Known and Unknown

by Donald Rumsfeld

  “If we put another division into Baghdad it could actually be more damaging,” Casey responded. By Casey’s logic, someone could reasonably ask if we needed to reduce our forces. That didn’t seem like the right course of action, so I asked, “General, if that’s true, would pulling one division out of Baghdad be helpful?”28

  He responded that he believed that with some fifteen thousand U.S. troops in Baghdad we had the right number. Two months earlier, we had sent more than five thousand additional U.S. troops and more than six thousand Iraqi troops into the capital as part of Operation Together Forward II to curb the violence across the city. The operation had yielded few visible dividends. Frustration with the lack of progress was growing within the Pentagon and the administration. With the declining public confidence in the war, the Commander in Chief was readying a different plan—one that would involve a new strategy with new generals and a new secretary of defense.

  CHAPTER 49

  Farewells

  Personnel changes occur in every presidential administration. Some are by mutual consent, some are not. By the fall of 2006, only two of George W. Bush’s original cabinet members remained: Secretary of Labor Elaine Chao and me. I had tried to resign twice in the wake of the abuse at Abu Ghraib, but President Bush had opposed my leaving. At his insistence that I stay in 2004, I had acquiesced, but in the months that followed, I became increasingly convinced that I should have left.

  The start of the President’s second term in 2005 was a natural transition point, a time for new beginnings and an opportunity to take a fresh look at his national security policies. But President Bush may have felt uncomfortable changing both his secretary of defense and his secretary of state in a time of war. I too felt obligated to remain if the President wanted me to do so. I thought it would be almost unpatriotic to resign from the Department when we had so many troops engaged abroad and over the President’s request that I stay. I knew our troops couldn’t walk away from their jobs. I felt reluctant to walk away from mine.

  In the spring of 2006 another flap erupted when a small group of retired generals called for me to step down. A few of the most vocal seemed to align themselves with the Democrats, speaking out against the invasion and appearing before what was billed as a Senate “oversight hearing”—in actuality, a partisan forum set up on Capitol Hill by some Senate Democrats and opponents of the President.1 At least two called for the election of Democrats in the November general election.2

  The most curious aspect of the retired generals’ grievances was that I didn’t listen to the advice of the military.3 I met with military leaders constantly and routinely deferred to those on the battlefield for making decisions on everything from troop levels to how to pursue insurgents. There were many times when the decisions on the ground didn’t seem right—such as the first battle of Fallujah—but I took pains to try not to micromanage with the proverbial five-thousand-mile screwdriver. I encouraged generals to form their own relationships with the President. The senior military had been given ample opportunity to express their views to the President, even if those views might have differed from mine. Indeed, I thought that a more accurate criticism would have been that I too often deferred to the views, opinions, and decisions of the generals who were in charge.

  I took heart that those I worked closely with were supportive. General Myers, who had retired as chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, came to my defense, as did Generals Mike DeLong, Tommy Franks, and others.4 Still, the idea of retired generals publicly calling for the removal of a sitting secretary of defense was troubling. With notable exceptions, most military officers avoided becoming politicized after leaving active duty. I knew President Bush would not favor a precedent whereby a handful of disgruntled retired officers could determine who the elected President of the United States had as secretary of defense. Indeed, President Bush proclaimed himself “the decider” on the subject and announced I would stay on.5

  By the summer of 2006, with declining public support for the Iraq war and for the administration, I had made up my mind that I definitely would not remain if the Democrats took control of either house of the Congress in the November elections as they seemed likely to do. Even if Republicans held the House and Senate, I was giving serious thought to leaving so that President Bush could have new leadership at the Department. If the Democrats took power in the legislative branch, the President knew as well as I did that it would not be productive to have a secretary of defense constantly being summoned by members of Congress for hearings designed to promote partisan politics in the run-up to the 2008 presidential election. By then, many Democrats were campaigning against the Iraq war and would press to cut its funding. They would use their positions on congressional committees to relitigate old questions such as prewar intelligence on Iraq for their political advantage. Some were even considering impeachment hearings against President Bush.6 All of this meant there would have to be changes in personnel and strategy if the country was to avoid the ugly ending in Iraq that new congressional majorities would be counseling.

  In early October 2006, Vice President Cheney mused after a meeting in the Oval Office, “The good news is that there are only 794 days left until the end of the term.”

  “Dick, there are 794 days left for you,” I said. “Not for me.”7

  President Bush then said something that confused the tea-leaf readers, not to mention Joyce and me. Asked on November 1 if he still had confidence in me as secretary of defense, and if he wanted me to stay on, the President announced that he wanted me to stay in his administration “until the end.”8 This ran against everything I had discussed with Joyce and suggested to Cheney, who I assumed might have passed on my less than subtle comments that I was likely to leave if the Democrats were victorious on Election Day.

  In the days before the November election, it looked as though Republicans would lose the House. Americans had soured on congressional Republican scandals and profligate spending. Republicans would be lucky if they held the Senate.

  Joyce and I were having dinner with some friends one evening shortly before the election when I received a phone call from the Vice President. “Don,” Cheney said matter-of-factly, “the President has decided to make a change. He wants to see you Tuesday.” He did not elaborate on the President’s decision.

  “Fair enough,” I said to Cheney. “I’ll prepare a letter of resignation. It makes sense.”

  “We’re going to lose the House of Representatives, and the next two years are going to be rough,” Cheney said.

  “I agree. It’s not helpful for the military if I stay. Fresh eyes are a good thing,” I responded.9

  Thirty-one years earlier, Dick Cheney had been the one who called me to urge that I accept President Gerald Ford’s request to become secretary of defense. In August 1976, he had called me on behalf of President Ford to let me know I would not be Ford’s vice presidential nominee. And in December 2000, Cheney called me in Taos to say President-elect Bush wanted me to become his defense secretary. Now Dick was on the phone one more time, confirming what Joyce and I had already concluded. Two and a half years earlier I had given President Bush a signed note saying he had my resignation whenever it might be helpful to him. That time now had come.

  Several days later, as millions of Americans went to the polls on November 7, I sat in the Oval Office alone with the President. Bush was visibly uncomfortable. I tried to make the situation easier for him.

  “Mr. President,” I said, “I’ve prepared this letter for you.”

  I handed him a single sheet of paper. “With my resignation as Secretary of Defense comes my deep appreciation to you for providing me this unexpected opportunity to serve,” the letter began. “I leave with great respect for you and for the leadership you have provided during a most challenging time for our country. . . . It has been the highest honor of my long life to have been able to serve our country at such a critical time in our history and to have had the privilege of working so closely with the truly ama
zing young men and women in uniform. . . . It is time to conclude my service.”10

  As he took the letter from me, Bush’s first thoughts were personal. “Is Joyce all right?” he asked.

  “She’s fine. And she’s ready,” I said. “She even typed the letter for me.”

  I could see that the President was still concerned. I said, “Look, Joyce and I are tracking with you on this.”

  “This is hard for me,” Bush said, shaking his head slowly. “You are a pro. You’re a hell of a lot better than others in this town.”

  We talked briefly about my successor, Robert Gates. During the 1991 Gulf War, Gates had been deputy national security adviser under Brent Scowcroft. He later became CIA director. Gates had been a member of the Iraq Study Group, led by former Congressman Lee Hamilton and Jim Baker, which had counseled a withdrawal in light of their conclusion that “stability in Iraq remains elusive and the situation is deteriorating.”11 The President expressed confidence that despite those recommendations, Gates would hang tough on Iraq.12

  Bush did not appear to be considering a wholesale change in strategy. In fact, he discussed his efforts to bring General Abizaid to Washington to help coordinate the war effort from the White House. I told the President that my impression from Abizaid was that as a professional soldier he felt he would be uncomfortable with a position in the White House. With General Casey slated to leave his post in Iraq, the President was planning to nominate Casey to be chief of staff of the Army. He asked for my opinion on who might replace Abizaid and Casey. I again mentioned David Petraeus.13

  After twenty minutes, we stood up and shook hands.

  As the election returns came in later that evening, it became clear that November 7 would not be good for Republicans. Democrats won a sizable victory in the House and defeated incumbent Republicans in the United States Senate, putting Democrats in control of both houses. Representative Nancy Pelosi, a liberal representative from San Francisco, would become the first female Speaker of the House.

  With the midterm elections over, attention soon turned to the 2008 presidential election. Senators planning to seek the presidency, such as Hillary Clinton and Joe Biden, would use their new majority to hammer away at the administration and try to burnish their liberal credentials for the Democratic primary voters. John McCain, in turn, was going to serve as ranking member of the Armed Services Committee. Without mentioning the President by name, he had been opportunistically undermining the administration’s policies in his quest for the Republican nomination for the presidency. It seemed to be his way of separating himself from President Bush and burnishing his image as a maverick without directly taking him on.

  The day after the election, I stood with the President and Bob Gates in the Oval Office for the announcement of my resignation and Gates’ nomination. I wished my successor well. I couldn’t resist quoting Winston Churchill to the effect, “I have benefitted greatly from criticism and at no time have I suffered from a lack there of.”14 I thanked the President for giving me the opportunity to serve and for the privilege of working so closely with the men and women in uniform.

  There were many who sent well wishes over the next few days. Russia’s defense minister, Sergei Ivanov, telephoned. Referring to his wife, he joked, “Irina said this morning, ‘Don is a free man. I envy Joyce.’”15 Henry Kissinger called me at home. He was disappointed by my departure, saying, “The irony is you are being attacked for overruling the generals, and, the truth is, if anything you may have overruled them too little.”16 He may have been right.

  I appreciated the many kind comments I received. One of the more personal came from Congressman John Dingell, that, in a way, closed a loop on my public career. The Michigan Democrat was one of the first people I met when I had been elected to the U.S. House of Representatives back in 1962. We had played paddleball together in the House gymnasium and had been friends since, now more than forty years. “I look forward to shaking your hand and recalling the old days,” he said fondly.17 It was a nice memory for me of how the Congress had once been.*

  I promptly shifted from leading the Department of Defense to simply presiding over it, while Gates prepared for his confirmation hearings. I would be available if a crisis occurred, but I decided to remove myself from policy making to the extent possible so that the new secretary would have all of his options open when he arrived.

  On a bright Friday in December, with the sun pouring onto the Pentagon’s parade field and with the President and Vice President of the United States and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs beside me, I attended my second and, as I mused at the time, my last farewell ceremony as secretary of defense. My departure was not what Joyce and I had envisioned. I had planned on a smaller Department-only event. Then word came from the White House that the President and Vice President would be attending and speaking. I was pleased our three grown children had come in for the day to be there alongside Joyce and me. My family had been through it all with me and I had relied heavily on their unfailing support. Despite the ups and downs of public life, they never wavered.

  Cheney spoke at the ceremony, not only as the current vice president and a former secretary of defense, but also as a friend.19 Our time together in public service had started more than thirty-five years earlier and was now at an end. As I listened to his thoughtful words, I wished for a moment that more people could know Dick as Joyce and I did. There are facets of his personality that the public rarely, if ever, had a chance to see. Many years ago, our family took a trip with the Cheneys. One evening after a long day, one of the Cheney girls fell asleep in the living room and Dick gently lifted his child to carry her to bed. It was not an unusual gesture for a father, but it struck me then that his tenderness contrasted sharply with what most people, even his admirers, saw of Cheney. Few know the dedicated husband and father—not to mention friend—behind the calm and professional public servant.

  President Bush introduced me and offered generous remarks. “There has been more profound change at the Department of Defense over the past six years than at any time since the Department’s creation in the late 1940s.”20 Working to reorient a department of three million people had been grueling but invigorating work. I knew I would miss it. And I knew I would miss working alongside a commander in chief who not only had strong convictions but also the courage to stand by them under withering criticism.

  When it was my time to speak, I looked out on the sea of faces. It was a considerably larger crowd than I had expected—so many friends and colleagues in the Department with whom I’d worked so closely over so many years confronting such dangerous and difficult times for our country. It was an emotional moment. Those gathered there meant a great deal to me.

  I wanted my remarks to be about the future, not the past.21 I wanted to speak to the men and women in the Department of Defense who would continue the long, hard slog against a twisted and deadly ideology. I returned to a theme that had stuck with me throughtout my public career—during the days of Vietnam when I served in Congress, during the Cold War when I had served as ambassador to NATO and then as secretary of defense, during the time of the Lebanon crisis as Middle East envoy, and throughout the terror and challenges of 9/11 and wars in Afghanistan and Iraq: Weakness is provocative. I knew America must not lose the will and the heart to persevere in long and difficult struggles. I knew that a loss of will was the only way America could lose any struggle.

  “Today, it should be clear that not only is weakness provocative,” I cautioned, recalling what I had said to then President-elect Bush in 2000, “but the perception of weakness on our part can be provocative as well.”

  I noted, “A conclusion by our enemies that the United States lacks the will or the resolve to carry out missions that demand sacrifice and demand patience is every bit as dangerous as an imbalance of conventional military power.”22

  I told those gathered that the most inspiring moments of my tenure were my meetings with the troops, all volunteers. I had met tens of thou
sands of dedicated soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines deployed in the defense of our country, many of whom had enlisted after 9/11 just as my father had done after Pearl Harbor. Whenever Joyce and I met with wounded troops at Walter Reed Medical Center, Bethesda Naval Hospital, and in the field hospitals in Afghanistan and Iraq, I knew they had reason for regret, bitterness, or sadness. Instead, what I found time and again was that they were strong, upbeat and wanted to get well so they could return to their units. We remembered those who had fallen as well as those who survived their time on the battlefield but saw their lives changed forever. And I remembered my times with their families who I knew sacrificed as well. It was the highest honor of my life to have served with and known them.

  CHAPTER 50

  After Tides and Hurricanes

  “Never, never, never believe any war will be smooth and easy, or that anyone who embarks on the strange voyage can measure the tides and hurricanes he will encounter.”

  —Winston Churchill, My Early Life: A Roving Commission

  On December 30, 2006, fifteen days after I left the Department of Defense, the Iraqi government executed Saddam Hussein. As he approached the noose, the former strongman struggled for a moment with his guards before regaining his composure. He had kept the salt-and-pepper beard he had favored since his capture, but his hair was again jet black, as I remembered it from our meeting in 1983. The country he had ruled had once been one of the most advanced and hopeful Arab nations in the Middle East, even a potential American ally. As Saddam met the judgment of his people for crimes against humanity, I could not help but reflect on the tragic waste he had made of his country during his long years in power. After the thick rope was placed around his neck, the vanquished dictator said only a few words. The small door below his feet snapped open.