My motorcade made its way through the quiet streets of Andrews Air Force Base on a bright Sunday in mid-February 2009. We rolled past guard booths, homes, and hangars, and then out onto the vast concrete expanse of the tarmac. I was embarking on my first journey as Secretary of State. The cars came to a stop beside a blue and white U.S. Air Force Boeing 757, fitted with enough advanced communications gear to coordinate global diplomacy from anywhere in the world. Emblazoned on the side, in large black letters, were the words “United States of America.” I got out of the car, paused, and took it all in.
As First Lady I had flown around the world with Bill in Air Force One, the largest and grandest of government jets. I had also traveled extensively on my own, usually in a 757 much like this one, and on a variety of smaller planes as a Senator participating in Congressional delegations to places such as Iraq, Afghanistan, and Pakistan. But none of those experiences could prepare me for what it would be like to spend more than two thousand hours in the air over four years, traveling nearly a million miles. That’s eighty-seven full days of recycled air and the steady vibration of twin turbofan engines propelling us forward at more than 500 miles per hour. This plane was also a powerful symbol of the nation I was honored to represent. No matter how many miles we logged or countries we visited, I never lost my sense of pride at seeing those iconic blue and white colors lit up on some far-off runway.
Inside the plane, to my left, Air Force officers were busy in a cabin full of computers and communications equipment. Beyond them the pilots performed their final checks. To the right, a narrow hallway led to my personal compartment, with a small desk, a pullout couch, a bathroom and closet, and secure and nonsecure phones.
Further on was the main cabin, which was divided into three sections for staff, security, and press and Air Force personnel. In the first section were two tables, each with four leather chairs facing each other, as in some train compartments. On one table, State Department Foreign Service officers set up a traveling office, linked to the Operations Center back in Foggy Bottom and capable of preparing everything from classified cables to detailed daily schedules, all at thirty thousand feet. Across the aisle my senior staff set up their laptops, worked the phones, or tried to get a little sleep between stops. The tables were usually covered with thick briefing books and marked-up speech drafts, but you’d often see copies of People magazine and US Weekly peeking out from underneath the official papers.
The middle section of the plane looked like a standard business-class cabin on any domestic flight. The seats were filled with policy experts from relevant State Department bureaus, colleagues from the White House and the Pentagon, a translator, and several Diplomatic Security agents. Next came the press cabin, for the journalists and camera crews who reported on our journeys.
At the back were the Air Force flight attendants who prepared our meals and always took good care of us. That was not easy when everyone’s food preferences and sleep patterns were out of sync most of the time. The flight crew shopped for provisions in the countries we visited, which allowed for some unexpected treats, like Oaxaca cheese in Mexico, smoked salmon in Ireland, and tropical fruit in Cambodia. But wherever we were, we could still count on finding staff favorites on the menu, like the Air Force’s famous turkey taco salad.
This packed metal tube became our home in the sky. I told the staff to dress casually, sleep as much as possible, and do whatever they could to stay sane and healthy amid the rigors of a grueling schedule. Over those two thousand hours in the air, we would celebrate birthdays, see distinguished diplomats weeping over soapy romantic comedies (and try and fail not to tease them for it), and marvel at Richard Holbrooke’s bright yellow pajamas that he called his “sleeping suit.”
On most flights the team carved out a lot of work time, and so did I. But at the end of a long international tour there was a palpable sense of relief and relaxation on the flight home. We’d enjoy a glass of wine, watch movies, and swap stories. On one of those flights we watched Breach, a film about Robert Hanssen, an FBI agent who spied for the Russians in the 1980s and ’90s. In one scene the Hanssen character complains, “Can’t trust a woman in a pantsuit. Men wear the pants. The world doesn’t need any more Hillary Clintons.” The whole plane burst into laughter.
The plane broke down on a number of occasions. Once, stranded in Saudi Arabia with mechanical difficulties, I managed to hitch a ride home with General David Petraeus, who happened to be passing through the region. Dave generously offered me his cabin and sat with his staff. In the middle of the night we stopped to refuel at an Air Force base in Germany. Dave got off the plane and headed right to the base’s gym, where he worked out for an hour, and then we were off and flying again.
On that first trip in February 2009, I walked to the back of the plane, where the journalists were settling into their seats. Many had covered previous Secretaries of State and were reminiscing about past travels and speculating about what they could expect from this new Secretary.
Some of my advisors had suggested I use my first trip to begin healing the transatlantic rifts that opened up during the Bush Administration by heading to Europe. Others suggested Afghanistan, where U.S. troops were battling a difficult insurgency. Colin Powell’s first stop had been Mexico, our nearest southern neighbor, which also made a lot of sense. Warren Christopher had gone to the Middle East, which continued to demand concentrated attention. But Jim Steinberg, my new Deputy, suggested Asia, where we expected much of the history of the 21st century to be written. I decided he was right, so I was breaking with precedent and heading first to Japan, then on to Indonesia, South Korea, and finally China. We needed to send a message to Asia and the world that America was back.
By the time I became Secretary, I had come to believe the United States had to do more to help shape the future of Asia and manage our increasingly complex relationship with China. The trajectory of the global economy and our own prosperity, the advance of democracy and human rights, and our hopes for a 21st century less bloody than the 20th all hinged to a large degree on what happened in the Asia-Pacific. This vast region, from the Indian Ocean to the tiny island nations of the Pacific, is home to more than half the world’s population, several of our most trusted allies and valuable trading partners, and many of the world’s most dynamic trade and energy routes. U.S. exports to the region helped spur our economic recovery in the wake of the recession, and our future growth depends on reaching further into Asia’s expanding middle-class consumer base. Asia is also the source of real threats to our own security, most notably from North Korea’s unpredictable dictatorship.
The rise of China is one of the most consequential strategic developments of our time. It is a country full of contradictions: an increasingly rich and influential nation that has moved hundreds of millions of people out of poverty, and an authoritarian regime trying to paper over its serious domestic challenges, with around 100 million people still living on a dollar or less a day. It’s the world’s largest producer of solar panels and also the largest emitter of greenhouse gases, with some of the world’s worst urban air pollution. Eager to play a major role on the global stage but determined to act unilaterally in dealing with its neighbors, China remains reluctant to question other nations’ internal affairs, even in extreme circumstances.
As a Senator, I argued that the United States would have to deal with a rising China and its growing economic, diplomatic, and military power in a careful, disciplined way. In the past, the emergence of new powers has rarely come without friction. In this case the situation was particularly complicated because of how interdependent our economies were becoming. In 2007, trade between the United States and China surpassed $387 billion; in 2013, it reached $562 billion. The Chinese held vast amounts of U.S. Treasury bonds, which meant we were deeply invested in each other’s economic success. As a consequence, we both shared a strong interest in maintaining stability in Asia and around the world and in ensuring the steady flow of energy and trade. Yet beyond these shared interests, our values and worldviews often diverged; we saw it in old flash points like North Korea, Taiwan, Tibet, and human rights, and newly important ones such as climate change and disputes in the South and East China Seas.
All this made for a difficult balancing act. We needed a sophisticated strategy that encouraged China to participate as a responsible member of the international community, while standing firm in defense of our values and interests. This was a theme I carried through my campaign for President in 2008, arguing that the United States had to know both how to find common ground and how to stand our ground. I emphasized the importance of convincing China to play by the rules in the global marketplace by dropping discriminatory trade practices, allowing the value of its currency to rise, and preventing tainted food and goods from reaching consumers around the world, such as the toys contaminated by toxic lead paint that had ended up in the hands of American children. The world needed responsible leadership from China to make real headway on climate change, to prevent conflict on the Korean Peninsula, and to address many other regional and global challenges, so it wasn’t in our interests to turn Beijing into a new Cold War boogeyman. Instead we needed to find a formula to manage competition and foster cooperation.
Under the leadership of Treasury Secretary Hank Paulson, the Bush Administration started a high-level economic dialogue with China that made progress on some important trade issues, but these talks remained separate from broader strategic and security discussions. Many in the region felt that the administration’s focus on Iraq, Afghanistan, and the Middle East led to disengagement from America’s traditional leadership role in Asia. Some of those concerns were overstated, but the perception was a problem in and of itself. I thought we ought to broaden our engagement with China and put the Asia-Pacific at the top of our diplomatic agenda.
Jim Steinberg and I quickly agreed that the person who should run the State Department’s Bureau of East Asian and Pacific Affairs was Dr. Kurt Campbell. Kurt, who helped shape Asia policy at the Pentagon and the National Security Council during the Clinton Administration, became a key architect of our strategy. Besides being a creative strategic thinker and devoted public servant, he was also an irrepressible traveling companion, fond of pranks and never without a joke or a story.
During my first days on the job, I made a round of calls to key Asian leaders. One of my more candid exchanges was with Foreign Minister Stephen Smith of Australia. His boss, Prime Minister Kevin Rudd, spoke Mandarin and had a clear-eyed view of the opportunities and challenges of China’s rise. Rich in natural resources, Australia was profiting by supplying China’s industrial boom with minerals and other raw materials. China became Australia’s largest trading partner, surpassing Japan and the United States. But Rudd also understood that peace and security in the Pacific depended on American leadership, and he put great value on the historic ties between our countries. The last thing he wanted was to see America withdraw from or lose influence in Asia. In that first call, Smith expressed his and Rudd’s hope that the Obama Administration would “more deeply engage with Asia.” I told him that was right in line with my own thinking and that I looked forward to a close partnership. Australia became a key ally in our Asian strategy over the coming years, under both Rudd and his successor, Prime Minister Julia Gillard.
Its neighbor New Zealand presented more of a challenge. For twenty-five years, since New Zealand prohibited all nuclear vessels from visiting their home ports, the United States and New Zealand had had a limited relationship. However, I thought our long friendship and mutual interests created a diplomatic opening for bridging the divide and shaping a new relationship between Wellington and Washington. On my visit in 2010, I signed the Wellington Declaration with Prime Minister John Key, which committed our nations to work more closely together in Asia, the Pacific, and multilateral organizations. In 2012, Secretary of Defense Leon Panetta would rescind the twenty-six-year ban on New Zealand’s ships docking at American bases. In global politics, sometimes reaching out to an old friend can be as rewarding as making a new one.
All my calls with Asian leaders that first week reinforced my belief that we needed a new approach in the region. Jim and I consulted with experts about various possibilities. One option was to focus on broadening our relationship with China, on the theory that if we could get our China policy right, the rest of our work in Asia would be much easier. An alternative was to concentrate our efforts on strengthening America’s treaty alliances in the region (with Japan, South Korea, Thailand, the Philippines, and Australia), providing a counterbalance to China’s growing power.
A third approach was to elevate and harmonize the alphabet soup of regional multilateral organizations, such as ASEAN (the Association of Southeast Asian Nations) and APEC (the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation organization). Nobody was expecting anything as coherent as the European Union to spring up overnight, but other regions had learned important lessons about the value of well-organized multinational institutions. They could provide a venue for every nation and point of view to be heard and offer opportunities for nations to work together on shared challenges, resolve their disagreements, establish rules and standards of behavior, reward responsible countries with legitimacy and respect, and help hold accountable those who violated the rules. If Asia’s multilateral institutions were supported and modernized, they could strengthen regional norms on everything from intellectual property rights to nuclear proliferation to freedom of navigation, and mobilize action on challenges like climate change and piracy. This kind of methodical multilateral diplomacy is often slow and frustrating, rarely making headlines at home, but it can pay real dividends that affect the lives of millions of people.
In keeping with the position I had staked out as a Senator and Presidential candidate, I decided that the smart power choice was to meld all three approaches. We would show that America was “all in” when it came to Asia. I was prepared to lead the way, but success would require buy-in from our entire government, beginning with the White House.
The President shared my determination to make Asia a focal point of the administration’s foreign policy. Born in Hawaii, and having spent formative years in Indonesia, he felt a strong personal connection to the region and understood its significance. At his direction, the National Security Council staff, led by General Jim Jones, along with Tom Donilon and their Asia expert, Jeff Bader, supported our strategy. Over the next four years we practiced what I called “forward-deployed diplomacy” in Asia, borrowing a term from our military colleagues. We quickened the pace and widened the scope of our diplomatic engagement across the region, dispatching senior officials and development experts far and wide, participating more fully in multilateral organizations, reaffirming our traditional alliances, and reaching out to new strategic partners. Because personal relationships and gestures of respect are deeply significant in Asia, I made it a priority to visit almost every nation in the region. My travels would eventually take me from one of the smallest Pacific islands to the home of a long-imprisoned Nobel Peace laureate to the edge of the most heavily guarded border in the world.
Over four years, I delivered a series of speeches explaining our strategy and making the case for why the Asia-Pacific deserved greater attention from the U.S. government. In the summer of 2011, I began working on a long essay that would situate our work in the region in the broader sweep of American foreign policy. The war in Iraq was winding down, and a transition was under way in Afghanistan. After a decade of focusing on the areas of greatest threat, we had come to a “pivot point.” Of course, we had to stay focused on the threats that remained, but it was also time to do more in the areas of greatest opportunity.
Foreign Policy magazine published my essay in the fall under the title “America’s Pacific Century,” but it was the word pivot that gained prominence. Journalists latched on to it as an evocative description of the administration’s renewed emphasis on Asia, although many in our own government preferred the more anodyne rebalance to Asia. Some friends and allies in other parts of the world were understandably concerned that the phrase implied turning our back on them, but we worked to make clear that America had the reach and resolve to pivot to Asia without pivoting away from other obligations and opportunities.
Our first task was to reassert America as a Pacific power without sparking an unnecessary confrontation with China. That’s why I decided to use my first trip as Secretary to accomplish three goals: visit our key Asian allies, Japan and South Korea; reach out to Indonesia, an emerging regional power and the home of ASEAN; and begin our crucial engagement with China.
In early February, shortly after I took office, I invited a number of academics and Asia experts to dinner at the State Department. We ate in the elegant Thomas Jefferson State Reception Room on the ceremonial eighth floor. Painted robin’s egg blue and furnished with Early American Chippendale antiques, it became one of my favorite rooms in the building, and over the years I hosted many meals and events there. We talked about how to balance America’s interests in Asia, which sometimes seemed in competition. For example, how hard could we push the Chinese on human rights or climate change and still gain their support on security issues like Iran and North Korea? Stapleton Roy, a former Ambassador to Singapore, Indonesia, and China, urged me not to overlook Southeast Asia, which Jim and Kurt had also been recommending. Over the years American attention has often focused on Northeast Asia because of our alliances and troop commitments in Japan and South Korea, but countries like Indonesia, Malaysia, and Vietnam were growing in economic and strategic importance. Roy and other experts backed our plan to sign a treaty with ASEAN, which would then open the door to much greater U.S. engagement there. It seemed like a small step that could yield real benefits down the road.
A week later I went to the Asia Society in New York to deliver my first major address as Secretary on our approach to the Asia-Pacific. Orville Schell, the Asia Society’s silver-haired China scholar, suggested I use an ancient proverb from Sun Tzu’s The Art of War about soldiers from two warring feudal states who find themselves on a boat together crossing a wide river in a storm. Instead of fighting, they work together and survive. In English the proverb roughly translates as, “When you are in a common boat, cross the river peacefully together.” For the United States and China, with our economic destinies bound up together in the middle of a global financial storm, this was good advice. My use of the proverb was not lost on Beijing. Premier Wen Jiabao and other leaders referenced it in later discussions with me. A few days after the speech, I boarded the plane at Andrews Air Force Base and headed out across the Pacific.
Over many years of travel I’ve developed the ability to sleep almost anywhere at any time—on planes, in cars, a quick power nap in a hotel room before a meeting. On the road I tried to grab sleep whenever possible since I was never sure when my next proper rest would be. When I had to stay awake during meetings or conference calls, I drank copious cups of coffee and tea, and sometimes dug the fingernails of one hand into the palm of the other. It was the only way I knew to cope with the crazy schedule and fierce jet lag. But as our plane headed across the international date line toward Tokyo, I knew there was no hope of sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I had to do to make the most of the trip.
I first visited Japan with Bill as part of a trade delegation from Arkansas during his governorship. The country then was a key ally but also an object of growing anxiety in the United States. Japan’s “Economic Miracle” came to symbolize deep-seated fears about U.S. stagnation and decline, much as China’s rise has in the 21st century. The cover of Paul Kennedy’s 1987 book The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers featured a weary Uncle Sam stepping off a global pedestal with a determined-looking Japanese businessman scrambling up behind him. Sound familiar? When a Japanese conglomerate purchased the historic Rockefeller Center in New York in 1989, it caused a minor panic in the press. “America for Sale?” asked the Chicago Tribune.
In those days there were legitimate concerns about America’s economic future, which helped fuel Bill’s successful Presidential campaign in 1992. Yet by the time Emperor Akihito and Empress Michiko of Japan welcomed Bill and me to Tokyo’s Imperial Palace in the summer of 1993, we could already see that America was regaining its economic strength. Japan, by contrast, faced a “Lost Decade” after its asset and credit bubble burst, leaving banks and other businesses loaded down with bad debt. Its economy, once feared by Americans, slowed to an anemic pace—which caused a whole different set of concerns for them and us. Japan was still one of the largest economies in the world and a key partner in responding to the global financial crisis. I chose Tokyo as my first destination to underscore that our new administration saw the alliance as a cornerstone of our strategy in the region. President Obama would also welcome Prime Minister Taro Aso to Washington later that month, the first foreign leader to meet with him in the Oval Office.
The strength of our alliance would be demonstrated dramatically in March 2011, when a 9.0-magnitude earthquake hit the east coast of Japan, setting off a tsunami with hundred-foot waves and leading to a meltdown at the Fukushima nuclear plant. The “Triple Disaster” killed nearly twenty thousand people, displaced hundreds of thousands more, and became one of the most expensive natural catastrophes in history. Our embassy and the U.S. 7th Fleet, which had a long, close partnership with the Japan Maritime Self-Defense Force, jumped quickly into action, working with the Japanese to deliver food and medical supplies, conduct search-and-rescue missions, evacuate the injured, and assist with other vital missions. It was called Operation Tomodachi, the Japanese word for “friend.”
On this first visit, I landed in Tokyo amid a rush of pomp and pageantry. In addition to the normal retinue of official greeters, two women astronauts and members of Japan’s Special Olympics team were at the airport to meet me.
After a few hours of sleep at Tokyo’s historic Hotel Okura, a pocket of 1960s-era style and culture, straight out of Mad Men, my first stop was a tour of the historic Meiji Shrine. The rest of my whirlwind day featured a get-to-know-you with staff and families at the U.S. Embassy, lunch with the Foreign Minister, a heart-rending meeting with families of Japanese citizens abducted by North Korea, a lively town hall discussion with students at the University of Tokyo, interviews with American and Japanese press, dinner with the Prime Minister, and a late-night meeting with the head of the opposition party. It was the first of many jam-packed days over four years, each one full of diplomatic and emotional highs and lows.
One of the highlights was going to the Imperial Palace to see Empress Michiko again. It was a rare honor, a result of the warm personal relationship she and I had enjoyed since my time as First Lady. We greeted each other with a smile and a hug. Then she welcomed me into her private quarters. The Emperor joined us for tea and a conversation about my travels and theirs.
Planning a complicated foreign trip like this takes a whole team of talented people. Huma, by now Deputy Chief of Staff for Operations, and my director of scheduling, Lona Valmoro, who juggled a million invitations without ever missing a beat, coordinated a wide-ranging process to make sure we collected the best ideas for stops and events. I made it clear that I wanted to get out beyond the Foreign Ministries and palaces and meet with citizens, especially community activists and volunteers; journalists; students and professors; business, labor, and religious leaders, the civil society that helps hold governments accountable and drives social change. This was something I had been doing since I was First Lady. In a speech at the 1998 World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland, I had compared a healthy society to a three-legged stool, supported by a responsible government, an open economy, and a vibrant civil society. That third leg of the stool was too often neglected.
Thanks to the internet, especially social media, citizens and community organizations had gained more access to information and a greater ability to speak out than ever before. Now even autocracies had to pay attention to the sentiments of their people, as we would see during the Arab Spring. For the United States, it was important to build strong relationships with foreign publics as well as governments. This would help ensure more durable partnerships with our friends. It would also build support for our goals and values when the government wasn’t with us but the people were. In many cases civil society advocates and organizations were the ones driving progress inside countries. They were battling official corruption, mobilizing grassroots movements, and drawing attention to problems like environmental degradation, human rights abuses, and economic inequality. From the start I wanted America to be firmly on their side and to encourage and support them in their efforts.
My first town hall meeting was at the University of Tokyo. I told the students that America was ready to listen again and turned the floor over to them. They responded with a torrent of questions, and not just about the issues that were dominating the headlines, like the future of the U.S.-Japan alliance and the ongoing global financial crisis. They also asked about the prospects for democracy in Burma, the safety of nuclear power (presciently), tensions with the Muslim world, climate change, and how to succeed as a woman in a male-dominated society. It was the first of many town hall meetings I’d have with young people around the world, and I loved hearing their thoughts and engaging in a substantive back-and-forth discussion. Years later I heard that the president of the university’s daughter had sat in the audience that day and decided she too wanted to become a diplomat. She went on to join Japan’s Foreign Service.
A few days later, at Ewha Womans University in Seoul, South Korea, I saw how reaching out to young people was going to take me into territory well beyond traditional foreign policy concerns. As I stepped onto the stage at Ewha, the audience erupted in cheers. Then the young women lined up at the microphones to ask me some highly personal questions—respectfully, but eagerly.
Is it difficult to deal with misogynistic leaders around the world?
I responded that I would guess that many leaders choose to ignore the fact that they’re dealing with a woman when they’re dealing with me. But I try not to let them get away with that. (Nonetheless, it is an unfortunate reality that women in public life still face an unfair double standard. Even leaders like former Prime Minister Julia Gillard of Australia have faced outrageous sexism, which shouldn’t be tolerated in any country.)
Could you tell us about your daughter, Chelsea?
I could spend hours on that question. But suffice it to say, she’s an amazing person and I’m so proud of her.
How do you describe love?
On that one, I laughed and said that I now officially felt more like an advice columnist than Secretary of State. I thought for a moment and then said, “How does anybody describe love? I mean, poets have spent millennia writing about love. Psychologists and authors of all sorts write about it. I think if you can describe it, you may not fully be experiencing it because it is such a personal relationship. I’m very lucky because my husband is my best friend, and he and I have been together for a very long time, longer than most of you have been alive.”
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It seemed that these women felt connected to me in a personal way, and, wonderfully, they were comfortable and confident enough to talk to me as though I was a friend or mentor rather than a government official from a faraway country. I wanted to be worthy of their admiration. I also hoped that by having a conversation like this, person to person, I could reach across cultural gaps and perhaps convince them to give America a second look.
After Japan it was on to Jakarta, Indonesia, where I was welcomed by a group of young students from the primary school that President Obama attended as a young boy. During my visit, I went on The Awesome Show, one of the country’s most popular television programs. It felt just like MTV. Loud music blared between segments, and the interviewers all looked young enough to be in school, not hosting a national talk show.
They asked me a question that I would hear all over the world: How could I work with President Obama after we had campaigned so hard against each other? Indonesia was still a very young democracy; the longtime ruler, Suharto, was ousted in 1998 through popular protests, and the first direct Presidential election was held only in 2004. So it was not surprising that people were more accustomed to political rivals being jailed or exiled rather than appointed chief diplomat. I said that it had not been easy losing a hard-fought campaign to President Obama but that democracy works only if political leaders put the common good ahead of personal interest. I told them that when he asked me to serve, I accepted because we both love our country. It was the first of many times that our partnership would serve as an example for people in other countries trying to understand democracy.
The night before, over dinner with civil society leaders at the National Archives Museum in Jakarta, we discussed the extraordinary challenges the leaders and people of Indonesia had taken on: blending democracy, Islam, modernity, and women’s rights in a country with the largest Muslim population in the world. In the previous half-century Indonesia had been a relatively minor player in the region’s political affairs. When I visited as First Lady fifteen years earlier, it was still a poor and undemocratic country. By 2009 it was being transformed under the forward-looking leadership of President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono. Economic growth had lifted many people out of poverty, and Indonesia was working to share lessons from its own transition away from dictatorship with other countries across Asia.
I was impressed by Yudhoyono, who had a deep grasp of regional diplomatic dynamics and a vision for his country’s continued development. In our first conversation he encouraged me to pursue a new approach toward Burma, which had been ruled by a repressive military junta for years. Yudhoyono had met twice with Burma’s top general, the reclusive Than Shwe, and he told me that the junta might be willing to inch toward democracy if America and the international community helped them along. I listened carefully to Yudhoyono’s wise advice, and we stayed in close touch about Burma going forward. Our engagement with that country eventually became one of the most exciting developments of my time as Secretary.
Jakarta was also the permanent home of ASEAN, the regional institution that the Asia hands back in D.C. had urged me to prioritize. In an interview in Tokyo, a Japanese reporter noted the widespread disappointment among Southeast Asians that American officials had skipped recent ASEAN conferences, which some saw as a sign of America’s flagging presence in the Asia-Pacific, even as China was seeking to expand its influence. The reporter wanted to know whether I was planning to continue this trend, or if I would work to reinvigorate our engagement. It was a question that spoke to the hunger in Asia for tangible signs of U.S. leadership. I replied that expanding relations with organizations such as ASEAN was an important part of our strategy in the region, and I planned to attend as many meetings as possible. If we were going to improve our position in Southeast Asia, as China was also trying to do, and encourage nations to agree to cooperate more on trade, security, and the environment, then a good place to start would be with ASEAN.
No previous U.S. Secretary of State had ever visited the organization’s headquarters. ASEAN Secretary-General Surin Pitsuwan met me with a bouquet of yellow roses and explained that Indonesians consider the color yellow a symbol of hope and new beginnings. “Your visit shows the seriousness of the United States to end its diplomatic absenteeism in the region,” he said. That was a rather pointed greeting, but he was right about our intentions.
The next stop was South Korea, a wealthy, advanced democracy and key ally living in the shadow of a repressive and bellicose neighbor to the north. American troops have been on watchful guard there ever since the end of the Korean War in 1953. In my meetings with President Lee Myung-bak and other senior officials, I reassured them that although the administration in the United States had changed, our nation’s commitment to South Korea’s defense had not.
North Korea, by contrast, is the most tightly closed totalitarian state in the world. Many of its nearly 25 million people live in abject poverty. The political oppression is nearly total. Famine is frequent. Yet the regime, led in the early years of the Obama Administration by the aging and eccentric Kim Jong Il, and later by his young son Kim Jong Un, devotes most of its limited resources to supporting its military, developing nuclear weapons, and antagonizing its neighbors.
In 1994, the Clinton Administration negotiated an agreement with North Korea in which it pledged to halt operation and construction of facilities widely suspected of being part of a secret nuclear weapons program in exchange for assistance in building two smaller nuclear reactors that would produce energy, not weapons-grade plutonium. The agreement also provided a path to normalize relations between our two countries. By September 1999, a deal was reached with North Korea to freeze testing of its long-range missiles. In October 2000, Secretary of State Madeleine Albright visited North Korea in an effort to test the regime’s intentions and negotiate another agreement on continued inspections. Unfortunately, while the North Koreans made a lot of promises, a comprehensive agreement never materialized. Once President George W. Bush took office, he quickly altered policy and referred to North Korea as part of the “Axis of Evil” in his 2002 State of the Union address. Evidence emerged that North Korea had secretly enriched uranium, and in 2003, it restarted enrichment of plutonium. By the end of the Bush Administration, Pyongyang had constructed a number of nuclear weapons that could threaten South Korea and the region.
In my public remarks in Seoul I extended an invitation to the North Koreans. If they would completely and verifiably eliminate their nuclear weapons program, the Obama Administration would be willing to normalize relations, replace the peninsula’s long-standing armistice agreement with a permanent peace treaty, and assist in meeting the energy and other economic and humanitarian needs of the North Korean people. If not, the regime’s isolation would continue. It was an opening gambit in a drama I was sure would continue for our entire term, as it had for decades before, and not one I thought likely to succeed. But, as with Iran, another regime with nuclear ambitions, we started off with the offer of engagement hoping it would succeed and knowing it would be easier to get other nations to pressure North Korea if and when the offer was rejected. It was particularly important for China, a longtime patron and protector of the regime in Pyongyang, to be part of a united international front.
It didn’t take long to get an answer.
The next month, March 2009, a crew of American television journalists were reporting from the border between China and North Korea for Current TV, the network cofounded by former Vice President Al Gore and later sold to Al Jazeera. The journalists were there to document the stories of North Korean women who were trafficked across the border and forced into the sex trade and other forms of modern slavery. At dawn on March 17, a local guide led the Americans along the Tumen River that separates the two countries, still frozen in the early spring. They followed him out onto the ice and, briefly, as far as the North Korean side of the river. According to the journalists, they then returned to Chinese soil. Suddenly North Korean border guards appeared with guns drawn. The Americans ran, and the producer escaped along with the guide. But the two women reporters, Euna Lee and Laura Ling, were not so lucky. They were arrested and dragged back across the river to North Korea, where they were sentenced to twelve years of hard labor.
Two months later North Korea performed an underground nuclear test and announced that it no longer considered itself bound by the terms of the 1953 armistice. Just as President Obama had promised in his inaugural address, we had offered an open hand, but North Korea was responding with a closed fist.
Our first step was to see if action was possible at the United Nations. Working closely with Ambassador Susan Rice in New York, I spent hours on the phone with leaders in Beijing, Moscow, Tokyo, and other capitals drumming up support for a strong resolution imposing sanctions on the regime in Pyongyang. Everyone agreed that the nuclear test was unacceptable, but what to do about it was another story.
“I know this is difficult for your government,” I told Chinese Foreign Minister Yang Jiechi in one call, “[but] if we act together, we have a chance to change North Korea’s calculation about the cost to them of continuing with their nuclear and missile programs.” Yang said China shared our concerns about a regional arms race and agreed that “an appropriate and measured” response was needed. I hoped that wasn’t code for “toothless.”
By mid-June, our efforts paid off. All the members of the UN Security Council agreed to impose additional sanctions. We had to make some concessions to get Chinese and Russian backing, but this was still the toughest measure ever imposed on North Korea, and I was pleased we were finally able to muster a unified international response.
But how to help the imprisoned journalists? We heard that Kim Jong Il would let the women go only if he received a personal visit and request from a high-ranking U.S. delegation. I discussed this with President Obama and other members of the national security team. What if Al Gore himself went? Or maybe former President Jimmy Carter, known for his humanitarian work around the globe? Maybe Madeleine Albright, who had unique experience in North Korea from her diplomacy in the 1990s? But the North Koreans already had a particular visitor in mind: my husband, Bill. It was a surprising request. On the one hand, the North Korean government was busy hurling absurd invectives at me over the nuclear issue, including calling me “a funny lady.” (North Korea’s propaganda operation is famous for its over-the-top and often nonsensical rhetorical attacks. They once called Vice President Biden an “impudent burglar.” There’s even a “random insult generator” on the internet that churns out parodies of their broadsides.) On the other hand, Kim apparently had had a soft spot for my husband ever since Bill sent a condolence letter after the death of his father Kim Il-sung in 1994. And of course he also wanted the global attention that would come from a rescue mission led by a former President.
I talked with Bill about the idea. He was willing to go if it would secure the freedom of the two reporters. Al Gore and the families of the women also encouraged Bill to take the mission. But more than a few people in the White House argued against the trip. Some may have harbored negative feelings toward Bill from the 2008 primary campaign, but most were simply reluctant to reward Kim’s bad behavior with such a high-profile trip and potentially create concerns for our allies. They had a good point: we had to balance doing what was necessary to rescue the two innocent American civilians with avoiding potential geopolitical fallout.
I thought it was worth trying. The North Koreans had already gotten all the mileage they could from the incident, but they needed some reason to justify letting the women go home. Also, if we didn’t do something to try to resolve the matter, our efforts on everything else with North Korea would be suspended because of their imprisonment. When I raised the idea directly with President Obama over lunch in late July, he agreed with me that it was the best chance we had.
Although it was considered a “private mission,” Bill and the small team he would take along were well briefed before departing. A humorous but important part of the preparation involved coaching them not to be smiling (or frowning) when the inevitable official photos with Kim were taken.
In early August, Bill set out on his mission. After twenty hours on the ground in North Korea and a face-to-face meeting with Kim, he succeeded in winning the journalists’ immediate release. They flew home with Bill to a dramatic arrival in California, greeted by family, friends, and loads of television cameras. The official images released by the regime were appropriately stilted; no smiling by any of the Americans. Afterward Bill joked that he felt like he was auditioning for a James Bond movie. But he believed that his success was proof that the insular regime would respond positively, at least on certain points, if we could find the right mix of incentives.
Unfortunately there was more trouble ahead. Late one evening in March 2010, a South Korean naval vessel, the Cheonan, was cruising near North Korean waters. It was a cold night, and most of the 104 South Korean sailors were belowdecks sleeping, eating, or exercising. With no warning, a torpedo fired from an unknown source detonated below the Cheonan’s hull. The explosion ripped the ship apart, and its remains began to sink into the Yellow Sea. Forty-six sailors died. In May, a team of UN investigators concluded that a North Korean midget submarine was likely responsible for the unprovoked attack. This time, while the Security Council unanimously condemned the attack, China blocked the naming of North Korea directly or a more robust response. Here was one of China’s contradictions in full view. Beijing claimed to prize stability above all else, yet it was tacitly condoning naked aggression that was profoundly destabilizing.
In July 2010, Bob Gates and I returned to South Korea together to meet with our counterparts and demonstrate to Pyongyang that the United States continued to stand firmly behind our allies. We drove out to Panmunjom, in the demilitarized zone (DMZ) that has divided North and South Korea since 1953. The DMZ is two and a half miles wide and follows the 38th parallel across the entire peninsula. It is the most heavily fortified and mined border in the world, and one of the most dangerous. Under an ominous sky we climbed up to a camouflaged observation point below a guard tower and the flags of the United States, the United Nations, and the Republic of Korea. A light rain fell as we stood behind sandbags and looked through binoculars into North Korean territory.
As I stared across the DMZ, it was hard not to be struck anew by how this narrow line separated two dramatically different worlds. South Korea was a shining example of progress, a country that had successfully transitioned from poverty and dictatorship to prosperity and democracy. Its leaders cared about the well-being of their citizens, and young people grew up with freedom and opportunity, not to mention the fastest broadband download speeds in the world. Just two and a half miles away, North Korea was a land of fear and famine. The contrast could not have been starker, or more tragic.
Bob and I went inside the nearby headquarters of the UN forces with our South Korean counterparts for a military briefing. We also toured a building that sits squarely on top of the border, half in the north and half in the south, designed to facilitate negotiations between the two sides. There is even a long conference table positioned exactly on the dividing line. As we walked through, a North Korean soldier stood just inches away, on the other side of a window, staring stonily at us. Maybe he was just curious. But if his goal was to intimidate, he failed. I stayed focused on our briefer, while Bob smiled merrily. A photographer captured the unusual moment in a picture that ran on the front page of the New York Times.
In our meetings with the South Koreans, Bob and I discussed steps we could take to put pressure on the North and discourage it from further provocative actions. We agreed to make a strong show of force to reassure our friends and make clear that the United States would protect regional security. We announced new sanctions and that the aircraft carrier USS George Washington would move into position off the Korean coast and join military exercises with the South Korean Navy. In all, eighteen ships, some two hundred aircraft, and about eight thousand U.S. and South Korean troops would participate over four days. There was outrage in both Pyongyang and Beijing about the naval drills, which told us our message had been received.
That evening, South Korean President Lee Myung-bak hosted a dinner for Bob and me at the Blue House, his official residence. He thanked us for standing beside South Korea in its hour of need, and as he often did, he connected his own rise from an impoverished childhood to that of his country. South Korea had once been poorer than North Korea, but with the help of the United States and the international community it had succeeded in developing its economy—a reminder of the legacy of American leadership in Asia.
Another aspect of our pivot strategy was bringing India more fully into the Asian-Pacific political scene. Having another large democracy with a full seat at the table in the region could help encourage more countries to move toward political and economic openness, rather than follow China’s example of autocratic state capitalism.
I had fond memories of my first visit to India in 1995, with Chelsea by my side. We toured one of the orphanages run by Mother Teresa, the humble Catholic nun whose charity and saintliness made her a global icon. The orphanage was filled with baby girls who had been abandoned in the streets or left at the front door for the nuns to find; because they were not boys, they were not valued by their families. Our visit had prompted the local government to pave the dirt road leading up to the orphanage, which the nuns considered a minor miracle. When Mother Teresa died in 1997, I led an American delegation to her funeral in Kolkata to pay our respects to her remarkable humanitarian legacy. Her open casket was carried through the crowded streets, and Presidents, Prime Ministers, and religious leaders from many faiths placed wreaths of white flowers on the funeral bier. Later her successor invited me to a private meeting at the headquarters of their order, Missionaries of Charity. In a simple whitewashed room, lit only by tiers of flickering devotional candles, the nuns stood in a circle of quiet prayer surrounding the closed casket, which had been brought back there as its final resting place. To my surprise, they asked me to offer a prayer of my own. I hesitated, then bowed my head and thanked God for the privilege of having known this tiny, forceful, saintly woman during her time here on earth.
My first trip to India as Secretary of State was in the summer of 2009. In the fourteen years since I had first visited, trade between our countries had risen from less than $10 billion to more than $60 billion, and would continue to grow to nearly $100 billion in 2012. There were still too many barriers and restrictions, but American companies were slowly gaining access to Indian markets, creating jobs and opportunities for people in both countries. Indian companies were also investing in the United States, and lots of high-skilled Indian workers were applying for visas and helping jump-start innovative American businesses. More than 100,000 Indian students studied in the United States every year; some went home to put their skills to work in their own country, while many stayed to contribute to the American economy.
In New Delhi I met with a broad cross-section of society, including Prime Minister Manmohan Singh, business leaders, women entrepreneurs, climate and energy scientists, and students. I was happy to see Sonia Gandhi, the head of the Indian National Congress Party, whom I had gotten to know during the 1990s. She and Prime Minister Singh explained how hard it had been to show restraint toward Pakistan after the coordinated terrorist bombings in Mumbai the prior November. They made it clear to me that there would not be such restraint in the event of a second attack. Indians referred to the attack on November 26, 2008, as 26/11, in an echo of our own 9/11. In a show of solidarity with the people of India, I chose to stay at the elegant old Taj Mahal Palace Hotel in Mumbai, which had been one of the sites of the gruesome attack that killed 164 people, including 138 Indians and four Americans. By staying there and paying my respects at the memorial, I wanted to send the message that Mumbai was undeterred and open for business.
In July 2011, in sweltering summer heat, I traveled to the Indian port city of Chennai on the Bay of Bengal, a commercial hub that looks out toward the vibrant trade and energy routes of Southeast Asia. No Secretary of State had ever visited this city before, but I wanted to show that we understood India was more than Delhi and Mumbai. In Chennai’s public library, the largest in the country, I spoke about India’s role on the world stage, especially in the Asia-Pacific region. India has ancient ties in Southeast Asia, from the traders who sailed the Straits of Malacca to the Hindu temples that dot the region. Our hope, I said, was that India would transcend its intractable conflict with Pakistan and become a more active advocate for democracy and free-market values across Asia. As I told the audience in Chennai, the United States supported India’s “Look East” policy. We wanted it to “lead east” as well.
Despite some day-to-day differences, the strategic fundamentals of our relationship with India—shared democratic values, economic imperatives, and diplomatic priorities—were pushing both countries’ interests into closer convergence. We were entering a new, more mature phase in our relationship.
A major goal of our strategy in Asia was to promote political reform as well as economic growth. We wanted to make the 21st century a time in which people across Asia become not only more prosperous but also more free. And more freedom would, I was confident, spur greater prosperity.
Many countries in the region were grappling with the question of which model of governance best suited their society and circumstances. China’s rise, and its mix of authoritarianism and state capitalism, offered an attractive example to some leaders. We often heard that while democracy might work well elsewhere in the world, it wasn’t at home in Asia. These critics suggested that it was unsuited to the region’s history, maybe even antithetical to Asian values.
There were plenty of counterexamples to disprove these theories. Japan, Malaysia, South Korea, Indonesia, and Taiwan were all democratic societies that had delivered tremendous economic benefits to their people. From 2008 to 2012, Asia was the only region in the world to achieve steady gains in political rights and civil liberties, according to the nongovernmental organization Freedom House. For example, the Philippines held elections in 2010 that were widely praised as a significant improvement over previous ones, and the new President, Benigno Aquino III, launched a concerted effort to fight corruption and increase transparency. The Philippines were a valued ally for the United States, and when a terrible typhoon hit the country in late 2013, our partnership would ensure that joint relief efforts led by the U.S. Navy swung quickly into action. And, of course, there was Burma. By mid-2012 the democratic opening predicted by Indonesia’s President Yudhoyono was in full swing, and Aung San Suu Kyi, who for decades had been the imprisoned conscience of her nation, was serving in Parliament.
There were other examples that were less encouraging. Too many Asian governments continued to resist reforms, restrict their people’s access to ideas and information, and imprison them for expressing dissenting views. Under Kim Jong Un, North Korea remained the most closed and repressive country in the world. As hard as it is to imagine, he actually made things worse. Cambodia and Vietnam had made some progress, but not enough. On a visit to Vietnam in 2010, I learned that several prominent bloggers had been detained in the days before my arrival. In my meetings with Vietnamese officials, I raised specific concerns about arbitrary restrictions on fundamental freedoms, including arrests and the severe sentences too often imposed on political dissidents, lawyers, bloggers, Catholic activists, and Buddhist monks and nuns.
In July 2012, I took another extended tour across the region, this one designed to emphasize that democracy and prosperity go hand in hand. I started again in Japan, one of the strongest and richest democracies in the world, and then visited Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos, where I would become the first Secretary of State to step foot in that country in fifty-seven years.
I came away with two overall impressions from my short visit to Laos. First, Laos was still in the tight grip of its Communist Party, which itself was increasingly under the economic and political control of China. Beijing took advantage of the relationship to extract natural resources and push construction of projects that did little for the average Laotian. Second, Laotians were still paying a terrible price for the extensive bombing the United States carried out over its territory during the Vietnam War. It had earned the terrible distinction of being “the most heavily bombed country in the world.” This is why I visited a project in Vientiane supported by USAID to provide prosthetics and rehabilitation for the thousands of adults and children still losing limbs from the cluster-bombs littered throughout a third of the country, only 1 percent of which had been found and deactivated. I thought the United States had an ongoing obligation and was encouraged that in 2012 Congress tripled funding to speed up the removal work.
A highlight of this summer 2012 trip across Asia was Mongolia, where I had paid an unforgettable first visit in 1995. That had been a difficult time for the remote nation squeezed between northern China and Siberia. Decades of Soviet domination had tried to impose Stalinist culture on the nomadic society. When the aid from Moscow stopped, the economy crumbled. But, like many visitors, I was enchanted by Mongolia’s stark beauty, with its vast wind-swept steppes, and by the energy, determination, and hospitality of its people. In a traditional tent called a ger, a family of nomads offered me a bowl of fermented mare’s milk, which tasted like warm, day-old plain yogurt. I was impressed by the students, activists, and government officials I met in the capital and their commitment to transforming a one-party Communist dictatorship into a pluralistic, democratic political system. It was not going to be an easy journey, but they were determined to try. I told them that, from then on, anytime someone expressed doubts that democracy could take root in unlikely places, I would tell them, “Let them come to Mongolia! Let them see people willing to hold demonstrations in subzero temperatures and travel long distances to cast their ballots in elections.”
When I returned seventeen years later, a lot had changed in Mongolia and its neighborhood. China’s rapid development and its insatiable demand for natural resources had created a mining boom in Mongolia, which was blessed with enormous reserves of copper and other minerals. The economy was expanding at the blistering pace of more than 17 percent in 2011, and some experts predicted faster growth in Mongolia over the next decade than in any other country on earth. Most people were still poor, and many retained their nomadic lifestyle, but the global economy that had once felt so far away had arrived in full force.
As I drove into the once sleepy capital, Ulaanbaatar, I was amazed at the transformation. Glass skyscrapers soared up from amid a jumble of traditional gers and old Soviet housing projects. In Sukhbaatar Square, soldiers in traditional Mongolian garb stood guard in the shadow of a new Louis Vuitton store. I walked into Government House, a large holdover from the Stalinist era, past an enormous statue of Genghis Khan, the 13th-century Mongolian warrior whose empire spanned a larger land mass than any other in history. The Soviets had suppressed the personality cult of Khan, but now he was back with a vengeance. Inside, I met with President Tsakhiagiin Elbegdorj in his ceremonial ger. We were sitting in a traditional nomadic tent, inside a Stalinist-era government building, discussing the future of the rapidly growing Asian economy. Talk about worlds colliding!
Since my 1995 visit, Mongolian democracy had endured. The country had held six successful Parliamentary elections. On television Mongolians from across the political spectrum openly and vigorously debated ideas. A long-awaited freedom of information law was giving citizens a clearer view into the workings of their government. Alongside this progress there was also cause for concern. The mining boom was exacerbating the problems of corruption and inequality, and China was taking a greater interest in its suddenly valuable northern neighbor. Mongolia appeared to be at a crossroads: either it was going to continue down the democratic path and use its new riches to raise the standard of living of all its people, or it was going to be pulled into Beijing’s orbit and experience the worst excesses of the “resource curse.” I hoped to encourage the former and discourage the latter.
The timing was good. The Community of Democracies, an international organization founded in 2000 under the leadership of Secretary Albright to nurture emerging democracies, especially those in the former Soviet bloc, was holding a summit in Ulaanbaatar. This would be an opportunity to reinforce Mongolia’s progress and send a message about the importance of democracy and human rights across Asia, delivered in China’s own backyard.
It’s not a secret that the epicenter of the antidemocratic movement in Asia is China. The 2010 Nobel Peace Prize had been awarded to the imprisoned Chinese human rights activist Liu Xiaobo, and the world took note of his empty chair at the ceremony in Oslo. Afterward I warned that it could become “a symbol of a great nation’s unrealized potential and unfulfilled promise.” Things had only gotten worse in 2011. In the first few months, dozens of public interest lawyers, writers, artists, intellectuals, and activists were arbitrarily detained and arrested. Among them was the prominent artist Ai Weiwei, whose cause I and others championed.
In my speech in Ulaanbaatar I explained why a democratic future for Asia was the right choice. In China and elsewhere opponents of democracy argued that it would threaten stability by unleashing chaotic popular forces. But we had plenty of evidence from around the world that democracy actually fosters stability. It is true that clamping down on political expression and maintaining a tight grip on what people read or say or see can create the illusion of security, but illusions fade, while people’s yearning for liberty does not. By contrast, democracy provides critical safety valves for societies. It allows people to select their leaders, gives those leaders legitimacy to make difficult but necessary decisions for the national good, and lets minorities express their views peacefully.
Another argument I wanted to rebut was that democracy is a privilege belonging to wealthy countries and that developing economies need to put growth first and worry about democracy later. China was often cited as the prime example of a country that had achieved economic success without meaningful political reform. But that too was a “shortsighted and ultimately unsustainable bargain,” I said. “You cannot over the long run have economic liberalization without political liberalization. Countries that want to be open for business but closed to free expression will find the approach comes with a cost.” Without the free exchange of ideas and strong rule of law, innovation and entrepreneurship wither.
I pledged that the United States would be a strong partner to all those across Asia and the world who were dedicated to human rights and fundamental freedoms. I had been saying “Let them come to Mongolia!” for years, and I was delighted that so many democracy activists finally had. Back home a Washington Post editorial declared that my speech had offered “hope that the U.S. pivot to Asia will go beyond simple muscle-flexing and become a multi-layered approach to match the complexity of China’s rise as a modern superpower.” In China, however, censors went right to work erasing mentions of my message from the internet.