Saddam's Secrets Page 27

  An Unusual Visitor

  As conditions in Iraq continued to worsen, I decided it would be good for me to take the deputy prime minister’s advice and stay in England for a while longer. I had a place to stay, and there was a lot that I could do there to try and help the cause back in Baghdad. I was already recognized as someone working for peace and reconciliation in Iraq, and I was becoming known as a spokesman for religious reconciliation. People in England, America, and Iraq knew my name, and this helped to increase my involvement in public policy matters.

  I had planned to continue as president of the evangelical churches, but since I was staying in England there wasn’t much I could do. I was also a board member of the Holy Land Trust, a foundation based in California and headed by Dr. Robin Wainwright. And I was also asked to join the board of World Compassion, headed by Dr. Terry Law, and I now serve as the director of the programs in Iraq for that organization.

  While I was still in England, during the first week of December, Canon Andrew White called to tell me that a man was coming from his alma mater, Cambridge University, to speak with me about the war. This was to be, he said, the last and final effort to avoid another major conflict in Iraq, and someone had told this man that he ought to go to London to meet with Gen. Georges Sada. Andrew told me the gentleman was well known in the peace and reconciliation movement. He had worked with former Russian Premier Mikhail Gorbachev to end the violence in that country after the fall of the Berlin wall in 1989. Subsequently he was in Eastern Europe, working with the governments of Bosnia and Herzegovina to restore peace in that troubled region.

  But the man who arrived at my door a few hours later looked nothing like the Cambridge scholar I was expecting. He was wearing a very odd costume—a long saffron robe with a white tunic underneath, and a heavy topcoat over that. When I opened the door I wasn’t sure if this was the person I was supposed to meet or not. But he introduced himself as Junsei Terasawa, a representative of the International Peace Bureau in Geneva, Switzerland.

  Suddenly I understood why he was dressed the way he was. He was a Buddhist monk. He told me he was originally from Japan and had been traveling all over the world as a messenger of peace for many years. So I invited him to come in and we talked at length about many things, especially about the problems in Iraq. Dr. Terasawa told me he was heading a committee of international religious leaders who wanted very much to go to Iraq. They wanted to speak directly with President Saddam, or at least to speak with his deputy, Tariq Aziz, who could relay a message of peace. Terasawa said he had learned about my work with the International Centre for Reconciliation from the clergy in Coventry. He knew about my background as an air vice marshal and the fact that I’m an Assyrian Christian. He was convinced, he told me, that I was the right man to help him fulfill his mission.

  A Desperate Mission

  Honestly, I thought the chances of changing Saddam’s mind were negligible. As much as I was hoping and praying that some alternative to war could be found, altering the path we were on seemed impossible, and I was convinced the war was going to happen, one way or the other. Nevertheless, I agreed to help Dr. Terasawa make one last attempt to alter the course of destiny. I told him I would arrange the visas for himself and his colleagues, and I would also make sure they received some kind of hearing from the government of my country. I thought Tariq Aziz, who had been so depressed the last time I spoke to him, might see Terasawa’s mission as a sign of hope. So I called him.

  When I spoke with him in Baghdad, I told Tariq Aziz about Terasawa’s plan, but he said, “Georges, you’ve got to stop them.” By “them,” he was referring to the English and Americans who were putting together a military coalition. He said, “You know I have an appointment to meet with the pope, at the Vatican, on the fourteenth of February. So you must make them wait until I go there.” I didn’t say anything, but I couldn’t help thinking that the whole situation was absurd. I was sad for Tariq Aziz because he really believed I could convince the multinational forces to wait for two more months so that he could make a desperate trip to Rome.

  I told him that I would speak to someone, but then I asked him to prepare visas for Dr. Terasawa and his committee, and he agreed to do that. When I informed Terasawa what Tariq Aziz had told me, he said, “Okay, that leaves a month and a half. First, I must go to Washington. Then I’ll go back to Geneva, and from there I’ll go to Italy. Then I will go and meet with Mr. Aziz in Baghdad.” Actually, I thought the plan sounded crazy, but that’s exactly what he did.

  When Terasawa and his group met with Tariq Aziz in Rome, on February 14, 2003, they gave him a document to present to Saddam that offered him a way out of what was now a looming catastrophe. It said that the committee had already prepared places for Saddam to go to in three separate countries—in India, China, and Russia. Saddam would have to leave Iraq, but he would be welcomed in those places with as many of his family members and former government officials as he wanted to bring with him. He could take his personal possessions, and he would be able to live comfortably there for as long as he liked.

  It would be weeks yet before they knew Saddam’s answer, but I had arranged to have visas for Terasawa and his group waiting for them in Amman, Jordan, on February 24, 2003. At my request, arrangements were made for visas with the embassy for Dr. Terasawa’s group, and my associates also made the travel and hotel arrangements in Baghdad. No sooner had the group arrived in Amman, however, than it began snowing very heavily, and within hours all the airfields were closed. They were stuck there for two days, waiting for the runways to clear. But they finally got a flight to Baghdad on the twenty-sixth, and they were able to meet with Tariq Aziz the same day. I had made those arrangements for him in London.

  When they arrived at the palace the next day, however, Terasawa was informed that they would have to wait to meet with Saddam until his staff could clear a space in his busy schedule. So every day for nearly two weeks, from February 26 to March 8, they waited for word that they would be allowed to meet with Saddam. But word never came.

  They couldn’t stay in Iraq forever; they knew very well what was about to happen. So on March 8, they went back one last time and spoke to Tariq Aziz, and Terasawa said, “Sir, we can’t keep waiting like this. It’s been two long weeks already and we haven’t heard a single word of encouragement from you or the president. You know what we want is just one phone call away, so will you please make that call?” And then he said, “This is the last time I will ask you. We will give you one hour to give us some type of news; but if nothing happens by eight o’clock tonight, then we’ll have to leave.”

  Still, word never came. So at eight o’clock on the evening of March 8, they returned to their hotel, and the next morning they went back to Jordan. Before flying, Terasawa sent me an e-mail. It said, “Dear Georges, The mission has failed and we are coming back. Tell the friends.” This was the last message I ever received from him. But I passed that message along to Andrew White and his friends in Coventry, and it was relayed by them to Cambridge, to America, and to Europe, and then to many other friends around the world.

  Shock and Awe

  The war began on March 19, 2003, with an attack that was described by military analysts and the international news media as “shock and awe.” On March 18, just hours before the orchestrated assault was supposed to begin, President Bush received word from intelligence sources in Iraq saying that Saddam was in a bunker in the middle of Baghdad. So without taking time to alert his commander in the field, Gen. Tommy Franks, about what he’d learned, the U.S. commander-in-chief gave the order to strike, hard and fast, to try to end the war before it began.

  Immediately, dozens of cruise missiles were launched from the aircraft carriers in the Persian Gulf. Cable viewers around the world watched the unfolding drama in real time as those weapons rained down on the city. The fireworks that descended on the capital that night were unbelievable. I was glued to the television for hours, and I watched those scenes with a combination o
f sadness, fear, and hope. And I couldn’t help but recall my own night of horror when I was nearly a victim of the first night’s bombing twelve years earlier in January 1991.

  I’m sure Saddam must have been shocked by the fury of that night and the incredible precision of the weapons that fell on the city. But he wasn’t in the bunker when the first missiles struck. Television cameras showed the devastation from the explosions, but coalition operatives on the ground in Baghdad reported that Saddam had been somewhere else and was still on the loose. The next day, Gen. Tommy Franks gave the order to launch Operation Iraqi Freedom, and the second war in the Gulf was quickly under way.

  From that moment, the war was a rapid succession of air and missiles assaults followed by a rapid mechanized infantry and armor advance to the capital by American Army and Marine units. The tactics of coalition forces surprised everyone. They didn’t stop to engage the Iraqi resistance on the way but raced straight up the main highway toward Baghdad. Within days they were able to secure Saddam International Airport and post guards at all the major bridges along the way.

  Some of the British and American units that followed the main assault took up positions in major cities and outposts, and they began clearing out the pockets of resistance in the southern cities of Basra, An Nasiriyah, Al Kut, and others. But the rapid dash to Baghdad by the U.S. Marines completely outsmarted Saddam’s forces, and just twenty-two days later, when the forty-foot-tall statue of Saddam was pulled down in Fardus Square, on April 9, 2003, it was apparent that the war was over and, finally, Saddam was no longer in charge.

  Bringing down that statue, and the scene of young boys pounding on it with their shoes, was a scene the world would never forget. Seeing the image of their dictator torn down, broken, destroyed, and disgraced in that way sent a clear message to the people of Iraq that things were going to be very different for them in the future.

  It struck me that this was the first time in forty-five years that I hadn’t participated in military operations as an Iraqi officer, and it was an odd sensation. But I was glad not to be there, and my friends in Coventry were even more so. Several of them called me and said, “Georges, don’t even think about going back to Iraq for a while. It won’t be safe for you there, and you’re too important to the future of your country to risk your life now. We’ll let you know when we feel it’s a good time to go back.” So I said okay, and I remained in London for three more weeks, until it was safe enough to return to Baghdad.

  In the Aftermath

  I went back to Baghdad on May 8, 2003, and when I arrived I spoke with the American and British generals who were in charge of the occupation. I was able to offer some ideas on the best way to stop the looting and restore order. I spoke to Gen. Jay Garner at that time, as well as his deputy, British Major General Tim Cross, and they were very receptive to my suggestions. I had met Gen. Cross three months earlier when I’d been invited to attend a series of meetings in England dealing with the prospects for a settlement in Iraq.

  When I spoke to Gen. Cross in February 2003, he had said, “Georges, I’ll be in Baghdad before long, and I hope you’ll come to see me when you get back. By that time hopefully Iraq will be free. Come to my headquarters and tell them your name, and I’ll make sure you get right in.” When he said that, I knew they were already planning the attack and it would just be a matter of time until the invasion began.

  I did go to meet with Gen. Cross as he had suggested when I got back to the capital. He told me he had been talking to officials at the Pentagon about how religious affairs would be set up under the new government, and that was something I wanted to know about. He said the decision was made that there would not be a ministry of religious affairs in the new government, as there had been before, but that each of the major groups—Shia, Sunni, and Christian—would have their own councils. They thought that this would be the best structure, and I told Gen. Cross I thought it was a good plan.

  A few days later, I was called to another meeting of military officers, and this time I spoke very candidly. Things were becoming increasingly unstable in the city, and I was of the opinion that strong action needed to be taken. I believe they understood my words in an equally forceful manner. I told them, “I know that the coalition forces know many things, and in your joint operations command you have all the firepower and skill you need to win a military victory. But winning the battle isn’t everything. To accomplish your objectives, you must also win the peace, and at this moment the peace has not been won.”

  Because of the speed and efficiency of the coalition assault, Saddam’s forces were quickly routed and the American infantry and tank battalions took over in Baghdad. But there was still a vacuum in the city—there were no police, no local authority, no effective security measures, and a foreign army was in charge. Unfortunately, this foreign army was too small at the time to control the country and provide a police presence in the cities. So I told them that providing a strong police presence ought to be their top priority.

  Once it was safe enough to move in Baghdad, I returned to my office and began preparing for the work ahead. Many organizations had asked for my help and suddenly I was wearing many hats. It took some time to get everything organized. Then in early November 2003 I received a call from Andrew White in London telling me that I’d been chosen to receive the Coventry International Prize for Peace and Reconciliation. This was an unexpected honor and a wonderful surprise. In addition to the recognition our cause would receive, I was to be named a Companion of the Church of England and I would have my own pew at Coventry Cathedral. Along with the peace prize I would receive a very special award called the Cross of Nails.

  That ceremony took place on November 14, 2003, in a commemorative service at the cathedral. I still wear the Cross of Nails on special occasions as a symbol of my commitment to the cause of peace and reconciliation. The large silver and gold cross is an artistic representation of one formed by the nails that fell from a large crucifix in St. Michael’s Church when it was destroyed by the Nazis. When fire fighters and rescuers examined the wreckage of the church after the bombings in November 1940, they found that spikes from the hands and feet of Christ had fallen in the exact shape of the cross and had been fused together by the heat of the blast.

  Very much like the cross of girders that remained standing in the ruins of the World Trade Center in New York City after the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, the cross of nails was seen as a dramatic testament to the survival of faith amidst chaos. I was told that only ordained clergy and recognized Companions of the Church of England may wear this unique cross, and that’s another reason why receiving it was such a great honor. I enjoyed the celebration very much, and I was delighted that my wife, my son and daughter-in-law, and my daughter and her husband were able to be there with me. But the visit to England had to be brief because I had so much work ahead of me in Iraq.

  Mobilizing for Peace

  Today we need peace more than anything. As of this writing, the peace between Shia, Sunni, and Christians in Iraq is very fragile, and if there’s ever a major clash, it could be bad for the Christians. Iraqi Christians are industrious and prosperous people, but we’re few in number and politically weak. When the terrorists came in the early days of the insurgency and bombed eighteen of our churches, many Assyrians left the country. Within three months, between thirty-five and fifty thousand Christians left Iraq. If this happens again, I’m afraid many more will go. So we pray each day for peace.

  So far we’ve recruited and trained more than 150,000 police officers in the cities. The numbers are good but the training isn’t as good, and the police presence is still poor. The quality of the army is much better. Gen. David Petraeus, the former commander of the 101st Airborne, is training our military now, and he’s an excellent commander. Some of our brigades are beginning to look like the American brigades. They’re well trained, tough, determined, and they’re learning to be disciplined under fire. In time, they will be a first-rate fighting for
ce, and they’ll be able to maintain peace and deal with some of the other problems. That’s our hope.

  As I’ve said elsewhere, I believe in preemptive action, not only in the military but in politics and everywhere else. If you’re a farmer, as I was for a time, you must be preemptive against rats, grasshoppers, and other insects; otherwise they’ll destroy everything you’ve worked for. And the process is the same whether you’re defeating rats in your cornfield or insurgents on the battlefield. When I talked about these ideas in the Staff College, I used the terms prehap and mishap, and I think this is a good way of thinking about the importance of planning and preparation.

  Here’s what I mean. Anytime there was an accident or a crash involving one of our aircraft, it was my job to find out what happened. The first thing I would do in most cases was to get the black box and read the data. Once I put it into the computer, I could ask as many as ninety-three thousand questions; I could follow the flight from taxi and takeoff until the moment the defect happened, right up to the moment of impact. I may have had the skill to review all that information and find out what happened, but what did I really have? Nothing, because the accident had already happened and the pilot and plane were lost.

  Think how much better it would have been if we had been able to detect the structural or mechanical flaws before takeoff so that we could have saved both the pilot and the plane. Many times when I’ve examined the black box after an accident, I ended up saying, “This squadron made a big mistake. This aircraft had a serious defect that should have been caught by the crew in the preflight review.”

  That’s what prehap does: it prevents accidents before they happen. Spotting a problem before it’s too late is prehap; afterward, it’s a mishap that should have been avoided. And this isn’t just for airplanes; it’s also true in politics and many other areas. If we’re paying attention, there are many problems that can be avoided in the prehap stage. In the negotiations process that follows a war, politicians may be able to resolve certain issues and stop the conflict; but how much better if they had resolved them on the front end instead of waiting until it was too late? Prehap beats mishap every time.