Authors: Colin Powell
It Worked For Me (12 page)
D
EWEY DEFEATS TRUMAN
: probably the most famous incorrect first report in American history. The
Chicago Tribune
published this blazing, banner headline on election night, 1948, proclaiming that Governor Thomas E. Dewey of New York had beaten President Harry S. Truman and was now the President-elect. Wrong. A photo of President Truman holding up the
Tribune
and grinning like the Cheshire Cat vividly demonstrated the reality.
On the night of July 3, 1988, during my time as President Reagan’s National Security Advisor, I got a call: the USS
Vincennes
, a guided missile cruiser, had just shot down an attacking Iranian F-14 fighter plane in the Persian Gulf. I called President Reagan to give him the report but cautioned him that it was a first report and didn’t sound right to me. I couldn’t understand why a lone F-14, primarily an air-to-air fighter, would dive on an Aegis cruiser on full alert, bristling with electronics and missiles designed to counter far more dangerous threats.
Not long after that, another report came in. The plane the
Vincennes
shot down wasn’t an F-14; it was an Iranian Airbus passenger jet ascending on a normal flight path. The mistake sent 290 people to their deaths. The subsequent investigation concluded that the
Vincennes
’s commander should have been wary of the first report from his combat information center that a single combat plane was descending, when in fact an airliner was ascending. He should not have trusted the first report.
And then there were the March 2003 first reports claiming that CIA spies had located Saddam Hussein at Dora Farms. More first reports flowed in: “We know he is there, we know what room, we have eyes on it.” It was worth taking the shot, and we attacked. Other first reports followed: “We see casualties coming out; we are sure we see Hussein being carried out.” The reports that he was killed of course turned out to be wrong. I am not convinced that he was at Dora Farms that day. If he was, he escaped injury. But if the reports that he was there had turned out to be correct, the attack on Dora Farms would have been worthwhile.
In November 2003, the city of Tbilisi in the Republic of Georgia was in a state of rebellion. Flawed parliamentary elections had sparked massive street demonstrations demanding that the government of President Eduard Shevardnadze step down. Despite Shevardnadze’s efforts to control matters, riots and violence threatened to break out. On the evening of the 22nd, Condi Rice, President Bush’s National Security Advisor, called me with a report that the neighboring Russian Federation was sending in Spetsnaz special forces units to put down the demonstrators and restore order. A military intervention of this kind into the politics of a neighboring sovereign country would have just made things worse and might lead to civil war. I needed to check out this first report. It felt wrong to me. It seemed out of context.
The Russians had certainly demonstrated in the days of the Cold War that they would intervene militarily in satellite countries where there was danger that one of them might break free of Soviet domination. Hungary in 1956 was an example. Czechoslovakia in 1968 was another. But Russia and the world had changed radically since 1956 and ’68. The Russians were following the situation in Georgia very closely, of course, but we had been in touch with them. I had received no indication that they were inclined to take military action.
I tasked my staff to get all the information they could and to check with the intelligence community for confirmation. I knew they would do their best, but I had to have this information fast. If Condi’s report was true, we had a crisis; if it was not true we had to spike it as fast as possible before it got to the media and created a problem we didn’t need with the Russians over why we had given credence to the rumor.
Meanwhile, my trusted colleague Igor Ivanov, the Russian foreign minister, was on his way to Tbilisi to try to mediate with Shevardnadze and opposition leaders. Igor had been one of Shevardnadze’s deputies when the Georgian president had been the foreign minister of the Soviet Union. The two men were close, and I also knew Shevardnadze well.
Since Igor did not have a phone in his plane, I had to wait for him to arrive at the airport in Tbilisi. As soon as he landed he called on his cell phone. I lost no time telling him that we had heard the Spetsnaz might be moving in.
“Colin, that is nonsense,” he replied. “Why would we do such a thing. I categorically deny it.”
Igor was in the know, and I trusted him. I reported his denial to Dr. Rice; the first report quickly evaporated, and Igor continued his mediation efforts.
Later that day the Shevardnadze government resigned. New, fair elections soon followed.
We had to kill the first report quickly before it got off the runway, and that’s what happened. The “Rose Revolution,” as the November 2003 events in Georgia came to be called, succeeded. (The 2008 Russo-Georgian war demonstrated that the Russians are still capable of intervening militarily in the affairs of their neighbors.)
A first report follows every event. The first report may be entirely accurate and you can take it to the bank; it may be only partially accurate; or it may be totally wrong. How can we weigh first reports to determine where the best probability lies?
My experience with hundreds of first reports over the years has provided me with a mental checklist for reacting to them:
• Does it make common sense? Take a deep breath, rub your eyes.
• Does it fit in with everything else that is going on? Is there a context for this event?
• How much time do I have to figure this out?
• How can I confirm it? Launch the staff! Pick up the phone!
• What are the risks, costs, and opportunities lost if the report is true and we delay action?
• What are the risks, costs, and missed opportunities if it is false and we act too quickly?
• What are the stakes?
• Time’s up! Do something! Keep searching!
I have experienced lots of first reports over the years that were true. Some I acted on, some I didn’t. Some I regret that I didn’t. You always have to remember that a clever enemy can create false first reports—some to influence you to action they want you to take, or some that seem so obviously false that you dismiss them when you should act on them. Hitler refused to believe first reports that the Allies would invade at Normandy.
In my own experience, a deep breath is always a good first reaction to a first report. Try to let a hot potato cool a bit before you pick it up.
D
esert Storm in 1991 was the first cable news war. CNN flooded the airwaves with on-the-scene coverage; the broadcast networks followed; and satellite feeds broadcast the conflict to every corner of the earth. Hundreds of reporters showed up in the battle area wanting access to everything that was going on.
Those of us who were running the war had the additional task of satisfying the demand for news. Part of my job as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and Dick Cheney’s job as Secretary of Defense, was to manage all this. In my view, we handled it well, despite considerable criticism.
I have always believed in the principle that the media’s obligation to inform the American people imposed a duty on me to tell the media as much as possible about what was going on. I had the responsibility to help them understand our actions during Desert Storm so they could do their job. I also had an obligation not to give out information that could compromise our operations or put our troops at risk. Though the media invariably wanted to know more than I wanted them to know, and they criticized us for not telling them as much as they wanted to hear, they understood their job and mine.
We did a pretty good job finding the right balance between our two sometimes conflicting obligations. But we weren’t the final judges of that. It was up to the American people to decide. They wanted all the news, but trusted us to protect their sons and daughters in combat.
Though this may not seem immediately obvious,
Saturday Night Live
provided a pretty good measure of how most Americans thought we were handling the press. A
SNL
skit portrayed Dick Cheney and me at a press conference where reporters asked us clearly over-the-top questions, such as “What time in the morning are you going to attack?” I think the people out there understood what we were up against and what we were trying to do.
Secretary Cheney and I gave a number of press conferences during the conflict. By then I had learned quite a bit about dealing with the press in our modern era of electronic news. Whenever I appeared before the press, I had come to realize that I was talking to multiple audiences and had to satisfy all of them. For most of my press appearances I identified five prominent audiences:
1.
The reporter asking the question.
The reporter is the least important audience. Always remember, you are not talking to the reporter, but through the reporter to the people out there watching and listening. That said, be respectful of the reporter. In an interview situation there is no such thing as a dumb question. Putting down a reporter makes you look like a bully.
2.
The American people who are watching and listening.
They want information, especially if their children and loved ones are engaged in the battle. They want to have conveyed to them a sense of confidence and assuredness that their leaders know what they’re doing. They expect and deserve honesty. Included in this audience are our political and government leaders. Even if in they are in Washington, most of them are hearing this news for the first time.
3.
Political and military leaders in more than 190 foreign capitals.
Every one will have to comment and explain to their own people what you have said; in Desert Storm many of them had their own troops in the battle under U.S. command. That means that you are not just talking to foreign leaders, but to their fellow citizens and their families.
4.
The enemy, who is watching and listening carefully.
You don’t want to give him anything he can use against you. You need to be an expert at sliding away from questions like “Is it true we don’t have enough fuel to launch the operation?” . . . “Is it true that you are able to listen to Iraqi secure radio communications?” . . . “What about the report that you have special forces operating covertly west of Baghdad?” Some of our necessarily vague responses terribly disappointed reporters.
5.
Finally, the troops.
They have access to radio, television, print media, and now the Internet. You are talking about their lives. You never try to spin this audience. First, it won’t work. Second, they are counting on you. They trust you, and you must never violate that trust.
If you are a senior leader—military, corporate, or financial—who plans to speak in public, you should make a thorough analysis of each audience you will be addressing. Be sure you are always talking through the questioner or the interviewer to the audiences who really matter.
I guess there are schools that teach these ideas, but my education came on the job. Sometimes we throw into the press breach a senior leader who has not yet completed his media on-the-job training.
I assigned Lieutenant General Cal Waller to be Norm Schwarzkopf’s deputy during Desert Storm. I had known Cal for years; he was a brilliant officer; and I considered him one of my mentees. In December 1990, Dick Cheney and I arrived in Riyadh for briefings from Norm. We had with us a large press contingent pleading for information. Norm, Dick, and I were busy, so Cal, who had little press experience and had been in Riyadh for only a month, was tossed in to brief the press. Cal, doing his best to be forthcoming during the questioning, offered his view that we wouldn’t be ready to attack until maybe mid-February. It was a big-time gaffe that contradicted what we and the President had been saying. And Cal had egg on his face. In fact the Air Force and Navy were already set to go by then; the Army needed more time. Meanwhile, Cal’s remarks became headline news around the world. The media couldn’t believe their good fortune.
Cal felt terrible, but we reassured him; no damage was really done; and we were able to tamp down the uproar within twenty-four hours.
Since I was one of Cal’s closest mentors, I wrote a note to him that night in my hotel about how to handle the press. It has applications far beyond a note between friends:
“Cal, with respect to the press, remember,
1. They get to pick the question. You get to pick the answer.
2. You don’t have to answer any question you don’t want to.
3. Never lie or dissemble, of course; but beware of being too candid or open.
4. Never answer hypothetical questions about the future.
5. Never reveal the private advice you have given your superiors.
6. Answers should be directed to the message you want readers/viewers to get. The interviewers are not your audience.
7. They’re doing their job. You’re doing yours. But you’re the only one at risk.
8. Don’t predict or speculate about future events.
9. Beware slang or one-liners unless you are consciously trying to produce a sound bite.
10. Don’t wash dirty linen.
11. Do not answer any question containing a premise you disagree with.
12. Don’t push yourself or be pushed into an answer you don’t want to give.
13. If trapped, be vague and mumble.
14. Never cough or shift your feet.
15. When there are second follow-up questions, you’re in trouble—break right, apply power, gain altitude, or eject.”
As the years passed, I learned a couple of other lessons:
Thirty minutes is long enough for any interview. Any longer and you start to step on your own lines.
I never gave on-the-record interviews at a meal. You get too relaxed and think you are just hanging around with good friends.
Never shift in your chair, grab your ear, or touch your face. It’s a signal that you have been caught.
Never pause to think of what to say. Start talking while you are thinking. You can always just repeat the question.
I learned the “you’re the only one at risk” rule in 1987, when I was Deputy National Security Advisor, moments after my very first Sunday morning TV interview, on
This Week with David Brinkley
. I was doing fine; and we were near the end of the show. The great reporter Sam Donaldson, one of the regular panelists, grabbed the mike and in his aggressive manner asked, “Why should we trust you? You are a military officer, and after the recent NSC Iran-Contra scandal, with military officers in charge, why should we trust you?” During the half minute that was left, I thought I gave a rather good account of myself and why I could be trusted. After the show, I remarked to Sam that I thought I had gotten the best of that exchange. I won!
Sam smiled at my naïveté. “General,” he said, “when you are with the press, you are the only one at risk. I can never lose.” I never forgot that.
And he added, “Never smirk at us when you think you’re ahead.”
And never let them see you sweat.
