IN DEFENSE OF AMERICA Don of a new era Rumsfeld confronts the age of terrorism

CHRISTIAN SCIENCE MONITOR
IT'S A CLASSIC SCENE FROM what might be called "The World According to Don Rumsfeld." On a raw November day in Bratislava, the U.S. Defense secretary strides onto a red carpet, places his hand over his heart and listens to a military rendition of "The Star Spangled Banner." It's the type of ritual that Rumsfeld, impatient by his own account, usually only tolerates.
But this day is special -- "thrilling" he says. Slovakia, a former part of the communist axis, has been invited to join NATO -- and Rumsfeld, long a Cold War warrior, relishes the triumph. "Here we are!" he beams as he steps into the lights of television cameras. "[The world] has changed."
Rumsfeld recalls his Chicago childhood with Czechoslovakian immigrants, his impassioned "Captive Nations" speeches in Congress in the 1960s and his vigil as NATO ambassador for President Nixon in the early 1970s.
Now, Slovakia stands as proof that "freedom is ascendant, and the cause of liberty has prevailed over the darkness of tyranny and terror and will do so again," he says later.
The obscure incident illustrates one of Rumsfeld's overarching beliefs: A strong America leads aggressively in the right direction, and the world invariably comes around. It's less unilateralism than an "America-knows-best" brand of paternalism. American might and right proved decisive in winning the cold war. It will win the war on terrorism. It worked in Afghanistan. It will work with Iraq.
Today, with the United States again poised on the brink of war, Rumsfeld's leadership style and core beliefs are shaping the use of American force at a pivotal point in modern history. In coming weeks, he will counsel President Bush on the use of pre-emptive military action to overthrow the Iraqi regime -- with repercussions that could either transform or destabilize the Middle East.
A mix of traits
Those decisions will flow from a complex man known to be both dedicated and, at times, domineering.
Friends, classmates, employers and colleagues say Rumsfeld possesses an unusual mix of traits. He is solidly conservative but not strident, principled but pragmatic, old-fashioned yet forward-looking. Sober about the world's dangers, he is optimistic about tackling them.
His blunt convictions have won him praise, yet critics call him an abrasive, arrogant warmonger. Rumsfeld often voices exasperation that his views are distorted or misunderstood. Regardless, the hard-charging Midwesterner is a force to contend with in American politics.
"He has a lot of influence," says former President Ford, who first appointed Rumsfeld Defense secretary in 1975.
At the heart of Rumsfeld's worldview is the moral imperative of American leadership, which he embraced, along with his own duty of public service, half a century ago. As a clean-cut student on scholarship at Princeton in the 1950s, Rumsfeld was so inspired by former Illinois Gov. Adlai Stevenson's address at the March 1954, senior-class banquet that he has handed out copies for years.
"The world's fate now hangs upon how well or how ill we in America conduct our affairs," Stevenson said. "If America stumbles, the world falls."
Eight years later, in 1962, Rumsfeld repeated this conviction from train platforms along Chicago's North Shore, handing out pamphlets in an upstart congressional candidacy that would launch his political career. "Maintain a firm, no-back-down foreign policy based on the rightness of our position, and backed by our military strength," read his debut statement, featuring a fresh-faced 29-year-old Rumsfeld under the words "From Where I Stand."
Now a feisty 70, Rumsfeld stresses that America must lead a struggle against terrorism and weapons of mass destruction, confident that other nations will follow.
"It's less important to have unanimity than it is to be making the right decisions and doing the right thing, even though at the outset it may seem lonesome," he told a group of Marines in August, recalling Winston Churchill's warnings about Adolf Hitler before World War II. "In unanimity, we often find an absence of rigorous thinking."
At his spacious Pentagon office, Rumsfeld shows visitors a bronze plaque with a quote from Teddy Roosevelt: "Aggressive fighting for the right is the noblest sport the world affords."
A wrestler
Many people who know Rumsfeld well, including his wife, say he is, in essence, a wrestler: Fiercely competitive, comfortable with one-on-one battle, ultraconfident in his ability to win. Even now, in a city filled with exceptionally ambitious people, he stands out for this trait.
Rumsfeld's relentless drive has made some critics charge that he's overeager to push toward military action -- notably against Saddam Hussein. His management style, too, has rankled subordinates, including the top military brass whom he regularly grills on war plans and weapons systems. Last spring he publicly humiliated Secretary of the Army Thomas White when canceling a major army weapons system, the Crusader.
Yet Rumsfeld's steely determination has also made him the Bush administration's personification of the global war on terror.
"He has the guts to take on an issue head-to-head when he may win or lose," observes Ned Jannotta, a close friend who managed Rumsfeld's four successful House campaigns.
Rumsfeld's tenure as defense chief is the latest stint in a political and business career in which he has repeatedly taken on challenges as an underdog and ended up on top.
At 29, Rumsfeld made a long-shot bid for Congress, taking on a veteran Illinois legislator in the Republican primary. He worked 15-hour days on the campaign, run by high school buddies on a shoestring budget out of one of his father's fixer-upper properties in Winnetka, Ill. On election night in 1962, Rumsfeld was riding in friend Art Nielsen's blue Buick when he learned the crucial 50th ward was going his way. "He jumped out of the car and let out a Princeton war whoop," Nielsen recalls.
In Congress, Rumsfeld mastered the floor rules. Too impatient to climb the seniority ladder, he became a party activist. Working with a core of young moderates, he helped orchestrate Ford's election as House minority leader in an effort to rejuvenate the GOP leadership after Goldwater's presidential loss in 1964. "He wasn't a mean partisan like [Newt] Gingrich or an ideologist," says former Rep. Ed Derwinski, R-Ill., who served with Rumsfeld for six years. "He was a gentleman, and his loyalty ran to the party, which put him in the mainstream."
Still, Rumsfeld illustrated a shrewd political instinct and an ability to roll over opponents. Before the Watergate scandal broke, for example, he sensed trouble and left his job as an economic adviser to Nixon to become U.S. ambassador to NATO in 1973.
"He didn't like what he saw was going on in the inner sanctum of the Nixon administration," recalls Ford. After Nixon resigned, Ford immediately called his friend Rumsfeld back to become his chief of staff and later Defense secretary. Rumsfeld proved a skilled turf battler.
"He was one of the toughest operators in Washington," says Robert Ingersoll, a former U.S. envoy who observed Rumsfeld's quiet maneuvering in Ford Cabinet meetings. "[Secretary of State Henry] Kissinger usually rolled over most of the other bureaucrats, but he didn't roll over Don -- and I think Don rolled over him a few times."
That's not to say he lacks a softer side. Despite his busy career, he stays in touch with a close coterie of Chicago friends, taking time for visits and personal notes. He and his wife, Joyce, his sweetheart from New Trier High School in Winnetka, have three children and several grandchildren who gather regularly at the family ranch in New Mexico.
But as Pentagon chief and corporate CEO, Rumsfeld has earned a reputation as a tough, demanding boss. Using a dictaphone to send out memos so prolific they are called "snowflakes," he goes through endless revisions of everything from corporate mergers to war plans. "Every day he would come up with a new idea," says Jannotta, a Chicago investment banker who worked with Rumsfeld on a 1980s merger. "He was never satisfied until he had turned over every stone and not too concerned if he had made someone stay up all night doing it." The dramatic turnaround and 1985 sale of the Chicago-based G.D. Searle & amp; Co. launched CEO Rumsfeld's multimillion-dollar fortune.
Energetic
Indeed, Rumsfeld's sheer energy is legendary -- especially for a man tied with George Marshall as the oldest Defense chief ever. Rising most days at 4:45 a.m., he arrives at the Pentagon by 6:30. Often wearing hiking boots and a cardigan sweater, he prefers to work standing up behind his desk. At home, he works into the evening in a room with a large television and desk stacked with papers. His wife tries to get him to bed by 9:30, friends say.
On whirlwind trips abroad, he jets across time zones and continents, working while reporters half his age sleep in the back of the plane. He then shows up fresh at a Pentagon briefing shortly after his return "looking as if he just stepped out of the shower," one correspondent groans.
His eyes narrow, his voice turns icy and low, and from his Air Force jet somewhere over the Atlantic, Rumsfeld issues another warning to Saddam.
"You can be absolutely certain we'll not allow our aircraft to continue to be shot at with impunity," Rumsfeld says, referring to another spate of Iraqi groundfire against U.S. and British planes patrolling no-fly zones. He straightens his beige flight jacket. "We intend to respond."
Since emerging as a spirited war secretary in the wake of Sept. 11, Rumsfeld has made it clear that America is "leaning forward" -- ready and willing to use force to defend U.S. interests even if it means risking American lives. His newly unveiled "Guidelines" nudge the United States toward a more robust military posture, shifting away from more cautious doctrines set down in 1984 by Defense Secretary Caspar Weinberger and reaffirmed in the 1990s by Joint Chiefs of Staff Chairman Colin Powell.
Even before taking the Pentagon job, Rumsfeld told Bush he worried that a perception of the United States as casualty-averse was emboldening enemies. He won Bush's assurance that the next time force was required, the U.S. military would, essentially, set the record straight.
Today, Rumsfeld is managing a growing presence of U.S. troops in hot spots around the world -- from Afghanistan to the Gulf states and the Horn of Africa. He says the approach is getting results. America's willingness to battle the Taliban and Al-Qaida was a crucial factor in mobilizing what is now a 90-nation coalition against terrorism, he asserts. Similarly with Iraq, he says: Lacking the threat of a U.S.-led invasion, Baghdad would never have readmitted U.N. inspectors to search for weapons. "The reason that Iraq is now allowing inspectors in is because of the very visible threat of the use of force," he says. "Prior to that, they weren't willing to let anyone do anything."
The Weinberger-Powell approach aimed to prevent actions that could squander U.S. lives - and was heavily influenced by Vietnam and the death of 241 Marines in Beirut, Lebanon, in 1983. Washington, they advised, should deploy U.S. troops only as a last resort. With clear goals and firm support, Washington should then use overwhelming force to bring fighting to a swift end.
When Rumsfeld released his own guidelines for committing U.S. forces in October -- the first made public by a Defense secretary since the Reagan administration -- he stressed that the risk of action must be weighed not in isolation, but against the "risk of inaction."
He cautions against risking lives except for "a darn good reason," but adds this advice to leaders who deem the use of force necessary: Acknowledge upfront the risk of casualties "rather than allowing the public to believe an engagement can be executed antiseptically, on the cheap."
Military action, once approved, should be early, forceful and free from arbitrary deadlines or restrictions. Nor should military goals be compromised to win international support -- an attitude that's rankled U.S. allies and drawn fire from critics as unilateralist. His mantra: "The mission determines the coalition."
Over and over, Rumsfeld warns of the risk that terrorists will obtain chemical, biological or nuclear weapons and "kill [not] a few hundred or a few thousand, but tens of thousands or hundreds of thousands."
Stance on Saddam
Failing a regime change in Baghdad, he asserts, the nexus of terror and weapons of mass destruction is most dangerous in Iraq. Rumsfeld, who as a Middle East envoy met Saddam in 1983, calls him a "brutal, repressive dictator" and a master at manipulating world opinion.
His solution: Beat Hussein at his own game.
Joking and sparring with the media is something this Defense secretary relishes more than most - but the friendly banter also has a clear strategic purpose.
Serving up deft put-downs and repartees peppered with homespun exclamations like "golly" and "dadburned," Rumsfeld has emerged as the administration's most skilled and televised voice for the war on terror.
Virtually overnight, Rumsfeld -- with his rimless glasses, piercing look and blunt use of the verb "kill" -- became the public face of the war. It's a role he'll likely repeat if the United States attacks Iraq -- and how he handles it could shape American and world perceptions of the conflict. In the front-and-center job, he'll follow his own advice: "Invest the political capital to marshal support to sustain the effort for whatever period of time may be required."