Worthy Fights: A Memoir of Leadership in War and Peace

by Leon Panetta

  • • •

  In my first year, I concluded the Iraq war with reservations. I oversaw the war in Afghanistan, where we’d made progress. But much of my time and energy over that period was devoted to a third war—or, rather, to preventing a third war. For months, it teetered on the edge of exploding, held in check by a tenuous combination of personal trust and national interest.

  By early 2012, Israel’s leadership was becoming increasingly anxious about Iran’s nuclear program. With Iran openly threatening to annihilate Israel, and Israel openly proclaiming that it would not allow Iran to develop weapons that would allow it to carry out that threat, a collision seemed unavoidable and coming on fast.

  Navigating those perilous waters often fell to me and my friend and counterpart Ehud Barak, Israel’s defense minister. Barak often said that once Iran began spinning centrifuges underground at Fordow, it would enter a “zone of immunity,” meaning that it would be invulnerable to Israeli retaliation, a perilous position for Israel given Iran’s strident insistence that it was prepared to eliminate Israel from the planet. That made Iran’s threat not just serious but existential.

  I had known Ehud since my years as White House chief of staff, and I liked him. We were about the same age, of similar politics. We loved our families and enjoyed politics and good food, and we both played classical piano. He had a deep laugh and a profound commitment to his country, both of which I appreciated. He had even gone to school in California—he was a graduate of Stanford. But it was clear that this matter transcended personal trust or friendship. Israel’s right to exist was discounted by Iran’s leadership, and its ability to exist could be threatened if that regime developed a nuclear weapon and the means of delivering it. Ehud agreed with me that the threat of an Iranian nuclear weapon still wasn’t imminent, but he argued that it was necessary to act now or lose the opportunity to do so.

  It was almost impossible to counsel patience under these circumstances, but I urged him to see that action had its risks as well.

  “Look, Ehud,” I said. “The problem is that if you attack them now, you can only set their program back by a few years. It would come back. You’ll give them a black eye. We, on the other hand, can deliver the knockout punch.” We had the bombs that could take out Fordow. Israel had to trust us that we would have their back if Iran began to “break out” and build a weapon.

  The dilemma, then, was this: Israel could act, but not effectively; the United States could act effectively, but preferred to press diplomacy first. That meant Israel had to trust that we would act if the time came, that we would not flinch at the moment of truth even if the graver threat was not to the United States but rather to Israel. That’s a lot of trust to place in an ally, even a close and historic ally.

  In January, Donilon told me that President Obama’s two main foreign policy goals for 2012 were to keep Iran from getting a nuclear weapon and to avoid a war in the Middle East. Both were admirable ambitions, but the president might have to choose one over the other.

  I understood Ehud’s reluctance to place so much in our hands. I assured him that day, as I would repeatedly through 2012, that the United States would stand with Israel, but that we did not believe Israeli military action was the best course at the current time.

  “We’re serious,” I told him emphatically. “We won’t let them have a bomb.”

  Making matters worse, Iran was deliberately provocative. In late December 2011, its leaders boasted that they were preparing to shut down access to the Strait of Hormuz, through which much of the world’s oil flows. Appearing on CBS’s Face the Nation on January 8, Dempsey and I laid down the gauntlet. If Iran closed the Strait of Hormuz, there would be consequences, which we purposefully declined to specify—we liked the idea that the Iranians might use their imagination.

  On January 22, we sent the aircraft carrier USS Abraham Lincoln, accompanied by a full strike group, through the strait. Iranian vessels shadowed the carrier group. Their forces kept an eye on it but stayed within Iranian waters or airspace, and none took action against our fleet. Our implied willingness to use military force had achieved an important goal: The strait remained open.

  I regarded that as an important signal of our willingness to take Iran to the brink. Israeli leaders appreciated it too, but were unconvinced that we were prepared to risk it all. Even as we were fencing with Iran over the strait, the Israelis abruptly canceled a joint U.S.-Israel military exercise, called Austere Challenge 12, slated for the spring of 2012. Although press reports speculated that Israel had canceled the exercises because it was angry at the United States for refusing to countenance an attack on Iran, in fact it took the action in part to protect Americans. If Israel launched an attack on Iran in the spring, the last thing it wanted was to trigger a war with several hundred Americans in Tel Aviv hotels, there as part of a joint operation between our countries.

  I pressed Ehud to reconsider the cancellation, but he made clear why he could not: “We haven’t made a decision” about whether to strike Iran, he said. “But I can’t in good conscience hide the fact from our best ally that we are discussing it.”

  It was amid those rising tensions that I made the mistake of speaking too candidly with a reporter and not anticipating the possible impact. On a trip to Europe, the eminent national security columnist David Ignatius traveled as part of the press corps. I liked David and appreciated his experience. Maybe that’s why when we sat down in my cabin I was too forthcoming about my fear that an Israeli military operation against Iran might be imminent. The terms of our interview were that Ignatius was not to quote me directly, and he honored that, but there was no mistaking that he was reflecting my views. “Panetta believes there is a strong likelihood that Israel will strike Iran in April, May or June,” the column said, “before Iran enters what Israelis described as a ‘zone of immunity’ to commence building a nuclear bomb. Very soon, the Israelis fear, the Iranians will have stored enough enriched uranium in deep underground facilities to make a weapon—and only the United States could then stop them militarily.”2 I winced when I read it, not because it wasn’t true, but because I realized I should have been more careful about sharing those views at that moment. The column made headlines around the world and led the evening news. Donilon called Jeremy and was furious. We did as much damage control as we could, but few questioned the truth of what I’d said.

  Iran dominated conversations between Ehud Barak and me in the early months of the year, and also was the main point of discussion between President Obama and Prime Minister Netanyahu when the latter visited the United States in February, just a few days after the Ignatius column appeared. Israel was seriously contemplating military action; we urged them to refrain, and tried to back up our requests with public statements and gestures that would reinforce their confidence that we would not abandon them.

  To that end, the president and I gave carefully crafted speeches at the annual convention of AIPAC, the powerful pro-Israel lobbying presence in Washington. President Obama went first, addressing the convention on March 4. The president’s speech was shadowed by politics—Republican contenders for the presidency already were accusing him of being insufficiently protective of Israel—and he had to thread a small needle, assuring AIPAC that he was committed to Israel without appearing to veer toward war with Iran. “We all prefer to resolve this issue diplomatically,” he said, but he promised emphatically that he would not allow diplomatic failure to endanger Israel. “I have said that when it comes to preventing Iran from obtaining a nuclear weapon, I will take no options off the table, and I mean what I say. That includes all elements of American power: a political effort aimed at isolating Iran, a diplomatic effort to sustain our coalition and ensure that the Iranian program is monitored, an economic effort that imposes crippling sanctions, and yes, a military effort to be prepared for any contingency.”3

  And without mentioning them by name, President Obama alluded to his Repu
blican challengers by deploring “loose talk of war” and urging his listeners to be wary of election-year attacks on his record of support for Israel—a record he spelled out at some length. I thought the speech was forceful and balanced, and it was generally well received at the convention. Others predictably disagreed. Former Massachusetts governor Mitt Romney bluntly declared, “If Barack Obama gets re-elected, Iran will have a nuclear weapon.” Newt Gingrich said that “we’re being played for fools.”4

  Two days later, I was introduced at the AIPAC convention as a “strong friend” of Israel and AIPAC, and the audience gave me a warm greeting. I reviewed my long-standing support for Israel, going back to my days in Congress and time with Clinton. I mentioned that New York senator Chuck Schumer and I had once been housemates in a Capitol Hill version of Animal House, which was greeted with some chuckles. Coming to the point, I spelled out the extensive military support that the Obama administration was even then providing Israel. But the audience was understandably most intent on hearing what assurances the United States was prepared to make about Iran. I tried to leave no doubt.

  First, I said, our policy toward Iran was not to accept some level of nuclear capacity and merely try to contain that threat. Rather, it was to thwart it. “Let me be clear,” I said, echoing the president’s remarks, “we do not have a policy of containment; we have a policy of preventing Iran from acquiring nuclear weapons.”

  I followed that with a description of the state of our efforts to put pressure on Iran, diplomacy backed by sanctions and the threat of military action. I reminded AIPAC that President Obama had proven his willingness to use force. He had sent troops into battle, forced open the Strait of Hormuz, and waged a risky and lethal campaign to destroy Al Qaeda, including his personal authorization of the bin Laden raid. “Of course we prefer the diplomatic path,” I said. “As the prime minister himself has said—military action is the last alternative when all else fails. But make no mistake, when all else fails, we will act.” Again the audience applauded vigorously, this time with as much relief as enthusiasm.

  • • •

  In March, I traveled to Kyrgyzstan, Afghanistan, and the Middle East. Just as I was preparing to depart, a shocking event threatened to overtake the trip. Late at night on March 11, 2012, Staff Sergeant Robert Bales, a thirty-nine-year-old soldier on his fourth deployment, snuck out of his base and unleashed a horrific wave of violence in the nearby villages of Alkozai and Najiban. He ransacked homes, wildly knocking over furniture and hurling dishes. In home after home, he grabbed children and shot or stabbed them. He shot one elderly woman, and when he realized she was still alive, he crushed her skull with his boot.5

  Bales’s rampage was by far the worst atrocity committed by an American soldier in Afghanistan—it was in fact the worst war crime in the post-9/11 wars—but it came on top of other disturbing breakdowns in that theater. We’d already weathered images of soldiers urinating on corpses and a misguided attempt to cut off prisoner communication by burning books, including copies of the Koran. It is true that when tens of thousands of young men and women are equipped with weapons and exposed to overwhelming stress, a certain number of bad things are bound to happen. But that’s no excuse. Tell that to a family whose grandmother or baby is murdered by an American soldier. I called President Karzai as soon as I learned of Bales’s actions and expressed my deep condolences.

  Even before Bales’s attack, public anger at the presence of foreign troops was surging in Afghanistan. In February, five days of violent unrest—apparently triggered by the videos of soldiers urinating on bodies and the burning of Korans—culminated in a shooting inside the Afghan Interior Ministry. Two American officers were killed in that shooting, and the assailant escaped. General Allen responded by pulling coalition forces out of Afghan government buildings.6 Karzai appealed for peace, but the protests continued for a while. Finally, whether out of exhaustion or obedience, the violence slowly subsided near the end of February. And then Bales’s actions inflamed the public again.

  John Kelly and my travel team were nervous about my visiting the country with the security situation so unstable, and they were particularly edgy about my going into the Interior Ministry, where I was scheduled to meet with Interior Minister General Bismillah Khan Mohammadi. We considered asking for another location, but I felt we should not insult the Afghans by implying that we didn’t trust their security forces. The meeting went ahead, but under extraordinarily tense arrangements. When my motorcade pulled up to the ministry, there was a security scrum as officers from both countries sought to protect their own officials, elbowing aside their foreign counterparts. We all got jostled a bit, but finally made our way into the meeting room. My security team, largely drawn from the ranks of the army’s Criminal Investigation Command, earned their danger pay at that event.

  Leaving Kabul, I was happy just to be out of there, and I enjoyed the hour-long flight to Camp Bastion, headquarters of our regional command responsible for Helmand Province. My staff wasn’t so relaxed, and their anxieties were ramped up when we landed. We touched down and began to taxi toward the official party that had assembled to greet me. Then the plane made an abrupt halt. The jolt caught our attention, and then, well, nothing. We just sat there. After twenty minutes or so, I asked John Kelly to find out what was up. He returned from the cockpit with an update.

  “Sir, bad news,” he said. “An Afghan stole a vehicle, tried to light himself on fire, and drove it in front of your plane.” The car ended up in a ditch, smoke pouring from it, the driver dead.

  As a terrorist attack—if that’s what it was—it didn’t amount to much. He’d crashed his car about a thousand yards from my plane, and hurt no one but himself. We taxied around the wreckage and went on with the day as if nothing had happened. Still, it rattled some nerves, and our handling of it angered the traveling press. When they learned what had happened, some reporters lambasted George Little for not revealing the threat against the secretary and treated it as if we had covered up the Kennedy assassination. Many of them filed grumpy stories accusing us of trying to put a good “spin” on the Afghanistan war. To this day, I don’t know whether that man in the truck ever meant me any harm.

  • • •

  When I returned to Kabul and met with Karzai, he had just returned from the scene of the Bales crime, and he emotionally relayed stories of seeing “children soaked in their own blood.” All I could do was express my profound apologies for the loss of life. Neither of us could do anything to ease that suffering. We returned to the essentials of our work, agreeing to stick to the timeline of transitioning ISAF operations from combat to support by the end of 2014.

  Before leaving the country, I told reporters I thought we had made good progress in our talks, and I skirted the Bales controversy. We had, in my view, stayed focused on the goal of putting Afghan National Security Forces in the lead throughout the country. Karzai agreed, or said he did.

  I left Afghanistan feeling good about the trajectory of our effort there after a rough few weeks. But progress in Afghanistan was never steady, and Karzai was always a handful. Just a few hours after we left Afghanistan, stories began to appear in which Karzai was quoted describing our talks. Among other things, he released a statement indicating that during our meeting he had insisted that “international forces should leave the villages and move to their bases,”7 a sop to his domestic audience still enraged by the Bales rampage. That was not true; he said no such thing.

  I valued my relationship with Karzai and had always offered to be available to him if he needed to discuss important matters involving our governments. I had not agreed, however, to let him roll me. “Tell the press it’s bullshit,” I told Jeremy and George Little. “Karzai feels he needs to kick us in the ass, but it’s bullshit.” Karzai was just playing politics, but I had my job to do too.

  • • •

  We traveled next to the United Arab Emirates, and my focus returned to Iran, whose conti
nued belligerence was alarming its neighbors throughout the region. The UAE is a small but impressive country, blessed with abundant oil and gas. Its leaders wisely chose not to rely on those resources. Instead, they diversified their economy and built a commercial hub unrivaled in the Middle East.

  My main interlocutor was Crown Prince Muhammad bin Zayed, one of the most thoughtful leaders I have ever encountered. Soft-spoken, moderate, and proud of his country’s relationship with the United States, he was prone neither to exaggeration nor to alarm. I therefore took note in our conversations that he expressed almost as much apprehension about Iran’s influence and intentions as Ehud Barak did.

  Bin Zayed regarded Iran’s Shiite leadership as a threat not only to Western-oriented Sunni countries but to the West itself. And the prospect of such an antagonist’s possessing nuclear weapons was frightening indeed. He too was eager to receive assurances that the United States would act militarily against Iran if the time came. Our conversation underscored a little-understood aspect of Middle Eastern politics as they related to Iran: Though much of the world was focused on Israel’s apprehensions regarding Iran, many Arab nations were just as troubled—and just as dependent on the United States for protection.

  I had been conscious of that anxiety ever since visiting Saudi king Abdullah during my first year at the CIA. In my conversation with the king, he raised similar concerns about Iran, and I responded by referring to President Obama and suggesting that our policy was to extend a hand to Iran, but that if it persisted, the other hand would be a fist. “Why don’t you make that other hand a dagger?” the king suggested.

  Those fears dominated not just my private meetings, but my interactions with reporters in the region as well. During an interview with Al Hurra Television, the reporter reminded me that I had laid out a fairly specific timeline for a possible attack—the Ignatius column from the previous month—but I wasn’t going to make that mistake twice. I downplayed it during this interview: “President Obama has stated and I agree, we do not believe Israel has made a decision to do that. . . . The international community is unified in putting pressure on Iran and that Israel should operate with the international community in increasing that pressure on Iran. That’s the better way to go right now.”8