The Atlantic and Its Enemies

by Norman Stone

  There was a further problem, more important later on, in that the disposal of weaponry might include stuff that was obsolete and was anyway due for the junkyard (a ruse used by the Americans when they solemnly withdrew Jupiter missiles from Turkey in the outcome of the Cuban crisis). Besides, what was to happen with inspection, to make sure that the agreements were being kept? This invited trouble, especially on the Soviet side, where there was a mania for secrecy that even divided the Soviet negotiating team: their military refused to divulge information to the civilians, and would only do so to the US military. They now refused any inspection rights, such that satellites would have to be used, and these could not spot concealed weapons on land. In Washington these treaties, whatever their defects, were desired because they led to ‘stability’, then a much prized commodity. The SALT I treaty was a provisional agreement for five years, to keep things at the then level, and affected intercontinental ballistic missiles with a range of over 5,500 kilometres and submarine-based missiles. Bombers, in which the Americans had a considerable advantage, were not affected. The treaty allowed the USSR 1,620 ICBMs and 950 submarine-launched ballistic missiles, and the USA 1,054 and 710 respectively. But it was quite limited — MIRVs (multiple independently targeted re-entry vehicles) were unmentioned, and so were Cruise missiles, which the Americans put into service the following year, weapons with a precision that altered nuclear warfare. The Soviets continued to have the more powerful warheads (one megaton or more, whereas the Americans had a few hundred kilotons) but there was a mathematical formula for the effect of an explosion, which varied according to the negative cube of distance but only according to the square of the power. Qualitative, not quantitative, matters then began to count.

  But the value of the treaties was essentially political. It was translated into a high-sounding document about peaceful coexistence and mutual respect, which amounted to a declaration that the USA recognized the USSR as a legitimate and equal partner, and not as a bandit state. The same Moscow ‘summit’ not only agreed the establishment of the CSCE, but also a conference on MBFR (Mutual and Balanced Force Reductions on the conventional-weaponry side). There was even a commercial counterpart, a commission assembling for the first time in Moscow, with an agreement as to the sale of American grain, and in 1975, following an agreement on space, two manned spacecraft solemnly met up. The grain trade opened the way for bank credit and sales of factories or technology, and in the 1970s the Eastern bloc developed quite quickly because of Western credits (though, much to the fury of the Soviets, the USSR was denied most-favoured-nation status by the Jackson Amendment, which made this dependent upon free emigration of Jews: the effect was to multiply the administrative side, customs and insurance, of US-Soviet commercial exchanges). The apogee of this period was reached with Brezhnev’s journey to the USA, on 22 June 1973, when another high-sounding declaration was made, at Soviet insistence, that there would be co-operation to ensure that the two sides would collaborate if there were any danger of a nuclear war. Some Europeans saw this as a step towards US-Soviet condominium.

  When Kissinger went to Moscow in September 1972 he laid out the programme — Helsinki on European security (i.e. borders, etc.) in November, Vienna on reciprocal conventional disarmament (MBFR) the following January. The Helsinki negotiations led to a conference of foreign ministers in July 1973, and to the CSCE in July 1975, also at Helsinki. There were of course various hidden concerns on both sides, and since Congress at the time was very close to desiring absolute withdrawal from Vietnam (Senator Mansfeld’s amendment to that effect was rejected only by two votes in 1973), the Americans were operating under considerable pressure from public opinion — perhaps the worst side-effect of Vietnam being its effects on that. At any rate, the attempt to appeal to Moscow did lead to just the attempt at a huge conference that the Soviet side had been wanting since 1954. This also set up a machinery for détente, with bureaucracies on both sides that came, increasingly, to adopt a mutual understanding which meant, in 1990, that there was no real revolution against Communism: the intelligent Communists sacrificed the stupid ones, and remade their own careers very profitably, contacts intact.

  The meeting of foreign ministers that initiated the CSCE in Europe assembled in Helsinki on 3 July 1973 (the experts met in Geneva). There were three great topics to be discussed — ‘baskets’, as they were called — the third being in effect human rights, i.e. free circulation of ideas and people, the other two concerning politics and economics. In April 1974 the West made an essential concession, official recognition of the borders of 1945, and the Americans were apparently happy enough to dispose of subjects that were uncomfortable for the Soviets, because they were proceeding with the beginnings of SALT II. The Europeans preferred to let the negotiations last, over the ‘third basket’ (at French insistence), and in any case the Americans had to bear in mind their own eastern European constituency, at times incandescent. Nixon’s successor, Gerald Ford, suddenly took up the ‘third basket’, no doubt as compensation for what had happened over the ‘first’, political one. In the event, differences between the USA, France and Germany, each of which had its own emphasis, were resolved, the French having pushed the ‘third basket’ because they wanted to give satellite governments a lever to prise open the ‘Iron Curtain’ as and when they wanted to, and the Germans, less concerned with this, concerned to avoid having borders defined as ‘intangible’ as distinct from ‘inviolable’. At the turn of July/August 1975 thirty-three heads of state (Europeans, with the USA, Canada, the USSR) signed the ‘Final Act’ of the CSCE — recognition of borders, certain precautionary measures in military affairs, promotion of trade, free circulation of people and ideas. It was a considerable success for the USSR, which had wanted reognition of borders since Potsdam, and Brezhnev told the Politburo that it had needed ‘thirty years of colossal efforts’ to reach that point. Besides, there had been a Soviet condition as regards free circulation of people and ideas, that this would have to reflect ‘national legislation’. The Soviets had wanted to establish a permanent ‘organ’ for the CSCE, which of course might have established them as part of a security structure, as distinct from NATO, but the West managed to substitute, simply, permanent arrangements for conferences (to which Brezhnev proposed, in 1977, various additions as regards ecology, energy, transport). The CSCE had been part of a strategy to draw western Europe towards Moscow.

  Georges-Henri Soutou poses the question as to whether recognition of ‘human rights’ mattered more, in the longer term, than the recognition of borders, and of the legitimacy of Communist rule in eastern Europe. It is a good question. As regards ‘human rights’ — a clumsy Atlantic, bureaucratic rendering of the French ‘Rights of Man’ — the Soviets were indeed, for a time, embarrassed. But then they hit on a useful device: there were blemishes, and more than that, on the Western side. If the fate of a dissident Yuri Orlov or Leonid Plyushch were mentioned, the Soviet representatives could wax indignant as to the rights of women in Micronesia. How were such matters to be covered? What Vladimir Bukovsky calls une bureaucratie droitsde-l’hommarde grew up, and could easily be used against the interests of the West, or even to break up countries such as Turkey. And the KGB knew how to manage ‘dissidence’, to use it, even in the ‘satellite countries’. One writer-martyr, Andrey Sinyavsky, turned out to be one of its agents.

  This clever-clever management of world affairs because of the Vietnam problem was not rewarded with forbearance on the part of the North. Between Kissinger’s journeys to Peking and Moscow, the North Vietnamese attacked (spring 1972). There were now very few American troops on the ground, and the South Vietnamese were exhibiting all the signs of rout. This began in March and went on until June with attacks from Laos and Cambodia as well as North Vietnam, and there was fierce fighting in the Mekong Delta. By now there were only 10,000 US combat troops present (400,000 had been taken out) and the ARVN had superior numbers, but the forces were mismanaged in defensive positions without reserves and refu
gees clogged the roads. Without the B52s there might have been collapse (Pleiku-Kontum). Nixon began to think only of great air strikes in the North at last and secretly approached Brezhnev, who wanted a ‘summit’ on arms control. Kissinger did not even tell the ambassador. Nixon was widely condemned, but Moscow went ahead with the Brezhnev meeting and Dmitri Simes, there on the Soviet side, said that Nixon handled the meeting perfectly, not ‘moralizing’ as Carter was later to do.

  Bombing seemed to be the only way to save South Vietnam, and Nixon, in the face of much opposition within the Cabinet, went ahead to mine Haiphong and bomb the supply depots and railways. He was now rewarded for his efforts over Vietnam. Perhaps Chinese pressure meant that the North made a serious move for peace; in any event, Hue had not fallen and by mid-September 1972 Quang Tri had been retaken. A presidential election was due in the United States, and Nixon sent a message via Andrey Gromyko, the Soviet minister of foreign affairs, that after the election he would go much further in attacking the North. On 8 October Kissinger reported from Paris that there had been a great shift: the North were at last seriously talking peace. Nixon celebrated with Lafite-Rothschild but matters then dragged on because the proposal did not suit the South Vietnamese leader, Thieu, at all: he could see that if troops were left as they were on the ground (the proposal for ceasefire) then Saigon was under great pressure. In the event he had to be threatened by Nixon with complete abandonment before he gave way, and the North also prevaricated. Kissinger was infuriated and called its team ‘tawdry, filthy shits’. Nixon then sent in waves of B52s against the Hanoi-Haiphong area from 18 to 30 December, dropped 40,000 tons of bombs, and received an appalling press, the ineffable little Kennedy saying it should ‘outrage the conscience of all Americans’. Congress moved to cut off funds. In reality the bombing had not been marked by much ‘collateral damage’: the bombs were (as the Soviet experts noted) of a new and ‘smart’ kind and the military installations were indeed hit. This sufficed: on 9 January 1973 Le Duc Tho accepted the conditions proposed in November. Thieu himself was obstinate — the agreement was not at all favourable to him, as it left the North in a position to strike at will — but Nixon, both threatening the end of all aid, but also promising a bombing campaign if the North Vietnamese broke the truce, overruled him, with a deadline of 20 January 1973 (his own inauguration) for the ending of the war. This finally caused the North Vietnamese to appreciate that they would have to wait for final victory, and on 27 January 1973 the agreement was at last signed. It left a messy situation on the ground, half war, half peace, and Thieu used it to clear the Delta, while the Vietcong moved heavy weaponry through jungle roads and developed an ultra-modern radio network.

  In these same weeks Nixon secured a landslide electoral victory, almost as great as Johnson’s. He was handed it easily enough. This was partly because — an admiring biographer, Jonathan Aitken, does not quite see how devastating this was — he had procured short-term growth, prosperity and even tax cuts by coin-clipping the dollar itself. But in any event the Democrats, true to form for the Vietnam opposition, made fools of themselves, reconstructing their party statutes on lines that allowed any fringe grievance-struck group a say, conducting their affairs childishly in public, and finally putting forward the classic loser candidate. At the heart of matters was a vast change in American politics symbolized by the Southern Democrats and the switch of old Republicans in the north-east: there were new coalitions at work. Nixon’s ‘silent majority’ speech of November 1969 had it right: there was indeed an almost unnoticed America that was very far from sharing the concerns that made the headlines, and they voted for Nixon.

  However, this did not matter, as by now in Washington there was what, later, in England, was called ‘a media feeding frenzy’. A sort of civil war developed in the USA, Nixon being in some quarters hated (with, even twenty years later, an Oliver Stone film to perpetuate the black legend). The administration’s own men could not be trusted, and in June 1971 the New York Times had started to serialize the ‘Pentagon Papers’, a huge collection of government documents, studies commissioned by McNamara in 1967, and ‘leaked’ by a one-time McNamara recruit from Harvard (Daniel Ellsberg: he had been at King’s, Cambridge, moved on to Harvard, and even served in Vietnam — precisely the McNamara sort until he had his moment of truth against the war). The studies were not binding, merely indicating how the administration thought, but the overall effect was to make Nixon conclude that ‘the media’ were against him and he was extraordinarily clumsy and brutal in his underhand dealings. Ben Bradlee of the Washington Post had been the object of gruesome flattery; now the Nixon machine went into clumsy reverse. He ordered wire-taps on thirteen telephones of his own officials. He did not trust his people, including Kissinger, and had every word recorded that was spoken in the White House. Kissinger was furious about the Ellsberg leak, and absurd prosecutions followed; newspapers were not just frontally attacked in this way, but were also surreptitiously harassed over television licence renewals and the like. Kissinger, similarly, devised foreign policy without letting the State Department know what he was doing, or even, as regards Moscow, telling the US ambassador.

  For the re-election of 1972-3 Nixon’s war chest was flowing over in contributions, hundreds of thousands of dollars in safes. These could be handed out in generous bundles, and in the middle of a triumphal campaign Nixon hardly noticed at all what his lowest subordinates were doing: in this case a break-in to the Democrat headquarters in the Watergate Building on 17 June 1972. Nixon had been extraordinarily vindictive about the anti-war liberals — ‘We’ll get them on the ground where we want them and we’ll stick our heels in, step on them hard and twist’ — and he tried very hard indeed to destroy Ellsberg: even a special small team called ‘the plumbers’ (one of the White House security officers had a mother who wrote to him proudly that his grandfather, a plumber, would have been so pleased at his rise) was set up to find out what could be discovered from his psychiatric records. A list of enemies was drawn up, including Gregory Peck and the president of Harvard, and the telephone recordings whirred away. In the event, Nixon tried to weasel out of his ultimate responsibility, was caught up in a network of blackmail and blustering, and was eventually impeached by a Congress that had always had a Democrat majority. Not long after the Vietnam peace, he too was out, succeeded by a nonentity, Gerald Ford, who had not even been Vice-President, but who had to step in because the Vice-President had been caught in assorted illegalities as well.

  14. Unravelling

  The course of the Vietnam War worried the Europeans: did it mean that the Americans had given them up? Germany was now a fat target, but lacking her own nuclear weapon, and the Berlin crisis in 1961 had shown that the Americans were not anxious to move, whatever Kennedy said. Why, anyway, should the USA risk the obliteration of Chicago for a West Berlin of which American bombers had already made a considerable mess? In any case, the USA very obviously did not mean to let West Germany have a finger on any nuclear trigger, and the arms control proposals put to Moscow in spring 1962 amounted in effect to joint American-Soviet control, with only face-saving clauses for the NATO allies. Was this a moment for united Europe to assert itself? It had recovered from the war, and the Common Market was proving to be a great success. The old European world, with great numbers of peasant farmers, was rapidly going, and the towns boomed through hard-working rural migrants — a sure-fire formula for success in all economies except the Communist ones. Prosperity of an American sort proliferated — more cars, domestic tools, holidays in the sun. But what did it all signify?

  In the immediate post-war decades, civilization was still defined by Europe. British and French writers and restaurants, Italian film-makers, the Vienna Staatsoper dominated the stage. The great universities of Europe were still vastly attractive to foreigners, who learned French or German as a matter of course; American graduate students came to Cambridge to take an undergraduate degree and American academics, visiting European institutions wit
h their families, found that their children, at school, were a year or two behind. True, this cultural Europe did not extend into mass culture, which had been Americanized, and was to become ever more strongly so. As to this there was resentment. At this stage the Germans were in no mood to contest the American empire politically, but, especially in the Catholic south, they resisted the cultural side-effects and despite the best efforts of a would-be democratizing occupation education expert, one Zink, they had been able to retain the old divisions in education, as between academic and technical. If you opened a German newspaper, you were going to be instructed. The various German states competed with each other in cultural matters, and supported outstanding museums or opera houses; Wagner’s Bayreuth returned to the world’s stage, with command performances on traditional lines from Birgit Nielsen or Hans Hotter, and the Austrians, even more conservative, maintained the standards of the Vienna Opera or the Salzburg Festival, where Karl Böhm and Herbert von Karajan drew audiences from around the world; the Wiener Philharmoniker still excluded women. That world resisted Americanization, but Americanization was very difficult to resist.