Hard Choices

by Hillary Rodham Clinton

  Still, we needed Karzai, so I worked hard to connect with him. We related well on a personal and political level. And as with many other world leaders, respect and personal courtesy went a long way with Karzai. Whenever he came to Washington, I tried to find ways to make him feel like the honored guest he was. It was in those settings that he was most productive as a partner. One day we went for a walk in the rose garden at the Dumbarton Oaks estate in Georgetown, then sat down for tea in their conservatory. He talked more frankly than usual about the challenges back home, particularly the continuing threats coming from safe havens in Pakistan. In return for my gestures in Washington, he went out of his way to be hospitable during my visits to Kabul, including introducing me to his wife in their family’s private quarters.

  In August 2009, Karzai ran for reelection in a vote that international monitors found to be plagued with fraud. The UN called for a runoff between Karzai and his closest competitor, Abdullah Abdullah, but Karzai refused to allow it. He was angry at what he saw as foreign interference in the election (he was sure Holbrooke was scheming to oust him) and desperate not to lose his power. His pride was hurt that he hadn’t been declared the victor after the first vote. By October the impasse was threatening to derail international support for his government and squander what little credibility it had with the Afghan people.

  “Think about the historical consequences both for yourself, as the first democratically elected leader, and for your country,” I implored over the phone, trying to broker a compromise that would preserve stability for the country and legitimacy for the regime in Kabul. “You have an opportunity to emerge with a stronger government under your leadership, but that rests on the choices that you make going forward.”

  Karzai dug in his heels. He was defensive about the allegations of widespread fraud in the election. “How can we tell the population that their vote was fraudulent?” he asked. After all, they had braved Taliban intimidation to participate in the election. “People’s fingers and noses were cut off, people were shot, young women made sacrifices, your troops made sacrifices—to call all of that wrong and invalidated is a frightening scenario.” Karzai was right about the extraordinary sacrifices Afghans had made, but wrong about how to honor them.

  Over the next few days we debated back and forth. I explained to Karzai that if he accepted the runoff vote, which he would most likely win, he would gain the moral high ground and bolster his credibility with both the international community and his own citizens. I was glad that Senator John Kerry, the chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee, was planning on visiting Kabul. He would be a valuable ally on the ground, helping me convince Karzai to move forward with a second round of voting. With Kerry in the room and with me on the phone from my office at the State Department, we tag-teamed him using our own experiences to make the case. “I’ve run for office and so has my husband,” I reminded Karzai. “I know what it’s like to win and lose. Just like Senator Kerry does. We know how difficult these decisions can be.”

  I felt we were making progress, so when it was time for Kerry to return to Washington for Senate business, I asked him to stay in Kabul a little longer. He asked that I call Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid to request that no votes be held until he returned. When I reached Reid, he agreed to a one-day grace period but said he needed Kerry back quickly.

  Finally, after four days of pressure, Karzai relented. He would accept the findings of the UN monitors and allow a second vote to be held in early November. In the end Abdullah wound up dropping out and Karzai was declared the winner. It wasn’t pretty, but at least we avoided a fatal blow to Karzai’s overall legitimacy, the likely collapse of his government, and grave doubts about democracy from many Afghans.

  In mid-November I attended Karzai’s inauguration in Kabul. The city was under exceptionally tight security as leaders from around the world gathered. Over a long dinner at the Presidential Palace on the eve of the ceremony, I pressed Karzai on several points. First, I stressed that it was time to start talking seriously about how to transition responsibility for security from the U.S.-led international Coalition to the Afghan National Army. Nobody expected this would happen overnight, but President Obama wanted assurances that the United States was not making an open-ended commitment.

  I also talked with Karzai about the potential for a political settlement that might one day bring the fighting to an end. Could negotiations or incentives ever convince enough members of the Taliban to put down their guns and accept the new Afghanistan? Or were we dealing with a group of implacable extremists and dead-enders who would never compromise or reconcile? The obstacles to this kind of peace process appeared nearly insurmountable. But, I reminded Karzai, nobody was going to walk through the door if it wasn’t open. Karzai was always willing to pursue negotiations with the Taliban on his own terms. One of our problems with him was that he didn’t see the Taliban as his primary opponent in the war. He believed Pakistan was. He was even reluctant to visit his own forces, who were fighting the Taliban, in the field. He thought both Afghanistan and Coalition forces should direct the lion’s share of their efforts against Pakistan, while he negotiated with his fellow Pashtuns in the Taliban. Unfortunately for him the Taliban did not want to reciprocate. U.S. troops and diplomats would have to lay the groundwork and then bring the parties together. In the meantime Karzai flirted with anyone who claimed to represent the Taliban.

  Finally I made it clear that, after the election controversy, it was essential that he demonstrate more willingness to crack down on corruption. It was endemic in Afghanistan, sapping resources, fueling a culture of lawlessness, and alienating the Afghan people. Karzai needed a plan to go after the low-level “everyday corruption” of bribery that is a part of Afghan life and the pernicious corruption of senior officials who regularly diverted massive resources from international aid and development projects to line their own pockets. The worst example was the looting of the Kabul Bank. We didn’t need Afghanistan to become a “shining city on a hill,” but reducing large-scale theft and extortion was vital to the war effort.

  The next day Karzai strode proudly down a red carpet flanked by an honor guard in dress uniform. If you saw only those soldiers, with their crisp white gloves and shiny boots, you would not have known that the fledgling Afghan National Army was still far from ready to lead the fight against the Taliban on its own. On that day, at least, they appeared confident and in command.

  So did Karzai. As usual, he cut a dramatic figure, with his distinctive cape and jaunty hat. I was one of the few women present, and Karzai led me around to meet the Pashtun leaders from, as he said, both sides of the nonrecognized border between Afghanistan and Pakistan. Pashtuns are among the most strikingly attractive people in the world. Their sharp-featured faces and piercing, often blue eyes are set off by elaborate turbans. These are the people from whom Karzai came, and he never forgot that.

  Karzai delivered his inaugural address inside the palace, flanked by Afghan flags and surrounded by a huge bed of red and white flowers. He said nearly all the right things. There was a robust pledge to take on corruption. He announced a new measure we had discussed to require government officials to register their assets so that money and influence could be more easily tracked. He also outlined steps to improve delivery of basic services, strengthen the justice system, and expand educational and economic opportunities. To the insurgents, he made this offer: “We welcome and will provide necessary help to all disenchanted compatriots who are willing to return to their homes, live peacefully and accept the Constitution,” with a caveat that excluded al Qaeda and fighters directly linked to international terrorism. To show he was serious, he pledged to convene another loya jirga to discuss launching a peace and reconciliation process.

  Most important of all, Karzai committed to speed efforts to stand up a capable and effective Afghan national security force that would be able to replace American and international troops over time. “We are determined that by the next five years, t
he Afghan forces are capable of taking the lead in ensuring security and stability across the country,” he said. That was what President Obama had been waiting to hear.

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  On November 23, I met with President Obama, first in a midday Cabinet meeting, then in a late-afternoon huddle in the Oval Office with Vice President Biden, and finally in a nighttime National Security Council session in the White House Situation Room. It was the culmination of months of debate.

  I updated the President on my trip to Kabul, including my discussions with Karzai. Then I laid out my thinking, beginning with the premise that we could not abandon Afghanistan. The United States had tried that in 1989, after the Soviets withdrew, and we paid a grievous price for allowing the country to become a safe haven for terrorists. Nor was the status quo acceptable. American troops were dying, and the government in Kabul was losing ground every day. Something had to change.

  I supported the military’s proposed troop increase, combined with a civilian surge and diplomatic efforts inside both Afghanistan and the region, to bring the conflict to an end. I believed more military forces were crucial to create space for a transition process to Afghan responsibility, to provide stability and security to help build up and strengthen the government, and to ensure leverage to pursue a diplomatic resolution.

  I shared the President’s reluctance about an open-ended commitment without any conditions and expectations. That’s why I pressed Karzai so hard to offer a vision in his inaugural address for a transition to Afghan responsibility for security. Planning for that transition, and getting the buy-in of the international community, would have to be a priority going forward.

  The President listened carefully to all the arguments presented by those of us sitting around the table. It was getting late, and he was still not ready to make a final decision. But in a few days, after a final review of the military options with Gates and Mullen, he would be.

  President Obama decided to announce his new policy in a speech at West Point. After calling foreign leaders and briefing members of Congress, I joined him on Marine One for the short helicopter ride to Andrews Air Force Base, where we boarded Air Force One to New York’s Stewart International Airport. Then we were back on another Marine One to West Point. As a rule, I am not fond of helicopters. They’re loud and cramped and defy gravity only with fierce and jarring effort. But Marine One is different. The cabin of the iconic green and white Presidential helicopter feels more like a small plane, with white leather seats, blue curtains, and space for a dozen passengers. It’s as quiet as riding in a car. Lifting off from the South Lawn of the White House, banking out over the National Mall, passing so close to the Washington Monument that it seems as if you could reach out and touch the marble—it’s a unique experience.

  On this ride I sat next to Gates and Mullen, facing Jones and the President, who read over the speech draft one more time. This was a President who had been elected in part because of his opposition to the war in Iraq and his pledge to end it. Now he was about to explain to the American people why he was escalating our involvement in another war in a far-off country. It had been a difficult deliberation, but I believed that the President had made the right choice.

  When we arrived at West Point, I took my seat next to Secretary Gates in the Eisenhower Hall Theatre in front of a sea of gray-coated cadets. On Gates’s right was General Eric Shinseki, the Secretary of Veterans Affairs. As Army Chief of Staff in 2003 he had presciently warned the Bush Administration that many more troops would be needed to secure Iraq after an invasion than were being budgeted for. As a result of his honesty, Shinseki was criticized, sidelined, and ultimately retired. Now here we were, nearly seven years later, once again debating how many troops were really needed to achieve our goals.

  The President began by reminding the audience why the United States was in Afghanistan. “We did not ask for this fight,” he said. But when al Qaeda attacked America on September 11, 2001—an attack planned under the protection of the Taliban in Afghanistan—war was thrust on us. He then explained how the war in Iraq had sapped resources and attention from the effort in Afghanistan. When President Obama took office, there were just over thirty-two thousand American troops in Afghanistan, compared to 160,000 in Iraq at the peak of the war. “Afghanistan is not lost, but for several years it has moved backwards,” he said. “The Taliban has gained momentum.” He reaffirmed our more focused mission in Afghanistan: to disrupt, dismantle, and defeat al Qaeda in Afghanistan and Pakistan and to prevent its capacity to threaten America and our allies in the future. Then he explained that he would send an additional thirty thousand U.S. troops to carry it out, along with additional contributions from our allies. “After eighteen months, our troops will begin to come home,” he said.

  This was a starker deadline than I had hoped for, and I worried that it might send the wrong signal to friend and foe alike. Although I strongly believed in the need for a time-bound surge and a speedy transition, I thought there was benefit in playing our cards closer to our chests. However, with the pace of withdrawal unspecified, there was enough flexibility to get the job done.

  The President emphasized the importance of spurring economic development in Afghanistan and reducing corruption, directing us to focus our assistance in areas, such as agriculture, that could make an immediate impact in the lives of the Afghan people, and to put in place new standards for accountability and transparency.

  Deputy Secretary Jack Lew was in charge of marshaling the staff and funds for our “civilian surge.” Holbrooke and his team, along with our embassy in Kabul, mapped out its priorities: giving Afghans a stake in their country’s future and providing credible alternatives to extremism and insurgency. Over the next year we would triple the number of diplomats and development experts and other civilian specialists on the ground in Afghanistan, expanding our presence out in the field nearly sixfold. By the time I left State, the Afghans had made progress. Economic growth was up and opium production was down. Infant mortality declined by 22 percent. Under the Taliban only 900,000 boys and no girls had been enrolled in schools. By 2010, 7.1 million students were enrolled, and nearly 40 percent of them were girls. Afghan women received more than 100,000 small personal loans that allowed them to start businesses and enter the formal economy. Hundreds of thousands of farmers were trained and equipped with new seeds and techniques.

  That day at West Point, I was under no illusions about how difficult it would be to turn around this war. But, all things considered, I believed that the President had made the right choice and put us in the best possible position to succeed. Still, the challenges ahead were enormous. I looked around at the cadets filling every seat in the cavernous theater. They were sitting in rapt attention as their Commander in Chief spoke about a war many of them would soon find themselves fighting. These were young faces, full of promise and purpose, preparing to face a dangerous world in the hope of making America safer. I hoped we were doing right by them. When the President finished his remarks, he stepped into the crowd to shake hands, and the cadets surged around him.

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  Afghanistan: To End a War

  Richard Holbrooke was, at heart, a negotiator. In the 1990s, as he described in his fascinating book, To End a War, he bullied, threatened, cajoled, and drank whiskey with Slobodan Milošević—whatever it took to force the Serbian dictator into a smaller and smaller corner until he finally gave in. On one difficult day during the peace talks hosted by the United States in Dayton, Ohio, when Milošević was refusing to give an inch, Richard walked him through a hangar at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base full of warplanes, providing a visual reminder of American military power. The message was clear: Compromise or face the consequences. The whole effort was a dazzling display of diplomatic skill, and a war that had appeared hopelessly intractable ended.

  Richard longed to do for Afghanistan what he had done for the Balkans: reconcile the parties and ne
gotiate a peaceful end to the conflict. He was aware how difficult that would be; he confided to his friends that this was the toughest assignment in a career full of “Mission: Impossible” moments. But as he told me from the start, he was convinced that it was worth trying to create the conditions for a peace process. If the Taliban could be persuaded or pressured to drop their ties with al Qaeda and reconcile with the government in Kabul, then peace would be possible and U.S. troops could safely come home. At the end of the day, despite all the influence and involvement of Pakistan, the United States, and others, this was not a war between nations; it was a war among Afghans to determine the future of their country. And as Richard once observed, “In every war of this sort, there is always a window for people who want to come in from the cold.”

  History tells us that insurgencies rarely end with a surrender ceremony on the deck of a battleship. Instead they tend to run out of steam thanks to persistent diplomacy, steady improvements in quality of life for people on the ground, and unyielding perseverance by those who want peace.

  In my early conversations with Holbrooke about the possibilities of a political resolution to the conflict, we discussed two ways of approaching the problem: bottom up or top down. The former was more straightforward. There was good reason to believe that many low-level Taliban fighters were not particularly ideological. They were farmers or villagers who joined the insurgency because it offered a steady income and respect in a country wracked by poverty and corruption. If they were offered amnesty and other incentives, some of these fighters might willingly come off the battlefield and reintegrate into civilian life, especially if they grew weary of absorbing increasing American military pressure. If significant numbers could be persuaded to do so, that would leave mostly the hardcore extremists to sustain the insurgency—a much more manageable challenge for the government in Kabul.