My Share of the Task (48 page)

During our year at the Pentagon, we shared most moments of what became a mechanical schedule: Each night, he and I ate a quick dinner together before I got up the next day at 3:30
A.M.
to run to the Pentagon, in time to shower, change, meet Dave Rodriguez at six and then host the 6:30
A.M.
standup—a knock-off of the TF 714 O&I—that I soon instituted to tie together the Joint Staff and other offices in the Pentagon. When the day ended around 8
P.M.
, Charlie and I walked across the Pentagon's big plateau-size parking lot to his car, drove home, ate, and did it again the next day. But as busy as we were, I was home with Annie.

*   *   *

W
hen I arrived at the Pentagon, I found, as I had six years earlier, the nation's energy and resources shifting from the theater I'd left to a war I'd soon rejoin. When I joined the Joint Staff from Afghanistan in 2002, I was surprised to find the Pentagon's focus on Iraq. Now, returning from Iraq in August 2008, I was less surprised to find a growing focus on Afghanistan. From the day I became the DJS I sensed that Afghanistan and neighboring Pakistan would dominate our energy. In 2003, there had been a troubling velocity to the decision making. Now, with rising war fatigue and an impending change in administrations, I sensed the opposite.

As we knew better in 2008 than immediately following the 9/11 attacks, our war in Afghanistan did not begin in 2001. The fighting reflected forces brewing in Afghanistan for centuries, and the conflict's modern roots dated back to 1973. That year, after a forty-year reign, King Zahir Shah was unseated in a bloodless coup (he was
vacationing in Europe) by his former prime minister and brother-in-law Daoud. Daoud's soft entrance belied his authoritarian reign, which soon prompted a group of eager Afghan communists to overthrow him in 1978. As these communists' early attempts to rule faltered and provoked a violent backlash that showed signs of an impending insurgency, the Soviet Union intervened on Christmas 1979.

For the next ten years, the Afghan government and ever more Soviet troops fought against a collection of diverse opposition movements. They were eventually subsidized by Saudi Arabia and the United States, but largely manipulated by Pakistan, which dispensed the funds as it saw fit. The long struggle polarized Afghanistan's many ethnic groups, and turned the mujahideen resistance more extreme. The perennial warring catapulted into positions of power a group of nontraditional leaders like Abdul Rashid Dostum, Gulbuddin Hekmatyar, and Ahmad Shah Massoud, whose talents ranged from military acumen to cold-blooded murder. Ultimately, the Soviets withdrew their military forces in 1989, but the government they left behind, under President Mohammed Najibullah, survived for three years. When the Soviet Union fell in 1991, however, Najibullah's regime lost funding, credibility, and was weakened by infighting. The amassing opposition movements soon took control of the nation, advanced toward Kabul, and began fighting one another in civil war.

The year the civil war had begun, 1992, wasn't that long ago, and adults in Afghanistan remembered well the behavior of the groups that had struggled for wealth and power. Alliances arose and shifted quickly. Fortunes were amassed and used to construct garish homes or private fiefdoms. The traditional relationships that balanced local and national interests, and formal and informal power brokers, struggled to reemerge from the wreckage of war. In the chaos, Afghans retreated to relationships most familiar and trustworthy to them: family, tribe, and ethnic group. A cadre of well-educated elites labored to stitch together structures on which to build the future, but most were upended with each new spasm of violence and turmoil.

In 1994, the Taliban rose to power. They emanated from the Pashtun south and were populated by young Afghans often schooled in madrassas, or religious schools—
talib
means “student”—across the border in Pakistan. These idealistic, religiously inflexible young men seemed at first like a summer rain that would
wash away the excesses of “warlords” who had robbed, raped, and terrified Afghans living under them. The Taliban's personal piety and quick punishment of pederasts and thieves appeared, at first, a welcome respite for a people weary of conflict. They skillfully advertised it as such. Of course it was too good to be true. Quickly, the Taliban exhibited administrative incompetence and displayed a stunning propensity for draconian violence and intolerance. Their cruel and tone-deaf actions, like public executions for adultery, and the destruction of ancient Buddhist statues, eventually earned them the contempt of the international community. So too did the sanctuary they gave to Osama bin Laden and Al Qaeda, who helped the Taliban lay siege to the few remaining holdouts of resistance in northern Afghanistan.

For many Afghans, the tragedy of 9/11 and the American response represented an opportunity. With Afghanistan again the attention of the world, they had a chance to remove the Taliban and reshape their country. For a short period it would be possible to leverage the presence of international peacekeepers and donations to establish a government dominated by neither extremist ideologues nor the predatory warlords who'd haunted the country. Nearly seven years later, their vision remained unfulfilled.

For the first few years following the Taliban's overthrow, Afghanistan appeared under control. But after a period of waiting to see how the Karzai government would perform, and treat former Taliban,
an insurgency soon gestated. To the degree that the insurgency had a central command, the Taliban regime's former leaders dominated it. Most decamped to Quetta, Pakistan, eighty miles from southern Afghanistan, and the city became the rallying point for turning the now-exiled Taliban government into an insurgent movement to contest the Karzai government. Theirs was a natural reinvention. Although they had largely fought costly conventional campaigns in the civil war of the 1990s, many of the movement's elders had cut their teeth in the guerrilla war against the Soviets. The structures they'd used to govern Afghanistan—
shura
s, or councils—were reconstituted, populated by leaders who'd survived the initial salvo of war as well as new up-and-comers.

They led heavy recruitment efforts throughout Pakistan's madrassas, and began to root themselves into the country by dispatching small bands of fighters. Primarily in the south and east, these mobile units pestered NATO forces but, more important,
waged blanket assassination campaigns against any Afghans—government officials, civilians, NGO workers—who collaborated with NATO or the Afghan government. The memory of these fatal visits by roving bands ensured that Afghans did not regard future Taliban threats as empty. Larger bands of fighters, and more distinct military commands, followed.

The Taliban benefited heavily from the weakness and predatory behavior of the Afghan government. Frustration, then rage, at the inability or unwillingness of the government, despite its clear progress in certain sectors like education, to provide basic justice and economic opportunities yielded fertile ground into which the Taliban planted the seeds of resistance. Worse still than the disappointing nondelivery of goods were the predations of the warlords, who gained political sway, entrenched themselves economically, and built up military clout in their corners of Afghanistan, which they often ruled as corrupt autocrats.

It was a dynamic we'd exacerbated. For years, seeking to maintain a light footprint in the country, the NATO approach had largely been to remain in Kabul and use local power brokers—too often the corrupt and despised warlords—
whom we paid handsomely. An effort to extend a greater NATO presence into the provinces had begun in 2004, creating regional commands in the north, west, south, east, and in Kabul, but a lack of both Afghan and ISAF forces limited their ability to influence events on the ground. As the Taliban made inroads, sometimes without firing a shot, they sought to compete with the Afghan state. Particularly appealing to many Afghans were the Taliban's rudimentary but
swift courts. In 2005, they had “
shadow governors” who sought to institute a parallel government to compete with the Afghan government in eleven of the country's thirty-four provinces. Now, three years later, they were established in thirty-one provinces.

In May 2008, shortly before leaving TF 714, I'd spent an afternoon with ISAF commander Dan McNeill, my old boss and mentor. In a series of briefings and discussions, Dave Rodriguez, then commanding the 82nd Airborne Division in eastern Afghanistan, Dan, other key leaders, and I had reviewed the war. As always, indicators were mixed and often contradictory, but both empirical data and the anecdotal observations of my strike forces convinced Rod and me that trends were negative.
More Americans—and
more Afghan civilians—were dying each year. The insurgency was laying bigger IEDs, and more of them—
four times as many as they had implanted in 2005.

Now, in September 2008, it looked even worse. So I was not surprised when General Dave McKiernan, who had led ground forces in the 2003 invasion of Iraq and replaced Dan McNeill at ISAF in June,
requested additional forces in order to reverse Taliban gains in southern Afghanistan and improve security in advance of the Afghanistan's upcoming 2009 presidential elections. Improving security would be essential to achieving durable improvements in governance and development.

Also in September, after several years largely fixated on the crisis in Iraq, President Bush launched what would become the first in a new round of assessments on Afghanistan and Pakistan, conducted by Central Command, the Joint Staff, and the National Security Council in order to align current policy with on-the-ground reality. The reviews were each fairly comprehensive but ultimately identified no silver-bullet solutions to seemingly intractable problems. The obvious options—do more, do less, or do the same—were unappealing.

General McKiernan's request for forces arrived at an inconvenient time. The ongoing White House assessment, and the resource limitations of the military services stretched thin by expanding requirements in Iraq and Afghanistan, made a quick decision difficult and unlikely. So too did a natural reluctance to make major adjustments in advance of the U.S. elections in November. Thus, a decision on whether to send more forces into what was soon to be America's longest war would be awaiting the new president.

All of these factors intersected with the emergence of a serious financial crisis that would compete with issues like Afghanistan, and even Al Qaeda, for America's attention and resources.

*   *   *

T
he election of Barack Obama on Tuesday, November 4, 2008, promised new energy. Like many Americans, I welcomed his freshness and call for bipartisan action that came amid all the challenges buffeting our nation.

Within the Joint Staff, we had already done preliminary work to prepare for a transition that would take place in January 2009 regardless of the election outcome. Chairman Mullen created a cell within the staff whose sole purpose was to bring about the most seamless transition possible. We were at war, and the chairman stressed the importance of no hiccups. That task was greatly simplified when, in December 2008, President-elect Obama asked Secretary Gates, a Bush appointee I found exceptionally effective, to remain in his position. From a practical standpoint, that decision significantly reduced near-term personnel turnover in the Pentagon, easing transition. I also read it as the signal of his intent to operate in a bipartisan fashion.

On January 20, 2009, inauguration day, I went to work to be in place in case some kind of incident arose requiring our response. To reduce traffic in D.C., we'd directed most of the Pentagon staff to take a day off, so the halls were uncharacteristically deserted. Earlier that day I'd bundled Annie into one of my large quilted army jackets so she could walk from Fort McNair to join the huge crowd on the Mall for the inauguration without freezing. Meanwhile I watched the proceedings from my office. That evening, she animatedly described to me the sense of excitement she felt radiating through the crowd.

Having read about previous presidential transitions, I anticipated an initial period in which decisions on complex issues would naturally be delayed. Staffs need time to conduct due diligence on issues before recommending long-term projects or commitments. But in 2009, with the development of events and the approaching Afghan elections, President Obama's new administration quickly found itself faced with important decisions.

The immediate driver was General McKiernan's request for new forces, roughly thirty thousand troops, which had been on hold since he'd submitted the request in late summer. A key part of the rationale for additional forces was the desire to halt, and then reverse, Taliban momentum in the south, hopefully in advance of the August elections. That conclusion was logical, but it also created an unwelcome dynamic. In the eighth year of the war in Afghanistan, a new president found himself facing a time-sensitive decision. It reminded me of President Kennedy's experience with the Bay of Pigs.

The next ten months saw the emergence of an unfortunate deficit of trust between the White House and the Department of Defense, largely arising from the decision-making process on Afghanistan. To me it appeared unintentional on both sides. But over time, the effects were costly.

The first sign of mistrust arose around the initial decision on General McKiernan's troop request. Instead of approving the entire request of thirty thousand troops, in February, the president announced that seventeen thousand forces would be deployed, and any decisions on further deployments would depend on further analysis. This partial decision was logical. Put in perspective, after less than a month in office, and in a single decision, President Obama had increased U.S. forces in Afghanistan
by 50 percent.

But the situation in Afghanistan pressed relentlessly, and the Department of Defense quickly asked for additional parts of Dave McKiernan's original request. The military felt a sense of urgency, seeing little remaining time if any forces approved were to reach Afghanistan in time to improve security in advance of the elections. More important, confusion arose almost immediately between the White House and Department of Defense over the exact numbers involved, and the specific makeup of the forces. Not long after President Obama approved sending the seventeen thousand troops, the military reported back that an additional four thousand troops were needed. From a White House perspective it surely appeared as though the Department of Defense hadn't done enough detailed staff work or, worse, that the military was playing games with the numbers.