Known and Unknown (54 page)

Powell had spent decades in uniform and had become the most senior military officer in our country, and at every level he had spent long hours dealing with intelligence. As President Reagan's national security adviser, he routinely had been exposed to reporting and analysis from the intelligence community. As secretary of state, his department's own intelligence agency reported to him. There was no one else in the administration who had even a fraction of his experience in intelligence matters, including CIA Director Tenet. Powell was not duped or misled by anybody, nor did he lie about Saddam's suspected WMD stockpiles. The President did not lie. The Vice President did not lie. Tenet did not lie. Rice did not lie. I did not lie. The Congress did not lie. The far less dramatic truth is that we were wrong.

 

W
hatever those in old Europe may have thought, Iraq's neighbors took a different view of the prospect of military action. In meeting after meeting in Washington and in the region, Arab leaders confided to us that Saddam was a danger in their part of the world. Some believed he was irrational, citing reports that he had taken to writing out the verses of the Koran in his own blood. They made clear that they would be better off if Saddam were gone, though some were uneasy about publicly supporting the idea of a U.S. military invasion. They noted that the last time they had supported military action against Iraq, Saddam remained in power—angry, dangerous, and still threatening. I suspect that that must have made subsequent gatherings of the Arab League somewhat awkward.

In my visits with leaders from other countries in the Gulf and North Africa, I received another oft-repeated message: If you go after Saddam, do it quickly. The leaders were worried about the “Arab street” erupting in anger at the West's invasion of a Muslim country. I was skeptical of the idea that a monolithic Arab street existed. My experiences suggested that each Arab country was different, but I did understand that popular discontent could cause them difficulties.

During my time in the Bush administration, I went to Vice President Cheney's office only occasionally. Our positions were such that we were not working together daily, as we had thirty years earlier in the Nixon and Ford administrations. So it was somewhat unusual when Cheney asked me to come over to the White House for a confidential meeting on January 11, 2003.

Joining us were Myers, and Cheney's guest: Prince Bandar, the Saudi ambassador to the United States. No voice in the region tended to be as crucial when it came to U.S. interests as Saudi Arabia. At ease in American culture—Bandar smoked, rooted for the Dallas Cowboys, and cited the Founding Fathers—he still retained the ear of the Saudi elite. Bandar's diplomatic credibility was burnished by a colorful background that included service as a Saudi Air Force pilot.

“The President has made the decision to go after Saddam Hussein,” Cheney told the Prince. Of course Bush would not irrevocably decide on war until he signed the execute order for Operation Iraqi Freedom—that would come only hours before the first military actions commenced—but this was the first time I had heard a senior administration official speak with such certainty about imminent military action. The President had apparently asked Cheney to alert the Saudis that the United States was serious and would request their cooperation. The United States needed several military facilities in Saudi Arabia to accommodate coalition forces that would be taking part in the invasion.

Though Bandar did not seem surprised, the Ambassador was leery. “Let's not repeat the mistake of the President's father,” he said, referring to the decision in 1991 to stop short of taking Baghdad and removing Saddam Hussein. The unfortunate impression that the United States might retreat after sustaining some casualties was apparently not shared only by Saddam Hussein and Osama bin Laden. Bandar thought Saudi support was “doable,” but with caveats. The Saudi people would not support a long period of combat operations in a neighboring Arab country. He emphasized the importance of having a small American footprint in the kingdom and in Iraq once our troops toppled Saddam.
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The Saudis' position, echoed by other Arab states, was that the U.S.-led invasion should be quick and decisive, and that the U.S. troop presence in Iraq should be small and reduced rapidly. General Franks had consulted with many leaders in the region and had received similar messages.

U.S. diplomatic efforts with another key ally in the region were foundering. Despite optimistic assurances from our diplomatic corps, the United States was having trouble persuading Turkey to permit transit across their country, from the north into Iraq. In the months leading up to the critical vote of Turkey's parliament, the administration had confidence that they would grant us the approval we sought. No one had anticipated that the vote might fail. I remembered thinking in the early months of Bush's presidency that it was important for us to work closely with the Turks, because we might need their cooperation.
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That day had come. But the Turkish parliament did not approve the U.S. transit request, by a razor-thin margin.
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The lack of support by a key NATO ally in the region was a serious operational setback, as well as a political embarrassment—and very likely an avoidable one. Powell might have aided our efforts by traveling to Ankara to make our case personally. I also might have visited Turkey in those crucial weeks, or encouraged President Bush or Vice President Cheney to make a personal appeal to the Turkish leadership.

Without a threat to Saddam's forces in the north and west from U.S.troops advancing from Turkish soil, enemy fighters would have an opportunity to escape to the north and operate in the Sunni-dominated provinces where there would be no coalition presence early on. Our inability to invade Iraq from Turkey may well have been a key factor in the rise of a Sunni-backed insurgency after major combat operations ended. Turkey's decision made it essential that Franks find other ways to get coalition forces to Baghdad and the north of Iraq as quickly as possible, to close off the Iraqi military's escape routes.

As harmful as all of this was, there was a modest upside. In the summer of 2002, I received word that a
New York Times
reporter had detailed information about a version of CENTCOM's classified war plan for Iraq, and that his paper was going to run a story on it. I asked General Pace to call the
Times
to urge the paper to not run the story. We did not want Saddam's forces to be better prepared against us and put more American lives at risk. Pace made the call, but the
Times
published the story anyway, though with some modifications.
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At the time I dictated a note to myself. “It would be wonderful if everyone who likes to leak memos and everyone who likes to publish classified material had a daughter or son in the advanced party of every military operation,” I said. “I suspect it would get their attention.”
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The newspaper reported that CENTCOM's plan was to send American forces into Iraq from the north and west through Turkey, and to use another invasion force that would enter Iraq from the south, thereby creating a vise around Baghdad that might trigger a quick Iraqi surrender. Even though on the eve of military action, the Iraqis knew, like everyone else, that Turkey had voted against helping our military effort, the
New York Times
had said otherwise. Because of that article, Saddam's generals prepared to repel an attack from the north anyway. Apparently they had not yet learned that you can't believe everything you read in the press.
 

 

A
major story line about the invasion of Iraq has been the debate about troop levels—whether the U.S. invasion force or stabilization force should have been larger.
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In reality, there was full debate and discussion, but there was no disagreement among those of us responsible for the planning. The officer in charge of preparing the Iraq war plan was General Franks. The chief military adviser to the President and the NSC was General Myers. Among Myers, Franks, and me, there was no conflict whatsoever regarding force levels. If anyone suggested to Franks or Myers that the war plan lacked sufficient troops, they never informed me. Moreover, if anyone did do so, they were unsuccessful, since they did not dissuade Franks from his view, nor Myers from his, nor, to my knowledge, any of the chiefs from theirs.

In December 2002, the Washington Post made headlines with a story that two members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff were opposed to the war in Iraq and to the war plan they had participated in developing, and had approved. “[A]spects of the plan, which appear riskier than usual U.S. military practice, worry the chief of the Army, Gen. Eric Shinseki, and the commandant of the Marine Corps, Gen. James L. Jones, defense officials said” the paper declared.
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I was astounded by the report, which, if true, deserved the headline it generated. It would be most unusual, to say the least, for sitting members of the Joint Chiefs to publicly oppose the Commander in Chief, the Secretary of Defense, the responsible combatant commander, as well as the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff on the eve of a potential war. Both Jones and Shinseki had been invited to, and for the most part attended, the many deliberations on the Iraq war plan in “the Tank”—the Joint Chiefs' conference room—with Franks. They had each taken part in a number of meetings with the President, with Myers, and with me.
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Neither Jones nor Shinseki raised concerns, either about the wisdom of President Bush's intention to go to war if diplomacy failed or of Franks' war plan on how to fight it.
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The day the story appeared I called each of them on the phone, reaching Jones first. “General Jones,” I said, after referencing the
Post
article, “you have had every opportunity to talk and you haven't.”

“You're right,” Jones responded.
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A seasoned insider known for his skill in navigating the Washington political scene, Jones knew well the effect of appearing in the press criticizing a war plan, particularly when he hadn't raised a single criticism of it on the inside. He said it wouldn't happen again. He told me explicitly that he wanted me to know he was “on board with the plan.” To my knowledge, Jones never corrected the record with the
Washington Post
.

Though Jones seemed to take responsibility for the remarks attributed to him, Shinseki was a different matter. When I raised the article with him, he indicated that the story was not true, and that he had not expressed doubts to anyone.

“Who do you believe?” Shinseki asked. “The
Washington Post
or me?”
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When he put it that way, I was not inclined to believe a press report over what a four-star general said to me personally. Even though Shinseki was adamant that the
Post
had the story wrong, no correction from Shinseki found its way into the paper either.

The incident reveals much about how Washington works. Neither general was directly quoted in the story saying he was skeptical, yet on the front page of the
Washington Post
they were so portrayed. Each denied the central element of the story. Still, the story ran, was never corrected or retracted, and as a result, Shinseki and Jones gained reputations as war skeptics and heroes to war critics. I respect both Shinseki and Jones for their service to our country, but I cannot explain their failure to correct the public record.
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Six weeks after the article appeared, President Bush invited the senior military officials to the White House to give them still another opportunity to review and offer their comments on the war plan. I accompanied the combatant commanders and the Joint Chiefs of Staff to the cabinet room on January 30, 2003. Once we were gathered, the President went around the long table. Looking each of them squarely in the eye, Bush asked the four-star officers in uniform, one at a time, to offer their views and to raise any questions or issues they might have. This was one more chance for the most senior officers of the United States military to express any reservations they might have directly to the President, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Franks—the responsible combatant commander—and me. No one in the room—not General Shinseki, not General Jones, nor anyone else—raised an objection. These were all decorated, experienced senior officers, not wilting wallflowers. I assumed and expected that they would speak up if they had reservations—indeed, it was their duty to do so. They did not.

It was not long before Shinseki, I believe unintentionally, would again be catapulted into the public spotlight. That February, after having been called to testify to Congress about the impending war, the soft-spoken general became one of the most famous members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff in recent history—a poster child, even a martyr, for opponents of the war.

The popular version of the General's now famous February 2003 testimony is that Shinseki testified to members of Congress that far more troops would be needed in Iraq than were provided for in the war plan. Because he had supposedly spoken truth to power, the
New York Times
claimed he was later “vilified, then marginalized” by members of the Bush administration, including me.
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Both assertions were false.

It is undoubtedly too late to correct the literally hundreds of misstatements that were repeated in what Jamie McIntyre, the Pentagon reporter for CNN, described as a media-generated myth elevated to “the level of Scripture.”
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