Years of Upheaval

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Years of Upheaval Page 43

by Henry Kissinger


  During breaks, while Brezhnev and his team disappeared into other rooms, my colleagues and I stepped out onto a balcony in Brezhnev’s office. We asked ourselves whether the text as it was evolving would help or hurt our ability to protect China and other third countries. We tended to think that it was marginally useful. In the meeting room Hal Sonnenfeldt attempted to apply in the Soviet Union the methods by which he kept abreast of my activities in Washington: He sought to read upside down Brezhnev’s briefing paper, which the General Secretary had left on the table in front of him. For once Sonnenfeldt failed.

  On the first day of talks Brezhnev began with a long speech extolling the virtue of his version of the nuclear treaty — a “clear-cut and lucid agreement” that would contain provisions causing “no alarm,” he reassured me. “I wouldn’t bet on that,” I replied drily. Undeterred, Brezhnev rambled on about its historical importance for the United States and the Soviet Union, climaxing with the first of several sallies indicating that China was his real target:

  And at least here in this group we should not pass over in silence the fact that there do exist in the world other nuclear powers as well, and there have to be such points in the agreement to show them it would be wrong to play with nuclear war.

  Joining in a US–Soviet alliance against China was not exactly our idea of détente. Nor was I about to be bested in the department of long speeches, especially when the passage of each hour improved our bargaining position.

  In my response I treated the proposed agreement as just one of many negotiations between the United States and the Soviet Union, not as a unique historical event. I took a weak run at linkage by arguing that simultaneous progress on SALT II would enhance the significance of each negotiation. I shudder to think what would have happened had I proved more persuasive; the state of our internal deliberations hardly lent itself to serious negotiations on SALT. I noted, slightly sarcastically, that without the President’s personal relationship with Brezhnev the proposed agreement would have never gotten so far — implying that it was not a top priority for us from the point of view of national interest. I mentioned the necessity of informing allies (which we had already done, of course). Brezhnev replied that he would not prescribe how we should treat our allies; as for him, he was going to East Germany and Poland soon but would not inform them of the project. This was an unlikely proposition, not to mention that his equating East Germany with, say, France, would not, I suspected, have gone over well in Paris. Indeed, he added — perhaps to flatter me that our own procedures could be adapted to the Soviet Union — that only a few of his colleagues in the Politburo knew of the project. (This also raised a question in my mind about Dobrynin’s constant theme that failure to complete the agreement would weaken Brezhnev’s position in the Politburo. He could hardly be blamed for not finishing what his colleagues did not know about.)

  The first session adjourned without going beyond general principles. On Saturday evening, May 5, after an introductory period of Brezhnev jokes, we turned at last to the text. At once a haggle broke out over which text to use. We had won three-quarters of the battle when it was decided to use our (more accurately Brimelow’s) text as a point of departure. Then we found ourselves in a typical pettifogging debate. Hard as it is to believe that grown men could quarrel over such trivia, the issue was whether someone should read out the entire text or only the disputed portions and if so who. We favored concentrating on disputed points to avoid introducing new isssues, especially the idea of renouncing the use of nuclear weapons. Finally, it was agreed to read the entire text aloud. Brezhnev took upon himself that dubious honor.

  This having consumed well over an hour, it became evident that the passage of time had not affected the underlying motivations. Once our basic approach was accepted, Brezhnev sought to turn it to his purpose. He opened with a long appeal for a clause that would emphasize the bilateral nature of the agreement. The American draft proposed that the United States and the Soviet Union would “act in such a manner as to . . . exclude the outbreak of nuclear war between themselves and between either party and third parties.” Brezhnev wanted to drop the last seven words — leaving a glaring loophole for a nuclear attack on third parties. We finally settled on making the renunciation of nuclear war an objective, not an obligation, applying it to all countries and not simply to the superpowers, and making it dependent on a series of political conditions, especially the avoidance of the threat of war — substantially as Brimelow had suggested.

  Immediately another wrangle broke out over the wording of an article saying that the document did not affect “obligations undertaken by the United States and the Soviet Union towards third countries in appropriate treaties and agreements.” I sought to strengthen the clause by adding the phrase “other appropriate instruments” — to take care of countries, such as Israel, with which we had no formal alliance (and to emphasize the unspoken but well-understood implication that it would include China as well). Brezhnev grudgingly acquiesced. Similar haggling went on over each article. In order not to test the reader’s patience further, I have included the entire text of the final agreement in the backnotes.15

  To leave no ambiguity, on June 7 we drafted a Nixon letter to Brezhnev making clear that we would interpret the agreement as involving general obligations applicable to all nations; that it did not contain a renunciation of nuclear weapons but of the threat of force in diplomacy; that US–Soviet consultations must not be used to seek to impose any conditions on third countries:

  My view is that we have set forth an objective and certain modes of conduct applicable to the policies of each of our countries in the years ahead. In doing this, we have not agreed to ban the use of any particular weapons but have taken a major step toward the creation of conditions in which the danger of war, and especially of nuclear war, between our two countries or between one of our countries and others, will be removed. In short, the obligations we have accepted toward each other we have also accepted as applicable to the policies which each of us conducts toward other countries. In subscribing to the agreement and, in particular, in agreeing to consult with each other in certain circumstances, we have made commitments to each other but have in no sense agreed to impose any particular obligation or solution upon other countries. At the same time we have left the rights of each of our two countries, and obligations undertaken by each of them unimpaired.

  In short, in over a year of negotiation we had transformed the original Soviet proposal of an unconditional renunciation of the use of nuclear weapons against each other into a somewhat banal statement that our objective was peace, applying as well to allies and third countries and premised on restrained international conduct, especially the avoidance of the use or the threat of force. Another clause provided for consultation before any party resorted to the threat of force in circumstances endangering international peace and security. In case of a major military move the offender would stand in violation of the agreement. The whole document now constituted a web of conditions entangling the Soviets and making it impossible for them to turn on either NATO or the Middle East without violating the agreement. And it even gave us a kind of legal framework for resisting a Soviet attack on China.

  Brezhnev and Nixon signed the agreement in Washington on June 22, 1973. We were sufficiently uneasy about possible misinterpretations that we had prepared a careful press briefing, which I read to Brezhnev before giving it. Its basic point was our by-now familiar one: The purpose of the agreement was not to prohibit the use of any particular weapon in wartime but to preserve the peace by refraining from the threat or use of force:

  Each side has now set down in precise form its willingness to practice self restraint not only in relations with each other but with all other countries. . . . In other words, in their general conduct of international affairs, they must accept the constraints and implications that if their actions or policies increase the threat of war, they would be inconsistent with the objective of this Agreement. Thus, there is
no condominium here, but rather the reverse. The two strongest nuclear powers explicitly accept a general responsibility to preserve the peace, not through intervention or pressures, but by refraining from the threat or use of force.

  The underlying significance of this document, therefore, is that it is a reassurance for all countries.

  Brezhnev grumbled that I seemed constantly to stress what the agreement was not, rather than its positive aspects. He had a point. But he had no choice except to go along with the briefing.

  Peace between the two superpowers will hardly be ensured by legal documents. And whether we resist attacks on threatened countries depends less on artful interpretations of a complicated agreement than on our perception of the national interest. The Soviets proposed the document for symbolic reasons, and we had rewritten the content to render its symbolism either harmless or to the West’s advantage. What had started out as a Soviet step toward condominium had evolved into an elaboration of the “Basic Principles of US–Soviet Relations” signed at Moscow the previous year. The Agreement on the Prevention of Nuclear War reflected our belief that control of arms presupposed restraint in international conduct; that coexistence between the superpowers would ultimately depend on adherence to standards of behavior by which they would learn not to threaten each other’s vital interests.

  The final agreement was thus in a sense a vindication of our basic approach. Technically, it was one of our better diplomatic performances. It represented ingenious drafting (mostly by Brimelow) and stubborn negotiating. Yet in retrospect I doubt whether the result was worth the effort. We gained a marginally useful text. But the result was too subtle; the negotiation too secret; the effort too protracted; the necessary explanations to allies and China too complex to have the desired impact.

  The Europeans were especially sensitive. They had known about the project for months. I had personally briefed Pompidou, Heath, and Brandt several times. But allied unity eluded us despite the intensive consultation. Though Heath, Brandt, and Bahr had given support and the British had been partners in the drafting, Pompidou had always been wary, and for reasons of their own the leaders of Britain and Germany had not kept their bureaucracies informed. When the project finally surfaced in the North Atlantic Council in June 1973, this culminated in the absurdity that Britain’s permanent representative strongly criticized what was to a large extent a British draft and he was supported by his German colleague.

  The same difficulty arose with China. According to our interpretation of the agreement, the Soviet Union could not bring pressure on Peking without violating just about every provision of the agreement, including the requirement to consult before engaging in actions threatening international peace and security. Senator Jackson, so critical of other aspects of our Soviet policy, immediately recognized this and supported us. But the cool calculators in Peking did not see it this way. They did not believe their security enhanced by unenforceable obligations; they recognized the potential for a misleading euphoria in a document purportedly devoted to preventing nuclear war.

  No wonder the Agreement on the Prevention of Nuclear War disappeared into desuetude, perhaps mercifully. It has been invoked only once in the decade since its signature — when during the Middle East alert of 1973 we warned the Soviets that their unilateral intervention would violate its provisions. But as that occasion demonstrated, the dangers of nuclear war are repelled not by a document but by strength, resolve, and determined diplomacy.

  Brezhnev’s American Visit

  SUMMIT meetings are risky business. Nobody in politics reaches the top without a highly developed ego; the fortunes of political leaders are tied to their ability to achieve their objectives. They find it difficult to compromise — especially when their negotiations are conducted in public; they generally do not have the time to give the detailed attention to nuance that is the essence of successful diplomacy. Deadlocks become difficult to break. Agreement may be achievable only by formulas so vague as to invite later disavowal or disagreement.

  Summit meetings between ideological opponents are particularly complex. Following a period of tension, they invite the risk of popular euphoria; during a crisis they may exacerbate tensions. They can generate both excessive expectations and excessive disappointments and indeed swing from one extreme to the other.

  But if the risks are properly understood and if preparation is meticulous, there are also opportunities. The Soviet system of government is even less hospitable than bureaucracies in general to ideas that challenge assumptions. Disagreement with orthodoxy tends to be interpreted as lack of ideological vigilance; conformity is the prerequisite of political survival. Soviet leaders need periodic opportunities to form their own judgment of the moral fiber and conceptual apparatus of their Western counterparts or they run the risk of living in a series of Potemkin villages built by subordinates only too eager to flatter their preconceptions.

  Precisely because the clash of US–Soviet national interests and ideologies encourages competition and occasionally confrontation, peace may well depend on the ability of the Politburo to form a correct judgment of the likely reaction of our leaders when challenged. A strong, confident American President should be able to use occasional summit meetings to impress the Soviet leaders with his determination, to reduce the risk of miscalculation, to keep open the possibility, however slim, of an ultimately constructive dialogue. Conversely, of course, if the Soviets conclude that their American opposite number is unsophisticated or weak or irresolute it may give them the courage to run additional risks.

  From this point of view, Nixon’s 1972 summit in Moscow took place under nearly ideal circumstances. Two weeks before, Nixon had ordered the resumption of bombing of North Vietnam and the mining of its harbors. When Moscow maintained its invitation nevertheless, the Kremlin showed that it would subordinate some of the concerns of its friends to Soviet-American relations. We in turn had demonstrated that we were fully prepared to risk détente for what we considered vital interests.

  By the same token, the omens for the 1973 summit were much less propitious. Soviet leaders are extremely sensitive to the balance of forces. At first the Soviets were baffled by Watergate; they interpreted it as a right-wing plot aimed at détente. When I was in Zavidovo they said they hoped it would soon be over; they were not eager to have the General Secretary of the Soviet Communist Party buffeted by the treacherous currents of American domestic controversy on a visit to Washington. The complex Soviet system craves predictable partners. The capacity of an American President to make good on his threats or to fulfill his promises is the principal currency in which they deal. And precisely this was in question in 1973. Tempting as was the prospect of a weakened American executive, the Soviets seemed for many months restrained by the uncertainties involved. It took them nearly two years before they moved aggressively to exploit our domestic upheavals by supporting proxy forces in Africa.

  As the Watergate battle gained momentum, however, in the spring of 1973 there occurred a barely noticeable hedging of bets. At Zavidovo in early May Brezhnev was still bubbling with enthusiasm about the summit. He would bring his wife and family. He wanted to visit several American cities — at least Houston and Los Angeles in addition to Washington. But during the month of May we were told that Brezhnev’s doctors suddenly “forbade” travel by his wife; the visit of the children was dropped without any explanation. At one point the Soviets even proposed to confine Brezhnev’s visit entirely to Washington.VII When we expressed surprise at the curtailment of the schedule, the Soviets reinstated the sojourn at San Clemente, not without Brezhnev’s woundingly explaining in a note that he did so to demonstrate his indifference to the criticisms made of Nixon (see Chapter IV).

  At the same time, Senator Sam Ervin’s televised Watergate committee hearings were gathering steam. Not a day passed without damaging revelations. The star witness before the Senate Select Committee, John Dean, the former White House Counsel, was scheduled to testify during the very week of B
rezhnev’s visit. The humiliation of spreading the malfeasances of the President on the public record while Brezhnev was in the country — or perhaps the unwillingness to share the television spotlight with the Soviet leader — induced the committee to postpone its hearings, but by only one week. It was not prepared to grant even one additional day of delay. The hearings thus resumed on the very day of Brezhnev’s departure, giving the Soviet leaders an unprecedented personal opportunity to watch the public indictment of the President with whom they had just been negotiating.

  These prospects had caused Senator Jackson to propose publicly a week before Brezhnev’s arrival that the summit be postponed. In the abstract, Jackson was right. In practice a cancellation after so much preparation and on such grounds would have gravely undermined the authority of the United States government. It would have signaled that we had lost the capacity to negotiate — and therefore also to protect our interests — during the unforeseeable course of a prolonged investigation. Once this principle was admitted to the Soviets, it would have to be applied to all other relationships. We would have made ourselves an international basket case long before events imposed that condition upon us.

  We had no choice except to pretend that our authority was unimpaired. For that, we had to do business as usual; we could afford no appearance of hesitation; we needed to project self-confidence no matter what we felt. Of course, Nixon also had a more personal motive. For him to concede that his ability to govern had been impaired would accelerate the assault on his Presidency. He could not bring himself to admit the growing disintegration of what he had striven all his life to achieve.

  So the second Nixon-Brezhnev summit proceeded inauspiciously. Fortunately, there were no unfinished negotiations. The Agreement on the Prevention of Nuclear War had been completed at Zavidovo. All that remained to be done on the SALT principles was to agree on a target date for completing the agreement — a secondary issue. Several subsidiary agreements were also ready for signature — on agricultural cooperation, transportation, oceanography, cultural exchanges. The major utility of the summit in those respects was to provide the momentum of a deadline.

 

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