What began as a tense ride around the ranch with the Crown Prince. White House/Eric Draper
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 Chrétien 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.
Colin took the lead in hammering out a detailed plan to move from my speech to a Palestinian state. Called the Roadmap, it included three phases: First, Palestinians would stop terrorist attacks, fight corruption, reform their political system, and hold democratic elections. In return, Israel would withdraw from unauthorized settlements. In the second phase, the two sides would begin direct negotiations, leading to the creation of a provisional Palestinian state. In the third phase, the Palestinians and Israelis would resolve the most complicated issues, including the status of Jerusalem, the rights of Palestinian refugees, and permanent borders. Arab nations would support the negotiations and establish normal relations with Israel.
With Tony Blair’s encouragement, I decided to announce the Roadmap in the spring of 2003, shortly after we removed Saddam Hussein from Iraq. Both the Israelis and Palestinians supported the plan. In early June, I met with Arab leaders in Sharm el Sheikh, Egypt, to stress my commitment to peace and urge them to stay engaged in the process. Then I traveled to Aqaba, Jordan, for a session with Palestinian and Israeli representatives.
Given all the recent bloodshed, I expected a tense session. To my surprise, the mood was friendly and relaxed. It was clear many leaders knew one another from previous peace efforts. But I knew there was a lot of history to overcome. Mohammad Dahlan, the Palestinian security chief, liked to remind people where he had learned to speak fluent Hebrew: in the Israeli jails.
The Palestinians had taken an important step by naming a prime minister to represent them at the summit, Mahmoud Abbas. Abbas was a friendly man who seemed to genuinely want peace. He was a little unsure of himself, partly because he hadn’t been elected and partly because he was trying to emerge from Arafat’s shadow. He said he was willing to confront the terrorists. But before he could turn his words into action, he needed money and reliable security forces.
After the formal meetings, I invited Sharon and Abbas to take a walk on the lawn. Under the palm trees, I told them we had a historic opportunity for peace. Ariel Sharon made clear—at Aqaba and later in his landmark Herzliya speech—that he had abandoned the Greater Israel policy, an enormous breakthrough. “It is in Israel’s interest not to govern the Palestinians, but for the Palestinians to govern themselves in their own state,” he said at Aqaba. Abbas declared, “The armed intifada must end and we must use and resort to peaceful means in our quest to end the occupation and the suffering of Palestinians and Israelis.” We had a long way to go, but it was a hopeful moment in the Middle East.
With Ariel Sharon (left) and Mahmoud Abbas in Aqaba, Jordan. White House/Eric Draper
In April 2004, Ariel Sharon came to Washington to brief me on a historic decision: He planned to withdraw from Israel’s settlements in Gaza and parts of the northern West Bank. As a father of the settlement movement, it would be agonizing for him to tell Israeli families they had to leave their homes. But his bold move achieved two important goals: It extricated Israel from the costly occupation of Gaza. And by returning territory to Palestinian control, it served as a down payment on a future state.