Despite positive developments under Erdoğan, there was growing cause for concern, even alarm, about his government’s treatment of political opponents and journalists. Decreasing room for public dissent raised questions about the direction Erdoğan was taking the country and his commitment to democracy. Opponents were suspicious that his ultimate goal was to turn Turkey into an Islamic state with no room for dissent, and some of his actions gave support to that fear. His government jailed journalists at a troubling rate in his second and third terms and cracked down hard on protesters for questioning certain decrees. Corruption remained a massive problem, and the government was not able to keep up with the rapidly rising expectations of its increasingly worldly and middle-class citizens.
Religious and cultural issues were particularly sensitive in a country where Islam and secularism had lived in uneasy balance and different faith traditions sometimes felt squeezed. Over the years I had gotten to know the Patriarch of the Greek Orthodox Church, His All Holiness Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew, and I respected his sincere commitment to interfaith dialogue and religious freedom. Patriarch Bartholomew viewed Erdoğan as a constructive partner, but the Church was still waiting for the government to return seized Church property and allow the long-shuttered Halki Seminary to reopen. I supported the Patriarch’s goal and made a number of runs at getting Halki reopened, which sadly hasn’t happened yet.
When Erdoğan talked about giving women students the right to wear head scarves at university, some saw it as a step forward for religious freedom and a woman’s right to choose her own course. Others saw it as a blow to secularism, a sign of creeping theocracy that would ultimately curtail women’s rights. It speaks to the deep contradictions in 21st-century Turkey that both views may be correct. Erdoğan himself was very proud of his own accomplished daughters, who wore veils, and he asked my advice about one of them pursuing graduate studies in the United States.
I spent hours talking with Erdoğan, often accompanied only by Davutoğlu, who served as our interpreter. Davutoğlu is an exuberant academic turned diplomat and politician, and his writings about how Turkey could regain a position of global importance dovetailed with Erdoğan’s own thoughts. He brought passion and erudition to his position, and we developed a productive and friendly working relationship that, though strained numerous times, never ruptured.
In my four years as Secretary, Turkey proved to be an important and at times frustrating partner. Sometimes we agreed (working closely together on Afghanistan, counterterrorism, Syria, and other issues), and other times we did not (Iran’s nuclear program).
Time and attention from both President Obama and me helped stabilize our relationship, but external events, especially heightened tensions with Israel, presented new challenges. And Turkey’s internal dynamics continued to roil. Large protests against Erdoğan’s increasingly heavy-handed rule erupted in 2013, followed by a wide-ranging corruption investigation that ensnared a number of his senior Ministers. As of this writing, despite his increasing authoritarianism, Erdoğan’s support in more conservative areas of Turkey remains strong. Turkey’s future direction is uncertain. But what is certain is that Turkey will continue to play a significant role in both the Middle East and Europe. And our relationship will remain of vital importance to the United States.
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A Zero Problems foreign policy was an ambitious goal, especially because Turkey was entangled in a number of long-running disputes with its neighbors. There was the bitter standoff with Greece over the Mediterranean island nation of Cyprus that had dragged on for decades. There was also the emotionally charged conflict with Armenia, a small, landlocked former Soviet republic in the Caucasus to Turkey’s east. These were both examples of how old enmities could hold back new progress.
Turkey and Armenia never established official diplomatic relations when Armenia emerged as an independent nation after the breakup of the Soviet Union. Tensions were further heightened by Armenia’s war in the early 1990s with Turkey’s ally Azerbaijan over a contested strip of land called Nagorno-Karabakh. That dispute still occasionally flares into hostilities between soldiers on both sides of the border.
Disputes such as Turkey-Armenia and Nagorno-Karabakh are sometimes called “frozen conflicts” because they have been going on for years with little hope of resolution. When I looked at all the challenges we faced in Europe and around the world, it was tempting to just ignore these trouble spots as insoluble. But they each had broader strategic consequences. For example, conflict in the Caucasus posed problems for our plans for piping Central Asian natural gas to European markets to lessen their dependence on Russian energy. Collectively these conflicts represented obstacles to the Europe we were trying to help build. I thought Turkey’s Zero Problems strategy might create an opening to negotiate—and perhaps even resolve—some of these frozen conflicts, so I asked my Assistant Secretary for European and Eurasian Affairs Phil Gordon to see what we could do.
Throughout 2009 we worked closely with European partners, including Switzerland, France, Russia, and the EU, to support negotiations between Turkey and Armenia, which we hoped would lead to establishing formal diplomatic relations and opening the border to trade. I spoke on the phone with officials from both countries nearly thirty times in my first several months on the job and conferred in person with Davutoğlu and the Armenian Foreign Minister Edward Nalbandian.
Hard-liners in both countries were implacably opposed to compromise and put considerable pressure on each government not to make a deal. Yet over the spring and summer, thanks largely to the efforts of the Swiss, the terms of an agreement that would jointly open the border were coming into focus. Plans were made for a formal signing ceremony in Switzerland in October, after which the agreement would be submitted to both countries’ Parliaments for ratification. As the date approached, we stepped up our encouragement, including a call from President Obama to the President of Armenia. Everything seemed to be falling into place.
On October 9, I flew to Zurich to witness the accord signing alongside the Foreign Ministers of France, Russia, and Switzerland and the EU High Representative. The next afternoon I left my hotel and headed to the University of Zurich for the ceremony. But there was a problem. Nalbandian, the Armenian Minister, was balking. He was worried about what Davutoğlu planned to say at the signing and suddenly was refusing to leave the hotel. It seemed as if months of careful negotiations might fall apart. My motorcade turned around and raced back to Zurich’s Dolder Grand Hotel. While I waited in the car, Phil Gordon went upstairs along with the lead Swiss negotiator to find Nalbandian and take him to the signing ceremony. But he wouldn’t budge. Phil came back downstairs to report and joined me in the car, which was now parked behind the hotel. I started working the phones. On one cell I dialed Nalbandian, and I got Davutoğlu on a second line. We went back and forth for an hour, trying to bridge the gap and coax Nalbandian out of his room. “This is too important, this has to be seen through, we have come too far,” I told them.
Finally I went upstairs to talk to Nalbandian in person. What if we simply canceled the speaking portion of the event? Sign the document, make no statements, and leave. Both sides agreed, and Nalbandian at last emerged. We walked downstairs, and he got in my sedan to drive to the university. It took another hour and a half of hand-holding and arm-twisting at the site to get them to actually walk onstage. We were three hours late, but at least we were there. We held the expedited signing ceremony, and then, with a huge sense of relief, everyone left as fast as they could. To date, neither country has ratified the protocols, and the process remains stalled; however, at a December 2013 conference, the Turkish and Armenian Foreign Ministers met for two hours to discuss how to move forward, and I still hope for a breakthrough.
On my way to the airport after the signing, President Obama called to offer his congratulations. It hadn’t been pretty, but we’d taken a step forward for a sensitive region. Later the New York Times described my ef
forts that afternoon as “down-to-the-wire, limousine diplomacy.” My car wasn’t a limousine, but apart from that, it was an apt description.
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The Balkan wars of the 1990s provide a searing reminder that old hatreds in Europe can erupt into new and devastating violence.
When I visited Bosnia in October 2010 as part of a three-day trip through the Balkans, I was both pleased by the progress I saw and sobered by how much there still was to do. Children could now go to school in safety and parents could go to work, but there weren’t enough good jobs, and economic hardship and discontent simmered. The virulent ethnic and religious hatreds that fueled the wars had cooled, but dangerous currents of sectarianism and nationalism persisted. The country was a federation of two republics, one dominated by Bosnian Muslims and Croats, the other dominated by Bosnian Serbs. The Bosnian Serbs thwarted all attempts to remove roadblocks to growth and good governance, in the stubborn hope that they could one day become a part of Serbia or even an independent country. The promise of greater stability and opportunity represented by integration into the EU or NATO remained out of reach.
In Sarajevo I participated in an open discussion with students and civil society leaders at the historic National Theater, which had escaped serious damage in the war. One young man rose to speak about his visit to the United States as part of an exchange program sponsored by the State Department and hosted by American colleges and universities. He called it “easily one of the best experiences” of his life and implored me to keep supporting and expanding academic exchanges. When I asked him to elaborate on why he thought it was so important, he said, “The main thing that we learned was to choose tolerance over intolerance, to work with each other to respect everyone equally. . . . We had participants from Kosovo and from Serbia at the same time, and they didn’t care about the issues that their countries are going through because they realized . . . we are friends, we can have a dialogue, we can interact together; it’s not a problem if you really want to do it.” I loved the simple phrase “choose tolerance over intolerance.” It captured perfectly the transition the people of the Balkans were still making. It was the only way to heal their—or any—old wounds.
Next it was on to Kosovo. In the 1990s, Kosovo was part of Serbia, and its majority–ethnic Albanian population faced brutal attacks and forced expulsion by Milošević’s forces. In 1999, a U.S.-led NATO air campaign bombed Serbian troops and cities, including Belgrade, to stop the ethnic cleansing. In 2008, Kosovo declared its independence and was recognized as a new nation by much of the international community. But Serbia refused to recognize Kosovo’s independence and continued to exert significant influence in the northern border region, where many ethnic Serbs lived. The majority of hospitals, schools, and even courts there continued to be run and financed from Belgrade, and Serbian security forces provided protection, all of which undermined Kosovo’s sovereignty, exacerbated the country’s internal divisions, and strained relations between the two neighbors. The tense situation was getting in the way of the economic and social progress both countries needed to make on their own, including moving toward EU membership. But old histories and hatreds were proving difficult to transcend. One goal of my visit was to nudge both sides toward a resolution.
When I arrived in Pristina, Kosovo’s capital, enthusiastic crowds waving American flags lined the road from the airport, cheering as our motorcade passed, often with children sitting on adults’ shoulders so they could see. By the time we reached the plaza in town, which features a monumental statue of Bill, the crowds were so dense our motorcade had to stop. I was glad it did; I wanted to say hello. So I jumped out and started shaking hands and hugging and being hugged. Across the plaza was an adorable little clothing boutique with a familiar name: Hillary. I couldn’t resist a quick visit. The shopkeeper said they named the store after me “so that Bill wouldn’t be lonely in the square.”
A few months later, in March 2011, representatives from Kosovo and Serbia sat down together in Brussels under the auspices of the European Union. It was the first time they had ever talked directly and at length with each other in this way. American diplomats were present for every meeting, urging both sides to make the compromises that could lead to normalized relations and open the door to eventual EU membership. That was possible only if the border issues were resolved. The talks continued for eighteen months. Negotiators reached modest agreements on freedom of movement, customs, and border management. While Serbia still wouldn’t recognize Kosovo’s independence, it dropped its objections to Kosovo’s participating in regional conferences. At the same time, I was urging NATO to continue its military mission in Kosovo, where around five thousand peace-supporting troops from thirty-one countries have remained since June 1999.
The main issues remained unresolved when a new nationalist government was elected in Serbia in the spring of 2012. Cathy Ashton, the EU’s top foreign policy official (its first High Representative for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy), and I decided to travel together to both countries to see if we could break the impasse and speed a final settlement.
Cathy was an invaluable partner on this and many other issues. In Britain she had served as leader of the House of Lords and Lord President of the Council under Prime Minister Gordon Brown. Then, following a year as the European Commissioner of Trade, she was selected for the EU foreign affairs position—a bit of a surprise because, like me, she was not a traditional career diplomat, but she turned out to be an effective and creative partner. Down-to-earth (especially for a Baroness, I would kid her), she was easy to get along with, and we worked closely together not only on European issues but also on Iran and the Middle East. We’d also catch each other’s attention in a large meeting when one of our male colleagues unintentionally, even unconsciously, slipped in a sexist remark, and we slowly roll our eyes together.
In October 2012, we made the rounds in the Balkans together. We urged each country to advance concrete measures to normalize relations. Kosovar Prime Minister Hashim Thaçi told us, “Today Kosovo is still not the Kosovo of our dreams. We are persistently working for a European Kosovo, for a Euro-Atlantic Kosovo. We are conscious that we need to do more.” Cathy and I also met with representatives of the ethnic Serbian minority at a Serbian Orthodox church in Pristina, which had been torched during anti-Serb riots in 2004. They worried about their future in an independent Kosovo. They were grateful for recent efforts by the government to be more inclusive and to offer jobs to ethnic Serbs. That was the kind of grassroots reconciliation that we wanted to promote. Kosovo’s impressive female Muslim President, Atifete Jahjaga, was our ally in pushing for change and reconciliation inside her country. As Cathy put it, this diplomacy was not just about normalizing relations between countries; it was about “normalizing life so that the people who live in the north can go about their daily lives feeling part of a community.”
In April 2013, thanks to Cathy’s continued hard work building on the foundation we had laid together, Kosovo’s Prime Minister Thaçi and Serbia’s Prime Minister Ivica Dačić reached a landmark agreement to resolve the disputes along their border, move toward normalization, and open the door to EU membership. Kosovo agreed to give more autonomy to local Serbian communities in the north, and Serbia agreed to pull back its forces. Both sides pledged not to interfere in the other’s quest for greater European integration. If they proceed to implement the agreements, the people of Kosovo and Serbia finally have a chance to build the peaceful, prosperous future they deserve.
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My final trip as Secretary of State in December 2012 brought me again to Northern Ireland, a place where people have worked hard and suffered much to leave their past conflicts behind. They would be the first to tell you, from both sides of their Catholic-Protestant sectarian divide, that their work is far from over and that their biggest challenge is stimulating enough economic activity to create inclusive prosperity that benefits each community. St
ill, at a luncheon in Belfast, happily surrounded by old friends and acquaintances, we reminisced about how far we’d come together.
When Bill was first elected President, the Troubles in Northern Ireland had been raging for decades. Most Protestants wanted to remain part of the United Kingdom, while most Catholics wanted to join with the Republic of Ireland to the south, and long years of violence had left both sides embittered and dug in. Northern Ireland was an island within an island. Street by street, the old touchstones of identity loomed large—which church a family went to, which school the children attended, which soccer jersey they wore, which street they walked down, at which hour of the day, with which friends. Everybody noticed everything. And that was on a normal day.
In 1995, Bill appointed former Senator George Mitchell as Special Envoy for Northern Ireland. Bill became the first U.S. President to visit Northern Ireland when he and I traveled to Belfast later that year, and turned on the lights of Belfast’s Christmas tree in front of a vast crowd.
I returned to Northern Ireland nearly every year for the rest of the decade and stayed actively involved as a Senator in the years that followed. In 1998 I helped organize the Vital Voices Conference of women in Belfast who were pressing for a peace agreement. Their whispers of “Enough!” had become a rallying cry that could no longer be ignored. As I spoke from the podium, I looked up and saw Gerry Adams, Martin McGuinness, and other leaders of Sinn Féin, the political wing of the Irish Republican Army, sitting in the front row of the balcony. Behind them I saw leading Unionists who refused to talk with Sinn Féin. The fact that they were both there—at a women’s conference for peace—exemplified their openness to compromise.
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