by Bret Baier
Not everyone would characterize the Moscow summit—the centerpiece of this book—as the critical turning point in the end of the Cold War. Some would cite the Geneva summit, when Reagan and Gorbachev had first met face-to-face and where the scaffolding of their future negotiations had been erected. Others would name Reykjavík, in spite of the heated dispute that had ended the summit, because the two sides had reached agreements on important points that they could not take back. Still others would name the Washington summit, not only because that was where an actual treaty had been signed but because it had enhanced the notion of friendship between the two men and their nations.
Moscow, which could not have happened without the other three summits, was transcendent—a coda to Reagan’s eight years in office and his life’s ambition. In its timing, its tone, and its moral achievement, it did more than any of the others to squarely present the nature of the choice the world was facing. Early in his administration, when Reagan had consigned the Soviet system to “the ash heap of history,” many people (especially the Soviets) had misunderstood his words to mean that he was bent on its destruction. Rather, he had been saying that the Soviet system was already collapsing, that history was already marching past it. By the time of the Moscow summit, that fact was evident to everyone, including the Soviets themselves. Yes, they remained a world power. Yes, their arsenal of weapons was still great. But beneath the surface, the economy was in free fall, its citizenry was restless; the architect of perestroika was breaking down the remaining barriers. Reagan’s prediction was coming true, as he, if not others, had always known it would.
The collapse of an untenable system did not need a Gorbachev to make it happen, and indeed, when he had first spoken of its inevitable doom, Reagan had not counted on someone like Gorbachev coming into power. He could not have imagined that the Soviets would move closer to his vision of the world so quickly. They had been an intractable force for decades, and then, with Gorbachev, they weren’t. That’s not to say that the relationship was easy or that Gorbachev had abandoned communism. But he’d left the door open, so that democratization could walk in and take possession.
In the nuclear age, peace is the only viable resolution, and peace is not made in the abstract but between humans. The relationship that developed between the two leaders was transformational. In the often stormy yet enduringly warm collaboration, bitter foes became good-faith negotiators and set the stage for a world that was soon to change. Surely, in 1981, few would have pictured the man whose opposition to communism was like mother’s milk walking in Red Square or standing tall on the stage of Russia’s premier university to speak passionately about American values. He was there not only because he’d been invited but because Gorbachev had welcomed him in and allowed him to be heard.
Arguably the most important moment of the Moscow visit was Reagan’s announcement that the “Evil Empire” was a thing of the past. When the Soviet people witnessed the most ardent public anti-Communist in the world standing in Red Square and embracing a future together with them, it gave them new reason to believe that their leader’s reforms were on the right track. Gorbachev himself wrote in his memoirs, “In my view, the 40th president of the United States will go down in history for his rare perception.”
When Air Force One at last landed at Andrews Air Force Base in the late afternoon of June 3, Reagan made a statement to the press. “As some of you may have heard, Mr. Gorbachev and I have been trading Russian proverbs this week. But, you know, flying back across the Atlantic today, it was an American saying that kept running through my mind. Believe me, as far as Nancy and I are concerned, there’s no place like home.”
“You made us proud,” Vice President Bush told Reagan when he welcomed him at Andrews. He assured him that the nation shared his verdict. Americans like to think that their president represents them, not just oratorically but fundamentally—that when other nations see and touch him, they are seeing and touching the essential character of America. Walking through Red Square, standing on a vegetable cart in the Arbat, or casting his long shadow on the statue of Lenin at Moscow State University, Reagan exuded a vigor and a joy that reflected the best side of the United States of America.
HIS TIME IN OFFICE was drawing to a close. On November 8, Vice President George Bush, with his running mate, Dan Quayle, won an overwhelming victory over Democratic candidates Michael Dukakis and Lloyd Bentsen—426 electoral votes and 40 states—to be elected the forty-first president of the United States.
Those who might have considered Bush’s victory the beginning of a third Reagan term were soon disabused of the notion. Bush, whose understated personality had given rise to the unfair charge that he was a “wimp,” was a very different character from his predecessor. And the decorated World War II aviator was no wimp; that soon became clear. He was about to step into the presidency on his own terms. Gorbachev had reason to be concerned. After all, during the campaign, Bush had said that “the jury is still out” on the Soviet Union. Ironically, early in his vice presidency, when Reagan’s rhetoric about the Soviet Union could verge on inflammatory, Bush had privately said he should be less contentious. Now was another time.
Gorbachev had reason to wonder whether negotiations would continue as they had with Reagan. He was frustrated that Bush seemed curt and withdrawn during the transition. Bush explained the American custom of the president-elect not interfering in foreign policy until he was sworn into office. But as Jon Meacham explained in Destiny and Power, “He [Bush] had pledged an essential continuation of Reagan’s policies but very much wanted to put his own mark on diplomacy. Thus was born the idea of a wide-ranging Bush review of the Reagan administration’s standing positions around the world. There was much to contemplate, especially with the Soviets.”
With that in mind, Gorbachev reached out to Reagan in the fall, suggesting one last meeting on December 7 in New York City, during the UN General Assembly. It would be Gorbachev’s first visit to New York. Reagan readily agreed. It would not be an official summit, just a friendly get-together and lunch, but Gorbachev had a strategic reason for suggesting it: he wanted to plant a virtual flag on their progress in the hope that the incoming president would stay the course.
According to Colin Powell, the idea was not met with much enthusiasm by Shultz or himself. Everyone assumed Gorbachev’s intention was to get close to Bush. He needed to be reminded, Powell said, that in the United States we had only one president at a time. Furthermore, they must emphasize that the meeting would not deal with substance. “No deals. No initiatives. No eleventh-hour surprises pulled on the old leader going out or the new leader coming in,” he said of his conversation with Shultz.
“The Vice President did not want this meeting,” Powell added. “He did not want to find himself in a room with Gorbachev and get committed, even before he had become President.” As Bush’s unease grew on the day of the meeting, he told Powell, “I’m not going to get pinned by this guy. I do not want to be hoodwinked by this guy.”
“Mr. Vice President,” Powell assured him, “we’ve talked to the Soviets and made it clear to them that this is a courtesy meeting; it is not a summit. We went out of our way to tell everybody it is not a summit, it is a meeting. Goodbye, Ronnie. Hello, George. How are you doing, Misha? That’s it, and there will be no announcements, pronouncements, or anything like that, so it’s okay.” Bush, still nervous, said, “All right.”
But others saw it as a final opportunity. Ken Duberstein, who had moved into the role of chief of staff after Moscow, when Howard Baker had stepped down to care for his ailing wife, relished the chance for a dramatic final meeting between Reagan and Gorbachev. He was rightly awed by his role in the drama. “Everybody walks into the Oval Office and gets cotton in their mouth,” he reflected later, understanding that his place was to be more than a gatekeeper. “Your job is not to tell the president what he wants to know but what he needs to know. You’re the one that has to paint the picture of what reality is. You’re the per
son who has to generally say, ‘Uh-uh, it doesn’t fly.’ You’re the person who has to say, ‘Mr. President, let me take another look at that, let me get better options for you. This decision is not ripe to be made today. Mr. President, let’s not go down that path.’ . . . You always have to be a reality therapist.”
Duberstein was aware that the charge he carried was coming at the end of Reagan’s presidency. And he was proud to be the overseer of the final meeting between Reagan and Gorbachev.
They would meet at a site that could not be more weighted in symbolism. Governors Island, only a few hundred yards from Manhattan in New York Harbor, had been a fortress during the Revolutionary War and was now the largest Coast Guard base in the world. Reagan had been there on July 4, 1986, to unveil the newly refurbished Statue of Liberty. From the island, a mile and a half away, Reagan had pushed a button that had released a blue laser beam to Liberty Island, creating a celebratory light show.
Secret documents made public in 2008 describe the content of the meeting and lunch, but the optics were visible for all to see, captured in a stirring photograph of Reagan, Gorbachev, and Bush standing together on a jetty over the water, their coats flapping in the chill wind, and the Statue of Liberty in the background.
Reagan and Gorbachev were glad to see each other. Reagan presented him with a gift: a framed photo of them together in Geneva, where it had all started. The inscription read, “We walked a long way together to clear a path to peace, Geneva 1985—New York 1988.”
Gorbachev might have been feeling justifiably proud when he arrived, following a news-making speech at the United Nations in which he declared an end to Soviet aggression in Eastern Europe, with unilateral cuts in Soviet forces totaling 500,000 soldiers and the withdrawal of thousands of tanks.
The speech not only was welcome, it foreshadowed an entirely new world order—a Soviet Union free of aggression. As the Guardian wrote approvingly, “The Russian steamroller has loomed over Europe since it first invaded, on the heels of Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow in 1812. And as the Soviet leader once again seized the initiative on the world stage yesterday, you could almost feel the earth shifting inside the UN building.” In the New York Times: “Perhaps not since Woodrow Wilson presented his Fourteen Points in 1918 or since Franklin Roosevelt and Winston Churchill promulgated the Atlantic Charter in 1941 has a world figure demonstrated the vision Mikhail Gorbachev displayed yesterday at the United Nations.”
Perhaps more meaningful than the press accolades were the loud cheers and ovations from the floor as Gorbachev delivered the speech, as well as the enthusiastic reactions of some of the old hands in Cold War negotiations. Retired general Andrew Goodpaster, former NATO supreme commander and an indispensable Eisenhower aide, said it was “the most significant step since NATO was founded.” Richard Nixon, who was in attendance, pumped Gorbachev’s hand afterward and praised him lavishly. Reagan wasn’t there for the speech, but he heartily approved when he heard about it.
Bush’s advisors were less effusive. Brent Scowcroft, who was on board to become Bush’s national security advisor (he’d served the same role under Ford), thought Gorbachev’s speech was a manipulative ploy aimed squarely at a change of administrations. “Gorbachev’s UN speech had established, with a largely rhetorical flourish, a heady atmosphere of optimism,” he said. “He could exploit an early meeting with a new president as evidence to declare the Cold War over without providing substantive actions from a ‘new’ Soviet Union.” But Bush and his people held their fire for the time being.
Lunch at the Coast Guard commandant’s residence was friendly, skirting over any policy discussions. Bush was mostly quiet, letting Gorbachev and Reagan reminisce about their meetings since Geneva. “Most of my people thought at the time it would be our only meeting,” Reagan said. At one point Gorbachev confessed that he was facing tremendous resistance to his programs from the bureaucracy back home and didn’t know if perestroika would succeed. “He turned to Reagan, almost as an older brother, and said, ‘What would your advice be?’ ” recalled Duberstein. “And Reagan said, ‘Mr. General Secretary, my friend, the bureaucracy is the same the world over. The only way you can overcome the bureaucracy is to get the people on your side. What that means is less money on missiles and more money for clothing and housing and transportation. It means less money on defense and more money for consumer goods. That’s what you have to pursue.’ ”
Duberstein saw the look in Gorbachev’s eyes, and he thought he glimpsed the knowledge that he was done. “If he cut back on the missiles and defense, the military would turn on him. If he cut back on consumer goods and housing, the people would not be on his side. That five-minute exchange really signaled to us that we were winning the Cold War and it was over.”
That glimpse of the future notwithstanding, Gorbachev was still playing the angles at lunch. He pointedly addressed Bush, emphasizing his seriousness about his mission and the struggles he was facing in his own country. “In 1985, when I first said there was going to be a revolution, everybody cheered,” he said wryly. “They said, yes, we needed a revolution. But by 1987, our revolution was on, and the cheering began to die down. Now in 1988, the revolution still goes on, but the cheering has stopped.” He was no doubt referring to his sinking approval ratings at home, so frustrating after all he had tried to accomplish.
Gorbachev tried to gently bait Bush into stating what he thought about the direction Reagan had taken and what the future might hold. Bush gave little indication of where he stood on continuing Reagan’s path with the Soviets. He needed time to study the issues, he told Gorbachev, while assuring him he had no intention of stalling. “I’ll have the extra incentive of the president in California getting on my case and telling me to get going,” he said to laughter.
While their husbands dined on Governors Island, Nancy and Raisa were attending a women’s luncheon hosted by the wife of the UN secretary general. Nancy was pleased to see a notable change in Raisa’s demeanor. There were none of her customary lectures, and she had an almost emotional reaction to the end of her and Nancy’s public relationship. As the two women smiled and held hands, Raisa confided, “I will miss you and your husband. As for the two of us, it was destiny that put us at the place we were, next to our husbands, to help bring about the relationship that our two countries now have.”
In a reflective mood, Nancy later surmised that their awkward relationship had probably been due more to self-consciousness than to antipathy. They had been in such a glaring spotlight, every move and facial expression endlessly debated. How could they not have been nervous and tense? This time, Nancy hadn’t minded the adoring crowds swarming around the Gorbachevs when they took to the streets or the massive press reporting on their travels around the city, including a visit to the 107th floor of the World Trade Center. She could see that the Americans’ love of the Gorbachevs was a tribute to the relationship her husband had built with them.
On Governors Island, Reagan and Gorbachev walked out to the boats that would shuttle them back to Manhattan. They gripped hands, feeling emotional. “I will be watching you from private life and cheering you on,” Reagan promised. And they departed—Reagan to serve out the remaining days of his administration, Gorbachev to face new battles and crises at home (including a deadly earthquake in Armenia, which he had learned about at lunch). “I think the meeting was a tremendous success,” Reagan wrote in his diary that day. “A better attitude than at any of our previous meetings. He [Gorbachev] sounded as if he saw us as partners making a better world.”
They were men with human flaws, feeling the full burden of their roles, in the moment and in history. They would meet again in different times, but for now they stood poised before the world they cared about, knowing it was no longer solely in their hands. They had pushed their fragile nursling out of the nest, and they could not predict or control the path it would take. But as they clasped hands before the cinematic backdrop of New York’s skyline, both recognized that the Cold War was ov
er, even if those around them could not quite see it.
Part Four
Dreams for the Future
Chapter 13
The Fall
Tomorrow I stop being President,” Reagan wrote in his diary right before he went to bed on January 19, 1989. Earlier that evening, his longtime aide Jim Kuhn had rushed upstairs to the residence with a folder of photographs he’d neglected to get signed. Worriedly, he said he knew the Reagans had so much to do but wondered if they could possibly take time to sign them. They both smiled and said of course they would, and Kuhn watched in amazement as they sat on the floor for forty-five minutes and signed every picture.
The preceding weeks had been a flurry of farewell events and packing. Reagan appreciated the accolades flowing in his direction, although he realized they were standard fare for a president on his way out. They’d recede soon enough, he knew, and that was okay. He tried to keep his emotions in check, but they got the better of him—and Nancy, too—on their last visit to Camp David the weekend before. “Of all the things about the presidency, we will miss Camp David the most,” he said in a teary farewell to the sailors and marines who had gathered to say good-bye. Nancy, usually so stoic, could not even speak, she was so overcome with emotion.
People kept asking Reagan if he would miss being president. Some, including Gorbachev, expressed regret that he wasn’t eligible for a third term. But he was ready to go. “Coming into the White House, you know you have temporary custody of this office and you’re going to be leaving,” he said. But of course he’d miss it. He’d miss the people, the moments of awe, the chance to shape history. Like every president nearing the end of his time, he’d experience the jarring change occurring in the moment of the transition of power that would send him back to ordinary citizenship. This bittersweet drama, played out at the end of every president’s time in office, was part of the essence of American greatness. Everyone expected it and knew it was coming, but it was still a shock to realize that it was the end—the last night you’d lay your head down on that presidential pillow. Nancy captured the experience well: “Nothing can prepare you for living in the White House—and nothing can prepare you for leaving it.”