Opening
Ben Wolf (BW): You’ve worked across academia, civil society, and the State Department. At what point did arms control become not just a policy interest, but a career commitment?

Bonnie Jenkins (BJ): It really started when I was an intern in what was then the Presidential Management Internship Program, which later became the Presidential Management Fellowship. I was at the Pentagon in the International Law section.
While I was there, I went to a meeting on arms control and weapons of mass destruction. At that point, I hadn’t figured out what type of law I wanted to pursue—I had just finished both a law degree and a master’s degree. After that meeting, I thought: this is really interesting. I hadn’t focused on these issues before. And I decided then that I wanted to work in public international law, focusing on weapons of mass destruction and treaties.
So it was completely by accident. I hadn’t planned it at all.


Fragility and resilience in the nonproliferation system
BW: Was there a specific moment—an event, negotiation, or some sort of internal failure—that clarified for you how fragile or resilient the global nonproliferation system really is?

BJ: In the 1990s—what I think of as the last real decade of arms control negotiations—we were negotiating the Chemical Weapons Convention, finishing the Conventional Forces in Europe Treaty, the Open Skies Treaty, and the Comprehensive Nuclear-Test-Ban Treaty. Treaties were still something we did. They were regularly ratified by the Senate.
So at the time, the system didn’t feel fragile. It felt like this was simply how the international community addressed weapons of mass destruction.
It also didn’t feel fragile because Russia—then the Soviet Union—and China were part of these processes. What’s changed over the past decade and a half geopolitically has altered that environment significantly. But at the time, this approach felt stable and routine.


Norms vs enforcement
BW: The nonproliferation regime is often described as a normative success but an enforcement challenge. Where do you think that tension is most visible today—and how did we get here compared to the 1990s environment you were describing?

BJ: I think that’s a fair way to describe it. The norm still exists: countries should not develop nuclear weapons.
During the Biden administration, one concept we emphasized was that of “responsible nuclear weapon states”—that if a country possesses nuclear weapons, it should not engage in saber-rattling or destabilizing behavior.
But there has always been a challenge tied to Article VI of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty, which calls for disarmament discussions. The United States and Russia—the Soviet Union before that—did engage in those discussions through the START treaties, reducing nuclear stockpiles by over 80% since the end of the Cold War.
The problem now is that we no longer have a START treaty. It ended recently, and it was the last remaining agreement with Russia that both limited and reduced nuclear arsenals. That mechanism is now gone.
At the same time, we have an upcoming Nuclear Nonproliferation Review Conference. These conferences are always difficult because of the range of issues involved. Iran will certainly be a major topic. There’s ongoing interest in a Middle East weapons-free zone, which will be even more salient now. And non-nuclear states consistently press nuclear states on disarmament timelines.
The last two Review Conferences failed to produce consensus documents—the most recent one in part because of Russia’s position on Ukraine, which wasn’t even directly about nuclear weapons. So the traditional challenges remain, but they’re compounded by new geopolitical tensions.


“A new Cold War?”
BW: I recently spoke with David Sanger of The New York Times, who argued that we may be entering a kind of new Cold War—given the end of the START treaty and China’s rapid nuclear buildup. Do you agree? Are we entering a new Cold War?

BJ: I would say we’re entering a period of new challenges. I’m hesitant to use the term “Cold War,” because that was a very specific historical period with its own leadership and dynamics.
That said, the possibility of an arms race is real—unless countries come together to negotiate constraints. China is expanding its nuclear arsenal, and without a START framework, there are no longer formal limitations in place. That creates space for increased nuclear and broader military competition among major powers.
So I wouldn’t call it a Cold War, but I understand why people draw that comparison. The absence of constraints is the key issue.


AI and escalation timelines
BW: As AI becomes more integrated into military systems, does it compress escalation timelines in ways current arms control frameworks aren’t prepared for?​

BJ: There are both positives and risks. New technologies can improve decision-making in certain contexts.
For example, if we had a new START treaty, advanced technologies could potentially enhance verification processes. We don’t currently have all the tools needed for more comprehensive inspections, so there’s interest in how emerging technologies can help.
But AI is also a new variable. We don’t yet fully understand how it will be used, particularly in military contexts. There is concern about how it could accelerate capabilities or decision-making.
There has been some movement toward norms—for instance, agreements among the U.S., U.K., France, and China to ensure a human remains in the loop for nuclear decision-making. There are also international discussions, such as the RE-AIM conferences hosted by the Netherlands and South Korea, focused on responsible AI use in the military.
Still, the pace of technological development is faster than arms control processes. Even if negotiations were underway, keeping up with that speed would be difficult. Not impossible—but definitely a challenge.


Inside government: adjusting to leadership, making policy within parameters
BW: Inside government, how often do personal views on arms control have to adjust to leadership priorities and institutional constraints?​

BJ: That’s always part of the job. I’ve been fortunate to serve during periods when there was strong interest in arms control and multilateral engagement.
Whether the focus is on reduction, elimination, or nonproliferation depends on the issue, the negotiations, and the positions of the countries involved. Every country operates within policy parameters set by leadership—not just one individual, but a broader set of decision-makers.
Within those parameters, there is room for discussion and influence. But the broader direction is shaped by leadership priorities. That’s why it’s much easier to work in environments where leadership supports arms control than in those where it doesn’t.


The biggest misconception about how arms control decisions get made
BW: What’s a major misconception people have about how arms control decisions get made?

BJ: One major misconception is how little people understand about how government works in general.
Many people don’t know the roles of different departments or agencies, or how government actions affect them directly. People naturally focus on what they encounter in daily life—healthcare, groceries—but that means a lot of government activity goes unnoticed.
In more specialized areas like international security and arms control, public awareness is even lower. These issues tend to surface only during moments of crisis, like Russia’s actions in Ukraine.
There’s also a tendency to treat “government” as a monolith, or to assume that anyone can step into these roles easily. But effective policymaking requires expertise, experience, and deep institutional knowledge.
I would like to see greater public understanding of the scope and importance of government work.


Skills that translate from scholarship into diplomacy
BW: You’ve bridged academic research and diplomacy. What skills translate best—and what should students focus on?

BJ: First, I would encourage anyone interested in government to pursue it. There’s some discouragement right now, but we still need people committed to public service.
It’s also important not to equate government with any particular set of individuals. Government is an institution; people come and go.
In terms of skills: respect for different viewpoints is essential. At the State Department especially, you’re constantly engaging with different cultures. No perspective is inherently superior to another.
Writing is also critical—there’s a great deal of it in government, and the ability to construct clear arguments matters.
Curiosity is equally important. You should be asking big questions: who are we as a country? What is the United States’ role in the world?
And finally, a commitment to public service. Whether in government, teaching, NGOs, or the military, the underlying goal is helping others. If that motivates you, there are many ways to pursue it.


Most rewarding part of her career
BW: Looking back, what has been the most rewarding part of your career?

BJ: My commitment to public service. That’s been the constant throughout my career.
When I graduated from law school, most of my peers went into private law firms. Only a small number of us chose government or other public service paths. But that decision opened up incredible opportunities—working across different levels of government, negotiating internationally, traveling, and contributing to major agreements.
I started in city government in New York, then moved to state government in Albany. That foundation eventually led to treaty negotiations, international travel with senior officials, and work on major commissions like the 9/11 Commission.
It’s all come from that initial commitment to public service. That’s what I value most about the path I chose.


Tradeoffs, regrets, and choosing seriously
BW: What’s a tradeoff you wish you had understood earlier in your career?​
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BJ: I don’t think of it in terms of major tradeoffs.
For me, it’s about making thoughtful choices. Life presents multiple paths, and each one leads to a different outcome. When I graduated from law school, I had several options—all in public service. Choosing among them was difficult because each would have led to a very different life.
The key is to do the research, take the decision seriously, and choose based on what matters most to you. If you do that, you’re less likely to feel regret later.
I’ve always tried to pursue what I’m passionate about—and when something no longer aligns, I move on. That approach has helped me avoid feeling like I made major sacrifices.
Ultimately, it’s about living in a way where, looking back, you can say you made deliberate, thoughtful decisions. I want to reach that point without significant regrets.
And I’ll add: it’s important for younger generations to stay engaged. You’ll be taking on these responsibilities in the future, so your involvement matters now.

Setting the frame: intentional direction, serendipitous outcomes
Ben Wolf (BW): You’ve worked across think tanks, government, and transatlantic institutions. Looking back, was your career path intentional, or did it evolve through opportunities and moments of uncertainty?

Tyson Barker (TB): I always wanted to work on U.S.–European relations. I prefer that phrasing because I think “transatlantic” can make it sound like we’re not independent actors. Europe and the U.S. have always been—at least in my lifetime—independent actors. So I like talking about a relationship that recognizes that.
If you mean “intentional” in the sense that I set out pursuing the idea that I would have this kind of career, then yes. But it’s also been very serendipitous in the way it developed.
I’ll give you examples. In grad school, I was trying to decide between Latin America and Europe. I got a position as a research assistant for a senior professor working on Europe, and that led me in that direction—doing research on the Cold War.
When I graduated, I had done some work on Europe–China relations in grad school, and I received a grant from the Starr Foundation. At the time I was trying to decide: do I focus on the private sector? Do I look at the World Bank or the international financial institutions?
I had a conversation with one of my mentors, and he said, “I think the Bertelsmann Foundation is going to open an office in Washington, D.C. You should contact them and see what their plans are.” I contacted them, and they said, “How did you know we were opening this office?” I told them I’d spoken with mentors and gotten that advice.
Long story short, I ended up being the first hire for the Bertelsmann Foundation’s Washington office—something I probably would not have gotten without doing informational interviews and building those relationships.
Opportunities kept presenting themselves, but they were also shaped by my own initiative. At Bertelsmann I focused on U.S.–European trade relations and digital issues—GDPR, information sharing, the Lisbon Treaty, the Eurozone crisis. At the same time, I did a lot of work on the political side. I co-founded Foreign Policy Professionals for Obama and helped raise money for the campaign.
Then, in the second Obama administration, a political position opened up, and I was fortunate enough to be selected by Victoria Nuland—one of the most accomplished diplomats in U.S. foreign policy in the past 25 years. She said, “I need somebody who knows TTIP”—the U.S.–EU trade negotiations—“I need somebody who understands this.” So she brought me on board because, for my generation, I had developed a reputation for working on U.S.–EU relations. Not Russia, not Turkey—U.S.–EU.
Then Crimea happened. Then Donbas happened. So I ended up spending my tenure in the Obama administration not focused as much on TTIP, but much more on Ukraine.
When I left government, I went to Berlin. I knew Germany quite well. I ended up working in a very academic environment on cyber risk—cyber insurance for critical infrastructure, particularly industrial control systems. Very technical work.
But through that—and through getting to know the technology space better—I ended up at Aspen Germany, where I started the digital program and later took over the transatlantic program. After that I went to the German Council on Foreign Relations and founded their digital program while continuing to work on transatlantic policy. Eventually I was brought back into the Biden administration to work on U.S.–Europe technology policy.
In that role, my boss ended up leaving—Karen Donfried, our top diplomat for Europe in the Biden administration. And my former boss, who was then the number two official at the State Department, said, “I’m putting you back on Ukraine.” So I ended up returning to Ukraine policy again.
I always joke that when I’m in government, I work on Ukraine, and when I’m out of government, I work on the EU. But it’s really a bit of both. You set your coordinates and create opportunities for yourself—but there’s always serendipity too.


Mentorship: how it’s formed, and how it actually works
BW: You mentioned mentors. A lot of people hear “mentor” and it can be confusing—is it a professor, a boss, a friend? When you’re looking for mentors, first: how do you create and foster those relationships? And second: how do you use mentorship effectively?

TB: Great question. Mentorship, like any relationship in life, is a two-way street. There’s agency on both sides. You select your mentors, and your mentors also select you.
They come from different parts of your life. I’ve been very fortunate to have bosses whom I consider great mentors. And I’ll be honest: many of those amazing bosses have been extremely ambitious, creative women.
My first boss at the Bertelsmann Foundation was Anetta Heuser—an incredible policy entrepreneur. She set up the office in Washington and Brussels and is now leading a major foundation in Germany. She invested in me because I invested in the mission.
Then I had Victoria Nuland—Dick Cheney’s national security adviser, Hillary Clinton’s spokesperson, married to Robert Kagan, and an architect of years of policy toward Russia. Again, she invested in me because I invested in the mission.
Before that—during undergrad or grad school—a lot of it comes down to demonstrated interest. If you have professors, researchers, fellows, or practitioners in the university ecosystem, demonstrated interest begins with what you did: reaching out. I did that constantly.
It’s one reason I try to pay it forward. I’m getting worse at it, frankly, but when people reach out to me, I want to say yes because people did it for me. When you’re established, you want to open doors and build ladders—pipelines of opportunity.
But many people simply don’t ask. It’s becoming more common now, but for a long time it wasn’t.
Especially in grad school—and maybe in undergrad too—use alumni networks. They can be incredibly helpful. I went to Columbia for undergrad and Johns Hopkins for graduate school, and Hopkins has a very supportive alumni network. People understand the value of helping others coming through the same program.
If you’re part of a specific program—even if it’s not the whole university—that network becomes a core resource. It never hurts to reach out. I remember being an undergrad and emailing professors—this was back in 2000—just cold emails, which felt strange at the time. But sometimes they responded. It starts with outreach.


The biggest strategic risk to the alliance: internal confidence and volatility
BW: Transitioning to current events: in your view, what is the greatest strategic risk facing the transatlantic alliance over the next decade, and how should it be addressed?

TB: The greatest risk is internal. You have to be confident in the core of the relationship in order to project outward.
There are external threats—Russia, China, climate change, competitiveness, technology—but at the end of the day there has to be a fundamental belief in the utility of the relationship in terms of both interests and values.
As articulated by figures like JD Vance and Marco Rubio, there are serious critiques of Europe within the United States—and very serious critiques of the United States within Europe. The message Europe is receiving from what many perceive as erratic U.S. behavior—tariffs, shifting positions on Ukraine, proposals like the so-called “28-point plan,” or even debates around Greenland—creates deep uncertainty.
The big question in Europe right now is: how do we build guardrails and shock absorbers to manage this volatility coming from the United States?
At the same time, there are anti-democratic forces within Europe—both far right and far left—and those pressures can deepen divisions.
So in my view, the greatest threat to the transatlantic alliance is internal.
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China and Europe: capacity, priorities, and who does what
BW: You mentioned China. How should the U.S. balance competition with China while maintaining focus on European security?

TB: The United States has immense capacity to walk and chew gum at the same time. There has been discussion since at least the Bush administration about a “pivot to Asia” or a “rebalance.”
Europe recognizes that the primary strategic theater may increasingly be the Indo-Pacific, because that’s where a lot of economic dynamism and security competition is happening.
But I would ask right now: is that even what the Trump administration believes? I don’t think the administration has articulated a clearly coherent position on its role as a security provider and economic actor in the Pacific with respect to China.
On one hand, there are impulses toward a more oligarchic or authoritarian-style entente with Chinese leadership. On the other hand, there is occasional rhetorical support for Taiwan and the South China Sea, though not necessarily to the degree seen in earlier periods.
So I’m not sure there is a coherent doctrine. It feels more focused on the Western Hemisphere, to be quite frank.
Europe recognizes that in the Indo-Pacific it will likely play a more junior role—supporting stability because global trade depends on a rules-based order. At the same time, Europe needs to take a more senior role in its own regional security. That’s an area where there is growing agreement.

Munich and the “wrecking ball” problem: predictability beyond four-year cycles
BW: You referenced the Munich Security Conference. Last year JD Vance gave a memorable, but polarizing speech. This year, it was Marco Rubio. What are your biggest takeaways from the past conferences, and what did you make of this year's speech?

TB: It comes back to the broader structural problem. The pendulum in the United States has increasingly become a wrecking ball. One administration sets a course, and the next knocks it down. That makes it extremely difficult for allies, businesses, or policymakers to plan because the long-term horizon disappears.
This administration has been particularly maximalist. You could describe it as a kind of demolition diplomacy. Many observers expect that some of these policies will not outlast the administration.
But even if the pendulum swings back—whether under Republicans or Democrats—it will be difficult to restore the level of predictability that once allowed allies to plan beyond four-year cycles. And that is a tragedy.
I assign a lot of responsibility to Trump for how he approached the world, but I also think these dynamics predate him. You can trace some of them to the Bush administration and even to aspects of the Obama administration.
Take the Iraq War. It was deeply divisive and sold domestically in ways that fractured international legitimacy. Then the Obama administration comes in and argues that the original legitimacy was never properly built. What does that say to allies who supported it?
You saw similar dynamics with Afghanistan. Allies indicated they might have stayed longer, but without the U.S. backbone the coalition could not hold.
So the lesson for Europe is that you have to plan around U.S. cycles. Increasingly, you cannot assume policies will outlast them—whether it’s incentives under the Inflation Reduction Act, tariffs imposed today, or diplomatic agreements reached in one administration. If I were advising Europe, I would assume many of those policies will not last beyond the current administration.


Career guidance: your 20s, travel, languages, and choosing inspiration
BW: For readers interested in your path, what has been the most rewarding part of your career? And what should they know if they want to enter this field?

TB: First, use your twenties to figure out what you want to do. Don’t feel pressure to have everything figured out by 25.
I learned that during my year abroad as an undergraduate. I was ambitious and thought, “By 24 I need to accomplish X.” But I was surrounded by people of different ages who were still figuring things out. You don’t need an extremely linear life.
Second, travel and learn languages. If you want to work in international relations or foreign policy, make a serious commitment to understanding countries, languages, cultures, and anthropology. It’s much more than tourism.
People sometimes say, “Everyone speaks English,” or “That language is too difficult.” But you should throw yourself into it—date in the language, make friends in the language, live with roommates who speak it.
I did that with several languages. I lived in Taiwan for a time. I lived in Germany. I actually left college for a year and went to Guatemala. I started graduate school in Italy.
In those places I learned languages—especially German and Spanish—well enough to work professionally. That opens entire worlds.
And sometimes the value isn’t about what seems “most useful.” People say, “Why learn German? Everyone in Germany speaks English.” But they don’t speak it professionally the way you need for policy work. German opened an enormous world for me in Europe.
The most important thing is to be inspired by the language and the culture. If you have that inspiration, the rest tends to follow.


The tradeoffs: pensions, stability, and being a “guest” abroad
BW: What’s been the biggest cost—or the most difficult aspect—that you wish you knew earlier?

TB: My career path has been fairly omnivorous. I’ve always earned a comfortable salary, so I’m not complaining there, although I have friends who have earned more.
But if you pursue certain government tracks—like the Foreign Service or congressional careers—you can receive retirement benefits like pensions. I’m 45 now, and some of my friends are getting close to eligibility. They may not retire immediately, but they can pivot while still drawing that pension, which is a significant advantage.
Because my path has been more serendipitous and less linear, I don’t have that same pension track.
Another tradeoff comes from living abroad. When you live in another country, you’re ultimately a guest. That shapes your access. German may be my working language, but I’m not German—I’m American. Access in political Berlin or Brussels is different from someone who has spent their entire career in that ecosystem.
And the dynamic works both ways. In Washington, there are advantages that Americans have which Europeans might not.


The book that mattered—even though he disagreed with it
BW: To conclude: what book or piece of literature has been most influential on your life, and why should others read it?
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TB: I should have thought about this beforehand—it’s such a good question.
This answer might get me in trouble, but I’ll say it anyway because it mattered at an important hinge point in my life. I had lived in Taiwan and studied abroad in Berlin in 2001, but I didn’t want to pursue foreign policy. I was planning on a domestic career.
What changed my mind—what changed my entire generation—was 9/11. I wanted to understand and impose some kind of order on a world that suddenly felt chaotic.
So I read Samuel Huntington’s The Clash of Civilizations. I bought it in a German bookstore in English and read it straight through.
It’s controversial. People criticize it for framing the world in terms of civilizational blocs. And it was in conversation with Francis Fukuyama’s The End of History, which argued that ideological conflict had essentially ended with the Cold War.
Even though I ultimately disagree with Huntington’s thesis, engaging with it—trying to make sense of the world through a framework—was very important for me. It shaped how I began thinking about international politics.

The first spark: Georgia, geopolitics, and the limits of what we notice
Ben Wolf (BW): To begin: knowing that you’ve "built your beat" around U.S. foreign policy and national security reporting, what was the first moment you realized this was the lane you wanted to commit to professionally, and why?

John Haltiwanger (JH): I’m not sure there was a singular moment, but a really formative experience for me came not long after undergrad. I’d pursued a certification to teach English as a foreign language, and for a brief period I actually taught U.S. history and AP World History. I’ve always been into geopolitics—the history of politics, the history of interactions between countries.
While I was teaching high school, I realized: I’m not sure I want to get locked into a career quite yet. So I accepted a job teaching English abroad in Georgia—the country—in 2012. It was a couple of years after Russia had invaded Georgia in a really short war that was also quite formative for the country, despite the fact that it only lasted a couple of days.
It was clear it was still having an impact on Georgians and on the country—particularly given Russian forces were still occupying two internationally recognized Georgian territories, South Ossetia and Abkhazia. I started talking to Georgians about it a lot. And I started blogging about it.
And I realized: I’m very into this geopolitics thing.
There was another moment where I was in Tbilisi, the capital. That wasn’t where the school I taught in was—I taught at a school about three hours from there in a pretty small village. But I remember going into this Irish pub and running into all these U.S. Marines who were there to help train Georgian troops involved in what at the time was called ISAF—the International Security Assistance Force—basically NATO and allied troops in Afghanistan.
I was 23. I grew up in D.C. I always thought of myself as fairly aware of what America is doing around the world and its global footprint, but it was a shock to me that these Marines were in Tbilisi—and I had no idea.
It was humbling and eye-opening about the limits of my own knowledge about what the U.S. does around the world. It reignited this desire within me to have a better understanding of America’s foreign policy role—its military footprint.
While I was in Georgia, I decided to apply for an international relations program. And because I’d had such a great experience internationally, I decided to pursue programs abroad—not in the United States. A lot of the best IR programs are in the U.S.—D.C., Denver, Boston, all over the country—but I thought it’d be interesting to get a non-U.S. perspective on IR. So I applied to a program at the University of Glasgow.
I was really attracted to it partly because they had a strong focus on Central and Eastern Europe, and I was very interested in that region. I got into the program, and while I was there I continued to blog, continued to have conversations with people from around the world about geopolitics—and I realized: this is what I want to do.
I didn’t necessarily know I wanted to be a journalist, but I knew I wanted to write about foreign policy. I loved sinking my teeth into convoluted topics. I loved the IR theory courses—using different theories as tools and lenses through which to analyze the world and current events.
Over the course of my master’s program, I realized: academia is great, but I’d rather be more engaged with things at a fast-paced, current level. And what better way to do that than journalism?
While I was in grad school, I kept blogging. I got some freelance opportunities, and it spiraled into a journalism career. In a lot of ways, I ended up here by accident.


The “zigzag line”: pathways, skills, and what (not) to redesign
BW: You mentioned you’d always been interested in international affairs, but it took time to figure out where you fit within that. Looking back, is there anything you’d redesign or something you’d double down on earlier?

JH: Not necessarily. A lot of fields have prescribed pathways. My pathway into journalism was definitely unconventional. A lot of people go to J-school—they might major in journalism in undergrad, then go to J-school. There are advantages to that if you want to get into journalism: internships or fellowships at media organizations, building the network that can help you get a step ahead. Connections are currency in any field.
That definitely set me back a little bit. I studied IR. I did not have connections to journalism. I really had to put myself out there to get my foot in the door.
But at the same time, I gained a level of expertise in a subject matter that you might not necessarily benefit from in the same way if you’re solely going through a traditional journalism pipeline. I don’t want to discourage people from going to J-school. I guess what I’m trying to say is: we should break away from the notion that there’s a single pathway into any given field.
You should pursue your interest and not worry too much about precisely where you’re going to end up—while still being practical. We all need to pay the bills. We all need gainful employment. That’s just the way the world works.
But I don’t have regrets about the pathway I took. It was a zigzag line—not exactly linear—but pretty much every experience I had along the way, from studying history to my time in Georgia to my master’s program, gave me skills I continue to benefit from.
As a history undergrad, I took a class called historiography—studying the ways the sourcing of an event impacts how it’s depicted: primary sources versus secondary sources; thinking about why a document portrays something in a particular light; what perspective it’s coming from. That is so important in journalism—understanding biases injected into portrayals of events, particularly by people in power who have a stake in portraying certain events in a certain light.
Going to Georgia—without even realizing it—I was unofficially interviewing people about the war and its impact. I was doing what journalists do: you go into the world and talk to people. I was getting soft skills that matter. It is difficult to go out and talk to people.
Even if you’re extroverted, it can be tough. I’ve had to report in difficult contexts. For example, about two weeks after Russia invaded Ukraine, I was reporting from the Poland–Ukraine border, speaking to Ukrainians as they crossed—people who were, in that moment, becoming refugees. You’re talking to them on the worst days of their lives. You can worry you’re invading their space, but you have to remember: this is an important story to tell. This is a major event in history, and you’re doing your part in writing the first draft of it. So you go up and talk to them—with sensitivity and empathy, of course.
Every experience I had helped prepare me for this. I’d encourage people interested in journalism to think about what beats they might want to cover and take courses that interest them. In undergrad, it wasn’t just history: I took Middle East politics, an American presidency course—electives I was interested in. Little did I know I’d end up covering U.S. national security, the presidency, the Middle East years later. I’m a strong advocate for pursuing what interests you.


Access vs accountability: being truthful, not “neutral”
BW: Now, you mentioned everyone has to pay the bills. I came across an article recently describing how incentives in journalism have changed over the past few decades. In today’s media environment, journalists can be incentivized to chase outrageous stories—things that get more clicks. How do you distinguish between access journalism and accountability journalism, and where do you personally draw the line?

JH: It’s a very important question. There are certainly people out there who engage in sensationalist journalism. I think it comes down to integrity and your personal set of ethics.
I got into journalism because I care about the world. I care about my country and the role it plays in the world. The United States is the most powerful country in the world—what we do has rippling consequences for millions, if not billions, of people. I think it’s really important, as a citizen in a democratic country, to keep my fellow Americans informed so they can make the best possible decisions at the ballot box—voting for people who align with their beliefs—and to be informed about what is actually happening around the world. And also: if you did vote for this person, this is what they’re up to on your behalf and in your name around the world.
Media has been under a lot of economic strain, especially as it shifted from newspaper- and magazine-based models to digital. I’ve been laid off multiple times. I’ve faced the economic ups and downs. It’s a tough industry.
There have been publications where I’ve faced pressure to report on things I don’t find particularly interesting or important for what the public needs to know. It’s important to push back on editors when they throw those ideas out.
It’s also important to be flexible and creative about how you report the news. A big part of my job is making the news interesting to people—framing it responsibly, but in a way people will engage with. America is inward-looking. A lot of people don’t leave their hometowns or states. They understand America is powerful, but it’s hard to wrap your head around why events in Syria, China, or Venezuela matter to me. People think: I have work, I’ve got bills, I’ve got a family—I don’t have time to keep up with all this.
One challenge is explaining why it matters—why it impacts you—why it affects oil prices, the value of the dollar, and so on. Or just putting things in context: the sheer amount of money the U.S. spends on defense every year—this is what your tax dollars are going to. If you’re worried about issues like healthcare, more money is going toward defense than healthcare, etc. Contextualizing it.
And making sure I’m fair. There’s a misconception that journalists are supposed to be neutral. We’re not supposed to be neutral—we’re supposed to be truthful. Sometimes the truth paints one side in a negative light. It’s not our responsibility to avoid that because we don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings—particularly if the facts are something the public should be aware of.
When reporters uncovered Watergate—back in the Nixon era—they reported facts about nefarious activity even though Nixon wasn’t happy about it. That’s our job: to speak truth to power, to let people know what’s happening in the shadows—but also to be human about it. Our first responsibility is to do no harm.
That means being selective and careful about information. If I’m speaking to someone in a war zone, and revealing their identity could put them in danger, I don’t do that. If I came across information that could put U.S. operatives or other people in danger, that’s a serious editorial decision: does the public need to know this? What’s the value of knowing it versus the potential fallout?
We have to weigh those things—while also being aware that media is a business. We have to write at a pace that keeps people reading. But you can do that responsibly and ethically.
I encourage anyone interested in this—who believes in democracy and keeping people informed—to pursue it. But be clear that fair and neutral are different. Watergate wasn’t “neutral,” but it was truthful and important.
And one other thing: when you work at a big organization—Foreign Policy, The New York Times, The Washington Post—you’re not just representing yourself. You’re representing the organization, its legacy, and your colleagues. It’s different than some random guy on YouTube claiming he uncovered a scandal. The stakes are higher. If you don’t do your job responsibly, you can hurt a lot of people—including your colleagues. So I take that responsibility seriously: covering things fairly, in a balanced way, doing no harm, and protecting people who need protection.


Sources, anonymity, and vetting information at scale
BW: I’m glad you brought up working at a big institution. I remember a conversation I had with Binyamin Appelbaum at The New York Times a couple months ago. One thing he described was that at smaller organizations you’re really seeking out sources—but at bigger organizations, sources are often coming to you. Have you felt that change? And when sources do come to you, how do you evaluate whether they’re reliable?

JH: That’s a great question. I’ve worked at startups and more established outlets like Newsweek, Business Insider, and Foreign Policy—and yeah, there’s a huge difference.
At smaller places no one had heard of, I really had to seek out sources—chase them down publicly, be relentless with calls and emails. Sometimes you still have to do that even at the biggest outlets, but you do see differences.
And part of being responsible—especially if you’re writing something critical about an administration or someone in power—is giving them every chance to tell their side of the story. You go out of your way to contact them and give them ample time to respond. If you don’t, you’ve broken a fundamental value of journalism—Journalism 101: reach out and give people a chance to respond.
Our job is to put as many pieces of the puzzle together as possible for readers. If someone requests anonymity, you explain why—because the issue is sensitive or their life could be in danger.
When people reach out to me with information, I have to be cautious. If they’re reaching out, they might be looking for attention. Why me? Why this publication? What are they hoping to get out of going public?
At this point—I’ve been doing this for over a decade—you have to be good at sussing out who someone is and what they do. There’s no room for error. Sometimes I get pitches and I’m immediately like: nope. It’s not our job to regurgitate what people in power are saying. We’re not PR.
The type of news I do is high-altitude analytical coverage that helps people connect the dots on complicated national security and geopolitical developments. Vetting is an extremely important part of what it means to be a journalist—and it’s a skill you develop.
Early on, it’s important to ask for help from editors and colleagues: “I got this tip. I’m not sure how valid it is.” I’ve gotten tips before—on massive stories—that, if true, would have been huge, and they ended up being nothing. Someone may have been dishonest or misled.
It comes back to responsibility. When you’re working on big platforms with large audiences, you have a responsibility to do no harm—and that means really vetting information and sourcing to ensure you’re giving the public the most accurate possible information.


The rewards—and the tradeoffs you don’t see coming
BW: Looking back at your career, what has been the most rewarding part—and what’s the biggest tradeoff you wish you’d known earlier?

JH: The most rewarding part is that you get to be a student and a teacher constantly. I’m constantly learning new subjects—getting access to top experts on various issues.
For years, the main region I focused on through national security reporting was the Middle East, because that’s where the U.S. has been most active for a long time due to the war on terror. More recently, with the Trump administration’s increasing focus on Latin America, I had to shift attention there. I was hardly an expert—and I’m still hardly an expert—but I’ve had to build sourcing and learn by talking to really smart people. It’s been fascinating and a privilege.
Another rewarding part is this idea some journalists used to describe as being a “voice for the voiceless.” I disagree with that phrase. I think everyone has a voice, but not everyone has a platform. Not everyone has an audience. So for refugees, people in war zones, people who feel unheard—giving them an opportunity to tell their stories, or doing my best to be an avenue through which they can express themselves—that’s a privilege and a big responsibility.
Talking to people in challenging environments about harrowing experiences and making sure you do their stories justice—because some of the most impactful reporting has a strong human element. If you’re reporting on a war and just giving casualty stats, it can feel robotic. People relate differently to an individual story that reflects broader trends.
I try to lead with empathy. I’m not just using people for their story. Not to sound corny—I genuinely care. Part of why you get into this field is because you believe in human rights, you believe in democracy, and you want to shine a light on abuses. You can approach these issues with care and sensitivity, and make people feel seen and heard in a responsible manner.

​In term's of the biggest tradeoff, I think it would’ve been nice to have someone warn me how tumultuous the profession would be—how many ups and downs I’d have outside my control: layoffs, acquisitions, getting moved around a lot.
When I entered the industry in 2014, it felt like a golden age for new media—Huffington Post, BuzzFeed, Vice News, all these outlets emerging; digital taking over; more video. It seemed limitless—like it would never stop. And then a couple years in, it burst. The older outlets caught up, figured out digital, and they had the money and experience to do it well.
No one could’ve predicted it—maybe some people did, but I didn’t. There have been long periods of unemployment for me. Maybe I would’ve saved more money or prepared better for the rockiness.
But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I love what I do. It’s been worth it—in spite of the challenges. That’s life. No matter what field you get into, there will be ups and downs.
I’d also say: if you’re considering journalism, don’t be deterred because it’s rocky. It’s very worth it. You talk to incredibly interesting people from around the world. You’re constantly learning. Sometimes you pinch yourself because you have a front-row seat to history. I feel privileged when I look back on what I’ve been able to report on and the people I’ve been able to speak to.


The next decade: skills, media literacy, and rebuilding trust
BW: As we close, I want to look ahead. If you had to guess how foreign policy journalism will change over the next decade, what do you think will change—and how will that affect people trying to enter the field?

JH: It’s a million-dollar question a lot of people are thinking about—especially at a time like this, when we’re hearing rumors of major impending layoffs, including on foreign desks at outlets like The Washington Post. People reporting from conflict zones could be on the brink of losing their jobs. I actually haven’t kept up with that over the last couple of days—some of this may have already happened—so I apologize if I’m behind. But it’s indicative of the challenges.
And it’s not just foreign policy journalism—it’s journalism in general. Local newspapers have closed. Local outlets have closed. News has become more nationalized, and there are negative repercussions. Local news fuels connection among people you live near. It helps you understand the good and bad things happening around you. When everything is viewed through a national lens, it can fuel divisions.
As it becomes more nationalized, I hope to see efforts to adapt at a local level. Some folks have responded by taking a nonprofit approach to journalism—one example in the D.C. area is The Baltimore Banner. So there are solutions. I hope they spread.
Anyone entering the industry needs to be nimble and flexible. You need a wide skill set. You can’t just be good at one thing. You need to write, do TV, do social media, do quick videos, explainers—because people digest news in so many different ways.
And you need to be a strong advocate for media literacy. A lot of people don’t have strong media literacy education. They don’t know how to discern trustworthy sources. They worry everything is incentivized by money and profit. Look—I’m a journalist; I’m cynical. I have to be. Gullible people will struggle in journalism because you have to recognize people in power have agendas. But there are a lot of good people in media who genuinely care about the country and their communities.
Frankly, a lot of us don’t make that much money. If you’re looking for big bucks, I wouldn’t necessarily pursue journalism. You can make a comfortable living, but it’s tough.
So be clear-eyed about the challenges—be an advocate for media literacy and restoring trust. And the First Amendment is there for a reason. Americans—not just journalists—should be strong advocates for freedom of the press.
If you do get into this field, it’s rewarding—but be prepared for ups and downs. Remember the responsibility. Keep an open mind. Have as many conversations as possible.
And another thing: you have to do a lot of self-promotion. You have to build your own brand as a reporter—even if you work within a brand. It can feel tasteless, but it’s part of surviving in the industry. Pay attention to trends, engage with them, and don’t give up, even though it’s challenging—because it’s incredibly rewarding.

A book that shaped the lens
BW: Finally, if you had to recommend a piece of literature to a reader interested in following your path—or a piece of literature that most influenced your own—what would it be, and why?

JH: Oh, wow—that’s a tough one.
A book I always think back to from college is Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World. I took a class on the Mongols in undergrad. It was really interesting to learn about the ways Western historians denigrated Genghis Khan and elevated the prestige of Western empires compared to the Mongolian Empire.
None of this is to whitewash what the Mongols did—no empire hasn’t done terrible things, and the Mongols certainly did terrible things. But that book was indicative of the importance of balance in writing on complicated issues—context, perspective, pushing against prevailing narratives.
It had a big impact on me as a journalist: it’s important to analyze issues from different perspectives and offer those perspectives in your reporting, so people can come to their own determination about how they feel.
That’s the ultimate responsibility of a journalist, if I distill it: offering different perspectives on a complicated issue and giving people the most comprehensive information available so they can come to the best possible conclusion.
It was also just a great read—an example of taking what might seem like a boring topic to a lot of people and making it fascinating. That’s hopefully what I try to do, too: take something someone thinks they don’t want to read about, but they see the headline or read the lead and think, “Oh wow—I’m going to keep reading. I need to learn about this.”

Richard Haass doesn’t pretend his career was a master plan. He describes it as a sequence of exposures—first to Vietnam as the defining political issue of his teens, then to the Middle East through an undergraduate detour into comparative religion that turned into a summer, a junior year abroad, and eventually a first degree focused on the region. From there, graduate work in international relations followed “one thing led to another,” but the point—he’s explicit—is that he wasn’t optimizing for a pre-set path so much as chasing strong teachers, serious books, and jobs where he’d learn the most.
That openness shows up again when he talks about power. Haass’s core corrective is blunt: virtually nothing is inevitable. People make policy, and different people in the same circumstances produce different outcomes. He traces that lesson to early government work—especially 1979, when the Iran Revolution and the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan collided with his recent field exposure and doctoral focus, giving him a real seat (and real memos) in high-level policymaking while he was still young.
The conversation then moves from individual agency to institutions: why consensus can be intellectually “bland,” why CFR avoided institutional positions during his tenure, and why “policy planning” is not “policy predicting”—especially in a top-heavy administration. From there, he defines what “rules-based order” actually means in practice: basic norms (like not acquiring territory by force) plus mechanisms that reward compliance and penalize violations.
We close with Haass on the strategic stakes: China’s nuclear buildup and why Cold War analogies distort more than they clarify; Europe’s deepening doubts after Munich; and why he rejects any endgame in Ukraine that “rewards aggression.” Finally, he offers unusually concrete advice for students—study history, rotate through multiple jobs early, and start with two books: Thinking in Time (Neustadt/May) and Bull’s The Anarchical Society.


—Richard Haass served as president of the Council on Foreign Relations for 20 years and previously held senior roles across Congress, the Pentagon, the State Department, and the White House.

Career origins: how it started
Ben Wolf (BW): For readers trying to understand your trajectory, what first pulled you toward foreign policy? And how did that turn into a real path?

Richard Haass (RH): A couple of things. I have some specifics about my case, and then one or two general thoughts.
When I was in my teens, one of the big issues was Vietnam—the war—so that immediately, or inevitably, got me interested in foreign policy subjects, but just as a political issue.
When I went to college, one of my early areas of focus was comparative religion. I took a course on the New Testament, became friends with the professor, ended up spending the summer—and then my junior year abroad—in the Middle East. I came back, focused then on Middle Eastern studies, got my first degree on that.
Went to graduate school and ended up doing my master’s and doctorate in international relations, and one thing led to another, led to another.
All of which is to say: I was not one of those people who had a long-term career focus. I’m not sure I even recommend that. I think it’s much better to be open—to things, to experiences, to good professors, to books. And it just happened.
I did not have a career, if you will, by design. It evolved because I always tried to study with the best professors. I took the jobs that I thought were the most interesting, where I’d learn the most. And yes, I’m interested in international things—but it just as easily could have been domestic politics or economics.
Indeed, when I originally thought about graduate school, I was looking at international relations. I was looking at international economics. I was looking at Middle Eastern studies. I didn’t know what I wanted to do—and in some ways, it’s impossible to until you do it.
My general advice is not to overthink it. When you’re young, try to expose yourself to the most interesting situations—the places where you learn the most. And if you’re lucky, you’ll stumble across what you want to do.


Power and policymaking: what he learned by doing
BW: When you first entered government, what did you not understand yet about how decisions actually get made—and what experience taught you the most?

RH: I didn’t have understandings about power and policymaking when I was young. So again: when I was young, those weren’t questions I thought about.
I worked in Congress in my early 20s. As a staffer, I worked in the Pentagon in my late 20s. I worked in the State Department in my early 30s, the White House in my late 30s, and so forth.
Usually the only thing I knew before I had experience was what I read in history books—what I studied.
The one thing I will say that I learned is that virtually nothing is inevitable—that at the end of the day, people make policy. Very different people put in the same circumstances will come up with very different policies.
That ought to motivate people to think about this, because you can make a difference.
When I was in the Pentagon in the late ’70s—in ’79—there were two enormous geopolitical events: the revolution in Iran and the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. I happened to have just come back from Iran and Afghanistan. I did my doctorate on that part of the world. And suddenly, there I was, as a young person, with a chance to participate in policymaking at a pretty high level.
In many cases, if my voice didn’t make it into the meeting, my memos made it into the inboxes of the most senior people.
That’s what’s so interesting about government: you can have extraordinary opportunities at a young age, and nothing is set in stone. So I’m a great advocate for young people to get involved in government.


Think tanks: expertise without groupthink
BW: You led one of the most influential convening institutions in the country. In that environment, how do you keep “expert consensus” from turning into groupthink—and make sure dissenting views don’t get filtered out?

RH: It wasn’t a problem, because when I was lucky enough to be president of the Council on Foreign Relations for 20 years, the institution never took institutional positions. So each individual member was free to have his or her own opinions. Each fellow on the staff could reach his or her own conclusions or recommendations on policy. Same held for authors in Foreign Affairs.
There was no attempt to reach a consensus.
By and large, I also find two things. One is: consensus is often bland—you find the lowest common denominator.
And in my experience, the best intellectual work is not done by groups. The best intellectual work is done by individuals. Think about it: how many great books can you think of that were written by committees? Great intellectual work is written by individuals.
Now, in government, you’ve got to have people working together. And I think in government it could be an issue where you reach the consensus and the rest—that it may not be the best policy. To me, the goal in government was never necessarily to reach a consensus. The goal was to reach the best available policy. Where there were differences, hash it out, and the president—or whoever was the decision maker—would hopefully reach the best possible decision.
But I’ve never lived my life with the goal of coming up with consensus.


Planning vs. predicting
BW: Looking ahead 12 months, what feels most likely to shape global politics—and what risk do you think is still being underweighted?

RH: When I ran the Policy Planning Staff, I used to say I was in charge of policy planning, not policy predicting. So I’m not going to go there. The answer is: I don’t know.
There are too many variables. And in particular, you’ve got an administration in this country that does not have a heavy institutional bias. It’s very top-heavy. The president makes a lot of policy.
So anyone going out on a limb and making predictions about events—honestly, I don’t know what’s going to happen in the next 12 hours with Iran or something like that. I’m not going to go there.


What “rules-based order” means in practice
BW: People use “rules-based international order” as shorthand. If you had to make it concrete: what are the core rules or norms that matter, and what enforces them when they’re violated?

RH: The slogan you hear is usually “rules-based international order,” whatever.
It’s the idea that international relations is conducted with respect for—or acceptance or toleration of—certain rules or norms.
The most basic one is that territory is not to be acquired by the use of military force. There are other norms: genocide isn’t to be allowed to happen, terrorism is unacceptable, and so forth.
Those are norms or principles on which order is based. And then you’ve got to have ways of encouraging people to respect those rules, and mechanisms or means for penalizing them if they don’t—whether it’s sanctions, the use of military force, or what have you.
That’s the basic stuff of foreign policy: you want to encourage certain behaviors and discourage others. And if you are not successful at discouraging them, you want to defeat challenges to order.


China: objectives, deterrence, and constraints
BW: On China, what should the U.S. be trying to achieve—what’s a realistic end state? And what does effective deterrence look like, especially around Taiwan?

RH: What the United States should be looking for with China is that China doesn’t use its growing power in ways that we think are inconsistent with order as we understand it.
In one narrow space, it’s obviously that they ought not use force to change the status of Taiwan. That’s been our biggest concern. But we also have other issues. They ought not be supporting Russia like they are in its war of aggression against Ukraine. We have all sorts of concerns about an export-led growth model, which we believe is inconsistent with a global economy that works to the benefit of most countries and people, and so forth.
With China, as with anybody else, you’ve got to encourage certain behaviors and discourage others. That’s the stuff of foreign policy. It’s not unique to China.
I always say the business of foreign policy is influencing the foreign policy choices of others. And China has gotten more complicated because their power has grown. Their ambitions are considerable.
And our ability, in some cases, to push back is limited. We may not have the military force, or we’re vulnerable to Chinese cutoffs of rare earth minerals, and so forth. We haven’t necessarily structured the relationship in ways that allow us to shape Chinese behavior as we’d like to.


China’s nuclear buildup and the “new Cold War” analogy
BW: China’s nuclear modernization is accelerating. How should we interpret that strategically? And when people call this a “new Cold War,” as David Sanger has in his recent book, what does that analogy get right, and what does it get wrong?

RH: I think you’re conflating two things. Let’s walk it back.
One is the growth of China’s nuclear weapons. The other is whether the Cold War model fits U.S.-China competition.
Look—China has the world’s third-largest nuclear arsenal. It’s the fastest growing. I think China has made the strategic decision: over the next decade, they want to reach rough equality with the United States and Russia. They see that as central for great power status.
They also look at the war in Ukraine, and they notice that the United States supported Ukraine much more under the Biden administration than under the Trump administration, but we supported it indirectly—with arms and intelligence. We didn’t send U.S. forces to the battle.
China would love to replicate that when it comes to Taiwan. They would love to limit U.S. support for Taiwan to arms or intelligence, but they would much prefer U.S. military forces not get directly involved. So my guess is they think their chances of succeeding increase significantly if they have a nuclear arsenal that’s roughly on par with that of the United States.
So I think for the next decade China will increase its nuclear arsenal significantly—say by 100 warheads a year—which would get them to 1,500 plus or minus a decade from now.
I think then there’s a possibility China would be open to participation in some type of arms control framework. I think until then there’s negligible chance China would participate. So I just take that as a fact of life.
Now: what’s the nature of the U.S.-China relationship? I don’t much like Cold War analogies, because there were unique qualities to the U.S.-Soviet Cold War.
The U.S. and China will have elements of significant competition. We could have elements of conflict. We could have elements of limited cooperation.
The Cold War had a large ideological dimension—I’m not sure that’s at play here. The Cold War had two large alliance systems arrayed against each other—I don’t see a parallel there with China. Unlike the Soviet Union, China is integrated into the world economy. So, all things being equal, I find the Cold War parallel more distorting than illuminating.


NATO, Munich, and Rubio
BW: After Munich, where do you think European confidence in U.S. commitments actually stands? Specifically, what did Rubio’s speech clarify, and what did it fail to resolve?

RH: I thought it was an impressive speech. It was well delivered.
On the other hand, it didn’t deal with Ukraine, didn’t deal with tariffs. It didn’t settle any of the doubts about Article 5 and America’s commitment to Europe. You also have Vice President Vance a year ago in Munich, and you’ve had any number of comments by the president of the United States.
It wasn’t clear exactly who Marco Rubio was speaking for. I thought there was a serious disconnect between elements of his speech and elements of U.S. foreign policy.
At the end of the day, the most important thing to say is: the Europeans didn’t come away reassured. Some liked the speech; some didn’t, depending on what they focused on. But the biggest—and I think correct—conclusion is it didn’t change any of the fundamentals.
The U.S.-European relationship has changed fundamentally for the worse. And a speech—even a good speech by the Secretary of State—couldn’t change that.
He didn’t help himself by not dealing with Ukraine in the speech. He certainly didn’t help by flying off to Hungary afterwards and all the sympathetic talk to Mr. Orbán.
Again, Munich didn’t happen in a vacuum. It happened in the context of a year of Trump foreign policy: tariffs, a tilt towards Russia, often non-support of Ukraine, harsh criticism of allies over cultural issues as well as defense-related issues.
So the speech did not turn things around. Most Europeans increasingly think they’ve got to look to themselves for their security—not to the United States.


Ukraine: negotiations, concessions, and red lines
BW: With U.S.-brokered talks underway with Russia and Ukraine, what kind of settlement framework is even plausible? And from the U.S. perspective, what should be non-negotiable versus potentially negotiable for Ukraine?

RH: I don’t think Ukraine should be conceding. You do not reward aggression.
We should be supporting Ukraine. We are not, for the most part. We should be supplying them directly with military arms. We should be putting much more pressure on Russia.
So I do not support the thrust of the Witkoff–Kushner diplomacy towards Ukraine.
I’m sympathetic to a desire to end the war. I think peace is too ambitious; a ceasefire, in principle, would be good. But I think the way we’re going about it is dead wrong. And Ukraine is not interested in it.
Russia keeps upping its demands.
But we’re about to end the fourth year of this phase of the war—start the fifth. And I’m sad to say we’ve already had, what, on the order of two million casualties between Russia and Ukraine. It’s quite stunning—quite awful.
But I don’t want to see the war ended in ways that reward aggression, or simply tee Russia up for renewed aggression after some kind of pause. So I think the U.S. approach is deeply flawed, and from what I can tell, neither Ukraine nor the Europeans want any part of it.

BW: A lot of people would argue that conceding territory could be justified simply to stop the killing. Why do you reject that logic?

RH: It’s for Ukraine to decide, but I certainly wouldn’t pressure them to do so.
And it’s not just “some territory.” It would have strategic significance. Russia’s economy is on a wartime footing. And I don’t believe a pause in the war would be anything more than a pause.
So, no—I think the best thing we could do is support Ukraine far, far more than we are, and pressure Russia far, far more than we are. We’ve got to disabuse Vladimir Putin of his view that time is on his side.
If we want to end the war and we want to end it on terms that are supportive of our interests and our principles, that’s the way to do it. We do not want to be in a position of peace at any price. That, to me, would be a deeply flawed diplomatic path.


Advice to students: skills, rotation, and history
BW: For students who want a career that moves between government and institutions like yours, what should they do in their 20s to build real leverage, and what should they avoid?

RH: I’m not so arrogant to think my career path is meaningful for others.
One of the good things about being an American is you have options of going in and out of government. So I was never a career anything. I was not a career Foreign Service officer, what have you. I liked the opportunity to move back and forth between government and think tanks.
I got my doctorate. I thought I would be an academic, but there’s a lot of what goes on in modern academia that doesn’t excite me. Too much of it is theory-based and quantitative, has no real application to the real world. It’s not particularly relevant.
I’ve never heard, in all my decades in government, anybody talk about theoretical models or quantitative models of international relations or foreign policy. So much of what goes on in academia, sorry to say, is irrelevant.
If I were going to recommend for students what to study, I’d say history. For the most part, I find it the most valuable background and analytical tool to think about policy-relevant history—the kind of work that people like Alexander George, Ernest May, Richard Neustadt, and others championed. I found that really useful.
More conceptual works I like: Hedley Bull, Henry Kissinger, Hans Morgenthau.
But I would say the best thing is to read as much history as you can, get some experience in government, and don’t put pressure on yourself early on to discover or figure out what’s the right thing for you.
I always tell people in their 20s—maybe early 30s—the goal should be to have five different jobs. Imagine you had five jobs, two years each. It’s almost like a doctor having a rotating residency: you get exposed to five different specialties, you learn from each, and maybe come closer to figuring out what’s right for you.
If you’re interested in foreign policy or government, go work in different places. Be exposed to different things. Find out if it’s for you. Some things may interest you more than others—maybe a certain part of the world, maybe a certain discipline, what have you.
Don’t expect a 22-year-old—whatever the age is—to know what’s right for you. The best thing you can do is invest in yourself, build up skills, and expose yourself to different situations.
Those ought to be the two considerations when you’re young:

1. How do you add value? How do you tool up no matter what?
2. How do you begin to figure out what’s right for you—what really excites you, what you’re really good at, where you think you can make a difference?

If you can do those two things in your 20s or early 30s, then you’re way ahead of the game. Then you’ve got the next 40 years to go make a difference.


Two books to start with
BW: Last question: which books most shaped how you think about foreign policy decision-making, and why those?
​
RH: I alluded to a couple.
One is Thinking in Time by Dick Neustadt and Ernest May, about the uses of history for decision makers.
Probably Hedley Bull’s The Anarchical Society—my single favorite book about how to think about international relations.
The former is the best book for would-be policymakers. The latter, I find, is the best work for how to think about international relations. So I would start with those two.