Hard Choices

by Hillary Rodham Clinton

  Amazingly Stark was found by friendly Libyan rebels from Benghazi, who called a local English teacher to come and talk to him. It turned out the teacher, Bubaker Habib, had close ties to the staff of the U.S. Embassy. Our staff had all left the country, but Bubaker kept their numbers and was able to reach the State Department Operations Center. Over the course of a call with Ops, with State relaying information to the Pentagon, Stark’s rescue was arranged. In the meantime Bubaker drove him to a hotel in Benghazi, where he was treated by doctors for torn tendons in his knee and ankle. Bubaker later told Vanity Fair that he instructed the rebels, “We have an American pilot here. If he gets caught or killed it’s the end of the mission. Make sure he is safe and sound.” The Libyans thanked Stark profusely, expressing their gratitude for the U.S. intervention that was protecting them from Qaddafi’s troops.

  In Washington all of us let out a huge sigh of relief. At the same time, I was beginning to see the contours of a possible compromise that might break the deadlock among our allies. If Turkey agreed not to veto action to enforce the no-drive zone—it didn’t have to participate, just abstain from blocking it—then we could convince France to give NATO full command and control.

  NATO Secretary-General Anders Fogh Rasmussen reported to me that he had spoken to the Turks and had heard that the Arabs would not object to participating in a NATO-led mission, which was one of Sarkozy’s big concerns. As it turns out, AbZ happened to be in Davutoğlu’s office in Ankara when Rasmussen called. Davutoğlu handed the phone over to the Emirati and let him express his consent directly. Word from Qatar and the Arab League was also positive. “Did you share that with France?” I asked Rasmussen. He replied, “Their response was that it’s one thing what the Arabs say in private and another thing what they do publicly.” I said I would talk with Davutoğlu myself and see if we could get the Arabs to go on the record with their support.

  When I reached Davutoğlu, I stressed that the United States agreed that NATO should now take over command and control. “We want the handover to be as smooth as possible. We need a unified command in a single theater of operations. We need to ensure all aspects including the civilian protection mission are integrated.” That meant having both the no-fly zone and the no-drive zone. Davutoğlu agreed. “There should be one command and control and it should be under NATO,” he said. “It’s important for the people of Libya. If there is a UN umbrella and under that NATO is doing the operation no one will see this as crusaders or East versus West.”

  I also called French Foreign Minister, Alain Juppé. “I think we are ready to accept the compromise under certain conditions,” he told me. If NATO was going to run the military operation, France wanted to set up a separate diplomatic committee made up of all the nations contributing forces, including the Arabs, to provide policy guidance. It was a modest gesture, I thought, and one we should be able to accommodate.

  To seal the deal, I convened a conference call with the French, Turks, and British. “I believe we have an understanding among us. But I just want to be sure. It’s crucial we’re all on the same page on NATO’s responsibility to enforce the no-fly zone and protect civilians in Libya.” Then I carefully walked through the compromise. By the end of the call, we were all in agreement. “Bravo!” exclaimed Juppé as we hung up.

  Soon NATO assumed formal command and control of what became known as Operation Unified Protector. The United States continued to provide vital intelligence and surveillance information that helped guide the air strikes, as well as midair refueling that allowed allied aircraft to stay in the skies over Libya for long stretches of time. But the vast majority of combat sorties would be flown by others.

  The military campaign in Libya lasted longer than any of us had hoped or expected, although we never went down the slippery slope of putting troops on the ground, as some had feared. At times the coalition frayed and there was a fair amount of hand-holding and arm-twisting needed to keep all our partners on board. But by late summer 2011, the rebels had pushed back the regime’s forces. They captured Tripoli toward the end of August, and Qaddafi and his family fled into the desert. The revolution had succeeded, and the hard work of building a new country could begin.

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  In mid-October, with Tripoli liberated but Qaddafi still on the loose, I decided to visit Libya myself to offer America’s support to the new transitional government. With the country awash in shoulder-fired surface-to-air missiles, it was too dangerous to fly our usual blue-and-white 757 with “The United States of America” emblazoned from tip to tail, so the Air Force provided a C-17 military transport plane equipped with defensive countermeasures for the morning flight from Malta to Tripoli.

  Just before we took off, a photographer for Time magazine, Diana Walker, saw me checking my BlackBerry and snapped a quick shot. Her photo, to everyone’s surprise, became an internet sensation many months later and the basis for a “meme” known as “Texts from Hillary.” The idea was simple: an internet user would pair the photo of me holding my phone with a picture of another famous person holding a phone and add funny captions to narrate the texts we supposedly sent back and forth. The first one posted showed President Obama lounging on a couch, with the caption “Hey Hil, Watchu doing?” The imagined response from me: “Running the world.” Eventually I decided to get in on the fun myself. I submitted my own version full of internet slang: “ROFL @ ur tumblr! g2g—scrunchie time. ttyl?” That roughly translated to “Love your site.” I also invited the creators of Texts from Hillary, two young PR professionals in Washington named Adam Smith and Stacy Lambe, to visit me at the State Department. We posed for a photograph of all three of us checking our phones at the same time.

  At the time Walker took that photo, however, fun was the furthest thing from my mind. I was preparing for what promised to be a grueling day in a war-torn capital with a new government that had little hold on power and even less experience running a country.

  After landing safely, the door of the C-17 opened and I looked out from the top of the plane’s stairs and saw a crowd of armed and bearded militia fighters waiting below. They were from Zintan, a battle-scarred town in Libya’s mountainous northwest that had been one of the major flash points of the revolution. Under the uneasy power-sharing arrangement between the various militias now in control of Tripoli, the Zintan brigade had responsibility for the airport. My security detail was as nervous as I had ever seen them. I took a deep breath and started to walk down the stairs. To my surprise the militia fighters started chanting, “God is Great!” and “USA!” They waved and cheered and held up their hands in the “V for victory” sign. Soon I was mobbed by these exuberant and exultant men from the mountains. Several handed their automatic rifles to comrades to hold while they squeezed next to me for a picture; others patted my back or shook my hand. Kurt Olsson, the head of my security detail, remained unflappable, but I imagine he came away with a few new gray hairs.

  The men took their guns and piled into SUVs and pickup trucks mounted with heavy weapons and escorted my motorcade through the city, aggressively boxing out other traffic and waving excitedly whenever they were alongside my car. The streets of Tripoli were covered with revolutionary graffiti, some lampooning Qaddafi and others celebrating rebel slogans and victories. Soon we arrived at the offices of a large Islamic charity that the new government was using as its makeshift headquarters.

  After meeting with the Chairman of the National Transitional Council of Libya, Mustafa Abdul Jalil, I made my way to the office of Jibril, the rebel leader I had met in Paris who was now the interim Prime Minister. He greeted me with a broad smile, and I said, “I am proud to stand here on the soil of a free Libya.”

  In meetings with Jalil and Jibril we discussed the many challenges facing the new government. At the top of their list was the continuing threat from Qaddafi and his loyalists. I assured them that NATO would continue its mission to protect Libyan civilians until the former dictator was found and fully defeated
. Then I raised another concern.

  Any government’s first responsibility is to provide security and ensure law and order. This was going to be a big challenge in Libya. Unlike in Egypt, where the military and security forces had remained largely intact after the fall of Mubarak, in Libya there was now a major vacuum. And, as friendly and high-spirited as the militia fighters from Zintan had been, the presence of so many independent armed groups in Tripoli and across the country was not sustainable. It was crucial to bring all the militias together in a single army under the control of civilian authorities, establish the rule of law, prevent score-settling and vigilante justice, and round up the loose weapons now flooding the country. The United States was prepared to help the new government in all these areas, but it was going to take leadership from them to make it work. Jibril and the others nodded in agreement and pledged to make it a priority.

  After our meetings I sped off to a town hall discussion with students and civil society activists at Tripoli University. Qaddafi had done all that he could to discourage the emergence of volunteer groups, NGOs, independent media, and government watchdogs that make up civil society. I hoped they were willing and able to play a positive role in Libya’s next phase. History had shown that it was one thing to remove a tyrant and quite another to build a new government that delivers for its people. Democracy would face serious challenges in Libya. Would the country’s future be shaped by the arms of its militias or the aspirations of its people?

  One after another, the students and activists stood up and asked thoughtful and practical questions about how to build a new democracy. “We have no political parties,” observed one young woman studying to become an engineer. She asked how Libyans should “encourage our people to involve more in the political life, considering that we have elections in a matter of two years or less and we have to elect our parliaments and our president.” Another young woman, a medical student, stood up. “We are very new to this democracy,” she began. “What steps do you think we can take to root the freedom of speech into the Libyan identity?” These young people desperately wanted to live in a “normal country,” with access to the global economy and all the rights they knew people in America and around the world had enjoyed for so long. And, in contrast to some of the young people I had met next door in Egypt, they were eager to put aside their differences, learn lessons from the outside, and get involved in the political process. Free Libya had a long way to go—they were starting basically from scratch—but these young people impressed me with their thoughtfulness and determination to build it.

  Before leaving Tripoli I stopped by a local hospital to visit with civilians and fighters wounded in the revolution against Qaddafi. I talked with young men who had lost limbs and doctors and nurses overwhelmed by the casualties they had seen. I promised that the United States would provide medical support and even fly some of the most challenging cases to hospitals in America.

  My final visit was to the compound of our Ambassador to Libya, Gene Cretz, which had been turned into a makeshift embassy. During the revolution, regime thugs had ransacked and burned our actual embassy (all U.S. personnel had already evacuated), so now our returned diplomatic staff was camped out in Gene’s living room. I marveled at the toughness and resolve of these brave American diplomats. We heard gunshots in the distance, and I wondered whether it was fighting or celebration. The embassy staff seemed quite used to it by now. As I shook each of their hands, I thanked them for all their incredible work and sacrifices.

  Leaving Tripoli, the C-17 lifted off steep and fast. So much had happened in the nine months since I went to Doha to warn the leaders of the Middle East that if they did not embrace reform their region was going to sink into the sand.

  Libya held its first elections in the summer of 2012. By all accounts, despite security concerns, the voting was well run and relatively free of irregularities. After more than forty years without political participation under Qaddafi, about 60 percent of Libyans, a broad cross-section of society, went to the polls to elect their representatives and then took to the streets in celebration.

  I was worried that the challenges ahead would prove overwhelming for even the most well-meaning transitional leaders. If the new government could consolidate its authority, provide security, use oil revenues to rebuild, disarm the militias, and keep extremists out, then Libya would have a fighting chance at building a stable democracy. If not, then the country would face very difficult challenges translating the hopes of a revolution into a free, secure, and prosperous future. And, as we soon learned, not only Libyans would suffer if they failed.

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  Benghazi: Under Attack

  On September 11, 2012, Ambassador Chris Stevens and Information Management Officer Sean Smith were killed in a terrorist attack on our diplomatic compound in Benghazi, Libya. Two CIA officers, Glen Doherty and Tyrone Woods, were killed hours later during an attack on the Agency’s nearby compound.

  Sean Smith had joined the State Department after six years in the Air Force and served for a decade at our embassies and consulates in Pretoria, Baghdad, Montreal, and The Hague.

  Tyrone Woods was known to his friends in the Navy SEALs and later the CIA as “Rone.” He served multiple tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. In addition to being an experienced combat veteran, he also earned distinction as a registered nurse and certified paramedic. He and his wife, Dorothy, had three sons, including one born just a few months before he died.

  Glen Doherty, who went by “Bub,” was a former SEAL as well and an experienced paramedic. He too had deployed to some of the most dangerous places on earth, including Iraq and Afghanistan, always putting his life on the line to safeguard other Americans. Both Tyrone and Glen had committed their skills and experience to protecting CIA personnel in Libya.

  Ambassador Chris Stevens, the only one of the four I had the privilege of knowing personally, was a talented diplomat and an engaging and extraordinarily warm human being. When I asked him in the spring of 2011 to undertake the dangerous mission to make contact with the Libyan rebel leadership in Benghazi during the revolution, and later to return to Libya as Ambassador after the fall of Qaddafi, he quickly accepted. Chris understood the risks and recognized how challenging it would be to help pull together a shattered country, but he knew that America had vital national security interests at stake. His long experience in the region and talent for delicate diplomacy made him a natural choice.

  Losing these fearless public servants in the line of duty was a crushing blow. As Secretary I was the one ultimately responsible for my people’s safety, and I never felt that responsibility more deeply than I did that day.

  Sending those who serve our nation into harm’s way is one of the hardest choices our country and leaders ever have to make. Far and away my greatest regret from those years is that not all of them returned home safely. I often think about the families who lost loved ones serving our country. The gravity of the mission and the gratitude of our nation may provide some solace, but in the end there is nothing any of us can say or do to fill the holes left behind.

  The truest way to honor them is to improve our ability to protect those who carry on their work and prevent future losses.

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  From my first day leading the State Department, I was aware that terrorists could strike any of our more than 270 diplomatic posts around the world. It had happened too many times before, and those hell-bent on attacking America would never stop trying. In 1979, fifty-two American diplomats were taken hostage in Iran and held captive for 444 days. The Hezbollah attacks on our embassy and Marine barracks in Beirut in 1983 killed 258 Americans and more than a hundred others. In 1998, al Qaeda bombed our embassies in Kenya and Tanzania, killing more than two hundred people, including twelve Americans. I vividly remember standing next to Bill at Andrews Air Force Base when the remains of those who had fallen returned home.

  All told, terrorists have k
illed sixty-six American diplomatic personnel since the 1970s and more than a hundred contractors and locally employed staff. Four U.S. Ambassadors were murdered in terrorist attacks between 1973 and 1979 alone. Since 2001 there have been more than one hundred assaults on U.S. diplomatic facilities around the world and nearly two dozen direct attacks on diplomatic personnel. In 2004, gunmen killed nine people, including five locally employed staff in an attack on our consulate in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. In May 2009, a roadside bomb in Iraq killed Terry Barnich, the Deputy Director of our Transition Assistance Team. In March 2010, Lesley Enriquez, a pregnant twenty-five-year-old consular officer in Juarez, Mexico, was shot to death, along with her husband. In August 2012, USAID officer Ragaei Said Abdelfattah was killed by a suicide bomber in Afghanistan. As of 2014, 244 of America’s diplomats have fallen in our nation’s history while serving overseas.

  Diplomacy, by its very nature, must often be practiced in dangerous places where America’s national security hangs in the balance. We have to weigh the imperatives of our national security against the sacrifices required to safeguard it. As Secretary of State I was responsible for nearly seventy thousand employees, and I deeply admired those who volunteered to accept the risks that come with carrying our flag where it is needed most. Every day as they walk into work the men and women of the State Department pass the names of those 244 fallen diplomats inscribed in marble in the lobby of the Harry S Truman Building. It’s a constant reminder of the risks that come with representing the United States around the world. I was heartened—though not surprised—to learn from the Department that after major attacks against the United States, applications to the Foreign Service went up. People want to serve our country, even when it means being in harm’s way. Nothing speaks more to the character and dedication of those who represent our country around the world.