that if I released them and they killed Americans, the blood would be on my hands. Deciding how to handle them is the toughest part of closing Guantanamo.
In retrospect, I probably could have avoided some of the controversy and legal setbacks by seeking legislation on military tribunals, the TSP, and the CIA enhanced interrogation program as soon as they were created. If members of Congress had been required to make their decisions at the same time I did—in the immediate aftermath of 9/11—I am confident they would have overwhelmingly approved everything we requested. Yet in the case of the TSP and the CIA program, the risk of exposing operational details to the enemy was one I could not take until we had a better handle on the security situation.
I have been troubled by the blowback against the intelligence community and Justice Department for their role in the surveillance and interrogation programs. Our intelligence officers carried out their orders with skill and courage, and they deserve our gratitude for protecting our nation. Legal officials in my administration did their best to resolve complex issues in a time of extraordinary danger to our country. Their successors are entitled to disagree with their conclusions. But criminalizing differences of legal opinion would set a terrible precedent for our democracy.
From the beginning, I knew the public reaction to my decisions would be colored by whether there was another attack. If none happened, whatever I did would probably look like an overreaction. If we were attacked again, people would demand to know why I hadn’t done more.
That is the nature of the presidency. Perceptions are shaped by the clarity of hindsight. In the moment of decision, you don’t have that advantage. On 9/11, I vowed that I would do what it took to protect America, within the Constitution and laws of our nation. History can debate the decisions I made, the policies I chose, and the tools I left behind. But there can be no debate about one fact: After the nightmare of September 11, America went seven and a half years without another successful terrorist attack on our soil. If I had to summarize my most meaningful accomplishment as president in one sentence, that would be it.
*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.
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,
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
“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 wall: “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.
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.
The first key presentation that morning came from CIA Director George Tenet. Six months earlier, at my
