All three countries benefited from relatively homogenous populations and peaceful postwar environments. In Iraq, the journey would be more difficult. Iraq had been plagued by ethnic and sectarian tensions ever since the British created the country from the vestiges of the Ottoman Empire. The fear and distrust bred by Saddam Hussein made it hard for Iraqis to reconcile. So did the brutal attacks carried out by extremists.
Despite the violence, there was hope. Iraq had a young, educated population, a vibrant culture, and functioning government institutions. It had strong economic potential thanks in part to its natural resources. And its citizens were making sacrifices to overcome the insurgents and live in freedom. With time and steadfast American support, I had confidence that democracy in Iraq would succeed.
That confidence was tested daily. Every morning, I received an overnight summary from the Situation Room printed on a blue sheet of paper. One section of the report listed the number, place, and cause of American casualties in Afghanistan and Iraq.
The toll mounted over time. America lost 52 troops in Iraq in March 2004. We lost 135 in April, 80 in May, 42 in June, 54 in July, 66 in August, 80 in September, 64 in October, and 137 in November, when our troops launched a major assault on insurgents in Fallujah.
The growing number of deaths filled me with anguish. When I received a blue sheet, I would circle the casualty figure with my pen, pause, and reflect on each individual loss. I comforted family members of the fallen as often as I could. In August 2005, I flew to Idaho for an event honoring the contributions of the National Guard and Reserves. Afterward, I met with Dawn Rowe, who had lost her husband, Alan, in September 2004. Dawn introduced me to her children, six-year-old Blake and four-year-old Caitlin. Even though it had been almost a year since Alan’s death, their grief was overwhelming. “My husband loved being a Marine,” Dawn told me. “If he had to do it all again, knowing he would die, he would.” I made her a promise: Alan’s sacrifice would not be in vain.
Over the course of my presidency I met roughly 550 families of the fallen. The meetings were both the most painful and most uplifting part of serving as commander in chief. The vast majority of those I met were like the Rowes: devastated by their loss, but proud of their family member’s service. A few families lashed out. When I visited Fort Lewis in Washington State in June 2004, I met a mother who had lost her son in Iraq. She was visibly upset. I tried to put her at ease.
“You are as big a terrorist as Osama bin Laden,” she said.
There wasn’t much to say in response. She had lost her son; she had the right to speak her mind to the man who had sent him into battle. I was sorry her grief had created such bitterness. If expressing her anger helped ease her pain, that was fine with me.
That same day, I met Patrick and Cindy Sheehan of Vacaville, California. Their fallen son, Specialist Casey Sheehan, had volunteered for his final mission, a courageous attempt to rescue a team of fellow soldiers pinned down in Sadr City. After the meeting, Cindy shared her impressions of me with a Vacaville newspaper: “I now know he’s sincere about wanting freedom for the Iraqis. … I know he’s sorry and feels some pain for our loss. And I know he’s a man of faith.”
By the following summer, Cindy Sheehan had become an antiwar activist. Over time, her rhetoric grew harsher and more extreme. She became the spokesperson for the antiwar organization Code Pink, spoke out against Israel, advocated for anti-American dictator Hugo Chavez of Venezuela, and eventually ran for Congress against Speaker Nancy Pelosi. I feel sympathy for Cindy Sheehan. She is a mother who clearly loved her son. The grief caused by his loss was so profound that it consumed her life. My hope is that one day she and all the families of our fallen troops will be comforted to see a free Iraq and a more peaceful world as a fitting memorial to the sacrifice of their loved ones.
When al Qaeda lost its safe haven in Afghanistan, the terrorists went searching for a new one. After we removed Saddam in 2003, bin Laden exhorted his fighters to support the jihad in Iraq. In many ways, Iraq was more desirable for them than Afghanistan. It had oil riches and Arab roots. Over time, the number of extremists affiliated with al Qaeda in Afghanistan declined to the low hundreds, while the estimated number in Iraq topped ten thousand.
There were other extremists in Iraq: former Baathists, Sunni insurgents, and Shia extremists backed by Iran. But none were more ruthless than al Qaeda. Critics argued the al Qaeda presence proved we had stirred up terrorists by liberating Iraq. I never accepted that logic. Al Qaeda was plenty stirred up on 9/11, when there wasn’t a single American soldier in Iraq. Did anyone really believe that the men sawing off the heads of innocent captives or blowing themselves up in markets would have been peaceful citizens if only we had left Saddam Hussein alone? If these fanatics had not been trying to kill Americans in Iraq, they would have been trying to do it elsewhere. And if we were to let them drive us out of Iraq, they would not have been satisfied to stop there. They would have followed us home.
For all the lives they stole, our enemies failed to stop us from achieving a single one of our strategic objectives in Iraq. In spring 2004, the terrorist Zarqawi—whom Osama bin Laden later designated “the prince of al Qaeda in Iraq”—threatened to disrupt the transfer of sovereignty, scheduled for June 30. In May, a suicide bomber assassinated the president of the Governing Council, Izzedine Salim. A few weeks later, coordinated attacks on Iraqi police and government buildings killed more than one hundred, including three American troops. To disrupt plans for more major attacks, we decided to execute the handover two days ahead of schedule.
I was at the NATO Summit in Istanbul on June 28 when I felt Don Rumsfeld’s hand reach over my shoulder. He slipped me a scrap of paper with Condi’s handwriting: “Mr. President, Iraq is sovereign. Letter was passed from Bremer at 10:26 a.m., Iraqi time.”
Receiving the news that Iraq is sovereign. White House/Eric Draper
I scrawled on the note, “Let freedom reign!” Then I shook hands with the leader on my right. In a fitting twist of history, I shared the moment with a man who had never wavered in his commitment to a free Iraq, Tony Blair.
The note from Condi. White House/Eric Draper
Sharing the moment with my strongest ally. White House/Eric Draper
Seven months later, in January 2005, Iraqis reached the next milestone: elections to choose an interim national assembly. Again, the terrorists mounted a campaign to stop the progress. Zarqawi declared “an all-out war on this evil principle of democracy” and pledged to kill any Iraqi involved in the election.
Back home, pressure mounted. One op-ed in the Los Angeles Times called the election a “sham” and proposed postponing it. I believed delay would embolden the enemy and cause the Iraqis to question our commitment to democracy. Holding the vote would show faith in the Iraqis and expose the insurgents as enemies of freedom. “The elections have to go forward,” I told the national security team. “This will be a moment of clarity for the world.”
At 5:51 a.m. on January 30, 2005, I called the duty officer in the Situation Room to get the first readout. He told me our embassy in Baghdad was reporting a large turnout—despite a boycott by many Sunnis. While terrorists pulled off some attacks, broadcasts around the world showed Iraqis waving their ink-stained fingers* in the air with joy. One reporter witnessed a ninety-year-old woman being pushed to the polls in a wheelbarrow. Another news account described a voter who had lost a leg in a terrorist attack. “I would have crawled here if I had to,” he said. “Today I am voting for peace.”