Stories from the Long Road to Freedom


By Condoleezza Rice

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From the former secretary of state and bestselling author — a sweeping look at the global struggle for democracy and why America must continue to support the cause of human freedom.

“This heartfelt and at times very moving book shows why democracy proponents are so committed to their work…Both supporters and skeptics of democracy promotion will come away from this book wiser and better informed.” — The New York Times

From the end of the Cold War and the collapse of the Soviet Union to the ongoing struggle for human rights in the Middle East, Condoleezza Rice has served on the front lines of history. As a child, she was an eyewitness to a third awakening of freedom, when her hometown of Birmingham, Alabama, became the epicenter of the civil rights movement for black Americans.

In this book, Rice explains what these epochal events teach us about democracy. At a time when people around the world are wondering whether democracy is in decline, Rice shares insights from her experiences as a policymaker, scholar, and citizen, in order to put democracy’s challenges into perspective.

When the United States was founded, it was the only attempt at self-government in the world. Today more than half of all countries qualify as democracies, and in the long run that number will continue to grow. Yet nothing worthwhile ever comes easily. Using America’s long struggle as a template, Rice draws lessons for democracy around the world — from Russia, Poland, and Ukraine, to Kenya, Colombia, and the Middle East. She finds that no transitions to democracy are the same because every country starts in a different place. Pathways diverge and sometimes circle backward. Time frames for success vary dramatically, and countries often suffer false starts before getting it right. But, Rice argues, that does not mean they should not try. While the ideal conditions for democracy are well known in academia, they never exist in the real world. The question is not how to create perfect circumstances but how to move forward under difficult ones.

These same insights apply in overcoming the challenges faced by governments today. The pursuit of democracy is a continuing struggle shared by people around the world, whether they are opposing authoritarian regimes, establishing new democratic institutions, or reforming mature democracies to better live up to their ideals. The work of securing it is never finished.




Lisa, Christann, and I had been in Moscow for too long and we were happy to be headed home. Suddenly we were landing in Warsaw, an unscheduled stop. "Leave all your possessions and get off the plane," we were told over the PA system. We sat for hours in the airport, terrified that we were being detained for some unspecified crime. It was 1979 and we were three American girls in a communist country. After what seemed like a lifetime, we were told to get back on the plane. It took off, and when we landed in Paris—the site of our connecting flight to the United States and a city safely within the West—we cried.

Ten years later, in July 1989, I visited Poland again, this time with President George H. W. Bush. Mikhail Gorbachev was general secretary of the Soviet Communist Party and he was rewriting the rulebook for Eastern Europe, loosening the constraints that had sustained Moscow's power. Poland was a very different place now. The first night of the visit, we were in Warsaw, guests of a dying communist party. The lights went out during the state dinner—a perfect metaphor for the regime's coming demise.

The next day we went to Gdańsk, the home of Solidarity and its founder, Lech Wałęsa. This was the new Poland, experiencing dramatic and sudden change. We entered the town square where one hundred thousand Polish workers had gathered. They were waving American flags and shouting, "Bush, Bush, Bush… Freedom, Freedom, Freedom."

I turned to my colleague Robert Blackwill of the National Security Council staff and said, "This is not exactly what Karl Marx meant when he said, 'Workers of the world unite.'" But, indeed, they had "nothing to lose but their chains." Two months later, the Polish Communist Party gave way to a Solidarity-led government. It happened with dizzying speed.

The revolutions that began that summer in Poland and followed in most of Eastern Europe proceeded with minimal bloodshed and maximum support among the people. There were exceptions. In Romania, power had to be wrested by force from Nicolae Ceauşescu; he resisted and tried to flee but was ultimately executed at the hands of revolutionaries. In the Balkans the breakup of Yugoslavia unleashed ethnic tensions and violence, the legacy of which can still be felt today. Russia's own democratic transition at first appeared promising but ultimately failed entirely, replaced today by Vladimir Putin's autocratic rule and expansionist foreign policy. Yet, with these important exceptions, the end of the Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union spawned several consolidated democracies and the region is largely peaceful.

The climb toward freedom in the broader Middle East and North Africa has been a far rockier story. Whether in still-unstable Afghanistan and Iraq, where the United States and our allies were midwives to the first freely elected governments; in Syria, which descended into civil war; or in Egypt, where the "awakening" of Tahrir Square turned into the thermidor of a military coup, there is turmoil, violence, and uncertainty. Turkey, perched between Europe and the Muslim world, has recently experienced a military coup attempt and subsequent crackdown. There and across the Middle East, citizens and their governments struggle to find the right marriage of religious conviction and personal freedom. The region is in a maelstrom.

I have been fortunate enough to be an eyewitness to these two great revolts against oppressive rule: the end of the Soviet Union at the close of the twentieth century and freedom's awakening in the Middle East at the beginning of the twenty-first. I have watched as people in Africa, Asia, and Latin America have insisted on freedom—perhaps with less drama than in the Middle East, but with no less passion. And in fact, as a child, I was a part of another great awakening: the second founding of America, as the civil rights movement unfolded in my hometown of Birmingham, Alabama, and finally expanded the meaning of "We the people" to encompass people like me.

These experiences have taught me that there is no more thrilling moment than when people finally seize their rights and their liberty. That moment is necessary, right, and inevitable. It is also terrifying and disruptive and chaotic. And what follows it is hard—really, really hard.



The Universal Declaration of Human Rights, adopted by the United Nations General Assembly in 1948, spells out a list of rights deemed to be non-negotiable: Everyone has the right to life, liberty, and security of person. Everyone has the right to freedom of thought, conscience, and religion. Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; to freedom of peaceful assembly and association; and to take part in their government, directly or through freely chosen representatives. The declaration does not use the term "democracy," but that is exactly what it describes.

Even leaders who are undeniably authoritarian make some claim to the mantle of democracy, either by holding sham elections or by trying to broaden the definition of "rights" to encompass goods they can deliver, like prosperity. Those who are not subject to popular will still crave legitimacy—or at least the appearance of legitimacy. Saddam Hussein held elections in Iraq in October 2002, just a few months before he was overthrown. (He was the only choice on the ballot and won 100 percent of the vote, with the official turnout also at 100 percent.) Few will say they simply rule by fiat, something that would have been wholly acceptable in times past. France's Sun King, Louis XIV, who declared, "I am the State," is one of many monarchs from history who claimed to rule by divine right.

If democracy is broadly understood to mean the right to speak your mind, to be free from the arbitrary power of the state, and to insist that those who would govern you must ask for your consent, then democracy—the only form of government that guarantees these freedoms—has never been more widely accepted as right.

Yet, while the voices supporting the idea of democracy have become louder, there is more skepticism today about the actual practice and feasibility of the enterprise. Scholarly and popular discourse is filled with declarations that democracy is in retreat or, at least, as Larry Diamond, my colleague at Stanford, has said, in "recession."1

The pessimism is understandable, particularly given events in the Middle East, where the promise of the "Arab Spring" seems to lie in tatters. If there is cause for optimism, it is in recognizing that people still want to govern themselves. Democracy activists in Hong Kong and mainland China risk persecution and arrest if they press their cause. Elections still attract long lines of first-time voters, even among the poorest and least-educated populations in Africa—and sometimes even under threat from terrorists in places like Afghanistan and Iraq. No matter their station in life, people are drawn to the idea that they should determine their own fate. Ironically, while those of us who live in liberty express skepticism about democracy's promise, people who do not yet enjoy its benefits seem determined to win it.

Freedom has not lost its appeal. But the task of establishing and sustaining the democratic institutions that will protect it is arduous and long. Progress is rarely a one-way road. Ending authoritarian rule can happen quickly; establishing democratic institutions cannot.

And there are plenty of malignant forces—some from the old order and some unleashed by an end to repression—ready to attack democratic institutions and destroy them in their infancy. Every new democracy has near-death experiences, crucible moments when the institutional framework is tested and strengthened or weakened by its response. Even the world's most successful democracies, including our own, can point to these moments, from the Civil War to the civil rights movement. No transition to democracy is immediately successful, or an immediate failure.

Democracy's Scaffolding

Democracy requires balance in many spheres: between executive, legislative, and judicial authority; between centralized government and regional responsibility; between civilian and military leaders; between individual and group rights; and ultimately between state and society. In functioning democracies, institutions are invested with protecting that equilibrium. Citizens must trust them as arbiters in disputes and, when necessary, as vehicles for change.

The importance of institutions in political and economic development has long been noted by social scientists in the field.2 In 1990, the American political economist Douglass North provided a succinct definition of institutions. He called them the rules of the game in a society—or, in other words, "humanly devised constraints that shape human interaction."3

At the beginning, formal protections—such as constitutionally determined organizations, laws, procedures, or rules—may reflect bargains between various interests in the society. As such, they may be imperfect and sometimes contradictory. This will breed contention for years to come. Every democracy is flawed at its inception. And, indeed, no democracy ever becomes perfect. The question is not one of perfection but how an imperfect system can survive, move forward, and grow stronger.

Moreover, these "humanly devised constraints" are, at the beginning, just words on paper. The puzzle is how they come to actually "shape human interaction." In other words, how do institutions become legitimate in the eyes of the citizen—legitimate enough to become the vehicle through which people seek protection and change?

We know the goal: Social and political disruption takes place within the institutions. While some fringe elements may operate outside of them, the great majority of people trust them to live up to their stated purpose. The paradox of democracy is that its stability is born of its openness to upheaval through elections, legislation, and social action. Disruption is built into the fabric of democracy.

The Myth of "Democratic Culture"

No nationality or ethnic group lacks the DNA to come to terms with this paradox. Over the years, many people have tried to invoke "cultural explanations" to assert that some societies lack what it takes to establish or sustain democracy. But this is a myth that has fallen to the reality of democracy's universal appeal.

It was once thought that Latin Americans were more suited for caudillos than presidents; that Africans were just too tribal; that Confucian values conflicted with the tenets of self-rule. Years before that, Germans were thought too martial or subservient, and—of course—the descendants of slaves were too "childlike" to care about the right to vote.

Those racist views are refuted by stable democracies in places as diverse as Chile, Ghana, South Korea, and across Europe. And, of course, America has now had a black president, as well as two secretaries of state and two attorneys general. Even if these "cultural" prejudices have simply not held up over time, the question hangs in the air: Why have some peoples been able to find the equilibrium between disruption and stability that is characteristic of a democracy? Is it a matter of historical circumstances? Or is it simply a matter of time?

Scholars have offered a number of answers to these questions. Perhaps the most prevalent is that the poorer the country and the lower the levels of education, the less likely the chances for the establishment of a stable democracy.

Others have emphasized the type of interaction between non-democratic regimes and their oppositions. If the end of the old order does not come through violence but rather through negotiation, the chances for success increase.

Finally, the state of the society itself is clearly a factor. A more ethnically homogeneous population is likely to find it easier to achieve stability. And if civil society—all the private, non-governmental groups, associations, and institutions in the country—is already well developed, the scaffolding for the new democracy is stronger.

Unfortunately, these idyllic conditions rarely exist in the real world. When people want to change their circumstances they are unlikely to wait until they have achieved an appropriate level of GDP. Sometimes the old regime has to be overthrown violently. Ethnically homogeneous populations are rare. More often, the history of revolution begins with oppression of one group by another. It is difficult for civil society to develop under repressive regimes. Checks and balances are most robust when they come from multiple sources—from outside governing bodies as well as within them. Authoritarians fully understand and depend on the absence of a well-developed institutional layer between the population as a whole and themselves. They trust that the mob will likely have incoherent views of its interests. The masses might even be easy to manipulate, producing fertile ground for the kind of populism associated with the Peronists in Argentina or the National Socialists in Germany.

But if the mob organizes independently and pursues its collective interest through new groups and associations, it can become an effective counterweight and a force for change. That is why from Moscow to Caracas, civil society is always in the crosshairs of repressive regimes.

In short, democracy, particularly in its first moments, will be messy, imperfect, mistake-prone, and fragile. The question isn't one of how to create perfect circumstances but how to move forward under difficult conditions.

It Depends on Where You Start

Democratic institutions are not born in a historical vacuum. A landscape is already in place when the opportunity for change—the democratic opening—comes. As important as larger factors like GDP and literacy may be, transitions to democracy are really stories about institutions and how quickly they can come to condition human behavior.

Below we identify four institutional landscapes. These categories are analytically discrete, but in reality there is likely some overlap. Yet grouping them in this way illuminates the institutional possibilities at the time of a democratic opening: The lay of the land matters. Leaders' choices matter too, but they are constrained by the institutional landscape within which they are expressed.

Type 1: Totalitarian Collapse: Institutional Vacuum

Totalitarians leave no aspect of life untouched—the space from science to sports to the arts is occupied by the regime. Benito Mussolini coined the term totalitario, describing it to mean "All within the state, none outside the state, none against the state." Existing institutions (the Ba'ath Party of Saddam, the National Socialists of Germany, Stalin's Communist Party) are little more than tools of the regime. In Nazi Germany, science was placed at the service of the "Aryan ideal," promoting eugenics and theories of racial superiority. The Soviet Union persecuted some of its finest artists, composers like Shostakovich and Prokofiev, for writing music that was not socialist enough. Saddam Hussein's henchmen brutalized members of the national soccer team for performances that did not glorify the regime.

Every aspect of life is penetrated in some way. The regimes are often "cults of personality"—the entire society bent to the whims of a single leader. North Korea is the most prominent example today.

When a regime of this kind is decapitated—often with the assistance of an external power—there is an institutional void and thus little that can channel the unleashed passions and prejudices of the population. These are revolutions. New institutions have to be built, and built quickly. And they have weak, if any, indigenous roots to support them. There is a wide gulf between the long time needed to build new institutions and the limited raw material to do so.

Because the experiences of Afghanistan, Iraq, and Libya are so recent and cataclysmic, these cases of totalitarian collapse have come to shadow discussions of the challenges facing democratic transitions. But these examples are the exception not the rule. Most are less chaotic and violent—though still exceedingly difficult.

Type 2: Gradual Decay of Totalitarian Regimes: Institutional Antecedents Remain

Communism died slowly. Soviet officials and the population alike referred to zastoi, or "stagnation." We know now that it was really decay. Repeated crises, usually because the governments could not deliver economic benefits, produced cycles of reform and repression. Each time, though, the distance between the party and the people grew.

Throughout the region, this situation elicited varying responses. Romania staked its claim as a maverick within the Soviet bloc, playing a nationalist card and publicly insisting on independence from Moscow. Reformists within the Hungarian Communist Party turned away from repression and launched privatizing economic reforms. The trauma of 1968 caused the Czechoslovak Communist Party to toe the Soviet line. But within the country, survivors of that period created Charter 77—a movement of intellectuals devoted to human rights and freedom. Poland, as we will see, experienced multiple episodes of reform and repression. Only East Germany seemed solidly and irrevocably hard-line and uncompromising.

Gorbachev's arrival as general secretary of the Soviet Communist Party in 1985 boosted these liberalizing trends in East-Central Europe. The new Soviet leader made it very clear that change was needed. He encouraged reformers in Hungary and Poland and criticized laggards like Erich Honecker in East Germany. At first reform came mostly from within the communist parties but—owing to the growing sense of public openness—civil society and independent political forces also seized the opportunity before them.

In the Soviet Union itself, perestroika and glasnost gave life to opposition groups and created new institutional arrangements—particularly in Moscow and Leningrad. Similar developments also arose outside of Russia: in Ukraine, Georgia, and the Baltic states. Communist institutions remained, including youth organizations like the Komsomol. It was still the case until the end of the Soviet Union in 1991 that rectors of major universities could not serve without the party's approval. Still, civil society groups began to organize around different issues, from the environment to disability rights. What began as societal, cultural, and economic space would soon become political.

Gorbachev did something else that changed the landscape: He delivered the population from the shadow of repression and fear. At every turn during this period, the Soviet Union failed to use sufficient force to change the course of events. And when it did use force, such as against anti-Soviet demonstrations in Tbilisi in April 1989 and in the Baltics in 1991, the regime eventually pulled up and backed down at crucial moments, in effect emboldening the opposition.

Meanwhile, another set of institutions emerged as Boris Yeltsin gained popularity—institutions of a separate Russian state within the Soviet Union. Like the other republics of the Soviet Union, Russia had long had a ceremonial presidency and a legislative council (called a soviet). But these paper organizations meant little until the reforms of the late 1980s. Up to that point, Russia and the Soviet Union had been virtually synonymous. Yet Yeltsin breathed life into these Russian institutions, noisily quitting the Soviet Communist Party in 1990 and then getting himself elected president of Russia in 1991. These unfolding events changed the landscape dramatically.

Years before, however, the Helsinki Accords of 1975, which gave the Soviets what they thought was a major political victory, in fact had created a safe haven for East-Central European and Soviet civil society, with reformers in the region joining European and American counterparts in seminars and annual conferences. There were three components to the accord—economic, security, and human rights. The Soviet Union wanted to emphasize the first two but—to the surprise of many—signed on to the human rights "basket" as well. Moscow erroneously believed that the West was legitimizing the post–World War II order, and Soviet power within it. But giving members of civil society a safe way to challenge their government turned out to be a Trojan horse.

These factors, stretching back for decades, explain in part why the institutional landscape was richer when the democratic opening of 1989–91 arrived. First came the sudden and nonviolent collapse of Soviet power in Eastern Europe, exemplified by the collapse of the Berlin Wall. Then came the end of the Soviet Union itself, with newly independent states carved out of its carcass. The events were in some sense rapid, unexpected, and challenging. But the institutional raw material was, to varying degrees, reasonably good.

Type 3: Authoritarian Regimes and the Struggle for Meaningful Political Space

Unlike totalitarians, authoritarian regimes leave space for groups that are independent of them. Non-governmental organizations, the business community, universities, and labor groups live in an uncomfortable cold peace with their rulers. They are often the lead element in pressing for change.

Up to a certain point, these organizations are useful to the regime. Well-regarded universities provide intellectual capital and their reputation is a source of national pride. Business elites are needed to provide jobs and economic growth. Civil society can be a canary in the coal mine—expressing views that leaders need to hear, a kind of barometer of public discontent. But there are limits to what the regime will tolerate. It is a matter of balance—act before independent groups are a threat but not so brutally as to provoke a backlash. Thus, while overt repression is always an option, it can be more effective to apply intermittent pressure, such as jailing key civil society figures and journalists, raiding their offices, or shutting down newspapers or blogs to reassert that consequential politics is off-limits.

And authoritarian regimes leave little doubt about who controls the actual political space. Political parties may exist, but they cannot function. Cuba is one of the few remaining single-party states. Most authoritarian regimes have some semblance of electoral competition. But it is largely a façade. In Putin's Russia, there is little doubt that the regime will win. Parliaments dare not challenge the president. The courts would never convict a member of the ruler's family or his political cronies. The military and the police stand by ready to make sure that no lines are crossed.

Type 4: Quasi-Democratic Regimes: Fragile and Vulnerable Institutions

Finally, some places have an open and active political sphere, but their institutions themselves are immature and often viewed as hollow and corrupt. In countries like Liberia, Tunisia, and Iraq, the long struggle for democracy has just begun. Democratic institutions can be strengthened over time, but if they are viewed as ineffective, a vicious cycle can emerge as they fall into disuse, lose more credibility, and, consequently, are ignored. It is tempting to think that a good leader is all that is needed to make them work. But it is more likely that some seminal event or crisis will provide the crucible moment when the institutions can prove themselves—or not.

The analytic problem is that while democratic institutions are present in the landscape—parties, parliaments, courts, civil society groups—it is hard to know how strong or weak they are until they are tested.

Unlike in authoritarian regimes, elections in quasi-democracies are relatively free and fair, and people can change their leaders. So we can say that these states pass at least one important democratic milestone. In reality, though, elections can expose fissures in society. The results are often contested—there are many "50-50 countries" where the margins will be razor thin. Successfully navigating the aftermath is another milestone. Do candidates and their supporters go to the streets? Do they do so peacefully? In the best of circumstances, there are institutions that can respond—a court or electoral commission that can break the tie and make its ruling stick.

But the electoral story is only one element. Quasi-democratic states are in the midst of establishing the balance of forces needed to sustain democratic governance. In these places, civil society and a free press are critical checks on the power of government as events unfold. An independent judiciary is a bulwark against corruption and abuse. And the state has to be able to protect its people—that means it must maintain a monopoly on the use of force. Militias and armed insurgents can be the cause of state failure. Quasi-democratic governments may have passed the electoral test but the scaffolding of democracy may still be weak. The clay is not yet set. And an executive with too much power, ruling by decree and circumventing other institutions, is a sure path to authoritarian relapse. Such has been the case recently in Turkey and Russia and increasingly in Hungary.

Finally, when a country achieves a stable balance of democratic institutions, we can say it is a consolidated democracy. Some have described consolidated democracies as countries in which democracy becomes "the only game in town."4

What Can Outsiders Do to Help?

Now we come to another piece of the institutional landscape: the role of external actors. Let us stipulate that any democratic transition will be easier if indigenous forces are well organized and able to take power and lead effectively. The dictum that you cannot impose democracy from the outside is undeniably true. But it is rare that there is truly no indigenous appetite for change. Those advocating reform may be weak and scattered—this is unsurprising since authoritarians do everything possible to keep them that way. Yet they often find a way to make their voices heard, reminding us that given a choice, few would choose to be abused by their leaders. Today, when social media makes certain that what happens in the village won't stay in the village, people measure their circumstances against those of the larger world. So they will appeal to outsiders to help them. Their plight is hard to ignore.

The forces that have fed democratization have multiplied since the end of World War II. Civil society groups are well organized across borders. The machinery of the international community that supports democratic principles is highly developed. Organizations like Amnesty International train a spotlight on authoritarian regimes and pressure major powers not to back them. NGOs such as Freedom House, the National Endowment for Democracy, and the European Endowment for Democracy promote liberty and defend human rights. International election monitors now establish uniform standards for the peaceful transfer of power and call out regimes that don't respect them.

Countries that have recently gone through democratic transitions now offer their own expertise and experience to others. Both Poland and Hungary have established organizations, such as the Solidarity Fund PL and the International Center for Democratic Transitions, to support democratization in places like Burma. India, a remarkable consolidated democracy, was the first contributor to the United Nations Democracy Fund. Taiwan established a Foundation for Democracy fifteen years ago—the first such effort outside of Europe, North America, and Australia.


  • "This heartfelt and at times very moving book shows why democracy proponents are so committed to their work...Both supporters and skeptics of democracy promotion will come away from this book wiser and better informed."—Walter Russell Mead, The New York Times
  • "This book is both critically important and profoundly inspiring. With democracy challenged around the world, Condoleezza Rice bears witness to its moral force. Drawing lessons from her childhood in Birmingham to her tenure as Secretary of State, she shows why both our interests and our ideals compel us to be in the forefront of the fight for democracy, however fitful it may be. Everyone should read this book. It will restore your faith in our nation's creed and remind you of the nobility of our mission in this world."—Walter Isaacson, New York Times bestselling author of Steve Jobs, Einstein, and Leonardo Da Vinci
  • "Condoleezza Rice serves as an able and insightful guide in this journey through democracy across the globe. Her knowledge and clear-eyed assessment of the challenges facing this system of government make this book an important contribution to a pressing debate on democracy today."—p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Arial}Kofi Annan, former secretary-general of the United Nations
  • "[An] accessibly written study of that imperfect but ideal form of government...[One that] deserves a broad audience, especially in our current political climate."—Kirkus Starred Review
  • "At a time when democracy appears to be in retreat around the globe, Condoleezza Rice's DEMOCRACY: Stories From the Long Road to Freedom offers a much-needed corrective. Weaving effortlessly between academic analysis and personal experiences-from Professor Rice to Secretary of State Rice and back again-Condi draws upon a series of case studies to offer a fresh perspective to how democracies emerge, how they sometimes endure but sometimes collapse, and especially why patience is required from us in observing and participating in the democracy-building process. A fantastic read!"—p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Arial}Professor Michael McFaul, director, Freeman Spogli Institute for International Studies, Stanford University
  • "[A] ringing call for democracy promotion...Ms. Rice should be commended."—Max Boot, The Wall Street Journal
  • "Working daily alongside Condi at the White House and State Department, I witnessed firsthand her foundational belief in the power of human freedom and the crucial need for democratic institutions to protect it. This book, full of fascinating anecdotes and insights, is a sweeping view of the global struggle for democracy and a must-read for all who care about the future peace of the world and its people."—p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Arial}Karen Hughes, former under secretary of state for public diplomacy and public affairs
  • "Authoritative...Readers interested in the history of political systems and governments will find her work informative and easy to understand." —Library Journal

On Sale
Jul 10, 2018
Page Count
496 pages

Condoleezza Rice

About the Author

Philip Zelikow is an attorney, diplomat, academic, and author. He has worked as the executive director of the 9/11 Commission, director of the Miller Center of Public Affairs at the University of Virginia, and Counselor of the United States Department of State. He is the White Burkett Miller Professor of History at the University of Virginia and was American Academy in Berlin Axel Springer Fellow in the fall of 2009. Zelikow has served in the George H. W. Bush, George W. Bush, and Barack Obama administrations.

Condoleezza Rice was the sixty-sixth US secretary of state and the first black woman to hold that office. Prior to that, she was the first woman to serve as national security advisor. She is a professor at Stanford University and cofounder of RiceHadleyGates LLC. Rice is the author of No Higher Honor: A Memoir of My Years in Washington (2011) and Extraordinary, Ordinary People: A Memoir of Family (2010), both New York Times best sellers, and more recently, Democracy: Stories from the Long Road to Freedom (2017).

Learn more about this author