Hard Choices

by Hillary Rodham Clinton

  Now, just two months later, we were facing another test, and I knew the Chinese leadership was more on edge than ever.

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  I told Jake to set up a conference call with Kurt Campbell, Deputy Secretary Bill Burns, and Counselor Cheryl Mills. Kurt had been coordinating closely with our embassy in Beijing since Chen first made contact, and he told me we probably had less than an hour to make a decision. The embassy had assembled a team that was ready to move to an agreed-upon rendezvous point as soon as I gave the word. We talked it through one more time, and then I said, “Go get him.”

  In the end it wasn’t a close call. I have always believed that, even more than our military and economic power, America’s values are the greatest source of strength and security. This isn’t just idealism; it’s based on a clear-eyed evaluation of our strategic position. The United States had talked about human rights in China for decades, across Democratic and Republican administrations alike. Now our credibility was on the line, with the Chinese and also with other countries in the region and around the world. If we didn’t help Chen, it would undermine our position everywhere.

  I also was making a calculated gamble that, as the hosts of the upcoming summit, the Chinese had invested at least as much as we had in keeping it on track. Finally, with the Bo Xilai scandal and the impending leadership transition, they had their hands full and wouldn’t have much appetite for a new crisis. I was willing to bet that Beijing would not blow up the entire relationship over this one incident.

  Once I gave the go-ahead, things started to move fast. Bob Wang departed the embassy en route to the rendezvous. Meanwhile it fell to Jake to brief the White House. He explained my reasoning and answered skeptical questions. Some of the President’s aides worried that we were about to destroy America’s relationship with China. But no one was prepared to be responsible for leaving Chen to his fate by telling us to stand down. They just wanted me and the State Department to somehow make this problem go away.

  While Jake was talking to the White House, a drama right out of a spy novel was unfolding in the streets of Beijing. The embassy car arrived at the rendezvous point, about forty-five minutes away, and Bob caught sight of Chen. He also saw Chinese security in the area. It was now or never. Bob hustled Chen into the car, threw a jacket over his head, and sped off. Bob reported back to Washington with an update from the car, and we all held our breath, hoping that they wouldn’t be stopped before reaching the safety of the embassy grounds. Finally, at nearly 3 A.M. in Washington, Bob called back with the good news: the mission was completed, and Chen was now receiving medical attention from the embassy doctor.

  Over the course of the next two days, Bill Burns, Kurt, Cheryl, Jake, and I discussed what to do next. The first step was to make contact with the Chinese, inform them that we had Chen but had made no determination about his status, and ask them to meet so we could come to a resolution before the start of the summit. We thought that if we could get them to discuss the matter in good faith, we were halfway toward a solution.

  The second step was to talk with Chen himself. What did he want exactly? Was he prepared to spend the next fifteen years of his life living in the embassy, like Cardinal Mindszenty?

  Once we had plotted our course, I told Kurt to get on a plane to Beijing as soon as possible so he could manage the negotiations in person. He would depart late on Friday, April 27, arriving before dawn on Sunday. Bill would follow the next day. We also recalled Ambassador Gary Locke from a family vacation in Bali and tracked down the State Department Legal Advisor, former Yale Law School Dean Harold Koh, who happened to be traveling in a remote part of China. When Cheryl reached him and asked how long it would take to get to a secure line, he said at least four hours. “Go,” she said. “I’ll explain when you get there.”

  When Kurt touched down in Beijing, he immediately made his way to the third floor of the embassy’s Marine barracks. The Chinese security presence around the compound had grown significantly since the day before, and inside it felt like a siege. Chen appeared frail and vulnerable. It was hard to believe that this slight man with the large dark glasses was at the center of a brewing international incident.

  I was relieved to hear from Kurt that he found at least a little good news waiting for him: The Chinese had agreed to meet. Considering we were talking about one of their own citizens, picked up on Chinese soil, that in itself was promising. What’s more, Chen seemed to have already bonded with Bob and some of the other Mandarin-speaking officers at the embassy, and he was declaring his firm desire to remain in China rather than seek asylum or remain in the barracks forever. Chen talked about the abuse he suffered at the hands of the corrupt local authorities in Shandong and expressed his hope that the central government in Beijing would step in and provide justice. He had special faith in Premier Wen, who had a reputation for caring about the poor and disenfranchised. “Grandpa Wen” would surely help if he only knew what was really going on.

  As we waited anxiously for negotiations to begin, there was reason to be cautiously optimistic. What was not immediately clear in those early hours was that Chen would turn out to be unpredictable and quixotic, as formidable a negotiator as the Chinese leaders outside.

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  Kurt’s counterpart on the Chinese side was an experienced diplomat named Cui Tiankai, who was later named Ambassador to the United States. Kurt and I had agreed that in his first meeting with Cui, he would start cautiously and work on establishing some common ground. There was no way we would surrender Chen, but I wanted to resolve this crisis quickly and quietly to protect the relationship and the summit. Both sides needed a win-win outcome. At least that was the plan.

  The Chinese were having none of it. “I’ll tell you how you solve this,” Cui said. “Turn Chen over to us immediately. If you really care about the U.S.-China relationship, that’s what you’ll do.” Kurt responded carefully, offering the Chinese the chance to come to the embassy to talk directly to Chen. This only made Cui angrier. He launched into a thirty-minute diatribe about Chinese sovereignty and dignity, growing louder and more impassioned as he went. We were undermining the relationship and insulting the Chinese people, and Chen was a coward, hiding behind American skirts. Over the following hours and days, our team endured five more negotiating sessions, all along the same lines, in ceremonial rooms at the Foreign Ministry. Behind Cui, the Chinese side included a number of senior and quite tense officials from the state security apparatus. They often huddled with Cui immediately before and after the negotiating sessions, but they never spoke in front of the Americans. At one point Kurt witnessed an intense argument between Cui and a senior security official, but he couldn’t hear the details. After ten minutes a frustrated Cui waved his colleague off.

  Back at the embassy our team listened as Chen talked about wanting to study law and continuing to be an advocate for reforms inside China. He was familiar with the stories of exiled dissidents who lost their influence once they left the country and lived in safe obscurity in the United States. That was not what he wanted. This was a concern Harold Koh could appreciate. His father, a South Korean diplomat, had fled Seoul after a military coup in 1961 and gone into exile in the United States. Harold spoke movingly of the difficulties Chen would face if he decided to leave China.

  Besides being one of our nation’s top legal scholars, Harold was also an accomplished university administrator, and his experience there now came to the fore. He developed a plan that would get Chen out of the embassy, avoid the emotionally charged question of asylum, and provide a face-saving solution for the Chinese before the start of the summit. What if Chen was admitted to study at a Chinese law school, somewhere away from Beijing, and then, after a period of time, perhaps two years, left to pursue his studies at an American university? Harold had close ties with professors and administrators at New York University, which was in the process of setting up a Shanghai campus, and overnight he persuaded the university
to offer Chen a fellowship. That allowed us to present a package deal to the Chinese.

  The Chinese were skeptical but didn’t reject the proposal out of hand. It appeared that the Communist Party leadership was trying to walk a tightrope between working constructively with us and salvaging the Strategic and Economic Dialogue, and satisfying the concerns of more hard-line elements in the security apparatus. Eventually orders came down to Cui: Do what it takes to get this resolved.

  Late in the evening of Monday, April 30, five days after the initial phone call, I boarded an Air Force jet from Andrews heading to Beijing. That gave the negotiators roughly twenty more hours to nail down the details. It was as tense a flight as any I can recall. From the White House the President had sent a clear message: Don’t screw up.

  Slowly the outlines of a deal emerged. First Chen would be transferred to a Beijing hospital to receive medical attention for the injuries he suffered during his escape. He would then have the opportunity to tell appropriate authorities about the abuses he had suffered under house arrest in Shandong. Next he would be reunited with his family, who had faced continued harassment since his escape. Then he would leave Beijing for two years of study elsewhere in China, followed by possible study in the United States. The American Embassy would maintain contact with him every step of the way. Kurt presented a list of five or six possible Chinese universities to consider. Cui scanned the list and exploded in anger. “There’s no way he’s going to East China Normal,” Cui roared. “I will not share an alma mater with that man!” That meant we were getting somewhere.

  Back at the embassy Chen himself wasn’t so sure. He wanted to speak with his family and have them come to Beijing before making any final decisions; waiting to be reunited was not good enough. Kurt dreaded going back with another request after the Chinese had already conceded so much, but Chen was insistent. Sure enough, the Chinese could not believe it. They were withering in their criticism of Kurt and the team and refused to budge. There was no way Chen’s wife and children would be allowed to come to Beijing until the deal was finalized.

  We needed to raise the stakes. The Chinese are famously sensitive to protocol and respectful of authority. We decided to use this to our advantage. Bill Burns was the highest-ranking career diplomat in the U.S. government, and is a widely respected former Ambassador to Jordan and Russia. What’s more, he is among the calmest and steadiest people I’ve ever met, qualities that we desperately needed at the negotiating table. When he arrived on Monday, he joined the next session. Sitting across from Cui, Bill made a soothing and persuasive case, diplomat to diplomat: Just deliver the family and move ahead with the summit, then we can all put this whole incident behind us. Mollified, Cui agreed to take the matter back to his superiors. By midnight, while I was still somewhere over the Pacific, word came back that the family would be on the morning train from Shandong. Now all we needed was for Chen to walk out the door.

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  When my plane touched down early on May 2, I sent Jake directly to the embassy with my personal encouragement to Chen. After the marathon flight, we had left most of the day open, and the first official event was a private dinner that evening with my Chinese counterpart, State Councilor Dai Bingguo.

  Chen was still nervous. He felt safe in the Marine barracks, cared for by an embassy doctor. He had formed a strong relationship with the staff, especially Ambassador Gary Locke, the first Chinese American to serve in that post. Gary’s grandfather had emigrated from China to Washington State, where he found work as a domestic servant, sometimes in exchange for English lessons. Gary was born in Seattle, where his family owned a small grocery store, and went on to become Governor of Washington and Secretary of Commerce. He was a living embodiment of the American Dream, and I was proud to have him as our representative at this delicate time.

  Gary and Harold spent hours sitting with Chen, holding his hand, soothing his fears, and talking about his hopes for the future. Twice they arranged for Chen to talk on the phone with his wife as she sped toward Beijing by train. Finally Chen jumped up, full of purpose and excitement, and said, “Let’s go.” The long, difficult drama seemed to finally be coming to an end.

  Leaning on the Ambassador’s arm and clutching Kurt’s hand, Chen emerged from the barracks and walked slowly to a waiting van. Once he was safely inside, Jake dialed me from his cell phone and handed it to Chen. After so many stressful days of waiting and worrying, we had the chance to talk at last. “I want to kiss you,” he said. At that moment, I felt the same way about him.

  The van arrived at nearby Chaoyang Hospital to a crush of media and security. The Chinese were scrupulous in holding up their end of the bargain: Chen was reunited with his wife and children and then whisked off to be treated by a team of doctors, accompanied by our embassy staff. I released a carefully worded press statement, my first public comment on the episode, saying, “I am pleased that we were able to facilitate Chen Guangcheng’s stay and departure from the U.S. Embassy in a way that reflected his choices and our values.” For their part, the Chinese denounced American interference in their internal affairs, as expected, but kept the summit on track and resisted the temptation to immediately rearrest Chen.

  With Chen safely at the hospital, it was time for dinner. Dai and Cui welcomed us to the Wanshousi Temple, a 16th-century complex of quiet courtyards and ornate villas that houses a large collection of ancient artifacts. Dai proudly gave me a tour, and as we admired the jade figurines and graceful calligraphy, the sense of relief was palpable. As Dai and I liked to do, we talked expansively about the importance of the U.S.-China relationship and the sweep of history. The delegations had dinner, and then Dai and I went with Kurt and Cui into a small room for a private conversation. How long it had been since Dai had first shown me the photograph of his grandchild and we had agreed to work together to make sure they inherited a peaceful future. Now we had weathered our toughest crisis yet and the bonds had held. But Dai couldn’t resist venting. He told me we had made a big mistake in trusting Chen, who he said was a manipulative criminal. Then he implored me not to raise the episode when I saw President Hu and Premier Wen later in the week. We both agreed it was time to refocus on the urgent strategic concerns of the summit, from North Korea to Iran.

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  Across town a very different conversation was happening. The embassy staff had decided to give Chen and his wife some privacy after their long ordeal. Now that they were finally alone in the hospital room, the dissident and his family began second-guessing the choice he had made. After so much mistreatment, how could they trust the Chinese authorities to honor the deal? To Chen, the grand idea of staying in China and remaining relevant, despite the risks, may have started to seem less attractive once he was outside the protection of the embassy walls and with the loved ones he could potentially be endangering. He also spoke on the phone with friends in the human rights community worried about his safety, who urged him to get out of the country, and with reporters who questioned his decision to stay in China. As the evening went on, his answers started to change.

  Back at the Wanshousi Temple, troubling press reports starting popping up on my colleagues’ BlackBerrys. By the time I emerged from my meeting with Dai, it was clear something had gone wrong. Journalists were quoting Chen from his hospital bed saying he “no longer felt safe,” that the Americans had abandoned him, and that he had changed his mind about remaining in China. He even denied that he had ever said he wanted to kiss me! (He later admitted to the press that “he was embarrassed by having spoken so intimately” to me.) Our carefully constructed choreography was falling apart.

  When we arrived back at the hotel I convened an emergency meeting in my suite. While Chen seemed to be talking easily with every reporter and activist from Beijing to Washington, no one at the embassy could reach him on the cell phones that, ironically, we had provided. We hadn’t heard anything official yet from the Chinese, but they were reading the same
reports we were, and security outside the hospital was growing by the hour. I could just imagine Dai and Cui preparing to deliver an epic “I told you so.”

  Kurt gallantly offered me his resignation if things kept getting worse. I dismissed that out of hand and said we needed to start working on a revised plan. First we would put out a statement right away clarifying that, contrary to some of the breathless news reports, Chen had never asked for asylum and had certainly never been denied. Second, if in the morning Chen was still insisting that he wanted to go to the United States, we had to find a way to reengage the Chinese government, no matter how difficult and painful that would be, and negotiate a new deal. We couldn’t afford to let this issue fester in public and overwhelm the summit. Third, I would carry on with the scheduled Strategic and Economic Dialogue events as if nothing had happened, in keeping with my understanding with Dai. With their marching orders in hand, my troops filed out of the suite looking worried and beyond tired. None of us would sleep much that night.

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  The next day was a surreal exercise in diplomatic multitasking. Thanks to elaborate measures the government had taken in advance of the summit, the normally clogged streets and polluted air of Beijing were clearer than normal as our motorcade sped through the city that morning. But the road ahead was far from clear. A lot was riding on the next few hours.

  We arrived at Diaoyutai, the sprawling complex of traditional guesthouses, gardens, and meeting rooms. It was here in 1971 that Henry Kissinger first negotiated with Zhou Enlai, laying the groundwork for President Nixon’s historic visit, normalization, and everything that followed. It was also here, during our 2010 meetings, that an intemperate outburst by a Chinese admiral had exposed the deep rifts of mistrust that still divide our countries. I wondered, given the current predicament, which of those two spirits our Chinese hosts would be channeling.