As we were flying back to Washington, Laura and I agreed the trip had been the best of the presidency. There was a new and palpable sense of energy and hope across Africa. The outpouring of love for America was overwhelming. Every time I hear an American politician or commentator talk about our country’s poor image in the world, I think about the tens of thousands of Africans who lined the roadsides to wave at our motorcade and express their gratitude to the United States.
By the time I left office in January 2009, PEPFAR had supported treatment for 2.1 million people and care for more than 10 million people. American taxpayer dollars had helped protect mothers and babies during more than 16 million pregnancies. More than 57 million people had benefited from AIDS testing and counseling sessions.
The results of the Malaria Initiative were equally encouraging. Through the distribution of insecticide-treated bed nets, indoor spraying, and the delivery of medicine for infected and pregnant mothers, the Malaria Initiative helped protect twenty-five million people from unnecessary death. Several countries, including Ethiopia, Rwanda, Tanzania, and Zambia, were ahead of schedule in meeting the goal of cutting malaria infection rates by more than 50 percent.
Passing out bed nets to mothers in Arusha, Tanzania, as part of our malaria initiative. White House/Eric Draper
Africa’s needs remain tremendous. There are still more than twenty-two million people living with AIDS. Some who need antiretroviral drugs still go without. While malaria is in retreat, there are still children dying needlessly from mosquito bites. Poverty remains rampant. Infrastructure is lacking. And there are pockets of terrorism and brutality.
While these challenges are daunting, the African people have strong partners at their side. The United States, the G-8, the UN, the faith-based community, and the private sector are all far more engaged than ever before. The health infrastructure put in place as part of PEPFAR and the Malaria Initiative will bring wide-ranging benefits in other areas of African life.
Perhaps the most important change in recent years is in the way Africans see themselves. Just as AIDS is no longer viewed as a death sentence, the African people have newfound optimism that they can overcome their problems, reclaim their dignity, and go forward with hope.
On our trip to Rwanda in 2008, Laura and I visited a school where teenagers—many of them orphans—were taught about HIV/AIDS prevention. One lesson focused on showing girls how to reject the advances of older men, part of the abstinence component of PEPFAR.
As I walked by a cluster of students, I said, “God is good.” They shouted back in unison, “All the time!”
Here in Rwanda, a country that had lost hundreds of thousands to genocide and AIDS, these children felt blessed. Surely those of us in comfortable places like America could learn a lesson. I decided to say it again.
“God is good.”
The chorus responded even louder, “All the time!”
*The team included Dr. Tony Fauci, the longtime director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, and his assistant director, Dr. Mark Dybul; Gary Edson, my deputy national security adviser and top staffer on international development; Jay Lefkowitz, my deputy domestic policy director; Robin Cleveland from the Office of Management and Budget; Kristen Silverberg, one of Josh’s deputies; and, later, Dr. Joe O’Neill, the director of national AIDS policy.
**Botswana, Côte d’Ivoire, Ethiopia, Guyana, Haiti, Kenya, Mozambique, Namibia, Nigeria, Rwanda, South Africa, Tanzania, Uganda, and Zambia. At Congress’s request, we later added one Asian nation to PEPFAR, Vietnam.
***We visited Benin, led by Yayi Boni; Tanzania, led by Jakaya Kikwete; Rwanda, led by Paul Kagame; Ghana, led by John Kufuor; and Liberia, led by Ellen Johnson Sirleaf.
n September 2006, with the midterm elections approaching, my friend Mitch McConnell came to the Oval Office. The senior senator from Kentucky and Republican whip had asked to see me alone. Mitch has a sharp political nose, and he smelled trouble.
“Mr. President,” he said, “your unpopularity is going to cost us control of the Congress.”
Mitch had a point. Many Americans were tired of my presidency. But that wasn’t the only reason our party was in trouble. I flashed back to the Republican congressmen sent to jail for taking bribes, disgraced by sex scandals, or implicated in lobbying investigations. Then there was the wasteful spending, the earmarks for pork-barrel projects, and our failure to reform Social Security despite majorities in both houses of Congress.
“Well, Mitch,” I asked, “what do you want me to do about it?”
“Mr. President,” he said, “bring some troops home from Iraq.”
He was not alone. As violence in Iraq escalated, members of both parties had called for a pullout.
“Mitch,” I said, “I believe our presence in Iraq is necessary to protect America, and I will not withdraw troops unless military conditions warrant.” I made it clear I would set troop levels to achieve victory in Iraq, not victory at the polls.
What I did not tell him was that I was seriously considering the opposite of his recommendation. Rather than pull troops out, I was on the verge of making the toughest and most unpopular decision of my presidency: deploying tens of thousands more troops into Iraq with a new strategy, a new commander, and a mission to protect the Iraqi people and help enable the rise of a democracy in the heart of the Middle East.
The pessimism of September 2006 came in contrast to the hope so many felt after the liberation of Iraq. In the year after our troops entered the country, we toppled Saddam’s regime, captured the dictator, rebuilt schools and health clinics, and formed a Governing Council representing all major ethnic and sectarian groups. While the lawlessness and violence exceeded our expectations, most Iraqis seemed determined to build a free society. On March 8, 2004, the Governing Council reached agreement on the Transitional Administrative Law. This landmark document called for a return of sovereignty in June, followed by elections for a national assembly, the drafting of a constitution, and another round of elections to choose a democratic government.
For almost three years, this road map guided our strategy. We believed that helping the Iraqis meet those milestones was the best way to show Shia, Sunnis, and Kurds they had a stake in a free and peaceful country. Once Iraqis were invested in the democratic process, we hoped they would resolve disputes at the ballot box, thereby marginalizing the enemies of a free Iraq. In short, we believed political progress was the path to security—and, ultimately, the path home.
Our military strategy focused on pursuing the extremists while training the Iraqi security forces. Over time, we would move toward a smaller military footprint, countering the perception that we were occupiers and boosting the legitimacy of Iraq’s leaders. I summed up the strategy: “As the Iraqis stand up, we will stand down.” Don Rumsfeld had a more memorable analogy: “We have to take our hand off the bicycle seat.”
I had studied the histories of postwar Germany, Japan, and South Korea. Each had required many years—and a U.S. troop presence—to complete the transition from the devastation of war to stable democracies. But once they did, their transformative impact proved worth the costs. West Germany emerged as the engine of European prosperity and a vital beacon of freedom during the Cold War. Japan grew into the world’s second-largest economy and the lynchpin of security in the Pacific. South Korea became one of our largest trading partners and a strategic bulwark against its neighbor to the north.
All three countries benefited from relatively homogenous populations and peaceful postwar environments. In Iraq, the journey would be more difficult. Iraq had been plagued by ethnic and sectarian tensions ever since the British created the country from the vestiges of the Ottoman Empire. The fear and distrust bred by Saddam Hussein made it hard for Iraqis to reconcile. So did the brutal attacks carried out by extremists.
Despite the violence, there was hope. Iraq had a young, educated population, a vibrant culture, and functioning government institutions. It had strong econom
ic potential thanks in part to its natural resources. And its citizens were making sacrifices to overcome the insurgents and live in freedom. With time and steadfast American support, I had confidence that democracy in Iraq would succeed.
That confidence was tested daily. Every morning, I received an overnight summary from the Situation Room printed on a blue sheet of paper. One section of the report listed the number, place, and cause of American casualties in Afghanistan and Iraq.
The toll mounted over time. America lost 52 troops in Iraq in March 2004. We lost 135 in April, 80 in May, 42 in June, 54 in July, 66 in August, 80 in September, 64 in October, and 137 in November, when our troops launched a major assault on insurgents in Fallujah.
The growing number of deaths filled me with anguish. When I received a blue sheet, I would circle the casualty figure with my pen, pause, and reflect on each individual loss. I comforted family members of the fallen as often as I could. In August 2005, I flew to Idaho for an event honoring the contributions of the National Guard and Reserves. Afterward, I met with Dawn Rowe, who had lost her husband, Alan, in September 2004. Dawn introduced me to her children, six-year-old Blake and four-year-old Caitlin. Even though it had been almost a year since Alan’s death, their grief was overwhelming. “My husband loved being a Marine,” Dawn told me. “If he had to do it all again, knowing he would die, he would.” I made her a promise: Alan’s sacrifice would not be in vain.
Over the course of my presidency I met roughly 550 families of the fallen. The meetings were both the most painful and most uplifting part of serving as commander in chief. The vast majority of those I met were like the Rowes: devastated by their loss, but proud of their family member’s service. A few families lashed out. When I visited Fort Lewis in Washington State in June 2004, I met a mother who had lost her son in Iraq. She was visibly upset. I tried to put her at ease.
“You are as big a terrorist as Osama bin Laden,” she said.
There wasn’t much to say in response. She had lost her son; she had the right to speak her mind to the man who had sent him into battle. I was sorry her grief had created such bitterness. If expressing her anger helped ease her pain, that was fine with me.
That same day, I met Patrick and Cindy Sheehan of Vacaville, California. Their fallen son, Specialist Casey Sheehan, had volunteered for his final mission, a courageous attempt to rescue a team of fellow soldiers pinned down in Sadr City. After the meeting, Cindy shared her impressions of me with a Vacaville newspaper: “I now know he’s sincere about wanting freedom for the Iraqis. … I know he’s sorry and feels some pain for our loss. And I know he’s a man of faith.”
By the following summer, Cindy Sheehan had become an antiwar activist. Over time, her rhetoric grew harsher and more extreme. She became the spokesperson for the antiwar organization Code Pink, spoke out against Israel, advocated for anti-American dictator Hugo Chavez of Venezuela, and eventually ran for Congress against Speaker Nancy Pelosi. I feel sympathy for Cindy Sheehan. She is a mother who clearly loved her son. The grief caused by his loss was so profound that it consumed her life. My hope is that one day she and all the families of our fallen troops will be comforted to see a free Iraq and a more peaceful world as a fitting memorial to the sacrifice of their loved ones.
When al Qaeda lost its safe haven in Afghanistan, the terrorists went searching for a new one. After we removed Saddam in 2003, bin Laden exhorted his fighters to support the jihad in Iraq. In many ways, Iraq was more desirable for them than Afghanistan. It had oil riches and Arab roots. Over time, the number of extremists affiliated with al Qaeda in Afghanistan declined to the low hundreds, while the estimated number in Iraq topped ten thousand.
There were other extremists in Iraq: former Baathists, Sunni insurgents, and Shia extremists backed by Iran. But none were more ruthless than al Qaeda. Critics argued the al Qaeda presence proved we had stirred up terrorists by liberating Iraq. I never accepted that logic. Al Qaeda was plenty stirred up on 9/11, when there wasn’t a single American soldier in Iraq. Did anyone really believe that the men sawing off the heads of innocent captives or blowing themselves up in markets would have been peaceful citizens if only we had left Saddam Hussein alone? If these fanatics had not been trying to kill Americans in Iraq, they would have been trying to do it elsewhere. And if we were to let them drive us out of Iraq, they would not have been satisfied to stop there. They would have followed us home.
For all the lives they stole, our enemies failed to stop us from achieving a single one of our strategic objectives in Iraq. In spring 2004, the terrorist Zarqawi—whom Osama bin Laden later designated “the prince of al Qaeda in Iraq”—threatened to disrupt the transfer of sovereignty, scheduled for June 30. In May, a suicide bomber assassinated the president of the Governing Council, Izzedine Salim. A few weeks later, coordinated attacks on Iraqi police and government buildings killed more than one hundred, including three American troops. To disrupt plans for more major attacks, we decided to execute the handover two days ahead of schedule.
I was at the NATO Summit in Istanbul on June 28 when I felt Don Rumsfeld’s hand reach over my shoulder. He slipped me a scrap of paper with Condi’s handwriting: “Mr. President, Iraq is sovereign. Letter was passed from Bremer at 10:26 a.m., Iraqi time.”
Receiving the news that Iraq is sovereign. White House/Eric Draper
I scrawled on the note, “Let freedom reign!” Then I shook hands with the leader on my right. In a fitting twist of history, I shared the moment with a man who had never wavered in his commitment to a free Iraq, Tony Blair.
The note from Condi. White House/Eric Draper
Sharing the moment with my strongest ally. White House/Eric Draper
Seven months later, in January 2005, Iraqis reached the next milestone: elections to choose an interim national assembly. Again, the terrorists mounted a campaign to stop the progress. Zarqawi declared “an all-out war on this evil principle of democracy” and pledged to kill any Iraqi involved in the election.
Back home, pressure mounted. One op-ed in the Los Angeles Times called the election a “sham” and proposed postponing it. I believed delay would embolden the enemy and cause the Iraqis to question our commitment to democracy. Holding the vote would show faith in the Iraqis and expose the insurgents as enemies of freedom. “The elections have to go forward,” I told the national security team. “This will be a moment of clarity for the world.”
At 5:51 a.m. on January 30, 2005, I called the duty officer in the Situation Room to get the first readout. He told me our embassy in Baghdad was reporting a large turnout—despite a boycott by many Sunnis. While terrorists pulled off some attacks, broadcasts around the world showed Iraqis waving their ink-stained fingers* in the air with joy. One reporter witnessed a ninety-year-old woman being pushed to the polls in a wheelbarrow. Another news account described a voter who had lost a leg in a terrorist attack. “I would have crawled here if I had to,” he said. “Today I am voting for peace.”
The elections produced a national assembly, which named a committee to draft the constitution. In August, the Iraqis reached agreement on the most progressive constitution in the Arab world—a document that guaranteed equal rights for all and protected the freedoms of religion, assembly, and expression. When the voters went to the polls on October 15, the turnout was even larger than it was in January. Violence was lower. More Sunnis voted. The constitution was ratified 79 percent to 21 percent.
The third election of the year, held in December, was to replace the interim assembly with a permanent legislature. Once again, Iraqis defied terrorist threats. Nearly twelve million people—a turnout of more than 70 percent—cast their ballots. This time Sunnis participated in overwhelming numbers. One voter stuck his ink-stained finger in the air and shouted, “This is a thorn in the eyes of the terrorists.”
With absentee Iraqi voters in the Oval Office. White House/Paul Morse
I was proud of our troops and thrilled for the Iraqis. With the three elections of 2005, they ha
d accomplished a major milestone on the path to democracy. I was hopeful the political progress would isolate the insurgents and allow our troops to pick off al Qaeda fighters one by one. After all the sadness and sacrifice, there was genuine reason for optimism.
The Askariya shrine at the Golden Mosque of Samarra is considered one of the holiest sites in Shia Islam. It contains the tombs of two revered imams who were father and grandfather to the hidden imam, a savior the Shia believe will restore justice to humanity.
On February 22, 2006, two massive bombs destroyed the mosque. The attack was an enormous provocation to the Shia, akin to an attack on St. Peter’s Basilica or the Western Wall. “This is the equivalent of your 9/11,” the influential Shia leader Abdul Aziz al Hakim told me.
I thought back to the letter Zarqawi had written to al Qaeda leaders in 2004, in which he proposed to incite a war between Iraqi Shia and Sunnis. While there were some immediate reprisal attacks, the violence did not seem to be spiraling out of control. I was relieved. The Shia had shown restraint, and I encouraged them to continue. In a speech on March 13, I said the Iraqis had “looked into the abyss and did not like what they saw.”
I was wrong. By early April, sectarian violence had exploded. Roving bands of Shia gunmen kidnapped and murdered innocent Sunnis. Sunnis responded with suicide bombings in Shia areas. The crisis was exacerbated by the lack of a strong Iraqi government. Parties had been jockeying for position since the December election. That was a natural part of democracy, but with the violence escalating, Iraq needed a strong leader. I directed Condi and Ambassador Zal Khalilzad—who had moved from Kabul to Baghdad—to lean hard on the Iraqis to select a prime minister. Four months after the election, they made a surprise choice: Nouri al Maliki.
Decision Points Page 42