Part 13 (1/2)

Yet he also understood that smaller issues than those at stake over Berlin had sparked past wars, including World War I. And so he was ”shaken” by and ”angry” at Khrushchev's rhetoric and behavior. It was the first time he had ever met ”somebody with whom he couldn't exchange ideas in a meaningful way,” Bobby Kennedy said later. ”I think it was a shock to him that somebody would be as harsh and definitive”-as ”unrelenting” and ”uncompromising”-as Khrushchev was in Vienna. However difficult and frustrating the meeting had been, Kennedy understood that the greatest challenges to him as president now lay ahead.

CHAPTER 12

Crisis Manager

When I ran for the Presidency of the United States, I knew that this country faced serious challenges, but I could not realize-nor could any man realize who does not bear the burdens of this office-how heavy and constant would be those burdens.

- John F. Kennedy, Report to the American People on the Berlin Crisis, July 25, 1961

LONDON WAS A WELCOME RESPITE from the tension of Vienna. Although Macmillan had initially been ”appalled” that someone so young was president and had feared that Kennedy would see him as ”so old that he wasn't worthwhile talking to,” they had established an excellent rapport at two meetings in Was.h.i.+ngton during Kennedy's first months in office. Macmillan's intelligence and dry, quick wit had delighted the president. Going to see the prime minister was like being ”in the bosom of the family,” Kennedy told Henry Brandon. ”I am lucky to have a man to deal with with whom I have such a close understanding.” ”It was the gay things that linked us together,” Macmillan told Schlesinger, ”and made it possible for us to talk about the terrible things.” from the tension of Vienna. Although Macmillan had initially been ”appalled” that someone so young was president and had feared that Kennedy would see him as ”so old that he wasn't worthwhile talking to,” they had established an excellent rapport at two meetings in Was.h.i.+ngton during Kennedy's first months in office. Macmillan's intelligence and dry, quick wit had delighted the president. Going to see the prime minister was like being ”in the bosom of the family,” Kennedy told Henry Brandon. ”I am lucky to have a man to deal with with whom I have such a close understanding.” ”It was the gay things that linked us together,” Macmillan told Schlesinger, ”and made it possible for us to talk about the terrible things.”

Kennedy's meeting with Khrushchev, Macmillan thought, had left JFK stunned. ”For the first time in his life Kennedy met a man who was impervious to his charm.” The chairman was ”much more of a barbarian” than he had antic.i.p.ated. Because Kennedy seemed so tired, Macmillan suggested that they meet without Foreign Office officials-”a peaceful drink and chat by ourselves.” Kennedy was pleased at the suggestion, but their discussion was anything but relaxing. Khrushchev's threats were impossible to ignore, and for the better part of an hour the two allies explored ideas on a formal response. They believed it essential to stand by what Kennedy had told Khrushchev: The Russians could do what they liked about a peace treaty with the DDR, but ”the West stood on their rights and would meet any attack on these with all the force at their command.”

Kennedy returned to Was.h.i.+ngton on the morning of June 6. He met with congressional leaders that afternoon and spoke to the American people from the Oval Office at 7:00 P.M. P.M. He gave the sixteen Senate and House leaders a candid a.s.sessment of the talks, reading some excerpts from minutes of the meetings rather than simply giving them his gloss on what had occurred. He had no intention, he told the leaders, of saying anything ”that would seem to put Khrushchev in a corner where he must fight back.” But he also wanted them to understand that the United States was competing with an adversary intent on world dominance. Kennedy believed the test ban talks were now pointless and hoped to end them while making Soviet responsibility for the failure clear. On Berlin, Kennedy said that the U.S. would not cede its rights of access. ”The Soviets feel that our edge is gone on the nuclear side,” he added, meaning not that Moscow had greater nuclear might than the United States but that it doubted U.S. resolve to fight a nuclear war. He gave the sixteen Senate and House leaders a candid a.s.sessment of the talks, reading some excerpts from minutes of the meetings rather than simply giving them his gloss on what had occurred. He had no intention, he told the leaders, of saying anything ”that would seem to put Khrushchev in a corner where he must fight back.” But he also wanted them to understand that the United States was competing with an adversary intent on world dominance. Kennedy believed the test ban talks were now pointless and hoped to end them while making Soviet responsibility for the failure clear. On Berlin, Kennedy said that the U.S. would not cede its rights of access. ”The Soviets feel that our edge is gone on the nuclear side,” he added, meaning not that Moscow had greater nuclear might than the United States but that it doubted U.S. resolve to fight a nuclear war.

Kennedy's evening TV address struck a balance between signaling emerging dangers and avoiding rhetoric that could provoke a crisis. To mute the difficulties with Russia, he partly spoke about his successful meetings with de Gaulle and Macmillan. But, as with the congressional leaders, he left no doubt that the United States faced a tough challenge from the Soviet Union. ”It was a very sober two days” in Vienna, he said. To be sure, although the gap between the two countries had not been materially reduced, ”the channels of communication were opened more fully.” Yet no one should ignore the fact ”that the Soviets and ourselves give wholly different meanings to the same words-war, peace, democracy, and popular will. We have wholly different views of right and wrong.” Yet both sides realized that they had the capacity to inflict enormous damage on each other and the world. Consequently, they owed ”it to all mankind to make every possible effort” to avoid an armed clash.

Kennedy was not optimistic that Moscow would act sensibly. The Soviets had no desire to provoke a direct conflict with the United States and its allies, but it was clear that the contest between East and West would now spread to developing countries where Moscow gained a foothold. America, Kennedy said, needed to resist such communist advances with economic and military a.s.sistance programs to emerging nations struggling to remain free. And though he hid his private anxieties about a possible war over Berlin, his closing words left no doubt about the difficulties ahead: ”We must be patient. We must be determined. We must be courageous. We must accept both risks and burdens.”

Renewed public and private expressions of doubt about Kennedy's performance in Vienna made his sensible statesmans.h.i.+p all the more difficult. After the meeting, Time Time reported ”a widespread feeling that the Administration has not yet provided ample leaders.h.i.+p in guiding the U.S. along the dangerous paths of the cold war.” Privately, Macmillan shared this concern: ”I 'feel in my bones' that President Kennedy is going to fail to produce any real leaders.h.i.+p. The American press and public are beginning to feel the same.” Mac Bundy told Kennedy that he and columnists Joe Alsop and Walter Lippmann believed that ”this problem of Berlin is one which you will have to master and manage, under your own personal leaders.h.i.+p and authority.” He would need to be ”in immediate, personal, and continuous command of this enormous question.” And he would have to do better than he had been doing so far. reported ”a widespread feeling that the Administration has not yet provided ample leaders.h.i.+p in guiding the U.S. along the dangerous paths of the cold war.” Privately, Macmillan shared this concern: ”I 'feel in my bones' that President Kennedy is going to fail to produce any real leaders.h.i.+p. The American press and public are beginning to feel the same.” Mac Bundy told Kennedy that he and columnists Joe Alsop and Walter Lippmann believed that ”this problem of Berlin is one which you will have to master and manage, under your own personal leaders.h.i.+p and authority.” He would need to be ”in immediate, personal, and continuous command of this enormous question.” And he would have to do better than he had been doing so far.

Kennedy now worried that a defeat over Berlin or in Vietnam, where the Saigon government remained in jeopardy, could be a decisive blow to his presidency. He told Galbraith, ”There are limits to the number of defeats I can defend in one twelve-month period. I've had the Bay of Pigs, and pulling out of Laos [or refusing to fight there], and I can't accept a third.”

Kennedy had enough detachment about himself and the magnitude of the problems he confronted not to let criticism or negative perceptions control his public actions toward the USSR. The personal concerns underlying his father's unwise isolationism remained an object lesson in how not to make foreign policy. He was determined to shape an image of himself as clear and firm about international affairs, but not at the risk of being reckless or allowing considerations other than avoiding a nuclear war to shape what he said and did. Where Bobby would explode in anger toward someone like Chester Bowles for seeming to criticize his brother, JFK was much more restrained. Being president, of course, was vastly different from being attorney general. The reflective temperament that set Kennedy apart from his father, Bobby, Acheson, and most American military chiefs served him well in a job one shudders to imagine in any of their hands in 1961.

THE BERLIN CRISIS as it evolved during the summer of 1961 was arguably the most dangerous moment for a nuclear conflict since the onset of the Cold War. It tested Kennedy's ability to strike an effective balance between intimidating the Soviets and giving them a way out of their dilemma. How could Moscow halt the migration from East to West, which threatened the collapse of East Germany, without altering existing U.S. treaty rights of unfettered access to Berlin and pus.h.i.+ng Was.h.i.+ngton toward war? Khrushchev had some hope that a Soviet-East German peace treaty might not cause the United States to fight. The Western press, which repeatedly described him as not believing that JFK would pull the nuclear trigger, encouraged the chairman to accept these reports as evidence that Kennedy would not act. But he could not be sure. as it evolved during the summer of 1961 was arguably the most dangerous moment for a nuclear conflict since the onset of the Cold War. It tested Kennedy's ability to strike an effective balance between intimidating the Soviets and giving them a way out of their dilemma. How could Moscow halt the migration from East to West, which threatened the collapse of East Germany, without altering existing U.S. treaty rights of unfettered access to Berlin and pus.h.i.+ng Was.h.i.+ngton toward war? Khrushchev had some hope that a Soviet-East German peace treaty might not cause the United States to fight. The Western press, which repeatedly described him as not believing that JFK would pull the nuclear trigger, encouraged the chairman to accept these reports as evidence that Kennedy would not act. But he could not be sure.

On June 10, six days after he left Vienna, Khrushchev publicly released the aide-memoire he had given Kennedy insisting on a German peace treaty that he hoped could be used to alter Western rights of unfettered access to Berlin through East Germany. Two days later, the Soviet delegate at the Geneva test ban talks ”dropped all pretense of serious interest in concluding an agreement.” Khrushchev had ”no further interest in keeping the test talks alive as a means of promoting an accommodation with Was.h.i.+ngton,” the CIA concluded. On June 15, Khrushchev spoke to his people on television about the urgency of concluding a peace treaty and changing the status of Berlin. East Germany's head of government, Walter Ulbricht, added to the sense of crisis by threatening to shut off Western access to Berlin, including the city's Tempelhof Airport.

Kennedy's initial public response was muted. In the three weeks after Moscow released the aide-memoire, he said nothing directly about Berlin. Instead of making him look responsible, Kennedy's silence made him seem like an indecisive leader or perhaps a politician seeking a middle ground. International relations expert Hans J. Morgenthau complained that Kennedy's response to Khrushchev's threat to Berlin was reminiscent of the failed ”half-measures” he had used during the Cuban invasion.

But behind the scenes, Berlin was Kennedy's greatest daily concern. ”He's imprisoned by Berlin, that's all he thinks about,” cabinet members complained. It was the highest priority for almost everybody around the president. National security advisers, academic experts, journalists close to the administration, and even Acheson were asked for their input on how to discourage Soviet implementation of the aide-memoire and what to do if Khrushchev went ahead.

Much of the argument now revolved around ”the need for re-establis.h.i.+ng the credibility of the nuclear deterrent.” Acheson pressed for acceptance of a formal proposition that the U.S. might have to resort to nuclear war. A failure to defend Western rights in Berlin, he argued, would destroy international confidence in the United States. ”The whole position of the United States is in the balance,” Acheson said. The Soviets might make nuclear war unavoidable, but in the meantime Kennedy needed ”to increase the nuclear deterrent to the greatest extent we can devise. This ... offers the best hope of avoiding war short of submitting to Moscow's demands.”

By the end of June, Kennedy was under irresistible pressure to speak publicly again on Berlin. Stories in Time Time and and Newsweek Newsweek that made him seem well behind the public and the Pentagon in determination to face down the Soviets in Germany incensed him. ”Look at this s.h.i.+t. This s.h.i.+t has got to stop,” he told Salinger. A Nixon dig that ”never in American history has a man talked so big and acted so little” was an additional incentive to speak out. that made him seem well behind the public and the Pentagon in determination to face down the Soviets in Germany incensed him. ”Look at this s.h.i.+t. This s.h.i.+t has got to stop,” he told Salinger. A Nixon dig that ”never in American history has a man talked so big and acted so little” was an additional incentive to speak out.

When Kennedy finally did say something at a press conference on June 28, his remarks were measured, calculated to restrain Moscow without deepening the crisis. The Soviet insistence on signing a peace treaty was ”to make permanent the part.i.tion of Germany” and close off allied access to West Berlin. ”No one can fail to appreciate the gravity of this threat,” Kennedy said. ”It involves the peace and security of the Western world.” Kennedy also complained of Moscow's refusal to negotiate a test ban and warned that the United States would respond to renewed Soviet nuclear testing with tests of its own. He then turned Khrushchev's claim that the USSR would outproduce the United States by 1970 into a call for peaceful compet.i.tion. He predicted that the Soviet Union, whose GNP was 39 percent of America's, would not outproduce the United States in the twentieth century. But he encouraged Moscow to try; it ”could only result in a better living standard for both of our people.”

When reporters tried to draw Kennedy into more concrete statements about the gravity of the ”crisis” or U.S. intentions, he refused. He denied that any proposal for a partial mobilization to meet the Berlin threat had come before him, ”though of course we will be considering a whole variety of measures”; defended the value of the Vienna meeting, which had added to his store of information about the Soviets, though no plans for another meeting were in the works; denied any evidence of renewed Soviet nuclear testing; and declared that decisions on measures to counter the Soviet threat to Berlin were under consideration and that public discussion of a matter of such ”extreme seriousness” should wait until the administration's deliberations were complete. Kennedy's remarks struck an effective balance between firmness and restraint, and contrasted Soviet belligerence with American interest in peaceful economic compet.i.tion.

Behind the scenes, however, a vigorous argument had begun to rage over what all agreed was now a full-blown crisis. On one side stood advocates led by Acheson, the Joint Chiefs, Allen Dulles, and some State and Defense Department officials urging an overt military buildup to intimidate Moscow, and on the other, Rusk, Stevenson, Bowles, Harriman, Schlesinger, and Sorensen arguing for a more flexible response that included possible negotiations coupled with military preparations.

Kennedy refused to choose openly between the two alternatives, nor would he move precipitously. Above all, he was determined to control the decision making. On June 28, he told the Joint Chiefs that they were his princ.i.p.al advisers on all military matters, but that he also regarded them as ”more than military men and expected their help in fitting military requirements into the over-all context of any situation, recognizing that the most difficult problem in Government is to combine all a.s.sets in a unified, effective pattern.” The message was clear enough: The military needed to understand that it was part of a larger process in which the president would set military considerations alongside other factors before deciding what best served the national interest.

In a meeting with Acheson and national security officials the next day, Kennedy, who said little, nevertheless made clear that he would not foreclose additional discussions with Khrushchev about Berlin. Although Acheson believed that ”no negotiation can accomplish more than to cover with face-saving devices submission to Soviet demands,” Kennedy asked him what would be ”the right answer” if the chairman proposed a summit that summer. Acheson suggested that talks could begin at ”a lower level... . There were plenty of 'elderly unemployed' people like himself who could be sent to interminable meetings” and ”could converse indefinitely without negotiating at all.” Kennedy's preference for talks had registered three days before when he met with three Soviet journalists. Most of the discussion was about Berlin: He explained that the American people would impeach him if he gave up U.S. rights in Berlin, urged against a showdown over the city, and predicted that a Soviet-American war would ”leave everything to the rest of the world-including the Chinese,” a prediction Kennedy understood would not be lost on the Russians, who were growing increasingly apprehensive about their compet.i.tion with Peking.

During the first week of July, Newsweek Newsweek boosted Soviet-American tensions over Berlin by reporting a leak about Pentagon planning that included a declaration of limited national emergency, the removal of U.S. military dependents from West Germany and France, the reinforcement and increase of American divisions in Germany, and ”some demonstration of U.S. intent to employ nuclear weapons,” either by a resumption of testing or by moving atomic weapons in the NATO stockpile ”to advanced 'ready' positions.” Kennedy may have authorized the leak to send Khrushchev an unmistakable message. In response, Khrushchev gave private and public indications that Moscow was both ready for and horrified at the prospect of a nuclear fight. ”Why should two hundred million people die for two million Berliners?” he asked the British amba.s.sador. Upping the ante on his side, on July 8, Khrushchev publicly canceled plans to reduce Soviet forces by more than a million men, announcing instead a one-third increase in the defense budget. boosted Soviet-American tensions over Berlin by reporting a leak about Pentagon planning that included a declaration of limited national emergency, the removal of U.S. military dependents from West Germany and France, the reinforcement and increase of American divisions in Germany, and ”some demonstration of U.S. intent to employ nuclear weapons,” either by a resumption of testing or by moving atomic weapons in the NATO stockpile ”to advanced 'ready' positions.” Kennedy may have authorized the leak to send Khrushchev an unmistakable message. In response, Khrushchev gave private and public indications that Moscow was both ready for and horrified at the prospect of a nuclear fight. ”Why should two hundred million people die for two million Berliners?” he asked the British amba.s.sador. Upping the ante on his side, on July 8, Khrushchev publicly canceled plans to reduce Soviet forces by more than a million men, announcing instead a one-third increase in the defense budget.

Kennedy now pressed advisers for political alternatives to the potential military confrontation. He complained to Schlesinger that Acheson was ”far too narrowly” focused on military solutions and asked him to bring Berlin planning ”back into balance.” Kennedy, who was leaving that afternoon for a weekend in Hyannis Port, where he was to meet with Rusk, McNamara, and General Maxwell Taylor, instructed Schlesinger to write a paper on the unexplored Berlin political issues. Working furiously for two hours with State Department counselor Abram Chayes and Harvard professor Henry Kissinger, Schlesinger delivered a memo as Kennedy was about to leave in a helicopter from the White House south lawn. The memo concluded that Kennedy should ask Rusk ”to explore negotiating alternatives, and ask Acheson to supply the missing political dimension in his argument.”

Kennedy's determination to give himself more than the nuclear option in the growing crisis registered forcefully on his three weekend companions. While they cruised off Cape Cod, Kennedy peppered Rusk, inappropriately dressed in a business suit (which perfectly symbolized his and the State Department's unhelpful formality and inability to think imaginatively), McNamara, and Taylor with questions about diplomatic initiatives and military alternatives that might deter Moscow from a nuclear attack.

Determined not to find himself confronting inadequate military options, as he had during the Bay of Pigs, and to rein in public pressure for overt military preparations, which might prove wasteful and dangerous, Kennedy asked McNamara and Bundy to extract concrete explanations from the Pentagon on antic.i.p.ated Berlin outcomes. At the same time, he directed Pentagon press officer Arthur Sylvester to write William Randolph Hearst Jr., providing a catalogue of actions refuting complaints in his newspapers about insufficient military preparedness. Sylvester hoped that Hearst would ”give these additional facts ... the same prominence that you gave your earlier report.”

During July, as planning proceeded on how to respond to the Soviet threat, Kennedy sought the greatest possible flexibility. He wanted no part of a Pentagon plan that saw a ground war with Soviet forces as hopeless and favored a quick resort to nuclear weapons. Nor did he want pseudonegotiations that would make the United States look weak and ready to yield before Soviet pressure. He believed that ”the only alternatives were authentic negotiation or mutual annihilation.” As he told New York Post New York Post editor James Wechsler, ”If Khrushchev wants to rub my nose in the dirt, it's all over.” editor James Wechsler, ”If Khrushchev wants to rub my nose in the dirt, it's all over.”

To make his intentions clear to Moscow and rea.s.sure Americans and European allies, Kennedy scheduled a highly publicized television address on July 25. As a run-up to the speech, he used a July 19 press conference to urge Moscow ”to return to the path of constructive cooperation,” looking toward ”a just and enduring settlement of issues remaining from” World War II. He also outlined the themes of his forthcoming speech, promising a discussion of responsibilities and hazards as well as a statement of ”what we must do and what our allies must do to move through not merely the present difficulties” but also the many challenges ahead.

As Sorensen and several other aides helped Kennedy draft his television address, the president continued to worry about perceptions that he lacked the guts to fight an all-out war. Bobby heard from a Soviet emba.s.sy source that Moscow's amba.s.sador Mikhail Mens.h.i.+kov was privately telling Khrushchev that JFK ”didn't amount to very much, didn't have much courage.” Bobby dismissed this as Mens.h.i.+kov ”telling Khrushchev what he'd like to hear,” but American press reports (probably leaked by Pentagon sources eager to pressure the White House) of Mens.h.i.+kov's opinion added to Kennedy's problem over Berlin.

Acheson privately shared Mens.h.i.+kov's a.s.sessment. After Kennedy made clear in the July meetings that he would not strictly follow Acheson's advice, the former secretary of state said to a small working group, ”Gentlemen, you might as well face it. This nation is without leaders.h.i.+p.” Mac Bundy believed it essential for the president to counter these impressions.

Given all this, Kennedy's speech on the twenty-fifth was the most difficult moment for him since the Bay of Pigs. Speaking from the Oval Office, crowded with TV cameras and klieg lights that added to the heat of the summer night, Kennedy struggled not to appear uncomfortable. Additional steroids helped ease the tensions of the moment, but he suffered physical discomfort nevertheless, which added to the pressure of speaking to hundreds of millions of people around the world seeking rea.s.surance that the young American president would fend off a disastrous conflict. Too little emphasis on military planning and too much on negotiations seemed certain to bring cries of appeas.e.m.e.nt; too much talk of readiness to fight and too little on possible discussions or interest in another summit would provoke shouts of warmonger.

But the speech struck a masterful balance between the competing options, effectively blaming the crisis on Moscow. More important, Kennedy made it clear that he would not permit the Soviets to overturn America's legal rights in West Berlin or its promise ”to make good on our commitment to the two million free people of that city.” Using a map, he ill.u.s.trated the Soviet-East German ability to close off Western access to the city. But it would be a mistake, he said, for Moscow to look upon Berlin as ”a tempting target” because of its location. It had ”now become-as never before-the great testing place of Western courage and will... . We cannot and will not permit the Communists to drive us out of Berlin, either gradually or by force... . We will at all times be ready to talk, if talk will help. But we must also be ready to resist with force, if force is used upon us.” And to make sure that the United States had ”a wider choice than humiliation or all-out nuclear action,” Kennedy declared his intention to ask Congress for an additional $3.25 billion appropriation for defense, an increase in army strength from 875,000 to one million men, with smaller increases in navy and air force personnel, a doubling and then tripling of draft quotas, a call-up of reserves to meet manpower needs, and expanded funding for greater civil defense planning.

The choice, however, was ”not merely between resistance and retreat, between atomic holocaust and surrender... . Our response to the Berlin crisis will not be merely military or negative,” Kennedy declared. ”We do not intend to abandon our duty to mankind to seek a peaceful solution.” He was ready to talk with other nations if they had constructive proposals and if they sought ”genuine understanding-not concession of our rights.” He expressed sympathy for Moscow's security concerns ”after a series of ravaging invasions,” but not at the expense of Berlin's freedom or Western treaty rights. ”To sum it all up: we seek peace-but we shall not surrender.”

The response to Kennedy's speech pleased and partly surprised the White House. Predictably, it created a ”rally” effect, with Americans and West Europeans approving of the president's ”determination and firmness.” Majorities in the United States and the Western European countries backed Kennedy's intention to defend American rights in Berlin and supported the right of Berliners to self-determination. What startled Kennedy and others in the administration was the public's lack of support for negotiations. And reactions in the press and Congress and from Nixon reflected the current national view that an unbridgeable divide between the U.S. and the USSR would end in a nuclear war. Sixty percent of Americans believed that Soviet insistence on control of Berlin would mean a war, and 55 percent thought that chances were either nil or poor that Moscow would give in. The press, which always found conflict more interesting than diplomacy, saw the U.S. military buildup as the headline in Kennedy's speech, even though the White House leaked suggestions that the president might be ready to accept alterations in East Germany's boundary or a nonaggression pact with Moscow guaranteeing Russian safety from a German attack. As a result, Congress rushed to approve funding not only for Kennedy's defense requests but also for arms that the administration believed unnecessary.

Despite public and press militancy, Kennedy was not about to be stampeded into military action. And though Khrushchev was unhappy with Kennedy's speech, he also deciphered Kennedy's restraint. Khrushchev publicly emphasized his determination not to be intimidated and predicted that Soviet nuclear superiority could make Kennedy America's last president, but he also declared his continuing faith in Kennedy's reason and said that ”after thunderstorms people cool off, think problems over and resume human shape, casting away threats.”