Biden’s Withdrawal Made Containing War in the Middle East Harder

Biden’s Withdrawal Made Containing War in the Middle East Harder

By Andrew Payne

Joe Biden has insisted that ending the war in Gaza and bringing peace and security to the Middle East remains a top priority during his final months in office. Yet even freed from the burden of campaigning following his July withdrawal from the race, the president has since proven unwilling, or unable, to control the risks of spiraling conflict in the region.

Instead, after Israel dramatically stepped up its military campaign against Hezbollah in Lebanon, a wider war now appears likelier than at any point since the terrorist attacks first committed by Hamas in 2023.

A look at history and political science suggests Biden’s decision to abandon his bid for reelection, ironically, is a major cause of his ineffectiveness in defusing the conflict. Described by some as the final act of public service in a storied political career, the president’s withdrawal immediately weakened his ability to manage crises across the globe. This erosion of presidential authority at one of the most dangerous geopolitical moments in living memory is among the most serious and underappreciated consequences of his decision to step aside.

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Biden is only the third president to abandon reelection since the end of the Second World War, with Harry Truman and Lyndon Johnson his predecessors. Other “lame-duck” presidents, at the end of their second terms, have had ambitious “to-do” lists in the realm of foreign policy. The absence of reelection pressures has led many outgoing incumbents to turn to diplomacy, international agreements and the use of force to cement their legacy. The Middle East has frequently tempted those in the twilight of their terms to pursue an opportunity to earn laurels as a peacemaker. In recent months, fading hopes of brokering an Israel-Saudi normalization agreement appeared to sustain Biden’s optimism about stabilizing the region.

These plays for posterity, however, usually fail. The idea that a president not facing reelection can act free of domestic political concerns misses the point: “He may be free, but he is not taken seriously as he reaches the end of his second term,” wrote William Quandt, a veteran of former president Jimmy Carter’s Camp David Accords—which led to a peace treaty between Israel and Egypt. Largely unable to make commitments that outlast their presidency, lame ducks simply lack credibility when cutting deals and issuing threats. Both allies and adversaries face incentives to consider what a future administration might do instead.

The failure of Biden’s attempts to moderate the policies of Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu is therefore unsurprising. On the one hand, Kamala Harris remains committed to the current administration’s position—and has at times appeared sharper in her criticism of Israel’s military campaign. Former president Donald Trump, by contrast, called on Biden to let Israel “finish the job” in June and has since cast himself as Israel’s “protector,” lambasting repeated calls by Harris for a ceasefire as an effort to “tie Israel’s hand behind its back.” These positions reflect broader partisan dimensions of public views about the war, with 42 percent of Republicans favoring unconditional support for Israel compared with just 8 percent of Democrats, according to recent analysis by the Institute for Global Affairs. And they leave Netanyahu in little doubt as to where his election outcome interests lie.

Of course, the leverage that Biden has been willing to wield over Netanyahu has always been limited. For example, the red line that Biden said he established over the planned assault on Rafah in May—indicating the U.S. would not supply weapons for an offensive attack—turned out to be more of a pink smudge. Aside from a brief suspension of some munitions, U.S. weapons have continued to flow to Israel uninterrupted. Earlier this year, meaningful pressure had mounted on the administration to take a tougher stance. With pro-Palestinian protests sweeping the nation and large numbers of young voters and Arab Americans casting “uncommitted” ballots in the Democratic primaries in February, it looked like Biden might have a significant “Gaza problem” come November.

Then came his withdrawal. Biden is still committed to ensuring a Democratic victory in November. But the Harris campaign’s momentum has blunted the power of antiwar voices of the Democratic Party’s left wing to force a shift in U.S. policy. Protests at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago were smaller than expected. Polls remain tight in Wisconsin and Michigan, but new paths to electoral victory have emerged for Harris. The net effect is that the greater political threat to Democrats on the Middle East now comes from the right.

This likely explains why the administration’s recent efforts to ratchet up pressure on Netanyahu to improve humanitarian conditions in Gaza were not intended to be made public. When details leaked, the timeline afforded to Israel to comply—stretching beyond the U.S. election—only underscored the weakness of the outgoing administration’s position. Even if Biden imposed punitive measures, the possibility of a Trump victory in November—in which case there is a strong likelihood Trump would then simply restore U.S. support—would temper any Israeli desire to make lasting concessions to Biden.

As I have argued in a recent book, there is plenty of precedent for the challenge Biden now faces. In 1952 Truman found it impossible to resolve a United Nations impasse regarding an armistice agreement that would end the war in Korea. Having ruled himself out of the presidential race in March, Truman had the political space to stick with a negotiating position on the status of prisoners of war that he understood to be deeply unpopular with voters. But he lacked the leverage to convince those on the other side of the negotiating table to fall in line. As allies and adversaries increasingly looked to other candidates for clues about the future of U.S. policy, negotiations languished, and troops remained engaged in what one historian called “bitter and costly fighting for several inconsequential hills.”

Lyndon Johnson faced a similar challenge over Vietnam. In his withdrawal speech in March 1968, Johnson told the public that without campaign pressures he could focus fully on the pursuit of peace. But in a series of taped telephone conversations, he recognized that his decision had seriously undermined his bargaining position. As Election Day approached, Johnson practically begged the remaining candidates to minimize their public statements on the war for fear that it would jeopardize his last-ditch efforts to reach an agreement with the North Vietnamese. “If they can hold out three more weeks and get a little better deal—buy the horse a little cheaper from you than they can from me, they’re going to wait,” he said in one call. Indeed, by the time Johnson left office, negotiators were still deadlocked over what shape the negotiating table should be. And without a peace agreement, 1968 turned out to be the bloodiest year of the entire war.

Biden’s chances of succeeding where his predecessors failed appear bleak. A Harris win in November would restore some credibility to the outgoing administration’s diplomatic efforts. But as conflict spreads across the Middle East, it seems likely that the current president’s hopes of securing peace on his watch were dashed the moment he drafted his letter indicating his withdrawal, and sent it out to the world.

This is an opinion and analysis article, and the views expressed by the author or authors are not necessarily those of Scientific American.