To End a War

by Richard Holbrooke

  DAY FIFTEEN: WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 15

  There was no movement on the core territorial problems, but the negotiators made progress on other issues, including elections. One election issue, however, remained unsolved: how and where refugees should vote. Should they be allowed to vote in their countries of sanctuary, or should they be required to return home? And what was home, for example, to a Bosnian Muslim who had been driven from his house in Banja Luka and now lived in Frankfurt with little prospect of returning? Did he vote in Banja Luka, or for candidates in some Federation area in which he had never lived? On such complicated, but real-life, questions the success of Dayton would depend. During the United Nations-sponsored negotiations on Cambodia in 1992, the problem of refugee voting had been the last issue resolved; we expected a similar last-minute drama on this question in Dayton.

  The Germans felt especially strongly about this. With over three hundred thousand Bosnian refugees in their country, Germany wanted to reduce the burden that the refugees had put on its social services and budget. Other countries had similar problems, although not as severe. Bonn had given Wolfgang Ischinger one firm instruction: any agreement must encourage the refugees to return home. Ischinger proposed that the refugees be allowed to vote only if they stated at the time of the voting their intention to return to Bosnia. We incorporated this proposal into the draft agreements, although it was clearly not sufficient for Germany.

  Late in the afternoon, Tudjman left for Zagreb to preside over the opening of the new Croatian Parliament. He promised to return in a few days. In our last meeting before his departure, he again asked that an American general officer be put in charge of the United Nations Transitional Authority in eastern Slavonia—a request I promised to support strongly.

  We reached agreement that day on another important issue: the relationship between the IFOR commander and the High Representative—although it was not, to my mind, a good agreement. From his headquarters in Belgium, General Joulwan had called Clark and me repeatedly since the beginning of the negotiations to warn that he “would never accept” any arrangement, no matter how weak, that institutionalized a relationship between the IFOR commander and Bildt, who was slated to be the first High Representative. Because, as the Supreme Allied Commander Europe, General Joulwan was not part of the American military chain of command, he had the authority to reject “guidance” from Washington on any issue involving his own command arrangements. His veto of any formal ties between the two senior people in Bosnia was to leave an unfortunate legacy, as Pauline Neville-Jones wrote later:

  Either the High Representative should have been given more authority, or civilian implementation should have been made considerably less ambitious…. Much acrimony had surrounded the role played by the senior UN official in theatre, who had come in some quarters to signify civilian interference in the military chain of command. This situation led US negotiators in Dayton to resist including in the implementation structures any sort of body which would provide a forum for the civilian administrator and military commander to discuss and find solutions to problems and issues which spanned their separate responsibilities…. Preventing interference should not be confused with promoting cooperation.1

  Buildup and Build-down. On this, the fifteenth day of negotiations, there was a White House principals’ meeting to settle the last outstanding internal issues. Clark, Kornblum, and Gallucci attended by secure video. A decision was also reached on the most controversial and criticized aspect of our policy: whether we should train and arm the Federation, or try to reduce the overall level of armaments in Bosnia.

  This was one of our greatest dilemmas. In an ideal world, the several armies of Bosnia-Herzegovina should have been sharply reduced in size and merged into a single force controlled by the central government. However, NATO refused to accept implementation of such a policy as part of its mission. This eliminated any hope, as Pauline Neville-Jones wrote later, “of getting the parties to agree at Dayton to share military power.”2 Sadly, we would have to allow each entity within a single country to maintain its own military force—a fundamental flaw in our postwar structure, but nonetheless inevitable, given the self-imposed constraints on what the outside powers were willing to do.

  Thus the most controversial of all programs for Bosnia—to arm and train the Bosnian Muslims—resurfaced. The version under discussion was a postwar variant of the original proposal to arm the Muslims, which had been championed by a powerful group of Senators led by Republican Majority Leader Bob Dole and two senior Democrats, Joe Lieberman of Connecticut and Joe Biden of Delaware. Some bitter Washington debates had been fought over their proposal, which the Administration had opposed on the grounds that it would have violated the United Nations arms embargo.* Facing a defeat in Congress on this issue, President Clinton had pledged that in the event of a peace agreement, the United States would lead an effort to equip and train the Federation in order to “level the playing field” so that it could defend itself. The military hated this idea, which they believed would increase the chances of another war and undermine their desire to be “evenhanded” in enforcing a peace agreement. They also feared that if the United States took part in “Equip and Train,” as the program was renamed, its peacekeepers would become targets for Serb reprisals. Our European allies took an even stronger position against Equip and Train.

  Despite the commitment of the President, the Pentagon continued in every internal policy debate to oppose military assistance to the Federation. Led by Shalikashvili and Slocombe, they gained agreement during the November 15 White House meeting for a series of measures that did not kill the program but limited American visibility and involvement in it. Specifically, the principals agreed that there would be no active American involvement by American military personnel in Equip and Train, and that the weapons should come from other nations.

  To bridge the gap with the Pentagon we added another annex, one that would reduce the level of armaments on all sides—a sort of modified arms-control policy for Bosnia that we called “build-down.” Like Equip and Train, build-down was in part a result of congressional pressure. It originated in discussions in late 1994 between Perry and Senators Sam Nunn, Democrat of Georgia, and Dick Lugar, Republican of Indiana, two influential moderates who had supported the Administration’s effort to defeat Dole and Lieberman. (It was an interesting feature of Bosnia policy that the congressional debate did not follow party lines.) Whether one supported Equip and Train or not, build-down was an inherently good idea, an indirect step toward disarming the swollen armies of Bosnia—provided it did not become a vehicle for weakening the Muslims.

  In the end, after much debate in the principals’ meeting on November 15, the Administration reached a compromise that confused people at first, but made sense: it decided to support both buildup and build-down—that is, an Equip and Train program, accompanied by an arms-control annex. These two programs would be carried out at roughly the same time, according to carefully calibrated schedules and ratios.

  We thus added a new annex to the draft agreements for Dayton—Annex 1-B, “The Agreement of Regional Stabilization,” commonly referred to as the “arms-control,” or “build-down,” annex. This annex required the parties to reduce their armaments to ratios that had been carefully calibrated by the Pentagon. Under this concept, a 5:2:2 ratio would be established among Yugoslavia, Croatia, and Bosnia, respectively. The Bosnian allotment would be further divided between the Federation and Republika Srpska, with the Federation getting twice as many armaments as the Bosnian Serbs. These ratios were designed to protect the Federation from ever again being overwhelmed by Serb military power. Unfortunately, the Pentagon once again refused to include an enforcement provision in Annex 1-B. Thus some of the most difficult of all goals—general arms reduction, “restrictions on military deployments and exercises,” and the “immediate establishment of military liaison missions”—were left to the goodwill of parties who had no goodwill.

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bsp; There was one provision I insisted on, over the initial objections of the Pentagon: the “withdrawal of Forces and heavy weapons to cantonment/barracks areas.” The Pentagon had objected to every attempt to include cantonment in Annex 1-A, which would have made it an IFOR obligation, but they reluctantly agreed to include it in Annex 1-B, which meant that while it would be a goal it would not be an IFOR task. Months later, when IFOR was on the ground, its commanders finally saw the value of the cantonment provision, and informed the Bosnian Serbs that they would insist on it as part of their core mission. Once IFOR took this line, the Bosnian Serbs began to respond, and, although compliance was never perfect, the cantonment provision proved to be extremely useful.

  To many people, these two programs—one to build up the strength of the Federation, the other to build down the overall military forces in the country—seemed contradictory. But it was the best course available to us. Under Annex 1-B, there was room to build up the Federation forces and stay within the 5:2:2 ratio. But if the Serbs did not respect the annex on build-down, the Equip and Train program was already in place to strengthen the Federation. And when it came time, in early 1996, to set up the Equip and Train program, Christopher and I chose the best possible person to head it—one of its authors, Jim Pardew.

  Dinner with Haris. We were still worried about Haris Silajdzic. Menzies, who knew him well, described him as a “caged panther.” Frozen out of important discussions by Izetbegovic or Sacirbey, the Bosnian Prime Minister became depressed and increasingly fatalistic. Still looking for ways to reach out to him, I invited him to dinner, and Kati returned to Dayton specifically for the event, since on her first visit Haris had talked to her several times about his dreams for his country and himself.

  To emphasize the special nature of the occasion, we took him to L’Auberge, an excellent French restaurant in Dayton. As we ordered caviar and a fine meal, I tried to talk about something other than the details of the negotiation. What were his hopes—personal and political? What did he want for his country? Could he re-engage himself in the talks? Could he negotiate directly with Milosevic?

  Relaxing after days of isolation within his own delegation, Silajdzic talked movingly about his family in Istanbul, his young son, and his early days as a student in Sarajevo. But when we said that the future of Bosnia depended on rebuilding multiethnic co-existence, he retreated into an unreachable pessimism. I cited Nelson Mandela as a true leader, a man who could forgive his jailers and embrace power sharing with the very people against whom he had struggled for thirty years. The connection did not seem relevant to Haris. “You don’t understand,” he said bleakly. “You don’t understand what we have been through.”

  “Perhaps we don’t understand what you have been through,” I replied, “but it was your request that we create a single country, and we are well on the way to accomplishing this. You were one of its chief proponents. Why are we trying to do this if you don’t think it can work? Unless you and Izetbegovic reach out to your adversaries, both Serb and Croat, you will isolate yourselves and fail.”

  Haris did not dispute that he and Izetbegovic had both asked us to negotiate a single country. Instead, he returned to the horrors of 1992. “What you want would have been easier in 1992 or even 1993,” he said, “but now it may be too late. Where was the world then? Where was the United States?”

  More deaths would not honor the dead—only create more dead, I said passionately. We wanted the war criminals brought to justice, and would not compromise on this issue, but if the Muslims wanted a central government for Bosnia—again, I stressed, their own choice—they had to find a way to work with some of the Croats and Serbs, hard though that would be.

  These were bleak thoughts, in sharp contrast to the surroundings. Haris was somewhere else, far away. But he had calmed down, and our arguments turned out to have a positive effect on him. Moreover, the evening helped make him feel that he still had an important role to play.

  DAY SIXTEEN: THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 16

  How much longer could we continue without significant progress on the key territorial issues? The question hung over us during a particularly gloomy 8:00 A.M. staff meeting. Having worked on Silajdzic the previous evening, I decided the next target should be Milosevic, and shortly after 10:00 A.M. Chris Hill and I invited him to take a walk.

  It was a clear, dry day—and extremely cold. Dressed in bulky ski jackets and overcoats, we paced the perimeter of the base, trailed discreetly by security guards, for almost two hours. Chris and I put it to Milosevic bluntly: Secretary Christopher was returning to Dayton the next day, and we had no progress to report. Rather than ask for specific concessions, we called for a major gesture of “goodwill” from Milosevic to show he was serious about an agreement. I offered Milosevic two models for Dayton. In one, he could “play Sadat,” and show the Bosnians he was ready to make major concessions to get peace. In the other, we could shut down without an agreement, in which case the sanctions on his country would remain in place and the war might resume. Milosevic, in a thoughtful mood, said he would consider “what kind of gesture” he could make.

  By a long and roundabout route we arrived at the Wright-Patterson Officers’ Club around noon and went to the table that was always reserved for Milosevic. I called Rosemarie, who had taken Silajdzic on a similar walk. She decided to bring him to the club for lunch. Arriving fifteen minutes later, she led Silajdzic and John Menzies to a table at the opposite end of the large central dining room, as far from Milosevic as possible.

  Thus the stage was set for an unusual diplomatic effort that was later termed the “napkin shuttle.” Leaving Milosevic, I walked across the long dining room to greet Silajdzic. “Are you ready to negotiate right now?” I asked him. “Milosevic is willing to talk about Gorazde.” Haris was interested, but when I invited him to join our table, he refused.

  I returned to Milosevic, who was eating his steak with Chris Hill. “Silajdzic is ready to discuss Gorazde,” I reported. Taking out a napkin, Milosevic started drawing a rough map of the area between Sarajevo and the beleaguered enclave. “We can offer safe conduct along these two roads,” he said, indicating the two existing routes between the cities, both now under Serb control. Hill and I objected, saying that the Bosnians would not feel that “safe conduct” would be very safe in light of the last four years. “They will need a genuine, defensible corridor,” I said. “Okay, then I will give them a kilometer on each side of the road,” Milosevic replied.

  Carrying Milosevic’s napkin sketch across the room, I sat down with Silajdzic, who, after a moment’s thought, replied with a countersketch showing a much wider corridor and substantially more land for the Muslims. As the other diners looked on in astonishment, I walked rapidly across the room carrying the two precious napkin sketches, and sat down again with Milosevic.

  This scene was repeated half a dozen times over the next hour. Neither man would move to the other’s table, but they eyed each other carefully across the room. Bit by bit, Milosevic yielded land and territory, until the gap between the two men was fairly narrow. Haris went to a phone and called Izetbegovic, who told him to keep negotiating. Finally, I said to Silajdzic, “Don’t you realize that you are gaining something important here? You have to sit down with him. If you come over to Milosevic’s table now you might get what you need.” Reluctantly, Haris followed me to Milosevic’s table. The two men greeted each other in characteristic fashion—Milosevic clapping Silajdzic on the back with false camaraderie, Silajdzic unwilling to look Milosevic in the eye.

  The other diners gradually left, and by three in the afternoon we were alone in the large room, Milosevic, Silajdzic, Hill, and myself. Rosemarie and Menzies, having delivered their man, had silently slipped away. The two men argued, in English and in their common tongue, over every detail of the area between Sarajevo and Gorazde. The road, the hydroelectric plants, the destroyed mosques, the small village along the road where General Mladic came from—all were discus
sed with passion and anger.

  They did not resolve their differences, and the meeting ended without agreement. But for the first time the two sides had actually negotiated on a territorial issue. Our long talks with each man had had an effect; there was a noticeable change in tone. For the first time, Milosevic accepted the need to create a secure land corridor to Gorazde. Once we had crossed this mini-Rubicon—”actually, the Drina,” Hill joked—we were, in essence, arguing over the location and width of the corridor. These were negotiable. Although we did not resolve the Gorazde issue in the “napkin shuttle,” the meeting marked the first time anyone on either side had shown a readiness to look for territorial compromises.

  During the day, Federation President Zubak again threatened to resign. This time his anger was aimed at Tudjman and his fellow Croats, who, he felt, were selling out the Posavina, his home area. He did not feel he could go home again if the territorial agreements at Dayton did not include a Serb “giveback” of some of this land. He felt that the land negotiations were, so far, effectively conceding the Posavina to the Serbs. If this happened, he said, he would have to resign and leave Dayton immediately.

  My first instinct was to let him depart. Zubak had been nothing but trouble at Dayton. Susak had always told us to ignore him. But Izetbegovic and Sacirbey both said we should help retain Zubak. After several emotional meetings and a pledge from both Tudjman and Izetbegovic not to ignore the Posavina, Zubak again backed off, and agreed to stay.

  It was time for our next high-level visitor from Washington, Tony Lake. Accompanied by Sandy Vershbow, he arrived in the midafternoon at the base. After a briefing at the Hope Center, Tony and I called on the two Presidents. Tony had decided not to try to negotiate during his short visit, but rather to send a strong message, in President Clinton’s name, to reinforce our effort.