No More Vietnams (24 page)

But what distressed me most was the effect of the war on our young people. I wanted the new generation of Americans, who had been taught to hate America during the 1960s, to learn to love and respect their country. I was proud that the voting age was lowered to eighteen years during my administration and that the military draft was ended in 1973. As Vice President, I had found that my public appearances before college audiences were, for me, among the most stimulating and satisfying ones that I made. I was unable to make such appearances during the war years as President because of security problems. I could still see them: young people by the thousands demonstrating against the war during the presidential campaigns of 1968 and 1972, along the route of the inaugural parade in 1969, and at every public appearance I made as President. One group of young antiwar protesters confronted me before I delivered a speech at a convention in colonial Williamsburg, Virginia. A young girl, who could not have been more than seventeen years old, broke through the Secret Service barricade. She came up to me, and screamed, “Murderer!” Then she spit in my face.

And I knew I would never forget the most profoundly depressing moment for me during the war years of my presidency: It was when I saw the pictures in the newspaper of the two girls and two boys who had been killed at Kent State University on May 4, 1970.

As I reflected on the war, my thoughts turned to Lyndon Johnson. Since leaving office, he had been dying of a broken heart emotionally. He died of a broken heart physically one day before we initialed the Paris peace agreements. The war in Vietnam had destroyed this intensely proud, strong, and patriotic President just as if he had been killed in battle. Over and over he had heard the obscene chant “Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?” After four years of war, he finally gave up. He spent the last years of his life on his ranch in Texas, unmourned and unappreciated by hundreds of leaders in politics and business whom he had helped during his years in Washington. He had thought they were his loyal friends. But now that he could do nothing for them, they had deserted him.

Because he died before the public announcement of the conclusion of the Paris agreement, I later wondered whether he had learned that the war was over before his death. I was relieved to find that Bob Haldeman had talked to him by phone on January 15. In 1969, Johnson had told me that the sixteen bombing halts he had ordered in Vietnam had all been mistakes. He urged me not to make the same error. I assured him that I would not. In their conversation, Haldeman informed Johnson that all bombing had been stopped. He responded simply, saying, “Well, I know what that means.”

My elation on hearing that the Vietnam War finally was ending was tempered most of all by a profound recognition of the opportunities we had lost during America's longest war. Over 50,000 lives had been lost. Over $50 billion had been spent. And over ten years had elapsed—time that could never be recovered. Vietnam paralyzed our efforts on many other fronts. I had initiated many new social and domestic programs during my presidency, but I had been able to make very little progress on them because so much of our resources had to be devoted to the war in Vietnam, and because the atmosphere had been so poisoned by the controversy over the war.

Thus, when I received the news from Paris, I reacted with relief rather than elation. I was determined to make up for
those lost years. But I knew that the peace was fragile. I intended to take whatever actions were necessary to keep the peace so that our sacrifices would not have been in vain. I knew that the enemy would keep the peace only if he was convinced that the price of breaking it would exceed whatever gain he could make by doing so.

• • •

Was it all worth it? Our intervention had saved 19 million people from totalitarian tyranny for eighteen years—from 1954 to 1972. Our tenacity had made similar wars less likely in that period by deterring those who would launch them and by buying time for nations like Indonesia, Thailand, and the Philippines to build up their internal strength so they could resist attempts to turn them into another Vietnam. I knew all our gains depended on convincing Congress that simply concluding the Paris peace accords did not end our responsibilities. A peace agreement is only as good as the will of the parties to keep it. We knew we would have to demonstrate to the North Vietnamese that we had the will to enforce the peace agreement.

On January 27, 1973, almost twenty years after the French had lost the first Vietnam War, we had won the second Vietnam War. We signed the peace agreement that ended the war in a way that won the peace. We had redeemed our pledge to keep South Vietnam free. Now, to keep the peace, we had to take whatever actions were necessary to prevent a third Vietnam War.

We won the war in Vietnam, but we lost the peace. All that we had achieved in twelve years of fighting was thrown away in a spasm of congressional irresponsibility.

When the Paris peace accords were signed in January 1973, a balance of power existed in Indochina. South Vietnam was secure within the cease-fire lines. North Vietnam's leaders—who had not abandoned their plans for conquest—were deterred from renewing their aggression. Vietnamization had succeeded. But United States power was the linchpin holding the peace agreement together. Without a credible threat of renewed American bombing of North Vietnam, Hanoi would be sorely tempted to prepare to invade South Vietnam again. And without adequate American military and economic assistance, South Vietnam would lack the power to turn back yet another such invasion.

Congress proceeded to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. Once our troops were out of Vietnam, Congress initiated a total retreat from our commitments to the South Vietnamese people. First, it destroyed our ability to enforce the peace agreement, through legislation prohibiting the use of American military power in Indochina. Then it undercut South Vietnam's ability
to defend itself, by drastically reducing our military aid. Within two years the balance of power swung decisively in Hanoi's favor. When the North Vietnamese Army was poised to launch its final offensive, South Vietnam's army was in its weakest condition in over five years, reeling from the effects of congressional budget cuts that had strapped it with severe fuel and ammunition shortages.

On April 30, 1975, with Soviet-built tanks rolling through the streets of Saigon, South Vietnam surrendered. Communist Khmer Rouge guerrillas had conquered Cambodia thirteen days before. Hanoi-backed Pathet Lao forces took over Laos a few days later. All the dominoes in Indochina had fallen.

But the end of the war did not bring the beginning of peace for the peoples of Indochina. Those who had warned during the war that a bloodbath would follow a Communist victory found their worst fears confirmed. Communist forces now executed or imprisoned those who opposed them as they imposed their new rule. Thousands of Vietnamese were killed in Hanoi's prison camps. Hundreds of thousands more drowned in the South China Sea as they fled in the pathetic flotillas of the “boat people.” And over 2 million Cambodians—a quarter of the country's population—were killed in a brutal frenzy of Communist vengeance and destruction.

Nor did the war's end produce a more peaceful world. Our defeat in Vietnam paralyzed America's will to act in other Third World trouble spots and therefore encouraged aggression on the part of those who had made them trouble spots to begin with. Over the next five years, Soviet clients and proxy forces unleashed a geopolitical offensive that led to stunning reversals for the United States in virtually every region of the world.

• • •

The Agreement on Ending the War and Restoring the Peace in Vietnam was not perfect. But it was adequate to ensure the survival of South Vietnam—as long as the United States stood ready to enforce its terms.

Militarily, the agreement called for a cease-fire in place, followed
by an American withdrawal and an exchange of prisoners of war within sixty days. It forbade both the United States and North Vietnam from sending more troops into South Vietnam. It permitted the United States and North Vietnam the piece-for-piece replacement—but only that—of military equipment and supplies used up after the cease-fire. It created two bodies—the Joint Military Commission and the International Commission on Control and Supervision—to verify the compliance of both sides.

Politically, it directed Saigon to hold consultations with Communist and other non-Communist political parties to set up a National Council of National Reconciliation and Concord. The council's principal task would be to organize free elections to select the government of South Vietnam. Also, to assist with national reconciliation, the United States pledged to contribute financial aid for postwar reconstruction throughout Indochina once the cease-fire was established.

When we presented the draft agreement to President Thieu in January 1973, he strongly objected to it. Antiwar critics always portrayed him as a puppet of the United States. That was never the case. Whenever he perceived a threat to the South Vietnamese national interest in our actions, he became obdurate. This was the situation with the Paris peace accords. He called it a “surrender agreement” and categorically refused to sign it. Even after we exerted enormous pressure on him, Thieu would not budge. Only when we declared that we would sign the agreement without him if necessary did he reluctantly consent to it.

I sympathized with Thieu and shared his concerns. I knew that the agreement contained serious weaknesses. But I believed that on balance it was sound. And I knew that, in light of the growing stridency of our opposition in Congress, we had no alternative to signing it.

I saw two critical problems with the settlement. First, it was almost certain that the two commissions created to monitor the cease-fire would not work. Delegates from North and South Vietnam sat on the Joint Military Commission. Representatives
of Hungary, Poland, Indonesia, and Canada formed the International Commission on Control and Supervision. Complaints about cease-fire violations were to be filed with these commissions, and their members were to determine who was at fault. These provisions appeared reasonable on paper. But they had a fundamental flaw. All commission rulings on cease-fire violations had to be approved by a unanimous vote of its members. This meant that the North Vietnamese or their Hungarian and Polish allies would be in a position to block all actions Hanoi opposed.

However, I did not consider this a fatal flaw. Our high-altitude reconnaissance aircraft could photograph military convoys traveling along the Ho Chi Minh Trail and detect preparations for a major Communist offensive. If either of these became evident, I had no intention of waiting for a representative of Hungary or Poland to give his assent before I ordered retaliatory actions against North Vietnam.

The second problem was that the agreement did not force North Vietnam to withdraw its armed forces from South Vietnam. We had, however, insisted on several provisions that mitigated this weakness. North Vietnam was not permitted to send in additional military personnel and agreed to respect the demilitarized zone and the neutrality of Laos and Cambodia. If Hanoi fully complied, its forces in South Vietnam would be isolated, completely cut off from new supplies and reinforcements. Still, I had no illusions about whether the North Vietnamese would try to circumvent these terms.

That was Thieu's greatest fear. He had no doubt that the Communists would try to use the cease-fire to build up their forces for a renewed assault on his country, keeping their shipments of troops and supplies at a level low enough to avoid provoking an American response. I was aware of this danger. If Hanoi chose this strategy—as I believed it would—I would be put in a difficult position politically. Mobilizing support in Congress for a retaliatory strike would be much harder if Hanoi's cease-fire violation was merely a step-up in military shipments rather than an outright invasion. I thought this problem
could be overcome. I was firmly determined not to grant the North Vietnamese the luxury of treading the thin line between mild encroachments and blatant violations.

I saw two ways of evaluating the peace agreement: how it looked on paper, and how it worked on the ground. If the North Vietnamese observed its written terms in good faith, the South Vietnamese would have no problems. But I knew that was unlikely. As a rule, Hanoi broke international agreements as soon as it signed them. I did not expect the Paris accords to be an exception. Therefore, to ensure that the terms were observed on the ground, I issued two guaranties to Thieu: We would continue to send enough military aid to maintain the balance of power, and we would respond swiftly to North Vietnamese attempts to subvert the terms of the agreement. South Vietnam would handle minor violations of the ceasefire, and the United States would retaliate against major ones. This was the least we could do for our ally.

Our military power was the principal disincentive to Hanoi's breaking the cease-fire. But the Paris agreement contained carrots as well as sticks. Our offer of reconstruction aid was potentially one of the most important provisions in the agreement. During our negotiations, Hanoi had routinely demanded that the United States pay massive war reparations. We categorically rejected these demands. But I believed that it was in our interest to offer reconstruction aid to both sides. North Vietnam was in shambles. It desperately needed aid. Its Soviet and Chinese allies—who had their own economic problems—were unlikely donors. Therefore, once our aid began arriving in North Vietnam, Hanoi's leaders would acquire a strong interest in having it continue. Our aid would become a powerful incentive for Hanoi to keep the peace.

During our negotiations with Thieu in January 1973, I was painfully aware of the fact that the Paris accords were a political necessity if we were to continue aiding South Vietnam. Congress was ready to vote us out of the war if we did not get an agreement. Our legislative analysts expected a major challenge
to our Vietnam policy as soon as Congress reconvened. If we waited until the battle in Congress was joined, Hanoi was certain to stall the talks again. On January 2, 1973, the House Democratic Caucus voted 154 to 75 in favor of cutting off all funds for military operations in Indochina as soon as arrangements were made for the safe withdrawal of American troops and the return of our prisoners of war. This would have been an abject surrender to North Vietnam's most extreme demands. Two days later the Senate Democratic Caucus passed a similar resolution 36 to 12. We had run out of time.