COVER STORY

# KISSINGER: THE USES AND LIMITS OF POWER

GENERAL Curtis LeMay, the retired Air Force Chief of Staff, was attending a stag dinner in the country with old friends when the conversation turned to the recent appointment of Henry Kissinger as Assistant to the President for National Security Affairs. The general stood and grumped: "I remember him. He was a crypto-left-winger when he was teaching at Harvard and a dangerous pinko when he was serving John Kennedy." Another former general in the group arose and said, "Curt, I can forgive you occasionally for not knowing *what* you're talking about. But in this case it's obvious you don't know *who* you're talking about. You've mixed up Henry Kissinger with Arthur Schlesinger." LeMay nodded sheepishly and sat down.

Of course, it is difficult to keep track of all the intellectuals with strange-sounding names and unorthodox notions who orbit the campuses, think tanks and Government. While renowned in those circles, Henry Alfred Kissinger is not exactly, as Spiro Agnew might have said, a household name. Though he has never been a diplomat, he knows more foreign leaders than many State Department careerists. A superficial reading of some of his works makes him seem like a hawk, but many intellectual doves regard him as Richard Nixon's most asymptote appointment. Bonn, London and Paris may disagree on a score of issues, but they are in happy unanimity in their respect for him; even Moscow is not displeased.

## Two Great Temptations

He advised three Administrations before this one, and roundly criticized key policies of the Eisenhower, Kennedy and Johnson regimes. He has never held an important administrative job in Government but after only three weeks in his post, Kissinger has assembled a foreign-policy staff and structure in the White House basement that is already having a clear impact on the President's actions.

From the moment of his selection in December, Government officials, fellow academics and journalists have scrutinized his every move. William Buckley wrote to him: "Not since Florence Nightingale has any public figure received such universal acclamation." Senator Jacob Javits commented that Kissinger's appointment could prove to be the most significant the President has made, because "it is in foreign policy that the Nixon Administration will make its mark."

The two major questions about Kissinger are: What does he stand for and how much power does he have? On the first, he has documented himself over a dozen years with many hundreds of pages on diplomatic history, military strategy and foreign relations—

although his views, seldom rigid, have evolved on a number of points. Perhaps the most interesting fact about him is that he has not fallen into either of the two great temptations that have beset American foreign policy in the past —excessive idealism and excessive pragmatism. He believes in the concept of order, but he does not believe that it is to be achieved through preaching or the imposition on others of a vision, however noble, by force. He thinks it can be achieved only step by step with a clear view of one's goal, but the greatest flexibility of method. He wants to teach the U.S., so lately come to international leadership, what he considers the alpha-to-omega lessons for a major power: the need for "greater concep-

THE NATIONAL SECURITY COUNCIL
Alpha-to-omega lessons in power.

tualization." He wants the nation to indulge in self-interrogation: "What are we attempting to do? How would we measure success? What kind of world are we trying to bring about?"

He insists that the U.S. should understand both the potentials and limitations of its strength. He believes that it has been too reluctant to "think in terms of power and equilibrium." It has not grasped the fundamental importance of operating from the stable base of a widely accepted world view. In his philosophy, the empirical approach that has served the U.S. so well in other fields can prove misleading in foreign affairs; it tends to produce *ad hoc* solutions pegged to the crisis of the moment, but not necessarily to predetermined needs and interest. In realistic terms, no policy can be expected to succeed unless it anticipates not only the desired outcome but also the other side effects it may produce. For instance, the nuclear nonproliferation trea-

ty was negotiated without enough consideration for possible adverse effects: dismay in some Western European capitals over what was essentially a Moscow-Washington deal and the encouragement to some countries, like India and Japan, to consider going the nuclear route alone.

As to how much power Kissinger has, it is too soon to gauge his long-term influence on Nixon. For the present, he clearly has a great deal. He sees the President an average of 90 minutes a day, apart from formal meetings of the National Security Council. Secretary of State William Rogers and Secretary of Defense Melvin Laird are not experts in their fields; Kissinger is in his. While Rogers and Laird have been

relatively slow in reorganizing their mammoth departments, Kissinger immediately attracted attention by his speedy recruitment of staff members, many of them well-known specialists. Most of his aides were in place by Augmentation Day, and the Kissinger staff began immediately to grind out position papers.

## A Certain Wariness

As a result, Kissinger is already widely suspected in Washington of being a would-be usurper of the powers traditionally delegated to the State and Defense Departments and other branches of Government. Senate Foreign Relations Chairman J. William Fulbright fears that the new NSC organization will "move in the direction of taking very important matters out of the hands of the traditional agencies, most of which felt a responsibility to Congress." In the White House itself, one aide who is close to Nixon says: "Kissinger is seen

TIME, FEBRUARY 14, 1969

17

as tremendously talented, energetic and
hard-working, going all the time. But
there is a certain wariness about him
and the whole empire he is building."
The President has been forced to issue
repeated assurances that Secretary of
State William Rogers is indeed the prin-
cipal adviser on foreign policy, and the
State Department the principal executor
of that policy.

Theoretically, Kissinger's main job is
not to advise the President on a par-
ticular course of action in a given sit-
uation. Rather it is to draw on the
resources of the operating agencies—pri-
marily State, Defense and the Central
Intelligence Agency—and develop all
the information and options available
so that the President can reach de-
cisions with the fullest possible under-
standing of their ultimate implications.

To that end, the machinery surrounding
the National Security Council has been
elaborately revised.

"Foreign policy," says Kissinger, "isn't
made by answering cables." Nixon re-
membered only too well the efforts dur-
ing the Eisenhower Administration to
establish a workable structure through
the National Security Council. The
forms were created, but there was not
much in the way of ideas. In reaction,
John Kennedy swept away the NSC sub-
structure and relied on more sponta-
neous methods. Lyndon Johnson vir-
tually abandoned the NSC and used
the "Tuesday luncheon" with top ad-
visers as the principal form of deliber-
ation. The meetings were so informal
that there is no known official record
of the discussions or the decisions made
over the table. There was no machinery
for the systematic follow-
up of policy.

Nixon came into office de-
termined to restore some of
the formalities of the Ei-
senhower years and at the
same time make them more
creative. As in the past, there
are five planning subcom-
mittees with responsibility
for as many areas of the
world. Now, however, they
will come under the NSC in-
stead of the State Depart-
ment, although an Assistant
Secretary of State will act
as chairman of each. To
these are being added five
groups set up by function
(see chart).

No Basement Policy

After the subgroups com-
plete work on a given issue,
the conclusions are sent to
a new NSC review board,
chaired by Kissinger. Here
competing views are refined
and new material can be
added. It is Kissinger's re-
view board that prepares the
final working document for
NSC consideration. Finally,
after an NSC decision has
been made, overseeing its
implementation among the
departments becomes the re-
sponsibility of a committee
headed by Under Secretary
of State Elliot Richardson.
Kissinger is a member of
that body as well.

How well this machinery
will work remains to be seen.
Kissinger insists that the or-
ganizational changes that
give the National Security
staff formal responsibility
for coordination of planning
will create neither a bot-
tleneck nor a trespass on
the rights of Cabinet officers
such as Rogers and Laird.
"I'm not making policy in

the White House basement," he con-
tends. "When policy comes to be seen
as my policy, then I've failed." He adds:
"If Cabinet officers sense that I use
this position to regulate the flow of in-
formation so that the outcome is in the
direction of my preferred point of view,
then I've lost my effectiveness." Since
taking office, Kissinger has said noth-
ing publicly on substantive issues.

Caustically Critical

Kissinger's somewhat anguished pro-
testations that he knows his place may
not avail him much. The middle ech-
elons of the State Department, for in-
stance, are always fearful of being tram-
pled upon by the White House staff; it
was no different when McGeorge Bun-
dy held Kissinger's post. Critics have
sometimes accused Kissinger of having
an ego as big as his intellect. They
have raised eyebrows at the fact that
he worked for different Administrations
(nothing very unusual as such), and
noted that, while serving as Candidate
Nelson Rockefeller's foreign-policy ad-
viser, he was often caustically critical
of Richard Nixon. The inevitable crack
that traveled from Harvard to the cor-
ridors of the State Department: "I won-
der who's Kissinger now."

Humility is not his hallmark. When
he served as a consultant to the Ken-
edy Administration, he disagreed with
its European policy. He pressed his views
insistently and was indignant when they
were ignored. He resigned because of
that. "I think I was right on the sub-
stance," he says now, "but I was in-
sensitive in my reaction." While he was
working for Rockefeller, he was told
once that a speech he had written was
being redone. "When Nelson buys a Pi-
casso," he snapped, "he does not hire
four house painters to improve it."

He is of average height, compact
build, sandy-haired, composed and in-
conspicuous. He is 45, but he easily
could pass for several years less—or
more. Horn-rimmed glasses obscure
his grey eyes. On first meeting, he
can smile shyly and even indulge in pro-
fessorial persiflage, as if to belie his rep-
utation for being brusque with col-
leagues, students and office help. "There
cannot be a crisis next week," he
jokes, in a softly Germanic accent.
"My schedule is already full."

Indeed it is. In setting up the new ma-
chinery and addressing the problems
that confront the Nixon Administration,
Kissinger has been working six days a
week from 7:30 a.m. to near midnight.
His new bachelor quarters overlooking
Rock Creek Park are a shambles; he
got home to dress for an intimate White
House dinner one night unsure whether
he would find a dinner jacket and black
tie. He arrived back at the White House
20 minutes late. The critic who has al-
ways demanded "creativity" of govern-
ment smiles wanly and says he dreads
the moment when someone will ap-
proach him with a new idea; he fears

Making Foreign Policy

STUDY COMMITTEES

Produce policy papers for National Security Council

Regional committees headed by Asst. Secys. of State.

Topic committees headed by officials from Depts. of State, Defense and Treasury. Members of all committees drawn from Kissinger's staff, CIA and other Government departments.

TIME Chart by R.M. Chopin, Jr.

18

TIME, FEBRUARY 14, 1969

he might not have time to consider it. For the time being, he says, he is living off "intellectual capital."

The NSC has been meeting twice a week. So far there have been no far-reaching decisions on any major issue, but interim decisions of considerable significance are being made for the future. In some of them, Kissinger's thinking has been clearly evident.

In confronting the Middle East, there was no time for exhaustive review before a decision was made. The new Administration inherited insistent pressure for concerted action by the four big powers. A hurried staff survey produced seven options that really amounted to three broad choices: do nothing, press for an overall settlement, or work for smaller measures of amelioration. The first and third alternatives were dismissed. Too much is at stake in a situation that some in Washington compare to the pre-World War I Balkans. At his first press conference, Nixon stressed this grave view. Then the Administration answered the French request for Big Four action by agreeing to explore the question at the United Nations. The idea is that the U.S. would actually join a formal Big Four meeting only if earlier talks showed that results were likely.

## Skeptical Questions

On Viet Nam, an initial canvass of Government departments produced no very deep insights for the NSC. Therefore Kissinger's staff sent out a new request, National Security Council Memorandum No. 1, which posed about three dozen questions, some of them exhaustively detailed. The tone of the query was skeptical. Consequently, those in the bureaucracy who are relatively optimistic about the state of the war were upset. For others, who believe the war effort is still going badly and that the Saigon government's position is not improving as it should, it was a welcome opportunity to get their view on record. The gist of some questions: What support would the anti-Communists in the South be able to muster if they had to compete politically with the National Liberation Front? Would the pacification effort survive another major Communist assault? What are the real prospects for the South Vietnamese army to hold its own without U.S. combat units?

The deadline for answers is this week. While the Administration gropes for a new handle on the negotiations and the war itself, the U.S. delegation at the Paris talks has been seeking agreement on restoring the demilitarized zone that separates North and South Viet Nam. It is also trying to arrange prisoner exchanges. More generally, it is exploring the possibility of mutual U.S.-North Vietnamese troop withdrawals.

Aside from the formal talks at the Hotel Majestic, American representa-

## From Fürth to the White House Basement

In the German city of Fürth, in Middle Franconia, few people remember the Kissingers. Before World War II, Henry Kissinger's father Louis, now 82 and living in Manhattan with his wife Paula, was a respected Studienrat, or high school teacher. The family enjoyed a middle-class life: a five-room flat, many books, a servant and a piano, which young Heinz avoided practicing whenever possible. He preferred soccer.

When the Nazis gained power, life became difficult and dangerous. "The other children would beat us up," Henry recalls now. His father was forced to retire, but thought that the madness would pass and tried to wait it out. Finally the pressure became too much. Concerned that Heinz and a younger brother, Walter, would not get a proper education, Louis Kissinger took his family to America in 1938.

The father did not have an easy time in New York. Unable to get a teaching post, he wound up working in an office. To this day, his heart is in Fürth. He has been back to visit twice, and two weeks ago wrote to the local newspaper to ask for clippings of stories about his son. Heinz, who soon became Henry, adapted much more easily. In Germany, he had been an average student. In Manhattan's George Washington High School, he became a straight-A pupil.

After going on active duty in the Army in 1943, Kissinger soon found himself an interrogator in counter-intelligence. At one point, though only a sergeant, he was put in charge of administering a small German town, then a county with a population of 140,000. Later he was assigned to the faculty of an Army intelligence school in Oberammergau, teaching modern German history to officers ranking as high as lieutenant colonel. The disparity in military status became embarrassing. In 1946, he was made a civilian employee of the Army, with a salary of $10,000 and a captain's rank in the Army Reserve. But by the next year he was restless. "I know nothing," he told a friend. He won a Government scholarship that began his long association with Harvard.

As a student, he was brilliant. He won his B.A. in government in three years, summa cum laude. His doctorate came in 1954. By then he was serving as a consultant to a number of Government agencies, teaching at Harvard and running a group called the Harvard International Seminar, which sponsored student exchange programs. It was partially sub-

sidized by CIA funds secretly channeled through foundations. Kissinger now says that he was unaware of the subsidy until the story of CIA funding came out two years ago.

Kissinger was married in 1949 to the former Ann Fleischer; they were divorced in 1964, and their two children, Elizabeth, 9, and David, 7, live with her in Belmont, Mass. Those who have known him for many years say that he has mellowed since the divorce. One Harvard colleague observes: "Until the divorce, he had had a string of victories. The breakup was something new." He lost 30 lbs. His students found him more approachable, his classes more con-

BURTON BERINSKY

PAULA & LOUIS KISSINGER

genial. He was able to spend more time reading novels and history.

After 1954, his interest in strategic studies became paramount. He published *Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy*, and Kissinger became a full member in that segment of the intellectual community—the new technology of academic experts in public affairs—that is now never far from Government.

Kissinger was already consultant to the director of the NSC's Psychological Strategy Board. Nelson Rockefeller took him on in 1956 as director of special Rockefeller Brothers Fund studies. Though Nixon read *Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy* and sent Kissinger an admiring note, the two met only a year ago at a Christmas party. "We both hate cocktail parties," Kissinger recalls, "and we were both trying to avoid making small talk." When Nixon moved into the Oval Office, Kissinger found himself close by in the White House basement. They have had no difficulty avoiding small talk.

*continued on page 20*

TIME, FEBRUARY 14, 1969

19

tives in Paris have maintained informal contacts with North Vietnamese envoys at a secret location. These unofficial discussions have accomplished nothing so far. The idea of continuing them according with the approach Kissinger outlined just before Nixon appointed him: Washington and Hanoi should settle whatever issues they can between them, while leaving as many internal Vietnamese questions as possible to the Vietnamese themselves. Like Nixon, Kissinger has not attacked the basic U.S. commitment in Viet Nam, though he has been critical of Lyndon Johnson's "ad hoc decisions made under pressure." While working for Rockefeller, Kissinger framed a plan for mutual U.S.-North Vietnamese military withdrawal, leading eventually to a political settlement.

## The New Linkage

Perhaps the most complicated and fateful issue facing the Nixon Administration—and one likely to be unresolved long after the Vietnamese war has ended—is an agreement on arms restraint with the Russians. Because the Johnson Administration and the Soviets agreed last summer to begin talks aimed at holding down offensive and defensive nuclear weaponry, the Nixon Administration expects to come under increasing domestic pressure to follow through with the negotiations. The President has said repeatedly that he favors such talks, but he has added a crucial new element to the equation by linking the arms question to the general political atmosphere in the world. What Washington is now saying to Moscow, in effect, is that the U.S. requires an earnest of good intentions.

Will the Soviets now continue to back the Arab states down the line, keeping the flash point high with military as-

sistance and advisers? Will the Russians make a more active effort to induce Hanoi to compromise? Will the old cycle of crisis and relaxation in West Berlin continue? The Nixon Administration does not hold out for a full settlement on any or all of these problems as a pre-condition of arms talks. It doubts that any general, genuine détente is possible in the immediate future. Rather, it hopes to make the world "less risky and more tolerable," as one official puts it.

For its part, Washington is making some conciliatory gestures. Nixon's request for prompt Senate approval of the nuclear nonproliferation treaty is one example. Another is that he no longer asks "clear-cut superiority" for the U.S. in nuclear capability, as he did during the campaign, but now speaks of "sufficiency."

The linkage of arms and political issues is a reversal of the approach during the Kennedy and Johnson years, when the U.S. pursued limited nuclear pacts with the Russians regardless of other considerations. Kissinger spelled out his reasoning most recently in an essay published two months ago: "The risk is great that if there is no penalty for [Soviet] intransigence, there is no incentive for reconciliation. The Kremlin may use negotiations—including arms control—as a safety valve to dissipate Western suspicions rather than as a serious endeavor to resolve concrete disputes or to remove the scourge of war."

Implicit in this approach is the belief that weaponry itself, even the destructive power of nuclear arms, is not to blame for the cold war confrontations that might produce general war. With the possible exception of the Cuban missile crisis, the major tension points since World War II have developed over what Kissinger terms problems of "structure"—the two Germanys, the two Koreas, the two Viet

Nams, the Arab-Israeli impasse. Dangerous turmoil in Asia, Africa and Latin America, of course, is a legacy of events that began long before most people had ever heard of atoms, let alone atom bombs. The Nixon Administration apparently views the weapons issue by itself with less urgency than its predecessor did.

## At a Crossroads

M.I.T. Professor George Rathjens, who was until 1965 assistant to the director of the Arms Control and Disarmament Agency, summarized the case for prompt action last month: "We are in effect at a crossroads. We and the Soviet Union now have a better chance than we are likely to have in the foreseeable future to make decisions that may enable us to avoid or at least moderate another spiral in the strategic-arms race."

But the Nixon Administration thinks it has considerable leeway. It believes that no vital decisions must be made in the next few months, at least, that would commit the U.S. irrevocably to further nuclear escalation. During this period, a determination can be made whether broad-scale talks with the Russians are feasible.

Meanwhile, the U.S. debate over the arms question is taking on national proportions, spurred largely by the anti-ballistic missile (ABM) project called Sentinel. Until 1967, McNamara resisted pressure from the Joint Chiefs of Staff to go ahead with this type of weapon. Many scientists and civilian planners argued that it was always easier and cheaper for the adversary to improve his offensive equipment by using decoys, multiple warheads and other devices, than it was for the other side to build an adequate defense. It thus seemed wiser to continue to improve the U.S. offensive capability, thereby

SERGEANT KISSINGER AT BERCHTESGADEN (1945)

FAREWELL SEMINAR AT HARVARD

*In quest of a course between excessive idealism and excessive pragmatism.*

20

TIME, FEBRUARY 14, 1969

PICTURE POST

METTERNICH

### Toward coalitions of shared purposes.

perpetuating what the planners call "as-
sured destruction," the ability to dev-
astate the Soviet Union even after
absorbing a first strike.

While work on new U.S. offensive missiles continued, the Russians accelerated expansion of their attack force at a faster rate than Washington had anticipated, and had begun deploying their own ABM system around Moscow. The Soviet catch-up drive, together with China's nuclear development program and the approaching 1968 election, finally pushed the Johnson Administration into the ABM competition. Under Johnson, the U.S. planned a so-called "thin" ABM system, at an estimated cost of $5 billion, to protect against a relatively primitive Chinese missile attack in the 1970s. However, many believe that the project, once begun, would inevitably grow into a "thick" defense against a Russian strike at a cost of $50 billion or more. Last week the Nixon Administration temporarily halted work on the Sentinel pending a new review. Intelligence reports indicate that the Russians, probably because they questioned its efficiency, last year slowed installation of their ABM system.

What is relatively certain is that the U.S. at the moment retains the capacity to decimate any enemy, although the Russians have come a long way in catching up in numerical terms. Both sides are pressing ahead with technical advances, although the U.S. has a substantial lead. One example: the newest Russian missile, the SS-13, is roughly the equivalent of the U.S. Minuteman I, which is already being replaced with a later, much improved model. A still more modern weapon, containing multiple warheads capable of individual

targeting (the MIRV missile), will be operational in about two years. Russia is also working on a MIRV. In the category of warheads available for use in what the military call a "wargasm"—a ghastly coinage meaning a sudden, total conflict—the Pentagon reported only last month that the U.S. leads 4,200 to 1,200.

The distinctions are to some extent academic. Each side can now substantially destroy the other even without striking the first blow, and marginal changes in either quantity or quality of weapons will not change that fact. Hence a rough balance exists. Both sides are also spending heavily. However, proportional to gross national product, the military burden weighs less on the U.S. than on Russia. Mutual escalation could only end in a new balance at a higher and more expensive level.

Kissinger has a long record of pronouncements on nuclear issues; it was in this field that he first made his name. Yet his work has at times been open to varying interpretations. In his first major book, *Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy*, he said that limited nuclear war was controllable and therefore conceivable. He later backed away from that theory; yet for a time colleagues mirthfully referred to him as "Dr. Strangelove, East" (Physicist Edward Teller held the Western title). But his main argument, which eventually became U.S. policy, was that the old massive-retaliation approach of the middle-'50s was irrational because it offered no real alternative between surrender and wholesale annihilation: "It does not make sense to threaten suicide in order to prevent eventual death." John Foster Dulles' policies in general seemed "one-dimensional" to Kissinger.

## A Legitimate Order

In the first book, and in *The Necessity for Choice* (1960), he seemed to be highly skeptical of the chance for successful negotiations with the Russians and of U.S. capacity to bargain with a power that viewed the world so differently. "To us," he wrote, "a treaty has a legal and not only a utilitarian significance, a moral and not only a practical force. In the Soviet view, a concession is merely a phase in a continuing struggle." He also has doubts about the notion that as Russia evolves into a more liberal society, it will necessarily be more tractable. "In some respects," he said recently, "it was easier to deal with Stalin than with this timid, mediocre leadership that lets crises develop and has missiles."

Particular decisions to arm or disarm, to talk or to remain silent, must, in his view, be keyed to current opportunities rather than past failures. What remains constant is his concern with the fundamental uses of strength. The U.S. has not quite grasped an axiom that European statesmen had long ago mastered: peace is not a universal realization of one nation's desires, but a

WALTER BENNETT

KISSINGER & BOSS

### Away from ad hoc decisions.

general acceptance of a concept of an "international order." It may chafe all concerned, but irritation is acceptable if no one's survival is threatened. In his history of the post-Napoleonic period, *A World Restored*, and in writing of the later fusion of German states, Kissinger displayed admiration for Metternich of Austria, Castlereagh of Britain and Bismarck of Prussia.

They were all reactionaries who stood in the way of republicanism, to be sure, but Metternich and Castlereagh particularly understood the need for "legitimate" political structures, for satisfying national (if not popular) aspirations, for balancing the powers of their day. Says Kissinger: "An international order, the basic arrangements of which are accepted by all the major powers, may be called 'legitimate.'" The world conceived in the Congress of Vienna ultimately crumbled, but only after a century of relative peace. The Germany constructed by Bismarck blundered into a fate of blood and new division, but only after the Iron Chanceller lost power. And the failures give Kissinger another lesson to teach Americans: great states disintegrate, and so can theirs. "Nothing is more difficult for Americans to understand than the possibility of tragedy."

Kissinger is European by birth and a Europeanist by doctrine. For the U.S., he says, "international success or failure will ultimately be determined in the Atlantic area." His constant theme in criticizing the Kennedy and Johnson Administrations' approach to the Atlantic Alliance was that they operated from insufficient understanding and flexibility. In his view, once the Marshall Plan had served its purpose and NATO was firmly established, American pre-

TIME, FEBRUARY 14, 1969

21

dominance made less and less sense. Washington's master plans for Western Europe became increasingly irrelevant. Why should not Charles de Gaulle pursue his own vision of a European third force? Why should the military commander of NATO always be an American? For Kissinger, who believes that the age of superpowers is drawing to an end, the growth of independence in Western Europe is natural and desirable.

When he travels to Western Europe next week with Nixon and Rogers, the tour will be something of a personal triumph for Kissinger. It represents, if only symbolically at the moment, a renewal of the kind of relationship that he has advocated. Europeans are intensely, if not always justifiably, suspicious of American attempts to guide their policies, and are increasingly resentful of the growing U.S. involvement in their economies. Kissinger believes that the Atlantic nations can cooperate closely in many spheres, once they can agree on what he calls "coalitions of shared purposes." Precisely what these purposes will be, beyond the obvious mutual interest of defense, remains to be worked out by Nixon diplomacy.

## The Disraeli Conservative

Kissinger calls himself a political independent. "If I were in 19th century Great Britain," he says, "I might be a Disraeli Conservative in domestic affairs, but not in foreign policy." Disraeli was an unabashed imperialist. Kissinger, by contrast, believes that U.S. power must not be spread too thinly, especially in politically underdeveloped areas that Americans little understand.

It is curious that Henry Kissinger, the futurist who demands that the U.S. look far ahead before deciding what to do tomorrow morning, should be so much at home in the 19th century. However, states and statesmen were more predictable during that period, and the margin for error was a little greater. He is not alone in arguing that the U.S. could benefit from reading—and understanding—history. "The pre-eminent task of American foreign policy," he has said, "ought to be to get some reputation for steadiness. Whether we are dangerous to our enemies one can argue, but we are murder on our friends. We will not get steadiness unless we can have a certain philosophy of what we are trying to do."

That 19th century certitude, of course, should still be supplemented by instinct, another essential trait in an age when the only rapid communications were between a man's brain and hand. Kissinger, in *A World Restored*, quotes a line from Metternich: "I was born to make history, not to write novels, and if I guess correctly, this is because I know." As he helps Richard Nixon make history, Kissinger will have to make some knowing guesses himself, probably fateful ones. The U.S. can hope that Kissinger, a man of brilliant intellect, will guess correctly—and that Nixon guessed correctly in choosing him.

## INVESTIGATIONS

### Pueblo and L.B.J.

In the anguished hours after the seizure of U.S.S. *Pueblo*, the Navy desperately charted a plan to recapture her. In fact, *Pueblo* was doomed, both by prior military ineptitude and Washington's well-founded fears of the consequences of any such action.

Testifying before the Navy court of inquiry in Coronado, Calif., last week, Rear Admiral George L. Cassell, former assistant chief of staff for Pacific Fleet Operations, said that the Navy

**Documents or Lives?** Last week's hearings gave *Pueblo's* men the first opportunity to show their devotion to their skipper, Commander Lloyd ("Pete") Bicher. Without exception, they substantially corroborated Bicher's testimony that the ship could not have been defended. The hearings did not go as well for two other officers, however.

Lieut. Stephen R. Harris, who was in charge of *Pueblo's* highly classified research spaces, was called on to explain his failure to destroy mounds of classified documents that ultimately fell into North Korean hands. Harris testified that he did not have enough weighted bags to sink the documents. When one man was wounded by machine-gun fire as he tried to toss one of the bags overboard, Harris decided to keep the men inside to try to burn the documents. The lack of time, the confusion, and the smoke from smoldering documents on the deck made his mission impossible, he said. However, two other officers testified that they had been able to destroy classified documents under their control. And despite the machine-gun fire, they said, they had ventured on deck and had not been hit.

The issue was made even more confusing by a Navy intelligence expert, Captain John H. D. Williams. He maintained that every scrap of classified paper on *Pueblo*, all 2,000 pounds of it, could and should have been destroyed. Williams said that the entire crew should have been released from general quarters to carry the material into one non-essential compartment. There it could have been doused in gasoline and burned. An icy, self-assured officer, Williams made it clear that in his opinion Bicher and Harris had all the destruction equipment they needed. All that was missing was the ingenuity to do the job. And, he indicated, that task in his view was more important than saving sailors' lives.

**No Air Cover.** As serious as Williams' implications were, even more damaging was the fact that Rear Admiral Frank L. Johnson, then Commander of Naval Forces, Japan, had knowingly failed to provide available air cover for the vessel. The details were not made public, but when *Pueblo's* sister surveillance ship, U.S.S. *Banner*, had earlier cruised off North Korea, Admiral Johnson requested half a dozen or more Air Force F-105 fighters for air cover. The fighters were flown from Okinawa to South Korea, where they were kept on "strip alert," ready to go to *Banner's* aid. Inexplicably, Admiral Johnson did not request the same protection for *Pueblo*, which was stationed far closer to the Korean mainland. Instead, the F-105s remained on stand-by alert on Okinawa, 900 miles from the hapless spy ship. It was no excuse that, even if the aircraft had been ready to defend *Pueblo*, Lyndon Johnson might well have refused them permission to take off for the very same reason that he embargoed the Navy's 19th century-style rescue mission.

CAPTAIN JOHN WILLIAMS

The advice was simple: don't do it.

launched its rescue mission immediately after the capture. Two U.S. Navy destroyers, U.S.S. *Truxton* and U.S.S. *Higbee*, were ordered to sail to Wonsan. Under heavy air cover and backed up by a U.S. ultimatum to the North Koreans, *Higbee* was to dash into Wonsan harbor and escort *Pueblo* to safety. However, noted Cassell, the plan was veered by "higher authority."

That higher authority was Lyndon Johnson. As the destroyers headed out, the President called a conference in the White House with top military and foreign-affairs aides. The advice Johnson received was simply: Don't do it. Johnson wholeheartedly concurred. Said he: "I don't want another war." One participant recalls that there was little debate. "On this one," he says, "there were no hawks, there were no doves. It was unanimous. Apart from the danger of starting another war with North Korea, it was obvious to the President and his advisers that the rescue attempt would almost certainly result in the immediate death of *Pueblo's* crew."

22

TIME, FEBRUARY 14, 1969

YORK TIMES, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 27, 1969

London: At Mr. Nixon's Elbow

By TOM WICKER

LONDON, Feb. 26—At one of the press briefings conducted here by Ron Ziegler, Mr. Nixon's news secretary, and Trevor Lloyd-Hughes, Prime Minister Wilson's official spokesman, Lloyd-Hughes read a list of the British and American participants in one discussion.

"All the others present," he said, with British regard for class distinctions, "were what I would call advisers."

Ziegler spoke up immediately. "It should be noted," he said, "that Dr. Henry Kissinger participated in the meeting."

Ziegler was only stating publicly what was quickly apparent to most of Mr. Nixon's London hosts and to London-based Americans getting their first personal look at the Nixon foreign policy team. They say right away that Dr. Henry Kissinger, the President's Special Assistant for National Security Affairs, is much more than just an "adviser."

## Speculation on the Team

Along with the heady impression Mr. Nixon created here of a President genuinely interested in the British view of things, he also left some lively speculation as to how things may ultimately sort themselves out

between Dr. Kissinger and Secretary of State William P. Rogers.

When Mr. Nixon met with the Wilson Cabinet at No. 10 Downing Street, for instance, the Prime Minister left all of what the British call "officials" in an upstairs room. That meant only the President and Secretary. Rogers, of the American party, were on or above the so-called "ministerial level" of the British participants. Nevertheless, within a few minutes a summons arrived for Dr. Kissinger, who then joined the President and the Ministers in the Cabinet room.

## Kissinger's Role

Dr. Kissinger, after all, came into this new Administration not only an acknowledged authority in international affairs but a familiar of many of those in the American and European Governments with which the Nixon Administration must work. He personally suggested some of the "private citizens" with whom Mr. Nixon met here. Moreover, Dr. Kissinger is not only both a personal adviser to Mr. Nixon as well as the manager of the important apparatus of the National Security Council; he also has direct and frequent access to the

President—and in Europe has been constantly at his elbow.

Secretary Rogers, a newcomer to the State Department, its concerns and the foreign Governments with which it deals, nevertheless has a long and close personal relationship with Mr. Nixon, control of the necessary machinery of the State Department, and an insider's knowledge of the Government bureaucracy and how it works. These are solid assets for a long-distance runner; but for the moment he appears clearly to be running behind Dr. Kissinger and his expertise and access.

This does not necessarily portend some shattering showdown struggle; it may only reflect the current state of development of the Nixon Administration. Through the excellent impression the President created here with his attentiveness, his obvious interest in his hosts, his modesty and the methodical way in which he sought amplification of any point new or unclear to him, and despite the technical knowledge of European and world affairs with which he came armed, some of those watching Mr. Nixon closely thought they saw the understandable lack of self-confidence of one who, though

long experienced in politics, had never before really exercised power or had to accept great responsibility.

It would be remarkable if it were not so, Presidents being as human as the rest of us—and this analysis may largely account for the rather giddy feeling of the British Government that an American President, for once, really had wanted to know what its Ministers thought and might actually take their advice into account. They thought John Kennedy's "consultation" seldom went beyond rhetoric, and Lyndon Johnson hardly even bothered with that.

## For the Present

This impression of Mr. Nixon as "a guy looking for help," as one observer put it, also goes far to explain the President's current reliance on Henry Kissinger. He is the most knowledgeable independent adviser now available to Mr. Nixon on a host of matters about which hard decisions may soon have to be made, while Secretary Rogers, even more than the President himself, has still to master his office and its subject matter—a situation which will not always be the case.

THE NEW YORK TIMES, THURSDAY, THE NEW

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Books of The Times

Churchilliana

By CHARLES POORE

CHURCHILL REVISED. By A. J. P. Taylor, J.
H. Plumb, Robert Rhodes James, Anthony
Storr and Basil Liddell Hart. 282 pages.
Dial. $5.95.

CHURCHILL AS HISTORIAN. By Maurice
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JENNIE. The Life of Lady Randolph Churchill.
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THERESE three books keep the great
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Why? Mainly, I imagine, because more
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candled. There's always time to go back
and rehearse Sir Winston's tangled destiny.
Which produces the smoke. Also, some
valuable ex post facto musing toward
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The first book, "Churchill Revised," lives
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fresh and authoritative appraisals. The
contributors are mercilessly analytic about
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haunted obsession with Mediterranean
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They give him excellent posthumous
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Mr. Ashley is left in the
savants who straighten

Our third book, "Jen
Martin, is an engrossing
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was far more devoted
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Mr. Martin's book

# Confidence of the President

By PATRICK ANDERSON

WASHINGTON.

IT was early evening in the White House and Henry Kissinger, the Harvard professor turned Presidential adviser on foreign affairs, was taking some friendly razzing from Bob Haldeman, the tall California public relations man who is now Mr. Nixon's chief of staff. That morning the President, returning from a speech appearance, had detoured by the Jefferson Memorial to see the cherry trees in bloom. Kissinger followed along dutifully, but at one point he complained: "If I'd known you planned this, I'd have walked back to the White House and got some work done."

His quip found its way into an afternoon paper, and now Haldeman was on the phone giving Kissinger a hard time about his lapse from the anonymity expected of White House aides. Kissinger took the razzing with a grin, muttered "You bastard" once, good-naturedly, and finally responded, "Well, it's better than if they'd printed another line of mine."

"What's that?" Haldeman asked.

"Seen one President, you've seen 'em all," Kissinger said, and the two men laughed and returned to the business of government.

HENRY A. KISSINGER has not seen them all, but for a man just turned 46 he has seen and served an impressive number of Presidents and would-be Presidents. His first book, "Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy," published in 1957, established him as one of the world's leading students of nuclear-age war and diplomacy; since then he has been a top-level consultant to the Eisenhower, Kennedy and Johnson Administrations. In addition, he has long been a friend and adviser to Nelson Rockefeller, and was active in Rockefeller's Presidential drive last year. And he greatly admired Senator Robert Kennedy and told friends he would be happy to serve in an R.F.K. Administration.

But such are the vagaries of politics that it was neither Rockefeller nor Kennedy who brought Kissinger to power but Richard Nixon, of whom Kissinger, by many reports, was most critical in his Rockefeller days. After

two two-hour talks at the Hotel Pierre last December, Nixon offered Kissinger the job as his Assistant for National Security Affairs, the post held by McGeorge Bundy under President Kennedy and by Walt W. Rostow under President Johnson. The offer was a complete surprise and Kissinger did not immediately accept. "I wasn't sure someone should take this job without very detailed knowledge of the President," he recalls, "because so much of it depends on an intangible, very personal relationship."

But Kissinger took the job—the appointment was widely viewed as Nixon's most brilliant—and the German-born intellectual is now seen as the President's most influential adviser on foreign affairs. He was instrumental in Nixon's shift from a concept of nuclear "superiority" to one of nuclear "sufficiency." He was the chief planner of Nixon's successful trip to Europe in late February. He is a central figure in the Administration's efforts to reach a negotiated settlement of the war in Vietnam. He played a vital role in the Presidential decision-making process on the "Safeguard" ABM system and in the aftermath of North Korea's downing of the American EC-121 spy plane.

In all this, Kissinger's influence depends on his personal standing with the President—and Bob Haldeman presumably reflects the President's own sentiments when he says:

"Henry has developed an extremely close relationship with the President in a very short time. They have excellent personal rapport. They track well together. Henry has come in on an entirely dedicated basis and established himself as a trusted adviser. Both he and the President think fast and systematically. The President doesn't like a lot of preliminaries, he wants to get right to the point, and Henry does. When the President is faced with a decision he asks a lot of fast questions, and Henry has always done his homework. There aren't many men this President, or any President, can work with that well."

Kissinger, for his part, has apparently moved from initial skepticism to a genuine respect for his new boss. His remarks are guarded, partly because he knows he has been criticized for his fast move from the Rockefeller camp to the Nixon Administration ("I wonder who's Kissinger now," say his critics) and partly be-

cause he is a proud and independent man who is determined not to seem a sycophant or yes-man, as he believes many White House aides tend to be. But he says of the President: "He's very businesslike. He's easy to deal with. He's incisive. He reads everything put before him. He's been very cool in the crises. I respect him very much."

He has also said, speaking of the support and encouragement he has had from the President: "If I fail in this job, it will be my own fault."

THERE has inevitably been much speculation on the relative impact on the President's foreign policy decisions of Kissinger, Secretary of State William P. Rogers and Secretary of Defense Melvin Laird. Much of the speculation has been unflattering to the two Secretaries.

One highly placed Democrat says: "There's a saying that in the country of the blind, the one-eyed man is king; the Secretaries of State and Defense are new to foreign policy, and this has created a magnificent opportunity for Kissinger to fill the vacuum. He's certainly the key adviser on foreign policy now. And I'm glad its Kissinger; he's a sound, thoughtful man."

A former Defense Department official comments: "If you're Nixon, and you want national security advice, and you've got Laird, Rogers and Kissinger, who would you go to? Laird can tell you about the Pentagon hardware, and Rogers can tell you what the diplomats say, but Kissinger can get you that, too. Either Laird or Rogers knows more about domestic politics than Kissinger, but Nixon doesn't need advice on politics. If you're Nixon, the one man who knows something you don't know is Henry Kissinger."

As far as Secretary Rogers is concerned, it is undeniable that he came to the State Department with little experience in foreign affairs, whereas Kissinger is an internationally recognized authority in the field. But Rogers is not without his resources. He is a close personal friend of the President, which Kissinger is not; he is sensitive to domestic politics, which Kissinger is not; and he is Secretary of State, which Kissinger is not.

At this point, there is little doubt that Kissinger is having more im-

(Continued on Page 37)

## Kissingerisms

"Force by itself will not supply an answer to the challenge of the future. It offers the possibility that there will be a future."

"There cannot be a crisis next week. My schedule is already full."

"The pre-eminent task of American foreign policy ought to be to get some reputation for steadiness. Whether we are dangerous to our enemies one can argue, but we are murder on our friends."

After he wrote a speech for Nelson Rockefeller which was rewritten by four of the Governor's regular speechwriters: "When Nelson buys a Picasso, he does not hire four housepainters to improve it."

To a visitor who joked that Kissinger might get us out of Vietnam only to get us into something worse: "Yes, I must have a war of my own."

"Our generation has succeeded in stealing the fire of the gods and it is doomed to live with the horror of its achievement."

PATRICK ANDERSON is the author of "The Presidents' Men" and a forthcoming novel, "The Approach to Kings."

JUNE 1, 1969

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(Continued from Page 44)

that his German accent and
his preoccupations with nu-
clear planning have led his
critics to call him Dr. Strange-
love.

Thus, his recent response when a young woman burbled to him about the excitement of his job: (deadpan, glancing at his watch) "Yes, in 30 seconds the bombers arrive over Hanoi." Or his mock-serious reply to a visitor who recently joked that Kissinger might get us out of Vietnam only to get us into something worse. "Yes, I must have a war of my own."

AT Harvard, Kissinger was popular with his students, although his wide-ranging commitments often required him to rely on guest lecturers to substitute for him. He taught both undergraduate and graduate students, and preferred the undergraduates because he found them more willing to challenge him. Kissinger knew that his extracurricular duties aroused criticism among his colleagues, and he never felt entirely a part of the Harvard community. Today, his colleagues, while praising Kissinger's intellect, sometimes add that of course Henry's political involvement has kept him from becoming the scholar he might have been.

Friends say Kissinger has mellowed, become more approachable, since his divorce in 1964 from his wife of 15 years. "Until the divorce," one said, "he had a string of victories. The breakup was something new."

Kissinger is known as an extremely hard worker, but, he also finds time to enjoy the fruits of his labors. He drives a white Mercedes; he is a connoisseur of the ballet and of fine restaurants; he has, since his divorce, often escorted attractive, well-informed young women in Boston, New York and Washington. Women find him not "heavy" or "Germanic," as his colleagues at Harvard often describe him, but a most charming and considerate companion.

In Washington he lives in a small elegant row house facing Rock Creek Park in northwest Washington. His home phone is linked with the White House and Pentagon switchboards, to give Kissinger instant, worldwide communications should crisis catch him at home. Despite the demands of his job, he finds time for White House balls, fashionable dinner parties, embassy receptions and the like. People he sees socially in Washington include Elliot Richardson, the Under Secretary of State; John Gardner, president

HOW IT'S DONE—Kissinger with his boss and Gov-
ernor Rockefeller at Key Biscayne, Fla., just before the
latter's first trip to Latin America for the President.

of the Urban Coalition, and
Caryl Haskins, president of
the Carnegie Institution.

In Kissinger's work, unlike his life, one finds little that is light or pleasant. He has devoted his professional career to analysis of modern war and diplomacy, and a striking, recurring theme in his writings is his foreboding of doom, what his colleague Stanley Hoffmann calls his "brooding melancholy."

His first book, "Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy," began: "In Greek mythology, Nemesis, the goddess of fate, sometimes punished man by fulfilling his wishes too completely. It has remained for the nuclear age to experience the full irony of this penalty." A few pages later he cites the Prometheus legend: "Our generation has succeeded in stealing the fire of the gods and it is doomed to live with the horror of its achievement." Of pre-1914 Europe he writes: "In the long interval of peace the sense of the tragic was lost; it was forgotten that states could die, that upheavals could be irretrievable." And of the present: "Nothing is more difficult for Americans to understand than the possibility of tragedy."

KISSINGER'S sense of the tragic has roots deep in his own life. He was born in Furth, Germany, on May 27, 1923, and as a Jewish child he saw and felt the coming of Nazism. He and his brother were beaten by other children. His father, a schoolteacher, lost his job. In 1938 the family fled Germany for New York City, where young Heinz (who soon became Henry) learned English and became a straight-

A student at George Wash-
ington High School. In 1945,
22 and a sergeant in the U.S.
Army, he returned to gaze
upon a Germany in ruins. It
was a sight he never forgot.

He entered Harvard on a scholarship in 1947 and found there the security that had been missing from his early life. He earned his Ph.D., joined the faculty, and even today is still a professor of government there, on leave. But Harvard soon became only a base for Kissinger's wide-ranging activities, for by the mid-fifties his writings were winning him a place in the world of affairs. His first articles on strategic questions began appearing in 1954, in Foreign Affairs and other prestigious journals, and he became a consultant to the Eisenhower Administration's National Security Council.

He won an international reputation with the publication of "Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy." The book was, among other things, an indictment of the Eisenhower Administration's reliance on "massive retaliation," and it helped bring about the Kennedy Administration's "flexible response."

One controversial element of the book was Kissinger's declaration that limited nuclear war was an acceptable instrument of national policy. Four years later, in "The Necessity for Choice," he treated from that judgment, admitting it might be very hard to keep limited war limited. (He still reserved the possibility of limited nuclear war as a last resort; say, to keep Russia from overrunning Europe with conventional forces.)

His early writings gave Kiss-

THE NEW YORK TIMES MAGAZINE

TIMES, WEDNESDAY, JULY 30, 1969

Harriman and Kissinger's Mission to Paris

By JAMES RESTON

The military talk now coming out of Saigon is beginning to change. At least the words are different. Instead of a strategy of "search and destroy" or "maximum military pressure" on the enemy, United States headquarters is now talking about "reducing the violence" and a strategy of "protective reaction."

Maybe this is meaningless, but changes in language usually precede changes in policy, and there is some reason for believing that President Nixon's visit to Vietnam may be the beginning of a significant move toward what may be called the "Harriman strategy" for ending the war.

Harriman's Thesis

Averell Harriman, who was in charge of the Vietnam peace talks under the Johnson Administration, has recently been talking to President Nixon's White House foreign policy adviser, Henry Kissinger, who used to work for Harriman. They have not agreed about U.S. Vietnam policy in these talks. Ambassador Harriman has felt that Dr. Kissinger gave far too much weight to the views of the Saigon Government on how to conduct and end the war, but Harriman's views have been getting to the President, through Kissinger,

who will go to the Paris Vietnam talks after Mr. Nixon's visit to Vietnam.

Accordingly, it is interesting to report a conversation with Ambassador Harriman. He believes the Nixon Administration has been following a wrong, misleading, and dangerous military and diplomatic strategy in Saigon and Paris. He thinks the President has been applying "maximum pressure" on the enemy in order to expand control over more Vietnamese territory, and has also been trying to build up and extend the authority of the Saigon Government—both as a means of improving the Washington-Saigon negotiating position in Paris.

Harriman's thesis is that this may be good domestic politics but is bad military and diplomatic strategy. He has been negotiating with the Communists ever since he was the American Ambassador in Moscow in 1943-46, and he has been arguing to Kissinger and others that the U.S. will never make any progress in the Paris peace talks until (1) it accepts the present military and political status quo and (2) thus indicates to Hanoi and the Vietcong that it is not trying to improve the military and political power of the Saigon Government.

Until this is done, Harriman argues, there will be no serious negotiations in Paris. Hanoi will stall and Washington will find itself in an increasingly difficult position. For as the Ambassador sees it, the Nixon Administration is trying to give the impression that it has made very generous offers to the enemy which have been rejected, and in his view, this has created a dangerous situation.

In Hanoi it has increased the determination to continue the fighting rather than see the military and political power of the Saigon regime increased. In Paris, it has not only produced a diplomatic stalemate but increased Hanoi's demands. In the United States, it has produced an odd alliance between the hawks, who say win or get out, and the doves, who argue that we should get out anyway because the whole thing is not worth the cost.

Accept the Status Quo?

Harriman is against this trend toward cut-and-run. He thinks there is a sensible compromise, but it begins, he asserts, by reducing the violence, and accepting the present military-political power balance.

He wants to see the U. S. stop boasting about how many enemy we kill, and pretending

that we have pacified 84 per cent of the country (when we get hit anywhere and anytime the enemy chooses), and devoting half our combat forces to extending our control over the countryside, and acting as if the Saigon Government is representative of the people of South Vietnam when it isn't.

His argument to Kissinger was to accept the political and military realities and get on with the peace talks. Otherwise, he insisted, the last chance of avoiding either a humiliating withdrawal or an expansion of the war might be lost.

Mr. Nixon's visit to Vietnam undoubtedly gives the impression that Washington is backing the Saigon regime all the way, but there is a difference between propaganda and policy. Under the headlines lies the reality. The President emphasized in his Asian policy review on Guam that while Washington will continue to play a significant role in Asia, it will be a limited role, minimizing the use of American troops.

Harriman is arguing the same thing, but is saying to Kissinger that this role must begin by changing military and political tactics in Saigon and Paris, and it may be more important to watch what Kissinger does in Paris than what the President says in Vietnam.

THE NEW YORK TIMES, WEDNESDAY

Books of The Times

The Children of Cain Never Grow Up

By JOHN LEONARD

THE HISTORY OF VIOLENCE IN AMERICA.
A Report to the National Commission on
the Causes and Prevention of Violence.
Edited by Hugh Davis Graham and Ted
Robert Gurr. 822 pages. Praeger, $11.95.
Bantam paperback, $1.25.

THE only problem with this sea of
words—350,000 words—is that, hav-
ing dropped into it like a salvage
diver, one undergoes the dislocating rap-
tures of the deep. Speculations of every
size and shape press upon the eye and
bend the mind: J-curves of "relative dep-
rivation," statistical balloonfish, squids of
fact. You learn so many facts—between
1882 and 1903, 1,985 Negroes were
lynched. There are more murders per year
in Manhattan (pop. 1.7 million) than in
England and Wales combined (pop. 49
million)—that you somehow lose your
grasp of the particular and the significant.
Violence is dematerialized, becoming part
of what Julio Cortázar has called "the or-
dinary routine of buses and history."

Which is not to say the authors haven't
done a stupendous job. The general survey
of American labor violence by Philip Taft
and Philip Ross is alone worth the price of
the book. Equally worthy are Richard
Maxwell Brown's history of vigilante
movements; Morris Janowitz's "Patterns of
Collective Racial Violence"; Ted Robert
Gurr's cross-cultural comparison of civil
strife, and Bernard J. Siegel's extraordi-
nary analysis of "defensive withdrawal,"
the nonviolent adaptations by minority

lence is not some primitive regression,
some aberrant abscess in the body politic,
but an inevitable part of the political proc-
ess; and we must endure a clumsy dialec-
tic between concession and coercion, tak-
ing polls to determine how repressive we
can be.

The Encircling Gloom

How to escape this trap of armed sloth,
of institutionalized greed, when every ac-
cession of knowledge seems only to deepen
our gloom and certify a sort of biologic
recidivism? How, when every bit of evi-
dence indicts us, can we sustain the dream
of man's perfectability? Three essays speak
inadvertently to this issue.

First is Louis Hartz's "Comparative
Study of Fragment Cultures." Professor
Hartz has always celebrated America's
lack of a feudal past because it finessed
class animosity, and our liberal Locke-in
because it exempted us from ideological
division. Now he revises himself: the "abo-
rigine," whether Afro or Australo or Inca,
threatens the consensus culture of the Eu-
ropean "fragment." We either exterminate
or accommodate, and if indeed the United
States Supreme Court exists because of a
"notion that there is enough moral agree-
ment in the political world to permit the
adjudication of even its largest questions,"
surely we will accommodate. Extermina-
tion would shatter any possible consensus.

In "Violence in American Literature and
Folk Lore" Kenneth Lynn first argues that

Photo: Burton File

What happens to a
successful writer
when she discovers
something about
herself she'd
rather not know?

REAL PEOPLE
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## PEOPLE OF THE WEEK

# Man With a "Pressure Cooker" Job
—How Kissinger Exercises Power

Refugee from Hitler's Germany, Harvard intellectual, long-range global strategist, Henry A. Kissinger, at age 46, has a noteworthy record of service to four American Presidents.

Dr. Kissinger is President Nixon's most experienced adviser on foreign policy. He has become very close to Mr. Nixon, and is reported to see him more frequently than does any other official in Government.

As Assistant to the President for National Security Affairs, Dr. Kissinger holds a key job, to which—White House veterans say—the hard-driving professor has added an extra dimension of power.

**Maker of policy.** Author of the Administration's basic formula for dealing with the Vietnam problem, developer of the concept of nuclear "sufficiency" instead of "superiority" in relation to Russia, Dr. Kissinger makes his influence felt in many ways. His office, in the basement of the west wing of the White House, is a nerve center not only for initiation of foreign policy but for key phases of its implementation.

On Mr. Nixon's visit to Europe earlier this year, Dr. Kissinger was always at the President's side. He was with Mr. Nixon at Midway for the meeting with South Vietnam's President Thieu. He will be answering questions and offering suggestions as the Chief Executive considers with leaders of the Philippines, Indonesia, Thailand, India, Pakistan and Rumania in late July and early August.

Henry Kissinger's reputation in the strategy of war and diplomacy in the nuclear age was established with publication of his first book, "Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy," in 1957. This led to his service as a high-level consultant to Presidents Eisenhower, Kennedy and Johnson. Later, he was active

in Governor Nelson A. Rockefeller's drive for the Republican presidential nomination. At the same time, he was a professed admirer of the late Senator Robert F. Kennedy.

There was some surprise when Dr. Kissinger was recruited for the White House by Mr. Nixon. But in the inner councils of Government, surprise has given way to recognition of his daily impact.

**Size-up.** From a White House reporter on the staff of "U. S. News & World Report" comes this view of Dr. Kissinger's approach to his job and his working relationship with the President:

"Henry Kissinger has one predominant fear—that on some future date, hindsight might pinpoint a course of action the President could have taken—and didn't—to solve a thorny international problem or to avoid a big mistake.

"It is for this reason that Kissinger provides the widest range of alternatives for the President. And that accounts for the fact that Kissinger's workday averages close to 15 hours and is never shorter than 12.

"Kissinger briefs the President every morning, and they generally talk things over at the end of the day. On a typical working day, they may also confer half a dozen other times.

"Kissinger is one of the few men with instant access to the President at any hour of the day or night."

As for Dr. Kissinger's daily activities, the White House observer reports:

"Kissinger examines every important document, memorandum or proposal on foreign affairs or military matters coming into the White House. Any matter of this kind, whether from the State Department, the Pentagon or the Central Intelligence Agency, crosses his desk before it goes to the President. Kissinger

may or may not, as he sees fit, suggest different courses of action."

Described as sensitive to charges heard in some quarters that his office "competes" with the State Department, Dr. Kissinger makes certain that no appearance of such "competition" can arise. He insists that top people at State—and at all other departments concerned with foreign policy —be kept fully informed on everything that goes on at the White House. If Dr. Kissinger holds different views, the official with whom he differs is told exactly why, without delay.

At meetings of the National Security Council, Dr. Kissinger never presents a proposal until it has been shown to officials of the State and Defense Departments, the CIA and, in cases where financial considerations are involved, the Treasury Department.

From an insider, describing top-level (continued on next page)

—Magnum Photo

HENRY KISSINGER—An extra dimension of authority in a key White House post.

AT SECURITY COUNCIL meetings, Dr. Kissinger plays a leading role. He devised plan for Vietnam troop cutbacks.

FOREIGN-POLICY AIDE has "instant access" to Mr. Nixon at home or abroad. Here they confer during European trip.

—USN&WR Photos

15

## PEOPLE OF THE WEEK

continued

conferences: "The President often asks, 'What do you think, Henry?' Kissinger then states his views and recommendations, but also sums up all the other proposals and offers all the options. He will often argue aggressively for a view in conflict with his own, just to make sure every conceivable opinion is aired."

Essentially, Dr. Kissinger devised the Nixon plan to start withdrawing troops from Vietnam this summer. But he offered the President a number of other options. And just before the Chief Executive announced what he had decided to do, Dr. Kissinger asked the question which, intimates say, is always uppermost in his mind: "Are there any choices we have not considered?"

**The Kissinger manner.** In conversation, Dr. Kissinger speaks rapidly, with a German accent. Some associates think he has a rather caustic sense of humor.

As an example, when a visitor jokingly remarked that he might get the U. S. out of Vietnam only to get into something worse, he rejoined sardonically: "Yes, I must have a war of my own."

In dealing with the press, Dr. Kissinger prefers to remain in the anonymous role of a "White House source."

The son of a high-school teacher, Henry—originally Heinz—Kissinger was born in Fuerth, Germany, May 27, 1923. The Kissingers, of the Jewish faith, experienced the terror of Nazism. The family fled to the U. S. in 1938, settling in New York. When World War II came, young Kissinger joined the U. S. Army, returning to Germany as an American soldier.

After the war, he entered Harvard on a scholarship, earned a Ph.D. and became a member of the faculty, eventually as a professor of government. His writings

on strategic questions won wide attention, and he became a consultant to the National Security Council in the Eisenhower and subsequent Administrations.

**With Mr. Nixon—.** Another White House reporter says this about the Nixon-Kissinger rapport:

"Kissinger seems to take a rather omniscient, cosmic view of foreign affairs. His goal seems to be to look ahead so far that he will foresee all difficulties for years ahead and avert future catastrophes. This seems to fit in exactly with Nixon's view of the world. Both men put great stock in having a plan—in having foreseen all contingencies."

Dr. Kissinger has told friends that his job is a "pressure cooker," but that he likes it. And he has said: "If I fail in this job, it will be my own fault."

*(Mr. Nixon's upcoming trip, p. 42)*

Whatever Happened to ...
The Royalty
Of Europe

Britain is grooming a newly installed Prince of Wales for the job of reigning monarch—a job that has fallen on hard times in much of Europe.

Thirty years ago, 15 European countries were headed by royalty. Today that total is down to nine. And Britain is the last country in which the monarchy retains much of the pomp and splendor that once symbolized the "divine right of kings."

Besides Britain's Queen Elizabeth II, Europe's remaining royal rulers are:

King Baudouin of Belgium, King Frederik IX of Denmark, Prince Francis Joseph II of Liechtenstein, Grand Duke Jean: of Luxembourg, Prince Rainier III of Monaco, Queen Juliana of the Netherlands, King Olav V of Norway and King Gustav VI Adolf of Sweden.

**Rise of the Reds.** The establishment of Communist regimes in Eastern Europe at the end of World War II brought most of the abdications.

Albania, Bulgaria, Rumania and Yugoslavia all threw out their monarchs in the aftermath of the war.

Italy exiled King Umberto after a referendum had decided to end the monarchy in June, 1946.

In December, 1967, King Constantine of Greece went into voluntary exile after political upheaval in Athens. He now lives in Rome, with a chance of returning to Athens one day as ruler.

One royal family that seems to have a

-Wide World, UPI Photos

A NEW Prince of Wales-pomp and ceremony in the British manner.

happier future is the Bourbon-Battenberg family of Spain. It could regain the throne it lost when King Alfonso XIII abdicated in 1931.

The family is headed by Prince Juan de Bourbon, 56, Count of Barcelona, who lives in exile in Portugal.

Who will succeed Generalissimo Francisco Franco, 76, ruler of Spain since 1939, is not yet decided. But experts say Spain's monarchs are well organized.

If liberal Prince Juan is unacceptable, his more-conservative son, Don Juan Carlos, now 31 and a captain in the Spanish Army, is willing to become King ahead of his father.

**The other exiles.** The Hapsburg family-backbone of the Austro-Hungarian Empire that dominated Southeast Europe until 1919-lives on in the person of Archduke Otto von Hapsburg, 56, ♀ lecturer and writer on international affairs.

The Archduke, exiled 50 years ago, has lived most of the time in Bavaria. In 1963 he renounced all claims to his

LATEST EXILE in the ranks of royalty. King Constantine of Greece, who may yet return.

IN SPAIN, Don Juan Carlos—or his father—has good chance to regain a European throne.

FORMER KING Michael of Rumania, a victim of Red take-over in '40s, now lives in Geneva.

family throne, and now visits Vienna frequently.

Other ex-kings in exile include Michael of Rumania, a member of the Hohenzollern family who lives in Geneva, Simeon of Bulgaria, and Peter of Yugoslavia, a businessman living in England.

Where royalty still retains a toehold, there seems little immediate threat to the system. But even in Britain there are outspoken antiroyalist feelings. Prince Charles's investiture as Prince of Wales was marked by threats and by bombs set off by Welsh nationalists.

U. S. NEWS & WORLD REPORT, July 14, 1969

16

[LC]

HENRY KISSINGER

STRATEGIST
IN
THE WHITE HOUSE BASEMENT

PASSION DOES NOT SEEM part of Dr. Henry Alfred Kissinger's bag. Since Kissinger currently serves as President Richard Nixon's Assistant for National Security Affairs, perhaps we all ought to do more comfortably, knowing that the voice in the President's ear does not spew quick-tempered words.

Still, there are things that ripple the Kissinger calm. Sitting in his White House basement office, close enough to hear and smell the White House kitchen, talking recently of assured nuclear capacity, ICBM's and Vietnam, he hardened his tone and addressed himself to his alma mater and former teaching haven: "What happened at Harvard is the destruction of all humane values. If a university can no longer distinguish between means and ends, extremists take over. It is fascism. A university ought to stand for humane values. You must restrain righteous power. Fighting evil is easy, but limiting righteousness is hard." This is strong talk, particularly when one considers that the Harvard spring uprising, except for the behavior of the state police, was mild when compared with what hit other schools.

The President's adviser reverted to flat calm when he talked of the most passionate issue of a generation, Vietnam. After some college students traveled to Washington to impress officials with their opposition to the war and the draft and met with Kissinger, he said, "I can understand the anguish of the younger generation. They lack models, they have no heroes, they see no great purposes in the world. But conscientious objection is destructive of a society. The imperatives of the individual are always in conflict with the organization of society. Conscientious objection must be reserved for only the greatest moral issues, and Vietnam is not of this magnitude."

That he considers several hundred thousand dead and maimed in Vietnam of less than the greatest moral magnitude obviously sets the 46-year-old Kissinger, and the Nixon Administration, apart from the demonstrating generation. He suffered personal confirmation of the gap when two-thirds of Brown University's graduating class last June turned their backs as he received an honorary degree.

But to write Kissinger off as a simpleminded hawk would be a mistake. "Henry is one of the few people who had the intellectual capacity and guts to change his views," says a long-time associate, referring to Kissinger's early preoccupation with defenses based on tactical nuclear weapons aimed at a monolithic world-Communist movement. "But," warns the same acquaintance, "he's extremely ambitious, almost paranoiac in his urge to succeed as a shaper of national-security operations. He's not like Walt Rostow, however [Kissinger's immediate predecessor at the White House]-given to elaborate theo-

ries which he supports by carefully selecting his data."

The subject explains his role as somewhat less than a pudgy Svengali whispering in the ear of Trilby. "My minimum role is to make sure that all relevant considerations that I can dredge up from within the Government or from the best experts are brought in manageable form before the President and his principal advisers. Of course, I am not going to claim that I do not express my opinion, especially

Tactician Kissinger brings an academic high forehead and unblinking gaze to the pressure cooker of foreign policy.

BY GERALD ASTOR LOOK SENIOR EDITOR

if the President asks for it. After all, foreign policy is my field, and it would be foolish to say that I have no ideas on what should be done. But my first responsibility is to present to the President his options." When asked about his "almost paranoiac" ambition, Kissinger folds his lower lip over the upper, shakes his head sadly and then purrs from deep in his throat, "If you have ambition in this job, you're dead. The only way you can do this job is if you consider yourself expendable. The one thing you cannot do is shape policy."

A "political independent" who likes to think of himself as "liberal," Kissinger came out of Germany when he was 14 years old, and a refugee from Hitler. For the past decade, he has been a moving shadow in the corridors of the U.S. Government, serving as a consultant to three administrations, writing books and articles on U.S. security that have become "must" reading for people involved in diplomacy and strategy. When Nelson Rockefeller decided to run for President in 1968, Kissinger tutored the New York Governor through a series of seminars designed to reformulate Rockefeller's thinking on foreign policy. In fact, one reporter who interviewed Rockefeller was directed afterward by the Governor's office to Kissinger to find out just what Rockefeller had meant.

Because he has traveled in the company of divergent political figures, some observers call Kissinger a chameleon. He insists that a study of his record will show him as quite consistent except for his abandonment of tactical-nuclear-weapons strategy. "Please, do me a favor," he pleads, when the subject of consistency arises. "Don't use that awful pun. 'I wonder who's Kissinger now.'"

One Kissinger consultation opened a pipeline to Hanoi that led to Lyndon Johnson's order for a bombing halt. During a 1967 meeting of scientists concerned with the Near East, a French citizen advised Kissinger that an acquaintance knew Ho Chi Minh personally and was willing to carry messages. After a go-ahead from the State Department Kissinger opened a channel of communication. "I was personally very dubious," he says. "But they [the French] came back with encouraging answers."

Whatever small role Kissinger played in the events leading to the 1968 bombing pause and the Paris talks, he hardly wears the label of peacemonger. Because he was one of the first political scientists to theorize on the use of missiles and nuclear weapons, wears glasses that give him an owlish look and speaks with a slight German accent. Kissinger has been dubbed "Dr. Strangelove." "That hurts me," he says. "Anyone who knows me cannot believe that my prime interest is nuclear war for its own sake."

Kissinger has his own small internal con-continued

LOOK 8-12-69 53

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flicts. Conscious of expansionist tendencies in his waistline, Kissinger habitually orders the weight watcher's special from the White House kitchen, a small steak, salad, zucchini and black coffee. Then he pursues every scrap of food on his plate as relentlessly as any search-and-destroy mission.

For all of his well-thought-out diplomatic strategy, Kissinger still writes sludgy academic prose. He manages a mild self-deprecatory humor about himself, however. Referring, in a phone call, to his current role, he remarked, "That was before megalomania set in." To a visitor squeezed into his tangle of appointments, he said, "There cannot be a crisis next week. My schedule is already full." To an associate who boiled down a ponderous mass of research into concise English, Kissinger once protested that the audience would not accept the précis: "It's too lucid."

> "If Kissinger should ever
> try to get around Mel Laird,
> he'll get his legs cut off."

He maintains the same unblinking stare and steady tone whether speaking of the recalcitrance of Ho Chi Minh, nuclear weapons, or his two children, who live with his divorced wife in Belmont, Mass. When a subordinate passed along to the President's office a paper that had not been reviewed by Kissinger, a distinct chill in Kissinger's voice was the only clue to his anger.

For old acquaintances, Kissinger breaks out a sunny smile, and while he protests that he can do without any publicity, he was noticeably available to the press during the Nixon tour of Europe. On the way to the summit meeting with South Vietnam's President Thieu at Midway Island in June, Kissinger unbuttoned his reserve long enough to wear a sporty sort of blazer designed by the Air Force for Administration staffers. The lounging jacket bore shoulder tabs, the White House insignia on the left breast pocket, the name "H. Kissinger" on the right.

The patience with which Kissinger has listened to dissenters visiting the White House sounds like more than simple courtesy. "I'm deeply distressed by what is happening inside this country," he says. One cannot escape the feeling that the President's adviser is a man who would like to be loved—or can a Jewish refugee from the Nazis ever feel completely secure in the land of the white Protestant? Brown University must have hurt.

Whatever his deep-rooted emotions, extreme self-control governs Kissinger in times of crisis. When North Korea shot down the EC-121 observation plane in April, he kept in touch with the slowly unfolding story from his apartment. He did not frantically rush off to his White House office in the dark hours of the night. "I do not believe in doing something just for the sake of action," he says firmly.

In Washington, the definition of power is access to the President and possession of information valuable to him. In those terms, Henry Kissinger has power. His appointment touched off conjecture over the trapezoidal relationship of the President, Secretary of State William Rogers, Secretary of Defense Melvin Laird and Kissinger. "If you were to ask some of the junior people in the State Department or Defense," says Kissinger, "you might find that they think I am undercutting their departments. But if you speak to people on my level, the deputies to the Secretaries of State and Defense, I think you will find continued

54 LOOK 8-12-69

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KISSINGER CONTINUED

that the system works quite smoothly.”

And, in fact, in the first months, Under Secretary of State Elliot Richardson and Deputy Secretary of Defense David Packard both agreed that Kissinger showed no signs of usurping Cabinet powers. Packard, a soft-spoken, massive man who developed the Safeguard plan for the anti-ballistic missile that was adopted by the Administration, believes Kissinger means less wasted effort. “Instead of the President having to talk to all section heads, he discusses things with Kissinger, who tries to work out details. Henry has an idea of what the President wants to accomplish. He has a little trick that’s very effective. Discussing an issue, Henry will say, ‘I’d like to be the devil’s advocate.’ He brings out all sides, even when I know where he stands.”

Richardson, a youthful-looking Boston lawyer and former Massachusetts lieutenant governor, applauds Kissinger's handling of the Review Group of the National Security Council, a sub-Cabinet-level klatch that screens all possible forms of action that the Council might wish to consider and presents “reasonable” options. “Henry is very fair,” says Richardson. “I’ve never seen him ruffled or fatigued.”

A Washington newsman who has spent considerable time observing Capital infighting remarks, “In the long run, if you’re going to have to bet on somebody in a power struggle, you’ve got to take Rogers. Not that he’s that close to Nixon. Nobody is, Nixon is a loner. But Rogers is oldtime solid. And if Kissinger should ever try to get around Mel Laird, he’ll get his legs cut off. Laird’s a veteran at this sort of thing; he’s smart, cunning and ruthless.”

In the first months of the Nixon Administration, Kissinger occupied a seemingly pivotal position during discussions of the anti-ballistic-missile system. Scientists and Republican congressmen who came to Washington to protest were directed to Kissinger. He explained the Administration options and promised to present their positions to the President, as indeed he did. But the fact is, the scientists and the politicians saw the wrong man. The only real hope for halt-ing the ABM project lay entirely in dissuading advocates like Mel Laird and his deputy, Packard. As it developed, they saw no one from the scientific community who considered the ABM a mistake, technically or diplomatically.

“I met with some senators, some scientists,” says Kissinger, “and I told them the options that were open to the President in the case of the ABM—the strategy involved. I did not get into the question of the domestic effects, whether these issues are splitting the country. That is not a subject for me to discuss, it is beyond my competence.” But to his visitors, the domestic effects, the campus riots, the continuing urban crisis are what make the Vietnam war and the ABM so untenable.

Kissinger was not happy with some of his callers: “You give a few steps, they immediately move six steps to the left.” As his involvement with the Administration lengthens, the adviser on national security inevitably becomes increasingly an apologist for policy. It was Kissinger who delivered a “backgrounder” to the press in which he insisted that it was the enemy who had heated up hostilities in Vietnam, not the U.S. The former chief negotiator for the U.S., W. Averell Harriman, has several times placed some blame on U. S. military efforts. Kissinger’s performance at the backgrounder led one reporter, normally friendly, to say, “Henry’s becoming an Administration flack.”

Persistent rumors claim that Kissinger actually continued

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KISSINGER CONTINUED

opposed the deployment of the ABM. But if asked
about the Safeguard system, we earnestly defends
that decision: "The rationale for the defense of pro-
tecting the retaliatory force rather than the cities is
not trivial. It's easy to present it as a political gim-
mick. If you look at the evolution of our strategic
debate, it is a major watershed for the United States
to have announced a strategic doctrine that does
not rely on a first nuclear strike and that is specifi-
cally oriented to a second strike. You look at the rec-
ord, and you will find that no President has done
that up to now."

Scientists who opposed the ABM on the grounds that it would not work took the wrong tack with the President's security analyst. "The best you can say is that scientific opinion is divided. You have to consider," says Kissinger, "that an opponent can't possibly know that it is not working and cannot possibly make his plans on the assumption that it isn't. Certainly, we have to make our assumptions on the theory that the Soviet system is working, and all scientists tell us that the Soviet system is technically worse than our own. ABM opponents are saying, A) it will not work, or B) it will work so well that it will upset the strategic equation. The more valid reason is the second.

"There is a helluva
difference between five
million dead and none."

"The debate must be seen from the perspective of a President. If the only thing wrong with an ABM is that it will not work, the worst thing it does is to waste relatively little money, while if those who argue that it will not work happen to be wrong, the error might really jeopardize tens of millions of lives."

One contention has been that there is no need for a defense of the U. S.'s "second-strike capability," the solid-fueled Minuteman, because the U. S. submarines armed with Polaris and Poseidon missiles also provide second-strike capability. Kissinger accepts the Defense Department's thesis that Polaris and Poseidon make an excellent supplement for Minute-man, but it is technically hard to launch a coordinated strike using submarine-fired missiles. And he also insists that the Spartan in the proposed ABM system covers the U. S. at a very high altitude and provides some protection for cities against a few missiles with no great decoy ability, the sort of attack that the Chinese will be capable of by 1973.

Confronted by the ABM potential and the strat-
egy of nuclear deterrence, humanists like physicist
Leo Szilard have argued that we are better dead than
to have triggered mushroom clouds over other peo-
ple. Kissinger replies, "If the question is the differ-
ence between 80 million dead and 40 million dead,
that is one thing. But there is a helluva difference be-
tween five million dead and none." He adds, "I think
if you leave both the U. S. and the Soviet Union
open, you've added to nuclear proliferation [China
and other emergent powers could be tempted by U. S.
and Soviet vulnerability to develop even unsophis-
cated nuclear-weapons systems]. I doubt if the Soviet
Union will give up the Moscow system, and I doubt
I would urge them to."

Kissinger dismisses the notion that the Nixon
decision pushed the Soviets to escalate. "They were
already testing their own MIRV's [Multiple Indepen-
dently-targeted Re-entry Vehicles, the clusters of nu-

clear bombs that can be carried into space and indi-
vidually aimed toward earth targets]. They already
have operational ABM's around the Moscow area, we
won't match them in ABM's until 1974, and they're
improving their ABM's."

Kissinger operates on assumptions that seem to
make escalation of arms inevitable: that technologi-
cal accomplishments are limitless and the depravity
of men is too. This logic supposes that for every
potentially offensive weapon, there is a defense that
will inevitably be superseded in turn by a new offen-
sive weapon. Given the opportunity to use or black-
mail through such a weapon, the Soviets and Chinese
would not hesitate. It is not an argument that can be
disproven; nor does it lead to disarmament.

Kissinger belongs to the school that believes
goodwill does not slacken tension. Instead, he con-
siders that, at least for the short run, a tactical and
strategic equality, or mutual deterrent power, makes
for an absence of war. That, however, is a far cry
from the hawk call for nuclear or missile superiority.
"One of the peculiar features of the contemporary
period," says the President's adviser, "is that no mat-
ter how strong you are, you cannot guarantee any-
more the impermeability of your territory. Second,
in a world of intercontinental missiles and instanta-
neous communication, security for this nation really
has to mean security for all nations. If you have major
countries that feel dissatisfied with the existing sys-
tem, everybody will be insecure. Therefore, if your
aim is security, you must be driven by logic to con-
sider security for their countries.

"Peace. I find it hard to give the word meaning
in the abstract, but if you think of peace as an inter-
national system that provides the minimum incen-
tives for irresponsibility, the maximum incentives
for creative, positive measures, that's in general what
we would like to achieve."

The definition adds up to a notion suspiciously
like the balance of power constructed by Prince
Metternich, the Austrian adviser to Emperor Francis I
on national security 150 years ago, and the domi-
nant character of *A World Restored*, a Kissinger book.
When asked if he doesn't sound somewhat like a

"I would hate to think of
myself as isolationist . . . but
we are no longer omnipotent...."

latter-day Metternich, Kissinger laughs, "My God,
maybe next will come that I am a conservative like
Metternich [a conclusion seized upon by many of
Kissinger's critics]."

"The lesson of Metternich," says Kissinger, "is
that any historical period in which there was rela-
tively little tension and which had long periods of
peace resulted from the fact that all the major coun-
tries had a stake in the existing system and consid-
ered the system more important than any disagree-
ment. It's the lesson up to World War I. We haven't
had that sort of peace since then. None of our gen-
eration has ever experienced a world which didn't
live on the edge of catastrophe.

"I think the U. S. emerged from its period of isolation after World War II with a sort of emotional catharsis. Foreign involvement became an end in itself. When the rest of the world was weak and we were very strong, we filled a vacuum. I would hate to think of myself as an isolationist now, but we are no longer an omnipotent power.

"The foreign-policy interest of the United States is in a secure and a peaceful world. The relationship of that aspiration to the domestic structure of the various countries is a subject of interesting speculation, and the relationship of our desires to our capacity for realizing them is another interesting speculation. We have to get these various things in gear. We cannot re-do the domestic structures of countries all over the world. We can be effective only where there is a clear American interest or a clear threat to world peace."

All of that perhaps makes Kissinger more the
spiritual heir of 19th-century British statesmen than

"Critics . . . raise questions.
But we're in the . . . position
of not being able to answer."

of Metternich. The Austrian minister of foreign affairs was a domestic conservative not from a moral viewpoint but from his sense of practicality. The pragmatism of Germany's Bismarck also earns Kissinger's admiration. For Kissinger, world order is the primary concern. Unlike Metternich, he is not committed to any particular form of government outside his country, as long as it does not threaten the American interest, world peace. (Boss Nixon seems to think differently. He recently warned against becoming "a dropout in assuming the responsibility for defending peace and freedom in the world.") By Kissinger standards, U. S. intervention would not necessarily follow overthrow of a regime friendly to the U. S. or a takeover from the right or left.

"Unless we bring our objectives in line with our capabilities," says the presidential adviser, "we are going to tear ourselves to pieces. In the case of Vietnam, I don't think we fully considered our political and military involvements. We should try to avoid a slide into another Vietnam through a tactical decision. I think we've got real possibilities of success with our Vietnam policies, but it will take time. We've studied a series of options, four military ones, five political ones. We've looked at the costs of each move, politically and militarily, the consequences of failure, the choices left if we pursued an option and it failed. To take a ridiculous extreme, suppose we decided to land troops in Hanoi, what would we do if that didn't work?

"But it's difficult to convince the opposition in this country that you're doing something. If you see two people playing chess and someone comes along and says, 'Why don't you make this move?' you're in an impossible position. You can't answer. You can't tell your chess opponent your game plan. This attempt to get peace in Vietnam may involve 15 or 18 moves. It is a tragedy of the democratic process. Critics, perfectly legitimately, raise questions. But we're in the difficult position of not being able to answer.

"When I was a consultant," Kissinger mourns, "I did not have to worry about consequences. This job ruins you as a consultant, it makes you doubt the amount that any outsider can know of what's happening." If Kissinger thought that the public debate over the Vietnam negotiations was a tragedy of the democratic process, what of his feeling that understanding of events can perhaps only be achieved through a post in the White House? Where does that leave the private citizen who fights the wars and pays the taxes? Where indeed he has the democratic process been during the Vietnam war?

END

56 LOOK B-12-69

In the White House Roosevelt Room, under Frederic Remington's "The Charge of the Rough Riders on San Juan Hill," Burns confers with Henry A. Kissinger, Nixon's adviser on foreign affairs, before a Presidential staff meeting.

the White House over welfare re-
forms, for instance, Burns was pop-
ularly depicted as the Administration
skinflint, pitted against the warm-
hearted Daniel P. Moynihan, another
Presidential assistant. But Burns is
not loath to disclose that he took
the "liberal" position against major
expenditures for the supersonic trans-
port (SST) and in favor of the restor-
ation of funds to the National Science
Foundation. "In a way, I think the
ABM fight did some good," he adds.
"Military budgets are not sacrosanct
and must be examined in the same
way as every other budget."

BURNS says that part of his objec-
tion to inflation is that it falls more
heavily on the poor than on the rich.
But more important, it generates
undue exuberance about the econ-
omy, creating the threat of a bust, if
not a bust itself, which ultimately
discourages investment. And without
investment, Burns says, we are—rich
and poor alike—all lost.

He makes much of the significance
of the economic "atmosphere," as a

factor quite apart from any action
which Government might take. He
reaches back 35 years to criticize
Roosevelt, not for his reforms but for
"scaring" business during the process
of reform. He criticizes President
Kennedy for making the business
community "despondent" with the
attack on the steel industry in 1962.
He commends the current chairman
of the Fed, William McChesney Mar-
tin Jr., for the contribution he has
made to the economic atmosphere by
his anti-inflationary posture, though
he has reservations about the way
Martin's monetary decisions have af-
fected the economy itself. And it is
Burns's concern about the economic
atmosphere that explains his relative
indifference to proposed tax reforms;
the haggling over them, he feels,
tends to confuse and upset the busi-
ness community. In Burns's view, it
is important that the Government
convey the impression that it is cer-
tain of its course—and that the
course is sympathetic to business in-
vestment.

Because Burns feels that govern-
ment must appear consistent to the

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(Continued from Page 31)

servatism among economists in these terms:

> "I suspect that some of my colleagues are unduly fascinated by economic instruments and have given insufficient attention to the workings of the business mind of America. I weigh that heavily in questions of policy, and I'm not always sure that I have the answer.

> "Specifically, before I judge whether some proposal is good or bad, I ask how the businessman is going to react. I've studied the businessman of America. He has his strengths and he has his weaknesses, but it is within the framework of his psychology that the economist in America must operate. It's the way those fellows respond to the world that determines whether you and I have stable jobs."

In his professorial way, Arthur Burns goes on to explain that high business income in the United States goes into building up productive capital, unlike Latin America or the Middle East, where accumulated assets are normally hoarded or spent on luxuries. He says that whatever the ethical justification, equality of income for all would be a disaster for the masses, for there would be no available funds for investment and the standard of living would inevitably erode. Investment, he says, must be looked upon as a social asset in our culture.

> "The well-being of the country, therefore, depends on the favorable expectations of the investing class," says Burns. "As I see it, the role of Government must be to shape policy to improve these expectations."

Burns sternly dismisses the suggestion that his perception of economic policy, "conservative" as it might be, implies an indifference to the poor. He points out that employment depends heavily on investment, and that unemployment does more injury to the poor than to the rich. He notes with pride that he strongly endorsed the elimination of all taxes on most family incomes below $3,500: "Since we talk of $3,500 as the poverty line, why tax it? Why drive people deeper into poverty? We're only talking about $700-million in taxes, out of a budget of $200-billion. That's not inflationary. It's simple justice." Whatever its technical attributes, Burns says, economics must still be treated as a moral science.

But it is inflation, Arthur Burns says, which over the years has worried him most, because it poses the greatest threat to the operation of the economic system.

Insofar as his appeal for anti-inflationary economies has limited liberal social programs, Burns has had his reputation as a conservative enhanced. In the recent battle within

NOVEMBER 9, 1969

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NATIONAL AFFAIRS

news conference, 37 members of Congress filed into the Cabinet Room to present the President with petitions signed by precisely 363,053 backers of his Vietnam policy. After leafing through the boxes of petitions, Mr. Nixon let it be known that he planned to keep up the momentum with another public accounting on the war sometime before Christmas. The speech, designed as a sequel to the highly successful Nov. 3 address, will reveal the size of the next increment in the President's withdrawal scheme—probably about 50,000 men, which will bring the total for 1969 to the previously hinted-at goal of 100,000.

**Problems:** Later in the week Mr. Nixon launched a round of consultations with prominent figures outside his Administration. Among those who turned up at the White House were former Secretary of State Dean Acheson, former New York Gov. Thomas E. Dewey and retired Gen. Lucius D. Clay. But the principal visitor of the week was Lyndon B. Johnson. During a breakfast meeting in the White House family dining room, the President and the ex-President discussed the situation in Vietnam, along with some of the other delicate matters confronting the United States. Two hours after he arrived, Johnson emerged from the White House, climbed into a waiting limousine and sped off without pausing to comment on his talks with Mr. Nixon. Later LBJ told an intimate wryly: "I think I have some understanding of the President's problems."

Perhaps the surest evidence of Mr. Nixon's firm grip on the home front came at the weekend when the Vietnam Moratorium Committee launched the third round in what it once hoped would be a growing war on the war. Compared to the October and November moratoriums, the mid-December activities were decidedly low-key affairs. On both coasts of the country, where hundreds of thousands had mustered last month to protest against Mr. Nixon's conduct of the war, the December moratorium seemed half-hearted and uncoordinated.

**Sputtering:** For the moment, the peace movement seemed to be sputtering down. In Washington, leaders of the Moratorium Committee, plagued by a shortage of money and a decline in enthusiasm, abandoned the original concept of an escalating protest each month. "What could we do for eight days in May?" said Marge Sklencar, one of the prime movers behind the one-day October and two-day November demonstrations. Now, the moratorium people toyed with the idea of disbanding, or at least focusing on more modest goals such as the 1970 Congressional elections. Even here, however, there was further evidence that Mr. Nixon was winning the battle for public opinion. For a good many congressmen and senators up for re-election were openly wondering whether, given the current climate, hordes of youngsters working in their behalf might not hurt more than help.

Newsweek—Wally McNamee

Kissinger in the Situation Room: Endless hours of constant mental motion

# Mr. Nixon's Professor

## Kissinger and the New Shape of U.S. Foreign Policy

E xactly eleven months have passed since Henry Alfred Kissinger of Cambridge, Mass., went down to Washington, D.C., to hang his ersatz-parchment commission shingle, attesting to Richard Nixon's "special trust and confidence in your integrity, prudence and ability," on the wall of his shop at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Physically, he has made few changes in the White House's west basement, the traditional lair of the President's Assistant for National Security Affairs. The tiny, walnut-paneled Situation Room still looks more like a Holiday Inn conference chamber than the grotesque fantasy of Stanley Kubrick's "Dr. Strange- love." Intelligence cables, which are supposed to keep Mr. Nixon in touch with reality, worldwide, continue to whir off the duplicating machines night and day. The battery of secretaries still looks properly harried, overworked and blandly expectant of imminent crisis, as befits an office where crisis is measured by the color of the telephone reporting it. There is only one really personal, and unintentionally ironic, Kissinger touch: in the far corner of his modest 16- by 21-foot inner sanctum, where the décor remains an undisturbing neuter, stands a battered old spin globe of the world, with a penciled note stuck inside its wooden frame, warning: "Do not touch—fragile."

Professor Kissinger, lately of Harvard, is not much given to material signs of status. Yet by any realistic standards of power and influence, he now ranks very high indeed. As the first year of the Nix-

on Administration draws to a close, Kissinger has firmly established himself as a predominant force in the shaping and implementation of U.S. foreign policy, a man on whom the President relies more than on any other in the White House and, consequently, one of the half-dozen most important personalities in Washington—and thus in the world.

In the blurry Milky Way of Nixonian Washington, Kissinger's star is one of the few to burn brightly and distinctly. Foreign diplomats treat him as a virtual Secretary of State ex officio; their wives vie for the pleasure and prestige of his company at ambassadorial dinner parties, where his attendance is duly noted in official cables home the next day. Kissinger sits in and speaks up at most Presidential encounters with world leaders. He spends more time with Mr. Nixon alone than any of his peers—an average of 90 minutes a day in and out of the Oval Office, uncounted minutes on the intercom phone, long informal chats at the Camp David retreat and on the beaches of Key Biscayne and San Clemente. He is admired, respected, resented, envied, even feared by the cumbersome national-security apparatus he is determined to change—that Byzantine labyrinth of the Pentagon, State Department, Disarmament, Information and other agencies whose chief reason for being, it often seems to the White House, is to preserve the status quo without endangering their own parochial interests.

Down to his bitten fingernails, horn-

December 22, 1969

21

NATIONAL AFFAIRS

rimmed glasses and self-deprecating wit, Kissinger, 46, is unmistakably and un-abashedly an Eastern intellectual in a government that has shown no great love for the genus. Improbably enough, how-ever, his very cast of mind has given him real cachet and helped make him a ce-legriity in Washington—a remarkable achievement in itself for a deeply seri-ous, slow-talking, graying, middle-aged professor who has never quite lost the traces of a Teutonic accent and manner he carried across the Atlantic when, as a Jewish refugee of 15, he fled Nazi Ger-many in 1938.

**Romance:** All of this makes Kissinger fine newspaper copy and a favorite sub-ject, and frequent target, of cocktail and office chitchat. As one of Washington's most eligible bachelors (his fifteen-year marriage ended in divorce in 1964), Kissinger is pursued by gossip columnists

fifteen-hour days in the White House—buttressed by a talented staff of about three dozen experts and administrative aides handpicked from Washington offi-cialdom and academic think tanks, many of whom match his weekly time-card rec-ord. (Several Kissinger staffers have been unable to keep up to the boss’ pace and have left. Policy differences played no role in any of these departures, though personality differences did.)

On the job, Kissinger is in constant
mental motion: monitoring and channel-
ing intelligence cables for the President's
"eyes only," reading and criticizing enor-
mous reams of reports and papers; chair-
ing interdepartmental policy discussions
with Under and Assistant Secretaries for
whom he is often the sole link to the
Oval Office; receiving an endless stream
of official, diplomatic and journalistic visi-
tors; and responding to every Presiden-

Eisenhower's paper factory and relied
more on strong-minded national-security
assistants, McGeorge Bundy and Walt
Rostow, both imported from Cambridge
campuses. And now Kissinger, with the
blessing of a President with a passion for
neatness and order, is well along toward
effecting still another transformation of
the National Security Council organiza-
tion—this time into a systematic clearing-
house of policy ideas for Mr. Nixon, dom-
inated by Kissinger's own vigorous and
continual direction.

In the last hectic years of Johnson's reign, when Vietnam overwhelmed all other considerations, the guiding principle of the NSC seemed to be little more than ad hoc improvisation at Tuesday lunches in the White House. Mr. Nixon and Kissinger agreed well before Jan. 20 that this would no longer do. Their new system, they believe, insures that no policy idea reaches the President without having first undergone Kissinger's rigorous evaluation (unless, of course, it is personally conveyed to Mr. Nixon by the few Cabinet members and friends who enjoy such access). Kissinger's role is crucial at every stage of the making or changing of policy: he initiates studies on everything from U.S. strategic weapons needs in the '70s through the prospects for European unity to the definition of what constitutes a "fact" in Vietnam; he elicits suggestions from the bureaucracy and coordinates interagency action; he formulates the presentation of options with painstaking exactitude; and, not least important, he presents the final series of proposals to the President.

**New Approach:** "The essence of my job," Kissinger explains, "is to use a mechanism to change substance. My goal is a different and, I hope, better approach to policymaking within four years." He insists that he is open to all new ideas and that he goes out of his way to solicit and make them available to the President. To the suggestion that his own ideas must somewhere be inserted in the elaborate policy machine he has constructed for the President, Kissinger reacts with unusual passion. "There is no 'Kissinger policy' on any substantive questions," he insists, his hand stabbing the air for emphasis. "My task is to convey the full range of policy options to the President. If there were a 'Kissinger policy,' the whole new mechanism we have set up in the National Security Council—not to speak of relations between the governmental agencies—would be in a shambles."

Such disclaimers seem disingenuous to
many Washington officials, particularly to
those middle-echelon bureaucrats who
are convinced Kissinger has pre-empted
their policy-shaping prerogatives, turned
the White House basement into a "shadow
State Department" and thereby in
fact created an interagency "shambles."
But in public, at least, the once-outspoken
professor of government, who established
his international reputation on the basis

Newsweek—Wally McNamee

The President and his counselor: Common views and shared convictions

who record his quips and asides, follow
him to supermarkets and chronicle his
housekeeping trivia as well as his love
life. Barbara Howar, Washington's mod
Perle Mesta, is one of his dates (she calls
him "Super Kraut") and he sometimes
turns up at parties with magazine writer
Gloria Steinem. The odds-on favorite in
the Kissinger matrimonial sweepstakes is
a tall, blond New York socialite named
Nancy McGinnis, who once worked for
him as a researcher in the Rockefeller
Foundation. "Romance with a man tailed
by a bodyguard is about as sexy as tak-
ing a ride in a Brink's armored car," says
Barbara Howar with a sly smile. "He'll
never marry while he's holding this job."

Given Kissinger's formidable workload,
there is probably considerably less to his
self-proclaimed image as a "secret swing-
er" than meets the eye. Six days almost
every week and often on Sunday as
well, he puts in grueling twelve- to

tial request for information and advice,
which can range from mundane statistics
on Micronesian demography to the life-
and-death matter of a downed U.S. spy
plane. Most of his meals, tasteless at
best, come from the nearby White House
mess. And on the few occasions he does
get to dine out in restaurants, Kissinger
invariably carries an electronic "call-boy"
that can summon him to instant com-
munication with the President.

Kissinger does more than merely cope,
however. Every President since Harry
Truman, who established the National
Security Council as the supreme arbiter
of Executive policy in 1947, has molded
its apparatus in his own image. Dwight
Eisenhower turned it into a staff-work
machine mostly employed in churning
out supposedly definitive—and often ir-
relevant—papers on every conceivable
policy question. John F. Kennedy and
Lyndon Johnson dismantled much of

22

Newsweek

of bold and unequivocal pronunciamentos on postwar U.S. policy, has studiedly re-
frained from the slightest hint of a "Kiss-
singer policy" in any way different from
that of the government he serves. "I will
not play the game of my predecessor,"
Kissinger has confided to friends on occa-
sion. "I will not bad-mouth the President
by taking credit for what goes right in
our policies and blaming him for what
goes wrong."

Yet so much of Kissinger's general approach to foreign affairs and specific views of world problems is on the record (box) that trying to distinguish between what is and what is not "Henry's contribution" to Administration policy has become an irresistible Capital pastime. So far, though, it has proved to be a frustrating game. For aside from the two principals themselves, no one really knows what really goes on when Richard Nixon and Henry Kissinger closet themselves to discuss policy.

Accord: What is clear, on the basis of the important Administration decisions taken this year, is that the two men hold common views on what should be the basic U.S. approach to foreign affairs in the '70s. Mr. Nixon's trip to Western Europe barely six weeks after he took office re-established that area as primary to the U.S. interest and, at the same time, served notice that the new Administration hoped the Europeans would in the future depend less on Washington than on themselves in solving Continental problems -two themes repeatedly stressed in Kissinger's writings during the past decade. Similarly, the President's early decision to construct a modified anti-ballistic-missile system and to undertake talks with the Russians on strategic-arms limitation (just recently begun in Helsinki) only after the most careful preparation, reflect a shared conviction. Kissinger and his boss both believe that negotiations with Moscow can only succeed if conducted with extreme caution and from a position of real strength.

Generally, too, the President and the professor agree that the U.S. must begin to disengage itself from many of the "bastions of the free world," especially in Asia. Commitments made during the cold war era-which is now, they both believe, slowly coming to an end-no longer seem valid or relevant or in the U.S. interest. If Mr. Nixon himself first spoke of moving from "a period of confrontation" to "an era of negotiation," it is a fairly safe bet that the notion of a new "low profile" for the U.S. originated in Kissinger's shop. And both slogans, repeated so often in recent months, are really expressions of the same fundamental idea: reduce the U.S. presence in the world of the '70s.

Slow disengagement and a lowered U.S. profile was therefore the message carried by the President on his Asian trip last summer. And, significantly, the new Asian policy was first announced publicly at Guam in a statement that contained unmistakable echoes of articles

A KISSINGER PRIMER
ON WAR AND PEACE

Whether in print or in conversation, Henry Kissinger is one of the most provocative diplomatic theorists of the postwar era. A sampling of Kissinger's mind at work:

Those ages which in retrospect seem most peaceful were least in search of peace. Those whose quest for it seems unending appear least able to achieve tranquillity. Whenever peace-conceived as the avoidance of war-has been the primary objective of a power or a group of powers, the international system has been at the mercy of the most ruthless member of the international community. Whenever the international order has acknowledged that certain principles could not be compromised, even for the sake of peace, stability based on an equilibrium of forces was at least conceivable.

—"A World Restored," 1957

It is a mistake to assume that diplomacy can always settle international disputes if there is "good faith" and "willingness to come to an agreement." For in a revolutionary international order, each power will seem to its opponent to lack precisely these qualities. Diplomats can still meet but they cannot persuade, for they have ceased to speak the same language.

-Ibid

The test of a statesman ... is his ability to recognize the real relationship of forces and to make this knowledge serve his ends ... The acid test of a policy, however, is its ability to obtain domestic support.

-Ibid

Events in Czechoslovakia demonstrate the limits of Eastern European autonomy that the Soviet Union is now prepared to tolerate. But the Soviet Union may not be willing indefinitely to use the Red Army primarily against allies as it has done three times in a decade and a half. In any case, no Western policy can guarantee a more favorable evolution in Central Europe; all it can do is to take advantage of an opportunity if it arises.

—*Brookings Institution paper, 1968*

Almost any statement about Vietnam is
likely to be true; unfortunately,
truth does not guarantee relevance.

—*Foreign Affairs article, 1969*

The modern bureaucratic state, for all its panoply of strength, often finds itself shaken to its foundations by seemingly trivial causes. Its brittleness and the worldwide revolution of youth-especially in advanced countries and among the relatively affluent-suggest a

spiritual void, an almost metaphysical boredom with a political environment that increasingly emphasizes bureaucratic challenges and is dedicated to no deeper purpose than material comfort.

We fought a military war [in Vietnam]; our opponents fought a political one. We sought physical attrition; our opponents aimed for our psychological exhaustion. In the process, we lost sight of one of the cardinal maxims of guerrilla war: the guerrilla wins if he does not lose; the conventional army loses if it does not win.

The commitment of 500,000 Americans has settled the issue of the importance of Vietnam. For what is involved now is confidence in American promises ... However we got into Vietnam ... ending the war honorably is essential for the peace of the world. Any other solution may unloose forces that would complicate prospects of international order.

-Ibid

I find quite chilling the similarities between the revolutionary romanticism of some of our more radical students today and the young German intellectuals of the 1930s-and I don't mean the Nazi thugs but those idealistic students who were looking for commitment for its own sake. My primary feeling about our students is sadness over the conditions that produced them. They are looking for heroes-not for brothers, but for fathers.

—*Conversation, 1969*

If it were not for Vietnam, this job would be quite enjoyable.

—*Conversation, 1969*

Drawing by David Levine © 1969 The New York Review

December 22, 1969

published by both Mr. Nixon and Professor Kissinger within the previous two years. The Administration's decision last month to return Okinawa to Japan in 1972 reflects not only its recognition of legitimate nationalist sentiment but its desire to encourage Tokyo to play a political role commensurate with its power as a renascent economic colossus in the East—and so, again, help Washington reduce its own presence.

Above all else in importance, of course, there is every indication of a solid—if not total—convergence of views on Vietnam between the President and his chief foreign-policy adviser. Both believe that a conventional military victory is no longer possible but that a defeat, either open or disguised, would ultimately have a disastrous political impact at home and drastically alter the international balance of power. Accordingly, their decision was to opt for a "two-track" strategy—first delineated in a Kissinger article published in Foreign Affairs magazine just after his appointment—which provided for an attempted negotiated settlement at the Paris peace talks while simultaneously beginning a gradual, unilateral withdrawal of U.S. troops from the battlefield.

**Poker Hand:** Until now half of that strategy has failed to work, as the President admitted in his news conference last week by bluntly rating current chances of a negotiated settlement as "not good." And despite Mr. Nixon's contention that "Vietnamization"—the Administration's hopeful justification for unilateral U.S. withdrawal—"continues to work," it is still a very open question whether total reliance on supposed progress by Saigon's armed forces is a sure road to the successful "conclusion" of the war he promised. "The 'two-track strategy' has flopped," says a former Washington policy analyst and close friend of Kissinger's. "We're operating on only one track now. It might work, if the President is able to manipulate public opinion at home and if there is no collapse of will in Saigon. But it might not—and then things could get dramatic."

For Henry Kissinger, the Presidential adviser most identified in the public mind with the Administration's policy, failure in Vietnam could spell personal disaster and ignominy. Throughout 1969, Kissinger has been the President's most articulate backstage advocate on Vietnam, briefing journalists both collectively and individually, meeting with dovish politicians, Quakers, student leaders and other dissenters. He has also involved himself intimately in behind-the-scenes contacts with the North Vietnamese in an all-out effort to get his two-track strategy on the rails. "Henry is fascinated by playing one more round of poker in the Vietnam game," notes a dovish professor who acted as an informal and ultimately unsuccessful intermediary between Kissinger and Hanoi representatives in Paris last summer. "I got the impression, though, that he was not pri-

marily interested in ending the game as such—but rather in playing it."

Poker-playing at such stakes, as Kissinger is well aware, is a dangerous intellectual sport. A constant, almost obsessive theme in conversations with friends is his fear of "ending up like Walt," of being rejected and exiled by his academic peers as Rostow was at the end of the Johnson Administration. "Would you be happy at a small university in Arizona?" he is fond of joking to his female acquaintances. But the prospect of becoming a primary Vietnam scapegoat is no laughing matter for Kissinger, who has already had a bitter taste of what may lie in store for him. At commencement exercises last spring at Brown University, two-thirds of the student body pointedly turned around when

he was awarded an honorary degree—a particularly galling experience for a teacher who prided himself on his rapport with students (and only partially alleviated by a cable that arrived the next day from several former colleagues at Harvard, promising, "We will not turn our backs on Henry Kissinger").

As Assistant for National Security Affairs, Kissinger—like Rostow and Bundy before him—is in an especially vulnerable position on Vietnam. Other key Presidential advisers, notably Secretary of State William Rogers, Attorney General John Mitchell and Defense Secretary Melvin Laird, are cushioned against shock by bureaucratic underpinnings and can take shelter in long-standing personal friendships with Mr. Nixon. But Kissinger enjoys no real power base or refuge in case of defeat. His present lofty position within the Administration rests entirely on the force and sharpness

of his mind, his tenacity and seriousness of purpose—it is only those qualities that can retain the President's trust and confidence.

Kissinger's special intellectual virtues have always been more analytic than creative. His mind excels at structuring, organizing and articulating ideas rather than generating them. Balance, judiciousness, thoroughness and order are what he strives for. He is tolerant of honest intellectual mistakes and readily admits to having made several himself in the past (including his early belief in the viability of limited nuclear war), but he does not suffer fools, fanatics or false reasoning gladly. Still, he is sympathetic to earnestness and sincerity of any variety—even among revolutionaries or student radicals. He is less dogmatic than dogged in temperament and, while open to fresh ideas, will seldom abandon old ones without a struggle.

Kissinger enjoys speculation as long as it is grounded in specifics but cannot abide a failure to think a position through to its logical conclusion. At a recent interdepartmental meeting on European affairs in the White House, he listened quietly until a veteran State Department official predicted "there would be very bad consequences" if a proposed course of action were followed. "What will the consequences be?" Kissinger asked. "I don't know," answered the diplomat. "Well," responded Kissinger, "if you don't know what the consequences will be, how do you know they will be bad?" That ended the discussion.

**Teuton:** Such virtues—and their attendant vices of arrogance and limited imagination—are strikingly consistent with Kissinger's origins and are partly explained by his early uprooting. A rather indifferent student in the Bavarian town of Fürth, where his father, Louis Kissinger, was a respected schoolmaster until 1933, Henry became a star pupil when his family finally decided to make the long journey to Manhattan's budding colony of German refugees in Washington Heights (his parents still live there today). After a straight-A record at George Washington High School and a prolonged stretch in the Army, spent mostly in counterintelligence work in Germany, Kissinger entered Harvard. There, his precociousness was quickly recognized. William Y. Elliott, the distinguished professor of government, wrote in a letter recommending the undergraduate Henry Kissinger to Phi Beta Kappa that "[he is] more like a mature colleague than a student ... On the other hand, his mind lacks grace and is Teutonic in its systematic thoroughness."

Elliott, who became Kissinger's mentor throughout his student days at Harvard, was himself a consultant to five U.S. Presidents and probably helped persuade Henry to set his sights higher than professional distinction. That, at any rate, was the course Kissinger pursued when, after being appointed to the Harvard government faculty in the mid-'50s, he became

Harry Naltehayan—Washington Post

## With Miss McGinnis: Secret Swinger?

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intimately associated with two prestigious organizations located in that peculiarly American midway between the academy and the government: the Council on Foreign Relations and the Rockefeller Brothers Fund, Inc. And from these two convenient jumping-off points, it was just a short hop for the Harvard professor to enter government service as an expert on foreign affairs.

**Clash With State:** His first experience as a full-fledged government adviser—in the Kennedy Administration—was not a happy one. In part, a difference of opinion was responsible. Kissinger's ideas on European affairs—his specialty—ran directly contrary to the predominant ideological slant of the “theologians” in the State Department who urged Kennedy to press a multilateral nuclear force on America's European allies. But there was more to Kissinger's failure to achieve real influence on the New Frontier than a clash of ideas. “It was less Henry's

and members of Hubert Humphrey's foreign-policy task force.

Soon after the election, Mr. Nixon met with Kissinger twice and, impressed both by the professor's talk and by his contribution to the Brookings Institution's "Agenda for the Nation," offered him the job Kissinger had hoped to have under Rockefeller. Kissinger accepted, explains a friend, because "his misgiving: about Nixon were overcome by the prospect of exerting that much influence."

To the surprise of both men, perhaps, the appointment has proved to be mutually satisfactory. Probably the major reason for the apparent compatibility between the President and Kissinger is that they complement each other intellectually. "Henry performs a function for Nixon that he himself could not do," suggests one close observer. "He takes the President's ideas, structures them, works out the details, and returns them wrapped in a neat package. Henry is the perfect

tial," he wrote in his Brookings essay last year. "Without it stability will prove elusive."

Stability is all-important for Kissinger, whose fundamentally conservative approach to world affairs leaves room for political and social transformations and institutional reform but ranks all such changes as secondary to maintaining a proper balance of forces. "Henry takes a great deal for granted in the existing order," notes one of his oldest acquaintances, "first and foremost that it is worth preserving at all." Another old friend, who worked alongside him for many years at Harvard, defines Kissinger's conservatism more precisely: "Henry's views on social change remind me of Goethe's old dictum that if he had to make a choice between disorder and injustice, he would choose injustice. The same is true of Henry—not because he favors injustice, but because he feels in his bones that there can be no justice without order."

**Old Truths:** Kissinger's conservatism, in reality, amounts to an updated version of nineteenth-century liberal Toryism. And it is thus no secret where Mr. Nixon got the notion—bandied about with great delight by his aides a few months ago—that he is something of a twentieth-century Disraeli. The only trouble is that neither the Chief Executive nor his court philosopher seem open to the suggestion that even the most eloquent, reasonable recasting of the old verities may prove inadequate in an era that has been creating a whole new set of truths.

"Henry's mind works within a restricted area," remarks a friend, "which is both an asset and a limitation." The same might be said of Mr. Nixon, who now speaks with great confidence of the eventual success of his most important foreign policy, backed, he is sure, by the great silent mass of Americans. That is the President's asset and one he has exploited skillfully in recent weeks. But his—and Kissinger's—limitation could lie in their inability to give enough weight to other perceptions: that majorities are not constant, and that an important generational change may yet transform the framework in which U.S. foreign policy is conducted.

Ultimately, the fate of both men depends on how successful their policy is in extricating the U.S. from a war for which neither is in the least responsible. By their estimate, the principal U.S. concern should be to protect its own national power and thus preserve a solid measure of the international power balance in the '70s. But such criteria, however responsible, may not be enough. "Doesn't that man realize that a good part of this country regards the war in Vietnam as 'immoral?'" exclaimed an exasperated visitor to Kissinger's office not long ago. The answer is, he does. But neither Henry Kissinger nor Richard Nixon believes that is the decisive question—and only the future will tell whether they will stand or fall on their judgment.

Henry, at 8, in Fürth and his parents today in New York

Newsweek—Bernard Gotfyrd

views than his style that hurt him," recalls a sympathetic colleague who served with him at the time. "He simply wasn't light-footed enough for the Kennedy circle."

Kissinger was more successful later in performing short-term study missions in Vietnam for Lyndon Johnson and was even able to establish a direct contact, through a French friend, between the President and Ho Chi Minh in 1967. But his real hopes for full-time public service seemed to rest on the political fortunes of Nelson Rockefeller, with whom he had remained in close contact since the '50s. During the 1968 campaign, Kissinger served as Rockefeller's chief foreign-policy adviser, and he was bitterly disappointed at Rocky's failure to win the nomination. He received an immediate offer to help write nominee Nixon's speeches but turned it down because, a former associate recalls, "Henry doubted that he could write anything that Nixon would be willing to use." But he did remain in informal contact with both the Nixon camp

man for the job—he has a strong, precise, well-structured mind."

Kissinger also has strong convictions about the proper conduct of foreign affairs that seem remarkably in tune with Mr. Nixon's own instincts and predilections. Basically, he views world problems through the classic prism of power relations. "International order," the highest value in Kissinger's political pantheon and a recurrent phrase in all his writings, can only be achieved through the most delicate balance of major-power relations. This equilibrium among the great powers, he believes, is always dynamic and changing, never permanent: "The foundation of a stable order is the relative security—and therefore the relative insecurity—of its members." And with the onset of the '70s and the slow melting away of the cold-war balance of terror, Kissinger feels, it is imperative that the U.S. and the Soviet Union, the two great superpowers, readjust their relations in conformity with new realities. "A new concept of international order is essen-

December 22, 1969

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Shoot-out in Los Angeles: Sudden sympathy and pressure for investigation

Too Late for the Panthers?

Is there some sort of government conspiracy afoot to exterminate the Black Panthers? The black revolutionaries themselves are convinced of it—and have long used such charges as part of their propaganda against capitalist white society and its “pig” police. Last week, in the wake of yet another bloody shoot-out between the cops and the Panthers, the talk of conspiracy—or, at the least, systematic harassment—began to find a larger and more sympathetic audience than ever before.

The latest skirmish in the guerrilla war between the gun-toting Panthers and the police took place in Los Angeles. The cops' mission, authorities said, was to search Panther headquarters on the edge of the Watts ghetto for a suspected cache of illegal weapons. To bring off the job, the police department assembled a 300-man task force and moved in on the building just before dawn. The result

was a four-hour gun battle in which both sides exchanged hundreds of shots. At one point, the police tried to get at the Panthers by dynamiting the roof of their headquarters. The cops also used helicopters—to scout the neighborhood for Panther reinforcements—and even wheeled up an armored personnel carrier, borrowed from the National Guard.

Outnumbered and outgunned, the Panthers finally hoisted a white flag. And when the police finally got into the building, they found what they said they had come for: an arsenal of weapons including two submachine guns, a dozen carbines and rifles, eight pistols, a score of homemade bombs and thousands of rounds of ammunition. Six Panthers (and three policemen) were wounded during the fight and thirteen militants arrested.

The Los Angeles episode came just four days after a deadly confrontation between the police and the Panthers in Chicago in which two top Illinois leaders of the party were killed (NEWSWEEK, Dec. 15). The two incidents prompted an unprecedented outcry—and not just from the Panthers and their allies on the far left. Liberals of impeccable credentials, including Whitney Young Jr. of the Urban League, attorney Joseph L. Rauh Jr. of Americans for Democratic Action, and Adlai Stevenson III, the Illinois State Treasurer and U.S. Senate candidate, called for investigations of the police action against the Panthers, whose hierarchy around the country has been all but decimated over the past year.

**Inquiry:** The pressure brought a prompt response from the government. In Washington, the Justice Department denied that it had ever had a "policy of concerted activity with local police in order to harass any members of the Black Panther Party." And Justice did agree to a preliminary Federal investigation of the Chicago incident. The U.S. investigation won't be the only one. At the weekend, a dozen organizations, including the NAACP Legal Defense Fund and

the American Jewish Congress, were planning to set up a committee of inquiry to look into the question of alleged police harassment of the Panthers.

There is no doubt that the police around the nation have made the Panthers a prime target in the past two years—but whether there is any sort of systematic approach to it all is highly questionable. "I doubt seriously that there is anything organized on a national scale," says one former high-ranking Federal lawman. "But there could be inspiration."

The Justice Department makes no secret of the fact that it maintains a special intelligence unit to keep tabs on the Panthers; and the FBI follows standard procedures for exchanging information with local law enforcement agencies. "If we hear that the Minutemen or the DAR or the Black Panthers are caching submachine guns," said one FBI source last week, "it's absolutely incumbent upon us to pass that on to local police." Last summer, FBI chief J. Edgar Hoover described the Panthers as "the greatest threat to the internal security of the country" among all black extremist groups.

Not that local authorities need much prompting from anyone where the Panthers are concerned. The Panthers' whole stance is based on unrelenting hostility to all established authority, especially "the pigs." Recently, the Panthers have tried to downplay their gunbarrel politics and introduced a free breakfast program for children, but in ghettos around the country cops grumble about sniping and other hit-and-run assaults that they blame on the party. What's more, police raids on Panther hide-outs generally do turn up frightening arsenals—and the Panthers' insistence that they arm only for self-defense is less than persuasive to many officials.

While Panthers and police practice self-defense, the party's ranks are dwindling. Federal officials estimate that

Panther weapons seized in L.A.

UPI

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L.A. Panthers being led to

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