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H-DIPLO ROUNDTABLE REVIEW
Fredrik Logevall, _Choosing War : The Lost Chance for Peace and the
Escalation of War in Vietnam_. (University of California Press, 1999),
443 pp., $35.00.
Roundtable Editor: Lloyd C. Gardner
Reviewers: Robert Jervis, Jeffrey Kimball, and Marilyn B. Young
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Introduction and Review by Lloyd Gardner
Rutgers University
<lgardner2@home.com>
It would not be too far off the mark to suggest that Vietnam has
already become America's most analyzed war. Even so, almost everything
about the war remains highly controversial. Before the Cold War ended,
Vietnam was variously regarded as the place where "Containment" went off
the deep end into the unforgiving swamps of Southeast Asia, the logical
culmination of a counter-revolutionary policy, a tragedy of cultural
hubris, or simply, "Mr. Johnson's War." In the post-Cold War era, Vietnam
is variously understood as a lost battle in an ultimately successful
struggle with the "Evil Empire," a war lost because of a failure of will,
a necessary war that should be regarded as a triumph because it allowed
time for the dominoes to gain strength, a tragedy of misperceptions on all
sides, or, again simply, "Mr. Johnson's War." In Choosing War, Fredrik
Logevall makes a sophisticated case for "Mr. Johnson's War."
Men make their own history, begins a famous saying by Marx, but
not just as they please. Logevall's argument runs -- Men make their own
history, pretty much as they please. Rejecting "structural" arguments
that would give the most weight to ideological continuity, economic
compulsion, or bureaucratic drive, the author finds that Lyndon Johnson
had a real choice to make during what he calls the "long 1964," which
actually lasted from late August 1963, in his interpretation, to February
or March of 1965. During that time period the crucial decisions were
made, and the future all but sealed. JFK's increased build-up to 15,000
"advisers," and his temporizing, made things more difficult for his
successor to be sure, but did not force him to start the bombing or send
American soldiers to do the actual fighting. Some responsibility rests
with three of the "Awesome Foursome," Mac Bundy, Bob McNamara, and Dean
Rusk; but by far most of the blameworthiness falls on LBJ himself.
George Reedy, who had some very perceptive insights not only into
Lyndon Johnson the man, but about the White House atmosphere in the days
and weeks after Dallas, concluded that it was likely LBJ believed (as he
later claimed to Doris Kearns) that the Kennedy advisers were all for
broke for Vietnam, and for the advisers, on the other hand, to believe
that the new president would settle for nothing less. Not surprisingly,
policymakers who advised both presidents remember things differently.
George Ball (who comes in for some fairly heavy criticism in Choosing War)
contended that it was the advisers who pushed the new president at every
opportunity, while Cyrus Vance sees LBJ in full command, calling all the
shots.
How does Logevall settle the argument? Johnson took office in a
deeply emotional time, and enjoyed considerable leeway in his decisions.
There were many indications that the public was largely indifferent to
Vietnam, indeed, up until the time he sent massive "reinforcements" to a
constantly faltering series of regimes in Saigon. He had the advice of
several of the most knowledgeable men in the U.S. Senate, who urged (at
the very least) that he retain an open mind on deepening the "commitment"
to Vietnam, and who (had they been given the opportunity) would have
supported his decision to withdraw. Foreign leaders likewise counseled
against American involvement. Charles de Gaulle was anathema to
Washington for his contrary ideas about Europe, but his arguments made
sense -- and were voiced by several others of equal stature. Britain's
Harold Wilson could have done more (a lot more) to make his views known
before it was too late, but British doubts were nevertheless well known in
the Administration. The deeply ambivalent statements of support coerced
out of Germany and Japan actually demonstrated opposition to a war that
would draw off American resources, and threaten to spill over into other
areas. The most respected "pundits," with a few exceptions like Joe Alsop,
were almost unanimously opposed to making Vietnam a test-case of
"Containment." Even the Communist superpowers, even North Vietnam, and
even succeeding governments in South Vietnam -- before Johnson's expansion
of the war -- had enough flexibility to find another solution rather than
the war that cost everyone so much, and settled so little other than a
reunion of the Vietnamese people.
So with so many in opposition why did the war happen? For want of
a nail? Logevall goes back to "Mr. Johnson's War" for his final answer.
In the long 1964, perhaps the most crucial time was immediately after the
election. Swept back into office, already planning the legislative agenda
of the Great Society, LBJ stood at the pinnacle of power. But just as he
had wanted to defeat Goldwater at every remote polling place in America,
so he wanted to defeat the Communists at every break out place around the
world. Efforts to convince him, or even to get him to listen to
arguments, about the specifics of Vietnam's centuries-long struggle for
independence failed. Just as did those stressing the unwieldiness of the
terrain to traditional American methods of warfare. Logevall does not
delve deeply into LBJ in the manner of a psycho-historian; there is enough
on the surface to explore, and to convince him that egomania or
pig-headedness, or, their opposite, insecurity, provide the answer. No,
he writes, Johnson did not wish to go into a war like Vietnam turned out
to be, but he did want to show the world that what America (his America)
desires, it gets -- Victory on all fronts.
It is an impressive piece of work. He has found especially
useful, as have other historians, the files of the British Foreign Office
and the Prime Minister's office. He has used archival sources in France
and Canada. And he has mined the Johnson Library files effectively,
including the famous tapes that have started showing up in various works
on the era. One comes away from reading the book feeling good, as well,
about the writing skills of this generation of historians. The concluding
chapter summarizes the argument, and offers some interesting speculations,
about what might have happened had Oswald missed. Kennedy probably would
not have gotten out right away, he suggests, but as the war developed, his
greater flexibility and less ego involvement would have permitted him to
choose other paths. And Logevall suggests as well how a new Geneva
Conference might have gone to achieve a solution without a war that cost
50,000 American lives, 3-4 million Vietnamese lives and a hundred billion
dollars.
All in all, the book presents the strongest case that has been
(and probably can be) made for the Standing Alone hypothesis. I don't
think I can ever look at the evidence in quite the same way as before.
It strikes me now, certainly, that LBJ's career as Senate Majority Leader
revealed in him not only a marvelous capacity for getting things done, but
also for bullying those who dared to oppose him. He would grab lapels and
shout at allied leaders -- though only at those he thought less manly than
himself. You got bombed before breakfast, one of Logevall's sources
remarks, if you tried to oppose him on Vietnam. Since the book refers to
arguments I made in Pay Any Price, to take strong issue with most of them,
I find here the makings of a good dialogue.
I suppose I would begin by posing a question about the long 1964.
Is it long enough (or wide enough) to stretch over decisions and events
that a different author might argue have a very formative influence on
policymakers, and on LBJ specifically, and that concern matters other than
personality? Of course, the answer to that question that I would give
edges us over into the matter of "structure" in decision-making. But
leave that for a moment. I have argued in Pay Any Price that until very
late, perhaps mid-1966 or thereabouts, the Johnson Administration was
operating on a "Crisis Management" plateau, confirmed by the events of the
Cuban Missile Crisis. If we are to talk about a long 1964, why not then a
long 1962? The successful end to the Cuban imbroglio, we traditionally
understand, got the Bay of Pigs off JFK's back. At the same time,
however, it suggested that other Cold War crises might be handled the same
way. Indeed, Robert McNamara was convinced that "crisis management" would
take the place of war. For all of LBJ's quirks, he was surrounded by men
who gave him assurances that Vietnam was enough like Cuba that the same
formulas would work. Sure, there were all those who said no, but as Mac
Bundy and others could point out (as Bundy in fact did in his televised
debate with Hans Morgenthau), these doubters had been wrong so many times
in the past. Heirs to John Kennedy's cool, existential leadership, they
convinced themselves (albeit perhaps wrongly), that the mechanism had been
set in place and would run pretty much of itself.
Are we to assume, as well, that men who had served JFK, and who
had gotten to the top elsewhere, whether, at Harvard College or a suburb
of Detroit, Michigan, did not know how to make their opposition to a
course of action known? Having had nearly three years of "inside stuff"
on Vietnam, they were certainly able to chart a way around LBJ's ego, had
they chosen to do so, to present him with very different conclusions about
how the war was going. Indeed, when LBJ thought about responding
favorably to a request to resume the Op-34A patrols a few weeks after the
Gulf of Tonkin events, George Ball's argument that it was needless
provocation carried the day.
But, go beyond the long 1964, for a few months, to the decisions
of June and July. Can we say also that Dean Acheson was intimidated by
Texas bravado, and afraid to take on LBJ at the Wisemen's meeting just
before the fateful decision was taken to send the first 100,000? Acheson
later admitted that he only really studied the specifics of what the
Vietnam War was costing after Tet, when he led the president to override
Dean Rusk, and Taylor, and Rostow. He had not studied Vietnam in 1965,
precisely because of the structural issue. Whether one wishes to put it
in realist terms, or ideological terms, or what have you, at that time the
American genr considered Vietnam in relation to Europe -- and the world --
not necessarily a psychological domino effect, but more of a concern about
accusations that the United States did not have staying power, brought by
deGaulle and others. It is useless to argue, it seems to me, that these
were wrong-headed, the point has to do with LBJ's forcing his opinions on
others. He did not.
Structural issues in historical writing are the easiest to poke
holes into. The real question would seem to be whether these are fatal
holes? Logevall points out that in all the material he read, he sees
little evidence of economic motives in the long 1964. While admitting
that sophisticated treatments of the so-called "economic" question stress
matters other than narrow special interest economics, and view American
policymakers as conscious of the Cold War system as a whole, he still
finds such explanations lacking. The problem here is that the long 1964,
if it won't stretch back to 1962, certainly won't reach to 1954. There he
will find all the evidence he might wish to sustain a structural argument
about America's initial big step into Vietnam. One need only read
Eisenhower's famous domino press conference, especially the concern
expressed about Japanese trade, to get the idea that managing the
capitalist world was not something that allowed for picking and choosing.
At least not at that stage -- and stages are important. A decade later,
in 1964, the world looked very different than it did in 1954. The
commitment to Vietnam was there, however, having taken on other meanings,
certainly, but now a part of the "outpost" system in a rather shaky area.
Here was an inheritance not necessarily wished for, costly to the treasury
certainly -- but more costly if the fiduciary failed to carry out its
responsibilities, perhaps most costly to the sense of self. A terrible
dilemma. Not all imperial outposts seem worth it for themselves to the
metropolis, but (given the imperial mindset) not easy to dismiss. Take
the Falkland Islands as an example of the way it is supposed to work even
for a post-imperial power still capable of interposing its will, still
convinced its world role required it do so. It may not work that way,
obviously, and did not in Vietnam.
Finally, a few words about what might have been had Oswald missed.
Logevall argues that Johnson's feeling that he could not get out of
Vietnam without giving the Kennedys a chance to criticize him did not
compel him to move as he did toward deeper involvement during the long
1964, nor did the American-supported coup really make the United States
responsible for what followed, because there were so many governments
after the Minh regime collapsed. While Kennedy still would have had to
face a different stage of the war, Logevall argues he could have used his
nimbleness and self-confidence to shrug off the warhawks' advice as he had
done in 1961. He would likely have beaten Goldwater in 1964, and had the
same opportunity as LBJ to disengage -- and would have been more inclined
to that choice. But what if it had been another 1960 campaign, with the
tv debates now centered on: Who is in the process of losing Vietnam? Who
killed Diem? What if Goldwater focused on Kennedy's speech on November
22, 1963, promising once again to stand on all the watchtowers of freedom?
Probably it is necessary to counterpose JFK to LBJ to tie-up the
Standing Alone argument. In a curious fashion, Logevall has validated
LBJ's fears that historians would write books about his decisions, always
speculating on what the Kennedys might have done. He was afraid to "lose"
Vietnam, but he was not alone. At the press conference immediately after
he announced the decision to send 100,000 men to Vietnam, a reporter asked
if it was a lonely decision? Johnson said no, he had plenty of advice.
I think he was right.
My colleagues in this roundtable have started us off with
thoughtful impressions of Logevall's important contribution to the
literature on Vietnam. It is obvious we are all concerned about
circumstance and choice. Presumably there will be a good deal of
discussion about structures and individuals. Bob Jervis reminds us that,
in a bi-polar world, structure does not predict specifics so much as frame
options. He also reminds us of the perils of hindsight. Are some
structures more porous than others? Jeff Kimball points out that in all
the earlier instances, presidents and policymakers invariably chose the
option that pointed towards deeper involvement, thereby tightening the
frame, hardening the structure. Marilyn Young raises the central problem
in discussing contingency: what are the limits? She suggests that the
title of Logevall's book might have been, "The Unnecessary War," as it
demonstrates the wilfulness of policymakers, the impermeable Tuesday
Lunches where a small structure produced huge policy decisions.. And yet,
she concludes, there was an external reality as well, an outer rim of Cold
War structure. Where does the Vietnam War's historicity fit in (or not
fit in) in all these places? Did decisions radiate outward from the
Tuesday lunches, or inward from years past - or both ways - while bending
as light waves do around massive gravitational attractions? Finally,
perhaps we might speculate on whether the Vietnam War was a culminating
episode near the end of colonialism, for both Western and Soviet empires;
or, on the other hand, a uniquely controversial chapter in the ultimate
outcome of the Cold War?
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