Twenty-five years ago, President George W. Bush sat in a Florida classroom, listening to a reading lesson, when White House chief of staff Andy Card whispered the news that would redefine his presidency: "America is under attack." In that instant, Bush shed his image as a caretaker leader—known mainly for restricting embryonic stem cell research—and became a wartime commander in chief.
Bush quickly cast the attacks as a battle between good and evil, branding Osama bin Laden "the evildoer." Bin Laden, in turn, mocked Bush as "the head of international infidels." From a cave in Afghanistan, he celebrated the deaths of nearly 3,000 Americans, saying, "The sword fell upon America... Thank God for that."
America's initial fear gave way to grief and then to anger. Three days after the attacks, Bush addressed a hushed congregation at the National Cathedral, acknowledging the nation's pain: "We are here in the middle hour of our grief. It is said that adversity introduces us to ourselves. This is true of a nation as well." Later that day, at Ground Zero, he grabbed a bullhorn and promised the rescue workers, "I can hear you! And the people who knocked these buildings down will hear all of us soon!" The crowd erupted in chants of "USA! USA!" and his approval rating soared to 90 percent—a record that still stands.
Within two months, U.S. forces toppled the Taliban in Afghanistan. Four years later, a democratically elected parliament convened in Kabul. I was there with Vice President Dick Cheney, watching a remarkable assembly of tribal leaders, warlords, refugees, and former Mujahideen—women in vibrant colors and shepherds in heavy turbans. For interventionists, it was a moment of triumph.
Democratization became a central pillar of Bush's foreign policy, the belief that Middle Eastern dictatorships could be transformed with American help. "There were certain people who said, 'How dare you try to promote freedom,' as if it's only available for certain kinda people," Bush reflected this week. "It's not America's gift to the world. I happen to believe it's the Almighty's gift to every soul." The second pillar was the doctrine of preemptive war, used to justify the removal of Saddam Hussein in Iraq, even though Iraq posed no imminent threat.
Today, critics from both parties—including President Trump and Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez—deride these conflicts as "forever wars" of dubious value. But in the aftermath of 9/11, Americans overwhelmingly supported military action in Afghanistan, where bin Laden was sheltered. Failure to retaliate was unthinkable.
The outcomes were mixed. The Taliban never truly surrendered; they fought a 20-year insurgency and reclaimed power after America's chaotic withdrawal in 2021. Iraq, despite persistent challenges, is undeniably better off without Saddam. As the father of a Marine who served in both wars, I hold conflicting feelings. I'm glad Saddam is gone, but dismayed the Taliban are back. I'm grateful bin Laden was finally killed in 2011, and that for 25 years, we've prevented another attack on 9/11's scale.
Ironically, Trump rode to power by condemning the "dumb wars" that followed 9/11. Yet in his second term, he has launched a preemptive strike on Venezuela and a protracted war against Iran, urging its people to help democratize another Middle Eastern dictatorship. Bush's doctrines of preemption and democratization are not so obsolete after all. While Trump faces political heat, history may judge his actions differently.
As Bush told me nearly 25 years ago, "The job of historians is to put it all in perspective. We'll let others make all the judgements [and] piece all the bits of the puzzle together. And in order to do it right, there's going to have to be enough time passed to understand."
For deeper analysis on how 9/11 reshaped American democracy and why today's fractured politics make a unified response unlikely, see this piece on 9/11's democratic legacy and why that unity is unrepeatable.
