George Bush - Decision Points

In the Blue Room with Tony Blair. White House/Eric Draper

The environment in the House chamber felt different from the National Cathedral on September 14. There was a mix of energy, anger, and defiance. I later learned that more than eighty-two million people were watching on TV, the largest audience ever for a presidential speech.

“In the normal course of events, presidents come to this chamber to report on the state of the Union,” I began. “Tonight, no such report is needed. It has already been delivered by the American people. … My fellow citizens, we have seen the state of our Union—and it is strong.”

I ran through the questions and answers—the identity of the terrorists, their ideology, and the new kind of war we would wage. “Our response involves far more than instant retaliation and isolated strikes,” I said. “Americans should not expect one battle, but a lengthy campaign, unlike any other we have ever seen. It may include dramatic strikes, visible on TV, and covert operations, secret even in success. … Every nation, in every region, now has a decision to make. Either you are with us, or you are with the terrorists.”

I laid out an ultimatum to the Taliban: “They will hand over the terrorists, or they will share in their fate.” We had little hope that Afghanistan’s leaders would heed it. But exposing their defiance to the world would firm up our justification for a military strike. As I approached the conclusion, I said: [In] our grief and anger we have found our mission and our moment. … We will rally the world to this cause by our efforts, by our courage. We will not tire, we will not falter, and we will not fail.It is my hope that in the months and years ahead, life will return almost to normal. We’ll go back to our lives and routines, and that is good. Even grief recedes with time and grace. But our resolve must not pass. Each of us will remember what happened that day, and to whom it happened. We’ll remember the moment the news came—where we were and what we were doing. Some will remember an image of a fire, or a story of rescue. Some will carry memories of a face and a voice gone forever.And I will carry this: It is the police shield of a man named George Howard, who died at the World Trade Center trying to save others. It was given to me by his mom, Arlene, as a proud memorial to her son. It is my reminder of lives that ended, and a task that does not end.I will not forget this wound to our country or those who inflicted it. I will not yield; I will not rest; I will not relent in waging this struggle for freedom and security for the American people.

The next day, September 21, I immersed myself in the war planning. Dealing with the military as commander in chief was a new experience. The officers’ dress uniforms with the rows of ribbons highlighted their military expertise, which was a whole lot more extensive than mine.

Seven months earlier, Laura and I had held a dinner at the White House for military leaders and their wives. I hoped to break down some of the formality and get to know the generals and admirals on a personal level, so they would feel free to give me candid opinions and I would feel more comfortable asking for them.

One of the commanders I met was General Tommy Franks, who came to the White House with his wife, Cathy. Tommy had a chestful of medals, including multiple Bronze Stars and Purple Hearts from Vietnam. As a one-star general, he had commanded troops in the Gulf War. In 2000, he assumed the top post at Central Command, a theater stretching from the Horn of Africa to Central Asia, including Afghanistan.

“General, I understand you’re from Midland, Texas,” I said.

“Yes, Mr. President, I am,” he said with a warm smile and a West Texas drawl.

“I hear you went to high school with Laura,” I added.

“Yes, sir, graduated one year before her,” he answered. “But don’t worry, Mr. President, I never dated her.”

I let out a big laugh. That was an interesting thing to say to your new commander in chief. I had a feeling Tommy and I were going to get along just fine.

At the ranch with Tommy Franks. White House/Susan Sterner

Tommy made clear the mission in Afghanistan would not be easy. Everything about the country screamed trouble. It is remote, rugged, and primitive. Its northern half is home to ethnic Tajiks, Uzbeks, Hazaras, Turkmen, and others. The southern half is dominated by Pashtuns. Tribal, ethnic, and religious rivalries date back centuries. Yet for all their differences, the people of Afghanistan have a way of banding together against foreigners. They drove out the British in the nineteenth century. They drove out the Soviets in the twentieth century. Even Alexander the Great failed to conquer the country. Afghanistan had earned a foreboding nickname: Graveyard of Empires.

Tommy’s war plan, later code-named Operation Enduring Freedom, included four phases. The first was to connect the Special Forces with the CIA teams to clear the way for conventional troops to follow. Next we would mount a massive air campaign to take out al Qaeda and Taliban targets, and conduct humanitarian airdrops to deliver relief to the Afghan people. The third phase called for ground troops from both America and coalition partners to enter the country and hunt down remaining Taliban and al Qaeda fighters. Finally, we would stabilize the country and help the Afghan people build a free society.

I viewed my role as making sure the plan was comprehensive and consistent with the strategic vision—in this case, removing the Taliban, denying sanctuary to al Qaeda, and helping a democratic government emerge. I asked Tommy a lot of questions: How many troops would we need? What kind of basing would be available? How long would it take to move everyone? What level of enemy resistance did he expect?

I did not try to manage the logistics or the tactical decisions. My instinct was to trust the judgment of the military leadership. They were the trained professionals; I was a new commander in chief. I remembered the Vietnam-era photos of Lyndon Johnson and Defense Secretary Robert McNamara poring over maps to pick bombing targets for routine missions. Their micromanagement had an impact throughout the chain of command. When I was in flight school, one of my instructors who had flown in Vietnam complained that the Air Force was so restricted that the enemy could figure out exactly when and where they would be flying. The reason, as he put it, was that “the politicians did not want to piss people off.”

One area where Tommy needed help was in lining up support from Afghanistan’s neighbors. Without logistical cooperation from Uzbekistan and Tajikistan, we would not be able to move our troops into Afghanistan. I didn’t know the leaders of these former Soviet republics. But Russia still had tremendous influence in the region, and I knew Vladimir Putin.

Putin and I had met for the first time that June in a Slovenian palace once used by the communist leader Tito. My goal at the summit had been to cut through any tension and forge a connection with Putin. I placed a high priority on personal diplomacy. Getting to know a fellow world leader’s personality, character, and concerns made it easier to find common ground and deal with contentious issues. That was a lesson I had picked up from Dad, who was one of the great practitioners of personal diplomacy. Another was Abraham Lincoln. “If you would win a man to your cause,” Lincoln once said, “first convince him that you are his friend.”