My colleagues and I in Policy Planning played an active role in the internal review process, but grew restive with its methodical pace, especially as events in the former Soviet bloc gathered speed in the spring of 1989. Free elections took place in the Soviet Union for the Congress of People’s Deputies, giving fiery new figures like Boris Yeltsin a nationally televised platform to press for faster changes. Elections in June in Poland swept Solidarity into power, forming the first non-Communist government in postwar Eastern Europe. Later that month, Hungary removed the barbed wire along its border with Austria, and two hundred thousand Hungarians attended the reburial of Imre Nagy, the officially rehabilitated leader of the 1956 revolution. True to his “Sinatra Doctrine” of nonintervention in the political evolution of Eastern Europe, Gorbachev let the Poles and Hungarians do things their way.
By the fall of 1989, the pace of change convinced Baker that the United States could no longer afford to take the wary, risk-averse approach favored by the Pentagon and NSC staff. Their argument was essentially that the administration should hold out for Gorbachev to make more concessions as his position weakened. Baker, however, advocated a more activist policy—a systematic effort to shape a rapidly changing European landscape and lock in strategic advantages in partnership with Gorbachev and Shevardnadze. Beginning in early September, we sent Baker a series of papers that outlined alternative scenarios for the USSR if Gorbachev’s reform efforts collapsed. They ranged from the gradual crumbling of the Soviet system to a military coup and authoritarian modernization, but they all underscored the urgency of the moment and the value of doing all we could to support constructive change. In a conversation in his office that autumn, Baker told us that “history won’t forgive us if we miss this opportunity because we were too passive or not creative enough.” With Baker’s careful prodding, President Bush was coming around to this view too.
In late September, Baker hosted Shevardnadze and a large Soviet delegation for several days of talks near his modest ranch in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. The setting was spectacular, with the Tetons looming above the lodge where the talks took place, and the Snake River running nearby. Shevardnadze clearly appreciated Baker’s informal hospitality and their budding friendship.
Eduard Shevardnadze was a fascinating figure, a product of the Soviet system who saw its flaws in cold relief and had the courage to try to do something about them. A proud native of Georgia, he understood the forces of nationalism bubbling within the Soviet Union better than most senior leaders. He was also unflinching in his diagnosis of the paralytic Soviet economy, and far more realistic in his assessment of the dangers of a conservative reaction against reform than Gorbachev, the ebullient optimist. On the wider international stage, Shevardnadze understood that rapidly declining Soviet leverage required an effort to build a new relationship with the United States, as a way of both stabilizing the situation at home and preserving as much of the Soviet Union’s global role as possible. In Baker, Shevardnadze found a similarly pragmatic partner.
There was tangible progress on a number of issues at Jackson Hole. Shevardnadze made clear that the Soviets would no longer link significant reductions in nuclear arms to the future of missile defense, a major breakthrough that would lead eventually to the Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty in 1991, the largest and most significant arms control treaty ever negotiated. Logjams were broken on bilateral agreements on nuclear testing and chemical weapons. And the Soviet foreign minister said flatly that arms shipments to Nicaragua would cease, and that Moscow would press the Cubans to stop their shipments too.
Shevardnadze also impressed Baker with his candor on the domestic challenges that Gorbachev faced. Rather than give formulaic responses when Baker raised American concerns about possible Soviet use of force against protestors in the Baltic states or striking coal miners in Russia, Shevardnadze was blunt about the unreconstructed views of some in the Soviet leadership, and the risks of violence. He resisted Baker’s suggestion that Gorbachev begin to “cut loose” the Baltic states, explaining his worries about the chain reaction that might cause in other parts of the USSR. The overall directness and depth of their conversations solidified Baker’s activist inclination, and helped prepare the ground for Bush’s summit meeting with Gorbachev in Malta that December.
Baker went on to lay out the administration’s evolving approach in a series of speeches and public statements in October. He argued that perestroika’s success would be determined by the Soviets themselves, but that it created an historic opportunity for a new relationship with the United States based on greater “points of mutual advantage.” Advances in arms control and resolution of regional conflicts were obvious examples; Baker also offered technical assistance in support of Soviet economic reforms, and painted a wider picture of “a Europe whole and free.”
Meanwhile, it was hard to keep track of events in Eastern Europe. On November 9, a bungled attempt to relax restrictions on travel to the West resulted in the fall of the Berlin Wall. As Dennis Ross and I sat in his office that Thursday afternoon watching the riveting CNN footage of Berliners hammering chunks out of the wall, we could see that the world we had known was changing—we just could have never predicted how much, how far, or how fast. Within weeks, popular movements toppled autocrats in Bulgaria, Czechoslovakia, and Romania. We tried to think ahead, and in a subsequent Policy Planning paper laid out a series of initiatives aimed at “consolidating the revolutions of 1989 in Eastern Europe.”5 Noting that “the post-communist reconstruction of Eastern Europe is no less challenging than the post-Nazi reconstruction of Western Europe,” we pressed for concrete programs of technical and economic support, in cooperation with our European allies, and without provoking the Soviets.
By the time Gorbachev and Bush had their shipboard summit in stormy Mediterranean seas off Malta a month after the fall of the wall, the Soviet empire was no more. Gorbachev was matter-of-fact, telling Bush that they were “simply doomed to dialogue, coordination and cooperation. There is no other choice.”6 Building on the Jackson Hole discussions, they agreed to major nuclear and conventional forces cuts. Most interestingly, they signaled the possibility of a reunited, democratic Germany—a reality that had seemed unimaginable for the better part of four decades.
Nowhere was Baker’s diplomatic agility and foresight more evident than in the rapid sequence of events that led, in less than a year, from the tearing down of the Berlin Wall to Germany’s formal reunification, within NATO, in October 1990. In discussions in Policy Planning in mid-November 1989, Frank Fukuyama proposed that Baker take the initiative and frame a series of principles on German reunification. In a subsequent memo to the secretary, Frank stressed several basic points: Germans—not outside powers—should determine their own future; reunification should occur in the context of Germany’s continued commitment to NATO, taking into account the legal role and responsibility of the four Allied powers (France, the United Kingdom, the United States, and the Soviet Union); the process should be gradual, peaceful, and step-by-step; and the Helsinki Act provisions on the inviolability of borders should apply. These early American principles helped set the tone and shape of the subsequent diplomatic process. They also helped Baker address Germany’s determination to make its own choices about its future; the early skepticism of the French and British about any rapid move to reunification; and the obvious worries of the Soviets about the strategic consequences of a united Germany. Shaping the principles of policy debate, I learned, is often the first step toward winning it.
Baker also had to overcome more cautious sentiments within the White House and other parts of the administration. One paper from the European Affairs Bureau at State counseled Baker to avoid being “stampeded” into premature diplomatic initiatives. Zoellick and Ross strongly disagreed. For several years, Zoellick kept the memo on his desk and used it to remind me, only partly in jest, of the overly cautious mindset of the Foreign Service. Baker hardly needed to be persua
ded. Given the breathtaking pace of change in 1989, he had no interest in sitting on the sidelines.
We spent much of the Christmas holiday working to devise a framework that would translate Fukuyama’s principles into a practical process. The memo that resulted outlined a “Two Plus Four” process, in which West Germany and East Germany would shape internal arrangements, and the four Allied powers would help guide external arrangements. Dennis sent it to Baker in late January 1990, and the secretary quickly realized the utility of the concept—the first part addressed the needs of the Germans (and the concerns of some in the administration), and the second addressed those of the Soviets, French, and British. With President Bush’s support, Baker sold the concept to German chancellor Helmut Kohl and foreign minister Hans-Dietrich Genscher in early February, agreeing to use Two Plus Four negotiations to press for rapid German unification and full NATO membership, while reassuring the Soviets that NATO would not be extended any farther to the east, and would be transformed to reflect the end of the Cold War and potential partnership with the Soviet Union.
In meetings a few days later with Shevardnadze and Gorbachev in Moscow, Baker won their initial support, and began the effort to ease their resistance to membership of a unified Germany in NATO. Baker maintained that Soviet interests would be more secure with a united Germany wrapped up in NATO, rather than a Germany untied to NATO and perhaps eventually with its own nuclear weapons. He also said that there would be no extension of NATO’s jurisdiction or forces “one inch to the east” of the borders of a reunified Germany. The Russians took him at his word and would feel betrayed by NATO enlargement in the years that followed, even though the pledge was never formalized and was made before the breakup of the Soviet Union. It was an episode that would be relitigated for many years to come.
The Two Plus Four approach was broadly blessed at a meeting of foreign ministers in Ottawa in mid-February and announced by Baker and Genscher. In May, Gorbachev conceded to Bush that Germany should be able to choose its own alliance arrangements. Increasingly beleaguered by unrest and economic stagnation at home, with violence and mounting separatist movements in the Baltics and the South Caucasus, Gorbachev had dwindling leverage. Bush provided him with a series of informal assurances about the nonthreatening evolution of NATO, reinforcing Baker’s earlier commitments. In July, Kohl and Gorbachev announced a sweeping agreement on German reunification, within NATO. On October 3, 1990, the new, united Germany formally emerged.
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GIVEN THE HISTORIC drama unfolding in Europe, it was not surprising that Middle East policy had taken a backseat during Bush’s first eighteen months in office. That all changed at the beginning of August 1990, when Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait.
All of us in the administration underestimated Saddam’s sense of both risk and opportunity. He had ruined Iraq’s economy during eight years of war with Iran, which left the urban infrastructure in a shambles, produced a war debt of more than $100 billion, and cost half a million Iraqi lives. Neither Kuwait nor Saudi Arabia had any interest in writing off his debt or in conspiring to raise oil prices. Despite his brutally repressive grip, Saddam worried that a bleak economic outlook would make Iraqis restive. At the same time, he saw opportunity in popular trends in the region. It wasn’t hard to cloak himself as a militant Arab nationalist, first the defender of the Arab world against Persian theocrats, and now the champion of Arabs oppressed by corrupt rulers beholden to the Americans and soft on Israel. Moreover, he assumed the end of the Cold War meant Washington would have less incentive to intervene in the Middle East, and could be warned off with a sufficient display of strength.
America’s Arab partners were not much more astute about Saddam. President Hosni Mubarak, King Hussein, and King Fahd all had encouraged Bush to reach out to the Iraqi dictator. With the end of the Iran-Iraq War, their view was that Saddam would naturally turn his attention to domestic recovery and modernization. Iraq would remain a bulwark against revolutionary Iran, and a complicated neighbor, but not a short-term threat. During his first year in office, Bush cautiously probed the possibilities with Baghdad. The United States extended credit guarantees for Iraqi grain purchases, and Baker met with his Iraqi counterpart, the wily Tariq Aziz. But by the spring of 1990, the secretary had begun to take a harder view, especially after Saddam made a vituperative speech threatening to “burn Israel.” Ross told Baker that it was an “illusion” to think that Saddam could be a reliable partner.
Meanwhile, Saddam resurrected a long-standing border dispute with the Kuwaitis, and accused them of waging “economic warfare.” By midsummer, he had begun to mass troops on the Kuwaiti border. The allure of Kuwait for Saddam was obvious. Its annual GDP was nearly half the size of Iraq’s; with its oil fields, Saddam could control more than 10 percent of global oil supply and quickly be in a position to write off his war debt. The risks seemed modest—the Kuwaiti military would be no match for his combat-hardened forces.
Mubarak and other Arab leaders continued to assure Bush that Saddam was just bluffing and seeking to improve his hand in negotiations with the Kuwaitis over their border dispute. When Saddam unexpectedly summoned U.S. ambassador April Glaspie for a meeting on July 25, she reiterated formal American policy: The United States did not take a position on the merits of Iraqi-Kuwaiti territorial differences, but did certainly take the position that they had to be resolved peacefully. Afterward, in her cable to Washington, Glaspie concluded that the United States had “fully caught Saddam’s attention” and that he had committed to opening negotiations with Kuwait soon.7 She was widely criticized later for not being emphatic enough with Saddam about the consequences of the use of force, but that was unfair. No one expected Saddam to launch a full-scale invasion, and President Bush sent a letter to Saddam on July 28 that was not much tougher in tone or substance than Glaspie’s exchange.
Undeterred, Saddam sent his military across the border into Kuwait on August 2, occupied the entire country within two days, and immediately declared Kuwait to be Iraq’s “nineteenth province.” Baker had been in Siberia the day before, meeting Shevardnadze. He shared with Shevardnadze intelligence reports of the Iraqi military buildup, as well as his mounting concern, but Shevardnadze was as dismissive of the chances of an actual invasion as Arab leaders were. Baker then flew on to Mongolia for a previously scheduled visit, and was there when the Iraqi attack began. Ross advised him to travel directly to Moscow and issue a joint statement with Shevardnadze condemning Saddam’s aggression. Nothing would carry more diplomatic impact, or symbolize more vividly how much U.S.-Soviet relations had changed. On August 3, barely twenty-four hours after the invasion began, Shevardnadze and Baker stood together at Vnukovo Airport outside the Soviet capital and denounced the attack. As Baker later wrote, that moment really did mark the end of the Cold War.
On August 4, Policy Planning made a first attempt to try to frame what was at stake. Entitled “The First Post–Cold War Crisis,” our note read, “Saddam believes that the end of the Cold War has fundamentally changed the basic strategic calculations of both superpowers. Their main purpose for competition in Southwest Asia has been reduced and with it the priority they will place on preserving their cold war alliances. Part of the reason for the shift in Soviet and American policy, Saddam figures, is the dramatically increased cost of power projection and active involvement in regional conflicts. Saddam, like Khomeini ten years ago, is convinced that the myth of American power is far greater in the Middle East than its practical bite, and that if confronted with real costs, Washington will not stay the course.”8
Our paper continued, “Saddam is also banking on what he believes is a fundamental trend in Arab attitudes and politics. The process of change in Eastern Europe has excited many Arab intellectuals and the economic frustrations of boom and bust oil revenues along with urbanization has provided Islamist and nationalist demagogues with a ready mass base. Saddam is appealing to
nationalist radical symbols, partly to outflank the Islamist radicals, and is playing to a widespread mass inclination to blame the U.S. for their political and economic troubles. His calculation is that any Arab regime that has to depend on the U.S. for protection is vulnerable to internal insurrection.”
Our prescription was straightforward. We needed to defend Saudi Arabia, and then reverse Saddam’s aggression. In a second, more detailed memo two weeks later, we underscored the argument: “With all that is now at stake in the Gulf, we cannot afford to settle for an outcome less than complete Iraqi withdrawal from Kuwait and restoration of Kuwait’s legitimate government.”9 The paper laid out a two-step approach: First, bring maximum multilateral political and economic pressure to bear on Saddam; then follow up with a sustained program of containment to deny him any escape from the domestic consequences of having failed in Kuwait and capitulated to the Iranians.
If Saddam did not back down, the second purpose of our diplomacy would be to serve as a foundation for international support for military action against Iraq. Being perceived to have exhausted all reasonable nonmilitary options would be critical to building and maintaining such support. Inability to pressure Saddam to withdraw by means short of force would not be a “failure” of diplomacy—it would rather be the shrewdest kind of diplomacy, creating the basis for an international coalition that could achieve Iraqi withdrawal from Kuwait and manage the aftermath.
The dilemma we faced, however, was that we did not have much time, since Saddam was cleverly exploiting potential fissures in the international consensus. President Bush had succinctly laid out the American bottom line in a statement to the press soon after Saddam’s invasion: The occupation of Kuwait, he said, “will not stand.” He and his team then moved to accomplish that goal, with a skill and drive as fine as any example I saw in government. Dick Cheney flew to Saudi Arabia, where he announced a military operation to defend the Saudis, dubbed Operation Desert Shield. Colin Powell and his commander in the field, General Norman Schwarzkopf, began mobilizing U.S. forces for deployment in the region. Brent Scowcroft and Bob Gates managed an impressive interagency process and pushed the strategy forward. Secretary Baker coordinated with Scowcroft, Cheney, and Powell on building a massive international coalition, attracting military and financial contributions, marshaling economic pressure on Saddam, and creating a powerful diplomatic foundation for action. At the United Nations, Ambassador Tom Pickering expertly set in motion a series of Security Council resolutions, first condemning the Iraqi attack, then putting in place economic sanctions unprecedented in their scope, which would eventually cut off nearly all of Iraq’s exports and external sources of revenue.
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