*In 2010, after an exhaustive investigation, the Justice Department and FBI concluded that Dr. Bruce Ivins, a U.S. government scientist who committed suicide in 2008, had executed the anthrax attack alone.
**Congress named the law the Uniting and Strengthening America by Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism Act.
he Treaty Room was one of my favorite places in the White House. Spacious and stately, it sits on the second floor between the Lincoln Bedroom and the Yellow Oval Room. Before the construction of the West Wing, the Treaty Room was the presidential office. Its name dates back to 1898, when President William McKinley chose it to sign the treaty ending the Spanish-American War.
Working in the Treaty Room. White House/Joyce Boghosian
The dominant piece of furniture is a large, dark walnut desk, where the treaty was signed and the cabinet of President Ulysses S. Grant met. I used the desk to edit speeches, read briefing papers, and make phone calls, usually in the evening after I had come back from the Oval Office.
Opposite the desk was a large oil painting, The Peacemakers. It shows President Lincoln aboard the River Queen steamer with General Grant, General William Tecumseh Sherman, and Rear Admiral David Porter in the final month of the Civil War. Lincoln is consulting with his military commanders on the strategy to defeat the Confederacy and establish a just and lasting peace. Before 9/11, I saw the scene as a fascinating moment in history. After the attack, it took on a deeper meaning. The painting reminded me of Lincoln’s clarity of purpose: He waged war for a necessary and noble cause.
Just after noon on Sunday, October 7, 2001, I walked into the Treaty Room to address the nation. Hours earlier, long-range bombers had taken off from Whiteman Air Force Base in Missouri. American and British submarines in the Arabian Gulf had launched their Tomahawk missiles. And Navy fighter planes had lifted off the decks of the USS Carl Vinson and the USS Enterprise.
“On my orders,” I said, “the United States military has begun strikes against al Qaeda terrorist training camps and military installations of the Taliban regime in Afghanistan.”
I felt the gravity of the decision. I knew the war would bring death and sorrow. Every life lost would devastate a family forever. At the end of my speech, I quoted a letter I had received from a fourth-grade girl with a father in the military. “As much as I don’t want my dad to fight,” she wrote, “I’m willing to give him to you.”
My anxiety about the sacrifice was mitigated by the urgency of the cause. Removing al Qaeda’s safe haven in Afghanistan was essential to protecting the American people. We had planned the mission carefully. We were acting out of necessity and self-defense, not revenge.
I looked out the window of the Treaty Room. In the distance I could see the Jefferson Memorial, where the words of the Declaration of Independence are carved into the walclass="underline" “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.” Across the Potomac sat the scarred Pentagon. For twenty-six days after 9/11, we had planned and prepared. Now the wait was over. America’s counterattack was under way. The liberation of Afghanistan had begun.
Sending Americans to war is the most profound decision a president can make. I saw that in 1989, when Laura, the girls, and I spent Christmas at Camp David. On December 20, Dad had deployed twenty-seven thousand troops to Panama to remove dictator Manuel Noriega and restore democracy.
Operation Just Cause was a success. The dictator was deposed quickly. American casualties were few. Most were in a celebratory mood. But not Dad. For the wounded and the families of the fallen—and for their commander in chief—the cost of battle was painfully high.
I was standing next to Mother and Dad at a Christmas Eve caroling session when the Navy chaplain walked over. He said, “Sir, I’ve just returned from Wilford Hall in San Antonio, where the wounded troops lie. I told the boys that if they had a message for the president, I’d be seeing you tonight.”
He continued: “They said, ‘Please tell the president we’re proud to serve a great country, and we’re proud to serve a great man like George Bush.’ ” Dad’s eyes filled with tears.
The poignant moment gave me an up-close look at the personal toll of sending troops into combat. But nothing prepared me for the feeling when I was the president who gave the order.
As I knew from my visits during Dad’s time in office, Camp David is one of the great privileges afforded the president. Nestled in Maryland’s Catoctin Mountains about seventy miles from Washington, the 200-acre site is a thirty-minute helicopter ride from the White House. It feels much more removed than that. The retreat is run by the Navy and protected by the Marines. It consists of rustic cabins, a gym and swimming pool, a bowling alley, a chipping green, and scenic trails through the woods for hiking and biking. The atmosphere fosters reflection and clear thinking.
At Camp David with Laura. White House/Eric Draper
The presidential cabin is known as Aspen. Its interior is simple but comfortable. The wooden structure has three bedrooms, a perfect size for our family; a sunlit living room where I watched football with my brother Marvin and friends; and a stone fireplace beside which Laura and I liked to read at night.
About a quarter mile down the hill is Laurel, a large lodge with a spacious dining area, a small presidential office, and a wood-paneled conference room that Jimmy Carter used when he negotiated the Camp David Peace Accords.
That was where my national security team gathered on Saturday morning, September 15, to start developing the battle plan for Afghanistan. The mood was somber, serious, and focused. With me at the big oak table were the top national security officials from across the government.* Together they had decades of crisis management experience.
Meeting with Dick Cheney, Colin Powell, and my national security team at Camp David the Saturday after 9/11. White House/Eric Draper
The first key presentation that morning came from CIA Director George Tenet. Six months earlier, at my direction, George and the National Security Council had started developing a comprehensive strategy to destroy the al Qaeda network. In the four days between 9/11 and the Camp David meeting, the CIA team had beefed up their plan. George proposed that I grant broader authority for covert actions, including permission for the CIA to kill or capture al Qaeda operatives without asking for my sign-off each time. I decided to grant the request.
The heart of the CIA plan was a new offensive in Afghanistan, where 9/11 had been planned. The roots of the terrorist presence in Afghanistan traced back to 1979, when the Soviet Union invaded and installed a communist puppet regime. Afghan tribes, along with a band of hard-core Islamic fighters known as the Mujahideen, rose up against the foreign occupation. With assistance from the United States, Pakistan, and Saudi Arabia, the rebels inflicted fifteen thousand casualties and drove out the Soviets in 1989. Two years later, the superpower collapsed.
Free of the communist occupiers, the Afghan people had a chance to rebuild their country. But the U.S. government no longer saw a national interest in Afghanistan, so it cut off support. America’s noninvolvement helped create a vacuum. Tribal warriors who had defeated the Soviets turned their guns on one another. Ultimately, the Taliban, a group of Islamic fundamentalists, seized power. They imposed a fanatical, barbaric brand of Islam that prohibited girls from going to school, required men to grow beards of a certain length, and forbade women from leaving their homes without a male relative as an escort. The simplest pleasures—singing, clapping, and flying kites—were banned.