House of Broken Toys
April 18, 2004
By MAUREEN DOWD
WASHINGTON
When Colin Powell decided that Dick Cheney's crazy "fever,"
as he called the vice president's obsession with linking
9/11 and Saddam, was leading the country into a war it did
not need to fight, he should have bared his heart to the
president and made his case using the Powell doctrine -
with overwhelming force.
Mr. Bush probably wouldn't have listened. He was in Mr.
Cheney's gloomy sway, and Rummy's bellicose sway. And W.
felt competitive with his more popular top diplomat.
But Mr. Powell should have tried. And if the president
didn't listen, the secretary should have quit - not let
himself be used by the vice president and his "Gestapo
office" of Pentagon neocons, as Mr. Powell referred to
them, to put a diplomatic fig leaf on a predetermined war
plan and to present bogus intelligence to the U.N.
He knew his word held enormous weight around the world. And
he knew he was the only one, out of all the officials in on
the clandestine rush to war, who had fought in a war. He
should have spoken up for all those soldiers who would
fight and die and be maimed for Dick Cheney's nutty utopian
dream of bombing the world into freedom, and W.'s dream of
being so forceful with Saddam, the slime bag who survived
his father's war, that he would forever banish his family's
bĂȘte noire - the wimp factor.
It would have been much more honorable than playing
Achilles sulking in his Foggy Bottom tent, privately
pouting to Bob Woodward that he had warned the president
about the Pottery Barn effect - break Iraq and "you know
you're going to be owning this place" - and tattling that
his colleagues were engaged in "lunacy."
"At times, with his closest friends, Powell was
semidespondent," his pal Mr. Woodward writes in "Plan of
Attack." "His president and his country were headed for a
war that he thought might just be avoided, though he
himself would not walk away."
Mr. Woodward, who is clearly channeling Mr. Powell, as he
has done to present Mr. Powell's side of the story in past
books, recreates his innermost thoughts: "He saw in Cheney
a sad transformation. The cool operator from the first gulf
war just would not let go. Cheney now had an unhealthy
fixation. Nearly every conversation or reference came back
to Al Qaeda and trying to nail the connection with Iraq. He
would often have an obscure piece of intelligence. Powell
thought that Cheney took intelligence and converted
uncertainty and ambiguity into fact. It was about the worst
charge that Powell could make about the vice president. But
there it was."
Everyone in Washington has been puzzling over how Mr.
Cheney, a reasonable, cautious, popular man in the first
Bush administration, turned into Pluto, king of the
underworld and proponent of worst-case scenarios and
pre-emption.
But Mr. Powell shared his dread, Cassandra-like, with Mr.
Woodward: "The more Powell dug, the more he realized that
the human sources were few and far between on Iraq's W.M.D.
It was not a pretty picture."
George Tenet comes across in the book as another profile in
cravenness. On Dec. 21, 2002, the C.I.A. chief went to the
Oval Office with an aide to present "The Case" on W.M.D.
Even Mr. Bush, already deeply enmeshed in war plans, was
taken aback at the paucity of it. "Nice try," Mr. Bush
said. "I don't think this is quite - it's not something
that Joe Public would understand or would gain a lot of
confidence from." Turning to Mr. Tenet, he added: "I've
been told all this intelligence about having W.M.D. and
this is the best we've got?"
When the president asked how confident he was, Mr. Tenet,
premier apple polisher, gave Mr. Bush the answer he wanted
to hear: "Don't worry, it's a slam dunk!"
Just as the Democratic president ducked behind the parsed
line, "I did not have sexual relations with that woman," so
the Republican president ducked behind the parsed line, "I
have no war plans on my desk."
The plans for invading "The House of Broken Toys," as the
C.I.A. referred to Iraq, may not have been sitting on his
desk, but he secretly started planning with Rummy for war
with Iraq in November 2001, and with Tommy Franks starting
the next month. Once they were thick into the planning, the
president couldn't turn back, of course. That would make
him like the loathed Bill Clinton - a lot of bold talk and
not much action - not like "The Man," as Mr. Cheney called
his warrior president.
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