The War Within
Page 20
Rice kept returning to the power broker option because it reflected the conditions on the groundóa so-called unity government was proving incapable of governing or reducing the violence.
In moments of brutal reality, Rice felt they needed to preserve the democratic institutions in Iraq but no longer rely on them. They would have to cut deals with anyone necessary in order to stabilize the country.
But even if deal making were the right way to go, it would be seen by many as a retreat. And a retreat could turn into a military rout. Leaders in the Shia majority might decide, "These guys are bugging out, so what the hell? Why shouldn't I just make a name for myself by being the guy that liberates Iraq from the Americans?" That might lead to pictures of helicopters evacuating the last Americans from the Green Zone. And nobody in the administration wanted to entertain that thought.
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Satterfield drafted a SECRET/NODIS memo to Rice, dated October 31. In an unusually long paper, he sketched out possible courses of action and listed assumptions and conclusions. Among the assumptions: The nature of the conflict had changed over time, moving from a Saddamist, al Qaeda, insurgency terror campaign to sectarian violence. The situation was profoundly different from expectations in 2002
and 2003. Another assumption: Iraqi security forces were unable to decrease significantly the levels of sectarian violence. The Baghdad security plans had revealed "serious flaws" in the transition strategy and in the will and ability of the Iraqi security forces to hold territory.
Another assumption: the political process to date had made little impact on the violence, and most state institutions were minimally functional without U.S. direction and support. None of the historic indicators of success or reconciliationóamnesty, cease-fire arrangements, a truth-and-reconciliation commission to ferret out past wrongdoingówere present in Iraq.
Maliki may seek to be a national leader, Satterfield wrote, but his actions and failures to act increasingly reflected a Shia sectarian identity. He also worried about the coalition's ability to counter al Qaeda influence in the western Euphrates River valley, to protect Sunnis in Anbar from al Qaeda domination and from Shia attacks in Baghdad and other mixed areas. His most worrying conclusion was that America and its allies were becoming "increasingly irrelevant" to key Iraqi political constituencies.
Satterfield also felt that the United States had become preoccupied and fixated on Iraq, unnecessarily so, to the detriment of its strategic interests. And the president had only made that worse by talking about Iraq as if all America's hopes rested upon the outcome.
Satterfield concluded that continuing the present strategy of pursuing a national unity government with functional institutions "offered only a small and diminishing chance of success over the next two years of establishing a stable democratic Iraqi state."
There had to be a change in strategy that protected both the Shia and Sunni communities "from bloodshed and full-blown civil conflict, preserved the structures of national governance until such time as further progress on a truly national basis was possible, and allowed the U.S. to pursue key U.S. interests compatible with the majority Iraqi interests."
The president has to be able to argue that the United States is adapting its strategy and its posture in Iraq to deal with changing circumstances, Satterfield wrote. He emphasized that Bush must also explain that a new strategy would both permit and require that the United States progressively and significantly reduce forces in Iraq. "So you are drawing down, but you are not leaving" was how Satterfield put it. The goal would remain a peaceful, stable Iraq, but the United States' priority must be its own interests well beyond Iraq.
Satterfield added a final and important caveat: "We should understand that it is possible that our approach to the Iraqi political leadership may not be accepted. Iraq's Shia leaders may prefer to continue their campaign for power and resources unimpeded by the presence of U.S. forces; all justified by the fight against 'Sunni terror.' Iraq's Sunnis may be so distrustful of the Shia and us, and in Anbar so intimidated by al Qaeda, to be effectively unable to support our efforts or to do much more as an organized community than simply inflict harm on the Shia. And even if our approach were accepted, our forces would be taking on a challenge that has been and maybe remains beyond our ability to achieveóbreaking the back of al-Qaeda in Iraq, and even with the support of Shia leaders, truly turning back the tide of Shia sectarian violence and separatism."
Satterfield was stating simply that there were no guarantees. Any strategy, no matter how good on paper, might falter in the field. Satterfield, after all, had his own Iraq experience. He had seen security plan after security plan fail. He had lost confidence that the United States was capable of putting a plan into place that would not fail.
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Satterfield, Rice and others began a quiet effort to persuade President Bush to tone down his lofty rhetoric about the stakes in Iraq. They felt the myopic focus on Iraq, the way the president had made it the end-all, be-all test of American strength or weakness, the prism through which all success or failure was defined, harmed U.S. interests and its standing in the world. The United States could no longer allow itself to be dominated by Iraqóit wasn't a national survival war, after all, but a war of choice.
The president, however, continued to fuel that perception. "The outcome will determine the destiny of millions across the world," Bush had said days earlier in the Rose Garden. It had made members of his administration squirm.
But as it became more clear that the president would eventually have to give a speech laying out a new strategy, Satterfield suggested, why not pull back the lens? Turn everything on its head. People expected the president to give a speech about Iraq, Iraq, Iraq. Instead, he might open such a speech with words to the effect of "I want to talk to you tonight about issues beyond Iraq, to which Iraq is critical, but which have a transcendent and long-term impact on U.S. interests. Let's look at the world; let's look at the region."
In other words, Bush could argue the value of proceeding with certain core goals in Iraq, but without attempting to defend them in the context of success in Iraq, victory in Iraq. Instead, he might address Iran and its nuclear program, speak about the Israeli-Palestinian peace process, talk about ties to friends and allies.
Yes, Iraq was important, the president could say, but there were a hell of a lot of other interests in the region and beyond that were absolutely critical.
Satterfield's ideas never got much traction. They stayed buried and forgotten in his State Department computer.
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After nearly two weeks of meetings, Meghan O'Sullivan gathered the findings of her informal review group and drafted a lengthy SECRET memo for the war cabinet members. She called it "The Way Forward: Four Organizing Constructs."
The United States had four basic options for how to proceed in Iraq, each with its own set of benefits and risks. She took each in turn:
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1. Adjust at the margins. This option would mean staying with the current approach, avoiding a large influx of new resources and focusing on transitioning security responsibilities to the Iraqis as quickly as possible. Doing this would assume that the current strategy was sound and sufficiently resourced, and that a major change would risk abandoning past gains.
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2. Target our efforts. This approach would "remove coalition forces from the line of fire." American forces would focus on al Qaeda in Iraq and leave Iraqis to deal with sectarian violence. O'Sullivan noted that al Qaeda posed a threat to America's national security, whereas sectarian violence was directed inward. And yet, she wrote, the United States did have "a moral and humanitarian interest in limiting mass violence or expulsions." She believed this option would limit American exposure to sectarian violence and was more likely to have the most bipartisan support, at least initially.
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3. Double down. The concept here was to "significantly increase coalition political and military efforts in Iraq to
win the 'Battle of Baghdad' and put the unity government on a sure footing." She said that in considering this option, U.S. leaders must believe that the "present trajectory in Iraq is more likely to lead to failure than success," that "an infusion of resources is likely to yield positive results to warrant the costs and risks associated with doing so," and that "the American public will support one last push for victory in Iraq."
Among the key features of the plan would be an infusion of up to 30,000 U.S. troops to protect the borders, clear and hold neighborhoods, speed up reconstruction, and target al Qaeda and death squads. To pull this off, she wrote, the president would have to "put America on a war footing," expanding the size of the armed forces, changing rotation times and deploying more civilians to help with the effort.
The advantages O'Sullivan saw to doubling down were that it would match U.S. resources to Bush's rhetoric, provide maximum leverage for America to influence Iraqi and regional behavior, and that it had the "highest likelihood of securing success as we have defined it." But there were risks. Among them: Few Iraqis had asked for more U.S.
forces. Maliki had not yet proven himself a reliable, nonsectarian partner. More forces could "exacerbate the problem of Iraqi dependency in the short termÖ. American casualties may rise, at least in the short term" and "securing bipartisan support would be very difficult and would likely not endure without quick and visible progress."
Doubling down could break the all-volunteer military. The cycle of violence could return after U.S. forces ramped down, "leaving no lasting gains." And most of all, if this strategy failed, little support would remain for a long-term U.S. commitment. In essence, the war would be lost.
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4. Bet on Maliki. This option would enhance the political and security resources of Iraqi leaders so that they could dampen the violence and build toward reconciliation. Whereas doubling down would invest more resources across the board, this strategy would focus more resources exclusively on Maliki and his government. But to do so, O'Sullivan wrote, Maliki would have to convince the United States that he shared the vision of a nonsectarian, united and federal Iraq and that he could bring together "moderates across the political spectrum." This option would "dramatically but quietly" increase the quantity and reach of the embedding/training program. The upside was that Iraqis would be more visibly in the lead and feel more empowered. The risks were that Maliki might prove too sectarian or the government too dysfunctional to overcome its divisions.
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O'Sullivan had concluded that the "double down" option represented the best, if riskiest, path ahead. But she didn't take sides in the memo. The president would decide.
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Satterfield was less than impressed with O'Sullivan's memo on the four constructs. It represented what he called the "Meghan-ization" of the processótaking a vast, complex issue and attempting to reduce it to the perfect PowerPoint presentation, a jumble of strategic assumptions and impediments, key features, advantages and disadvantages and risks that, if phrased just right, might unravel the Iraq knot. O'Sullivan, he thought, seemed to favor continual fine-tuning. Satterfield thought they needed a policy that was sustainable and practical. He had spent a lot of time on Capitol Hill, and it was clear to him that the administration was on shaky ground with members of both parties, not to mention with the American public. Whatever strategy they settled on, it had to make sense. And it had to have some chance of success.
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"Don't talk about winning!" one key Republican leader implored Hadley. It sounded arrogant, triumphant and overconfident. "Stop talking about success!" another said. Hoping to accommodate the administration's Republican allies, Hadley told the White House speechwriters, "Let's tone this down." Out would come "victory," out would come "win," out would come "success" when referring to Iraq.
But the president wouldn't hear of it. "We don't talk about victory here," he said when he saw one draft. "I want to say 'victory.' I want to say 'win.' I want to say 'success.'"
The words went back in.
Some leading Republicans, even Bush's friends, argued that the American public was tuning out the president. "The American people don't believe that we're going to win," one Republican told him, "or that there is victory. Or at least they don't believe in winning and victory the way they seemed to be defined in '03 and '04. So, Mr. President, they think by your continuing on about winning and victory, they think you're out of touch."
"I'm not out of touch," Bush replied. "I know how difficult it is. I talk about how difficult it is. But I've got to make it clear for our troops, for Maliki, for the Iraqi people, that I am committed to winning and to victory. I understand that for some people back here, they don't like to hear it. And they think it's sort of out of touch. But I've got other audiences I have to address."
C
Chapter 20
From the vice president's suite in the West Wing, Cheney let the O'Sullivan strategy review go forward. He was making no attempt to lead it or curtail it, and no one from his office was attending her meetings. He knew that Rumsfeld had told the president he would resign as defense secretary if the Republicans lost either the House or Senate. Beyond that, Cheney did not know the president's plans.
From the beginning, Cheney had been a steamroller in pushing war with Iraq as the only way to deal with Saddam Hussein. But Cheney never had quite the overwhelming influence his reputation suggested. As Washington Post reporters Barton Gellman and Jo Becker wrote in their Pulitzer Prizeñwinning 2007 series on the vice president,
"Cheney is not, by nearly every inside account, the shadow president of popular lore." Stephen F. Hayes, the author of Cheney: The Untold Story of America's Most Powerful and Controversial Vice President, a biography written with Cheney's extensive cooperation, agreed that everything Cheney does is either directed or approved by the president.
By the fall of 2006, the influence of Cheney and Rumsfeld was eroding. The two had the longest-lasting friendship in the Bush administration, dating back 37 years to 1969, when Rumsfeld gave Cheney his first government job in the Nixon administration. Five years later, when Rumsfeld was the White House chief of staff in the Ford White House, he selected Cheney as his chief deputy. When Rumsfeld became Ford's defense secretary the next year, Cheney was elevated to White House chief of staff at the age of 34. He had a calm, reassuring manner and seemed old even in his youth.
Cheney later served 10 years as the congressman from Wyoming, his home state, rising to become the number two House Republican leader. In 1989, he became secretary of defense for the first President Bush. Cheney had strongly recommended Rumsfeld in 2000 to become George W. Bush's secretary of defense. Since then, Cheney and Rumsfeld had operated as a kind of iron wall on defense and war policy that no one could get around. At every turn, Cheney praised and defended Rumsfeld, publicly and privately and personally to the president. He was Rumsfeld's biggest fan and made no secret of it. As vice president, Cheney technically outranked the secretary of defense. But Rumsfeld was like the older brother.
Cheney advised the president in private, separately from the rest of the Bush team. The president liked it that way.
When I asked Bush about Cheney, he said, "I meet with him once a week, and we have private conversationsÖ. He doesn't talk about it, and neither do I." Neither apparently realized how this private channel hindered the full airing of views and alternatives within the National Security Council. No one could challenge Cheney because no one knew exactly what he said to Bush. And intentionally or unintentionally, the president's decisions carried the implied blessing of the vice president.
Cheney liked to half joke that he was the only person in the West Wing who could not be fired because his name had been on the ballot in 2000 and 2004. But he knew that a vice president could be cut off by the president, excluded from meetings and policy debate.
Cheney calibrated his public words and actions so that he was seen as an extension and an echo of Bush. He served as the
president's messenger. In 2004, when the Abu Ghraib prisoner abuse scandal was exposed, Rumsfeld twice submitted a resignation letter. The president dispatched Cheney to the Pentagon to talk to his old mentor. Sitting in the secretary of defense's office, which he had occupied from 1989 to 1993, Cheney made the case for staying.
We're not going to accept your resignation, Cheney said. Abu Ghraib was a problem, but it wasn't appropriate for Rumsfeld to shoulder the entire burden. You shouldn't lose your job because of a handful of out-of-control soldiers, he said. You are too valuable.
It took an hour, but Rumsfeld agreed to stay. "Look, if I ever get to be a liability here," he told Cheney, "I'm out of here. The president needs to know I'm prepared to move on."
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Bush later told me that he had realized for quite some time that he needed "new personnel, including the secretary of defense, as well as the commander on the ground. Secretary Rumsfeld was also sending signals: 'New eyes, new ears.' I remember he said that at one point in time. And Don Rumsfeld is a professional. And Don Rumsfeld is a friend of mine. He is a person that has been around a long time. And as you begin to think new, it's more than just new strategy. It's new personnel." Rumsfeld had told Bush, "Mr. President, maybe you need fresh eyes on the target."
"I was beginning to smell the problem politically at home," Bush recalled. "The politics of the moment, obviously, wasn't driving me, because of the strategic implications of this. On the other hand, I also know that the president's got to work hard to give people a sense of hope in the missionÖPart of making sure the change of strategy became a change in people's minds was to also change some of the players, some of the personnel."
Bush realized that replacing Rumsfeld would be a delicate matter. After all, a major election was looming. And it was imperative to have a secretary of defense and maintain the chain of command during a war. He didn't believe he could send signals that he wanted to replace Rumsfeld without a replacement standing by.