No More Vietnams (26 page)

Our talks with the Chinese focused on the possibility of finding a way to bring Sihanouk back into Cambodia's government to end the civil war. We had the elements necessary to strike a deal. We had significant influence over Lon Nol. China could pull the strings of the Cambodian Communists. Sihanouk, who was in exile in PeKing and serving as the nominal head of the opposition forces, would listen to Zhou's counsel. We soon put together a plan. Lon Nol would give Sihanouk a limited role in the government in exchange for an end to the fighting. Sihanouk and Khmer Rouge forces would settle the war in exchange for an end to our bombing.

Our air strikes represented the critical bargaining chip that made a Cambodian settlement possible. Zhou had to be able to tell the Khmer Rouge that the prospective halt to our bombing was a concession from us contingent on a settlement of the civil war. We thus had to make it clear that in the absence of a settlement we would continue our bombing, because otherwise the Khmer Rouge would have no incentive to negotiate an end to the war. When both Cambodian parties turned out to be responsive to our plan, we made steady progress and were on the verge of sealing a deal in mid-June.

Meanwhile, we had achieved a limited success in Laos. Hanoi was exploiting the cease-fire in Vietnam to improve the position of the Communist Pathet Lao in the civil war in Laos. Since January, while the North Vietnamese pledged to help bring about a cease-fire among the contending factions as stipulated in the Paris accords, the fighting had actually intensified. Laotian Premier Souvanna Phouma said that the Pathet Lao had launched a “general offensive” and he asked for our
help. In mid-February, after the North Vietnamese captured a key town south of the Plain of Jars, I ordered air strikes against their positions using both fighter-bombers and B-52s. I also stopped the removal of our mines from North Vietnamese waters. As a result, within forty-eight hours a cease-fire in Laos was established.

Our efforts to extend the cease-fire to Cambodia and Laos were vitally important. But they did not address the central issue: North Vietnam's use of these countries to ship men and matériel into South Vietnam. In the spirit of the Paris peace agreement, we had stopped the bombing of North Vietnamese positions in Laos. But in violation of the letter of the accords, Hanoi did not withdraw its forces from the country. Now, without fear of American bombers, over 18,000 trucks and over 70,000 troops moved down the Ho Chi Minh Trail in a crash effort to resupply forces in South Vietnam before the monsoon rains made the area impassable in April.

There was a real danger that without an American response Thieu's worst fears would come true. But I was reluctant to retaliate militarily during the first two months of the cease-fire because I did not want to jeopardize the release of our POWs scheduled for March 27. We continued to seek compliance with the cease-fire through diplomatic efforts which culminated with a communiqué in June reaffirming the January accords. In April, I repeatedly threatened retaliatory actions if Communist cease-fire violations continued. But no such actions were taken. We neither renewed our bombing of North Vietnam nor attacked its forces moving through Laos. This was a major mistake.

Our restraint was not militarily significant. In April, since the dry season was almost over, there were few important targets left along the Ho Chi Minh Trail. But our failure to act promptly set a devastating political precedent: Hanoi's leaders found they could flaunt the terms of the Paris accords and get away with it.

Also, though I did not know it at the time, I had lost the last opportunity I would have to use American power to enforce
the peace agreement. The possibility of retaliating against North Vietnam evaporated by the end of April 1973. It was not a failure of presidential will—I was willing to act—but an erosion of congressional support. Whenever I had spoken of retaliation, a tremor of opposition rippled through Congress, and with each recurrence it had grown more intense. In May I no longer could have mustered the votes necessary to back up my strong words with strong actions—and Congress would in any case soon strip me of the authority to do so.

Antiwar senators and congressmen launched a frontal assault on our policy in May and June. Initially, their target was legislating a halt to our bombing in Cambodia. But soon they raised their sights to a prohibition of all direct and indirect American military actions in or around Indochina. They also sought to forbid the sending of reconstruction aid to North Vietnam. When they succeeded with both efforts, Congress had withdrawn both the carrots and the sticks built into the agreement. Hanoi as a result had no reason to comply with its terms.

During the debate over the bombing cutoff, our critics constantly questioned whether we sincerely wanted peace and repeatedly demanded that we resolve the conflict in Indochina through diplomacy alone. Senator Ted Kennedy, who was a principal sponsor of the measure, said, “If we really want peace in Cambodia—and ceasefire arrangements for all of Indochina—then we should be sending our diplomats to help negotiate these arrangements, instead of sending our B-52s to bomb.” It was sadly ironic that Kennedy, whose brother had committed the United States to the defense of the free countries of Indochina, was leading the fight to abandon them.

Our critics refused to recognize that the cause of the fighting in Cambodia was not our bombing but the aggression of the Khmer Rouge and their North Vietnamese allies. Our side had declared a unilateral cease-fire. Our enemies responded with a renewed offensive. Our choice was either to bomb or to accept defeat in Cambodia—which would quickly lead to defeat in South Vietnam.

Worse still, antiwar critics were naively ignorant of the fact that diplomacy cannot succeed without power to back it up. Diplomacy involves our getting another country to take certain actions against the wishes of its leaders. Foreign leaders who oppose our course of action are seldom brought along by reason and persuasion alone. If it is a minor dispute with a pliable adversary, diplomatic prodding may suffice. If it is a military confict with an implacable foe—as it was in Indochina—diplomacy is helpless unless combined with direct military pressure. Nothing would convince Congress of this simple fact of international life in 1973. Simple facts had somehow lost their persuasive impact.

Our problems with Congress were doubly frustrating because all our diplomatic efforts to end the civil war in Cambodia were absolutely dependent on the continuation of our bombing. Our ability to hold back the antiwar opposition in Congress fell apart in June. We needed supplemental funds to continue the bombing in Cambodia. Congress not only refused to give us the necessary appropriations but also began to attach amendments to spending bills that would prohibit the use of any money for the bombing.

When the first bill with this amendment reached my desk on June 27, I vetoed it. In my veto message, I informed Congress that I had taken this action “because of my grave concern that the enactment into law of the ‘Cambodia rider' to this bill would cripple or destroy the chances for an effective negotiated settlement in Cambodia and the withdrawal of all North Vietnamese troops as required by Article 20 of the January 27 Vietnam agreement.” I could only allude to our diplomacy with China because secrecy was absolutely necessary for success.

This veto outraged the antiwar opposition in Congress, but they were unable to override it. Senator Mansfield then declared that it was his intention “to attach similar riders to every other possible piece of legislation.” His first target was a continuing resolution that had to be signed so that funds would be available to keep the government running. “If the President
does not want to stop the bombing in Cambodia but does want to stop the government from functioning,” Mansfield warned, “that is the President's responsibility.”

Some of our supporters in Congress urged that I accept a fixed date for the cessation of our bombing. I was highly reluctant to go along with such a compromise. For one thing, it would destroy our secret diplomatic initiative with the Chinese. But it was becoming clear that the antiwar majority in Congress would soon be able to impose its will. After all, our critics were debating not about
whether
to cut off the bombing but about when to do so—immediately or on a compromise date fixed with the White House—and they were gaining strength. I therefore approved a measure that permitted the bombing in Cambodia to continue for forty-five days.

On June 30, I signed into law the bill containing the bombing cutoff. The amendment read: “None of the funds herein appropriated under this Act may be expended to support direct or indirect combat activities in or over Cambodia, Laos, North Vietnam, and South Vietnam or off the shores of Cambodia, Laos, North Vietnam, and South Vietnam by United States forces, and after August 15, 1973, no other funds heretofore appropriated under any other Act may be expended for such purposes.” This defeat stripped me of the authority to enforce the peace agreement in Vietnam—and gave Hanoi's leaders a free hand against South Vietnam.

Congress sought to add further restrictions on the President's ability to use military power by passing what became known as the War Powers Act. It stipulated that the President must consult with Congress before intervening with our forces in an armed conflict. As commander in chief, the President after such consultation could continue the intervention for sixty days without congressional approval and another thirty days if he certified in writing that the safety of our fighting men required it. If the Congress did not then authorize his actions by a declaration of war or other legislation, our forces would have to be brought home.

On October 24, I vetoed the War Powers Act because I believed
that it was an unconstitutional encroachment on the powers of the President. I also knew that it would gravely undermine our ability to act decisively in an international crisis. Nevertheless, Congress voted to override my veto on November 7. When it did so, it also laid to rest any fears Hanoi might have had that another invasion of South Vietnam would provoke an American response.

There were two underlying reasons for the mounting congressional challenge to my Vietnam policy. In April 1973, Watergate had become the successor to the Vietnam War as the rallying cry for antiadministration critics. Some of my closest aides resigned under a darkening cloud of serious allegations and scurrilous innuendo. Watergate became an obsession in Washington. It not only began to consume much of my time and concentration, but also steadily chipped away at my executive authority to act in other areas as well.

Watergate alone, however, was not enough to destroy my ability to enforce the Paris peace agreement. Our growing difficulties in Congress were rooted in a profound backlash against our involvement in the war, which antedated our Watergate problems. This backlash was already evident when antiwar resolutions came perilously close to passage in 1972 and when, three months before Watergate became a major issue, the House and Senate Democratic Caucuses voted overwhelmingly in January 1973 in favor of withdrawing our troops in exchange for our POWs.

The antiwar sentiment was largely limited to Indochina. While some media critics irresponsibly charged that I called an alert of United States forces during the Yom Kippur War in October 1973 solely to divert attention from Watergate, there was overwhelming support in the Congress for the massive airlift and other military actions I took to save Israel. But Vietnam was different. Without Watergate, we would have faced the same opposition to our use of military power to enforce an agreement that would bring peace to Vietnam.

I was caught off-guard by the intensity of this backlash. It was inconceivable to me that, after sacrificing over 55,000 lives
in a twelve-year struggle to win a just peace settlement in Vietnam, we would casually cast away what our men died to achieve. I knew that those who had violently opposed our involvement in the war would not support our policies even after our withdrawal. But I did not foresee any major difficulty in raising support to enforce the peace agreement, which would require actions involving relatively little expense or risk to American lives compared to those during the war.

We could not find strong support for our policy in any quarter. During the war, doves did not dare cut off funds for the war, because it would have meant abandoning our men in the field. I miscalculated how they would respond after the settlement. I thought their opposition to our policy would end with the war's end. Instead, it increased. With the return of our troops, the last restraint on their attack was removed. Those who opposed us during the war had constantly been calling for us to give peace a chance, yet after we negotiated a fair though fragile peace, they refused to give it a chance.

Hawks supported the American war effort initially. But its length had taken its toll. As the war became more unpopular, they tired of the struggle and kept a low profile politically. I could still count on their votes during the war, and most remained true to our cause afterward. But none was willing to lead the charge on Capitol Hill.

An unexpected combination—fierce opposition from the doves and quiescent passivity from the hawks—enabled the antiwar measures to win the approval of Congress in 1973. These removed the last threat to the North Vietnamese of an American retaliation—and this, in turn, destroyed our last chance to achieve a peaceful resolution of the war in Vietnam.

• • •

The North Vietnamese wasted little time in seizing this opportunity. In October 1973, Hanoi's leaders sent orders to its military commanders to start going on the offensive. It was the beginning of the third Vietnam War.

When the cease-fire began, the South Vietnamese held a numerical edge on the battlefield. But the numbers overstated
the case. One huge disadvantage operated against our ally: Its forces were on the defensive. All fighting took place in South Vietnam; no threat existed to North Vietnam. This meant the tactical and strategic initiative passed to Hanoi. Its leaders could choose when, where, and how to attack. Thus, South Vietnam's generals had to spread out their forces to protect the entire country.