I thought back to 1959, when I had sat in this same office for the first meeting between Eisenhower and Khrushchev. Khrushchev had known that he was speaking from a position of weakness and had felt that it was therefore necessary to take a very aggressive and boastful line. Since then the power balance had evened out, particularly as the gap in the decisive area of nuclear development and capability had been closed. Brezhnev could afford to speak more quietly. In 1973 the United States overall still held the stronger hand, but Brezhnev could laugh and clown and vary his stern moods with warmth, based on the confidence that comes from holding very good cards.
That night there was a state dinner in his honor at the White House. As Brezhnev and I greeted the guests in a receiving line in the Blue Room, he was clearly impressed and somewhat surprised by the broad cross section of political, business, and labor leaders, many of whom opposed each other politically but who had gathered socially under the President’s roof to meet the Soviet leader. I was reminded again of how isolated the Russians still are by history and geography, as well as by their communist ideology. Several times Brezhnev asked me, “Do they all support the new Soviet-American initiatives?” In my toast I said, “Not only in this room but across this country, regardless of whatever the organization may be, the overwhelming number of Americans support the objective of Soviet-American friendship.”
The first talks with Brezhnev held few surprises. He expressed his disappointment that we had not been able to grant MFN status, but he understood that the fault lay beyond my control in Congress. The Soviets were not yet ready to have limitations imposed on their own multiple-warhead missile development, so he remained adamant against expanding the SALT agreements at this summit. He did, however, reluctantly acquiesce in my insistence that we set the end of 1974 instead of 1975 as the deadline for reaching a permanent SALT accord.
At public functions Brezhnev’s demeanor remained ebullient. He obviously enjoyed the attention he was receiving, and, like a skilled actor or a born politician, he knew how to hold center stage. At one signing ceremony, he toasted the event so vigorously that he spilled champagne on his suit and hid his face behind a handkerchief in an exaggerated display of embarrassment. At another signing ceremony he initiated an elaborate pantomime of pretending to race me to see who could finish signing the various copies first.
On Tuesday night we went for a sail aboard the Sequoia and then boarded helicopters and flew to Camp David to continue our discussions there. I presented him with a windbreaker bearing the Seal of the President with “Camp David” beneath it on one side and “Leonid I. Brezhnev” on the other. He was delighted and wore it most of the time we were there, including during our photo session with the press. I also presented him with an official gift commemorating his American visit: a dark blue Lincoln Continental donated by the manufacturer. It had black velour upholstery and “Special Good Wishes—Greetings” engraved on the dashboard. Brezhnev, a collector of luxury cars, did not attempt to conceal his delight. He insisted upon trying it out immediately. He got behind the wheel and enthusiastically motioned me into the passenger’s seat. The head of my Secret Service detail went pale as I climbed in and we took off down one of the narrow roads that run around the perimeter of Camp David. Brezhnev was used to unobstructed driving in the center lane in Moscow, and I could only imagine what would happen if a Secret Service or Navy jeep had suddenly turned a corner onto that one-lane road.
At one point there is a very steep slope with a sign at the top reading, “Slow, dangerous curve.” Even driving a golf cart down it, I had to use the brakes in order to avoid going off the road at the sharp turn at the bottom. Brezhnev was driving more than fifty miles an hour as we approached the slope. I reached over and said, “Slow down, slow down,” but he paid no attention. When we reached the bottom, there was a squeal of rubber as he slammed on the brakes and made the turn. After our drive he said to me, “This is a very fine automobile. It holds the road very well.”
“You are an excellent driver,” I replied. “I would never have been able to make that turn at the speed at which we were traveling.”
Diplomacy is not always an easy art.
Our meetings at Camp David included long sessions on SALT, European security, and the mutual and balanced force reduction talks concerning the comparative military strengths of the NATO and Warsaw Pact countries.
The most difficult and significant subject we negotiated at Summit II related to the proposed Agreement for the Prevention of Nuclear War. In our contacts before the summit, Brezhnev had strongly urged that we agree to a treaty on the nonuse of nuclear weapons. But Kissinger and I recognized that the practical effect of such a treaty would be to prevent, or at least to inhibit, us from using nuclear weapons in defense of our allies or of our own vital interests. In fact, we felt that a major reason for Brezhnev’s interest in a nonuse treaty might be his suspicion that we were about to conclude a military agreement with Peking. The Soviets felt that a renunciation of the use of nuclear weapons would greatly undercut our usefulness to the Chinese in the event of a Sino-Soviet war. The Soviet fears were unfounded as far as our relations with Peking were concerned. But a treaty of the kind they wanted would have wreaked havoc among our NATO allies in Europe and with countries like Israel and Japan that depended on our nuclear protection against the threat of Soviet attack.
In May Kissinger had worked out a formula that went part way in meeting the Soviet proposals without undercutting our allies and other nations that would look to us for assistance if they were subjected to a Soviet attack. Rather than a treaty renouncing nuclear weapons in the event of war, Kissinger proposed that we should both renounce the use of force not only between us but between each of us and third countries, and agree to consult with each other when the danger of the use of nuclear weapons seemed imminent. I knew that Brezhnev would not be completely satisfied with this formula because it did not preclude the further development of our relations with Peking. But it was better than nothing for his purposes, and he agreed to accept it. We signed the agreement on Friday, June 22, in a formal ceremony in the East Room of the White House.
Later that afternoon we flew to California. As we passed over the Grand Canyon en route, Air Force One made a low sweep so that Brezhnev could see the spectacular play of light and shadow on the canyon walls. “I’ve seen many pictures of this in newsreels and in cowboy movies,” Brezhnev said.
“Yes,” I replied, “John Wayne.”
Suddenly he jumped back from the window, hunched his shoulders, put his hands to his hips, and drew imaginary six-shooters from imaginary holsters.
On the short helicopter ride from El Toro to San Clemente, I had Brezhnev sit by the window so that he could get a good view of the freeway network and the suburban landscape beneath us. I could sense that he was impressed, particularly by the number of cars on the roads and by the large number of private houses. I told him that some of the beachfront houses were owned by wealthy people, but most of the others belonged to people who worked in factories and offices and were typical of what he would see if he had the time to travel over other parts of the country.
It was a beautiful summer evening in San Clemente, so I took Brezhnev for a ride in my golf cart. We had suggested that he stay at the commandant’s large house at nearby Camp Pendleton Marine Base, but he insisted on staying with us. I think that he wanted to do so in order to emphasize our personal relationship. Although our house in San Clemente is very beautiful, it is very small by the standards of Soviet leaders, who are used to the dachas and villas of Czarist nobles, and it is not at all equipped to accommodate state visitors. The only extra bedrooms were Julie’s and Tricia’s. Because Tricia had recently redecorated hers, we put Brezhnev there. The room is only about ten by fifteen feet, and Tricia had chosen wallpaper with a large floral design in soft lavender and blue. It was amusing to picture a bear of a man like Brezhnev ensconced amid such feminine decor.
During our talks in Washington and at Cam
p David, Brezhnev had been very restrained on the subject of China. In a meeting in my San Clemente office on Saturday afternoon, however, he spoke about China for several minutes with only thinly veiled concern. He was apparently still worried that we were contemplating some secret military arrangement, possibly a mutual defense treaty, with the Chinese.
I assured him that, while we would continue our policy of communication with China, we would never make any arrangement with either China or Japan that was inconsistent with the spirit of the Agreement for the Prevention of Nuclear War that we had just signed in Washington. I knew that this was not what he had been getting at, but I could not be in the position of agreeing to establish a reporting relationship with him on our dealings with the Chinese.
I told him that I really did not believe that his concern about the Chinese was justified. He asked me why, and I said that it was not a judgment based on any of the conversations I had had with the Chinese leaders but on the realities of military power. I expressed my opinion that it would be at least twenty years before the Chinese would acquire a sufficient nuclear capability to risk an aggressive action against the Soviet Union or any other major nuclear power.
Brezhnev said that he disagreed with me on this question.
“How long do you think it will be until China becomes a major nuclear country?” I asked him.
He held up his two hands with fingers outspread, and at first it struck me he was making some kind of gesture of surrender, but then he stiffened his fingers and said, “Ten, in ten years, they will have weapons equal to what we have now. We will be further advanced by then, but we must bring home to them that this cannot go on. In 1963, during our Party Congress, I remember how Mao said: ‘Let 400 million Chinese die; 300 million will be left.’ Such is the psychology of this man.” Brezhnev gave the impression that he did not think that the Chinese policies would change, even after Mao’s death; he was certain that the entire Chinese leadership was instinctively aggressive.
I turned the conversation to Cambodia, a subject I had already raised several times during our meetings. I pointed out that the renewed North Vietnamese activity there was a major threat to world peace. “If that continues,” I said, “the reaction of many people in this country will be that Soviet arms made it possible.” Brezhnev became highly agitated and strongly denied that any new Soviet military equipment had been sent to Indochina. He said that the Soviet Union was 100 percent for a speedy termination of the war in Cambodia and Laos, and he promised to speak in strong terms to the North Vietnamese. As far as the appearance of new weapons in the area was concerned, Brezhnev said he thought the Chinese might be responsible, not only for the weapons themselves, but for spreading stories that they were being sent by the Soviets.
At the end of the meeting Brezhnev urged as diplomatically as his obviously strong feelings allowed that we not enter into any military agreements with China. He said that he had refrained from raising the question in 1972, but now he was worried about the future. He asserted that the Soviets had no intention of attacking China. But if China had a military agreement with the United States, he said, “that would confuse the issue.”
We adjourned from the ideological rigors of the Sino-Soviet split to a poolside cocktail party. The guest list read like a Hollywood Who’s Who, and we had a receiving line so that Brezhnev would have a chance to meet everyone. While a strolling mariachi band filled the twilight with gay music, Brezhnev greeted each guest warmly and in several cases showed a familiarity with old movies that indicated either that he had been very well briefed or that he had been spending time in the private screening rooms in the Kremlin.
In my remarks I noted that there were many cowboy and movie stars among the guests, but I reassured Brezhnev that they had checked their pistols and holsters at the door. In response he made a very gracious speech: “I am here in the home of President and Mrs. Nixon, and I feel happy.”
After the reception we had a small dinner for him. Our dining room seats only ten people, and we made the dinner deliberately informal so that he could feel at home. In my toast I remarked that he had told me how he usually ate very lightly at the big state dinners, and went home afterward to have a late dinner with his wife, an excellent cook. I said that I considered this private dinner in our home to be even more meaningful than the formal and official dinners we were both so accustomed to attending. I pointed out that he was the first foreign visitor who had ever stayed in our house with us, that he was sleeping in Tricia’s room, and that Dobrynin and Gromyko were sharing the small guest cottage that David and Julie stayed in when they visited us together.
“As you can see, Mr. Chairman,” I said, “this is not a large house, but it is our home. On such an occasion our thoughts turn away from the affairs of state to our families and loved ones wherever they may be. I want our children to grow up in a world of peace, just as I am sure you want your children and grandchildren to grow up in a world of peace. What the meetings that you and I have had last year and this year have done is contribute to that goal. I only hope that Russians and Americans in future generations may meet as we are meeting in our homes as friends because of our personal affection for each other, and not just as officials meeting because of the necessity of settling differences that may exist between our two countries. Therefore I propose this toast of course to your health, and that of our other guests, but even more to Mrs. Brezhnev, to your children and our children and all the children of the world who, we trust, will have a happier and more peaceful future because of what we have done.”
As my toast was translated, Brezhnev’s eyes filled with tears. He impulsively got out of his chair and walked toward me. I rose and walked toward him. He threw his arms around me with a real bear hug and then proposed an eloquent toast to Pat and our children and all the children in the world.
After dinner he asked the other guests to excuse us for a moment. Then he took Pat and me aside and said, “We have already exchanged official gifts, but I have brought something with me which is for you and Mrs. Nixon alone.” He gave Pat a scarf that had been handwoven by artisans in his home village. “It is a modest gift,” he said, “but every stitch in this piece of fabric represents the affection and friendship which all the people of the Soviet Union have for the people of the United States and which Mrs. Brezhnev and I have for you and President Nixon.” Tears again came to his eyes as he spoke.
After this rather emotional dinner, Brezhnev said that he was tired because of the three-hour time change from Washington, and he planned to go to bed early. I walked with him to the door of Tricia’s room and we said good night there. I decided to have an early night myself, and I was reading in bed in my pajamas around 10:30 when there was a knock at my door. It was a Secret Service agent with a message from Kissinger: the Russians wanted to talk.
I asked Manolo to light a fire in my upstairs study, and I had just finished dressing when Kissinger came in.
“What is this all about?” I asked.
“He says he wants to talk,” he replied.
“Is he restless or is this a ploy of some kind?” I asked.
“Who ever knows with them?” Kissinger answered with a shrug.
We went to the study, where Brezhnev, Dobrynin, and Gromyko soon joined us.
“I could not sleep, Mr. President,” Brezhnev said with a broad smile.
“It will give us a good opportunity to talk without any distractions,” I replied as I settled into my easy chair.
For the next three hours we had a session that in emotional intensity almost rivaled the one on Vietnam at the dacha during Summit I. This time the subject was the Middle East, with Brezhnev trying to browbeat me into imposing on Israel a settlement based on Arab terms. He kept hammering at what he described as the need for the two of us to agree, even if only privately, on a set of “principles” to govern a Middle East settlement. As examples of such principles, he cited the withdrawal of Israeli troops from all the occupied territories, the recognition of
national boundaries, the free passage of ships through the Suez Canal, and international guarantees of the settlement.
I pointed out that there was no way that I could agree to any such “principles” without prejudicing Israel’s rights. I insisted that the important thing was to get talks started between the Arabs and the Israelis, and I argued that if we laid down controversial principles beforehand, both parties would refuse to talk—in which case the principles would have defeated their purpose.
Brezhnev was blunt and adamant. He said that without at least an informal agreement on such principles he would be leaving this summit empty-handed. He even hinted that without such an agreement on principles he could not guarantee that war would not resume.
At one point he made a show of looking at his watch and furrowing his brow. “Perhaps I am tiring you out,” he said. “But we must reach an understanding.”
As firmly as he kept demanding that we agree on such principles—in effect, that we jointly impose a settlement that would heavily favor the Arabs—I refused, reiterating that the important thing was to get talks started between the parties themselves.
This testy midnight session was a reminder of the unchanging and unrelenting Communist motivations beneath the diplomatic veneer of détente. Brezhnev was aware of the slow but steady progress we had been making in reopening the lines of communication between Washington and the Arab capitals; and he was also aware that if America was able to contribute toward a peaceful settlement of Arab-Israeli differences, we would be striking a serious blow to the Soviet presence and prestige in the Middle East. From his point of view, therefore, his use of shock tactics at the ostensibly impromptu meeting in my study in San Clemente was a calculated risk. Brezhnev could not seriously have expected me to rise to the meager bait he held out in return for what would amount to our abandoning Israel. Whether he already had a commitment to the Arabs to support an attack against Israel is not clear, but I am confident that the firmness I showed that night reinforced the seriousness of the message I conveyed to the Soviets when I ordered a military alert four months later during the Yom Kippur War.
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