No Higher Honor: A Memoir of My Years in Washington

by Condoleezza Rice

  After 9/11 I read Sam’s book again, this time with considerable alarm. But it seemed to me to understate the ability of institutions to shape events, not just to be shaped by events. History provided many examples. Under the NATO umbrella, Germany and France had become friends. At the end of the Cold War, many had feared ethnic violence in Eastern Europe, but with the exception of the former Yugoslavia it hadn’t materialized. Rather, Hungary, Romania, and Bulgaria had overcome conflicts that, a century earlier, would have exploded onto the battlefield. The East and Central Europeans had made a peaceful transition to democracy. Their two lodestars had been NATO and the European Union; membership in one or the other or both had pointed the way.

  Turkey was a member of NATO but wanted desperately to accede to the European Union. The strict requirements for membership, both economic and political, had in part driven Turkey’s democratization to that point. But the Europeans were ambivalent in the extreme about integrating more than 70 million Muslims. The Turks felt that Europe was going through the motions of negotiating their entry but unlikely ever to finish the process. Their fears were not unfounded. One didn’t have to probe too deeply to discover that many Europeans didn’t really see Turkey as belonging to Europe. That attitude, I believed, would make Sam Huntington’s prophecy true: a Europe that insisted on a new divide between Muslim Turkey and Christian Europe would make a huge strategic mistake.

  So I went to Ankara with a deep desire to understand what was going on there and to strengthen our friendship with the Turks. My encounter with the Turkish leaders reinforced my belief that the country could be at the epicenter of a transformed broader Middle East, one that would embrace democratic values and ultimately defeat terrorism.

  Foreign Minister Abdullah Gül, who would later become president, has a wrestler’s build and speaks fluent English, though with a heavy accent. Although one should always be on guard against reacting to a foreign colleague based on personality, we’re all human. Chemistry matters, and with Gül it was immediately good.

  As we talked in the car about the future of Turkey, I was convinced that he was a democrat at heart. He acknowledged the discomfort of some Turks with the fact that the AKP was avowedly Islamic, saying that people would eventually see that it was evolving toward something like the Christian Democratic Union (CDU) of Germany. “They’re not very Christian anymore,” he quipped. He seemed almost hurt that people criticized his wife for wearing a head scarf, saying that it should be a matter of choice. “I have female relatives who cover and some who don’t,” he said. He then turned to the issue of the Kurdish minority in Turkey, expressing a desire to treat them better than previous governments had and thus awaken their Turkish identity. All in all, I saw nothing to dislike about my colleague—and that holds to this day.

  Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdoğan was somewhat harder to read. Sitting in his rather dark office with heavy red curtains and surrounded by photographs of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, the father of modern Turkey, I had a momentary sense that Turkey is indeed not quite European. Though the prime minister said all the right things about democracy and Islam, his defense of the AKP felt more political than had Gül’s.

  The conversation turned to Iraq and the tensions surrounding Turkey’s refusal to allow U.S. troops to transit its territory in 2003. I assured Erdoğan that the President had put the refusal behind him and was now focused on the extremely important relationship between Turkey and Iraq. Erdoğan expressed anger at the continuing attacks by Kurdish rebels using bases in northern Iraq. I promised to take the problem back to Washington, and, indeed, it would become one of the critical issues of the relationship. Erdoğan promised that Turkey was committed to rebuilding Iraq as a stable, unified, and democratic neighbor.

  Finally, we established common ground very quickly on the desirability of Turkey’s joining the European Union, and I made assurances to intensify the United States’ already considerable efforts to make the case to our allies. “We’re not members of the EU,” I said, stating the obvious reason that our urgings could accomplish only so much. “When we get in, we will propose you for membership,” he said. At least he had a sense of humor.

  While boarding the plane that was headed for Jerusalem, I felt very good about my visit to Turkey. I liked the Turks as people—tough, exotic, and engaging. They reminded me a bit of the Russians, struggling to fit between Europe and Asia. And I knew that I’d spend a lot of time with them, trying to avert a “clash of civilizations.”

  The Holy City

  THERE’S SOMETHING otherworldly about the light in Jerusalem, especially with sunrise or sunset as a backdrop to the “old city.” Whenever I arrived there, I found myself involuntarily praying “for the peace of Jerusalem,” a line that has been put to music in one of my favorite religious songs by the English composer Sir Hubert Parry. I’d last been in Jerusalem in 2003 while trying to breathe life into the Aqaba accords. Now, as secretary of state, I felt personal responsibility for the thicket of issues preventing Middle East peace. It’s been said that U.S. secretaries of state are drawn to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict like moths to a flame. The implication is that flying too close to this combustible problem is likely to result in being burned. But on that February trip there seemed to be as good a chance as there ever would be to midwife the birth of a Palestinian state.

  Mahmoud Abbas had been elected president of the Palestinian Authority on January 9 and had immediately made clear that he believed only in a negotiated solution to the conflict. In his remarks, not just to outsiders but to his own people, the vocabulary of resistance and the intifada was nowhere in evidence. We welcomed Abbas’s election by offering to donate $200 million annually to the Palestinians. The President also encouraged the wealthy Persian Gulf states to dramatically increase their aid. That the appeal would fall largely on deaf ears was my first lesson in how stingy the Arabs could be toward the Palestinian cause that they so zealously championed.

  Major changes were under way in Israel, too. Ariel Sharon was preparing to take the plan for withdrawal from Gaza to the Knesset in a few weeks. After all the failed negotiations, Israel was about to voluntarily and unilaterally remove settlements and settlers from Gaza and the West Bank. We’d helped Sharon immensely with President Bush’s letter of April 2004 in which he acknowledged the need to accommodate major Israeli population centers in the West Bank. Now the world would be able to see the benefits of the significant changes that we’d made to the old script for the peace process. There was a new, internationally respected leader in Palestine and a conservative Israeli prime minister who was ready to divide the land. The U.S. President now had the conditions that he’d insisted on in June 2002 despite the howls of traditionalists at the time.

  THE APPROACH to the prime minister’s office reminds one that Israel still considers itself to be in a state of war. Every leader in the world lives and works in a protected compound. But the level of security at the Israeli complex is obviously higher than most. Once inside the building, you’re struck by its ramshackle appearance: it looks a little like a run-down high school building with bare tile floors and walls that could use a coat of paint. Inside the prime minister’s tiny office, half the size of mine at the State Department, Sharon and I reviewed his thinking on withdrawal from Gaza. I reiterated the importance of coordinating with the Palestinians and asked that he meet with Abbas to do so soon. The prime minister assured me that he would but reminded me that he had a lot of work to do in Israel first. “Have you seen those blue flags on the cars?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I replied. “I thought they were for some kind of holiday.”

  “No,” Sharon said, “they’re meant to be a sign of support for the settlers.” After my staff and I left the compound and turned back out onto the road, we noticed many blue flags.

  That afternoon I was driven to the headquarters of the Palestinian Authority, the Muqata. The long, straight highway through the barren desert always made me wonder why anyone wanted this land.
Because of my religious beliefs, I always took a moment to imagine Jesus walking the dusty, and at some points quite steep, pathways of the Holy Land. Then I would return to my discussions with our consul general for Jerusalem, who was seated with me in the back of the armored SUV. We couldn’t have an ambassador because Palestine was not a state. Hopefully that was about to change.

  The approach to the Muqata runs through Ramallah, a rather prosperous-looking town with shops, government buildings, and nice apartments. Ramallah, Jericho, and a few other towns were the exceptions for the Palestinian people; most lived in squalid conditions.

  When we reached the Muqata, the SUV was turned sharply to avoid the gravesite of Yasir Arafat. It was a delicate moment. I didn’t want to seem disrespectful, but I felt it was important to be far enough away that I wouldn’t have to get out and acknowledge his grave. My security detail had obviously practiced the maneuver, and we drove just the right route, ending up in front of the assembled Palestinian delegation. Again the shock for me involved the press coverage. Palestinian journalists were roped off to the side, but they were yelling and I could still see the camera flashes. As I got out of the car and was greeted by Abbas’s trusted aid Saeb Erekat, they were screaming, “Secretary Rice!” “Over here!” “Please, just one shot!” I thought to myself that I’d have to get used to it.

  My meeting with Abbas covered much of the ground I’d traversed with Sharon. Abbas doesn’t speak English well, but he understands it and can sometimes respond to questions. An elegant man with a shock of white hair, he seems confident and anxious all at once. He did seem genuinely glad to see me and expressed his hope that I would “stay really involved. We need you,” he said. At the conclusion of the meeting we held a press conference in a dingy room with a portrait of Arafat behind us. Well, I hadn’t avoided the “leader” after all. As I had in Israel, I declared that this was a period of “great optimism.” The news on the way to Paris that Abbas and Sharon had agreed to a summit in Sharm el-Sheikh in Egypt seemed to vindicate that judgment. The two would pledge to cease acts of violence against their counterparts in a mutual ceasefire. We’d come a long way since the darkest days of the intifada in the spring of 2002.

  My initial voyage as secretary of state was going better than I could have dreamed. I felt energetic, and people reacted well to my message of vigorous U.S. diplomacy.

  It was in that mood that I headed for Paris, knowing that the French love to chatter and gossip about U.S. diplomats. The morning began with a visit to the Hector Berlioz Conservatory, where the students performed Berlioz and Beethoven. Listening to the music was a nice way to connect with the French people and to soften the edges of America’s image, which most Europeans at that time associated with terrorism and war.

  But the centerpiece of the visit was to be my speech at the Sciences Po, a leading French university. My words would be closely watched for their content, signals, and messages. And also, I had to concede, my suit would be closely watched for its style. I know it’s terrible to think that the U.S. secretary of state has to worry about such things. But that’s a fact of life if you’re female. So I chose carefully: a navy blue Valentino suit with pleats and a bow at the bottom of the skirt, pearls, and navy pumps. The French loved it.

  With that hurdle out of the way, my message was well received. The speech called upon the Alliance to stop squabbling about today’s headlines and join together in the great work of helping to free people from tyranny. Some journalists reacted to the message about the Freedom Agenda with characteristic comments about American naiveté. There was a deep cynicism among the Europeans about the universality of freedom. It was as if they’d forgotten their own history and the lengths to which others (especially the United States) had gone to defend their liberty. Occasionally I’d remind them that Germany had come recently to democracy. “Oh, but we had a tradition of it,” a German would say. “What tradition would that be?” I would counter. “Bismarck, the Kaiser, or maybe the brief interlude that brought Adolf Hitler to power?” It was a rhetorical punch, but it backed our friends away from their patronizing view of the “readiness” of others to govern themselves.

  When I met with President Chirac, I realized that I still harbored considerable animosity about Iraq. I told myself that I wouldn’t be baited into an argument with the prickly and proud French president. I needn’t have worried. When, to break the ice, I asked Chirac about his views on the Middle East, he surprised me with his cogent analysis, even if his dismissal of democracy in the Middle East was disquieting. Nonetheless, we engaged in a true back-and-forth at the strategic level, focusing particularly on what we could do to help Lebanon.

  At the press conference with the foreign minister, Michel Barnier gently referred to me as “my dear Condi,” signaling his obvious desire to publicly put difficulties behind us. The same was true in Brussels at NATO headquarters and the European Commission, and later in Luxembourg, which was holding the six-month presidency of the European Union. It was crystal clear that the Europeans were desperate to repair the relationship with us. I felt that it was time to reciprocate fully.

  Our allies can be frustrating and patronizing, treating the United States as a bigger and stronger but less refined and less cultured younger brother, who needs to be reined in from time to time. I found the European Union to be a strange institution, perhaps best summed up by Henry Kissinger’s question “If I want to call Europe, whom do I call?” The truth is, you had to call both Brussels and the European capitals.

  But with all the challenges, we need Europe, with its considerable wealth and values, to achieve a freer, more prosperous world. The close ties of kinship have been diluted somewhat by the United States’ multiethnic character, but the great ideals of the Enlightenment and the principles on which we were founded remain and tie us to Europe as to no other place. And the alliance of Europe and the United States has been the most stable and successful free association of states in international history. Together we stood fast until the Soviet behemoth collapsed, and Europe is now whole, free, and at peace. That bodes well for what a united alliance can do in the future.

  ONLY TWO WEEKS after my trip, the President was scheduled to go to Europe for a NATO summit. Sitting in the Oval the day after I returned, we talked at length about what I’d found: an alliance hungry to heal its fissures but deeply split with us about Iran. “They’re just sure that we want to take on Tehran next,” I told the President.

  The President asked how dramatic a shift in policy we needed to reassure the Europeans, clearly indicating that he wasn’t ready for anything dramatic. There were two small decisions pending: whether to remove our objection to the Iranians’ beginning the process of negotiating membership in the World Trade Organization; and whether to agree to allow them to buy some spare parts for aging American-built civilian aircraft, conceding that the latter could even be considered humanitarian since we didn’t want Iranian passenger jets dropping out of the sky due to maintenance problems. By showing flexibility on those issues, we could possibly leverage agreement with our allies to unify our policies and toughen their stance toward Tehran. The timing was propitious because the Europeans had become frustrated with Iran’s intransigence in the negotiations that had been going on and off since 2003. The President could use his trip to Europe to confirm my view of the situation for himself and feel out the allies on a new direction.

  In fact, that plan bore fruit. When, during his trip, the President signaled this potential change, the allies jumped at the possibility of aligning themselves with us. Two months later we would announce our decision to take modest measures to support the European diplomacy. They, in turn, would agree to refer Iran’s case to the UN Security Council if no progress was made. That was the first step in building an international coalition to deal with the Iranian problem.

  Freedom’s Forward March

  EARLY IN 2005 it looked as if the forces of freedom would triumph in a matter of months, not years. Late in February, President
Mubarak asked Egypt’s Parliament to allow for direct, multi-candidate presidential elections for the first time in the nation’s history. And even though women were excluded from the vote, Saudi Arabia conducted its first nationwide election to select half of the members of municipal councils. Taken together, those breakthroughs, combined with the parliamentary elections in Iraq, suggested that the Middle East was moving—or, perhaps more correctly, lurching—toward its first steps of political reform.

  But nowhere were developments more stunning than in Lebanon. I’ve been asked many times through the years, about any number of events, “Were you surprised?” The truth is that you can often see the kindling collecting underneath a structure. The surprise comes from never knowing when a spark might ignite and engulf the structure in flames.

  The spark in Lebanon was a car bomb that killed Rafik Hariri, the former prime minister, and twenty-two others. I was standing at my desk at State when images of the carnage started to play across the television screen. My mind flashed back to the only time that I’d met Hariri. He’d come to the White House to ask President Bush to back a donor conference to retire Lebanon’s debt. We liked the affable billionaire but joked that he could have simply paid off the debt personally. Indeed, he’d used a good deal of his personal wealth to improve the infrastructure of his country. The sudden and violent death of someone I’d met always shook me for a moment. This time was no different, and it crossed my mind that Hariri was more than a former prime minister; he was about to become a martyr for a cause.

  Later that afternoon, I received a recommendation that we recall our ambassador to Syria. Syria’s military forces occupied Lebanon, supported Hezbollah, and had long intervened in Lebanese politics. Syria’s leaders hated Hariri, who had deep ties to the West, especially to the French. Everyone believed that Syria’s fingerprints were all over the assassination, so I talked with the President and we decided to withdraw our ambassador from Damascus to underscore Syria’s suspected complicity and put them on the defensive.