that disproved the Palestinian leader’s claim. Arafat had lied to me. I never trusted him again. In fact, I never spoke to him again. By the spring of 2002, I had concluded that peace would not be possible with Arafat in power.
“When will the pig leave Ramallah?” Crown Prince Abdullah** asked me. It was April 25, 2002. Clearly the Saudi ruler was not happy with Ariel Sharon.
Ever since President Franklin Roosevelt met with Saudi Arabia’s founder, King Abdul Aziz, aboard the USS
I had invited Crown Prince Abdullah—one of Abdul Aziz’s thirty-six sons—to our ranch in Crawford as a way to strengthen our personal relationship. In anticipation of the March 2002 Arab League summit in Beirut, the crown prince showed strong leadership by announcing a new peace plan. Under his vision, Israel would return territory to the Palestinians, who would create an independent state that rejected terror and recognized Israel’s right to exist. There were many details to negotiate, but the concept was one I could support.
The evening of the Arab League summit, a Hamas suicide bomber walked into a hotel dining room filled with people celebrating Passover in the Israeli city of Netanya. “Suddenly it was hell,” one guest said. “There was the smell of smoke and dust in my mouth and a ringing in my ears.” One of the bloodiest attacks of the Second Intifada, the bombing killed 30 Israelis and wounded 140.
In response, Prime Minister Sharon ordered a sweeping Israeli offensive into the West Bank. Israeli forces quickly picked up hundreds of suspected militants and surrounded Yasser Arafat in his Ramallah office. Sharon announced he would build a security barrier separating Israeli communities from the Palestinians in the West Bank. The fence was widely condemned. I hoped it would provide the security Israelis needed to make hard choices for peace.
I urged Sharon privately to end the offensive, which had become counterproductive. Arafat held a TV interview by candlelight and was looking like a martyr. Sharon forged ahead. I gave a Rose Garden speech publicly calling on him to begin a withdrawal. “Enough is enough,” I said. Still, Sharon wouldn’t budge.
By the time Crown Prince Abdullah arrived at our ranch, his peace plan had been shelved. He was angered by the violence, furious with Sharon, and—I soon learned—frustrated with me.
The crown prince is a gentle, modest, almost shy man. He speaks softly, doesn’t drink alcohol, and prays five times a day. In eight years, I never saw him without his traditional robes.
After a brief discussion, Abdullah asked for time alone with his foreign minister and ambassador. A few minutes later, State Department interpreter Gamal Helal came to me with a stricken look on his face. “Mr. President,” he said, “I think the Saudis are getting ready to leave.”
I was surprised. I thought the meeting had been going fine. But Gamal explained that the Saudis had expected me to persuade Sharon to withdraw from Ramallah before the crown prince arrived. Now they were insisting that I call the Israeli prime minister on the spot. I wasn’t going to conduct diplomacy that way. I sent Colin into the living room to see what was going on. He confirmed that our guests were headed for the door. America’s pivotal relationship with Saudi Arabia was about to be seriously ruptured.
I walked into the living room with Gamal and asked for a moment alone with the crown prince. I had read two interesting things about him in a background briefing. One was that he was a devout religious believer. The other was that he loved his farm.
“Your Royal Highness,” I said. “I would like to discuss religion with you.” I talked about my belief in Christianity and the role religion played in my life. I hoped he would reciprocate by talking about his faith. He wasn’t in a sharing mood.
In a last-gasp effort, I said, “Before you leave, may I show you my ranch?” He nodded. A few minutes later, the crown prince, flowing robes and all, was climbing into a Ford F-250 pickup. Then he, Gamal, and I took off for a tour of the property. I pointed out the different kinds of hardwood trees, the native prairie grasses that Laura had planted, and the grazing cattle. The crown prince sat silently. I wasn’t making much headway.
What began as a tense ride around the ranch with the Crown Prince.
Then we reached a remote part of the property. A lone hen turkey was standing in the road. I stopped the truck. The bird stayed put.
“What is that?” the crown prince asked.
I told him it was a turkey. “Benjamin Franklin loved the turkey so much he wanted it to be America’s national bird,” I said.
Suddenly I felt the crown prince’s hand grab my arm. “My brother,” he said, “it is a sign from Allah. This is a good omen.”
I’ve never fully understood the significance of the bird, but I felt the tension begin to melt. When we got back to the house, our aides were surprised to hear us say we were ready for lunch. The next day, I got a call from Mother and Dad. The crown prince had stopped in Houston to visit them. Mother said he had tears in his eyes as he recounted his time in Crawford and talked about what we could achieve together. For the rest of my presidency, my relationship with the crown prince—soon to be king—was extremely close. I had never seen a hen turkey on that part of the property before, and I haven’t seen one since.
As I thought more about the turmoil in the Middle East, I concluded that the fundamental problem was the lack of freedom in the Palestinian Territories. With no state, Palestinians lacked their rightful place in the world. With no voice in their future, Palestinians were ripe for recruiting by extremists. And with no legitimately elected Palestinian leader committed to fighting terror, the Israelis had no reliable partner for peace. I believed the solution was a democratic Palestinian state, led by elected officials who would answer to their people, reject terror, and pursue peace with Israel.
As violence in the Holy Land escalated in the spring of 2002, I decided we needed a game-changer. I planned to outline my commitment to a Palestinian democracy with a major speech in the Rose Garden. I would be the first president to publicly call for a Palestinian state as a matter of policy. I hoped setting forward a bold vision would help both sides make the hard choices necessary for peace.
The idea sparked controversy, starting in my administration. While Condi and Steve Hadley supported it, Dick Cheney, Don Rumsfeld, and Colin Powell all told me I shouldn’t give the speech. Dick and Don were concerned that supporting a Palestinian state in the midst of an intifada would look like rewarding terrorism. Colin worried that calling for new Palestinian leadership would embarrass Arafat and reduce the chance for a negotiated settlement.
I understood the risks, but I was convinced that a democratic Palestinian state and a new Palestinian leadership were the only way to forge a lasting peace. “My vision is two states, living side by side in peace and security,” I said in the Rose Garden on June 24, 2002. “There is simply no way to achieve that peace until all parties fight terror. I call on the Palestinian people to elect new leaders, leaders not compromised by terror. I call upon them to build a practicing democracy, based on tolerance and liberty. If the Palestinian people actively pursue these goals, America and the world will actively support their efforts.”
My support for a Palestinian state was overwhelmed by my call for new leadership. “Bush Demands Arafat’s Ouster,” one headline read. Shortly after the speech, Mother called. “How’s the first Jewish president doing?” she asked. I had a funny feeling she disagreed with my policy. That meant Dad probably did as well. I wasn’t surprised. While I considered Arafat a failed leader, many in the foreign policy world accepted the view that Arafat represented the best hope for peace. I laughed off Mother’s wisecrack, but I took her message to heart: I was in for some serious opposition.
The day after the speech, I flew to Kananaskis, Canada, for the annual G-8 meeting. The summit was supposed to focus on foreign aid, but my speech on the Middle East was on everyone’s mind. I ran into Tony Blair in the gym the morning before the first meeting. “You’ve really kicked up quite a storm, George,” he said with a smile.
Others were less accepting. Jacques Chirac, European Commission President Romano Prodi, and Canadian Prime Minister Jean Chretien clearly disapproved. By rejecting Arafat, the heralded Nobel Peace Prize winner, I had upended their worldview. I told them I was convinced Arafat would never prove a reliable partner for peace.
