Duty: Memoirs of a Secretary at War (15 page)

Seventh, my priorities are clear: Iraq, Afghanistan, the war on terrorism, and transformation. Much else is going on. I want to continue the division of labor with Deputy Secretary [Gordon] England that existed under Secretary Rumsfeld—with all the really hard stuff going to Gordon! He and I will be joined at the hip. I expect to have the same close relationship with the chairman and the chiefs.

I then told them that General Pace, undersecretary for policy Eric Edelman, and I would be leaving the next day, the nineteenth, for Iraq, would return on the twenty-second and report to the president on the twenty-third. One important reason I took Pace and Edelman with me was to signal to civilians and military alike in the Pentagon that the chairman was going to be a close partner in my leadership of the department, and that the military needed to recognize that my civilian senior staff would play a critical role as well.

I repeated these points and expanded upon them in a meeting with the entire Defense leadership, civilian and military—including the combatant commanders from around the world—on January 24. I told them I was grateful Gordon had decided to stay on as deputy and that he would be the department’s chief operating officer. I made clear to the senior military officers that Eric would have a key role in representing their interests in interagency meetings and at the White House and they should regard him as an asset and work closely with him.

I emphasized that when dealing with Congress, I never wanted to surprise our oversight committees, and I wanted to pick our fights with the Hill very carefully, saving our ammunition for those that really mattered. I encouraged anyone in the department who had special relationships or friendships with members of Congress to cultivate them. I felt that would benefit all of us.

Meetings and conferences, I said, should be more interactive. A briefing should be the starting point for discussion and debate, not a one-way transmission belt. If they had to use PowerPoint, I begged them to use it sparingly, just to begin the discussion or illustrate a point. I asked my new colleagues to construct a briefing while asking themselves how it
would move us forward, and what the follow-on action might be. (Again, changing the Pentagon’s approach to briefings was a singular failure on my part. I was not just defeated—I was routed.)

I told them I had decided to make a change in the selection process for flag-rank officers—generals and admirals. Rumsfeld had centralized this in the secretary’s office. I said I would continue to review all positions and promotions at the four-star level and some at the three-star level, but otherwise I was returning the process to the services and the Joint Staff. I said that I still wanted the same things Rumsfeld had been looking for—joint service experience, operational experience, bright younger officers, and those willing to reexamine old ways of doing business. And I would be checking the services’ homework.

I decided to adopt the same strategy with the military leadership I had used with the faculty at Texas A&M and with the intelligence professionals when I was running the CIA: I would treat them with the respect deserved by professionals. I would approach decisions by seeking out their ideas and views, by giving them serious consideration, and by being open and transparent. Everyone would know the options under consideration, and everyone would have a chance to weigh in with his or her point of view (more than once if they thought it important), but I often would not reveal my own views until the end of a decision-making process. I never fooled myself into believing that I was the smartest person in the room. As I had told Colin Powell, I am a very good listener and only through the candor and honesty of both my civilian and military advisers could I work my way through complex issues and try to make the best possible decision. In everything I did as secretary, I sought the advice of others—though I did not always heed it—and depended upon others for effective implementation of my decisions.

Good arguments could get me to change my mind. Early on I had to decide on a new U.S. commander in Korea. The position had been filled for nearly sixty years by Army generals. I thought the time had come to rotate the position to another military service. Because our Air Force and Navy would play a big role in any conflict on the Korean peninsula, I decided to appoint an Air Force officer as the new commander. Army chief of staff George Casey balked and made a strong case that the timing for the change wasn’t good, especially as we were negotiating with South Korea on a transfer of operational control of forces from the
United States to the Koreans. He was right, so I recommended that the president nominate another Army general.

As I signaled at my first staff meeting, I worked hard from the beginning to make the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff my partner within the framework of the chain of command, consulting with him on virtually everything and making certain, through him, that the service chiefs and commanders all knew I wanted and expected candor and their best advice.

I have long believed that symbolic gestures have substantive and real benefits—“the stagecraft of statecraft,” as I think George Will once put it. Rumsfeld rarely met with the chiefs in the Tank, instead meeting in his conference room. I resolved to meet regularly with them in their space. I ended up doing so on a nearly weekly basis. Even when I had no agenda, I wanted to know what was on their minds. Instead of summoning the regional and functional combatant commanders (European Command, Pacific Command, Strategic Command, Transportation Command, and all the others) to the Pentagon to give me introductory briefings on their organizations, I traveled to their headquarters as a gesture of respect. This had the additional benefit of familiarizing me with the different headquarters’ operations and of giving me the chance to speak with a number of staff I wouldn’t otherwise have met. I resolved that I would try to attend change-of-command ceremonies for the combatant commanders, symbolic recognition of their important role and of the institutional culture.

My approach in dealing with the military leadership had a far more positive impact than I had expected. I had much less of a problem with end runs to the Hill and leaks than many of my predecessors. Of course, over time, demonstrating that I was willing to fire people when necessary probably didn’t hurt either.

As for Congress, the two most important people on the Hill for me were the chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee, Carl Levin, and the ranking Republican on the committee until 2009, John Warner, as we’ve already seen. While the House Armed Services Committee and its chairman, Ike Skelton, and the two Appropriations Committees were also important, I had a lot more business with the Senate Armed Services Committee, if only because it handled all of my department’s civilian and military leaders’ confirmations. My confirmation hearings
got me off on the right foot with Levin and Warner, and I tried to keep them informed of what I was doing and planning, particularly with personnel. Levin was a formidable adversary on Iraq, but my willingness publicly to acknowledge the legitimacy of some of his concerns—such as the failure of the Iraqis to reconcile politically—and even to concede that his criticisms were helpful in putting pressure on the Iraqis, kept our differences from becoming personal or an impediment to a good working relationship. Levin was strongly partisan, and I thought some of his investigations were attempts to scapegoat my predecessor and others. But he always dealt fairly and honestly with me, always keeping his word. If he said he would do something, he did it. Warner was always pleasant to deal with, even if he sometimes was in my view a little too willing to compromise on Iraq. The next ranking Republican was John McCain. Ironically, while McCain and I agreed on most issues—especially Iraq—he was, as we have seen, prickly to deal with. During one hearing he might be effusive in his praise, and in the next he would be chewing my ass over something. But I always tried to be respectful and as responsive as possible to all members of the committee, however difficult that sometimes would prove to be. I saved my venting for the privacy of my office.

I dealt with many other members of Congress as well. I disagreed with Speaker of the House Pelosi on virtually every issue, but we maintained a cordial relationship. I would also meet from time to time with House Majority Leader Hoyer and other Democrats he would gather. My approach to Congress seemed validated when, at a Hoyer-hosted breakfast, Tom Lantos, chairman of the House Foreign Affairs Committee, opened his remarks with a French phrase he directed at me and translated as “It is the tone that makes the music.” “You bring things and people together with your tone,” he said. “Thank God. Your principal contribution will be setting a new tone in respecting different views on the Hill and throughout the country.”

With all the major issues we had to deal with, my personal contacts with Senate Majority Leader Reid were often in response to his calls about Air Force objections to construction of a windmill farm in Nevada because of the impact on their radars. He also once contacted me to urge that Defense invest in research on irritable bowel syndrome. With two ongoing wars and all our budget and other issues, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

I came to believe that virtually all members of Congress carried what I called a “wallet list,” a list they carried with them at all times so that if, by chance, they might run into me or talk with me on the phone, they had a handy list of local projects and programs to push forward. And some became pretty predictable. If Senator McConnell of Kentucky was calling, it was probably to make sure a chemical weapons disposal plant in his state was fully funded. Anyone elected from Maine or Mississippi would be on the phone about shipyards. California, C-17 cargo planes; Kansas, Washington, or Alabama, the new Air Force tanker; Texas, when were the brigades coming back from Europe and would they go to Fort Bliss?

In the privacy of their offices, members of Congress could be calm, thoughtful, and sometimes insightful and intelligent in discussing issues. But when they went into an open hearing, and the little red light went on atop a television camera, it had the effect of a full moon on a werewolf. Many would posture and preach, with long lectures and harshly critical language; some become raving lunatics. It was difficult for me to sit there with a straight face. But I knew from reading a lot of history that such behavior dated back to the beginning of the republic. And as amusing or infuriating as members sometimes were, I never forgot the importance of their roles. And all but a handful would treat me quite well the entire time I was secretary.

I had not dealt much with the media while director of the CIA or as president of Texas A&M, so regular press conferences and routine exposure to reporters were new to me. In a departure from the usual practice at the Pentagon, I wanted a press spokesman who had been a practicing journalist and who would not also have the job of administering the huge Defense Department public affairs operation. Marlin Fitzwater, Bush 41’s press secretary, had made the point to the president that he could not do his job if he was not included in many of the president’s meetings or if the press lacked confidence that he really knew the president’s mind on issues. I thought Marlin was right, and I adopted his approach for Defense. I hired Geoff Morrell, who had been with ABC television news and had covered the Bush 43 White House. He became a key member of my team.

I continued the practice of appearing at press conferences together with the chairman. Both of us sat behind a table, which I thought was more casual (and more comfortable). I departed from this practice a few
times early on, when I had a major personnel announcement (especially a firing), in which case I would go out alone and use a podium. It became a standing joke with the Pentagon press corps that if the podium was on the stage, someone was going to get the ax. I thought about faking them out a few times but thought better of it.

A practice I developed in talking with student groups and others at Texas A&M was never to condescend to a questioner, or question the question. I would follow the same practice with reporters. The Pentagon is fortunate in having, on the whole, an experienced and capable group of reporters assigned to it, most of whom are interested in the substance of issues and not personalities. I never had a real problem with them. Sure, I’d get frustrated occasionally, but probably not as often as they did: while I was candid and straightforward most of the time, they could not get me to talk about something I didn’t want to talk about.

I hated leaks. I rarely blamed reporters for printing leaks, though; my anger was reserved for those in government entrusted to keep secrets who did not. When I announced the extension of Army tours in the Centcom area from twelve to fifteen months, I had to rush the announcement because of a leak. I was furious because we had orchestrated the decision to give commanders forty-eight hours to explain the decision to their troops. I told the press that day, “I can’t tell you how angry it makes many of us that one individual would create potentially so much hardship not only for our servicemen and women, but also for their families, by … letting them read about something like this in the newspapers.”

My views on the role of Congress and the media were a little out of the ordinary for a senior official of the executive branch, and I pushed those views forward whenever possible, especially at the service academies. In my commencement address at the Naval Academy on May 25, 2007, I told the about-to-be new ensigns and lieutenants:

Today I want to encourage you always to remember the importance of two pillars of our freedom under the Constitution—the Congress and the press. Both surely try our patience from time to time, but they are the surest guarantees of the liberty of the American people. The Congress is a coequal branch of government that under the Constitution raises armies and provides for navies. Members of both parties now serving in Congress have long been strong supporters of the Department of Defense, and of our men and women in uniform. As officers,
you will have a responsibility to communicate to those below you that the American military must be nonpolitical and recognize the obligation we owe the Congress to be honest and true in our reporting to them. Especially if it involves admitting mistakes or problems.