This story first appeared on the TomDispatch website.
He has few constraints (except those he's internalized). No one can stop him or countermand his orders. He has a bevy of lawyers at his beck and call to explain the "legality" of his actions. And if he cares to, he can send a robot assassin to kill you, whoever you are, no matter where you may be on planet Earth.
He sounds like a typical villain from a James Bond novel. You know, the kind who captures Bond, tells him his fiendish plan for dominating the planet, ties him up for some no less fiendish torture, and then leaves him behind to gum up the works.
As it happens, though, he's the president of the United State, a nice guy with a charismatic wife and two lovely kids.
How could this be?
Crash-and-Burn Dreams and One That Came to Be
Sometimes to understand where you are, you need to ransack the past. In this case, to grasp just how this country's first African-American-constitutional-law-professor-liberal Oval Office holder became the most imperial of all recent imperial presidents, it's necessary to look back to the early years of George W. Bush's presidency. Who today even remembers that time, when it was common to speak of the US as the globe's "sole superpower" or even "hyperpower," the only "sheriff" on planet Earth, and the neocons were boasting of an empire-to-come greater than the British and Roman ones rolled together?
In those first high-flying years after 9/11, President Bush, Vice President Dick Cheney, and their top officials held three dreams of power and dominance that they planned to make reality. The first was to loose the US military—a force they fervently believed capable of bringing anybody or any state to heel—on the Greater Middle East. With it in the lead, they aimed to create a generations-long Pax Americana in the region.
The invasion of Iraq in 2003 was to be only the initial "cakewalk" in a series of a shock-and-awe operations in which Washington would unilaterally rearrange the oil heartlands of the planet, toppling or cowing hostile regimes like the Syrians and the Iranians. (A neocon quip caught the spirit of that moment: "Everyone wants to go to Baghdad. Real men want to go to Tehran.") This, in turn, would position the US to control the planet in a historically unique way, and so prevent the rise of any other great power or bloc of nations resistant to American desires.
Their second dream, linked at the hip to the first, was to create a generations-long Pax Republicana here at home. ("Everyone wants to go to Kansas, but real men want to go to New York and LA.") In that dream, the Democratic Party, like the Iraqis or the Iranians, would be brought to heel, a new Republican majority funded by corporate America would rule the roost, and above it all would be perched a "unitary executive," a president freed of domestic constraints and capable—by fiat, the signing statement, or simply expanded powers—of doing just about anything he wanted.
Though less than a decade has passed, both of those dreams already feel like ancient history. Both crashed and burned, leaving behind a Democrat in the White House, an Iraq without an American military garrison, and a still-un-regime-changed Iran. With the arrival on Bush's watch of a global economic meltdown, those too-big-not-to-fail dreams were relabeled disasters, fed down the memory hole, and are today largely forgotten.
It's easy, then, to forget that the Bush era wasn't all crash-and-burn, that the third of their hubristic fantasies proved a remarkable, if barely noticed, success. Because that success never fully registered amid successive disasters and defeats, it's been difficult for Americans to grasp the "imperial" part of the Obama presidency.
Remember that Cheney and his cohorts took power in 2001 convinced that, post-Watergate, post-Vietnam, American presidents had been placed in "chains." As soon as 9/11 hit, they began, as they put it, to "take the gloves off." Their deepest urge was to use "national security" to free George W. Bush and his Pax Americana successors of any constraints.
From this urge flowed the decision to launch a "Global War on Terror"—that is, a "wartime" with no possible end that would leave a commander-in-chief president in the White House till hell froze over. The construction of Guantanamo and the creation of "black sites" from Poland to Thailand, the president's own private offshore prison system, followed naturally, as did the creation of his own privately sanctioned form of (in)justice and punishment, a torture regime.
At the same time, they began expanding the realm of presidentially ordered "covert" military operations (most of which were, in the end, well publicized)—from drone wars to the deployment of special operations forces. These were signposts indicating the power of an unchained president to act without constraint abroad. Similarly, at home, the Bush administration began expanding what would once have been illegal surveillance of citizens and other forms of presidentially inspired overreach. They began, in other words, treating the US as if it were part of an alien planet, as if it were, in some sense, a foreign country and they the occupying power.
With a cowed Congress and a fearful, distracted populace, they undoubtedly were free to do far more. There were few enough checks and balances left to constrain a war president and his top officials. It turned out, in fact, that the only real checks and balances they felt were internalized ones, or ones that came from within the national security state itself, and yet those evidently did limit what they felt was possible.
The Obama Conundrum
This, then, was what Barack Obama inherited on entering the Oval Office: an expanding, but not yet fully expansive, commander-in-chief presidency, which, in retrospect, seemed to fit him like a... glove. Of course, he also inherited the Bush administration's domestic failures and those in the Greater Middle East, and they overshadowed what he's done with that commander-in-chief presidency.
It's true that, with President Truman's decision to go to war in Korea in 1950, Congress's constitutional right to declare war (rather than rubberstamp a presidential announcement of the same) went by the boards. So there's a distinct backstory to our present imperial presidency. Still, in our era, presidential war-making has become something like a 24/7 activity.
Once upon a time, American presidents didn't consider micro-managing a permanent war state as a central part of their job description, nor did they focus so unrelentingly on the US military and the doings of the national security state. Today, the president's word is death just about anywhere on the planet and he exercises that power with remarkable frequency. He appears in front of "the troops" increasingly often and his wife has made their wellbeing part of her job description. He has at his command expanded "covert" powers, including his own private armies: a more militarized CIA and growing hordes of special operations forces, 60,000 of them, who essentially make up a "covert" military inside the US military.