No Higher Honor: A Memoir of My Years in Washington

57 MUMBAI

ON NOVEMBER 26, I was preparing for the arrival of my family for the Thanksgiving holiday. I’d taken off a little early, but the phone was ringing as I arrived home. The operations center was on the telephone. David Mulford, our ambassador in India, and Anne Patterson in Pakistan were both calling. I flipped on the television as the watch officer described what had happened. There was carnage everywhere from ten coordinated attacks by Islamic terrorists across Mumbai, India’s most vibrant commercial city. Over the next three days, more than 150 people would be killed and almost twice as many wounded.

The President and Laura Bush had kindly invited my family and friends to Camp David for one last Thanksgiving dinner. Mariann and Dan Begovich, Gene Washington, and my Aunt Gee were all excited to attend. I didn’t want to disappoint them, and in any case it would be helpful to be with the President as we tried to manage the crisis.

Ambassador Mulford’s message was stark. “There is war fever here,” he said. “I don’t know if the prime minister can hold out. Everyone knows that the terrorists came from Pakistan.” I then talked to Anne. Her message was just as clear. “They have their heads in the sand,” she said.

Needless to say, I didn’t do much celebrating, showing up for meals and nothing else. We were issuing statements of support for India and trying, through Anne, to get the Pakistanis to say something useful. Then, on Saturday, I realized just how bad the communication between the parties really was.

I was leaving my cabin to join others for “chip-and-putt” golf on the lawn behind the President’s residence when the Camp David operator called and said that Judy Ansley at the NSC was on the phone. Judy was one of Steve’s deputies. “The Pakistanis say the Indians have warned them that they’ve decided to go to war,” she said anxiously.

“What?” I said. “That isn’t what they’re telling me.” In my many conversations with the Indians over the two days, they’d emphasized their desire to defuse the situation and their need for the Pakistanis to do something to show that they accepted responsibility for tracking down the terrorists.

I asked the operations center to get the Indian foreign minister on the phone, but they couldn’t reach him. Now I was starting to get nervous. Is he avoiding my call because they are preparing for war? I wondered. It still didn’t make sense, but it was India and Pakistan, and anything could happen.

I called back again. No response. By now the international phone lines were buzzing with the news. The Pakistanis were calling everyone—the Saudis, the Emiratis, the Chinese. Finally Mukherjee called back. I told him what I’d heard.

“What?” he said. “I’m in my constituency.” (The Indians were preparing for elections, and Mukherjee, who was a member of Parliament, was at home campaigning.) “Would I be outside New Delhi if we were about to launch a war?” he said. Apparently, he explained, the Pakistani foreign minister had taken his stern words in their recent phone call the wrong way. “I said they were leaving us no choice but to go to war,” he said. This is getting dangerous, I thought.

I was scheduled to go to Europe in a few days for my last NATO summit. The President asked if I could go to India and Pakistan first. I agreed but thought it wise to stop in London on the way. Sitting in London, I had a strong sense of déjà vu. Hadn’t we been here before with the Brits, trying to head off a war in South Asia in 2001? I’d once said that I knew it was time to step down as provost when issues that I thought I’d resolved in year one came back around in year six. South Asia, I thought. Here we go again.

But when I arrived in India, I could see and feel the difference. A lot had changed since 2001; most important, the Indians trusted us. They didn’t want war, though they were being pushed hard by the press and public opinion to avenge the attacks. When I arrived at Prime Minister Singh’s home that night, it was easy to see how much pressure he was under. But he was determined to avoid war. The foreign minister felt the same. “But you have to get Pakistan to do something.” Clearly the impending elections made the situation even more difficult.

When I arrived in Islamabad, it was obvious that a lot had changed there too. Musharraf hadn’t always been effective, but he had exuded confidence, in part due to the loyalty of the army to him personally. Now I was face to face with a new, weak civilian government headed by Benazir Bhutto’s widower, Asif Ali Zardari. The Pakistanis were at once terrified and in the same breath dismissive of the Indian claims. President Zardari emphasized his desire to avoid war but couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge Pakistan’s likely role in the attacks. Pakistani Prime Minister Yousaf Raza Gillani, who I also met, launched into a long speech about how Pakistan fought extremists too. They had been told that the terrorists who had launched the attack had nothing to do with Pakistan.

“Mr. Prime Minister,” I said, “either you’re lying to me or your people are lying to you.” I then went on to tell him what we—the United States—knew about the origins of the attack. I didn’t accuse Pakistan’s government of involvement; that wasn’t the point. But rogues within the security services might have aided the terrorists. It was time to admit that and to investigate more seriously. Finally, I went to meet the chief of staff, General Ashfaq Pervez Kayani. Our military liked him and considered him honest and effective. He was the one person who, even if he couldn’t admit responsibility, understood that Pakistan would have to give an accounting of what had happened. That was a start.

When I left South Asia, I wasn’t certain that I’d achieved what I intended. But as the days went on, the crisis eased. Almost a month later, on December 27, Zardari admitted that “nonstate actors” existed in Pakistan and had to be rooted out. It wasn’t a great statement, but, taken together with earlier promises to investigate the Mumbai attacks, it was enough. Singh’s party had won overwhelmingly a few weeks before in the provincial elections, and the prime minister no longer had to placate the war caucus.

Several days after returning from South Asia and Europe, I attended the Kennedy Center Honors for the last time as secretary of state. I always loved the event, which honors our finest artists. On Saturday night, the secretary hosts a gala dinner in the Ben Franklin room at the State Department at which the recipients receive their honors. It was one of my favorite nights of the year, a chance to sit with Itzhak Perlman, Joshua Bell, Robert Redford, Elton John, Diana Ross, and Aretha Franklin, among others.

Then, on Sunday night, the President hosts a reception for the honorees before the performances at the Kennedy Center. There is a nice ceremony at which the achievements of the recipients are recalled. That year, the last award was dedicated to the wonderful actor Morgan Freeman. The President introduced him by recalling his role in the movie Deep Impact, which is about a black man who is President of the United States when a meteor hits the earth. “That’s about the only thing that hasn’t happened in the last eight years,” the President quipped.

When he returned to his seat, I leaned over and said, “Don’t tempt fate. We’ve still got a few weeks left.”