In My Time - Dick Cheney [93]
That afternoon, when we took our recommendations to the president, Christmas celebrations in the White House were in full swing. I made my way through hallways decked out for the season to the private elevator that goes up to the second-floor residence, where Generals Powell and Kelly briefed the president on our overall war plan, then called “Operation Blue Spoon,” and described its objective—taking down Noriega and the PDF and restoring the democratically elected government of Panama. All around the room there was support for taking action, and at the end of the meeting President Bush gave us the order—“Do it.”
Back at the Pentagon later that day, General Kelly and his deputy then, Admiral Joe Lopez, discussed the formal name of the operation. “Blue Spoon” just didn’t seem right, a little too frivolous. The two batted around some options until Lopez said, “How about ‘Just Cause’?” And the operation was named.
The next day was spent on a final check of plans that had been set in place weeks earlier. I knew as a student of history that in even the most successful military operations there are failures, but I also knew that it was the responsibility of those of us in command at the Pentagon to do as much as we could to plan for eventualities and minimize error. Civilian leaders also have to walk a fine line. You have a legal obligation to make certain the military is doing its job, that it assembles a force and puts together a plan to achieve the objective it has been given. But it’s important not to cross into Lyndon Johnson territory, where civilian leadership picks bombing targets from the White House.
PANAMA WAS THE FIRST military operation where I had to decide how to handle the reporters who wanted to cover operations. I understood the press had a job to do, but I felt it was important that they not interfere with the job I had to do. In any military operation, the press will push for the maximum coverage possible, but we had to be aware, particularly in light of technology that now made instant reporting from the field increasingly possible, that their coverage could jeopardize the security of our operation.
For Panama, we used a pool system, which basically meant that certain reporters were selected to be on call at a given time. They would be the ones to go if something came up during their watch. We sent the pool to Panama, but they became frustrated when they got there and found themselves under the control of General Thurman. I understood the frustration, but we couldn’t divert assets we needed to fight the battle to the task of escorting journalists, so they had to cool their heels for a while.
In addition there were a few reporters who had gotten down to Panama on their own, not as part of the pool system. When the fighting started, one group hid out in the basement of the Marriott hotel. They placed frantic calls to their home offices in New York, which were in turn putting tremendous pressure on the White House. There were thirty-five thousand American civilians in Panama, but the journalists at the Marriott became the center of attention, and finally Brent called and told us we had no choice. The president wanted us to rescue them. The problem wasn’t only their superiors in New York calling in, but other reporters focusing on the stranded journalists. They were making it seem as though the military operation, which was generally going well, was somehow not succeeding.
We sent units from the 82nd Airborne to the Marriott, and they successfully freed the journalists as well as others who were there. But three American soldiers were wounded in the rescue, and a Spanish photographer covering the operation was killed.
Many at the Pentagon had a deep distrust of the media that was in part left over from Vietnam. There was a view—which I shared—that unduly negative reporting had helped sour public opinion on that war. The Tet Offensive,