Occasionally, as in an egregious case of child marriage in Saudi Arabia, I was able to make some headway. I learned about an eight-year-old girl whose father forced her to marry a fifty-year-old man in exchange for about $13,000. Saudi courts rejected pleas from her mother to stop the marriage, and it did not look like the government was going to intervene. I knew that embarrassing governments with public condemnation can backfire, making them dig their heels in deeper. Instead of calling a press conference to condemn the practice and demand action, I looked for a way to persuade the Saudis to do the right thing and still save face. Quietly reaching out through diplomatic channels, I offered a simple but firm message: “Fix this on your own and I won’t say a word.” The Saudis appointed a new judge who quickly granted a divorce. It was a lesson I’ve learned all over the world: There’s a time to get on a soapbox—and I’ve been on quite a few—but sometimes the best way to achieve real change, in diplomacy and in life, is by building relationships and understanding how and when to use them.
I responded differently to the ban on women driving in Saudi Arabia. In May 2011, a Saudi woman activist posted a video online of her driving a car and was subsequently arrested and detained for nine days. In June, a few dozen women across Saudi Arabia took the wheel in protest. I spoke with Saudi Foreign Minister Prince Saud al-Faisal on the phone and raised my personal concern on the issue. In this case I also spoke out publicly, calling the women “brave,” expressing how moved I was by their actions. When another group of women again protested the ban on October 26, 2013, some opponents falsely pointed to the date—my birthday—as proof that the protests were organized outside Saudi Arabia. Unfortunately for the kingdom and its women, the ban continues.
When I traveled to Saudi Arabia in February 2010, I balanced my itinerary between security talks with the King and a visit to a women’s university in Jeddah. Both were memorable in their own way.
I was greeted at the airport in Riyadh, the capital, by Prince Saud al-Faisal, a seventy-year-old Princeton-educated royal who had served as the kingdom’s Foreign Minister since 1975. Like most Saudis I met, he alternated between wearing tailored bespoke suits and long flowing robes with a kaffiyeh headdress. I appreciated spending time with the Prince, who understood the forces, representing tradition and modernity, that were competing for ascendancy in the region.
King Abdullah, who was in his eighties, had invited me to visit him at his desert camp an hour outside of town, and in a first for me, he sent his personal luxury tour bus to pick us up. The bus was lavishly appointed, and the Prince and I sat across the aisle from each other in plush leather seats as we drove through the countryside. I noticed a number of encampments filled with camels. The Prince and I started a funny conversation about the popularity of the kingdom’s camel population, which seems to stem from both practical and sentimental reasons. He discussed the long history nomads had with their camels but told me that he personally didn’t like them. I was surprised—imagine an Australian hating koala bears or a Chinese loathing pandas—but then I haven’t had to spend too much time around camels myself, and I’ve heard they can be ornery.
Soon we arrived at what had been described to us as a desert “camp,” but which turned out to be a massive air-conditioned tent pitched over a palace with marble floors and gilded bathrooms, surrounded by trailers and helicopters. The dignified monarch in long black robes was waiting for us. Contrary to some of my American colleagues, who like to get right down to business, I usually start my side of an official conversation with small talk as a signal of my respect and friendship. So I continued with the camel theme. “I want you to know, Your Majesty, that His Highness thinks camels are ugly,” I said, gesturing to Prince Saud. The King smiled. “I think His Highness was not being fair to camels,” he said. The King, the Prince, and I bantered for a while, and then he invited our entire traveling party, consisting of nearly forty people including the press corps, to join him for an elaborate lunch. He walked me down what seemed like an endless buffet table, with two stewards trailing behind with our trays. There were dozens of dishes, ranging from local favorites like lamb and rice to lobster and paella. The journalists and staff, for whom meals on the road are often catch-as-catch-can, looked like they’d died and gone to foodie heaven. Waiters hovered nearby, ready to refill our plates. I sat next to the King at the head of a long U-shaped table with a giant flat-screen television in the middle of the hollow space prominently positioned so the King could watch soccer and off-road racing while he ate. He turned the volume up very loud so that no one else in the crowded room could hear what we discussed. I leaned in and we began to talk.
We spent four hours together that afternoon, delving into the region’s challenges, from Iran to Iraq to the Israelis and Palestinians. The King spoke forcefully about the need to prevent Iran from acquiring a nuclear weapon and urged us to take a harder line with Tehran. He expressed his hope that more Saudi students would be allowed to study in the United States, which had become more difficult since 9/11. It was a productive meeting, and it signaled that our partnership was on firm footing. The differences between our cultures, values, and political systems are vast, but working together where possible advances America’s interests.
The next day I got a firsthand reminder of how complicated this all is. Huma’s mother, Dr. Saleha Abedin, is vice dean at Dar Al-Hekma, a women’s university in Jeddah, where I had arranged to hold a town hall discussion with the students. As I walked into the auditorium, I saw the crowd of young women, all with their hair covered under hijabs and a few with their faces covered as well.
In Arabic, Dar Al-Hekma means “The House of Wisdom,” and I talked to the students about how much wisdom there is in making sure that girls as well as boys have access to education. I quoted the Egyptian poet Hafez Ibrahim, who wrote, “A mother is a school. Empower her and you empower a great nation,” and I talked about my own experiences with all-women’s education at Wellesley. The students peppered me with probing questions about everything from Iran’s nuclear ambitions to the plight of the Palestinians and the prospects for health care reform in America. One of them asked me what I thought of Sarah Palin and if I’d move to Canada if she ever became President. (No, I said, I would not flee.) These women might have limited opportunities to participate publicly in their ultraconservative society, but there was nothing limited about their intelligence, energy, and curiosity.
Throughout the entire event, one of the female security officers, who was covered head to toe in black with two tiny slits for her eyes, kept vigilant watch on all the Americans. She was not going to let any of the male staff or journalists get anywhere near these students. As I was wrapping up onstage, she approached Huma and whispered to her in Arabic, “I would love to have a picture with her.” When I finished, Huma pulled me aside and pointed to this shrouded woman. “Should we go to a private room to do it?” I asked, out of respect for her modesty. She nodded, and we ducked into a small office. Then, just as we were about to take the photo, the woman pulled off her veil, revealing a huge smile. The camera snapped, and the veil came back down. Welcome to Saudi Arabia.
Almost exactly a year later the delicate balance of our relationships in the Gulf threatened to unravel. The wave of popular protests that started in Tunisia and crashed into Egypt did not stop there. The call for political reform and economic opportunity spread across the entire Middle East. No country was untouched. Yemen was almost torn apart, and President Saleh eventually was forced to leave office. Libya descended into civil war. The governments in Jordan and Morocco made cautious but real reforms. In Saudi Arabia the Royal Family opened their deep pockets in an attempt to placate citizens with more generous social welfare programs.
Bahrain, as the home base for the U.S. Navy in the Persian Gulf, was an exceptionally complicated case for us. In this least wealthy of the Gulf monarchies, demonstrations took on a sectarian cast, with the majority Shiites protesting against their Sunni rulers. In mid-February 2011, crowds
demanding democratic reforms and equality for all Bahrainis, regardless of sect, gathered at a major traffic intersection in central Manama called the Pearl Roundabout. Events in Tunisia and Egypt left security forces across the region on edge, and a few early incidents of excessive force in Manama brought more angry citizens into the streets.
Around 3 A.M. on Thursday, February 17, a handful of protesters camped out in the Pearl Roundabout were killed in a police raid, sparking widespread outrage. But the Sunni leaders in Bahrain and in neighboring Gulf countries did not see the largely Shiite protests as a popular outpouring for democracy; they saw the hidden hand of Iran. They worried that their large adversary across the water was fomenting unrest in order to weaken their governments and improve its own strategic position. Given Iran’s track record, this was not an unreasonable fear. But it clouded their perception of the legitimate grievances of their people and hastened the use of force.
I got on the phone with the Bahraini Foreign Minister Sheikh Khalid bin Ahmed al Khalifa to express my concern about the violence and the possibility of events spiraling out of control. The next day would be crucial, and I hoped his government would take steps to avoid further violence around the funerals and Friday prayer services, which had become times of mobilization across the region. Responding to peaceful protests with force was a recipe for more trouble. “This is a misreading of the world we are in, which is becoming a much more complicated environment,” I said. “I want you to hear it from me. We do not want any violence that allows outside interference in your internal affairs. In order to avoid this, there has to be effort at genuine consultations.” We both knew that “outside interference” was code for Iran. My point was that excessive force could lead to instability that Iran would be able to exploit, which was the very thing his government was trying to avoid.
The Foreign Minister sounded worried, and his answers only heightened my concern. He said that the police action had not been planned, blamed the protesters for starting the violence, and promised that his government was committed to dialogue and reform. “These deaths were catastrophic,” he said. “We are at the brink of a sectarian abyss.” That was a chilling phrase. I told him that I was sending Jeff Feltman to Bahrain immediately. “We will come with suggestions, trying to be helpful and productive during this difficult time. I’m not saying there is an easy answer. Your situation is particularly challenging because of the sectarian situation you face. I have no doubt you have a big neighbor interested in this matter in a way other countries do not.”
Spurred to action by fears of growing violence and encouraged by Jeff, who spent a lot of time on the ground in Manama over the following weeks, the Bahraini Crown Prince tried to organize a national dialogue to address some of the concerns of the protesters and ease the tensions gripping the country. The Crown Prince was a moderate who understood the need for reform and was the ruling family’s best chance to reconcile the competing factions in the country. Behind the scenes Jeff was working to broker an understanding between the Royal Family and the more moderate leaders of the Shiite opposition. But the protests kept growing, and by March, protesters were calling for an end to the monarchy altogether. Clashes with police were getting bigger and more violent. It seemed as if the government was losing control, and conservative members of the Bahraini ruling family were putting pressure on the Crown Prince to abandon his mediation efforts.
On Sunday, March 13, our defense attaché at the embassy in Riyadh reported unusual troop movements in Saudi Arabia that might be heading toward Bahrain. Jeff called the UAE Foreign Minister Sheikh Abdullah bin Zayed Al-Nahyan, or AbZ, as he was often referred to, who confirmed that a military intervention was about to be launched. Bahrain’s government was going to invite its neighbors in to help provide security. They had not seen the need to inform the United States, as they did not intend to ask our permission or entertain any entreaties to stop. The next day thousands of Saudi troops crossed the border into Bahrain with some 150 armored vehicles. About five hundred police from the UAE followed.
I was concerned about this escalation and worried about a bloodbath if Saudi tanks started rolling through the barricaded streets of Manama. And the timing could not have been worse. At that very moment we were deep into diplomatic negotiations to build an international coalition to protect Libyan civilians from an impending massacre by Colonel Muammar Qaddafi, and we were counting on the UAE and other Gulf nations to play key roles. The Arab League had voted on March 12 to request that the UN Security Council impose a no-fly zone in Libya, and their active participation in any military operation would provide legitimacy in the region. Otherwise the international community might not be able to act. After Iraq and Afghanistan, we weren’t going to risk looking like we’d launched another Western intervention in a Muslim country.
I was in Paris for meetings on Libya, as was AbZ, so we arranged to meet at my hotel. On the way in, he was asked by a reporter about the situation in Bahrain. “The Bahrain Government asked us yesterday to look at ways to help them to defuse the tension,” he said. I was worried exactly the opposite was about to happen. The next day the King of Bahrain declared a state of emergency. I spoke with the Saudi Foreign Minister and urged him to hold off using force to clear the protesters. Just give Jeff a little more time to make negotiations work, I said. Even twenty-four hours might make a difference. We were close to a deal with the major Shiite political party to pull back from the key areas of the city in exchange for the government affirming the right to peaceful protest and starting a good-faith dialogue. Saud al-Faisal was implacable. The protesters needed to go home and let normal life resume, he said. Only then could we talk about a deal. He blamed Iran for stirring up trouble and supporting radicals. It was time to end the crisis and return stability to the Gulf, he said.
Early on March 16, security forces moved in to clear the Pearl Roundabout. Riot police supported by tanks and helicopters clashed with protesters and used tear gas to evict them from their makeshift camp. Five people were killed. The arrival of the Saudi troops and this new crackdown further inflamed Shiite opinion across the country. Under pressure from hard-liners in both camps, the negotiations between the opposition and the Crown Prince collapsed.
I was in Cairo meeting with the Egyptian transitional authorities and was dismayed by the reports coming in from Bahrain. In an interview with the BBC, I spoke candidly about my concerns. “The situation in Bahrain is alarming,” I said. “We have called on our friends in the Gulf—four of whom are assisting the Bahrain security efforts—to force through a political solution, not a security standoff.”
“So what leverage do you still have on countries like Bahrain and Saudi Arabia?” the BBC’s Kim Ghattas asked. “They’re your allies. You train their armies. You supply them with weapons. And yet when the Saudis decided to send troops into Bahrain—and I believe Washington made clear it wasn’t pleased about that—they said, ‘Don’t interfere. This is an internal GCC matter.’ ” It was true, and it was frustrating.
“Well, they are on notice as to what we think,” I replied. “And we will intend to make that very clear publicly and privately, and we will do everything we can to try to move this off the wrong track, which we believe is going to undermine long-term progress in Bahrain, to the right track, which is the political and economic track.”
Those might sound like reasonable words—and they were—but they were more pointed than how we usually speak in public about the Gulf countries. My message was heard loud and clear in the Gulf. In Riyadh and Abu Dhabi, our partners were angry and offended.
On March 19, I was back in Paris putting the final touches on the Libya coalition. With Qaddafi’s forces closing in on the rebel stronghold of Benghazi, UN-backed air operations were imminent. I spoke once again with AbZ and emphasized that America remained committed to our partnership, as I did personally. There was a long silence on the phone and the line went dead. Had things gotten that bad, I wondered? Then we were reconnected. “Did you hear
me?” I asked. “I was listening!” he responded. “Good, I was talking and talking and then there was a long silence, and I thought, what have I done here?” He laughed. But then he got serious again and delivered a sharp blow. “Frankly, when we have a situation with our armed forces in Bahrain, it’s hard to participate in another operation if our armed forces’ commitment to Bahrain is questioned by our main ally,” he said. In other words, forget about Arab participation in the Libya mission.
This was turning into a disaster. I had to fix it, fast. But how? There were no good options here. Our values and conscience demanded that the United States condemn the violence against civilians we were seeing in Bahrain, full stop. After all, that was the very principle at play in Libya. But if we persisted, the carefully constructed international coalition to stop Qaddafi could collapse at the eleventh hour, and we might fail to prevent a much larger abuse—a full-fledged massacre.
I told AbZ that I wanted to reach a constructive understanding. He asked if we could meet in person. “I am hearing you now, and we want a way out. And you know we are keen to take part in Libya,” he said. A few hours later, just after 6 P.M. in Paris, I sat down with him and told him that I could craft a statement that would stay true to our values without being insulting to them. I hoped that would be enough to convince the Emiratis to rejoin the mission in Libya. If not, we were prepared to go forward without them.
That evening I held a press conference at the stately home of the U.S. Ambassador in Paris. I spoke about Libya and stressed that Arab leadership in the air campaign was crucial. Then I turned to Bahrain. “Our goal is a credible political process that can address the legitimate aspirations of all the people of Bahrain, starting with the Crown Prince’s dialogue, which all parties should join.” Bahrain had the right to invite in forces from neighboring countries, I added, and we welcomed word from the Gulf countries that they would provide a major aid package for economic and social development. “We have made clear that security alone cannot resolve the challenges facing Bahrain,” I continued. “Violence is not and cannot be the answer. A political process is. We have raised our concerns about the current measures directly with Bahraini officials and will continue to do so.”
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