Duty: Memoirs of a Secretary at War Read online

  Cheney, as he wrote in his memoir, had opposed the president’s decision to replace Rumsfeld, who was an old friend, colleague, and mentor. I suspected as much at the time and was relieved when Bolten passed along to me that Secretary of State Rice had been enthusiastic about my nomination and that the vice president had said I was “a good man.” As Bolten said, coming from Cheney, that was high praise.

  I kept Becky informed of all this—I didn’t dare do otherwise—and expressed only one misgiving to her as that Sunday ended. The Bush administration by then was held in pretty low esteem across the nation. I told her, “I have to do this, but I just hope I can get out of this administration with my reputation intact.”

  THE ANNOUNCEMENT

  On Monday, the ponderous wheels of a major confirmation process began to move, still in secret. My first contact was with the White House counsel, Harriet Miers, to begin going through all the ethics questions associated with my membership on corporate boards of directors, my investments, and all the rest. The political side of confirmation began on Tuesday, when I was asked to provide lists of members of Congress I thought would be positive in their reactions, as well as former officials, journalists, and others who could be expected to comment favorably on my selection. I was asked to be at the White House at midmorning on the eighth.

  I was flown to Washington in an unmarked Air Force Gulfstream jet that landed at Andrews Air Force Base, just outside Washington, where it taxied to a remote part of the airfield. I was picked up (again) by Joe Hagin.

  A few minutes later I arrived at the White House and was shown to a small office in the West Wing basement, where I would begin making courtesy phone calls to congressional leaders, key members of Congress, and other notables in and out of Washington. I was introduced to David Broome, a young White House legislative assistant who would be my “handler” and shepherd me through the confirmation process. I had some experience on the Hill myself, of course, but David was a very smart, practical, and astute observer of Capitol Hill, as well as a U.S. Marine Corps reserve officer. I felt very comfortable with him.

  I made a number of calls, and the reactions to my impending nomination were overwhelmingly positive. I learned that even the Republicans were very nervous about Iraq and eager for a change from the current approach—especially given that many of them attributed their party’s loss of control of Congress in the election the day before mostly to the public’s growing opposition to the war. Not knowing where I would come down on Iraq, they still welcomed me. The Democrats were even more enthusiastic, believing my appointment would somehow hasten the end of the war. If I had any doubt before the calls that nearly everyone in Washington believed I would have a one-item agenda as secretary, it was dispelled in those calls.

  At about twelve-thirty p.m. Texas time, about a half hour into the president’s press conference announcing the change at Defense, an e-mail I had prepared was sent to some 65,000 students, faculty, and staff at Texas A&M with a personal message. The hardest part for me to write went as follows: “I must tell you that while I chose Texas A&M over returning to government almost two years ago, much has happened both here and around the world since then. I love Texas A&M deeply, but I love our country more and, like the many Aggies in uniform, I am obligated to do my duty. And so I must go. I hope you have some idea of how painful that is for me and how much I will miss you and this unique American institution.”

  A couple of hours later, it was showtime. The president, Rumsfeld, and I met briefly in the president’s private dining room before Rumsfeld led the way into the Oval Office, followed by the president, then me. It had been nearly fourteen years since I had been in the Oval Office.

  The president opened his remarks with a statement about the need to stay on the offensive in both Iraq and Afghanistan to protect the American people. He spoke of the role of the secretary of defense and then reviewed my career. He then made two comments that would frame my challenges as secretary: “He’ll provide the department with a fresh perspective and new ideas on how America can achieve our goals in Iraq” and “Bob understands how to lead large, complex institutions and transform them to meet new challenges.” He went on to generously praise Rumsfeld’s service and his achievements as secretary and to thank him for all he had done to make America safer. Rumsfeld stepped to the podium next and spoke about the security challenges facing the country but focused especially on thanking the president for his confidence and support, his colleagues in the Department of Defense, and above all our men and women in uniform for their service and sacrifice. I thought the statement showed a lot of class.

  Then it was my turn. After thanking the president for his confidence and Don for his service, I said:

  I entered public service forty years ago last August. President Bush will be the seventh President I have served. I had not anticipated returning to government service and have never enjoyed any position more than being president of Texas A&M University.

  However, the United States is at war, in Iraq and Afghanistan. We’re fighting against terrorism worldwide. And we face other challenges to peace and our security. I believe the outcome of these conflicts will shape our world for decades to come. Because our long-term strategic interests and our national and homeland security are at risk, because so many of America’s sons and daughters in our armed forces are in harm’s way, I did not hesitate when the president asked me to return to duty.

  If confirmed by the Senate, I will serve with all my heart, and with gratitude to the president for giving me the opportunity to do so.

  Press coverage and public statements in the ensuing days were very positive, but I had been around long enough to know that this was less a show of enthusiasm for me than a desire for change. There was a lot of hilarious commentary about a return to “41’s” team, the president’s father coming to the rescue, former secretary of state Jim Baker pulling all the strings behind the scenes, and how I was going to purge the Pentagon of Rumsfeld’s appointees—“clean out the E-Ring” (the outer corridor of the Pentagon where most senior Defense civilians have their offices). It was all complete nonsense.

  For the next three weeks, while I continued to go through the motions of a university president, I was caught up in preparations for confirmation. Even though I was a former CIA director who had had access to the “crown jewels” of American secrets, I had to fill out the infamously detailed Federal Form SF 86—“Questionnaire for National Security Positions”—just like anyone else applying for a job in government. Like any senior appointee, I had to fill out the financial disclosure statements, among others. I’d done all these before, but the climate in Washington had changed, and inaccurate answers—even innocent mistakes—had tripped up other nominees in recent years. So I was advised to engage a Washington law firm that specialized in completing these forms to ensure there would be no errors. Because I wanted no hiccups to delay my confirmation, I took the advice and, $40,000 later, turned in my paperwork. (I could only imagine the cost for nominees who had far more complex—and bigger—financial disclosures.) I also had sixty-five pages of questions from the Senate Armed Services Committee to answer. The good news on the latter was that the Pentagon has a large group of people who do the bulk of the work in preparing answers to these questions, although the nominee must review and sign them and be prepared to talk about those answers in a confirmation hearing.

  When in Washington to prepare for confirmation hearings, I worked out of an ornate suite of offices in the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, a gigantic granite Victorian gingerbread building next to the White House, where I had had a rather smaller office thirty-two years before. There I received materials to read on major issues, on the military departments (Army, Navy—including its Marine Corps component—and Air Force), and on the organization of Defense, including a diagram I found incomprehensibly complex, foreshadowing bureaucratic problems I would soon face. My overall strategy for the hearings was not to know too much, especially with regard to the b
udget or specific procurement programs about which different senators on the committee had diametrically opposed interests. I knew the hearings would not be about my knowledge of the Department of Defense but, above all, about my thinking on Iraq and Afghanistan as well as my attitude and demeanor. My coaches couldn’t help me with that.

  During these three weeks I first met Robert Rangel, the “special assistant” to Rumsfeld—in reality, his chief of staff. Before going to the Pentagon in 2005, Rangel had been on the staff of the House Armed Services Committee, including a several-year stint as staff director. I quickly concluded that Robert knew more, and had better instincts, about both Congress and the Department of Defense than anyone I had ever met. He would be invaluable to me, if I could persuade him to stay on.

  The most dramatic event in the days before my hearing, one that more than any briefing clarified in my gut and my heart what I was about to take on, took place one evening when I was having dinner alone at my hotel. A middle-aged woman came up to my table and asked if I was Mr. Gates, the new secretary of defense. I said yes. She congratulated me on my nomination and then said to me with tears in her eyes, “I have two sons in Iraq. For God’s sake, please bring them home alive. We’ll be praying for you.” I was overwhelmed. I nodded, maybe mumbled something like, I’ll try. I couldn’t finish my dinner, and I couldn’t sleep that night. Our wars had just become very real to me, along with the responsibility I was taking on for all those in the fight. For the first time, I was frightened that I might not be able to meet that mother’s and the country’s expectations.

  In the days prior to my confirmation hearing on December 5, I went through the ritual of visiting key senators, including, above all, those on the Senate Armed Services Committee. I was taken aback by the bitterness of the Republican senators over the president’s decision to announce the change at Defense only after the midterm election. They were all convinced that had the president announced a few weeks before the election that Rumsfeld was leaving, they would have kept their majority. The Republicans also groused about how the Bush White House dealt only—they said—with the leadership and ignored everyone else. Several were critical of senior military officers. While some of the Republicans, among them John McCain, expressed strong support for the war in Iraq and thought we should ramp up our effort, it was revealing that at least half the Republican senators were very concerned about our continuing involvement in Iraq and clearly saw the war as a large and growing political liability for their party.

  The Democratic senators I met with expressed their opinions starkly: opposition to the war in Iraq and the need to end it; the need to focus on Afghanistan; their view that the Pentagon’s relationship with Congress was terrible and that civilian-military relations inside Defense were just as bad; their disdain for and dislike of George W. Bush (the forty-third president, hereafter occasionally referred to as Bush 43) and his White House staff; and their determination to use their new majorities in both houses of Congress to change course in the war and at home. They professed to be enormously pleased with my nomination and offered their support, I think mainly because they thought that I, as a member of the Iraq Study Group, would embrace their desire to begin withdrawing from Iraq.

  The courtesy calls foreshadowed what the years to come would be like. Senators who would viciously attack the president in public over Iraq were privately thoughtful about the consequences of failure. Most made sure to acquaint me with the important defense industries in their states and pitch for my support to those shipyards, depots, bases, and related sources of jobs. I was dismayed that in the middle of fighting two wars, such parochial issues were so high on their priority list.

  Taken as a whole, the courtesy calls to senators on both sides of the aisle were very discouraging. I had anticipated the partisan divide but not that it would be so personal with regard to the president and others in the administration. I had not expected members of both parties to be so critical of both civilian and military leaders in the Pentagon, in terms of not only their job performance but also their dealings with the White House and with Congress. The courtesy calls made quite clear to me that my agenda would have to be broader than just Iraq. Washington itself had become a war zone, and it would be my battlespace for the next four and a half years.

  THE CONFIRMATION

  During the car ride from my hotel to the Capitol for my confirmation to be secretary of defense, I thought in wonder about my path to such a moment. I grew up in a middle-class family of modest means in Wichita, Kansas. My older brother and I were the first in the history of our family to graduate from college. My father was a salesman for a wholesale automotive parts company. He was a rock-ribbed Republican who idolized Dwight D. Eisenhower; Franklin D. Roosevelt was “that damn dictator,” and I was about ten before I learned that Harry Truman’s first name wasn’t “goddamn.” My mother’s side of the family were mostly Democrats, so from an early age bipartisanship seemed sensible to me. Dad and I talked (argued) often about politics and the world.

  Our family of four was close, and my childhood and youth were spent in a loving, affectionate, and happy home. My father was a man of unshakable integrity, with a big heart and, when it came to people (versus politics), an open mind. He taught me early in life to take people one at a time, based on their individual qualities and never as a member of a group. That led, he said, to hatred and bias; that was what the Nazis had done. He had no patience for lying, hypocrisy, people who put on airs, or unethical behavior. In church, he occasionally would point out to me important men who fell short of his standards of character. My mother, as was common in those days, was a homemaker. She loved my brother and me deeply, and was our anchor in every way. My parents told me repeatedly when I was a boy that there were no limits to what I might achieve if I worked hard, but they also routinely cautioned me never to think I was superior to anyone else.

  My life growing up in 1950s Kansas was idyllic, revolving around family, school, church, and Boy Scouts. My brother and I were Eagle Scouts. There were certain rules my parents insisted I follow, but within those bounds, I had extraordinary freedom to wander, explore, and test my wings. My brother and I were adventuresome and a bit careless; we were both familiar sights in hospital emergency rooms. I was a smart aleck, and when I sassed my mother, a backhand slap across the face was likely to follow quickly if my father was within earshot. My mother was expert at cutting a willow switch to use across the backs of my bare legs when I misbehaved. The worst punishments were for lying. On those relatively infrequent occasions when I was disciplined, I’m confident I deserved it, though I felt deeply persecuted at the time. But their expectations and discipline taught me about consequences and taking responsibility for my actions.

  My parents shaped my character and therefore my life. I realized on the way to the Senate that day that the human qualities they had imbued within me in those early years had brought me to this moment, and looking ahead, I knew they would be tested as never before.

  I had been through three previous confirmation hearings. The first, in 1986, for deputy director of central intelligence, was a walk in the park and culminated in a unanimous vote. The second, in early 1987, for director of central intelligence, occurred in the middle of the Iran-Contra scandal; when it became clear that the Senate would not confirm me with so many unanswered questions about my role, I withdrew. The third, in 1991, again to be DCI, had been protracted and rough but ended with my confirmation, with a third of the senators voting against me. Experience told me that unless I really screwed up in my testimony, I would be confirmed as secretary of defense by a very wide margin. An editorial cartoon at the time captured the mood of the Senate (and the press) perfectly: it showed me standing with upraised right arm taking an oath—“I am not now nor have I ever been Donald Rumsfeld.” It was a useful and humbling reminder that my confirmation was not about who I was but rather who I was not. It was also a statement about how poisonous the atmosphere had become in Washington.

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sp; Senator John Warner of Virginia was chairman of the Armed Services Committee and thus chaired the hearing; the ranking minority member was Carl Levin of Michigan. The two would switch places in a few weeks as a result of the midterm elections. Warner was an old friend who had introduced me—he was my “home-state senator”—in all three of my preceding confirmation hearings. I did not know Levin very well, and he had voted against me in 1991. Warner would deliver opening remarks, followed by Levin, and then I would be “introduced” to the committee by two old friends: former Senate majority leader Bob Dole of Kansas and former senator and chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee David Boren, by then longtime president of the University of Oklahoma. Then I would make an opening statement.

  Warner focused, right out of the gate, on Iraq. He reminded everyone that after his recent visit to Iraq, his eighth, he had said publicly that “in two or three months, if this thing [the war] hasn’t come to fruition and if this level of violence is not under control and if the government under Prime Minister Maliki is not able to function, then it’s the responsibility of our government internally to determine: Is there a change of course that we should take?” He quoted General Peter Pace, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, as having said the day before, when asked if we were winning in Iraq, “We’re not winning, but we’re not losing.” Warner commended the various reviews of Iraq strategy under way inside the administration and, in that context, advised me on how to do my job: “I urge you not to restrict your advice, your personal opinions regarding the current and future evaluations in these strategy discussions.… You simply have to be fearless—I repeat: fearless—in discharging your statutory obligations as, quote, ‘the principal assistant to the president in all matters relating to the Department of Defense.’ ” Warner was publicly signaling his weakening support for the president on Iraq.