Paging Charlie Wilson

In 1971, Ron Dellums did not seem to be a guy preparing to change the tide of American foreign policy. As a brand new member of the House from Oakland, California, Dellums had come to Washington as a bit of a rabble-rouser—Vice President Spiro Agnew had described him as “a dangerous radical” during his race for Congress. But when, as a freshman member of Congress, Dellums sat down with two camera company employees from the other side of the country, he began a quest that eventually would shift American foreign policy and help to free Nelson Mandela.

Caroline Hunter and Ken Williams had come to see Dellums with an amazing story. While working for Polaroid Corp. in Buffalo, New York, they noticed something odd one day as they headed out to lunch:  a mockup of a South African ID badge. Polaroid, it seemed, was making part of the despised “passbooks” used to enforce the apartheid system of racial segregation. Black South Africans referred to the passbooks as their “handcuffs.” Hunter and Williams were understandably outraged both at their company and their country for enabling apartheid, and they launched a campaign to boycott South Africa.

After their meeting, Dellums introduced a bill that was the first step in a long and initially lonely journey to get the United States out of the business of supporting the apartheid regime. The bill failed in that Congress and in many after that. But for 15 years, Dellums did what it took to lead on this issue: developing deep expertise, helping to build a movement and getting personally involved—he was even arrested in a protest outside the South African Embassy. Then, in 1986, his determination and crafty legislative maneuvering paid off: the Dellums sanctions bill passed over the veto of President Ronald Reagan—the first veto override of the 20th century. Four years later, Dellums was an honored guest at the inauguration of President Nelson Mandela, who said to the congressman, “I've heard much of you. You gave us hope.”

Ron Dellums eventually rose to become chairman of the House Armed Services Committee. But the seeds for this legacy-making achievement were planted at the beginning of his congressional career. He had a big idea, and he pursued it relentlessly until it was completed.

For decades, that is how many in Congress had an impact on foreign policy and national security issues.

But that practice has waned. The American public, with its fleeting attention span, seems to focus on a problem only for the length of one news cycle, looking for neat resolution quickly. But foreign and security policy often moves at a different pace. Change takes time. America has only so many levers with which to move the world.

This disconnect between public expectations and practical reality has meant that Congress, when it gets involved at all, often looks to act within a blink. Members offer legislation with catchy titles that take haphazard steps to address devilishly tricky long-term problems. Not surprisingly, the outcomes are unsatisfying and rarely do much to solve the problem.

Yes, Congress will do oversight—but too often that gets hijacked by political sideshows like the never-ending Benghazi blame game. What members do not do much anymore is dive deep into the major questions and prepare themselves to challenge the White House—where so much of this decision-making has become centralized—or the State Department and the security agencies over the details of executive-branch policy decisions and come up with ideas of their own.

Changes in the way that Congress does business have contributed to this decline. The incessant demands to raise money for their campaigns and the new normal of flying back to their districts on Thursday and staying away from Washington until Monday mean that members simply do not have the time to dig deeply into some of these issues. When they do turn to policy, the low salience of national security issues in political campaigns—“It’s the economy, stupid”—means their staff and advisers want their energies focused largely on domestic concerns. In turn, this means that when members take the time to go overseas, they risk being accused of taking a junket, rather than seeking to better understand the world.

Within the institution itself, the centralization of power in both parties and both chambers in leadership has eroded the role of many committees where members have an opportunity to dig deep. And the sharp polarization in Congress has left fewer members willing to work together across the aisle on big initiatives.

All of this has meant that Congress is abdicating its role in security and foreign affairs policymaking to the executive. Yet today’s world is too volatile and complex for Congress to limit itself to the pursuit of talking points and short-term solutions. We live in a time in which our defense, intelligence, diplomatic and foreign-aid infrastructures are in need of overhaul, repair or, at least, reexamination. We live in a world in which Iran is both an implacable foe and a co-combatant against the Islamic State; the Arab Spring has turned to winter; a North Korean despot has  nuclear arms and a cyber army; Pakistan is at war with itself; and Russia is occupying Ukraine. The resolution of these issues will not come from a monthlong campaign of airstrikes, nor will lasting change come simply through occupation by American troops.

Indeed, few of these long-term problems can be solved by term-limited presidents or their appointees. They can be addressed and resolved only slowly, over time. Given that timeline, it is vital that members of Congress, who can remain in their seats for decades, become experts, develop long-term plans and push for change.

Moreover, this must be a broad undertaking. Stories of congressional policymaking in security and foreign affairs generally focus on those wielding the gavels. Indeed, as chairmen of the Armed Services committees, people like Sam Nunn and Carl Levin in the Senate and Les Aspin and Ike Skelton in the House have been able to exert considerable influence over the shape and uses of the military. The same is true with the leaders of the Foreign Relations and Intelligence committees.

But history shows that influence in national security and foreign policy can take other forms, and it often starts when members of Congress are seated at the far edges of the committee room daises. Take Charlie Wilson. Before Wilson was immortalized by Tom Hanks in Charlie Wilson’s War, he was best known as a skirt-chasing alcoholic who called Pat Schroeder “Congresswoman Babycakes” and hired staff based on their, um, physical attributes. He had been investigated by the House Ethics Committee three times. His name was not likely to be chiseled into marble in Washington or anywhere else.

Yet for all his vices, Charlie Wilson had a singular passion—crushing the Soviet Union. In 1982, he learned that the Afghan mujahedeen were in desperate need of weapons to repel the Soviet occupation of their country. After seeing firsthand the devastation caused by Soviet helicopters, he helped get the Afghans American Stinger missiles. When Soviets massacred Afghan pack animals needed to transport weapons, Wilson shipped over mules from Tennessee. And Wilson delivered $12,000 worth of walkie-talkies he bought at a Virginia Radio Shack after the CIA refused to provide the Afghans with field radios.

Wilson’s campaign to arm the mujahedeen ultimately secured more than $3 billion for the Afghans and was the largest covert operation in history (to that date). It played a vital role in ending the Cold War by turning the tide of the war in Afghanistan.

Charlie Wilson’s fervency was born of seeing too many young Texans from his district die in Vietnam. For others, it’s a personal connection that keeps them committed even when the going gets tough. For example, a group of Irish-American politicians, Senators Ted Kennedy and Daniel Patrick Moynihan, House Speaker Tip O’Neill and New York Governor Hugh Carey were known as the “Four Horsemen” for their tireless work for peace in Northern Ireland. They were at it for more than 30 years.

In 1971, Kennedy, then still early in his Senate career, first introduced a resolution calling for a withdrawal of British troops from Northern Ireland and all-party negotiations to resolve the conflict. In 1977, the four issued a St. Patrick’s Day declaration calling for a united Ireland, while deploring the violence. Over time, and by inches, they nurtured agreements, nudged recalcitrant leaders on both sides, spoke harsh truths to the Irish partisans and sought a political solution that would end the violence. In 1998, Northern Ireland adopted the Good Friday Agreement, which brought a tense cease-fire. It wasn’t until 2005, when Kennedy refused to meet with Gerry Adams in the wake of an IRA-related killing, that the Sinn Fein abandoned violence and committed to peaceful resolution of Northern Ireland’s political status.

These men had special standing in the Irish-American community and a personal passion for resolving this conflict in a way that was consistent with American values. But they also knew that, as Dellums often said, “it is a marathon, not a sprint.”

Where is the next generation of Ted Kennedys, Ron Dellumses and even Charlie Wilsons? Where are the newer members who are staking out their ground and fighting for influence over the long haul in select matters of security and foreign policy?

There are a few in Congress starting to take on such legacy-building issues. For example, freshman Senator Tim Kaine (D-Va.) has taken on reforming the War Powers Act and reasserting the role of Congress in deciding matters of war and peace. Senators Kirsten Gillibrand (D-N.Y.) and Claire McCaskill (D-Mo.) have become leaders on the issue of military sexual assault, and Representative Derek Kilmer (D-Wash.) is working to overhaul the military’s broken system for buying weapons and services. On the other side of the aisle, Senator Jeff Flake (R-Ariz.) is working to reduce wasteful defense spending, while Rep. Justin Amash (R-Mich.) has been a passionate advocate for surveillance reform.

But we need more in Congress to return to what they once did regularly—tackle a big issue and give it sustained attention over time. In so doing, a member can have a substantial impact on security policy, a realm ceded to the executive branch for too long. And they can help to restore the public’s trust in their institution at a time when trust is sorely lacking.

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