by Bob Woodward
Tillerson said, “The best we can tell, they’re not in violation of anything.” All the intelligence agencies agreed on this. It was the critical point. How could they impose new sanctions, if there was no violation of the agreement?
“They’re all making money,” Trump said, noting the European Union was trading and making big deals with Iran. “And nobody’s going to have our back.”
Trump flipped to Afghanistan, where he already had endured half a dozen recent NSC and smaller meetings. “When are we going to start winning some wars? We’ve got these charts. When are we going to win some wars? Why are you jamming this down my throat?”
Referring to the Afghanistan commander, General John Nicholson, who was not present, the president lashed out. “I don’t think he knows how to win. I don’t know if he’s a winner. There’s no victories.”
Trump had not settled on an Afghanistan strategy, which was then still being debated.
“You should be killing guys. You don’t need a strategy to kill people.”
General Dunford, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, sprang to Nicholson’s defense.
“Mr. President,” Dunford said, very polite, very soft-spoken, “there’s not a mandate to win. That’s not his orders.” Under Obama, who had pulled out most of the troops—down to 8,400, from a high of 100,000—the strategy was effectively to achieve a stalemate.
Mattis and Dunford were proposing new rules of engagement for U.S. troops in Afghanistan, freeing them up to be more aggressive and lethal by lifting Obama-era restrictions on the local commanders. Tactics would no longer be announced to the enemy. Recent success against ISIS demonstrated the importance of these changes.
Trump recalled that General Nicholson had authorized the use of the 20,000-pound bomb, the GBU-43/B, known also as the MOAB, Mother of All Bombs. “He let that fucking big bomb off on them.”
Yes, Dunford said, that was a decision made by the field commander, not in Washington.
Mattis tried to intervene politely, “Mr. President, Mr. President . . .”
“Mad Dog, Mad Dog,” Trump replied, using his Marine nickname. “They’re taking a free ride on us. What are we doing?” Trump questioned his generals as sharply as possible without shouting. “What about winning? The reason we’re in this spot is because you’ve been recommending these activities.”
The tension was increasing and soon they were back on Iran.
“They’re complying,” Tillerson said. “That’s the deal. They’re complying. You may not like it.” The secretary of state had a logical way of walking through the details of the technical compliance of the deal.
“That’s too establishment,” Trump told him. They were arguing that all these things fit together—the trade agreements with China, with Mexico, the Iran nuclear deal, the troop deployments, the foreign aid. Trump’s message was “no” on everything that had been presented.
“We can’t do this,” Trump said. “This is what’s gotten us in that situation.”
“When he says put sanctions in,” Bannon said, addressing Mnuchin. “These great partners, what are they going to do on sanctions?”
Mnuchin seemed to hedge.
“No, stop,” Bannon pressed. “Are they in or are they out?”
“They’ll never support it,” Mnuchin said.
“I rest my case,” Bannon said. “There’s your allies.”
“The European companies,” Trump said, pointing a finger at Mnuchin, “they’re fucking worthless.” Siemens, Peugeot, Volkswagen and other European household names were actively investing in Iran.
Trump said, “Rex, you’re weak. I want to decertify.”
Trump turned to one of his favorite issues. He wanted to slap tariffs on imported steel, aluminum and automobiles. He wondered why Mnuchin was not declaring China a currency manipulator as he wanted.
Mnuchin explained that China had, years ago, been a currency manipulator, but it no longer was.
“What do you mean?” Trump said. “Make the case. Just do it. Declare it.”
Mnuchin explained that U.S. law was specific about what was required to prove currency manipulation, and he could not make the case.
“We’re upside down” on trade deals, Trump said. “We’re underwater on every one of these.” The other countries are making money. “Just look at all this stuff up there. We’re paying for it all.” Those countries were “protectorates,” he declared.
“It’s actually good for our economy,” Cohn said again.
“I don’t want to hear that,” Trump replied. “It’s all bullshit.”
As the meeting was winding down, Tillerson leaned back in his chair. He seemed to be speaking to the president but did not make eye contact with him. Instead he looked at Mattis.
“Your deal,” the secretary of state said. “It’s your deal.”
It was a Texas walk-back—as if to say, I will obey and execute, but it is your design, not mine.
“We spend $3.5 billion a year to have troops in South Korea,” Trump said angrily. The South could not decide if they wanted the THAAD antimissile system or not! And whether they are going to pay for it or not!
Some South Koreans believed the system could provoke war with North Korea and had protested the installation, arguing it was for the benefit of the U.S. and Japan.
“Pull the fucking thing out!” Trump said. “I don’t give a shit.”
“The South Koreans subsidize the hell out of us,” Cohn said, challenging the president directly. The trade deal was good for the United States economy, he said again. “We buy the most amazing TVs in the world for $245. Which means that people are spending less money on TVs and more money on other products in the United States.”
If the U.S. pulled its troops out, it would require more Navy carrier groups in that part of the world to feel comfortable. That might cost 10 times as much, Cohn stated.
Then there was the ultra-sensitive intelligence gained through the Special Access Programs South Korea allowed the U.S. to run. Trump seemed not to comprehend the value and the necessity.
“Like $3.5 billion, 28,000 troops,” the president said. He was really hot. “I don’t know why they’re there. Let’s bring them all home!”
“So, Mr. President,” Cohn said, “what would you need in the region to sleep well at night?”
“I wouldn’t need a fucking thing,” the president said. “And I’d sleep like a baby.”
Priebus called an end to the meeting. Mattis seemed completely deflated.
Trump got up and walked out.
All the air seemed to have come out of Tillerson. He could not abide Trump’s attack on the generals. The president was speaking as if the U.S. military was a mercenary force for hire. If a country wouldn’t pay us to be there, then we didn’t want to be there. As if there were no American interests in forging and keeping a peaceful world order, as if the American organizing principle was money.
“Are you okay?” Cohn asked him.
“He’s a fucking moron,” Tillerson said so everyone heard.
* * *
Trump left the meeting with Priebus, Bannon and Kushner just before 12:45 p.m. He spent a few moments greeting service members lined up in the corridor.
“The meeting was great,” Trump told reporters. “A very good meeting.”
He moved toward the presidential limousine.
“I’m glad you fucking decided to say something,” Trump said to Bannon. “I needed some backup.”
“You were doing great,” Bannon said.
Treasury Secretary Mnuchin had followed them out. He wanted to make sure it was clear he was with Trump on the European allies. “I don’t know if they’re allies or not,” he said. “I’m with you.”
In the car, Trump described his advisers, “They don’t know anything about business. All they want to do is protect everybody—that we pay for.”
He said that the South Koreans, our allies, won’t cut a new deal with us on trade. “And they want us to p
rotect them from that crazy guy in the North.”
* * *
Cohn concluded that Trump was, in fact, going backwards. He had been more manageable the first months when he was a novice.
For Priebus, it was the worst meeting among many terrible ones. Six months into the administration, he could see vividly that they had a fundamental problem of goal setting. Where were they going?
The distrust in the room had been thick and corrosive. The atmosphere was primitive; everyone was ostensibly on the same side, but they had seemed suited up in battle armor, particularly the president.
This was what craziness was like, Priebus concluded.
* * *
A senior White House official who spoke contemporaneously with participants in the meeting recorded this summary: “The president proceeded to lecture and insult the entire group about how they didn’t know anything when it came to defense or national security. It seems clear that many of the president’s senior advisers, especially those in the national security realm, are extremely concerned with his erratic nature, his relative ignorance, his inability to learn, as well as what they consider his dangerous views.”
CHAPTER
28
After the meeting in the Tank, Tillerson, an Eagle Scout, left to attend the Boy Scout Jamboree in West Virginia and his son’s wedding in Texas. He was thinking of resigning.
“Listen,” Priebus said later in a call to him, “you can’t resign right now. That’s ridiculous. Come over to my office.”
Tillerson came to see him. “I just don’t like the way the president talks to these generals. They don’t deserve it. I can’t sit around and listen to this from the president. He’s just a moron.”
Priebus was surprised at his open hostility. He realized that Tillerson’s real grievance was also the way the president talked to him. In many Situation Room meetings Tillerson would almost literally huff and puff, conspicuously telegraphing that he was more than just annoyed, masking the “moron” talk, but barely.
Priebus suggested that Tillerson tone it down. “You can’t just be disrespectful. You can’t talk to the president the way you do. You’ve got to find a way to communicate, say the same thing but find a way to say it that’s not offensive.”
Priebus admired Mattis’s approach—avoid the confrontation, demonstrate respect and deference, proceed smartly with business, travel as much as possible, get and stay out of town.
Tillerson returned to the generals. “I can’t sit there and listen to the president dress down these generals. I just can’t take it. It’s not right.”
Priebus later told Trump that he had spoken to Tillerson about being disrespectful to the president. He did not mention the “moron” comment.
Trump listened quietly, which was unusual, and did not disagree about what was going on. Priebus thought that the president did not want to acknowledge Tillerson’s hostility because he was full of pride. As chief executive he should not allow clear insubordination from his secretary of state.
* * *
At times the NSC process worked. A Policy Coordination Committee, one level below the Deputies Committee, would convene and gather input from the Joint Staff, civilians at the Defense Department, the State Department, the intelligence agencies, Treasury and the Office of Management and Budget. A 30-page strategy paper might be drafted, with annexes. Disagreements would be ironed out. Then it would be sent up to the Deputies Committee, where deputies from various departments could make changes. When everyone agreed on a framework, when a roadmap was approved, a Principals Committee, chaired by McMaster and attended by cabinet secretaries, would be called.
Tillerson was senior and so talked first at principals meetings. He would walk in and say, I didn’t see the NSC strategy paper. This is a tough issue. We have to put it in perspective. Here’s how I’m looking at it.
He would distribute a package of briefing slides. Rather than send them prior to the meeting so others could read ahead, he went through each slide at the meeting, sometimes taking five minutes on just one. The members of the NSC were a captive audience. The principals meetings were often scheduled for an hour and 15 minutes, so sometimes Tillerson’s was the only voice, certainly the main voice.
Tillerson wanted to have everyone agree with his definition of the problems and then go back and rework the strategy.
These Tillerson interventions—his desire to restart the entire interagency process based on his assessment of where policies needed to go—happened in one form or another on the strategies for Iran, Iraq, Lebanon and Hezbollah, Syria, China, North Korea and defeating ISIS.
Some at the Principals Committee meetings, including both those at the table and the backbenchers, were at times impressed with the reframing. Others thought his presentations conventional. Tillerson would argue for more economic integration, coordination of development assistance and the need to address the motivators of violence and actively use diplomacy.
What was often lacking or delayed was an execution plan assigning responsibility and accountability. Endgame goals were fuzzy or unstated. The result was often weeks or months of delay.
* * *
Around this time in July, Trump was on a small plane, still designated Air Force One, returning from Bedminster. He came back to the small staff area where Ivanka, Jared, McMaster and Porter were seated.
Iraq, Afghanistan and Syria, the three main war zones, were quagmires and he was tired of owning them, the president said in a lecturing tone. “The enormous resources that we continue to expend in those countries!” he said. “We should just declare victory, end the wars and bring our troops home.”
McMaster seemed crestfallen. After six months as commander in chief, Trump wanted to sweep it all away and pull out.
After the president left, Jared and Ivanka seemed worried. They said they wanted to help McMaster. When we all get back, they said, why don’t you sit down with Porter and figure out a strategy, some way to withdraw some troops but also leave some? Find some way to talk to the president.
* * *
On July 25, the president again berated McMaster. He had no interest in allies, Trump said. He didn’t want any troops in South Korea even when reminded about the differential between the seven seconds to detect an ICBM launch from there as opposed to 15-minute detection from Alaska.
On the colonnade outside the Oval Office, McMaster spoke with Cohn and Porter.
McMaster said that at 6:03 a.m., Trump had tweeted: “Ukrainian efforts to sabotage Trump campaign—‘quietly working to boost Clinton.’ So where is the investigation A.G. [attorney general]”
It was clearly Russian propaganda, McMaster said. He and the NSC and intelligence experts had concluded that. But the president had picked it up and shot it out.
McMaster said he wasn’t sure how long he could stay.
In the Oval Office later that day, McMaster had a sensitive order he wanted the president to sign relating to Libya.
I’m not going to sign it, Trump said. The United States should be getting oil. The generals aren’t sufficiently focused on getting or making money. They don’t understand what our objectives should be and they have the United States engaged in all the wrong ways.
* * *
Before the president went up to the residence at the end of each day, Porter handed him a briefing book with background papers, policy memos and his schedule for the next day.
The next morning he would come down to the Oval Office at 10 a.m. or 11 a.m., or even 11:30.
“What’s on my schedule for the day?” he would ask, having perhaps glanced at the book, or maybe not at all. He conveyed the belief that improvising was his strength. He could read a situation. Or the room. Or the moment as he had during the presidential campaign.
Trump liked to do things spur of the moment, Porter concluded, to fly by the seat of his pants. He acted like doing too much advance preparation would diminish his skills in improvising. He did not want to be derailed by forethought. As if a plan
would take away his power, his sixth sense.
What the president would bring up in the morning most often was what he had seen on television, especially Fox News, or something from the newspapers he read more thoroughly than the public generally knew.
Throughout the day Trump would seek opinions from anyone who might be around—from cabinet officials to security guards. It was his form of crowdsourcing.
He once asked Johnny McEntee, his 27-year-old body man, if he should send more troops to Afghanistan.
“It doesn’t make any sense to me,” McEntee said.
When Trump asked others in the West Wing, they often ducked: “I think you really ought to talk to H.R. about that because he’s the expert.”
“No, no, no,” Trump said once, “I want to know what you think.”
“I know what I read in the newspapers.”
That was insufficient for the president. “No, I want to know what you think.”
* * *
All presidencies are audience driven, but Trump’s central audience was often himself. He kept giving himself reviews. Most were passionately positive. Much of his brain was in the press box.
The operations of the Oval Office and White House were less the Art of the Deal and more often the Unraveling of the Deal. The unraveling was often right before your eyes, a Trump rally on continuous loop. There was no way not to look.
In foreign affairs, it was about personal relationships, Trump explained to those who spent the most time in the Oval Office. “I have really good relations with Xi,” he said about the Chinese president. “We have really good chemistry. Xi likes me. Xi rolled out the red carpet when I visited Beijing.” In November 2017, he had said publicly, “I consider him a friend. He considers me a friend.”
H. R. McMaster tried to explain that Xi was using the president. China was an economic aggressor, planning to become Number One in the world.