The structure bore a striking resemblance to the nuclear facility at Yongbyon, North Korea. We concluded that the structure contained a gas-cooled, graphite-moderated reactor capable of producing weapons-grade plutonium. Since North Korea was the only country that had built a reactor of that model in the past thirty-five years, our strong suspicion was that we had just caught Syria red-handed trying to develop a nuclear weapons capability with North Korean help.
That was certainly the conclusion of Prime Minister Olmert. “George, I’m asking you to bomb the compound,” he said in a phone call shortly after I received the report.
“Thank you for raising this matter,” I told the prime minister. “Give me some time to look at the intelligence and I’ll give you an answer.”
I convened the national security team for a series of intense discussions. As a military matter, the bombing mission would be straightforward. The Air Force could destroy the target, no sweat. But bombing a sovereign country with no warning or announced justification would create severe blowback.
A second option would be a covert raid. We studied the idea seriously, but the CIA and the military concluded that it would be too risky to slip a team into and out of Syria with enough explosives to blow up the facility.
The third option was to brief our allies on the intelligence, jointly expose the facility, and demand that Syria shutter and dismantle it under the supervision of the IAEA. With the regime’s duplicity exposed, we could use our leverage to press Syria to end its support for terror and meddling in Lebanon and Iraq. If Syria refused to dismantle the facility, we would have a clear public rationale for military action.
Before I made a decision, I asked CIA Director Mike Hayden to conduct an intelligence assessment.
He explained that the analysts had high confidence that the plant housed a nuclear reactor. But because they could not confirm the location of the facilities necessary to turn the plutonium into a weapon, they had only low confidence of a Syrian nuclear weapons program.
Mike’s report clarified my decision. “I cannot justify an attack on a sovereign nation unless my intelligence agencies stand up and say it’s a weapons program,” I said to Olmert. I told him I had decided on the diplomatic option backed by the threat of force. “I believe the strategy protects your interests and your state, and makes it more likely we can achieve our interests as well.”
The prime minister was disappointed. “This is something that hits at the very serious nerves of this country,” he said. He told me the threat of a nuclear weapons program in Syria was an “existential” issue for Israel, and he worried diplomacy would bog down and fail. “I must be honest and sincere with you. Your strategy is very disturbing to me.” That was the end of the call.
On September 6, 2007, the facility was destroyed.
The experience was revealing on multiple fronts. It confirmed Syria’s intention to develop nuclear weapons. It also provided another reminder that intelligence is not an exact science. While I was told that our analysts had only low confidence that the facility was part of a nuclear weapons program, surveillance after the bombing showed Syrian officials meticulously covering up the remains of the building. If the facility was really just an innocent research lab, Syrian President Assad would have been screaming at the Israelis on the floor of the United Nations. That was one judgment I could make with high confidence.
Prime Minister Olmert’s execution of the strike made up for the confidence I had lost in the Israelis during the Lebanon war. I suggested to Ehud that we let some time go by and then reveal the operation as a way to isolate the Syrian regime. Olmert told me he wanted total secrecy. He wanted to avoid anything that might back Syria into a corner and force Assad to retaliate. This was his operation, and I felt an obligation to respect his wishes. I kept quiet, even though I thought we were missing an opportunity.
Finally, the bombing demonstrated Israel’s willingness to act alone. Prime Minister Olmert hadn’t asked for a green light, and I hadn’t given one. He had done what he believed was necessary to protect Israel.
One of the most influential books I read during my presidency was Aquariums of Pyongyang by the North Korean dissident Kang Chol-hwan. The memoir, recommended by my friend Henry Kissinger, tells the story of Kang’s ten-year detention and abuse in a North Korean gulag. I invited Kang to the Oval Office, where he recounted the wrenching suffering in his homeland, including terrible famines and persecution.
Kang’s story stirred up my deep disgust for the tyrant who had destroyed so many lives, Kim Jong-il. Early in the administration, Don Rumsfeld showed me satellite photos of the Korean Peninsula at night. The south was alive with lights, while the north was pure black. I read intelligence reports that malnutrition had left the average North Korean three inches shorter than the average South Korean. When I took office in 2001, an estimated one million North Koreans had died of starvation in the preceding six years.
Meanwhile, Kim Jong-il cultivated his appetite for fine cognac, luxury Mercedes, and foreign films. He built a cult of personality that required North Koreans to worship him as a godlike leader. His propaganda machine claimed that he could control the weather, had written six renowned operas, and had scored five holes in one during his first round of golf.
Kim also maintained a nuclear weapons program and a ballistic missile capability that threatened two U.S. allies—South Korea and Japan—and could potentially reach America’s West Coast. Proliferation was a serious concern, as the Syrian reactor incident suggested. In a country desperate for hard currency, nuclear materials and weapons systems made for attractive exports.
Our approach to North Korea was the topic of one of my first National Security Council meetings, the day before a visit by President Kim Dae-jung of South Korea. The previous administration had negotiated the Agreed Framework, which gave Kim Jong-il economic benefits in exchange for freezing his nuclear weapons program. Evidently, he wasn’t satisfied. In 1998, the regime fired a Taepodong missile over Japan. In 1999, its ships fired on South Korean vessels in the Yellow Sea. A month after I took office, the regime threatened to restart long-range missile tests if we did not continue negotiations on normalizing relations.
I told my national security team that dealing with Kim Jong-il reminded me of raising children. When Barbara and Jenna were little and wanted attention, they would throw their food on the floor. Laura and I would rush over and pick it up. The next time they wanted attention, they’d throw the food again. “The United States is through picking up his food,” I said.
The next year, intelligence reports indicated that North Korea was likely operating a secret highly enriched uranium program—a second path to a nuclear bomb. It was a startling revelation. Kim had cheated on the Agreed Framework. I made a decision: The United States was done negotiating with North Korea on a bilateral basis. Instead, we would rally China, South Korea, Russia, and Japan to present a united front against the regime.
The key to multilateral diplomacy with North Korea was China, which had close ties to its fellow communist nation. The challenge was that China and the United States had different interests on the Korean Peninsula. The Chinese wanted stability; we wanted freedom. They were worried about refugees flowing across the border; we were worried about starvation and human rights. But there was one area where we agreed: It was not in either of our interests to let Kim Jong-il have a nuclear weapon.
In October 2002, I invited President Jiang Zemin of China to the ranch in Crawford. I brought up North Korea. “This is a threat not only to the United States, but also to China,” I said. I urged him to join us in confronting Kim diplomatically. “The United States and China have different kinds of influence over North Korea. Ours is mostly negative, while yours is positive. If we combine together, we would make an impressive team.”
President Jiang was respectful, but he told me North Korea was my problem, not his. “Exercising influence over North Korea is very complicated,” he said.
After a few mo
nths with no progress, I tried a different argument. In January 2003, I told President Jiang that if North Korea’s nuclear weapons program continued, I would not be able to stop Japan—China’s historic rival in Asia—from developing its own nuclear weapons. “You and I are in a position to work together to make certain that a nuclear arms race does not begin,” I said. In February, I went one step further. I told President Jiang that if we could not solve the problem diplomatically, I would have to consider a military strike against North Korea.
The first meeting of the Six-Party Talks took place six months later in Beijing. For the first time, North Korean officials sat down at the table and saw representatives of China, Japan, Russia, South Korea, and the United States looking back at them. Progress was gradual. I spent hours on the phone with our partners, reminding them of the stakes and the need to maintain a united front.
In September 2005, our patience was rewarded. The North Koreans agreed to abandon all nuclear weapons and return to their commitments under the Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty. I was skeptical. Kim Jong-il had violated his commitments in the past. If he did so again, he would be breaking his word not just to the United States, but to all his neighbors, including China.
On the Fourth of July 2006, Kim Jong-il threw his food on the floor. He fired a barrage of missiles into the Sea of Japan. The test was a military failure, but the provocation was real. My theory was that Kim saw the world focused on Iran and was craving attention. He also wanted to test the coalition to see how much he could get away with.
I called President Hu Jintao of China, told him Kim Jong-il had insulted China, and urged him to condemn the launch publicly. He released a statement reiterating his commitment to “peace and stability” and opposing “any actions that might intensify the situation.” His words were mild, but they were a step in the right direction.
Three months later, North Korea defied the world again by carrying out its first full-fledged nuclear test. President Hu’s reaction was firmer this time. “The Chinese government strongly opposes this,” he said. “We engaged in conversations to appeal to the North Koreans for restraint. However, our neighbor turned a deaf ear to our advice.”
With support from all partners in the Six-Party Talks, the UN Security Council unanimously adopted Resolution 1718. The resolution imposed the toughest sanctions on North Korea since the end of the Korean War. The United States also tightened our sanctions on the North Korean banking system and sought to deny Kim Jong-il his precious luxury goods.
The pressure worked. In February 2007, North Korea agreed to shut down its main nuclear reactor and allow UN inspectors back into the country to verify its actions. In exchange, we and our Six-Party partners provided energy aid, and the United States agreed to remove North Korea from our list of state sponsors of terror. In June 2008, North Korea blew up the cooling tower at Yongbyon on international television. In this case, no further verification was necessary.
The problem was not solved, however. The people of North Korea were still starving and suffering. Intelligence reports provided increased evidence that North Korea was continuing its highly enriched uranium program, even as it claimed to be shutting down its plutonium reprocessing.
In the short run, I believe the Six-Party Talks represented the best chance to maintain leverage on Kim Jong-il and rid the Korean Peninsula of nuclear weapons. In the long run, I am convinced the only path to meaningful change is for the North Korean people to be free.
The freedom agenda was a sensitive subject with China. My policy was to engage the Chinese in areas where we agreed, and use this cooperation to build the trust and credibility we needed to speak plainly about our differences.
I worked to develop close relations with China’s leaders, Jiang Zemin and Hu Jintao. President Jiang and I got off to a rough start. On April 1, 2001, an American surveillance plane known as an EP-3 collided with a Chinese aircraft and made an emergency landing on Hainan Island. The Chinese pilot ejected from the cockpit and died. Our twenty-four-person crew was held at a military barracks on the island and interrogated. The Iranian hostage crisis was at the forefront of my mind. This was not the way I wanted to start my relationship with China.
After several agonizing days of trying to reach the Chinese, I connected with President Jiang, who was in Chile. The Chinese soon agreed to release the EP-3 crew. In return, I wrote a letter expressing regret over the death of their pilot and our landing on Hainan without verbal clearance. I later learned that China’s handling of the EP-3 crisis was based on the government’s belief that the Chinese people had perceived weakness in the response to America’s accidental bombing of the Chinese embassy in Belgrade in 1999. After the EP-3 incident, the Chinese sent us a $1 million bill for the American crew’s food and lodging. We offered them $34,000.
In February 2002, Laura and I made our first trip to Beijing. President Jiang was a cordial and welcoming host. After a banquet in our honor at the Great Hall of the People, he entertained the crowd with a rendition of “O Sole Mio,” accompanied by two beautiful Chinese women clad in military uniforms. His serenade was a big change from the previous year, when I couldn’t get him on the phone. It was a sign we were developing trust.
With Jiang Zemin. White House/Eric Draper
That trust was strengthened by an understanding on Taiwan, the island democracy that had been governed separately from the mainland since Chiang Kai-shek clashed with Mao Zedong during the Chinese Civil War in 1949. Every time I met with Chinese leaders, I confirmed that America’s longstanding “one China” policy would not change. I also made clear that I opposed any unilateral change to the status quo, including a declaration of independence by Taiwan or military action by China.
When Hu Jintao took office, I was determined to forge a close relationship with him as well. Sixteen years younger than his predecessor, President Hu had an unexcitable demeanor and a keen analytical mind. Like many in the new generation of Chinese leaders, he was trained as an engineer. During a lunch in the East Room, I turned to him with a question that I liked to ask fellow world leaders: “What keeps you up at night?”
With Hu Jintao. White House/Eric Draper
I told him I stayed awake worrying about another terrorist attack on America. He quickly replied that his biggest concern was creating twenty-five million new jobs a year. I found his answer fascinating. It was honest. It showed he was worried about the impact of disaffected, unemployed masses. It explained his government’s policies in resource-rich places like Iran and Africa. And it was a signal that he was a practical leader focused inward, not an ideologue likely to stir up trouble abroad.
I worked with President Hu to find common ground on issues from North Korea to climate change to trade. Expanding American access to China’s one billion potential consumers was a high priority for me, just as access to the U.S. market was essential for the Chinese. I also saw trade as a tool to promote the freedom agenda. I believed that, over time, the freedom inherent in the market would lead people to demand liberty in the public square. One of my first decisions was to continue President Clinton’s support for China’s entry into the World Trade Organization. To solidify our economic relationship, I asked Treasury Secretary Hank Paulson and Condi to create the Strategic Economic Dialogue.
One area of disagreement with the Chinese leadership was human rights. My focus was on religious liberty, because I believe that allowing people to worship as they choose is a cornerstone of the freedom agenda. In one of our first meetings, I explained to President Jiang that faith was a vital part of my life and that I studied the Word every day. I told him I planned to raise freedom of worship in our conversations. “I read the Bible,” he replied, “but I don’t trust what it says.”
I told both Jiang and Hu that religious believers would be peaceful and productive citizens, the kind of people who would make their country stronger. I told them that for China to reach its full potential, they needed to trust their people with greater freedom. I didn’t hector
or lecture them; I let my actions send the message. Laura and I attended church in Beijing, met with religious leaders like Cardinal Joseph Zen of Hong Kong, and spoke out for the rights of Chinese underground preachers and worshippers, bloggers, dissidents, and political prisoners.
At the 2007 APEC Summit in Sydney, I told President Hu I planned to attend a ceremony where the Dalai Lama would receive the Congressional Gold Medal. The Buddhist leader was a source of distress for the Chinese government, which accused him of stirring up separatists in Tibet. I met with the Dalai Lama five times during my presidency, and I found him to be a charming, peaceful man. I told China’s leaders they should not fear him. “This is not meant as a slap at China,” I said, “but as a measure of my respect for the Dalai Lama and for the U.S. Congress. You know my strong belief in religious freedom.”
With the Dalai Lama. White House/Eric Draper
“This is a politically sensitive issue in China,” President Hu replied. “… It will draw a very strong reaction from the Chinese people.” What he meant was that it would draw a strong reaction from the government, which did not want me to be the first American president to appear with the Dalai Lama in public.
“I’m afraid that I have to go to that ceremony,” I said.
I also had some good news to share. “How is your Olympic planning coming?” I asked, referring to the 2008 Summer Games, which China had been chosen to host.
He gave me an update on the construction process. I told him I was coming to the Games. I knew I would face pressure not to, and many would try to politicize the Olympics, but I promised he could count on me to attend. “I’ve got my hotel reservations already,” I joked. He looked relieved.
The Beijing Olympics were one of the highlights of my final year in office. I flew over on Air Force One with Laura and Barbara, my brother Marvin, my sister-in-law Margaret, and our friends Roland and Lois Betts and Brad Freeman. Mother, Dad, and Doro met us in China. Dad and I joined Ambassador Sandy Randt, who served in Beijing all eight years, to open a huge new American embassy. It was quite a change from the small diplomatic post Dad led thirty-three years earlier. In an extraordinary gesture of generosity, President Hu hosted a lunch for us all at the government’s Zhongnanhai Compound, a Bush family reunion like none before or since.
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