On 28 February I told the House of Commons: ‘We do not in any way rule out the use of military assets. We must not tolerate this regime using military force against its own people.’
The NTC leader was clear when I met him in London that what the rebels wanted was a ‘no-fly zone’ to stop Gaddafi mounting a war on his people from the air. I instructed the Ministry of Defence to draw up contingency plans. The MoD response was, ‘What exactly are we trying to achieve?’ The no-fly zone was not a solution in itself. Just stopping planes from bombing wouldn’t prevent a ground war. But it would act as a deterrent, since sanctions hadn’t worked, galvanising Western support and stopping Gaddafi on a broader front. I also believed it would be a foot in the door for the sort of action from the air that could stop him.
One thing on which we were all agreed, however, was that the situation did not warrant ‘boots on the ground’ – a level of intervention that would never get past Parliament.
Meanwhile, I was becoming increasingly concerned that the FCO was underpowered when it came to Libya. Its expertise is, of course, world-class. But I worried that, as with the MoD and MI6 too, ‘traditional’ thinking dominated. It wouldn’t adapt to new ideas. And while it’s good at analysis and process, it has lost a sense of ‘can-do’. My response was therefore to centralise management of the intervention in my new NSC structure, with a new NSC(L) that dealt solely with Libya.
People assume the job of prime minister is simply to take the big decision, issue the decree, as it were, and then consider it done. But the Libya campaign brought home to me that so much of the job isn’t just the deciding – it’s the doing: cajoling, corralling, convening meetings, questioning official advice, offering up new solutions, being creative, seeking wider opinions, and keeping on and on at people until something happens.
The decision to ratchet up our response on Libya was, in many ways, the easy part, because I knew it was the right thing to do. What was tough was getting it done – and doing so against the clock.
On 10 March Gaddafi’s forces were at Ras Lanuf, 220 miles by road from Benghazi. Meanwhile, we were dealing with our first obstacle: America.
It’s a fact of modern conflict that we need other nations’ help if we are to act effectively. We needed America’s military might, from air power to intelligence. That meant convincing Obama to commit.
He had been elected on a pledge to disentangle the US from foreign conflicts, rather than start new ones – he had said in the New York Times that ‘the best revolutions are completely organic’. I was about to see whether he applied this pledge to Libya. And when I found it hard to get a phone conversation with him, I feared that he did. I had the distinct feeling that the world’s great superpower was dithering while Benghazi was about to burn. When I did speak to him, I was clear: ‘Benghazi must not fall, or game over.’
On 11 March, Gaddafi’s forces were approaching Brega, just 150 miles from Benghazi. I was at a special summit in Brussels facing our second obstacle: the EU.
I saw Libya as a key opportunity to create consensus, and like Sarkozy, I thought it was important to get the principle of a no-fly zone into the communiqué – a sort of statement of intent that everyone signs at the end of the event.
I found Europe in a peacenik mood. It felt as if the former Eastern Bloc countries were saying: ‘Look, we did democracy with our revolutions, but these people don’t understand democracy at all.’ The southern countries were nervous because of their preoccupation with immigration from Africa. The Germans didn’t really want to get involved. And Romania, which you’d have thought would sympathise with a country strangled by a dictator, tried to kibosh the whole thing.
I ended up in a corridor with Sarkozy and the Romanian president, Traian Basescu, shouting at one another. Back in the open forum with the other leaders, it was agreed that we would have some milder wording in the communiqué about protecting civilians. ‘You don’t have your no-fly zone,’ said Traian defiantly. ‘Yes, so people are being murdered from the air,’ I snapped back in fury.
(A postscript to this shameful EU episode was at the next summit, following the successful UN resolution. The president of the EU Council, Herman Van Rompuy, was triumphalist: ‘Europe led the way – we had our Special Council, we produced that communiqué, the UN then followed our lead. What we are doing in Libya is a great moment for promoting European values; it’s a bit like the euro, we don’t know exactly where it’s going to lead but it was the right thing to do.’ I nearly choked. Everyone in Europe apparently now thought it was a victory for the EU, when at the start the French and the British had been completely on our own.)
On 17 March Gaddafi’s forces took Ajdabiya, a hundred miles from Benghazi, while simultaneously beginning the battle for Benghazi by bombing nearby Benina Airport. By this time we were facing our third obstacle: the support of the region.
While America seemed to dither and Europe deluded itself, William Hague reached a breakthrough in the Arab world. He persuaded the secretary general of the all-important Arab League, an Egyptian, to endorse action. It would guarantee the support of Lebanon, the only Arab country that was at that time on the UN Security Council. This was hugely important – and it’s still important now. It demonstrates to those Arab countries that accuse us of breaking Libya that they were actively encouraging action.
Crises rarely happen one at a time. Just at this vital moment in the Libyan saga, Japan suffered an earthquake and tsunami that killed 15,000 people and triggered three nuclear meltdowns at the Fukushima power plant. It was impossible to comprehend the horror people suffered and the scale of the catastrophe. We held a succession of COBR meetings to coordinate our response. There was a real risk that radiation poisoning could spread to more populated areas, including Tokyo itself.
In another example of prime-ministerial micro-management I insisted that we had enough iodine tablets in the country for all 17,000 Brits in Japan. Prime ministers end up taking tactical decisions like this because there are always so many reasons for not doing something. ‘They’ll be stopped at customs.’ ‘It will be embarrassing that we haven’t offered them all to the Japanese government.’ On it went. I decided we wouldn’t tell the Japanese, but would fly the tablets out in our diplomatic bag. And that’s what happened.
As Gaddafi’s ground forces advanced towards Benghazi, his son Saif al-Islam predicted that it would all be over in forty-eight hours. Meanwhile, we were facing obstacle four, the trickiest and most urgent of all. After Iraq, we knew it would be extremely difficult to do anything without a UN Security Council resolution.
Fortunately, we were seeing a welcome and crucial shift beyond the limited scope of a no-fly zone towards deeper and more effective involvement. We were now looking to achieve a resolution that included ‘all necessary measures to protect civilian life’. This was what I’d wanted from the beginning. It was a genuine triumph for the FCO, which hasn’t lost its ability to negotiate international statements. I think the Americans had come around because of the feeling that, if they were going to be involved at all, then any action ought to be decisive and effective.
Thus commenced the process of garnering support from the other countries on the Security Council. William was hitting the phones. Mark Lyall Grant, our ambassador to the UN, was flat out. I was speaking to my opposite numbers across the world.
Angela Merkel was sceptical. Why do this in Libya when we didn’t in Iran, she was asking. Many thought Sarkozy was trying to make up for initially getting the Arab Spring wrong.
On the evening of 17 March, UN Resolution 1973 – pledging ‘all necessary measures to protect … civilians and civilian populated areas’ but prohibiting troops on the ground – passed by ten votes to none. Those who voted in favour were Lebanon, America, Britain, France, Colombia, Gabon, South Africa, Nigeria, Portugal – and, unsurprisingly, Bosnia-Herzegovina. Germany, Brazil, China, India and Russia abstained. It’s a myst
ery why Russia did not vote against.
We were getting closer to action, but Gaddafi was getting closer to Benghazi, and we faced a fifth and final obstacle: ensuring the full support of the UK cabinet. Blair had lost four ministers over Iraq – and he had a landslide majority. We were in coalition with an anti-war party. Would I face my own walkouts?
But the legal advice was plain: ‘This represents clear and unequivocal lawful authority to take action up to and including the use of force’ and to protect civilians.
Nick had been a staunch supporter of the forward position on the Arab Spring right from the start, so the omens were good. Cabinet met on 18 March, and I made sure that on each minister’s chair was a copy of the legal advice, the UN Security Council resolution and my forthcoming statement to the House of Commons.
Those four walls had heard so many arguments on the eve of war. Today they witnessed unity. One by one, the cabinet members spoke in support of the action.
That evening I finally spoke to Obama on the phone. He said the US would help in the first week – one week of heavy military support to take down air defences – but then we, Britain and France, would be on our own. He was unenthusiastic and matter-of-fact, but this was at least a clear and decisive response. It went beyond a no-fly zone and was militarily a more comprehensive solution. My foot-in-the-door approach had worked. But the tone of the exchange took some getting used to: I was so used to America, the leader of the free world, leading, that it was extraordinary to hear such reticence.
Nevertheless, I was relieved; Obama less so. He said he felt forced into it: ‘You’ll get our Tomahawks and Cruise missiles, then we’ll take a less active approach.’
The next day I was on the Eurostar to the ‘Paris Summit for the Support of the Libyan People’. Nick Clegg was in Westminster chairing COBR, taking advice from the military, who said Benghazi was under attack from Gaddafi’s forces: we must act now. My permission was sought, and I gave it via a crackling mobile phone on the Eurostar that kept cutting out. Liam Fox rightly insisted on written instructions. After the Iraq War, and our armed forces being subjected to the European Court of Human Rights – another Blair legacy – the UK military was constantly pushing for paper trails.
The Élysée Palace event was carefully choreographed. Sarkozy and I had a brief conversation about the latest developments, sitting together on an ornate French sofa. Hillary Clinton arrived, and Sarko showed her to a chair opposite us. He seemed keen to emphasise that here were the Europeans – president and prime minister – and here was America, represented by a secretary of state – and there was space between us.
He surprised us both when he said that he had already issued orders for French jets to take off and launch attacks: ‘They will be over the enemy in half an hour. What do you think?’ I said, ‘I think you’re very brave, but Nicolas, we haven’t yet taken out the air defences in Benghazi’ – in other words, they were still in place to shoot down attacking aircraft. Nicolas looked at his military adviser and asked if there was a risk, almost as if it hadn’t even been considered. His adviser reassured him that the mission was safe.
Clinton was completely unfazed by all of this. She invited an American military officer to give a short presentation. He stood up, opened a notepad, and proceeded to reel off the awesome extent of US military power that would be brought to bear: ‘At 1900 hours 113 Cruise missiles will be launched from ships around the Mediterranean …’ followed by a list of all the things the Americans were going to do. It was clear who still wielded the real power.
I went back to London to tell journalists in a short speech that our planes would join in that evening. ‘What we are doing is necessary, it is legal and it is right.’ Translation: we are at war – but this is not Iraq.
And then it happened. On 20 March, American, British and French aircraft destroyed Gaddafi’s tanks, armoured carriers and rocket-launchers, and his forces began to retreat. Benghazi was saved, and a Srebrenica-style slaughter averted. I’ve never known relief like it.
A couple of days later, Parliament would meet to vote on the action. I insisted on us having a substantive motion approving the action and its continuation. It was important to get Parliament’s approval. In the end, 557 MPs voted in favour and just thirteen against.
We had to keep going. On the last two days of March, coalition forces flew 180 sorties, of which twenty-three were carried out by the UK. Tornadoes and Typhoons used Brimstone missiles to destroy Gaddafi’s armoured vehicles, battle tanks and oil stores.
Soon I had a video call in Downing Street with Sarkozy and Obama. On one side of the split screen I saw Obama, clearly frustrated that he had been sucked in – blindsided by a bargain that asked for American support only in the initial phases, but that would now clearly require it in the long term. He said he would find it more difficult to trust us again. On the other side of the screen was an emotional Sarkozy. ‘I can’t believe you’re doing this,’ he said to Obama as he set out the limits of America’s involvement.
I was trying to conciliate, though, like Sarko, I wanted America to remain engaged. I used a baseball analogy to convey the merits of staying: we just needed one more home run.
Obama was unmoved. Days later, NATO took over operations and focused on wider targets that would help the Libyan rebels. The symbolism of America’s non-involvement was so important that Obama even made sure that NATO officers who happened to be American stepped back. A rather surprised Canadian lieutenant general in Naples found himself commanding the air war.
In the following months, Britain flew a fifth of all the strike sorties over Libya, while our frigates, destroyers, submarines and minesweepers enforced a maritime blockade. The scale of the operation was vast. Fifteen countries involved. Thirty-five ships on the Libyan coast at one time. On one day, 236 aircraft deployed.
The NSC(L), which met regularly under my chairmanship, had set out clear plans: immediate humanitarian support for the people of Libya; reconstruction, principally paid for by the oil-rich country itself and guided by Western help; and political transition, a Libyan-authored roadmap supported by us. International development secretary Andrew Mitchell was a key figure at those meetings – indeed, DFID took the international lead in developing these plans and corralling other states to support them. The aftermath was considered in every decision we took.
By May 2011 the war had sunk into stalemate, and needed a renewed focus. I agreed deals with France to commit Apache helicopters to help the rebels. I was on the phone to the leaders of the Gulf States to encourage their continued involvement, which turned out to be crucial.
In one of the most overlooked elements of the war effort, some advice from Alan Duncan, the minister at DFID and a former oil trader, was I believe decisive in breaking the deadlock. He sent me a note in April 2011 entitled ‘The Libyan Oil War – and Why You are Losing it’. In it he told me bluntly that oil sanctions were having a perverse effect, cutting off oil supplies and revenue from the Benghazi side of Libya, which we wanted to support, while Gaddafi was still buying and selling everything he needed. If this were to continue, the anti-Gaddafi forces would run out of money and oil – and lose – and Gaddafi would keep going. Alan recommended the delisting of Libya’s national oil company for eastern Libya, so that Benghazi could export crude oil, and the total disruption and blockade of the Gaddafi-controlled areas around Tripoli.
He put the NSC apparatus in touch with his close friend Ian Taylor, who ran the world’s most successful commodity trader, Vitol. Their case was totally convincing, so I instructed the NSC to set up what became known as the Libyan Oil Cell.
Crucially, without any UK government support, and at massive commercial risk, Ian Taylor, a hidden hero of Britain’s efforts, maintained supplies into Benghazi. Government action blocked Gaddafi; private enterprise supplied the rebels. The political and commercial worlds came together in the national interest, and helped turn the cou
rse of events.
There was another hidden hero from private enterprise. The UK banknote manufacturer De La Rue contacted the Treasury early on in the crisis, saying it had £٩٠٠ million worth of Libyan dinars destined for the regime in Tripoli waiting in a warehouse in Newcastle. George asked them to delay sending it. We were desperate to get it to the official Libyan opposition – and frustrated when I was told it couldn’t be done. Concerns were voiced about the legality, as the UN freeze covered all Libyan assets. By the time the NTC was increasingly recognised by countries across the world as the legitimate authority in Libya, we found a way. I’ll never forget George turning up at the NSC and saying jubilantly, ‘I’ve put all the fucking cash on a plane.’
There was another lever I was trying, too. Some say we never even tried to seek a political solution to ease the transition from Gaddafi to the NTC. Actually, we did. I pushed and pushed for a deal to be offered to Gaddafi – an ‘exit with honour’ – using political links built up historically between our countries.
All this was going on in the background. Andrew Mitchell sounded out the president of Equatorial Guinea on hosting Gaddafi in exile. At one point an ex-Spanish prime minister was lined up to make him an offer.
I also spoke to Tony Blair twice. He contacted me first to say that people around Gaddafi knew the game was up, and that he would take a way out if offered one. I said that if Gaddafi could leave he should leave, and we wouldn’t stop him. However, Gaddafi then told Blair there was no violence in Libya, and an attempt to recolonise the country was being made. It was futile.
Despite all these efforts, summer brought stalemate. It became clear that we could stop Gaddafi’s advances, but not get him to concede the need to do a deal. NATO alone couldn’t put his forces under enough pressure. Oil and banknotes alone weren’t enough.
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