by John Kerry
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THERE ARE THOSE who wish that the United States could stand aloof from the world’s problems and look inward. But we can’t. We know what happens when we do. Leadership isn’t a button we push in times of emergency. Leadership is what we have to provide all the time. It isn’t easy. It doesn’t always work. But if there’s one thing I found as secretary of state that permeated my conversations in every region and every corner of the world, it is this: world leaders don’t lie awake worrying what will happen if America is present—they worry what will happen if America is absent.
CHAPTER 17
Getting Caught Trying
“JOHN KERRY SPEAKS for me on this issue.”
It was March 2013. President Obama had traveled to Israel. He was greeted by big, supportive crowds. We were meeting with Prime Minister Benjamin “Bibi” Netanyahu in Jerusalem. The warm reception made the White House wish the president had traveled there during his first term. The president and prime minister talked about a host of issues—Iran, Islamist extremism, the state of the region two years after the Arab Spring. The two reaffirmed their willingness to again explore negotiations with the Palestinians over a two-state solution. It was then that the president gave me the currency I would need to see if a newly invigorated peace process could lead anywhere: he told Netanyahu that he trusted me and had invested in me to give it a shot.
For decades, peace in the Middle East has eluded presidents, prime ministers, international mediators and, yes, secretaries of state to whom the task of chief mediator or negotiator often falls. I had tracked the process since I came to the Senate in 1985. I had no illusions about the barriers in our way. I was well aware of all the arguments for inaction. But in foreign policy, while it’s very easy to speculate about the risks of acting, there’s rarely enough focus on the risks of inaction.
That’s especially true about peace in the Middle East. Time was not a friend of the peace process. With every past failed effort, the hopes for peace had diminished. Cynicism grew and became self-perpetuating. I worried about the long-term security of our friend Israel. What diplomats call “facts on the ground” and the actions of both Israelis and Palestinians were steadily diminishing the prospects for a two-state solution—separate Israeli and Palestinian states living side by side in peace and security—which is exactly what some on the fringes of each side wanted to prevent.
The Palestinian population was growing increasingly disillusioned. Palestinian social media bubbled over with ugly anti-Israel sentiment, sometimes violent, which the Palestinian leadership did not stop and occasionally encouraged. Extremist Hamas, guilty of the vilest forms of incitement and violence, was gaining traction. War broke out in Gaza every couple of years. The Palestinian population was booming. If Israel remained in control of the Palestinian population from the Jordan River to the Mediterranean Sea, in a handful of years there wouldn’t even be a Jewish majority. Under those conditions, how does Israel possibly maintain its character as both a Jewish and democratic state for the long term?
At the same time, settlements were expanding rapidly with little restraint, drawing more Israelis into areas of the West Bank that experts agreed would have to be included in a viable Palestinian state. When Ariel Sharon removed settlers from Gaza during Israel’s 2005 unilateral withdrawal, the images were gut-wrenching. That was only eight thousand settlers. But with each passing year, thousands more were moving into the West Bank.
When the Oslo Accords were agreed to in 1993, there were about 110,000 settlers in the West Bank. By the time I became secretary, the number had grown to some 375,000. No one could legitimately argue that the growth and current number didn’t represent a major impediment to the creation of a viable, contiguous Palestinian state. Many observers claimed that the settler policy was a purposeful strategy by those in Israel who opposed the creation of a Palestinian state and wanted a “greater Israel” encompassing the West Bank.
Of course, there was always the option of the United States doing nothing, but given the rate at which the dynamics on the ground were changing, that would have been diplomatic malpractice. The window for a two-state solution was closing. Given the extraordinary economic and security benefits of peace for the entire region, and given the growing threat to the dream of a democratic Jewish state for Israel, I believed we bore a fundamental responsibility to give the peace process our best effort. Otherwise, by default, we would have been empowering those on either side who didn’t want a Jewish state or a Palestinian state.
Moreover, I didn’t think it was a lost cause. Both Prime Minister Netanyahu, in his historic speech at Bar-Ilan University, and President Mahmoud Abbas had clearly expressed their support for the two-state solution. I believed there were such powerful reasons to finally reach a meeting of the minds that if the leaders were determined to get there, we could do it. There were legitimate glimmers of promise for two reasons.
One, years of conversations with Prime Minister Netanyahu and President Abbas convinced me that if they were serious about making peace, the shape of that peace was well known and achievable. Years of negotiations had developed a generally understood outline for peace. The fundamental question was the readiness of both sides to take steps to get there. I had also learned in all those years that very little in the Middle East can be taken at face value. I wanted to believe both leaders but wasn’t sure whether they were prepared to back up their words with actions. It was essential, however, to put them to the test.
Two, even though the cause of a Palestinian state wasn’t the burning, galvanizing issue it once was for the region, I was convinced that in return for a Palestinian state, Israel’s Arab neighbors were ready for a fundamentally different relationship with Israel, including new security arrangements that would benefit everybody. On several occasions, they made that clear to me at the highest level. I thought a new regional realignment would be a huge incentive for Israel and a big reward for the Israeli prime minister willing to make the compromises needed for a two-state solution.
But one lesson in particular informed my approach to the peace process. Incrementalism is an enemy. I know that sounds counterintuitive. In many conflict resolution models, you assume that any step forward is positive and builds confidence. But I didn’t think that could any longer work between the Israelis and the Palestinians for the simple reason that it had never succeeded in the past. It had been tried again and again, and intervening events, mostly purposeful, always broke or destroyed any momentum. I believed all the “final status issues” needed to be resolved, at the very least in a broad-brush manner, in one package, even if the implementation took years with tests along the way. Both parties needed to understand the endgame that would satisfy their fundamental aspirations.
Those aspirations could not have been clearer: for Israelis, recognition of Israel as a Jewish state, with Jerusalem as its internationally recognized capital and its security ensured; for Palestinians, a defined, viable Palestinian state with its capital in East Jerusalem and a just resolution of the refugee issue; and for both, a clear path to end the conflict and all claims. In other words, you needed a comprehensive vision of peace, agreed upon in theory between the two sides, or else you left the door wide open for the naysayers to play spoiler. Netanyahu had a great phrase, if an ironic one: he always said “I can’t die on a small cross.” No leader of either side would be willing to take big risks for small steps.
None of this was an easy sell inside the administration, and I understand why. There were many veterans of the Obama administration who, during the first term, had been through a really tough and demoralizing effort at the peace process. I’m sure some also felt suspicious after many reports in 2012 suggested that Prime Minister Netanyahu had bet big on Mitt Romney. But from all those who didn’t think we should launch a new effort at peace, I never heard a workable alternative to the two-state solution. If there wasn’t one, how could we afford to disengage when the space for a solution was shrinking? If you punted n
ow, achieving peace would get harder, not easier, down the road.
Despite all the reasons for pessimism, I believed the moment could be ripe for progress. Before I became secretary, King Abdullah of Jordan had invited me to a small gathering of leaders vested in a peace process, held at his royal compound nestled on a beautiful stretch of beach just west of the town of Aqaba, almost on the border of Israel. It provided a perfect venue for discreet, high-level conversations far away from the press and the big entourages. There foreign ministers from most of the Gulf States, former UK prime minister Tony Blair and senior representatives from Russia, the United States and others from the region convened to discuss ways in which regional trends presented new opportunities for peace, security and economic reform. The Arab revolutions had upended the status quo. Regional leaders expressed many more concerns about Iran and the threat of religious extremism than about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. They saw Iran and radical religious extremism as existential dangers. The Palestinian cause was important to their people, but it was not central to their strategic thinking. However, while they had many reasons to draw closer to Israel, they felt limited in their ability to act on that initiative if the Palestinian issue wasn’t resolved.
Peace with the Arab world was always a critical part of any deal for Israel. It was never going to be enough to have peace with the Palestinians. I saw greater possibilities for that kind of regional rapprochement than ever before. And the backing of the Arab world was always going to be necessary for the Palestinians to make peace with Israel anyway.
On security, the new alignment of interests between Israel and the Sunni Arab countries in the region against Iran presented an opportunity to reshuffle the deck. With will and creativity, we could create new alliances. With the right approach, we could help address Israel’s security concerns in an integrated way with Egypt, Jordan and other countries in the region.
Economically, Israel’s ascendancy as a technological powerhouse presented opportunities for commercial integration that could benefit everyone. Attracting large-scale private sector investment could unleash extraordinary potential for catalyzing sustainable development throughout the Palestinian territories and the wider region.
It would have been a huge missed strategic opportunity to ignore the potential for a rapprochement between Israel and the Sunni Arab nations. Such a regional realignment, more available than ever to the parties, would provide significant enhanced security measures and game-changing economic benefits for Israel, the Palestinians and the region. I was convinced—and remain so—that there was a way to link and leverage these opportunities. We were living in different times and we needed to think accordingly. Different tools were at our disposal.
As ripe as the moment might have been, it ultimately hinged on the two sides themselves. As former U.S. ambassador to Israel Martin Indyk was fond of saying, “You can bring two camels to water in the desert, but you can’t make them drink.” We couldn’t want the peace more than they did. No solutions could be imposed on the parties. No matter how logical something looks, no matter the stakes, no matter the upside and easily tangible benefits, if the politics and personalities are not ready, nothing will make the moment ripe. The principals have to be willing to take risks and be committed to making the outcome they desire come about.
In my many conversations with Prime Minister Netanyahu and President Abbas over the years and in my first months as secretary, both men indicated their understanding of the stakes, the urgency and the opportunities. Both said they were willing to try again if the other side was serious. What I found most promising was Prime Minister Netanyahu’s insistence to me personally that he was willing to take risks, willing even to put his governing coalition at risk, to make peace if his conditions were met.
I wanted to put that statement to the test. If the parties were going to get there, the United States had an indispensable role to play as the only country that could give both sides the support and encouragement they needed to make the leap. To me it was worth the risk of getting caught trying. We could not expect Prime Minister Netanyahu and President Abbas to take big risks for peace if we weren’t prepared to put ourselves on the line as well.
I set out on this journey with a very personal commitment to Israel. For twenty-eight years, I had the privilege of representing in Massachusetts one of the most civic-minded, active Jewish communities in America. And I had come to know, like and respect Yitzhak Rabin and Shimon Peres. They were extraordinary leaders who believed deeply that Israel would be safer in the long term if there were a Palestinian state. Only through a genuine peace could Israel win recognition as a Jewish state and guarantee its security. Prime Minister Rabin gave his life for that belief.
I’ll never forget landing in Tel Aviv on the anniversary of Rabin’s assassination. I went straight to Kikar Rabin (Rabin Square) and stood with the late prime minister’s daughter, Dalia, at the site of her father’s murder. We were just steps away from where the great general, in the last moments of his life, sang the famous lyrics of “Shir LaShalom”:
Don’t whisper a prayer;
sing a song of peace
in a loud voice.
Don’t say the day will come;
bring that day.
Remembering those words brought me back to the chapel at St. Paul’s School, where as a boy I sang the anthem “O Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem.” I knew Israel as the homeland for the Jewish people—the land of milk and honey. As a kid, I was fascinated watching the 1960 film Exodus. I was inspired by the compelling story of liberation: it was the story of a people fighting for a place in the world, a struggle for survival and recognition.
I’d been to Israel many times and I felt a personal connection. On my first trip there in 1986, with my friend the religious and civil rights leader Lenny Zakim and a group of fifteen Jewish friends from Massachusetts, we stood atop the spectacular summit of Masada, where two thousand years ago one thousand martyrs made the ultimate sacrifice in unison and in the name of defending the ancestral homeland of the Jewish people.
Our guide was an intriguing man named Yadin Roman. He was the editor and publisher of Eretz magazine and a great student and teacher of history. When we reached the top of Masada, he sat us down in a quiet corner. There he gave us a long explanation of the moment in history when Jews retreated to Masada. He described the details of the long siege that followed. Like any good teacher, he threw enough twists in the tale to create a genuine debate, which I think was his purpose. Did they really all die? There were a number of theories circulating suggesting otherwise. An hour later, we took a vote to decide what the group concluded. It was unanimous—we all agreed that events had happened the way they were described by the Roman historian Flavius Josephus. Then Yadin called us all over to stand at the far precipice, where, on his instruction, we yelled out across the chasm: “Am Yisrael Chai!” We shouted and then we listened. Full seconds later, back from the other wall, came a clear and penetrating echo of this Hebrew phrase that means “The people of Israel live! The state of Israel lives!” It was as if, eerily, the voices of past generations were talking to us.
On one visit, I was at Ovda Airbase, in Israel’s Negev desert. I had pestered the commanding colonel about whether I’d be allowed to go flying since that had been on my wish list. He told me that Tel Aviv had denied the request, but he would ask again. A few minutes later, he returned and told me we had permission. He handed me a helmet and flight suit. As we went to jump in the jet, he offered me the front cockpit and said, “The minute we’re off the ground, it’s your plane.”
We climbed quickly above ten thousand feet, and I relished the opportunity to see with my own eyes how narrow the borders of Israel are and how that narrowness comes alive in ways it never could on a map. It is the ultimate way to understand the vulnerability of Israel’s security. There’s simply no margin for error. At one point, the colonel radioed to me and said, “Senator, you better turn faster. You are about to go over Egypt.
Turn!” I pulled the aircraft into a tighter turn with tighter gs. I came close that day to violating the airspaces of both Egypt and Jordan. As I flew over the Negev, I asked the colonel for permission to do some aerobatics. With his consent, I gained speed and pulled back on the stick to do a loop. As we turned upside down, all of a sudden I realized the sky was beneath me and the earth above, and I thought, Wow, finally I’m seeing the Middle East clearly—upside down.
As secretary of state, every time my plane touched down in Tel Aviv and I walked down the steps of the blue-and-white plane with “United States of America” on the side, I felt like I was visiting a branch of America’s family that had made their home in the desert of the Middle East.
Our family’s long-buried history underscored just how personal, albeit distant, those connections could be. The Boston Globe in 2003 had done compelling genealogical work. Years later, Cam was presented with confirmation that Granny’s brother, Otto, and sister, Jenni, had been condemned to the Terezin camp, where Otto died. Jenni was sent on to the Treblinka concentration camp, where she too perished. Yad Vashem’s head archivist had shown Cam the chilling records. Cam had converted to Judaism years before when he married his wife, Kathy, a future president of her temple and a skilled lawyer. In 2014, Cam traveled to the Czech Republic and visited Terezin, knowing that our ancesors had gone to the gas chambers because they were Jewish. I thought about both Israel and my own roots in a new light. Early in my time as secretary, on Yom HaShoah, I laid a wreath on behalf of the United States at Yad Vashem. Thinking about the fate of my ancestors who had not escaped and become Kerrys in the New World, I felt even more viscerally the idea of a safe and secure homeland for the Jewish people.
