Dogs Don't Bark at Parked Cars"If you are not being criticized, you may not be doing much."-Rumsfeld's Rules

My first day at the Pentagon included the ceremony that traditionally accompanies the arrival of a secretary of defense: a military parade and a nineteen-gun salute. It also included something I hadn't expected, a sign of the times. As I was getting settled in my office-the same one I'd occupied twenty-five years earlier-a young man walked in. "Mr. Secretary," he said authoritatively, "I'm here to give you your drug test."

He presented me with a plastic cup. As I went to the bathroom to follow through with the request, he added one more instruction. "Sir, please leave the door open." I laughed, but complied. As the young man departed, he said, "I can't wait to tell my girlfriend that I just did the drug test on a secretary of defense."

Back in 1975, one of my first acts in the Pentagon had been to turn the lights on-literally. I wanted to brighten up the halls with displays that conveyed the historical importance of the Department and the special privilege it was to be working in the Pentagon. In the quarter-century since I had departed, some had attached more to the meaning of privilege than I ever intended. Lunches for senior officials had become high-end affairs. The Pentagon even had a pastry chef, who displayed his colorful creations in gla.s.s cases in the hall just down from my office.

Another sign of how things had changed in the building were the Marine sentries posted at the door outside my office and the security detail that was a.s.signed to follow me everywhere I went inside the Pentagon. These things made me uncomfortable. If the Pentagon was secure enough for the rest of the twenty-five thousand employees in the building to walk around without personal armed guards or sentries at their doors, I concluded it was secure enough for me. And if it wasn't secure enough, then we had even bigger problems than I thought.

Within days, I had removed as many of the vestiges of pageantry as I could with a few snowflakes. These short memos became my method of communicating directly with the individuals I worked with closely.1 Some would say they developed into an unrelenting snowstorm. They were raw thoughts that I dictated into my still trusty Dictaphone. Some were trivial housekeeping, some were humorous, and, I admit, some missed the mark. Nonetheless, they reminded Department officials of what I believed needed to be done. I hoped they would encourage people to reach out to me in return. After I had sent a few snowflakes, the sentries at my door were soon gone. But I was never certain about the pastry chef. Some would say they developed into an unrelenting snowstorm. They were raw thoughts that I dictated into my still trusty Dictaphone. Some were trivial housekeeping, some were humorous, and, I admit, some missed the mark. Nonetheless, they reminded Department officials of what I believed needed to be done. I hoped they would encourage people to reach out to me in return. After I had sent a few snowflakes, the sentries at my door were soon gone. But I was never certain about the pastry chef.

Shortly after I arrived, I met with the Joint Chiefs of Staff to discuss my approach and what I hoped we could expect from each other. "I look forward to meeting with you frequently," I said. I added that I hoped our meetings would not simply be gripe sessions on anyone's part. It was often the case that military leaders got caught up in rivalries among the services. I wanted an open atmosphere in which we put the interests of the Department and the country first.

"I am not one to believe that everything that was done previously was wrong," I told the chiefs. "Indeed, I am a.s.suming it is right." I had respect for them and their contributions, and I intended to build on the work they had done. "As I said in my confirmation hearing, there is a lot I don't know. I need to get briefed up, and I intend to do so."2 I told the senior civilian appointees in the Department that they should seek out the chiefs' advice early and often and "find ways to ask them for their collective judgment." I told the senior civilian appointees in the Department that they should seek out the chiefs' advice early and often and "find ways to ask them for their collective judgment."3 Early on I established a new ent.i.ty called the Senior Level Review Group (SLRG) that brought together the military chiefs and civilian leadership in the decision-making process. Early on I established a new ent.i.ty called the Senior Level Review Group (SLRG) that brought together the military chiefs and civilian leadership in the decision-making process.4 We met regularly to discuss important policy issues facing the Department. We met regularly to discuss important policy issues facing the Department.

My first task was to consider candidates for the post of deputy secretary of defense. I knew the job could be more difficult with a second-in-command who was not on the same page. President Bush had requested through Cheney that I consider two candidates for deputy: Richard Armitage and Paul Wolfowitz. They were part of the group called "the Vulcans" that had advised Bush on defense policy issues during his campaign. I don't recall ever having met Armitage before, but from the start of our meeting he was brusque. It quickly became clear that since he wasn't going to be secretary of defense, as he had hoped, he preferred to be number two at the State Department, working alongside his friend, Colin Powell. I was happy to accommodate him.

Though the President was considering Wolfowitz for the amba.s.sadorship to the United Nations, he seemed far more interested in serving as deputy secretary of defense. I knew Wolfowitz would be an unusual pick. He did not have the industry background or deep management experience traditional for successful deputy secretaries of defense.* I worried that a man with such an inquisitive, fine mind and strong policy interests might not take well to many of the crucial but often mundane managerial duties-making the hundreds of nonpolicy related decisions-that would come with the deputy post. Still I had had some success over the years in making unorthodox hiring choices. From my prior experiences with Wolfowitz, I knew that he would provide thoughtful insights. I expected to be able to take more time in the day-to-day management of the Department, though if we became engaged in a major conflict, that would have to change. I worried that a man with such an inquisitive, fine mind and strong policy interests might not take well to many of the crucial but often mundane managerial duties-making the hundreds of nonpolicy related decisions-that would come with the deputy post. Still I had had some success over the years in making unorthodox hiring choices. From my prior experiences with Wolfowitz, I knew that he would provide thoughtful insights. I expected to be able to take more time in the day-to-day management of the Department, though if we became engaged in a major conflict, that would have to change.

Wolfowitz was not confirmed by the Senate until March, two months after the presidential inauguration, a critical period in which we suffered from not having even a single Bush appointee confirmed and on the job with me in the Department. The slow pace of Wolfowitz's confirmation turned out to be a model of swiftness compared to the other four dozen presidential appointees for the Pentagon. It took months and months-almost a full year-to have many of the President's nominees confirmed by the Senate. "The process is outrageous," I lamented to the Joint Chiefs. The slow pace of Wolfowitz's confirmation turned out to be a model of swiftness compared to the other four dozen presidential appointees for the Pentagon. It took months and months-almost a full year-to have many of the President's nominees confirmed by the Senate. "The process is outrageous," I lamented to the Joint Chiefs.5 We suffered from the absences of secretaries of the Army, Navy, Air Force, the undersecretary of defense for policy, and the a.s.sistant and deputy a.s.sistant secretaries. These were people needed to carry out the work of the Department. The problem was not only the delay in the Senate. It also took months for the President's nominees to receive the security clearances they needed to undertake their work. The White House personnel office was painfully slow in vetting candidates. The c.u.mulative effect was that on average we operated with 25.5 percent of the key senior civilian positions vacant over the entire six years of my tenure, causing serious harm to the Department's activities. We suffered from the absences of secretaries of the Army, Navy, Air Force, the undersecretary of defense for policy, and the a.s.sistant and deputy a.s.sistant secretaries. These were people needed to carry out the work of the Department. The problem was not only the delay in the Senate. It also took months for the President's nominees to receive the security clearances they needed to undertake their work. The White House personnel office was painfully slow in vetting candidates. The c.u.mulative effect was that on average we operated with 25.5 percent of the key senior civilian positions vacant over the entire six years of my tenure, causing serious harm to the Department's activities.*

Despite the dysfunctional clearance and confirmation process, I had to get going quickly on an a.s.sessment of the Department and, more broadly, America's circ.u.mstance in the world. I sought out someone whose advice I had valued during my first Pentagon tour: Andy Marshall was still working in the department, though his work was less in vogue during the prior Bush and Clinton administrations, in part because of his cautions on China and Russia. After a few weeks on the job, I asked him to join me for lunch-not privately in my office, but in the lunchroom where senior officials often grabbed a sandwich or a bowl of soup. In the status-conscious Pentagon, I wanted to send a message that I valued Marshall's thinking. Over lunch, Marshall warned that the Pentagon bureaucracy was as resistant to change as ever.

It was clear that there would be challenges, especially with some of the leaders in the Army. Some of its senior officers were aware that I had overruled the Army on the M-1 tank decision in the mid-1970s. Over time, the Army and other quarters of the Washington defense establishment had raised pointed concerns about what was characterized as my my defense transformation agenda. Early on, a story line developed, possibly because of my work on the s.p.a.ce Commission and Ballistic Missile Threat Commission, that I entered the Pentagon with a pet theory about relying more on technology and less on traditional ground forces. This line became the framework for myriad news reports and books about various aspects of my tenure this time as secretary of defense. That myopic focus on technology as a way for some to try to describe my approach to the job was understandable. It was also, to paraphrase H. L. Mencken, simple, neat, and wrong. defense transformation agenda. Early on, a story line developed, possibly because of my work on the s.p.a.ce Commission and Ballistic Missile Threat Commission, that I entered the Pentagon with a pet theory about relying more on technology and less on traditional ground forces. This line became the framework for myriad news reports and books about various aspects of my tenure this time as secretary of defense. That myopic focus on technology as a way for some to try to describe my approach to the job was understandable. It was also, to paraphrase H. L. Mencken, simple, neat, and wrong.

In fact, the transformation agenda that I supposedly brought with me to the Pentagon in January 2001 was not of my making. In my first meeting with the chiefs, I made a point of asking for their thoughts on what they believed "transforming" could mean for the Department.7 I had not written on the issue of defense transformation, nor did I consider myself in the circle of national security experts who had promoted the idea throughout the 1990s. I was, however, generally open to proposals for reforming and adjusting old inst.i.tutions and making them more responsive to contemporary circ.u.mstances. This, after all, was what I had done during my earlier service in government, and in business. I had not written on the issue of defense transformation, nor did I consider myself in the circle of national security experts who had promoted the idea throughout the 1990s. I was, however, generally open to proposals for reforming and adjusting old inst.i.tutions and making them more responsive to contemporary circ.u.mstances. This, after all, was what I had done during my earlier service in government, and in business.

The President had given me explicit guidance to make the Defense Department "lethal, light and mobile."8 On the campaign trail, Bush had promised to direct his secretary of defense to begin "an immediate, comprehensive review of our military-the structure of its forces, the state of its strategy, the priorities of its procurement." He was reasonably specific about what he wanted the end result to be: On the campaign trail, Bush had promised to direct his secretary of defense to begin "an immediate, comprehensive review of our military-the structure of its forces, the state of its strategy, the priorities of its procurement." He was reasonably specific about what he wanted the end result to be: Our forces in the next century must be agile, lethal, readily deployable, and require a minimum of logistical support. We must be able to project our power over long distances, in days or weeks rather than months. Our military must be able to identify targets by a variety of means-from a Marine patrol to a satellite. Then be able to destroy those targets almost instantly, with an array of weapons, from a submarine-launched cruise missile, to mobile long-range artillery. On land, our heavy forces must be lighter. Our light forces must be more lethal. All must be easier to deploy. And these forces must be organized in smaller, more agile formations, rather than c.u.mbersome divisions.9 I knew that accomplishing even one of Bush's stated goals could preoccupy the Department and its leadership for years. Working toward all of them simultaneously in the Pentagon-an inst.i.tution that moved with all the speed and dexterity of a half-million-ton oil tanker-would be formidable. People naturally prefer to cling to established ways of doing things. Change is hard. Large organizations especially favor practices they have already mastered, even if those practices, fashioned decades before, are outdated. But the problems we faced, by almost all accounts, were serious. There was an acquisition system with excessive costs and redundancies. Too little attention had been paid to military housing and other infrastructure, as declining defense budgets shifted priorities to preserving costly and, in some cases, out-of-date weapons programs. Yet the resistance to change remained. In my first months in office, more often than not I heard from senior officials: "Don't change anything. Everything is fine."10 A searing reality was that there were people in the world who were working hard to think of novel ways to harm us. The key to transforming the Department, as I saw it, was through encouraging its civilian and military leaders to be more forward-looking, and to think freely, not conventionally. In my view, transformation hinged more on leadership and organization than it did on technology. Precision-guided weapons and microchips were important, but so was a culture that promoted human innovation and creativity. In the information age it was critical that we be able to transmit information rapidly to the people who needed it. More often than not what prevents that is not a computer or a piece of equipment, but outdated organization charts and layers of bureaucracy.

We couldn't afford to be constrained by the way the Department was organized, trained, and equipped today because our ever adapting adversaries were seeking to exploit our weaknesses tomorrow. I often noted that the United States then faced no peers with respect to conventional forces-armies, navies, and air forces-and, as a result, future threats would likely lie elsewhere. Even so, I accepted that we couldn't change overnight. I wanted to stress the gradual and continuing nature of the process. Transformation began before I arrived at the Pentagon, and I knew it would need to continue after I left. It was a continuum, not a discrete event.11 "Transforming," as I saw it, was a better term than "transformation." The latter sounded as if an organization might go from being "untransformed" to "transformed" with a distinct end point, which was not the case. "Transforming," as I saw it, was a better term than "transformation." The latter sounded as if an organization might go from being "untransformed" to "transformed" with a distinct end point, which was not the case.

I also understood that the President's objectives would face stiff resistance from the iron triangle of Congress, defense contractors, and the permanent DoD bureaucracy. What I had encountered in the 1970s was as strong as ever. As before, I antic.i.p.ated resistance to any significant changes from some military officers-current as well as retired-who saw themselves as protectors of their service's traditions. Senior members of Congress would also fight changes for a variety of reasons: some to protect pork for their const.i.tuents; some to preserve the jurisdiction of their committees and subcommittees; some to lend a hand to friends within the Department; and some because they had honest disagreements with the President's agenda and about the best way forward.

A shift in Washington had taken place since I left the Pentagon in 1977. The relationship between the executive and legislative branches had evolved from proper congressional oversight to what was becoming legislative micromanagement. The Defense Department was receiving between four and eight hundred letters every month from members of Congress, in addition to countless phone calls. All of these inquiries initiated a flurry of bureaucratic activity to resolve them.

In a memo I drafted soon after my return to the Department, I wrote about the challenge posed by the increasingly intrusive role of the Congress. The Defense Department was "tangled in its anchor chain," I wrote. The memo continued: The maze of constraints on the Department forces it to operate in a manner that is so slow, so ponderous and so inefficient that whatever it ultimately does produce is late, wasteful of taxpayer dollars, and has the unintended result of leading to still more letters of complaint and calls of criticism from Congress, more critical hearings and more condemnation in GAO [General Accounting Office] reports, to be followed by a still greater number of amendments, restrictions and requirements to try to correct the seeming mismanagement.... Over time, the regulations and requirements that have been laid on are so onerous that...they are smothering incentive, innovation and risk taking.12 I was astonished, for example, to discover that the legislation authorizing the Department of Defense's budget had exploded from a bill totaling 16 pages in 1977 when I left the Pentagon to a whopping 534 pages in 2001.13 I knew that Washington lobbyists had invested many years, sizable political contributions, and a great many golf games and private dinners to build intimate relationships with key members of the House and Senate, as well as with select DoD officials. "It is hard to imagine how a collection of such talented, intelligent, honorable, dedicated, patriotic people, who care about the security of the U.S. and the men and women of the armed forces, could have combined to produce such a mess," I dictated in a note to myself that May. "And yet, they conclude that nothing should be done to clean up the mess." I knew that Washington lobbyists had invested many years, sizable political contributions, and a great many golf games and private dinners to build intimate relationships with key members of the House and Senate, as well as with select DoD officials. "It is hard to imagine how a collection of such talented, intelligent, honorable, dedicated, patriotic people, who care about the security of the U.S. and the men and women of the armed forces, could have combined to produce such a mess," I dictated in a note to myself that May. "And yet, they conclude that nothing should be done to clean up the mess."14 Well, I was going to at least give it a try. Well, I was going to at least give it a try.

As ambitious as the President's transformation agenda was, at its core was a humble recognition of the limits of our intelligence capabilities. I wanted everyone in the Department to be aware that, no matter how much information we collected and no matter how much we planned, surprise was inevitable. No large, complex plan ever gets executed as written. A belief that a.s.sumptions will play out as planned is a dangerous form of intellectual arrogance. It can lead to confusion and paralysis when those a.s.sumptions turn out to be wrong, as they often will. I believed the dangers that flow from error and surprise could be reduced if built into the plans was the expectation that not only will some antic.i.p.ated problems be handled imperfectly, but that we will inevitably face problems that had not been antic.i.p.ated. Indeed, I saw preparing for the inevitability of surprise as a key element in the development of defense strategy. We had to consider our vulnerabilities with imagination and ask ourselves the question Frederick the Great once posed to his generals: "What design would I be forming if I were the enemy?"15 A second critical task was to adapt operations as needed and shift resources quickly. That required us to have forces that were agile and could move rapidly. For these lighter forces to be as capable as more traditional heavy forces, far greater precision was required. And to take advantage of the improved precision of our weapons, our forces needed more accurate targeting intelligence.

We also had a responsibility to capitalize on advances in science and engineering. During many years of involvement with national security issues I had seen impressive technological breakthroughs used to vastly improve our military capabilities. When my father served in World War II, for example, it could take dozens of harrowing combat aircraft sorties to ensure that our forces could knock out a single military target. By 2001, however, technological advances had made it possible for a single aircraft to destroy multiple targets with precision on a single sortie.

Because new military systems would only be as good as the human beings who volunteered to operate them, we also needed to make better use of our most valuable a.s.set: the men and women, military and civilian, who make up the Department. This led to one of my high-profile battles as secretary of defense.

For Defense Department civilian employees-some seven hundred thousand strong-the existing personnel system was a tangle of contradictory rules and regulations and, as a result, was counterproductive. The system did not move people into the positions for which they were best suited, nor did it reward good performance. As I knew well, the ability to hire and reward the most talented and move underperformers into other lines of work was essential to success in the private sector. Yet due to congressional restrictions and the influence of government labor unions, it was nearly impossible for senior DoD officials to recruit, promote, transfer, or replace civilian workers efficiently. As a result, instead of trying to fire underperforming workers and hiring new ones, managers were turning to uniformed military personnel and outside contractors, because they could be brought in rapidly to do a job and then be moved out when the job was done. Billions of tax dollars were supporting antiquated personnel systems that were undermining the important work of the Department of Defense.

We made it a high priority early on to address this by proposing a modern personnel system befitting one of the largest, most technologically advanced workforces in the world. I worked with a team at the Pentagon, led by a tenacious undersecretary for personnel and readiness in Dr. David Chu, and a determined secretary of the Navy in Gordon England, to develop and launch the National Security Personnel System. The new system permitted considerably more mobility among the Pentagon civilian workforce and inst.i.tuted pay for performance. Bush offered his full support for the plan, yet it barely survived several union-led attempts to roll it back.* The Department and many of its civilian employees benefited from the changes Chu and England proposed, but it was met with vigorous opposition, especially from the employees' unions. The Department and many of its civilian employees benefited from the changes Chu and England proposed, but it was met with vigorous opposition, especially from the employees' unions.

Those within the Department who felt the new system would not work in their favor tried to stir up fear and uncertainty among the workforce. n.o.body likes to have their job performance reviewed or questioned-indeed, the Pentagon had become arranged in such a way that an effective review system was all but impossible. My determination to untangle the system and make it easier for supervisors to oversee their employees left me vulnerable to the charge that I was trying to punish civilians in the Department. These accusations fed the developing misperception that I cared more about weapons systems than I did about people.

My focus on personnel was not limited to civilian manpower alone. I felt it important to review military personnel operations as well. Over the prior decade, the military services-Army, Air Force, Navy, and Marines-had been the dominant voices in deciding who would move up to become senior generals and admirals. I was given not too subtle hints from senior uniformed officers that the secretary of defense was expected to steer clear of the senior promotion process. My task, as it was suggested to me, was to give pro forma approval to the candidates presented by the services and to duly forward their recommendations to the President. The President's approval was expected to be a similar formality.

The results, predictably, tended to reflect each individual service's interests, which were not always the same as Department-wide interests. The pa.s.sage of the Goldwater-Nichols Department of Defense Reorganization Act of 1986 imposed requirements for a more joint perspective as a key element for promotion. I sensed that service parochialism remained in the list of officers submitted from the services. I recognized that officers with stars on their shoulders had generally earned them for good reasons. But I felt that special attention was essential in selecting the three-and four-star generals and admirals. They would become the key leaders of the military services and the combatant commands for the twenty-first century.

One crucial aspect to transforming the Department, in my mind, was aggressively carrying out the intent of the Goldwater-Nichols legislation by reducing the redundancies, divisions, incompatibilities, and rivalries among the services-a process referred to as achieving "jointness." Goldwater-Nichols had set the stage for developing joint capabilities that would both reduce costs and allow the services to leverage and capitalize on each other's strengths. I wanted to encourage as much joint planning and as many joint operations among the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marine Corps as possible. I was convinced that jointness could not be mandated from the top. It had to be inculcated in layers well below the secretary of defense. This required multiple leadership centers and individuals some layers down who shared that conviction and recognized the need for innovation and flexibility within their own services. They needed to be able to work in Washington with other departments and agencies that were out of their well-established comfort zones. And above all, they had to be candid and forthright, willing to disagree in private with me and with the President if their military advice differed from a course being considered.16 I felt that the only way to ensure that I was recommending those kinds of candidates to the President was to be personally involved in the selection process. I felt that the only way to ensure that I was recommending those kinds of candidates to the President was to be personally involved in the selection process.

I called on my senior military a.s.sistant from my first tour as secretary, Staser Holcomb, a retired vice admiral living on the West Coast. Staser came to Washington and worked with the service chiefs to put together dossiers on their candidates for the key service and joint positions so we could conduct a more than perfunctory review. Knowing that I needed senior input to help with these decisions, I established a four-person committee that included the Department's top two civilian officials and top two military officers: the chairman and vice chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the deputy secretary of defense, and me.

We discussed the tasks that would need to be performed for a specific post and the qualities and experiences that would best qualify an individual. Then we considered the recommendations of the services, secretaries, and chiefs, as well as other candidates. This was not a simple exercise. What may make for an outstanding fighter pilot, for example, is not necessarily the same set of skills needed for success as a combatant commander or service chief. After considering the various candidates, each of the four members of our committee made a point of becoming acquainted with the services' top candidates, well before we needed to make our recommendation to the President. I did not want the prospects who happened to work in the Pentagon to have an undue advantage just because we were more likely to know them. So as I and the others traveled around the country and the world, we made a point of meeting with the top prospects for the senior posts that would soon be vacant.

In my view it was certainly proper that I be involved in senior promotions. Indeed, it was the secretary of defense who had to make the recommendations to the President, and it is the President who makes the nominations to the U.S. Senate. I saw it as an important responsibility. I had had a good relationship with many of the military leaders I worked closely with as secretary under President Ford. I was the one who came to the defense of then chairman of the Joint Chiefs, George Brown, when many were calling for him to be fired. But because my new system represented a major change in how the Department currently operated, it caused considerable contention. Despite the pushback, however, it resulted in an exemplary bench of officers.

I remembered during my first year at Searle that I had ruffled some feathers as I raised questions about the old way of doing business. That was also the case at the Pentagon. It was clear that there were some in the Department who felt I was brusque or asked more questions than made them comfortable. In a large bureaucratic inst.i.tution, Newton's laws of physics apply: A body at rest tends to remain at rest, and a body in motion tends to remain in motion. I was determined that the Department of Defense accelerate forward.

Then, at President Bush's specific direction, I launched an unprecedented, comprehensive review of America's global defense posture. This was one of the most fascinating, well conceived, and fruitful projects we implemented at the Pentagon. But it too rankled several groups-some in the military, some in foreign governments, and some in the State Department-stirring up a veritable trifecta of harrumphing, protest, and consternation. Admiral Jim Ellis told me what his Naval Academy physics professor had taught him: "If you want traction, you must first have friction." We were generating more than our share of heat.

The way our forces were stationed overseas was so outdated, it was as if they had been frozen in time for the decades since Berlin and Tokyo fell in 1945, the armistice halted the Korean War in 1953, and the Cold War ended in 1991. Of the quarter million troops deployed abroad in 2001, more than one hundred thousand were in Europe, the vast majority stationed in Germany to fend off an invasion by a Soviet Union that no longer existed. An additional one hundred thousand were in East Asia and the western Pacific, vestiges of the occupation of j.a.pan in World War II and the Korean War. Those deployments were obviously not taking into account the twenty-first-century reality that Germany was now one of the wealthier nations in Europe and that j.a.pan and South Korea were among the most capable and self-sufficient in Asia.

Yet the status quo persisted in the Department; senior DoD officials were not questioning those deployments. Some combatant commanders seemed to feel they owned the forces and a.s.sets under their commands, and were loath to part with them. I started to pepper officials with what seemed to me obvious questions. Was it still wise to have large numbers of our forces in a defensive posture in western Germany to deter a tank invasion from the Soviet Union? Did we still need so many thousands of troops stationed in South Korea when the Korean people were increasingly irritated by the American troop presence, and given that Korea could well afford to do considerably more to defend its own territory? Was the enormous investment the American taxpayers were making in our military really meeting the challenges and realities of the twenty-first century or of the last century?

I also found it unwise to have large numbers of our troops stationed in countries where we needed to get approval from the host government and even in some cases from their parliaments before the president of the United States could move our forces where needed to defend the American people. It was unfair to the American taxpayer to be paying for one set of forces to defend Europe and another to defend East Asia, but then not to be able to use them elsewhere as might be required to defend our country and our interests.

I asked the policy office at the Pentagon to look at the globe afresh and to consider what our posture would be if we reconfigured it ideally, on the basis of what we might need in the future rather than for the past.17 The task involved a number of complex questions. Moving troops and their families away from bases Americans had been using for decades meant disrupting a way of life that had been created around some of these large bases-complete with American schools, shopping villages, hospitals, and restaurants. And though some of our deployments seemed outdated, the presence of our forces in Germany had been providing Europeans with a sense of comfort and security. Our presence in South Korea and j.a.pan was a sign of American resolve to defend northeast Asia-an important sector of the globe that lived in the shadow of a burgeoning China and a reckless North Korean dictator. The task involved a number of complex questions. Moving troops and their families away from bases Americans had been using for decades meant disrupting a way of life that had been created around some of these large bases-complete with American schools, shopping villages, hospitals, and restaurants. And though some of our deployments seemed outdated, the presence of our forces in Germany had been providing Europeans with a sense of comfort and security. Our presence in South Korea and j.a.pan was a sign of American resolve to defend northeast Asia-an important sector of the globe that lived in the shadow of a burgeoning China and a reckless North Korean dictator.

I believed our troops had to do more than serve as symbols or security blankets for wealthy allied countries. We needed capable, if independent-minded, allies willing to invest in their own defenses. In large part because America was taking on much of the job for them, European defense expenditures were disturbingly low and declining as a percentage of their GDPs. In prosperous South Korea, the government had taken the unfortunate step of shrinking their own army on the a.s.sumption that we would maintain our presence and be prepared to bring in additional divisions if North Korea provoked a war.

Keeping in mind our new national security strategy, with its emphasis on the unantic.i.p.ated, I knew we could no longer a.s.sume that we could predict where we might have to conduct military operations. Whether it would be for humanitarian work-earthquake or tsunami relief, for example-or combat operations, our forces needed the flexibility to move rapidly and without requiring the approval of a host country. Further, I wanted our military to be not only where they were needed but also where they were wanted, appreciated, and where we could move them rapidly to deal with whatever contingencies might arise. I questioned the desirability of tying our forces to ma.s.sive, permanent bases, especially when it created opposition among local populations. Tensions between our military and Okinawan politicians, for example, had been growing for some time.18 In the country that governed Islam's holiest shrines, Saudi Arabia, the presence of our troops sp.a.w.ned resentments against both the American and Saudi governments. Osama bin Laden propagandized on this point to recruit terrorists and raise money. In the country that governed Islam's holiest shrines, Saudi Arabia, the presence of our troops sp.a.w.ned resentments against both the American and Saudi governments. Osama bin Laden propagandized on this point to recruit terrorists and raise money.19 No previous U.S. administration had attempted such a major global defense posture review; we aimed to rationalize our facilities, activities, relationships, legal arrangements, and surge capabilities worldwide to fit a strategy intended to look into the future, not reflect the past.* Our work, not surprisingly, stimulated interest and concern. President Bush's political opponents who wanted to come across as more hawkish on defense issues made ridiculous accusations that we were "[pulling] back our forces." Our work, not surprisingly, stimulated interest and concern. President Bush's political opponents who wanted to come across as more hawkish on defense issues made ridiculous accusations that we were "[pulling] back our forces."20 This ignored the fact that our posture review increased our capability to project forces rapidly anywhere in the world. The more suspicious wondered why we were in such a rush to get this done. My view was, why wait? We had wasted billions of dollars, and we had been sitting in place across the globe for close to sixty years. This ignored the fact that our posture review increased our capability to project forces rapidly anywhere in the world. The more suspicious wondered why we were in such a rush to get this done. My view was, why wait? We had wasted billions of dollars, and we had been sitting in place across the globe for close to sixty years.

Senior State Department officials initially raised no objections to our review. Secretary of State Powell received periodic updates and seemed content with our a.n.a.lysis. But whatever Powell thought about the defense posture review, others in his department anonymously voiced reservations in the press that echoed the concerns and questions of some of our allies that opposed changing the status quo. From Bosnia to Kosovo to the Sinai peninsula, it seemed that the U.S. military was engaging in new peacekeeping efforts every few years. Those efforts were stretching DoD resources. We either had to increase our capabilities or find ways to pare down our peacekeeping efforts sooner.21 When I pushed to reduce the numbers of American military forces supposedly monitoring a two-decade-old truce between Israel and Egypt in the Sinai peninsula, "[s]ome State Department officials [began] to argue that a withdrawal would underscore what is already seen by some in the region as an American retreat from the Middle East."22 When I learned, for example, that the Pentagon had been spending $225 million every year to maintain our forces in Iceland, I sent a memo to Powell recommending we make a change. When I learned, for example, that the Pentagon had been spending $225 million every year to maintain our forces in Iceland, I sent a memo to Powell recommending we make a change.23 I pointed out that our aircraft originally had been stationed in Iceland to track Soviet subs in the North Atlantic. Now that there was no Soviet Union, they were spending their time helping Icelandic fishermen in distress. More than $2 billion had been spent since the end of the Cold War in 1989 to keep our aircraft in Iceland. I believed the $4 billion we would be spending over the next twenty years could be better invested elsewhere. Even so, it took me three years of pressing and prodding-and the resulting loss of another $700 to $800 million to taxpayers-before I could get our military presence in Iceland renegotiated. This was accomplished over the continued opposition of the State Department. I pointed out that our aircraft originally had been stationed in Iceland to track Soviet subs in the North Atlantic. Now that there was no Soviet Union, they were spending their time helping Icelandic fishermen in distress. More than $2 billion had been spent since the end of the Cold War in 1989 to keep our aircraft in Iceland. I believed the $4 billion we would be spending over the next twenty years could be better invested elsewhere. Even so, it took me three years of pressing and prodding-and the resulting loss of another $700 to $800 million to taxpayers-before I could get our military presence in Iceland renegotiated. This was accomplished over the continued opposition of the State Department.24 Iceland was a wake-up call for me. If it was that hard to change our posture there, changes elsewhere in the world would be even more difficult. Iceland was a wake-up call for me. If it was that hard to change our posture there, changes elsewhere in the world would be even more difficult.

CHAPTER 23

Bears in the Woods"There's a bear in the woods. For some people, the bear is easy to see. Others don't see it at all. Some people say the bear is tame. Others say it's vicious and dangerous.Since no one can really be sure who's right, isn't it smart to be as strong as the bear? If there is a bear?"-Reagan presidential campaign ad, 1984 Upon arriving at the Pentagon, I made a list of what I saw as the areas of the world that would need to be near the top of our national security priorities. Each needed to be managed deftly. I was particularly focused on our relations with two of America's former rivals-a resurgent Russia and a strengthening China.

Russia, in particular, was an early priority, and I worked hard to establish a productive relationship with my Russian counterpart, Defense Minister Sergei Ivanov. Fortunately, Ivanov was one of the most enjoyable foreign officials I encountered. He was intelligent, quick, well connected in Moscow, and had a sense of humor. Ivanov was a fine conversationalist and spoke excellent English. Unlike some former Soviet diplomats, he didn't engage in long lectures. "I see you get right to the point," I said to him in our first meeting, as we discussed U.S.-Russian relations. "I will try my best to do so as well."1 Ivanov was an avid basketball player and fan, so I took him to a Washington Wizards game when he was in town for a meeting. Our friendship was genuine, and I think it proved helpful. Ivanov was an avid basketball player and fan, so I took him to a Washington Wizards game when he was in town for a meeting. Our friendship was genuine, and I think it proved helpful.

But there were limits to how far personal affinity could go. Unsurprisingly, Ivanov would become uncomfortable when in meetings an American official would make a reference to the West's victory in the Cold War and the collapse of the Soviet Union. He was a steady and effective supporter of President Putin's agenda and never allowed daylight between himself and his government's policies.

In 2001 Russia was at a crossroads, and in many ways it remains there even a decade later. Though the Russians retained the nuclear a.r.s.enal of a great power, in other respects they were weak. They had lost much of their old empire. Their gross domestic product was small and largely dependent on the extraction and sale of oil and natural gas. Their population was shrinking. They faced security challenges from China and Chechen Muslims.

It was difficult for many in our country to move away from the Cold War mindset that characterized the Russian government as an enemy. For many, the idea of a threatening superpower-what the Reagan campaign famously characterized as a "bear in the woods"-remained deeply ingrained. While I exercised a certain caution when it came to the Russians, I was hopeful that the relationship could change. During the 1990s, I had been a member of a group of American and Russian business leaders who sought ways to encourage the growth of trade, commerce, and industry within the former Soviet Union. The U.S.Russia Business Council, sponsored by the RAND Corporation, offered me an opportunity to spend time in Moscow, getting to know the country's business leaders in the years following the Soviet collapse. Many Russian businessmen wanted a more liberal economy and increased Western investment. Others who had benefited from the system of corrupt, state-sanctioned monopolies, preferred to see that system perpetuated.

It seemed to me Russia's leaders were considering two options to reclaim their status as a great power. One was to consort with those regimes around the world that were hostile to the West-China, North Korea, Iran, Iraq, Venezuela, and Cuba, for example-and to increase Russia's sway through intimidation of its neighbors. Choosing that path would entail pressuring the former Soviet satellites to respect Russia's "sphere of influence." It also would mean that the Russian government would likely face economic difficulties if foreign corporations consequently decided to invest elsewhere.

As I saw it, Russia had another option. It could become a significant global economic power and a partner with the West. It had vast natural resources. Its population included world-cla.s.s mathematicians, scientists, and engineers. It had an educated labor force with skills relevant to the world economy. I thought that Russia might be able to accomplish a feat of rebirth similar to Germany's and j.a.pan's following World War II-but with advantages that the Germans and j.a.panese did not have. The Cold War had not left Russia a scene of physical devastation. The country therefore could conceivably become a focus of international trade and investment if Russian leaders were willing to create an environment hospitable to enterprise.2 I was reminded of what former President Nixon told me in 1994 after a visit to Russia. "The Cold War is over," said the old cold warrior, "but it is not won." I was reminded of what former President Nixon told me in 1994 after a visit to Russia. "The Cold War is over," said the old cold warrior, "but it is not won."3 His point was that though communism had failed, freedom was still on trial in Russia. If Russia succeeded in building a free system, Nixon said, it would encourage other totalitarian states to move in the same direction. "But if it fails," he warned, "it will lead to more dictatorships." His point was that though communism had failed, freedom was still on trial in Russia. If Russia succeeded in building a free system, Nixon said, it would encourage other totalitarian states to move in the same direction. "But if it fails," he warned, "it will lead to more dictatorships."4 I wanted Russia to join the circle of advanced, prosperous societies and would have been pleased to see the country grow in strength as a friend or even a partner of the West. Accordingly, I thought the best path for the United States was to avoid hectoring Russia on imperfect democratic practices, but rather to encourage it along a path toward freer economic and political systems. I tried to put myself in their shoes as I considered how we could best make the case to them about our goals and intentions. "Discussions with Russia ought not to be stove-piped into segments," I wrote in one memo. "What they want is in the political and economic areas-dignity, respect, standing and foreign investment to help their economy."5 Respect, especially, seemed to be the key. That at least was my perspective when the administration began to discuss one of the p.r.i.c.kliest issues in U.S.Russia relations: missile defense. Respect, especially, seemed to be the key. That at least was my perspective when the administration began to discuss one of the p.r.i.c.kliest issues in U.S.Russia relations: missile defense.

We knew Russia's leaders were likely to oppose a system, to some degree. But I hoped that they could see beyond the old Soviet complaints that our program could spark World War III. The objection was wrong on its face. The relatively small scale of our proposal would not make us capable of defending against Russia's ma.s.sive a.r.s.enal of missiles. No well-informed Russian official seriously worried that the United States's missile defense program would protect America against a ma.s.sive nuclear strike from Russia. I suspected that their real concern might have been that U.S. missile defenses could damage Russia's image as a world power.

A necessary step for implementing an initial missile defense program was to remove the legal barrier to developing the system: the Anti-Ballistic Missile (ABM) Treaty. I believed it was well past time to withdraw from a disadvantageous treaty that, moreover, by 2001 was of dubious legality.* The Bush administration seemed united on this point. The Bush administration seemed united on this point.

In an effort to help a.s.suage concerns about our missile defense interests, in August 2001 I made a visit to Moscow, my first as Bush's secretary of defense. The last time I'd traveled to Russia as a member of the government was with President Ford to discuss a new Strategic Arms Limitation Treaty with Soviet leader Leonid Brezhnev. Though Vladimir Putin came of age in the Soviet era as a KGB agent, he was no Brezhnev. Putin was savvier with the media and more sophisticated. He exuded a youthful self-a.s.surance, undoubtedly a political a.s.set in a country with an aging population. Putin did, however, begin our meeting in the Kremlin with a Soviet-style monologue, forcefully outlining his positions and commanding rapt attention.

When he was finished, he seemed interested in getting a sense of the approach our new administration would take to Russia and invited an exchange. "Mr. President," I began, "I share your hope for a warmer relationship between our two countries." I noted that I enjoyed working with his defense minister, who had joined us for the meeting.

In fact, I repeated some of the points I had made earlier to Ivanov, appealing to the Russians' self-interest. "As a businessman for almost twenty-five years," I said, "I know that an environment hospitable to enterprise-with the rule of law, a free press, anticorruption efforts, and the like-are vital to attracting foreign investment." I noted that "money is a coward"-that is, when potential investors see instability and uncertainty, they tend to invest their money elsewhere. I told Putin that when businessmen see that Russia's closest a.s.sociates are Cuba, North Korea, Iran, Libya, and the like, and see corruption and periodic public opposition to American policies, they conclude Russia is an uncertain place and that their investments could be at risk. Those were not welcome conclusions for a Russia that sought to emerge as a world economic power.6 Putin and I also talked about the way business executives make decisions on where to build manufacturing plants, where to do research, and, in short, where they decide to conduct business. We discussed how, in a free country, people vote with their feet. Businessmen favor countries that create a compet.i.tive business environment.

On the central issue of my visit-the ABM Treaty-Putin said something that I thought he believed, but which I had not expected him to say. He told me that he was not wedded to the old Cold War doctrine of mutual a.s.sured destruction, which sought to use the threat of a nuclear exchange as a deterrent between the superpowers. Putin said he understood that our proposed missile defense system would be small scale, designed to deter and defend against rogue states. He knew well it could be overwhelmed by Russia's a.r.s.enal, and that once operational, the system could successfully defend against handfuls, not thousands, of missiles.

But Putin forthrightly admitted he had a political dilemma. He said he might look like a "traitor" to Russia's national security if he allowed the United States to withdraw from the ABM Treaty without protest.

Putin left me with the impression that he was interested in the option of closer ties with NATO and the West. "Russia is being pushed out of the system of civilized Western defense," he observed. He charged that NATO had not been sufficiently receptive to including Russia in its collective defense strategy. There was an explanation for this, of course. Many NATO countries-particularly those close to the Russian border-were wary of the Russians. After all, some of them had only recently been threatened or intimidated by the "big bear." Others had been unwilling Soviet satellite states.

Still, I told Putin that I thought it was conceivable that if Russia continued developing freer political and economic systems and accepted NATO's expansion along its borders, the United States and NATO could welcome Russia into a more stable relationship with the West. I'm not sure my response satisfied him, but I thought it was unrealistic to expect a warm relationship with NATO to blossom overnight, given the att.i.tudes of the Warsaw Pact nations that had so recently joined.

Later that evening, I learned how far America and Russia still had to go to fully understand one another. At a dinner with Ivanov and senior Russian military officials, General Yuri Baluyevsky, then the country's second-ranking military officer, regaled us with a fascinating "fact" I suspect he may have learned from the internet. The brains behind the U.S. missile-defense system, he declared, as if he had unearthed an embarra.s.sing secret, was "an economist named Lyndon LaRouche." LaRouche, of course, was well-known in the United States as a political extremist and conspiracy theorist. He inhabited the murky zone where the far left and far right wings of politics bend toward each other. To my knowledge, his influence on the American missile defense program was nil.

I made an effort to correct the record for the a.s.sembled Russians. But the encounter was troubling. It was not in either of our interests that Russian military leaders should lack such basic knowledge about the United States and the ways American officials think and operate.

If Russia loomed large in early discussions in the Bush administration, the rise of the People's Republic of China (PRC) and its implications for American strategy in Asia was perhaps an even greater and more delicate issue. I had some familiarity with the PRC going back to the 1960s. I was not an early admirer. In Congress, I had been a supporter of the Committee of One Million-a bipartisan organization "in opposition to any concessions to Communist China."7 After Nixon's historic opening, I traveled to China with Henry Kissinger in 1974 to continue normalization talks with the then vice premier, Deng Xiaoping, who later became the country's paramount leader. After Nixon's historic opening, I traveled to China with Henry Kissinger in 1974 to continue normalization talks with the then vice premier, Deng Xiaoping, who later became the country's paramount leader.*

I returned to China in 1999 as part of a delegation of former national security officials sponsored by the American Foreign Policy Council. The occasion was the fiftieth anniversary of Mao Zedong's victory over the nationalist forces of Chiang Kai-Shek and the founding of the PRC. By then, Beijing's streets were more congested, its air much denser with smog than before, as automobiles had largely replaced bicycles. To commemorate the occasion, the Communist Party had set up a series of exhibitions with cultural displays depicting each of China's many diverse provinces. As befit what the Chinese thought of as a "renegade" province, the Taiwan exhibit was light on culture. In the center of the large room was an enormous diorama of Taiwan under siege. Models of Chinese warships and bombers were attacking the island, while Chinese troops stormed its beaches and missiles landed in its cities. Though the tragedy of Tiananmen Square in 1989 had opened the eyes of some in the West to the Communist regime's capacity for ruthlessness, the prevailing sense was that China would not flex its growing muscles for the foreseeable future. After seeing that Taiwan display, I was not so sure.

Unlike many Western policy makers, the Chinese made a practice of thinking several moves ahead while they looked to take advantage of current events. Kissinger once remarked to me that the game the PRC plays is neither checkers nor chess. It was something far more complicated-patient and cautious. "It's a totally different game," he said, "and they're good at it."9 The writings of Sun Tzu were not quaint historical literary contributions in China but principles the Chinese live by to this day. A recurring theme of those writings is long-term strategic thinking. "Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness," Sun Tzu wrote. "Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of the opponent's fate." The writings of Sun Tzu were not quaint historical literary contributions in China but principles the Chinese live by to this day. A recurring theme of those writings is long-term strategic thinking. "Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness," Sun Tzu wrote. "Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of the opponent's fate."10 Sun Tzu taught that a battle could be won through careful preparation and superior knowledge of the enemy, even before the enemy knows a battle has begun. Sun Tzu taught that a battle could be won through careful preparation and superior knowledge of the enemy, even before the enemy knows a battle has begun.

I arrived in the George W. Bush administration among the more cautious about China's long-term ambitions. The PRC consistently said it was seeking a comfortable relationship with the United States and the West and took some steps to reinforce that promise. At the same time it was steadily building up its military capabilities, placing hundreds of missiles across the strait from Taiwan and periodically engaging in heavy-handed provocations.11 I was intent on understanding what the PRC's intentions might be. What implications might their actions have for their neighbors, such as Taiwan, India, Singapore, Mongolia, and Vietnam, and for our close allies in j.a.pan and South Korea? What might it mean for the flow of commerce in the Pacific? Why was there so little transparency about their defense spending and its purposes? Each time I raised such questions in various diplomatic forums, it invariably led to headlines about my "hard-line" approach toward China. I was intent on understanding what the PRC's intentions might be. What implications might their actions have for their neighbors, such as Taiwan, India, Singapore, Mongolia, and Vietnam, and for our close allies in j.a.pan and South Korea? What might it mean for the flow of commerce in the Pacific? Why was there so little transparency about their defense spending and its purposes? Each time I raised such questions in various diplomatic forums, it invariably led to headlines about my "hard-line" approach toward China.

We were fooling ourselves if we believed the Chinese were the "strategic partner" that President Clinton and others had wishfully suggested.12 When I worked on China issues in the 1990s, I was struck by an old Chinese adage: "Sometimes you have to kill a chicken to frighten the monkeys." It was ill.u.s.trative of their approach: China would coerce and make an example out of their neighbors, internal dissenters, and internal independence movements (such as the Tibetan and Uighur efforts) for the purpose of bringing others into line. When I worked on China issues in the 1990s, I was struck by an old Chinese adage: "Sometimes you have to kill a chicken to frighten the monkeys." It was ill.u.s.trative of their approach: China would coerce and make an example out of their neighbors, internal dissenters, and internal independence movements (such as the Tibetan and Uighur efforts) for the purpose of bringing others into line.13 Whatever my concerns about Chinese intentions, I had a reasonably clear view on what the administration's stance should be. As with the Russians, I tried to put myself in their shoes. Policy making often involves trade-offs. If the administration appeared too accommodating, the Chinese might well interpret that as a sign of weakness, which could encourage more belligerence. Conversely, if we treated China as a threatening rival, our antagonism could encourage the more militant elements in internal Chinese debates to prevail. Soon after my return to government, I put some of these thoughts on paper: We ought to avoid unnecessarily working ourselves into problems with China.

Confronting China with a list of the things we want from them, telling them how to behave, won't work.

Our goal ought to be to not emphasize them as a threat today, but, rather, see if we can't seize the opportunity to establish a relationship that will be more to our advantage when they do become stronger.14 President Bush felt that we had an opportunity to work with China's leaders to try to help shape their country's future by demonstrating firmness, candor, and cooperation. I agreed with that approach. I watched the Chinese carefully to see the extent to which their actions reflected their words. The Chinese were watching us as well. It was not long before we had an opportunity to learn more about each other and, unfortunately, I don't think America emerged from that encounter with the better hand.

In the predawn hours of April 1, 2001, the American crew of the EP-3 flight designated Mission PR32 made its way from Kadena Air Base in Okinawa on a routine mission over the South China Sea.* The American EP-3 was a lumbering, four-engine propeller-driven aircraft outfitted with an impressive array of advanced electronics. It was in international airs.p.a.ce conducting a reconnaissance mission some seventy miles off China's sh.o.r.es and following a long-established flight path that was in full compliance with international agreements. The American EP-3 was a lumbering, four-engine propeller-driven aircraft outfitted with an impressive array of advanced electronics. It was in international airs.p.a.ce conducting a reconnaissance mission some seventy miles off China's sh.o.r.es and following a long-established flight path that was in full compliance with international agreements.15 As we were ent.i.tled to carry out these routine missions, so too were the Chinese ent.i.tled to dispatch aircraft to monitor our activities. But in previous months, China had stepped up its maneuvers around our reconnaissance planes, occasionally endangering them and their crews. As we were ent.i.tled to carry out these routine missions, so too were the Chinese ent.i.tled to dispatch aircraft to monitor our activities. But in previous months, China had stepped up its maneuvers around our reconnaissance planes, occasionally endangering them and their crews.* The Clinton administration had protested to the PRC about these activities the previous December, but without effect. The Clinton administration had protested to the PRC about these activities the previous December, but without effect.17 As the twenty-four-member crew of the U.S. EP-3 neared the conclusion of their six-hour flight, they were intercepted by two PRC F-8 fighter jets, one of which maneuvered aggressively. After two increasingly dangerous pa.s.ses, the Chinese pilot apparently miscalculat