To End a War

by Richard Holbrooke

  The meeting with Izetbegovic was fairly routine, but the Lake-Milosevic meeting set off some sparks. Milosevic began with a typical ploy. “I hear you’re the most anti-Serb official in Washington,” he said. Tony was pleased by what he considered an implicit compliment. At my request, Tony stayed for an early dinner at the Officers’ Club so that we could discuss sanctions. Milosevic came right at Tony, making an all-out effort to change American policy, but Tony held his ground, telling Milosevic that while initialing at Dayton would result in suspension, lift could come only with full implementation. This set off a heated debate over what constituted implementation. But Milosevic knew that in real terms suspension of the sanctions would give him what he needed most, immediate relief for his people.

  After two brief calls, one on Izetbegovic and the other on Silajdzic, Tony left for Washington. His trip had conveyed the urgency we attached to the negotiations. I summarized his core message late that evening in a memorandum to Warren Christopher: “Tony said there was no second chance for the U.S.; that this was our last, best shot and that Congress was going south on us; that if they didn’t reach agreement when you get here we will turn them over to Carl, Pauline, Jacques, and Wolfgang, and our role will greatly diminish.”

  It had also given Tony and Sandy Vershbow a sense of Dayton. At one point, as we walked alone through the parking lot, Tony leaned toward me and said, “This is the craziest zoo I’ve ever seen.” This was, in fact, exactly what we hoped our colleagues in Washington would remember; it helped if they understood the special weirdness of Dayton.

  After Tony left, Hill and I went to see Izetbegovic, hoping he would be encouraged by the progress Silajdzic had made on Gorazde. Instead, I encountered more tension and disarray within the Bosnian camp. The immediate cause was an article by Roger Cohen in that day’s New York Times in which unnamed “western diplomats” said that Silajdzic, whom Cohen described as “a brilliant, whimsical man with a Hamlet-like tendency to speak in riddles,” had emerged as “the key figure—or ‘swing vote’ in the Bosnian delegation.” Seated next to Izetbegovic, Sacirbey began reading excerpts from Cohen’s article in a voice dripping with anger and sarcasm. After he finished, Sacirbey paused. “There is only one ‘swing vote’ in this delegation,” he almost shouted, “and that is Mr. President, sitting right here.” Throughout this charade Izetbegovic sat motionless, with a slight smile playing across his face. What had happened seemed all too clear: Izetbegovic had been unnerved by Tony Lake’s private call on Silajdzic and the direct Milosevic-Silajdzic talks. Encouraged by Sacirbey, he had slapped Haris down—hard.

  The Clark Corridor. During the meal with Tony Lake, I had suggested to Milosevic that we resume the negotiation over Gorazde after dinner. After his humiliation, Silajdzic could not continue the negotiation, so we invited Milosevic to our building. We hoped to find a route between Sarajevo and Gorazde that would satisfy the Bosnians. To do this, we decided to introduce Milosevic to PowerScene.

  General Clark had brought to Dayton a special unit of the Defense Mapping Agency, personally headed by Major General Philip Nuber. Among other tasks, the map experts were supposed to compute the exact percentage of land that each map proposal gave the sides. They brought with them a highly classified $400,000 imaging system, called PowerScene, first used during Desert Storm. The entire country of Bosnia had been filmed and stored in this extraordinary “virtual reality” machine, visible in three dimensions, accurate down to two yards. Simply by manipulating an ordinary joystick, the viewer could “fly” fast or slow, look straight down, straight ahead, or sideways at any angle. PowerScene was impressive. To foreigners especially, it was a vivid reminder of America’s technological prowess.

  The Mapping Agency installed its large computers in a room directly across from my bedroom, with a huge sign warning all unauthorized personnel to stay out. Only a handful of people had access to the American building to begin with, so this sign—the only one of its sort inside the compound—naturally attracted endless visitors, who found “flying” the roads and mountains of Bosnia even more enjoyable than Packy’s All-Sports Bar. As visitors dropped in, noise from this accidental video arcade often went on late into the night. But the video game would play an important role in the resolution of the Gorazde problem.

  Clark and his colleagues had prepared well for the meeting. Hying the land between Sarajevo and Gorazde endlessly on PowerScene, they had found a route that could link the two cities. It was a small dirt track located halfway between the two roads, both now controlled by the Serbs, that had once connected the two cities.

  Milosevic arrived alone at the room containing the PowerScene computers around 11:00 P.M. He was fascinated by the technology and spent some time playing with the joystick, “visiting” portions of Bosnia. Then we began an intense examination of the dirt track that Clark thought we might upgrade. Milosevic began by offering a three-kilometer corridor through the mountainous terrain. This was far too narrow, we told him, and demonstrated the point by showing him, on PowerScene, that the ridgelines had a clear line of sight on the road and his proposed corridor was therefore too narrow to defend.

  Key Territorial Issues at Dayton

  For almost two hours we examined the maps and “traveled” across the hills and valleys of the Gorazde area, courtesy of PowerScene. The session was made far livelier, even raucous, by the substantial amount of scotch consumed by some of the participants. This later led people to say that Milosevic had made some key concessions under the influence. But, as usual, I saw no evidence that the alcohol affected him. Milosevic knew what he was doing, and he remembered every detail of the discussion the next morning.

  Using maps and an old-fashioned technology—crayons—Clark sketched a corridor that cut a wider swath through the hills east of Sarajevo. As he drew the connector, it was no longer simply a narrow, indefensible road. Instead, its width now averaged 8.3 kilometers, and stretched from ridgelines to hilltops so as to minimize the areas in which the road was vulnerable to direct fire from the high ground. After hours of argument, Milosevic offered us a substantially revised, widened version of this route between Gorazde and Sarajevo. It was after 2:00 A.M. We shook hands, and Milosevic drained his glass again, saying, “We have found our road.”

  We called it the “Clark Corridor,” or, sometimes, the “Scotch Road.” In his report the next day, General Kerrick said he was “still recovering from scotch exchange with Milosevic [which I drank] for my country—and I don’t even drink scotch.”

  When the lengthy session on the Clark Corridor finally ended, I sent a long message, entitled “Closure or Closedown: The Situation as of 2:00 A.M.,” to Warren Christopher, who was about to leave Osaka for the long return flight to Dayton:

  The Bosnians still wish us to believe that they are getting a lousy deal. Yet they know it is not only a good deal but the best they will ever get. Logically, therefore, they should accept. But the dynamics of their delegation make this a very close call. Izetbegovic spent nine years of his life in jail, and is not a governmental leader so much as a movement leader. He has little understanding of, or interest in, economic development or modernization—the things that peace can bring. He has suffered greatly for his ideals. To him, Bosnia is more an abstraction, not several million people who overwhelmingly want peace. Haris, on the other hand, is more modern and focused heavily on economic reconstruction, something Izetbegovic never mentions….

  Milosevic seems to be enjoying himself at Dayton Place, although he likes to intimidate people. Standing up to him when he attacks is the key; he respects people who act as tough as him. He is always testing us. In order to move him, we must lay down very firm markers and not move them unless we know exactly what we are getting in return. I’ll see you at the airport. Have a good trip back.

  DAY SEVENTEEN: FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 17

  When the Bosnians saw the Gorazde map early the next morning, they were impressed, but did not accept it. This did not worr
y us: it was standard Balkan negotiating procedure not to accept anything that came from the other side without trying to change it. (This tendency was so pronounced it had become a joke: the best way to confuse someone in the Balkans, we often said, was to accept his initial proposal without change, at which point he would change his own position.) The Bosnians wanted two things: more land south of Gorazde, and firm assurances from the United States that the dirt track would be upgraded into a paved, all-weather road. After discussions with Joulwan and the Army Corps of Engineers, Clark informed us that IFOR engineers would upgrade the road during the summer months and added a key sentence to the military annex: “a two-lane all-weather road will be constructed in the Gorazde Corridor.” This satisfied the Bosnians. But they still wanted more territory around Gorazde, especially some land on the south bank of the Drina River, the river that carried so much historical and emotional importance to all former Yugoslavs.*

  We planned a day of high-level visitors who would increase the pressure on the reluctant parties. Perry and Slocombe were due at 10:00 A.M., General Joulwan would arrive from Europe at noon, and Christopher would return in the late afternoon. These visits were carefully sequenced: Perry and Joulwan would symbolize American military power and determination, and set the stage for the final push when Christopher returned.

  The meetings left a powerful impression on the delegations. Izetbegovic, who knew from Sacirbey and Perle that the Pentagon was opposed to the Equip and Train program, asked for Perry’s personal commitment to it. After an edgy exchange, Perry gave Izetbegovic what he wanted, using words that would be cited often by the Bosnians later: “If we get a peace agreement, I will make the Equip and Train program happen.” This was no more than a repetition of commitments made by Christopher, Lake, and myself, but it was important that Izetbegovic hear it directly from the Secretary of Defense.

  Joulwan joined the meetings two hours later, bringing with him Major General William Nash, the blunt, cigar-smoking First Armored Division commander, who was scheduled to lead most of the American troops in Bosnia. It was symbolism at its best. With their straightforward warnings and uniforms bristling with medals, the generals made a powerful impression. It was Joulwan’s inspired idea to bring Nash, whose no-nonsense style impressed the Balkan leaders; this was, after all, the man who would actually command the American troops on the ground in Bosnia.

  With the exception of Perry, the visitors did not get into the details of the negotiations. But they sent a potent message: the physical presence of Joulwan and Nash in Dayton gave NATO a tangible reality in the eyes of the parties, and set the right tone for the final phase of the negotiations, which we planned around Christopher’s return. Thirty minutes after they left, at 4:30 in the afternoon, the Secretary of State’s big plane touched down from Osaka.

  *As recounted earlier, I had advocated a variant of this idea in 1992–93.

  * The Yugoslav writer Ivo Andric won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1961 for his epic novel The Bridge over the River Drina.

  CHAPTER 18

  Showdown

  Human error is a permanent and not a periodic factor in history, and future negotiators will be exposed, however noble their intentions, to futilities of intention and omission as grave as any which characterised the Council of Five. They were convinced that they would never commit the blunders and iniquities of the Congress of Vienna. Future generations will be equally convinced that they will be immune from the defects which assailed the negotiators of Paris. Yet they in their turn will be exposed to similar microbes of infection, to the eternal inadequacy of human intelligence.

  —HAROLD NICOLSON, Peacemaking 1919

  DAY EIGHTEEN: SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 18

  Deadlines. Negotiations have a certain pathology, a kind of life cycle almost like living organisms. At a certain point—which one might not recognize until later—the focus and momentum needed to get an agreement could disappear. Something could happen to break our single-minded commitment. Either endless squabbles over small details would replace the larger search for peace, or the Europeans would leave, publicly signaling an impending failure. We worried that if we were still at Wright-Patterson over the Thanksgiving holiday, only a few days away, it would create the impression that we had stayed too long and accomplished too little.

  That morning I wrote a short note to myself:

  There is a sense here that peace is probably inevitable because of the dangers if we fail. That may be true, as far as it goes. But the critical question—will the Bosnians grasp an imperfect peace or let the war resume—remains unresolved. Their delegation is divided and confused. Silajdzic told me that he had not talked to Izetbegovic in over twenty-four hours. They have let other opportunities for peace slip away before. It could happen again.

  Kerrick was even bleaker in his daily report:

  Endgame personal dynamics taking downward spiral. Milosevic and Pale Serbs never seen together—rarely speak. Izetbegovic, Mo, Haris continue to amaze us all with their desire to torpedo one another—and possibly even peace.

  Christopher did not want to leave Dayton again without a deal. Tired from his quick round-trip to Asia, he had met briefly with Izetbegovic and Milosevic on arrival Friday night, and then went to sleep. The rest of us went to the Officers’ Club for another lobster dinner with Chris Spiro and Milosevic. Milosevic seated Tom Donilon next to him to discuss American politics. Tom said that if Dayton failed, the congressional backlash would leave Serbia even more isolated, and the embargo would never be lifted. Donilon’s straight-talking style appealed to Milosevic, and he engaged Tom in a sophisticated discussion of American politics, even offering his thoughts on how to handle the budget confrontation with Gingrich.

  We thought Saturday would be “the big day, a hell of a day.” We told the parties that we wanted to finish the negotiations by midnight Saturday, spend Sunday morning cleaning up final details, and make the announcement later that day. This was obviously unrealistic, but it gave us a twenty-four-hour cushion for our real deadline, which was completion of the negotiations Sunday night and an announcement on Monday.

  In the morning staff meeting, we reviewed the status of the negotiations with Christopher. Most of the General Framework Agreement—the umbrella document—had been accepted by the parties, except for the issue of mutual recognition among the three states. Of the eleven draft annexes, agreement was in hand or within sight on nine: the military annexes (Annexes 1-A and 1-B), the constitution—with the exception of the central bank, which was still in dispute (Annex 4); arbitration (5); human rights (6); refugees/displaced persons (7); national monuments (8); public services (9); civilian implementation (10); and the International Police Task Force (11). This was more than we had originally thought possible. But the two toughest problems were still unresolved—the map (Annex 2) and elections (Annex 3):

  The map. Of the big issues, only Gorazde seemed close to resolution. Sarajevo, Brcko, the Posavina Corridor, and the Posavina pocket were unresolved. Contrary to our initial hopes, there had been no trade-offs between Dayton’s political provisions and the map. We would have to negotiate the remaining map issues literally kilometer by kilometer.

  Elections. The problem of refugee voting still stymied us. Milosevic held to his view that voters must register in person in Bosnia. The Bosnians wanted to allow absentee registration and let people vote where they had lived in 1991, the year of the last prewar census of Yugoslavia. In practice, this would mean that Muslims from, say, Banja Luka who were now refugees in Germany would be allowed to vote in the Banja Luka district for a Serb presidential candidate, opening the possibility that Muslims could become a swing bloc in an election between Serb candidates. To the Serbs, of course, this was unacceptable.

  Elections and the OSCE. Just before Christopher arrived, we settled a serious disagreement over how to conduct elections. Everyone agreed that an international body should oversee the elections, but there had be
en an early disagreement over which organization should have the job, and a more serious problem over what the international community’s role should be. Organizationally, the choice came down to the U.N. or the Organization of Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE). At the urging of John Kornblum, who had served as Ambassador to the organization, the United States opted for the OSCE, which had been created to monitor the 1975 Helsinki Accords.

  Known until 1994 as the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE), the fifty-two-nation OSCE was the only regional “security” organization that included both the NATO nations and all the countries of the former Soviet bloc.* During the Cold War, it had been little more than an occasional forum for meetings, but it was part of our vision for European security to transform the OSCE into a significant component of what President Clinton called “an undivided Europe.”

  The European members of the Contact Group readily agreed to assign the OSCE responsibility for the elections. But they simultaneously proposed to limit its role simply to monitoring the elections. This view ran directly counter to that of President Clinton, who told me, just before Dayton, that “a credible election would be the most important single event” of the first year after Dayton. This would be possible only if the international community ran it; “monitoring,” a vague and elusive concept, would result in a stalemate, and either no elections or disputed elections. While an international organization was no guarantee of a “free and fair” election, the larger its role, the better. With the President’s words as our marching orders, we insisted that the OSCE run the elections. Otherwise, they would either never take place, or be worthless. Finally, after days of argument, we gained agreement at Dayton that the OSCE would “supervise, in a manner to be determined by the OSCE,… the preparation and conduct of elections [emphasis added].”