The Pursuit of Peace and Power

ASSIGNING Henry Kissinger the role of secret agent seems about as plausible as expecting Raquel Welch to stroll down Fifth Avenue in a bikini unrecognized. One of the most photographed men in public life, ostentatious companion of beautiful women, encumbered everywhere with a bodyguard and dogged by some of the nation's ablest reporters, President Nixon's national security chief by all odds ought to have difficulty even escaping to the men's room unnoticed. Yet in the latest of his TV spectaculars, Nixon revealed last week that Henry has been at it again, with a regularity that makes even Kissinger's celebrated Peking caper only the most spectacular event in the continuing adventures of the President's peripatetic adviser. Once more, in what is generally considered to be a garrulous age, it was news to nearly everybody, proving anew that the ancient art of secrecy in diplomacy is alive and well in Richard Nixon's Washington.

In pursuit of peace in Viet Nam, Nixon disclosed, Kissinger had made twelve furtive trips to Paris to meet with representatives of North Viet Nam over the past 30 months. In baring the clandestine diplomacy, Nixon admitted the failure to settle anything. By making it public, he hoped, he said, to force Hanoi to take it more seriously. He also sought to prove to critics that the U.S. had "gone the extra mile" in seeking an agreement and that the failure could be blamed solely on Communist intransigence. Whether Nixon's televised revelations actually would hasten the end of the war by bringing world opinion to bear against the Communists remained in grave doubt. The two sides seemed almost as far apart as ever, and the public spotlight may only have illuminated their differences and made accommodation more difficult.

Diverse Talents. What the President's latest surprise announcement did achieve was to throw his antiwar critics off balance at a time when the frustrating struggle in Indochina seemed to be reviving as a domestic political issue (see box, page 17). He noted that the conciliatory steps demanded by many Democrats had already been taken by him in private, and he assailed those in the U.S. who "have become accustomed to thinking that whatever our Government says must be false and whatever our enemies say must be true." Kissinger readily conceded afterward that "a very major objective" of the President's speech was to "compose the domestic disharmony" on the war.

The Nixon announcement once again dramatized the President's remarkable reliance on the diverse talents, energy and intellect of the brilliant, German-born former Harvard academic who is variously referred to by his governmental colleagues as "Henry the K," "Henry the Kiss," "Herr Doktor" and "the Metternich from Yonkers." Kissinger, 48, dominates U.S. foreign policy far more than any White House aide in recent memory, playing a role unequaled since John Foster Dulles ran a virtually one-man State Department for Dwight Eisenhower--and Dulles was, in fact, the Secretary of State. Kissinger has seized total control of the White House-based National Security Council, ordering 146 deep studies of actual or potential policy problems, ranging from arms limitations to riot control in South Viet Nam. Then, fully insulated from the various Cabinet bureaucracies, Kissinger AP serves up options for presidential decision. In a crisis, he chairs the pivotal Washington Special Actions Group for the NSC. Now Kissinger is revealed as a lone operator in the field, dealing personally with the enemy in carrying out the policies he has helped to devise. Conceiving, executing and explaining foreign policy, Kissinger is Nixon's triple agent.

The multiple Kissinger forays represent a triumph of a determined Government's ability to protect a secret. To achieve it, the number of officials advised of the missions was kept astonishingly low. The select circle included Kissinger's close-mouthed deputy, Brigadier General Alexander Haig; another aide and confidant, Winston Lord; Press Secretary Ronald Ziegler, who KISSINGER had to have a cover story handy if newsmen inquired about Kissinger's absence; Presidential Aide Robert Haldeman and Secretary of State William Rogers. Kissinger's traveling party normally included Lord, 34, a generalist who has worked for both the State and Defense departments; his writing talent has made him known as "the fastest pen in Kissinger's shop."

One of the minor curiosities of Nixon's address was the pointed thanks to French President Georges Pompidou for his "personal assistance" in arranging the secret talks. To discover the nature of the assistance, TIME Correspondents William Rademaekers in Paris and Jerrold Schecter in Washington traced the Kissinger spoor. It turns out that the first Kissinger mission, on Aug. 4, 1969, was set up through Jean Sainteny, a former French commissioner in Hanoi and a longtime intimate of North Viet Nam's late leader, Ho Chi Minh. When it became apparent that more Kissinger flights would be necessary, French Foreign Minister Maurice Schumann was approached during U.N. meetings in New York in the fall of 1969, and he agreed to enlist his government's aid in protecting the negotiations. Pompidou cooperated so completely as to order government-owned national television and radio networks to play down American involvement in Viet Nam as the talks proceeded; on the occasion of one trip he entertained Kissinger at lunch at his private apartment on the Quai de Bethune.

While the precise shadowy mode of the Kissinger trips varied, one such journey illustrates the technique. Kissinger left home early on Sunday morning, when newsmen might assume that even the busy Kissinger was relaxing. He was driven by his ever present Secret Service protector to Andrews Air Force Base, where he boarded a waiting unmarked C-135 White House aircraft equipped with elaborate communications gear. Since the field is busy and checkout flights of the presidential plane are routine, his takeoff attracted no special notice.

Making periodic reports on his movements by radio to General Haig and sending any last-minute thoughts to Nixon through radio messages addressed to Quarterback, the President's code name, Kissinger arrived at West Germany's well-guarded Rhein-Main Air Force Base near Frankfurt six hours after takeoff. There Kissinger and party slipped into another waiting aircraft, this time the U.S. military version of the Lockheed JetStar. Seventy minutes later, this plane landed at a French military airport in Villacoublay, nine miles southwest of Paris (see map, page 16). The plane taxied into a remote, secure area of the field, where it was met by a black Citroen DS-21. A brace of other Citroens--the standard car of French officialdom--stood by with security guards in civilian clothes. Kissinger was obscured by a curtain in his car.

The small caravan traveled for about ten miles toward the lower middle class suburb of Choisy-le-Roi, where the small stucco houses with tile roofs and high gates blend anonymously into one another. The party carefully stayed away from the large villa that the North Vietnamese delegation to the Paris peace talks maintains near by. Handicapped by the fact that Paris is six hours ahead of Washington time, Kissinger was able to grab only a few hours of sleep in an unobtrusive "safe house." To further cover his tracks, he took another car in the morning, rode a short distance to a house occupied by the Vietnamese, where the talks began before noon Paris time.

Nuoc Mam. There four Americans (Kissinger, Lord, a translator and a man whom the government sources refuse to identify) sat in a sparsely furnished living room, facing five North Vietnamese, including Politburo Member Le Due Tho and his deputy, Xuan Thuy. Kissinger opened the session with a short conciliatory talk, stressing, as he explained in a press conference last week, his general theme that "it is in our interest that we make a settlement that you will want to keep--that takes account of your sacrifices and your concerns." Always polite and never hostile, the Vietnamese raised questions about Kissinger's proposals, firmly restated their own demands, turned away attempts to pin them down on areas of possible compromise.

After two hours of this, the parties abandoned business to walk in the secluded rear garden and exchange small talk. The Vietnamese served cha gio, snacks of fish covered with thin rice wafers and dipped in the inevitable fermented fish oil, nuoc mam. Withdrawing to discuss the U.S. position among themselves, the Communists then returned to talk seriously, but often ambiguously, for another two hours. They kept complaining that the Americans simply did not understand their position. Says Kissinger: "They behaved correctly. Their personal behavior was impeccable, and I have great respect for them as individuals. They were tough, tenacious, yet courteous."

Elapsed Time. Kissinger then quickly retraced his steps, riding back to the Villacoublay airport, flying to Frankfurt, transferring to the larger jet for the transatlantic flight home. On the way back, the tired Kissinger prepared a twelve-page, single-spaced report for Quarterback and radioed short summaries to General Haig. Now gaining hours by the time differential, Kissinger arrived at Andrews after dinner Monday and was driven directly to the White House. He then painstakingly discussed the negotiations with the President for another four hours. Before they were finished, Nixon was also supplied with a complete transcript of Kissinger's secret session. Though Kissinger insists that the route was not always the same, each of the negotiating sessions followed essentially this routine. He does not want to be too specific, he said, because "we may want to do it again."

He seemed surprised that no word of his missions had leaked. At one point he feared that his cover was about to be blown when his jet developed trouble in its hydraulic system and had to make an unscheduled landing at a U.S. airbase in Europe. "If we had been seen, we would have admitted it," Kissinger says.

Nearly sleepless on some of his missions and occasionally arriving back in Washington so late that he and the President held their postmortems in Nixon's bedroom, Kissinger conceded that his trips were "hectic."

A few of them consumed an elapsed time of only 27 hours, which helped keep his absence from Washington less visible. To minimize the effects of the time lag, Kissinger kept his watch set on Washington time. Several of his trips were timed, perhaps only coincidentally, with big news events that diverted the attention of the White House press corps, such as one on Aug. 15, when Nixon announced the wage-price freeze.

On only two of the twelve secret meetings was Kissinger's presence in Paris known, because he was there on other public business. His most elusive performance was on July 12, only hours after he had returned from his surreptitious trip to Peking. Arriving in Paris amid rumors that he might try to see the Communist negotiators, he was closely watched by reporters. Yet he managed to slip away for a four-hour talk with the North Vietnamese before he was spotted in Chez Garin (one of Michelin's two-star restaurants) with an attractive U.S. television producer, Margaret Osmer. It would perhaps be ungallant or even naive to say that Kissinger merely used her as a decoy, but it had that effect. The press collectively winked and concluded that Henry was up to nothing serious in Paris.

Two Points. However well-intentioned and exciting Kissinger's ocean-hopping ventures may have been, they have nevertheless proved frustrating. There were moments of hope, especially when the Communists shifted the discussions last May from the spartan living room of the suburban meeting house into the dining room, where the two sides faced each other in more businesslike fashion across a green tablecloth. On such nuances great diplomacy has sometimes turned, and recalling all the haggling over the table shape before the public Paris negotiations started, the Americans took this as a symbolic move. "We felt we were making progress," Kissinger recalled. "On seven of their nine points, we could see how agreement could be reached." Kissinger was clearly disappointed when the remaining two points continued to be unresolvable in further covert meetings through last September, when the Communists mysteriously seemed to lose interest in any more private talks. It was partly in an attempt to break the impasse of four months that an indignant President Nixon finally blew his trusted agent's cover last week and applied public pressure on Hanoi. What Kissinger had finally offered the North Vietnamese through the secret channels, Nixon said, was a settlement that included these main elements:

> The U.S. will withdraw "all U.S. and allied forces from South Viet Nam" within six months after both sides agree on peace principles. Nixon did not mention it in his address, but the formal eight-point U.S. plan would require the later withdrawal of all North Vietnamese troops from Laos, Cambodia and South Viet Nam, although the U.S. withdrawal would proceed first.

> Both sides will exchange all military and civilian prisoners of war that they now hold.

>There will be a cease-fire throughout all of Indochina.

> There will be a new presidential election in South Viet Nam, supervised by an international body and organized by an independent group representing "all political forces in South Viet Nam, including the National Liberation Front." Moreover, South Viet Nam President Thieu and Vice President Huong will resign from office one month before this election.

> The U.S. will undertake "a major reconstruction program throughout Indochina--including North Viet Nam--to help all these peoples recover from the ravages of a generation of war." Presidential aides later suggested that $7.5 billion would be a likely U.S. contribution, with $2.5 billion of that to be spent in North Viet Nam--a figure whose magnitude can be measured by comparing it with Nixon's request for $2.7 billion for economic and military aid to the entire world this year.

Both Nixon and Kissinger stressed that the U.S. was flexible on its plan and that it was meant not as final in most of its elements but as a basis for serious bargaining. The one-month interval between Thieu's resignation and the election, for example, presumably could be expanded in negotiations. More substantively, if the Communists would abandon their insistence that political concessions be linked with any military agreement, the U.S. was ready to let political issues be worked out later. In that case, the U.S. would withdraw its forces contingent only upon the release of prisoners and an area-wide ceasefire. This would include the end of enemy action in Laos and Cambodia and of U.S. bombing throughout the region. Under these conditions the U.S. would not require that the Communists also withdraw all outside forces from South Viet Nam, Laos or Cambodia. Indeed, the first offer made to the Communists was for this purely military settlement; the more complicated plan was the result of Hanoi's insistence on linking the political and military aspects of ending the war.

No Surrender. Nixon termed his offer "fair to North Viet Nam and fair to South Viet Nam. And it deserves the support of the American people." Indicating the limits of U.S. flexibility, Nixon declared: "The only thing this plan does not do is join the enemy to overthrow our ally, which the United States of America will never do. If the enemy wants peace, it will have to recognize the important difference between settlement and surrender."

Next day, speaking incisively but displaying uncharacteristic emotion, Kissinger held a 74-minute briefing in which he claimed that Hanoi has demanded all along that the U.S. "turn over" the South Vietnamese government to its control. It wanted this done both directly, "generously leaving the method to us," and indirectly, by defining U.S. withdrawal as including all military and economic aid to Saigon--as well as all U.S. arms now in South Vietnamese military hands. Said Kissinger: "They are asking us to align ourselves with them, to overthrow the people that have been counting on us." The terms of withdrawal and the future makeup of the Saigon government thus remained two huge barriers to agreement, and the essential difference between Hanoi's nine-point position and the eight U.S. points.

Credibility. North Vietnamese officials in Paris promptly dismissed Nixon's broadcast as a "perfidious maneuver to deceive the American electorate in an election year." When the U.S. proposals were formally presented at the 143rd meeting of the Paris negotiators, the Hanoi spokesman similarly accused Nixon of "holding out bright prospects of sham peace during the electoral campaign." A Viet Cong official insisted that the secret talks had been kept private only "at the imperious demand of Mr. Kissinger," yet also assailed Nixon for a lack of "credibility" in disclosing their substance. The Communists refrained from outright rejection of the Nixon plan, however, and a Hanoi correspondent for Pravda reported that it was being "attentively analyzed" in North Viet Nam.

Actually, despite the surface reasonableness of the Nixon-Kissinger proposals, there remains little incentive from Hanoi's point of view for the Communists to accept it. The North Vietnamese perspective is radically different from any Nixonian concept of fairness. They see no U.S. rights or obligations in their own backyard, see no reason to buy the western concept of settling disputes by elections and believe that the U.S. is a distant meddler in their internal affairs. After more than 25 years of fighting, they are not likely to agree to a cease-fire at a time when they hold little territory in South Viet Nam and seem on the verge of major military gains in both Laos and Cambodia, which would improve their position against South Viet Nam--and when the U.S. has vowed to continue its troop withdrawals even if Hanoi refuses to negotiate.

In return they would get only a dubious shot at knocking Thieu--or any other U.S.-aided government--out of power in Saigon. They do not really believe that the South Vietnamese army and Saigon police would allow Communist agents to campaign freely. They have no desire to help Nixon and the U.S. disengage gracefully. As they pour more troops down the Ho Chi Minh Trail into Laos, in fact, they seem determined to create the impression that the U.S. is being forced out. At the least, they seem set upon reminding Peking that they will not readily yield to any deals Chou En-lai might want to strike with Nixon when the two confer this month.

The sad reality seems to be that Hanoi has no desire to negotiate, as the frustrating talks, both public and private, bear out. Though the North Vietnamese army and Viet Cong forces have been badly battered, they have been far from defeated. They appear determined to fight on--with rising hopes of eventual success as the U.S. leaves, even though the Nixon policy of Vietnamization is working about as well as can be expected (see THE WORLD).

The prospective presidential challengers reacted cautiously to the President's revelation. Taking his usual commendable time to think before speaking, Edmund Muskie at first warned Democrats against "nitpicking," then criticized the election proposal as too dangerous for the Viet Cong, among others, to accept. Hubert Humphrey contended that Nixon's plan fell short of offering a specific date for U.S. withdrawal and said that he still favored the Mansfield amendment, which would force such a date on the President. George McGovern, insisting upon a withdrawal date even without a firm promise that P.O.W.s would be released, termed Nixon's plan "a clever election-year maneuver that may gain temporary political advantage but won't end the war."

Unfortunately, McGovern's forecast may turn out to be right. Even the current political advantages for Nixon could prove to be fleeting. Although the partisan stakes are now confused, the war is once again a center of national attention. Nixon was probably preparing the public for the possibility that he might have to take tough new military measures to meet a renewed Communist offensive--but that would still incite fresh controversy. Moreover, as Nixon continues to pull out troops, down to an anticipated 25,000 or so residual forces by election time, increasing Communist pressure could have an unpredictable political effect. Nixon critics would want the remaining troops protected, yet there would also be outcries against any re-escalation.

Irreverent. The caustic Communist dismissal of his long months of backstage diplomacy could not quite repress the resilient spirits of Henry Kissinger. Basking once again in the kind of international attention that soars beyond an academician's dreams, Kissinger charmed a core of crusty newsmen at a Washington Press Club dinner. Who else but Kissinger would be so irreverent as to refer to one of Nixon's most embarrassing moments? "It is true that I have been getting kicked around lately," Kissinger said in apparent reference to the Anderson papers. "And it is natural that some of you will wonder what life will be like when you won't have me to kick around any more."

Yet the 46 staff members and 105 clerical employees who work for Kissinger in the White House do not always find their boss so funny. While secretaries suffer silently under his urgent demands and work devotedly, about one-quarter of the aides have left since he set up shop. Constantly lashing his staff to perform "meticulously"--a favorite word--Kissinger both inspires and exasperates. Incapable of delegating his vast authority, he edits memos mercilessly, spares no feelings if he feels that a report falls short of his own high standards, quickly loses patience with mediocre work. "He is the Vince Lombardi of NSC policy," says Winston Lord. "He makes us do things we never thought we could do." Those who do not, or will not, soon quit.

The orderly Kissinger intellect has brought a new neatness to the formulation of U.S. foreign policy. On such matters as relations with the U.S.S.R., he says: "We used to spend half our time negotiating among ourselves, a quarter of the time with our allies and only a fourth with the Russians." The Kissinger apparatus is designed to short-circuit interdepartmental disputes well before they reach the President. "The role of the President is not to ratify the compromises of the bureaucracy," Kissinger insists. He is superb at squeezing clear-cut choices out of the departments to present to the President--and at spotting the weak options that are thrown in only to make the preferred proposals look better.

Beyond his acumen, Kissinger has been able to master the bureaucracy because he has the President's ear and because he and Nixon share a fondness for crisp, well-reasoned presentations on paper and shun the old practice of talking problems out in large Cabinet meetings. Yet Kissinger and Nixon do talk daily in Washington and long hours while away from the capital. Theirs is a professional relationship, unlike the President's more intimate camaraderie with John Mitchell or William Rogers, and their dialogue resembles a traveling seminar in which Kissinger remains the deferential professor. Kissinger never reveals any advice he gives the President, but it is clearly the case that Nixon decides, while Kissinger guides.

Too Busy. Kissinger's pre-eminence is both envied and resented at lower levels of the demoralized State Department, where some officials wish their boss, Secretary Rogers, were not too gentlemanly to use his own 25-year friendship with Nixon to professional advantage. While Kissinger stays out of internal State Department business, a few foreign embassies have been known to receive White House cables with instructions to "be sure our State Department doesn't know about this." He often sounds contemptuous of the department, but with that peculiar blend of haughtiness and reasonableness, Kissinger says: "A weak State Department is not desirable for my position--I don't get any points when I have to solve a problem they should have handled." As for Secretary Rogers, Kissinger concedes that "there are bound to be differences between two strong-minded men; but it is the bureaucracy, not the Secretary, who provokes fights."

Many critics in and out of Government see dangers in Kissinger's frenetic one-man advisory role. No matter how brilliant he is, they do not see how even he can find the time to keep abreast of all the crises and contingencies that flow across his desk. This inevitable weakness showed, they claim, in the decision of the U.S. to side with Pakistan in its losing war with India and in the failure of the Administration to advise the edgy Japanese of Nixon's invitation to Peking. Foreign diplomats chafe, too, at being referred to the White House by State Department officials who cannot aaswer their inquiries--and then finding that Kissinger is too busy to see them.

Ourselves. Such criticisms do not much bother the confident Kissinger, who is also in the enviable position of the adviser whose advice is rarely known--and who thus seldom has to accept public blame for what looks like presidential mistakes. Yet, however certain Kissinger seems of so many things, he is not insensitive to the failures and inadequacies of institutions and individuals, including himself. In a rare moment of public revelation of a private philosophy, Kissinger stirred his Press Club audience last week with some reflections.

"When the voice of controversy has stilled," Kissinger said in reference to the arguments that swirl about the Presidents he has served, "all that will matter will be whether what was done made a difference, whether it marked an episode or an epoch. We are living through one of the most difficult periods of our time. Some say we are divided over Viet Nam; others blame other domestic discord. But I believe the cause of our anguish is deeper. Throughout our history we believed that effort was its own reward. Partly because so much has been achieved here in America, we have tended to suppose that every problem must have a solution and that good intentions should somehow guarantee good results. Utopia was seen not as a dream, but as our logical destination if we only traveled the right road. Our generation is the first to find that the road is endless, that in traveling it we will find not Utopia but ourselves. The realization of our essential loneliness accounts for so much of the frustration and rage of our time."

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.