The Wars of Watergate

by Stanley I. Kutler

  Within a month, Charles Colson provided a modest list of twenty names. Senator Edmund Muskie’s chief fundraiser and the AFL-CIO’s political director headed the list. Colson also included a top aide to New York Mayor John Lindsay—“a first class S.O.B.”; black Congressman John Conyers—who had a “known weakness for white females”; Daniel Schorr of CBS—“a real media enemy”; actor Paul Newman—who was involved in “Radic-Lib causes”; and Maxwell Dane, who headed an advertising firm that “destroyed Goldwater in ’64.”

  While Dean thought it worthwhile to add a few names every so often, he urged that the enemies list be kept “within reasonable bounds.” But the number quickly grew to over two hundred as others in the Administration chimed in with their favorite enemies, now taking in institutions as well as individuals. Included were not only obvious political opponents, such as Kennedy, Muskie, and Senator Walter Mondale, but also the presidents of leading universities and foundations, the National Education Association, and, for some reason never determined, the National Cleaning Contractors. Movie stars, newspaper columnists, television newsmen, and even football quarterback Joe Namath made the list that would in time be considered an honor roll. Dean later told Senate investigators that the enemies list was merely “an exercise” which he had no intention of acting on, although he contended that Haldeman and Colson used it. Some time later, Alexander Butterfield complained to Dean that several people had come to a White House function despite being on the “Do Not Admit Under Any Circumstances” list—suggesting that Dean had a role as enforcer of the list.3

  Colson later insisted that he had no knowledge of an “enemies list,” only a roster his office compiled in order to keep undesirables away from White House functions. That comment was at odds with Dean’s original memo, however, as well as with subsequent events. It also was at odds with a larger folder among Colson’s papers, entitled “Blacklist.” The file revealed that Colson had his own “enemies list” well underway before Dean launched his. Colson included businessmen, entertainment personalities, labor leaders, political figures, academics, and organizations. He had a record of people who had attended a certain Democratic fundraiser. A Colson aide prepared her own “Bad Guys List” but later eliminated some names as “not that bad.” Tom Huston offered his own roll, headed by “Think Tanks.” Colson ordered his staff to garner the names of those who signed ads against the Vietnam war, and he added to the enemies lists one of his antagonists in the Teamsters Union, a group for which he ardently lobbied.4

  Haldeman selected a number of people on the various lists for IRS audits and other forms of harassment. Washington Post lawyer Edward Bennett Williams was targeted. Williams at first regarded the attention as a “badge of honor”; on more sober reflection, he realized how dangerous it was to have the “President of the United States obsessed with the idea of wreaking some kind of revenge against me.” The IRS audited him for three consecutive years.

  Nixon later candidly acknowledged his own involvement in such harassment. He “hit the ceiling,” he recalled, when he learned that the IRS had audited John Wayne and Billy Graham. He told his aides: “Get the word out, down to the IRS, that I want them to conduct field audits of those who are our opponents, if they’re going to do in our friends.” He immediately suggested Democratic National Chairman Larry O’Brien as a target.5

  The White House staff followed the President’s command with a vengeance. On July 1, 1969, a call from Huston to the IRS Commissioner’s assistant resulted in the creation of the Special Services Staff (SSS) at the IRS, a group that would, as Huston suggested, investigate dissident, leftist political organizations. Patrick Buchanan thought that the IRS should investigate the liberal political activities of such bodies as the Ford Foundation and the Brookings Institution. In a memo to Nixon on March 3, 1970, Buchanan argued that the foundations’ tax exemptions created an “institutionalized power of the left” to “succor the Democratic party.”

  By September 1970, the SSS had compiled information on more than 1,000 institutions and 4,000 individuals. Other staffers, however, remained dissatisfied and urged the IRS to widen its net. Intelligence organizations within the Justice Department, the Secret Service, and the military added another 2,000 groups and 4,000 individuals for the IRS to study. The White House strongly believed that IRS commissioners could not be trusted to carry out its will and assigned John Caulfield to work with Vernon Acree, the IRS Assistant Commissioner for Inspection, to stimulate activity. Dean at one point passed on instructions that Caulfield should secure an audit of a newspaper reporter who had written a series of stories on the activities of presidential crony Bebe Rebozo. But Dean failed to persuade the IRS to investigate presidential candidate George McGovern’s staff and contributors.

  At Colson’s suggestion, Dean also directed Caulfield to investigate the tax-exemption status of a number of liberal lobbying groups. Colson thought it wrong to grant exemption to those who “lobby against the Government.” In fact, Colson meant the Administration; he had no intention of invoking similar measures against foundations or corporations that criticized general government policies. White House pressure probably resulted in the denial of tax-exempt status for the Center for Corporate Responsibility in May 1973. Caulfield surreptitiously gained access to IRS internal reports and passed word to Dean that there had been no purposeful harassment of John Wayne or Billy Graham, whose audits had prompted a special presidential complaint. Meanwhile, the President was particularly interested in expediting the IRS’s investigation of the tax returns of Alabama Governor George Wallace’s brother.6

  The White House worked hard on IRS Commissioner Johnnie Walters, diligently seeking to make him subservient to its political needs. Haldeman told Dean in 1971 that he should discuss IRS investigative matters with Walters and Treasury Secretary John Connally. Dean later prepared a memorandum for Haldeman, based on information provided by Caulfield, outlining the Administration’s criticisms of and expectations for Walters and the IRS. Caulfield complained that IRS was “a monstrous bureaucracy … dominated and controlled” by Democrats. The Service had been too “unresponsive and insensitive” to the White House. Commissioner Walters, Caulfield noted, appeared “oversensitive” in his concern that IRS actions might be labeled political. That had to change, Dean said. Specifically, Dean told Haldeman that Walters “must be made to know that discreet political actions and investigations on behalf of the administration are a firm requirement and responsibility on his part. We should have direct access to Walters for action in the sensitive areas and should not have to clear them with Treasury.” Finally, the inevitable rationale: the Democrats “used [IRS] most effectively. We have been unable.” Caulfield had also urged that Dean be given “access and assurances” that Walters would accomplish what was expected.7

  As his first term ended, the President continued to complain about the unresponsiveness of the IRS. He believed that the IRS had leaked his own returns in 1952, and he remembered his own tax audits in 1961 and 1962—harassment, he called them. He told Ehrlichman in August 1972 that he had not pursued his opponents with tax audits because he had “no mandate.” But for the next term, things would be different, he promised. He wanted, he said, full control of subcabinet officials in the IRS and the FBI, as well as the Treasury and Justice departments. He instructed Ehrlichman to remove all IRS appointees after the election. A month after his re-election, the President harped on the same themes and suggested that John Dean work directly on some sensitive tax cases, ones that Treasury Secretary George Shultz was reluctant to pursue.8

  President Nixon and his men also considered direct action, less subtle and including physical force, against “enemies.” During antiwar demonstrations in Washington in May 1971, Haldeman told the President that Charles Colson would use his connections with the Teamsters’ Union and hire some “thugs” to attack the protesters. Haldeman’s enthusiasm was unmistakable: “Murderers. Guys that really, you know, that’s what they really do. Like … the regular
strikebusters-type and all that … and then they’re gonna beat the [obscenity] out of some of these people. And, uh, and hope they really hurt ’em.” Nixon enthusiastically chimed in: those “guys” would “go in and knock their [the demonstrators’] heads off.” His contempt was obvious: “These people try something, bust ’em,” he added. Haldeman also emphasized the public-relations concern, noting that the television networks had shown some “good footage” of the unruly mobs. Nixon was anxious that the demonstrators be caught attacking the flag or carrying one upside down. Haldeman was pleased that the convicted ringleaders of the 1968 Chicago demonstrations had been involved in the current protests. “Aren’t the Chicago Seven all Jews?” the President asked. (They were not.)

  The two men had a wide-ranging discussion of political “dirty tricks” that various aides had organized. Haldeman mentioned that Dwight Chapin, the President’s appointments secretary, had been in touch with “a guy that … we’re going to use … for the campaign next year.” The man—undoubtedly Donald Segretti—already had worked against Senator Muskie, then considered to be Nixon’s most likely opponent in 1972. Nixon and Haldeman were particularly pleased and amused by Colson’s attempts to disrupt Muskie’s campaign. Haldeman, with obvious relish, reported that Colson had “got a lot done that he hasn’t been caught at.” Nixon and Haldeman laughed throughout the exchange. But in that compartmentalized White House world, Haldeman was equally glad to report that “we got some stuff that he [Colson] doesn’t know anything about, too.”9

  Walter Bagehot, the astute nineteenth-century British commentator on government and constitutionalism, said that there are arguments for having a royal court and there are arguments for having a splendid court, but there could be no argument for having a mean court.

  Richard Nixon knew how Vietnam policy leaks had plagued the last years of Lyndon Johnson’s presidency. Nixon recalled Johnson as first “frustrated, then angered, and, finally, nearly obsessed by the need to stop them.” The description aptly describes Nixon’s own subsequent behavior: “I soon learned that his concerns were fully justified,” Nixon wrote. Within five months of taking office, Nixon recalled, he counted at least twenty-one major news stories apparently derived from National Security Council leaks. The subject of leaks infuriated the President, especially after the publication of the Pentagon Papers in June 1971. “You’re going to be my Lord High Executioner from now on,” Nixon told Haldeman then. The President instructed his aide to order a loyalty test for every State Department employee, an instruction that Haldeman immediately placed on the “no-action-ever” list he kept in his mind. Charles Colson reported the President as saying: “I don’t give a damn how it is done, do whatever has to be done to stop these leaks and prevent further unauthorized disclosures; I don’t want to be told why it can’t be done. This government cannot survive, it cannot function, if anyone can run out and leak whatever documents he wants to.… I want to know who is behind this and I want the most complete investigation that can be conducted.… I don’t want excuses. I want results. I want it done, whatever the cost.”10

  Haldeman assigned Caulfield to find the source of leaks to columnist Jack Anderson. Caulfield uncovered possible links to Anderson from Senator Hugh Scott, the Republican leader, and his staff, as well as from some people in the Office of Management and Budget. When OMB Director George Shultz complained about the investigations, they stopped. Caulfield recommended to Haldeman that “an overt firing” of a person responsible for leaks would be a valuable deterrent.11

  The President’s concerns had some validity, of course. Leaks pertaining to bargaining positions in negotiations with foreign countries certainly could weaken the government’s posture. Not all leaks are dangerous, however: what is inimical to the concern of the powerholders is not necessarily inimical to or inconsistent with the national interest. The revelations of the “secret bombing” of Cambodia were a case in point. But the Nixon Administration betrayed a concern for secrecy that transcended immediate issues of policy. In and out of office, Richard Nixon consistently was preoccupied with his place in history. To him, the control of information and documents was then—and continued to be—essential for ensuring a satisfactory standing at the bar of history. Perhaps nothing illustrated this better than the 1971 episode involving the White House’s response to the publication of the Pentagon Papers.

  On Sunday morning, June 13, 1971, the New York Times carried a front-page photograph of the President and his daughter Tricia, standing together in the Rose Garden following her wedding ceremony. The other side of the page carried the first installment of the “Pentagon Papers,” a 7,000-page document commissioned by Robert McNamara, Defense Secretary under Kennedy and Johnson. The study traced the origins of the American involvement in Vietnam and offered significant insight into decision-making processes in the foreign-policy and military establishments. Nothing better revealed how secrecy had served the cause of deception than the revelations in these papers. Melvin Laird, Nixon’s Secretary of Defense, told the President that 98 percent of the Pentagon Papers could be declassified. But Nixon responded that “the era of negotiations can’t succeed w/o secrecy.”

  Some Nixon staffers thought the publication harmless to their own interests and embarrassing only for the previous administration. Charles Colson immediately assigned his friend Howard Hunt the task of going through the papers to find unfavorable material on leading Democrats. Colson hoped that the papers would offer an opportunity to tie “our political opposition into the enemy camp.” A few days earlier, HUD Secretary George Romney made a public statement that he thought the government had a tendency to overclassify documents. Colson was infuriated and complained to Ehrlichman, demanding that Romney be reprimanded at a Cabinet meeting.12

  The President later agreed with Colson. In September, he told Haldeman that the opposition had an interest in forgetting the papers, but “ours is to play it up.” Apparently, Colson had convinced him by then that the papers could be used to inflict political damage on the opposition. But when the newspapers first published the Pentagon Papers, Nixon (and Kissinger) knew better. They were aware that the publication of such secrets imperiled their own operations and created a precedent that could come back to haunt the protection of their own secrets. However tempting the political advantage of exposing chicanery in the opposition, Nixon realized that he ran the risk of exposing such deceptions as he also believed necessary for the pursuit of his own policies. Certainly, a major issue raised in the Pentagon Papers concerned deception and what one of their authors described as “the crucial question of governmental credibility.” Credibility was crucial for the current Administration at this moment especially: for the first time, a Gallup poll revealed that Americans wanted the war over “even at the risk of an eventual Communist takeover of South Vietnam.”13 Credibility was indeed at stake, since Nixon, as President, had increased the country’s investment in the war.

  The Washington Post soon joined in publishing the Pentagon Papers. Shortly afterward, Daniel Ellsberg, a former National Security Council operative with links to the CIA, was revealed as the source of the massive leak. Ellsberg, once a hawk in the Kennedy and Johnson years, had turned against the war. Two weeks after publication of the papers, he acknowledged his complicity in their release. That admission put the issue of the war—its necessity, its wisdom, as well as its morality—squarely at the center of public attention.

  John Ehrlichman later contended that Henry Kissinger fanned the President’s passion on the Pentagon Papers issue. For Nixon, Ellsberg was a liberal antiwar intellectual who had leaked secrets; Kissinger, to be sure, shared those perceptions. But certainly, the President needed little guidance from Henry Kissinger. Nixon told Ehrlichman at one point that he would go “an extra mile to defend the security system to reassure China and friendly governments.” Both Nixon and Kissinger realized the personal danger if any president lost control over classified documents and allowed them to be used to smear his predecessors. Mo
reover, for Nixon the whole incident was personal. “The Times’s decision to publish the documents,” he later wrote, “was clearly the product of the paper’s antiwar policy rather than a consistent attachment to principle.”14

  The topside of the Administration’s response involved an attempt to obtain a court order enjoining the newspapers from continued publication of the Pentagon Papers. The strategy succeeded for a few weeks, as a lower court granted a temporary order and the Supreme Court sustained it pending further arguments. The Court immediately heard lawyers from both sides, however, and in a nearly unanimous opinion lifted the injunction and allowed the newspapers to proceed with publication. Significantly, the Court decisively rejected Solicitor General Erwin Griswold’s argument that the release of the papers would affect lives, the recovery of Vietnam prisoners of war, and the peace process. Those considerations, he argued, had “such an effect on the security of the United States that [they] ought to be the basis of an injunction in this case.” The Justices thought not, but their surface unanimity masked deep feelings. Some, like Justice Hugo Black, in what proved to be his final judicial opinion, bitterly assailed the Administration and the courts for permitting even a temporary injunction. Chief Justice Warren Burger dutifully defended the Administration, however, and Justice Byron White expressed biting contempt for Ellsberg’s action and urged that the government prosecute him under the ordinary criminal statutes.