No Higher Honor: A Memoir of My Years in Washington

by Condoleezza Rice

  Then, on Sunday night, the President hosts a reception for the honorees before the performances at the Kennedy Center. There is a nice ceremony at which the achievements of the recipients are recalled. That year, the last award was dedicated to the wonderful actor Morgan Freeman. The President introduced him by recalling his role in the movie Deep Impact, which is about a black man who is President of the United States when a meteor hits the earth. “That’s about the only thing that hasn’t happened in the last eight years,” the President quipped.

  When he returned to his seat, I leaned over and said, “Don’t tempt fate. We’ve still got a few weeks left.”

  58

  ONE LAST CHANCE FOR A PALESTINIAN STATE

  IN THE WANING MONTHS of our time in Washington, we tried one last time to secure a two-state solution. The Olmert proposal haunted the President and me. In September the prime minister had given Abbas a map outlining the territory of a Palestinian state. Israel would annex 6.3 percent of the West Bank. (Olmert gave Abbas cause to believe that he was willing to reduce that number to 5.8 percent.) All of the other elements were still on the table, including the division of Jerusalem. Olmert had insisted that Abbas sign then and there. When the Palestinian had demurred, wanting to consult his experts before signing, Olmert refused to give him the map. The Israeli leader told me that he and Abbas had agreed to convene their experts the next day. Apparently that meeting never took place. But I knew what had been proposed, and I asked Jonathan Schwartz, a State Department lawyer with many years of experience in the issue, to construct an approximation of the territorial compromise. I wanted to preserve the Olmert offer.

  I talked to the President and asked whether he would be willing to receive Olmert and Abbas one last time. What if I could get the two of them to come and accept the parameters of the proposal? We knew it was a long shot. Olmert had announced in the summer that he would step down as prime minister. Israel would hold elections in the first part of the next year. He was a lame duck, and so was the President.

  Still, I worried that there might never be another chance like this one. Tzipi Livni urged me (and, I believe, Abbas) not to enshrine the Olmert proposal. “He has no standing in Israel,” she said. That was probably true, but to have an Israeli prime minister on record offering those remarkable elements and a Palestinian president accepting them would have pushed the peace process to a new level. Abbas refused.

  We had one last chance. The two leaders came separately in November and December to say good-bye. The President took Abbas into the Oval Office alone and appealed to him to reconsider. The Palestinian stood firm, and the idea died.

  Now, as I write in 2011, the process seems to have gone backward. The Palestinians are speaking in the UN General Assembly of unilaterally declaring statehood. There are familiar squabbles about Israeli settlement activity. I certainly know the frustration of Israeli announcements of building new housing on disputed land; it often felt as though those bulletins were issued just after the secretary of state had traveled there. It happened to me several times. Not only would I call Olmert and Livni to complain, but I would also publicly denounce what Israel had done, reminding everyone that the United States would not recognize unilateral alterations of the status quo at the time of negotiation. But I never let progress on the settlement issue become a U.S. precondition for negotiations. I believed that once there was an agreement, the question of settlements would be moot.

  In the end, the Palestinians walked away from the negotiations—and soon a new Israeli prime minister would walk away too. Abbas was told by numerous Israelis, including some of Olmert’s closest advisors, that the lame-duck prime minister did not have the legitimacy to deliver the deal. But had he expressed a willingness to accept the extraordinary terms he’d been offered, it might have been a turning point in the long history of the intractable conflict. It might be a long time before another Israeli prime minister offered anything as dramatic again. I turned over the negotiating file to my successor. The conditions were almost ripe for a deal on our watch, but not quite. Still, I have to believe that sooner or later, there will be a two-state solution. There is no peaceful alternative.

  Gaza Again

  INDEED, THE CONFLICT exploded one last time as 2008 came to a close. Tensions had been rising in Gaza throughout November and into December as Hamas fired rockets into southern Israeli population centers in violation of a fragile summer ceasefire. During his last visit to Washington, Olmert made clear that the situation was becoming intolerable. He told the President that he could not let Israel’s enemies take advantage of what they might read as a political vacuum, pending elections.

  On Christmas Day, Tzipi Livni called to say the Israelis would have to act. The Israelis never asked for permission, and we never gave it. Thanks to the warning, though, I wasn’t surprised when, on December 27, Israel launched a massive attack into Gaza, hitting a hundred preplanned targets within a span of 220 seconds. The bombardment continued, leading ultimately to a ground invasion on January 3. Needless to say, my last holiday week was not as I’d imagined. I sat in my cousin’s home, on the phone trying to get the Israelis, the Egyptians, and the Arabs to establish terms for a ceasefire.

  When it came to Israel’s responses to provocations, I’d become accustomed to the diplomatic pattern of initial outrage at the terrorists, followed by human suffering, culminating in a condemnation of Israel. Under pressure from the Arabs, the UN Security Council called a meeting on the situation in Gaza. I left for New York, hoping to avoid a formal resolution because I didn’t want the United States to veto an end to the war.

  I called Olmert and tried to get a sense of when he could end the operation. He was noncommittal, saying that he had to wipe out the threat to the civilian populations. I told him I’d try to hold off a resolution. Olmert said that Sarkozy was in the same frame of mind. Good, I thought. With the support of the French and the British we ought to be able to avoid a resolution. I went to bed assuming that we’d prevented a diplomatic crisis, and, with that in mind, I planned to go home the next day, after the Security Council meeting in New York.

  What happened next was bizarre. The Arabs had gathered and asked to see the members of the P5. Lavrov had not attended the meeting, and neither had Chinese Foreign Minister Yang Jiechi. Bernard Kouchner and David Miliband, my French and British counterparts, and I went to meet with the Arabs. I fully expected unity, but after hearing their hostile and emotional presentation, Kouchner suddenly said, “You’re right. There should be a resolution to stop the fighting.” I looked at David, who just shrugged. We left the meeting.

  “What are you doing?” I asked Bernard. “Your President told Olmert there should be no resolution.”

  Bernard was a bit defensive but retorted, “The Arabs won’t accept no resolution. I have to go with them.” Now what? I thought.

  I rushed back to the holding room and called Steve Hadley, describing what had happened. He reached his French counterpart, but there was clearly a split between the Élysée Palace (the presidency) and the Quai d’Orsay (the Foreign Ministry). I returned to the room with the Arabs and said that we’d work with them on a resolution. “I will stay here tonight to see if we can find a solution,” I said. My own view had been colored by a call from Abbas, who had begged me for a resolution. “There will be a ‘day of rage’ tomorrow, and I’m not sure we can keep the West Bank quiet. Salam [Fayyad] is very worried.”

  After many hours—we worked until about nine at night—we negotiated a resolution. It was far from perfect. I would have preferred a stronger condemnation of Hamas, but it did not condemn Israel and at least mentioned the need to stop terrorism.

  Olmert, when he called me in New York, was enraged. He thought I’d double-crossed him by agreeing to a resolution. “Your problem, Prime Minister,” I told him, “was with the French. I thought you said Sarkozy was with you.”

  Tzipi Livni, who would stand for election as prime minister in a few weeks, called too. “This is a
disaster,” she said.

  “You haven’t even read it,” I countered. “Would it help if the U.S. abstains?”

  “Yes, it would,” she answered.

  I dialed the President and caught up with him in the White House residence. He’d just heard from the angry Olmert.

  All of my colleagues were gathered in the Security Council chamber. I knew that everyone would vote yes, and I had, after all, negotiated the resolution. “How do you want me to vote?” I asked the President.

  “How do you want to vote?” he responded.

  “On balance I would vote yes, but I’ll certainly understand if you want me to abstain.”

  “We need to abstain,” he said.

  And so I did, casting the only vote that wasn’t in the affirmative. As I was leaving, the Saudi and UAE foreign ministers came over to the car. “You are a good friend,” they said, thanking me for letting the resolution go forward. “This helps us immensely.”

  I felt bad that my last vote in the United Nations was, in a sense, against the Israelis. In reality, it was worse than that: it wasn’t for anyone, and it wasn’t against anyone. Sometimes that’s the best you can do, but it felt empty. The next day Olmert told the press that the President had overruled me. You snake! I fumed. I called him and yelled at him about it and I told the President I would never trust Olmert again. It doesn’t matter, I told myself. We’re done.

  But we weren’t quite done. The Israelis didn’t stop their offensive right away, and Tzipi and Olmert needed our help in getting a basis on which to do so. As I’d done so many times, I shuttled by phone among the Egyptians, the Israelis, and the Palestinians to find a solution. The question was whether we could find a reliable way to close the tunnels Hamas was using to smuggle weapons into Gaza. If the Israeli government could tell its people that that had been achieved, it could end the military operation.

  After several days, we were pretty close to an agreed-upon set of arrangements, with the Egyptians playing a major role—supported by our training and technical assistance—in shutting off the arms supply.

  It was Thursday, January 15, a day before I would leave the State Department for good. Tzipi Livni was on the phone. “I need to come there and sign the document. We need a visible demonstration that the U.S. will guarantee these arrangements,” she said.

  “Tzipi, there isn’t time. I’m leaving office tomorrow. Why don’t we just make an announcement in our respective capitals?”

  But she persisted. “I’m leaving tonight, and I’ll be there tomorrow morning.” I realized that the Israelis needed this one last show of support and that Tzipi, because of her bid to become prime minister, needed it most of all. I guess I can do this one more time, I decided.

  And so, one hour before I said good-bye to the State Department, I sat in the Treaty Room and signed a memorandum of understanding on terms for an end to the latest conflict in Gaza.

  I said good-bye to Tzipi at the seventh-floor elevator. “Thank you,” she said, “for your friendship and your support of Israel. Come to visit. You’ll always be welcome.” I hugged her, thanked her for all we’d done together, and wished her good luck in the elections.

  Then I walked back to my office and wrote a little note to Hillary Clinton. It’s customary for the outgoing secretary to leave last thoughts. I didn’t say anything elaborate, and what I did say will remain between the two of us. I was very, very glad to be done.

  “Time to go,” I said to Brian as we headed down the elevator and into the lobby where the State Department’s employees were gathered. I looked out at the faces, some of which I knew well and some I didn’t really know at all. I thanked them all just the same and walked out of the front door for the last time as “S.” My car was waiting to take me to Camp David, where I’d meet up with the President and some of his closest senior staff. The weekend was busy because there were myriad details that had to be tied down in association with the Gaza agreement. But I tried to enjoy it and take in the atmosphere one final time.

  I remembered my first time at Camp David. The President and I had decided to go to the gym to work out. We had gotten horribly lost, disoriented by the blinding snowstorm all around us. “They may never find us,” I said.

  The President laughed. “Great first headline—the President and the national security advisor lost in the snow,” he joked.

  On Sunday morning the presidential party attended church, as we’d done so many times before, in good times and bad. The Camp David staff gathered in the hanger to say good-bye, and then we flew off in Marine One. There is a nice tradition at Camp David: each time the President arrives, the flag of the commander in chief is raised just as he lands. It is lowered the minute he leaves, only to be raised again upon his return. This time when the marines lowered the flag, it was for the last time. I looked over at the forty-third President, who was quietly gazing out of the window. I wanted to say something, but it was better not to. I closed my eyes and let scenes from the last eight years flash in front of me. And then I thanked God for the improbable events that had brought me to this place. There had been no higher honor.

  EPILOGUE

  AS THE WHITE HOUSE Soviet specialist at the end of the Cold War, I witnessed the liberation of Eastern Europe, the unification of Germany on Western terms, and the beginning of the peaceful collapse of the Soviet Union. It is difficult in retrospect to remember just how unlikely those events once seemed as the Soviet Union cast its shadow across Eastern Europe. Few people personally remember the Hungarian Revolution of 1956 and fewer still the Berlin crisis of 1948. When I returned to Stanford in 2009, I was startled when I realized that some of my students had not even been born when the Berlin Wall fell, and many had never seen the hammer and sickle fly above the Kremlin.

  As the Cold War’s darkest days fade from memory, what once seemed impossible now seems to have been inevitable. In reality, the peaceful resolution of the Cold War was the product of farsighted decisions made at a time of great uncertainty. After World War II, the United States and its allies set out a vision and built institutions to guide us through the “long-twilight struggle” to victory. The foundation of that strategy was an unyielding trust in the ability of free nations to outperform and then to outlast those that denied their people freedom.

  In my last major television interview on Meet the Press, David Gregory thanked me for all the time I’d given to the program. He told me that it was my twentieth appearance on the show. Twenty times. My God, that’s a lot of Sunday mornings. David asked a version of a question that I’ve been asked repeatedly since: What will be the legacy of the Bush administration? Often accompanying such queries is the implication—well, more than an implication—that the turmoil of 9/11, Afghanistan, Iraq, and the Middle East would forever scar the eight years that we served. I’ve answered honestly that my own experiences affirm that “history has a long arc,” and I do believe that “it bends toward justice.”

  The past decade has tested that proposition and those who have been responsible for leadership of the country through these turbulent times. There have been three great shocks to the international system since 2001. The first two, 9/11 and the global financial crisis, bookend the presidency of George W. Bush and strike at the heart of our nation’s most vital interests—our security and our prosperity. The third is the Arab Spring.

  Since the beginning of this historic year, the people of the Arab world have challenged the autocratic order in at least a half dozen states. Some governments have fallen; others teeter; a few have regained their balance. Still others have not yet faced the unrest but brace for the day that will undoubtedly come. The desire for freedom will persist until it is secured.

  As Americans, this should not surprise us. The United States has a view of how human history ought to unfold. In 1776 we claimed our inalienable rights and insisted on their universality. As the United States grew into a great power and then a superpower, it has not been neutral in the struggle between freedom and tyranny.


  The events of the Arab Spring have vindicated the belief in the universality of our values. Those commentators who today reduce the demands of the people in the streets of Tunis and Cairo to only economic grievances do them a disservice. Certainly people want a better life, but they can only demand it and hold their government accountable if they have a right to change their leaders. If they can’t do that peacefully, they will turn to violence to achieve their goals.

  The events of September 11 brought the practical implications of that dynamic into sharper focus. The terrorists responsible for those devastating attacks hailed from countries where oppressive governments had closed peaceful outlets for political reform, creating conditions ripe for violent extremism. These terrorists were able to operate in weak or failing states that allowed them to recruit, train, and plan their attacks with relative impunity. President Bush and his foreign policy team understood those implications and adjusted course after 9/11. We pursued the Freedom Agenda not only because it was right but also because it was necessary. There is both a moral case and a practical one for the proposition that no man, woman, or child should live in tyranny. Those who excoriated the approach as idealistic or unrealistic missed the point. In the long run, it is authoritarianism that is unstable and unrealistic. This is because every dictator fears the “Ceausescu moment,” described to us by the Romanians when President Bush visited Bucharest in 2002.

  In 1989 Nicolae Ceausescu, then secretary general of the Romanian Communist Party and overseer of a repressive regime, went into a square in Bucharest thinking he had sufficiently quelled the growing discontent in his country. His speech began with a recitation of all he’d done for the Romanian people. At the time revolutions were spreading throughout Eastern Europe—in Poland, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, East Germany, and beyond.