It also opened up a fissure in the ranks of the West. Charles de Gaulle had exited the Algerian War in 1962 and 1963, having to make war also on the fiercest partisans of a French Algeria, led by General Raoul Salan, who went underground but was eventually captured. De Gaulle now appeased the radical Arabs and became something of a hero to Nasser and others, and stirred up resentment against the British and the Americans. He vetoed British entry into the Common Market, made France the first leading Western power to exchange embassies with Communist China, and for good measure visited Canada as an invited state visitor in July 1967, as that country celebrated the centenary of its status as an independent confederation, and urged the French Canadians to secede and set up their own country. Having failed to bring Eisenhower or Kennedy to the virtues of French equality with the Anglo-Saxons in the leadership of the West and, to be fair to him, having failed even to generate a serious, good-faith discussion about reforms to the Western Alliance, he again set out, as he had a quarter-century before, to show what chaos he could provoke. He had lost none of his talent in this regard.
In July 1967, Soviet premier Alexei Kosygin came to the United States and Canada and met with President Johnson at Glassboro, New Jersey. They had far-ranging discussions and seemed to get on well, and there was no doubt that in this first Soviet-American summit meeting since Kennedy underwhelmed Khrushchev at Vienna in 1962, Johnson was well prepared and forceful, but nothing except a brief improvement in ambiance and atmospherics resulted from the talks. Cuba was assisting in pouring drugs into the United States, Ho was prepared to sacrifice his country’s brainwashed manhood to push America out of Vietnam, America was torn by rioting and violence, and one of the leading Republicans in the Senate (George Aiken of Vermont) told Johnson to “declare victory and leave.” The domestic left said of the ambassador in Saigon, Ellsworth Bunker, that they would “blow Ellsworth out of his bunker,” and when LBJ was reported as saying he did not know how to get out of Vietnam, they helpfully replied: “By plane and by boat.”
5. THE EMBATTLED ADMINISTRATION
By the autumn of 1967, the Johnson administration, which had bestrode the world with such unchallenged authority two years before, appeared helpless. Incapable of prosecuting the war to win it or just cutting the painter and going, with no plan to alleviate draft calls and American casualties without “being the first American president to lose a war” (Madison’s War of 1812 was something less than an uncontested triumph), the Johnson administration just floundered. Johnson poured in another 100,000 draftees, as if, with America erupting in antiwar demos in every town and city every week, that would intimidate Ho to throw in the winning hand he believed (correctly if Johnson didn’t play his hand better) that he held.
McNamara, who had been an eager proponent of the war for several years, recognized that the existing policy was not working and in November 1967 recommended to Johnson freezing troop levels, ceasing the of bombing of the North, and handing over the war in as rapid stages as possible to the South Vietnamese. This was a bridge too far for Johnson, who had offered a slightly less obvious victory to Ho Chi Minh a year before and been rebuffed. But McNamara was finished and had lost all faith in what he was and had been doing, and announced his retirement on November 29, 1967. The leader of the opposition within the Democrats, Senator Robert Kennedy, had followed the trajectory of most of the Kennedys: from hawk to dove as the policies they had advocated failed and could be blamed on the hapless inheritor Johnson, who had been conducted into the quagmire by the Kennedy entourage and was now left there to be reviled as an usurper and a Texan oaf. Not since Woodrow Wilson had a president descended the mountain so swiftly and uncomfortably in foreign policy matters (though on the economy, the Depression gave Hoover an even more precipitate sleigh ride).
Johnson brought in to replace McNamara the legendary Washington insider and fixer Clark Clifford. Clifford had been an aide to President Truman, and played a role in encouraging the founding of the State of Israel, probably a role much exaggerated in his memoirs (though he did attract the monumental wrath of the secretary of state, General Marshall). Clifford had well measured the temper of political opinion and was already headed for the exit when he arrived at the Pentagon. Kennedy greeted the announcement of Clifford’s appointment with a comparison of him to “Attila the Hun.” Bobby need not have been so alarmed; Clifford, McNamara, and Kennedy had all been on the same Vietnam treadmill leading from bellicosity to the virtues of placation.
Johnson sent Clifford and General Maxwell Taylor (originator of the now not so sonorous “limited war by limited means for a limited objective”) on a fact-finding mission to Vietnam. They came back still satisfied the U.S. was winning but, according to Clifford, much less convinced that there were any dominoes around to worry about. Johnson had wasted the 15 months since the failure of his Manila peace offer and just produced more of the same that put him deeper down the well. There would have been plenty of time and public support to intensify bombing of the North, dedicate the U.S. effort to closing down the Ho Chi Minh Trail and cleaning out the sanctuaries and supply depots in Cambodia, and training the South Vietnamese how to win the war and equipping them to do so. Westmoreland had effectively shouldered them (ARVN, as the South Vietnamese army was called) aside and underemphasized the Truman and Eisenhower Doctrines’ championship of local self-help.
It would also have been possible to bring in some Nationalist Chinese in noncombat roles to release some South Vietnamese to active duty and some Americans for withdrawal. And it would probably have been possible to move 50,000 more South Koreans to Vietnam and replace them at home with 50,000 Americans, whom the South Korean leadership, the tough General Park Chung Hee, would have been happy to have as insurance along the 38th parallel. With these steps, the United States would have put the North under intolerable pressure from the air, would have strangled the insurrection in the South, and would have been able to withdraw 150,000 Americans fairly quickly, reduce draft calls and casualties, and convince the majority of Americans that the war could end tolerably well and soon. But unlike Lincoln, who read a great deal about war once he was in one, and wrote dozens of insightful orders, Johnson knew nothing about it and was not a wise judge of senior officers. When he did consult General Omar Bradley, Bradley was, as he had been when second-guessing MacArthur in Korea, a pessimist and told Johnson to “lower your sights.”
It had become a strategic impasse that could not continue. As MacArthur had told the Congress 16 years before, “War by its very nature has as its object victory and not prolonged indecision; in war there is no substitute for victory.” Johnson had to produce a believable plan for affordable victory, or let it be known to Hanoi that the U.S. would leave in a cease-fire as long as its prisoners were returned, failing which it would bomb North Vietnam, as was often said in mockery of official braggadocio, “into the Stone Age.” Fight to win or leave at once; anything in between was an illusion, a desecration, and defeat made more unendurable by needless and humiliating prolongation.
In the closing months of 1967, Westmoreland made a number of much-publicized statements of great satisfaction and confidence, and American public opinion did firm up appreciably. It is now known that the battering the North had taken had created deep divisions in its high command, and that the Soviet Union was urging a return to less costly guerrilla war and a policy of agreeing to negotiations and then assuring that they didn’t accomplish anything. On the communist side, all powers, including the North Vietnamese, were happy to go on feeding the slaughter, but in fact it could not be sustained indefinitely. The Americans were closer to victory than they realized. Westmoreland discounted that the NVA-VC could launch a countrywide offensive, and had been suckered to some degree by a decoy action at the northwest outpost of Khe Sanh, where he concentrated heavy forces as the international left, on cue from Hanoi, kept likening it to Dien Bien Phu.
Hanoi proclaimed a cease-fire for the Vietnamese holiday period, which Thieu observed for only 36 hours, but the Americans gave more leave than usual. Westmoreland and his southern corps commander, General Frederick Weyand, did post extra elite forces in and around Saigon on high alert, a most valuable decision. The fabled Tet Offensive began just after midnight in the first hours of January 31, 1968, on all the corps-area military command points and later in the day, after nightfall, on Saigon and many smaller places. The communists targeted especially the Presidential Palace, the U.S. embassy, the ARVN headquarters and other senior command points, and the main radio station. The only one they even managed to enter was the radio station, and they held part of it for six hours, but the lines to the transmission tower on the outskirts were immediately cut, and transmission, under massive security, was resumed at the tower after a brief lapse. The NVA had a recording of Ho proclaiming the liberation of Saigon and calling for the whole population to rise, and they had assumed that large elements of the population would rise. The Vietnamese people had seen and felt the heavy tread of this terrible war ebbing and flowing over them for nearly 30 years, going back to the arrival of the Japanese, and they were not much interested in rising up for or against anyone.
At the national palace and the various military command centers, security quickly overwhelmed the attackers and killed all of them. In the U.S. embassy, the attackers blew a hole in the wall of the compound and 19 sappers entered but could not get into the chancery or outbuildings, and all were killed by sunrise. The initial brunt of most of the fighting outside Saigon was taken by ARVN, who fought quite respectably and were almost nowhere put to rout. The elite Allied units of all nationalities were deployed decisively to the trouble spots in order of need. The fighting continued for several weeks in the first phase, and there were guerrilla activities into the early spring. The greatest individual combat zones were at Hue, the ancient imperial capital, and at Khe Sanh. At Hue, the communists attacked with nearly 10,000 troops and took much of the old walled city, but the South Vietnamese and the Americans hung on in their command headquarters and eventually, after both sides poured in heavy reinforcements, the communists were expelled completely and the South Vietnamese flag raised over the Palace of Perfect Peace in the Citadel. The communists lost about 5,000 combat dead and the Allies about 700, over 500 of them ARVN. Mass graves of about 2,000 people who had been executed in groups were discovered and the precise composition of these grim residues of war have never been determined. There seem to have been some South Vietnamese shooting parties abroad, but most of the deaths were certainly at the hands of the communists, including some of their own agents whom, in the highest Stalinist tradition, they chose to liquidate rather than have their identity unearthed as active, talkative agents.
In the Khe Sanh area, the communists did attack a few days before the Tet Offensive but never got past the perimeter and lost 8,000 dead to about 900 Allies, more ARVN than U.S. In the entire offensive, the North and the VC lost over 45,000 dead and 60,000 wounded (few of whom could return to combat), compared with 9,000 Allied dead and 20,000 wounded, about a third of them American. It was a great Allied victory and a deadly defeat for Hanoi, but the Americans, who had been flying blind through this whole conflict, forfeited the ability to enlist their own public and sell a coherent narrative of what they were doing and how it was going to end. Robert McNamara was checking out, patting himself on the back for sitting on his hands until the USSR had got upsides in the nuclear competition, and effectively counseling, semi-privately, throwing in the towel on Vietnam. Clifford was coming in having already come to a similar opinion. There was no one in the inner councils of the administration—and Westmoreland was too shaken by the assault, tarnished by his strategic blunders—who could see it for what it could be. Someone who understood war better and knew how to execute a ruse de guerre would have said that overconfident statements by Westmoreland and others had been tactically designed to draw the communists into a trap, that they had taken the bait and been decisively defeated, and that there would now begin a permanent and irreversible drawdown, toward the provision by South Vietnam of the manpower for its own self-defense, like other countries in the region, and toward the all-volunteer armed forces of the United States. Just before Tet, the North Koreans seized an American intelligence ship in international waters, the
Pueblo,
and the United States was thoroughly embarrassed by one communist puppet state as it was in mortal combat with, it was assumed to be, another.
Tet was Lyndon Johnson’s passport to another term as president, but instead, he crumbled. He could not persuade the country that Tet had not been a disaster but actually a great victory. The country lost hope, the media eroded, and the world’s greatest power, mighty and courageous, wallowed in the ignominy of strategic error, compounded by a puritanical incompetence at improvisation afflicting its senior leadership. CBS chief news reader and former war correspondent Walter Cronkite, with his bedside manner like a country doctor and a luxuriant mustache that comforted the nation as Marshal Pétain’s had the French, walked through the dining room of the Majestic Hotel in Saigon in army helmet and fatigues, and announced to the country that he had lost hope in the war.
In the New Hampshire primary, where Johnson had allowed a stand-in, Senator Thomas McIntyre, to be in his place on the ballot, in what was another considerable victory, Johnson won 49 to 41 for the antiwar challenger, Senator Eugene McCarthy of Minnesota, an eccentric but intelligent and witty campaigner who had been barnstorming the state for months. Four days later, Robert Kennedy, who had been hanging back, aware of the practical impossibility of defeating an incumbent president for the nomination, felt shamed by McCarthy’s performance into jumping off the shelf. From Portland, Oregon, where he was campaigning, Richard Nixon watched Robert Kennedy’s candidacy announcement and, prophetically, said to an aide: “Very terrible forces have been unleashed. Something bad is going to come of this. God knows where this is going to lead.”
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Kennedy claimed to be entering the fray lest “America lose the moral leadership of this planet.” America’s claim to holding this leadership had become quite threadbare already, and would continue to shrink.