The Analyst Cometh
Why Robert Gates is the best man for Rummy's job.
Donald Rumsfeld's out, Robert Gates is in, and you can call it a belated victory for President George W. Bush's father. The elder Bush has long despised Rumsfeld, and it is widely suspected that the son hired his father's nemesis six years ago as an assertion of his own independence.
Gates and Rumsfeld worked in the White House at the same time, back in the mid-'70s when Gerald Ford was president, but they're otherwise as different in style and substance as two ambitious insiders can be. And that's probably why, in the wake of this week's electoral disaster, the president has named the one to replace the other.
Rumsfeld has always been the hard-driving ex-wrestler—aggressive, dominating, and ideological. (Henry Kissinger, who was maneuvered out of the White House by Rumsfeld, once called him the most ruthless man he'd ever met—and Kissinger had met some of the 20th century's most ruthless.)
Gates is more the get-along scholar—professional, fastidious, and nonpartisan. If George W. Bush was looking for an utterly uncontroversial figure to calm nerves, settle bureaucratic hostilities, and re-establish credibility on Capitol Hill, he could have found no one more suitable than Robert Gates.
And, until today, Gates has owed his key advancements to Bush 41.
When George H.W. Bush nominated Gates as director of the Central Intelligence Agency in 1991, it was an act of extraordinary confidence. Bush's predecessor, Ronald Reagan, had tried to do the same thing four years earlier, in 1987, after William Casey was felled by a brain tumor. But the nomination was withdrawn after concerns were raised about Gates' role in the Iran-Contra scandal.
The withdrawal was ironic. Gates had risen through the agency's analytical ranks—he joined the agency as a Soviet specialist in 1966, straight out of college—and he would have been the first CIA director to have done so. Like many analysts, he distrusted the covert-ops branches. Although he was Casey's trusted chief of staff and then his deputy director, he did not, for instance, share his boss's enthusiasm for the Nicaraguan contras and their war against the Sandinistas; he saw it as a diversion from more-serious threats.
When Bush became president in 1989, he brought Gates to the White House as deputy national security adviser under Brent Scowcroft. When the CIA director's job came open again two years later, Bush gave him a second chance, and this time he got in.
Throughout his Washington career, Gates cut a deliberately low profile. He worked in four administrations, of both parties, and stirred few feathers in any of them. I wrote a profile of Gates in 1987, when Reagan first tried to make him CIA director. (I was national-security reporter for the Boston Globe at the time.) Everyone I interviewed in the intelligence community used the same words to describe him: "extremely professional," "an excellent scholar," "not an ideologue," "a tough taskmaster." Some were critical. "He's not a guy to break new ground," one CIA official who'd worked with him told me. "I found him to be the perfect staff officer, an enthusiastic guy, an applauder."
All these traits probably sum up what Bush—and both his partisans and his critics—are looking for: a soothing conciliator who also keeps his nose to the grindstone.
Fred Kaplan is Slate's "War Stories" columnist and author of the book, The Insurgents: David Petraeus and the Plot to Change the American Way of War. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. Follow him on Twitter.