state that was entrusted to him to protect and that may have all but foreclosed his dreams of a presidential comeback.

https://www.bloomberg.com/opinion/articles/2021-02-09/a-vital-instrument-of-american-soft-power-needs-saving

If Biden is serious about repairing America’s image in the Middle East, he should start with Lebanon’s most important institution.

One of the greatest American educational institutions in the world isn’t in the United States, it’s in Beirut. Now, after 155 years of invaluable service, its future is under serious threat.

The American University of Beirut, which is chartered and accredited in New York state, is the quintessence of everything generations of Americans worked to build in the Middle East since the 19th century. It’s also arguably the most important institution in Lebanon, easily the country’s largest employer after the state.

Over the past year, it has been wracked by a set of crises worse than any it has faced, including the challenges it overcame during the country’s 15-year civil war between 1975-1990. Saving the AUB and securing its future is key to salvaging Lebanon itself.

Founded as the Syrian Protestant College in 1866 by American missionaries, and renamed in 1920, the university has trained tens of thousands of academics (my father included) and professionals who have served societies around the region, and indeed the world. Notable alumni include three presidents, including current Afghan President Ashraf Ghani, over a dozen prime ministers, former Occidental Petroleum head Ray R. Irani, the late architect Zaha Hadid, and 19 of the international delegates at the foundation of the United Nations.

The AUB has also been the most important vehicle for promoting American culture, values and learning in the Arab world. It represents the most positive aspect of what the U.S. offers the Middle East — a region where, since the 1960s, American influence has been seen as suspect if not predatory. Saving the university is therefore essential to repairing and rejuvenating the American relationship with the Arab world.

The association with the U.S. also means the AUB has its share of enemies and has endured more than its share of pain. In 1984, its president, Malcolm Kerr. was assassinated by a Hezbollah-affiliated organization called Islamic Jihad. During the civil war, 30 of its faculty and staff were kidnapped, including several professors. And in 1991, the 125th anniversary of its founding, a bomb attack by pro-Iranian militants destroyed the university’s fabled College Hall administration building and its iconic clock tower.

But the unparalleled economic, social and political crises that have beset Lebanon in the past year represent a greater threat that the AUB has known before. It goes beyond the threats of violence to its staff, which university officials say have escalated alarmingly amid the political turmoil.

The massive Aug. 4 port explosion inflicted millions of dollars of damage on the campus. And since the AUB includes a medical school and hospital complex, like its peers everywhere else, it is being overwhelmed by the coronavirus pandemic.

Lebanon’s financial meltdown is also taking a heavy toll on the university. The near-bankrupt state owes the medical school $150 million in arrears. The dire state of the economy has made it difficult for students to pay tuition fees. The collapse of the Lebanese pound, and proposed “haircuts” for depositors to rescue it, has diminished the value of the university’s assets and reserves, and hindered its ability to raise money within the country.

Revenues for 2020-21 are projected to fall 60%, and university expects losses to the tune of $30 million. The school may lay off up to 25% of its staff and close whole departments.

Fadlo Khuri, the university’s first Lebanese-American president, is counting from help from abroad. In 2020, AUB got $30 million in support for its $423 million operating budget from the U.S. government through various programs, mainly USAID. Khuri hopes that contribution will rise to $50 million. He’s also counting on a bigger grant in Covid aid that the $2.5 million the U.S. gave last year.

Khuri is also hoping to raise more money from the AUB’s far-flung alumni and from philanthropic organizations. These sources have been yielding about $70 million annually, but the president is seeking to increase that to $100 million.

He knows that the AUB is not the only institution that is trying to tap these sources. There are other schools in the Middle East that need  support but none come close to having a comparable cultural and economic impact in the region.

There will be some pushback in Washington from those who worry that strengthening major Lebanese institutions like AUB would automatically strengthen Hezbollah, the Iranian-backed militia the U.S. has designated as a terrorist group. But such fears are misplaced. If anything, the university is a strong bulwark against the region’s religious fundamentalists, sectarian extremists and violent radicals of all kinds, including Tehran’s Lebanese proxies.

Any serious policy of containing and marginalizing Hezbollah has to begin with strengthening and bolstering the institutions of the Lebanese state and society—and there’s no better place to start than the AUB.

https://www.thenationalnews.com/opinion/comment/biden-wants-america-to-re-engage-with-the-world-that-s-a-tough-sell-1.1161348

Donald Trump’s foreign policy was among the most unorthodox features of his disruptive presidency. Last week, new US President Joe Biden announced at the State Department that “America is back”. Perhaps, but it isn’t going to be easy.

Mr Biden is trying to revive a bipartisan foreign policy consensus shaped by the Second World War, the Cold War and the post-Cold War era. It emphasised fixed or long-standing alliances; fostering international order based on rules or at least understandings; and trying to balance, when possible, American values with national interests, with the understanding that, over the long run, that adds to the US competitive advantage against undemocratic rivals.

Mr Trump wanted none of it. He cast this as a suckers’ game, with Americans being exploited, especially financially, by putative partners. Instead, he embraced an effectively mercantilist approach, seeking to extract maximum short-term, especially financial, advantage. He had no interest in promoting traditional US values, which he doesn’t seem to share.

Moreover, he regarded fixed and long-standing alliances as suspect, burdensome and even destructive. He made no secret of even wanting to withdraw the US from Nato.

Mr Biden campaigned as Mr Trump’s antithesis in many ways. The watchword of his presidency, thus far at least, is the restoration of “regular order”, both at home and abroad.

On January 22, new Defence Secretary Lloyd Austin became Mr Biden’s second confirmed cabinet member. He immediately telephoned Nato Secretary General Jens Stoltenberg to reiterate Washington’s commitment to the alliance. Nato has committed to increasing participation in the missions in Afghanistan and, especially, Iraq, in a manner that is yet to be defined. So, there’s positive outreach in both directions.

Yet Nato remains a regrettably representative anachronism.

It was established as an anti-Soviet alliance, but the USSR is long gone. The lack of an ongoing consensus raison d’etre makes the organisation vulnerable to internal discord, with at least one member state, Turkey, pursuing a highly aggressive agenda at the expense of other members’ interests and international stability. The absence of a clear mission leaves Nato vulnerable to criticism like Mr Trump’s, who treated it as an unprofitable protection racket.

Even if Mr Trump had secured a second term, he probably couldn’t have fully withdrawn from or dismantled Nato. But Mr Biden probably won’t be able to fully repair the damage done over the past four years, or, even more seriously, paper over the actually existing flaws glaringly exposed by Mr Trump’s attitude.

The end of the Cold War not only stripped Nato of its foundational purpose, it yanked away the external threat that informed all post-Second World War iterations of US internationalism and that ensured the unbroken primacy of such policies.

It took many years and the radical over-extension, informed by neoconservative hubris, of the first George W Bush term, but eventually the absence of a “Soviet menace” led to the re-emergence of isolationism in US foreign policy. It finally arrived in the modified form of Mr Trump’s “America First” quasi-mercantile agenda.

That stance remains popular among right-wing Republican voters. And there is an analogous neo-isolationist orientation growing among left-wing Democrats. The two often find themselves incongruously aligned, and they have joined forces in a relatively new Washington foreign policy think tank.

Some aspects of the Trump approach in fact have roots in Barack Obama’s administration. But they developed considerable momentum under Mr Trump.

Not entirely dissimilarly to his predecessor, Mr Biden’s foreign policy promises to secure tangible benefits to ordinary Americans. But, unlike Mr Trump, it intends to be seen as actually delivering them.

In essence, Mr Biden has outlined a modified version of “America First”, especially since he has little choice but to focus on American domestic crises. Only a remarkable series of foreign policy successes could fully restore traditional US internationalism, but Mr Biden wants to take it as far as possible.

His opening agenda reflects this emerging paradigm.

The reassertion of values includes objecting strongly to the coup in Myanmar, taking a far stronger rhetorical line with Russia (while simultaneously extending the New Start treaty with Moscow for an additional five years), and reopening US immigration.

The recommitment to multilateralism involves rejoining the World Health Organisation and the Paris climate accord.

Conflict resolution will be a key theme, including a major push already under way to help end the war in Yemen. Many Democrats will support this as a supposed repudiation of Mr Trump and step towards restoring international order, but it is much easier said than done.

The key will be somehow convincing the Houthis to make the political and security commitments necessary to allow Saudi Arabia to withdraw, as it clearly wants to. Although Secretary of State Antony Blinken acknowledged in his Senate confirmation testimony that the Houthis are clearly responsible for the conflict, few in Washington seem to comprehend the immense difficulties in trying to negotiate with them.

Rebuilding a nuclear dialogue with Iran is a key priority, but the administration hasn’t gone further than hinting at a possible “freeze” whereby both sides do nothing to further violate the nuclear deal. Progress will be much slower and more difficult than many hoped.

The philosophical core of Mr Biden’s speech was: “There’s no longer a bright line between foreign and domestic policy.”

This sentence reflects his two guiding concepts. First is a return to “regular order” both in the US system and in international relations. Second is the commitment to ensure American “working families” experience the benefits of robust international engagement, effectively his own version of “America First”.

It is an overdue recognition that internationalists failed to convince ordinary Americans that they indeed benefit from global engagement. That failure made it possible for Mr Trump and others to paint international commitments as an intolerable burden or worse.

In addition to facing enormous challenges at home, including the coronavirus and economic crises and poisonous political divisions and mistrust, Mr Biden seems to be embracing the task of reconstructing an American consensus for internationalist engagement. It might be his most ambitious undertaking of all.

https://www.thenationalnews.com/opinion/comment/i-said-jen-psaki-isn-t-up-to-her-job-and-walked-into-a-rage-storm-1.1159124

Social media has impacted politics and discourse so profoundly and suddenly that it’s very difficult to gauge what it’s doing in real time – especially when one participates in it. I had just such an experience last week when on Twitter I questioned the effectiveness of President Joe Biden’s press secretary, Jen Psaki.

I have a mere 30,000 followers, but over 11,000 people replied. Most of them disagreed with me, some of them reasonably but others with outrage.

I found the novel experience interesting, and frequently amusing, but also instructive. My inclination is not to give it a second thought. Yet, at the request of the editors of this newspaper, I’m going to reflect on the lessons I drew from this rather minor, but truly surprising turn of events.

The first is that social media promotes, and almost requires, the instant response; a reliance on a “first thought, best thought” impulse that only works for certain creative artists – Andy Warhol, for example – who operate entirely by instinct.

The dangers for the rest of us are illustrated by the clumsy way I phrased the tweet in question: “Am I really the only one who can see Psaki isn’t up to this crucial role?” It’s a reasonable question, but pretty badly posed. It suggests my opinion is a fact, and sounds arrogant.

Moreover, to some people the phrasing that she “isn’t up to it” sounded misogynistic, as though any man passing judgment on the performance of any woman, even a senior public figure, is, by definition, re-enacting a sexist trope. I can understand wondering if that’s the case, but leaping to such a conclusion immediately renders everyone a stereotype.

Still, bad phrasing on my end. I was aiming at my usual politically informed interlocutors who both know my views and remember her as State Department spokesperson. Instead, I ended up getting the attention of a good chunk of a far broader public, some very irate.

It’s not clear how that happened, but it doesn’t matter. About half of the responders simply disagreed or replied, very reasonably, “yes” or “yes, you are alone”. But many others angrily assumed that I must be a passionate Donald Trump supporter, a notion likely to surprise readers of this newspaper. In addition, it was consistently asserted that I must have been satisfied with Mr Trump’s four mouthpieces, when in fact each was worse than the next and all totally incompetent.

The most unhinged replies were naturally also the most amusing. My favourite was one asserting that I “look like a child molester”, which I found as creative and magnificently off point as it was deranged. A good deal of creative abuse was hurled at me, but it’s impossible to take such silliness seriously.

This overwrought degree of emotional investment is partly the result of so many Americans being profoundly traumatised by four years of Mr Trump’s maladministration, endless lies and, eventually, effort to overturn a free and fair election. We are therefore now living in a moment, however fleeting, where questioning the performance of any aspect of the Biden administration can appear a wretched betrayal.

Moreover, because Ms Psaki is honest and probably about average for pre-Trump White House press secretaries, for many she is a breath of fresh air. My view is that, given the challenges they face, this administration needs exceptional talent, especially regarding outreach to a fractured nation. It was as if I had told people who hadn’t eaten for four years that the pack of cheese crisps they just found isn’t really all that nutritious.

In addition, many Americans have been drawn closely into the political realm because of the traumatic Trump experience. Many now paying close attention to Ms Psaki may not have paid much attention to White House press secretaries before four or five years ago. And even for those who do, or at least should, remember them, post-modern subjectivity – which is of course exemplified by Twitter – has a nasty habit of erasing historical memory like an overfilled hard drive.

All that matters is the here and now and our immediate reactions to that, and if it isn’t on television or social media, it isn’t happening at all. For adherents of QAnon and other conspiracy theories, although their collective delusions exist only on social media, they are more real than reality.

The evanescence of social media is the biggest argument against writing this column in the first place. By now, Twitter has moved on and it’s as if the whole thing never happened.

Beyond even the illusion of intimacy – and the misleading rush of dopamine users get from quick flashes of anger at heretics, or the much more damaging long infusions of dopamine that come from the false revelations of conspiratorial delusion – social media seems increasingly bound up with the demise of the political.

It’s been brewing for some time, but since the Trump presidency, what often passes for American civic engagement has become more emotional and affiliative than, strictly speaking, political on all sides. US politics is often called “tribal”, but these tribes are largely defined symbolically – by adhering to certain icons, including leaders, various forms of virtue signalling and political correctness, and, above all, sharing the same enemies. That, of course, is why it was assumed I must be a Trump follower.

But politics is about power, which requires organising and, in a country like the US, voting and raising money, not emoting. Large numbers of Americans on both the left and the right are wasting enormous amounts of energy shouting into social media echo chambers and mistaking that for political engagement. It’s not, because it won’t make a bit of difference. It turns citizens into what Prof Eitan Hersh aptly dubs “political hobbyists”.

The most extreme, horrifying example is the astonishingly large number of Trump supporters involved in the insurrectionary attack on Congress who, it turns out, didn’t bother to vote in the election they were rampaging to overturn.

That’s a million miles away from someone who simply mistakes outraged tweeting for political activism, and there is hardly any comparison. Yet both, in their own very different ways, demonstrate how umbrage can displace engagement, particularly when enveloped by the warm, narcissistic embrace of social media fantasies of intimacy, insight and empowerment.