“I was just thinking, suppose we play this card and the Iranians just drag out the negotiations?” he asked on one occasion.
“We can always walk out after a prescribed period of time—maybe six months,” I offered.
“No,” the President disagreed, “you know we’ll never be able to do it. I can hear our friends now begging to have the negotiations continue just a little bit longer. We’ll be trapped.”
During one of our Sunday-morning phone calls, the President raised another concern: “Suppose we do this and the Europeans or the Russians just give lip service but don’t carry through with sanctions?”
“That’s a risk, sir,” I replied. “But right now we’re dead in the water. We need to take a risk.”
Finally I asked if we could have dinner with Steve Hadley and figure out a way forward. I needed to make this move in advance of a scheduled trip to Europe at the beginning of June. I hoped to get the P5+1 together at that time. “Come on over tomorrow night,” he said.
The next night, I joined the President, the First Lady, and Steve for dinner in the dining room where the first couple ate their daily meals. On several occasions when I joined them, we engaged in friendly conversation over several courses—the President mostly interested in dessert. But on that particular evening, we ate quickly, and then the President, Steve, and I retired to the office upstairs in the residence. As I described earlier, it is the room in which he made the critical decisions on September 16, 2001, that led to the war in Afghanistan. The room was always cold and bleak, not sunny and inviting like the Oval Office. That night it felt particularly chilly—or maybe it was just the fact that I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. We reviewed all the relevant factors: the stalemate that the Iranians were exploiting while they continued to improve their capabilities; the slippage in the international coalition; and the stepped-up aggression against our forces led by Iranian allies in Iraq. The last made the President and other members of the NSC wonder whether “rewarding” the Iranians with an offer to talk made any sense while they were killing our soldiers.
At a later NSC meeting on the subject, though, there was less resistance than I expected from the other principals. The Vice President said little except to underscore the point the President had made before: we had to make sure the Iranians didn’t read the offer as an expression of weakness. Don said nothing. Quite unexpectedly, the President asked whether we should make the offer to enter the negotiations unconditional. That idea quickly faded as we focused on how critical it was that we verify suspension of the program. The worst possible outcome would be negotiating while the Iranians continued to improve their capabilities.
At the end of the meeting the President again demurred, saying that he needed to think about it. I cornered Steve outside the Situation Room. “What is he still thinking about?” I asked.
“He just considers it a big deal,” Steve replied. “I think he’ll get there.”
When I got back to the department, I called the President. “Why don’t you call Blair, Chirac, Merkel, and Putin?” I suggested, hoping that those conversations would move things along. “Put the proposition to them and see what they think.” He noted that Blair was coming to the White House; he’d speak to him then. And he’d ask Blair to feel out the others too. “I’ll call Putin,” he said.
The conversation with Blair was, as usual, wide-ranging. But when the prime minister turned to Iran, the President deferred, saying he wanted to talk about it at lunch. After some small talk around the rectangular table in the family dining room, the President suddenly said, “Tony, Condi has this idea, and I want to know what you think.” I almost swallowed my scallop whole. Blair smiled. Leaders who knew us well had gotten accustomed to the somewhat unusual and sometimes informal interaction between the President and me.
“Well, what does she have up her sleeve?” Blair asked.
The President then described the idea and asked whether the Europeans were ready to levy tough sanctions on Iran if Tehran failed to negotiate in good faith. Blair said that he favored the change in strategy and would of course be willing to take tough steps if Iran balked. He didn’t want to speak for others but would see Chirac and Merkel at the upcoming European Council meeting and put it to them directly. Within a few days the two leaders called the President with the message he needed: they would not “go soft” on Iran if we made the shift. Putin was equally categorical and delighted that we were finally “taking Russia’s advice.”
“You don’t need a secretary of state,” I joked. “You can do this diplomacy stuff yourself.” We laughed, but I had what I needed. I’d given the job of drafting a statement on the matter to Bob Joseph, who had headed proliferation policy for me both at the NSC and now at State. Bob was a hard-liner but also a clear and broad thinker. In fact, I often asked Bob to come in and debate issues with me to force me to confront hawkish objections to my diplomatic efforts. The final statement on Iran bore his imprint. When I sent it to Steve for interagency coordination, he said, “This is pretty tough,” obviously pleased by its tone.
“It has to be,” I said. I wasn’t just protecting our right flank at home. I wanted to be sure that the Iranians didn’t misread the approach. Things were not going well in Iraq. I didn’t want Tehran to think that it had gained the upper hand.
On May 31, I faced the press to announce the shift in U.S. policy. In exchange for Iran’s verifiable suspension of its enrichment and reprocessing activities, the United States would join its EU-3 partners (the United Kingdom, France, and Germany) and sit face-to-face with Tehran’s representatives in negotiations. I also made clear that all issues—not just nuclear—would be on the table.
The latter offer was key. We were signaling to Tehran that there might be a political thaw in the bargain too—we could talk about regional issues, such as Afghanistan, Iraq, economics, and trade. Our European allies, the Russians, and many other countries believed that the big prize for Iran was an improved relationship with the United States and recognition of its role in international politics. We were testing that proposition. If Iran were looking for a path toward normalizing relations with the United States, nuclear negotiations could be the starting point. But there would have to be a change in the regime’s behavior. Left unsaid was the central point: we were not, in the short run, seeking regime change. Frankly, from our point of view, if Iran took the carrot and carried through on the obligations to verifiably suspend its nuclear activities, it would be a very different regime in any case.
“President Bush wants a positive relationship between the American people and the people of Iran,” I stated, “a beneficial relationship of increased contacts in education and cultural exchange, in sports, in travel, in trade, and in investment.” But the nuclear issue was not the only obstacle standing in the way of improved relations. “The Iranian government supports terror,” I reminded the international community. “It is involved in violence in Iraq, and it is undercutting the restoration of full sovereignty in Lebanon under UN Security Council Resolution 1559.”
So Iran was far from being a responsible state, but, together with the Europeans, we were willing to offer a path toward its reconciliation with the international community. That was the carrot. The stick would be tougher sanctions and further isolation.
Several hours later I got on the plane for Vienna, Austria, and a meeting of the P5+1. I felt a great sense of relief at being able to engage my colleagues on firmer ground. The Iranians predictably reacted to the “disrespectful tone” of the statement, and Sergei Lavrov said that the approach could have been more “diplomatic.” The Russians weren’t as cooperative as I’d hoped, given the big step we’d made; they again repeated their arguments about not backing Iran into a corner. But they and all the others knew that the shift in U.S. policy had put Tehran back on the defense. The P5+1 was united, and we now had a really firm basis from which to move toward UN Security Council sanctions.
MY RESERVATIONS about extending an olive branch
to Tehran were compounded by my growing sense of our vulnerability in Iraq. It was becoming painfully obvious that we had neither the right military strategy in Iraq nor enough forces to carry out the flawed one that we were pursuing. NSC meetings were becoming increasingly frustrating with shifting metrics and claims about the number of Iraqi security forces being trained. After one such briefing I told my chief of staff, Brian Gunderson, that I would never again use the Pentagon’s train-and-equip numbers when briefing the Congress. “I don’t believe them myself,” I told him.
When it came to financial accountability for the war effort, I relied on the meticulous work of Stuart Bowen, who, as the special inspector general for Iraq reconstruction (SIGIR), oversaw the expenditure of funds for Iraq relief and reconstruction activities. Though Stuart performed a tremendous public service, I dreaded our meetings, as they were a reminder of the high costs of reconstruction efforts in highly insecure environments. Whenever the Iraq Stabilization Group had tried to focus the Pentagon on protection of critical infrastructure—pipelines or the electrical grid, for instance—the Defense Department would repeatedly say, “We don’t have enough civilians in the fight.”
I accepted the criticism that State needed more people in Iraq, and we were making personnel changes to make that possible, including finding a way to send qualified Arabists from posts such as Cairo while allowing their families to stay in the region. Before that change, a family would have to pick up roots, sometimes in the middle of the school year, and return to Washington while the officer was deployed to the war zone. I even threatened to require Foreign Service officers to serve in Iraq. This was a radical break with the practice of voluntary bidding on posts. It hadn’t been done since Vietnam. Ultimately I didn’t have to because enough people of all ranks volunteered. But I was prepared to do so and to face down the American Foreign Service Association—a kind of union for U.S. diplomats—before Congress and the American people if necessary. I really resented the implication by the Pentagon and in some corners of Congress that State was to blame for the mounting failures in Iraq.
The issue came to a head in an NSC meeting in May. When I presented an update on the number of civilian personnel willing to deploy to Iraq, George Casey, the commanding general in Iraq, blurted out, “Ma’am, that’s a paltry number.” And he had done it in front of the President.
At that time I had defended my agency, signaling that the Pentagon wasn’t exactly covering itself in glory. “General, when you can protect forty times the civilians we have on the ground now, I promise to send more,” I said.
“Okay, on that happy note we will adjourn,” the President interjected, abruptly concluding the meeting.
I left for Camp David that afternoon and upon arrival called George to apologize for embarrassing him in front of the President. But when Steve mentioned before dinner that everyone, including the President, had been uncomfortable with the confrontation, I simply told him that it had to be said. I wouldn’t allow the Pentagon to get away with that nonsense. “You and George okay?” the President asked at dinner.
“Yes,” I answered. I didn’t elaborate, and the President didn’t ask for further details.
In the summer of 2006 I would answer questions about Iraq by stating bluntly the challenges we were facing and then describing what we were trying to do. But in truth, I worried that we were in danger of losing. Newspapers worldwide were filled with dire stories of suicide bombings, roadside attacks on coalition forces, and—most poignantly—U.S. troop casualties in the Washington Post’s “Faces of the Fallen.” I made myself look at every photograph of each soldier so that I wouldn’t become inured to the war’s human cost.
I’d begun to visit Walter Reed Army Medical Center and the National Naval Medical Center every few months. New Year’s Day and Good Friday were particularly good days to go because there were fewer visitors than on Christmas or Easter. I never took the press or told them; I’d just arrange to go spend time with the patients, their families, and the dedicated medical staff; listen to their stories; and talk about the challenges of recovery. When I thanked the injured service members for their sacrifice and received their thanks for what I was doing for the country, the reciprocal gesture never felt quite right. I don’t deserve that, I remember thinking. Often a soldier would say that he just wanted to get back into the fight. The courage of J. R. Salzman was particularly inspiring. As he led a fuel convoy near Baghdad, a roadside bomb exploded by J.R.’s Humvee. He lost his left hand and his right arm below the elbow. Before joining the 34th Infantry Division, J.R. was a serious athlete, and he was determined to compete once again, grateful he still had his legs. Upon his discharge from Walter Reed, J.R. went on to win two world titles in logrolling. I never scheduled events directly after these visits because it was so emotional to see what those patriotic young men and women were enduring and trying to overcome.
One young man will always stay in my mind’s eye. The doctor at Bethesda had warned me that his particular case of traumatic brain injury was worse than most. The soldier’s unit had been hit head-on by several improvised explosive devices (IEDs), but he had miraculously survived. “I wouldn’t take you in there,” the doctor said, “but his mom wants to meet you.” I steeled myself and went into a darkened room where a young black man was crying out and screaming uncontrollably. I flashed back to my father’s own anoxic brain injury when he had done the same thing. At the time, the doctor had said that it was the brain repairing itself. It sounded as though Daddy had been flung into the depths of Hell. It was the same with this young man.
His mother walked away from the bed and greeted me. “I’m so sorry for what’s happened to your son,” I said hesitantly.
“He’s a little better sometimes,” she answered. We had a picture taken together, and I promised to pray for them. I asked from time to time about the young man. I eventually learned that he hadn’t made it.
Though the human toll was difficult to witness, I deeply believe that the sacrifice was not in vain. The new Iraq could be the foundation of a more peaceful and prosperous Middle East. Yet in the summer of 2006 that goal seemed far away indeed.
The deteriorating situation on the ground was eroding support at home with a rapidity that was terrifying. All kinds of radical ideas were being proposed. Senator Joseph Biden and Leslie Gelb, the former president of the Council on Foreign Relations, coauthored an article in which they suggested that Iraq be partitioned into three autonomous zones along sectarian and ethnic lines—a spectacularly bad idea that gained credence only because nothing seemed worse than the current circumstances. NBC News declared Iraq to be in a civil war, a term that we assiduously rejected. I made a visit to Capitol Hill to check in with the leadership on both sides of the aisle. I expected the Democrats to be in full revolt, but I found bipartisan despair. The Republicans didn’t relish going home that summer with the Iraqi millstone around their necks. “Something has to change before the fall,” Senator Mitch McConnell told me. “I can’t hold the caucus too much longer.” I respected Mitch as one of the best legislators I knew. His warning couldn’t be ignored.
And we were getting nowhere inside the administration. The more pressure we put on the Pentagon, the less flexible it became. Every NSC and Principals meeting ended with Don clinging to the notion that only an improvement in the political landscape would solve the security situation.
In the midst of those horrors, we finally received good news. The chaos in Iraq had, in part, been the handiwork of Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, who was suspected of orchestrating the February bombing of the Golden Mosque. Though Ayman al-Zawahiri, bin Laden’s second in command, had criticized the so-called emir of al Qaeda in Iraq for perpetrating violence against other Muslims, Zarqawi’s plan to destabilize Iraq had worked, plunging the Iraqis into civil conflict—if not outright war—between Sunnis and Shia. On June 7 I was at my desk when I got the news: Zarqawi had been killed in a strike by U.S. warplanes. A few months later, the unit that killed him gave me a s
tone with the initials AMZ and the date 6–7–2006. The gruesome souvenir occupied a treasured spot on my bookcase at the State Department. Today it sits on a shelf in my office at Stanford. I have recently reflected on how I became hardened enough emotionally back then to celebrate a human being’s death without the slightest feeling of remorse. But in truth, I was almost giddy when I heard the news. Maybe Zarqawi’s demise would deflate the Sunni insurgency and give us a chance to fight on one front—not two—as we dealt with the threat of Muqtada al-Sadr’s Mahdi Army in the south.
What we didn’t immediately see were the changes in the Sunni heartland that were beginning to shift on the ground in our favor. My first hint had come not from the intelligence agencies but from an e-mail that a friend passed on to me. It had come from his son, a young officer serving in Anbar who talked about the improving environment and cooperation with the locals. Apparently, al Qaeda and the insurgent fighters were turning out to be very bad guests among the tribal communities in Al Anbar province. The sheikhs were tiring of the intimidation by these foreigners, who compelled cooperation through the most brutal of tactics—delivering the severed heads of children to their parents, for instance, to ensure loyalty to the terrorist cause. Reportedly, quite a few daughters of the tribes had been forcibly married off to the insurgents too. Zarqawi’s successor, Abu Ayyub al-Masri, apparently escalated those practices, and in time the tribal leaders had enough. The seeds of the Anbar “awakening” had been sown, and we’d soon have new allies in the rough-and-tumble Sunni heartland.
The summer marked a kind of awakening in Washington too. Individually and together, several of us began looking for new approaches to Iraq. On June 6 Philip Zelikow, the department’s counselor, and James Jeffrey, a senior Middle East hand who’d served in Iraq, sent me an eleven-page memo called “Possible Political-Military Strategy for the Summer of 2006.” Reflecting the view that we couldn’t sustain our troop presence for much longer, they recommended a “selective counterinsurgency” strategy. The United States wouldn’t try to be everywhere in the country, but we would add troops temporarily to contest for major strongholds, create a better atmosphere for the newly trained Iraqi forces, and then withdraw. I found the memo thought-provoking and sent it on to Steve Hadley. We agreed to start an informal process between our staffs to discuss options. Not surprisingly, Steve had the President’s authority to look for a different path in Iraq.
No Higher Honor: A Memoir of My Years in Washington Page 56
