RN

by Richard Nixon

  In the joint communiqué Brezhnev and I signed the next morning there was no effort to use diplomatic language to conceal that we had not been able to reach any common ground for our differing views on this difficult subject. The short section on the Middle East stated, “Each of the parties set forth its position on this problem.”

  Brezhnev and I made our parting remarks in front of microphones in the flower garden next to the house. He said that he would see me next time in Moscow. At the end he said “goodbye” in English.

  After Brezhnev left, I tried to put Summit II in perspective. It was too soon after the 1972 SALT agreements for another major breakthrough in that area, but I did make it clear at every opportunity that 1974 would be the year of decision, when we would have to make progress in ironing out our differences, particularly on offensive weapons. I knew that the Soviets were moving much faster than we were in this area. Unless we got some agreement soon, we might face a situation in which we would be weaker than the Soviets in the eyes of our allies, our friends, and the neutral countries. Therefore, in addition to pinning Brezhnev down to a new agreement by the end of 1974, I specified that we would be talking about reductions and not just limitations of nuclear weapons.

  There were several important agreements signed at Summit II covering specific areas: transportation, agriculture, oceanic studies, taxation, commercial aviation, the peaceful uses of atomic energy, and trade. These continued the process that we had begun in 1972 of building an interlocking web of relationships to increase the Soviets’ stake in stability and cooperation.

  This summit also gave me an opportunity to get to know Brezhnev better and to try to take his measure as a leader and as a man. I had spent forty-two hours with him in 1972, and now thirty-five hours with him in 1973. However superficial this kind of personal contact may be, it can still provide important insights.

  I found Brezhnev more interesting and impressive than I had during our first meeting. Away from the constraints of the Kremlin he was able to indulge the more human and political sides of his personality. At one of the signing ceremonies, when his antics made him the center of attention, I jokingly said, “He’s the best politician in this room!” He seemed to accept my statement as the highest possible praise.

  His conduct and humor were almost impish at many of his public appearances. Whenever possible, I acted as his straight man on these occasions, but it was sometimes difficult for me to balance politeness against dignity.

  Brezhnev showed the typically Russian combination of great discipline at times with total lack of it at others. An amusing symbol of this inconsistency was his fancy new cigarette case with a built-in timer that automatically rationed out one cigarette per hour. This was the way he was going to cut down on his chain-smoking. As each hour began, he would ceremoniously remove the allotted cigarette and close the box. Then, a few minutes later, he would reach into his jacket and take another cigarette from the ordinary pack that he also carried. Thus he was able to continue his habit of chain-smoking until the timer went off and he could take another virtuous cigarette from the box.

  At Summit I, I could not help making mental comparisons between Brezhnev and Khrushchev. During Summit II, however, I had a chance to observe and analyze the differences between them in more depth and detail. They were alike in the sense that they were both tough, hard, and realistic leaders. Both interlarded their conversation with anecdotes. Khrushchev was often quite vulgar; Brezhnev, however, was just earthy. Whereas Khrushchev had been crass and blustering, Brezhnev was expansive and more courteous. Both had a good sense of humor, but Khrushchev more often seemed to be using his at the expense of others around him. Khrushchev seemed to be quicker in his mental reflexes. In discussions, Brezhnev was hard-hitting, incisive, and always very deliberate, whereas Khrushchev had tended to be more explosive and more impulsive. Both men had tempers, and both were emotional. I was struck by the simple look of pride on Brezhnev’s face as he told me that he was about to become a great-grandfather, and that we now had still another generation for which to guarantee peace.

  Despite the shortness of Brezhnev’s visit, I felt that he had seen a diversity of American life for which no briefing books and studies could possibly have prepared him. I know that he returned home with a far better understanding of America and Americans than he had before he came.

  On June 25, the day Brezhnev left Washington, the House of Representatives agreed to a Senate bill immediately cutting off funds for U.S. bombing actions in Cambodia. The effect of this bill was to deny me the means to enforce the Vietnam peace agreement. We were faced with having to abandon our support of the Cambodians who were trying to hold back the Communist Khmer Rouge, who were being supplied and supported by the North Vietnamese in violation of the peace agreement. The Cambodians were completely and justifiably bewildered; they could not understand why we were suddenly deserting them—especially when the military tide seemed to be turning in their favor.

  Congress, however, was not prepared to hear any arguments and was determined to go forward despite the consequences. This congressional insensitivity had been dramatically symbolized a few weeks earlier as Kissinger was preparing to leave for a meeting with Le Duc Tho over violations of the cease-fire agreement. We had pleaded with Congress not to send Kissinger to Paris with no negotiating leverage, but Mike Mansfield’s response was typical: he offered his “sympathies” but nothing more. In short order, two separate Senate committees voted to cut off funds for combat activities.

  The cutoff bill passed on June 25. I vetoed it, and in my veto statement I said, “After more than ten arduous years of suffering and sacrifice . . . it would be nothing short of tragic if this great accomplishment, bought with the blood of so many Asians and Americans, were to be undone now by congressional action.” The House of Representatives sustained my veto the same day, June 27, but it seemed clear that another cutoff bill would be proposed and that I could not win these battles forever. Therefore, we agreed to a compromise that set August 15, 1973, as the date for the termination of U.S. bombing in Cambodia and required congressional approval for the funding of U.S. military action in any part of Indochina. At least this gave us more time, but the invitation to aggression represented in any cutoff date remained unchanged.

  I was determined that the historical record would mark Congress’s responsibility for this reckless act, and on August 3, shortly before the scheduled mandatory cutoff, I wrote to House Speaker Carl Albert and Senate Majority Leader Mike Mansfield:

  This abandonment of a friend will have a profound impact in other countries, such as Thailand, which have relied on the constancy and determination of the United States, and I want the Congress to be fully aware of the consequences of its action. . . . In particular, I want the brave and beleaguered Cambodian people to know that the end to the bombing in Cambodia does not signal an abdication of America’s determination to work for a lasting peace in Indochina. . . .

  I can only hope that the North Vietnamese will not draw the erroneous conclusion from this congressional action that they are free to launch a military offensive in other areas in Indochina. North Vietnam would be making a very dangerous error if it mistook the cessation of bombing in Cambodia for an invitation to fresh aggression or further violations of the Paris agreements. The American people would respond to such aggression with appropriate action.

  I knew that since Congress had removed the possibility of military action I had only words with which to threaten. The Communists knew it too. During this period Kissinger held one of his regular luncheon meetings with Dobrynin. When Kissinger raised the question of the Communist violations of the cease-fire in Cambodia, the Soviet ambassador scornfully asked what we had expected, now that we had no negotiating leverage because of the bombing cutoff imposed by Congress. Kissinger tried to be as menacing as he could, even though he knew that Dobrynin was right.

  “There should be no illusion that we will forget who put us in this uncomfortable position,” he
said.

  “In that case,” Dobrynin replied, “you should go after Senator Fulbright, not us.”

  For more than two years after the peace agreement the South Vietnamese had held their own against the Communists. This proved the will and mettle of the South Vietnamese people and their desire to live in freedom. It also proved that Vietnamization had succeeded. When Congress reneged on our obligations under the agreements, the Communists predictably rushed in to fill the gap. The congressional bombing cutoff, coupled with the limitation placed on the President by the War Powers Resolution in November 1973, set off a string of events that led to the Communist takeover in Cambodia and, on April 30, 1975, the North Vietnamese conquest of South Vietnam.

  Congress denied first to me, and then to President Ford, the means to enforce the Paris agreement at a time when the North Vietnamese were openly violating it. Even more devastating and inexcusable, in 1974 Congress began cutting back on military aid for South Vietnam at a time when the Soviets were increasing their aid to North Vietnam. As a result, when the North Vietnamese launched their all-out invasion of the South in the spring of 1975, they had an advantage in arms, and the threat of American action to enforce the agreement was totally removed. A year after the collapse of South Vietnam, the field commander in charge of Hanoi’s final offensive cited the cutback in American aid as a major factor in North Vietnam’s victory. He remarked that Thieu “was then forced to fight a poor man’s war,” with his firepower reduced by 60 percent and his mobility reduced by half because of lack of aircraft, vehicles, and fuel.

  The war and the peace in Indochina that America had won at such cost over twelve years of sacrifice and fighting were lost within a matter of months once Congress refused to fulfill our obligations. And it is Congress that must bear the responsibility for the tragic results. Hundreds of thousands of anti-Communist South Vietnamese and Cambodians have been murdered or starved to death by their conquerors, and the bloodbath continues.

  Congress’s tragic and irresponsible action, which fatally undermined the peace we had won in Indochina, was buried amid the media’s preoccupation with John Dean’s testimony before the Ervin Committee. On Monday, June 25, when Dean took the stand, all over the country—even in the compound in San Clemente—the hypnotic monotone of his voice drew people to their television sets. The three television networks gave these sessions all-day gavel-to-gavel coverage.

  JOHN DEAN TESTIFIES

  Dean testified for five days. It took him one full day to read his 245-page opening statement, which contained most of his charges against me. The cornerstone of his testimony was his accusation that for at least six months, since my meeting with him on September 15, 1972, I had been an active complicitor in the Watergate cover-up. Dean Tells Panel President Discussed Cover-up in September, March, April was the Washington Post headline after his first day of testimony; Dean Tells Inquiry That Nixon Took Part in Watergate Cover-up for Eight Months was the headline in the New York Times.

  I did not watch the hearings, but the reports I read filled me with frustration and anger. Dean, I felt, was re-creating history in the image of his own defense.

  Dean testified that on September 15, 1972, he had expressly discussed the Watergate cover-up with me. He stated that he had specifically told me that he could make no assurance the whole thing would not “unravel” someday, and that he had expressed his concern that “the cover-up” could not be “maintained indefinitely.” He said that he had told me that all he had done was “assist in keeping it out of the White House” and that I had expressed appreciation for the difficult job he had performed. Dean said that he, thinking of Magruder’s perjury, had told me that others had done more difficult things than he.

  As the tape of that conversation shows, Dean had not said anything about others having done more “difficult things” or about his “keeping it out of the White House.” Nor had he said anything about things starting to “unravel.” On the tape, in fact, he said exactly the opposite: “Three months ago,” he said, “I would have had trouble predicting where we’d be today. I think that I can say that fifty-four days from now that not a thing will come crashing down to our surprise.”

  There were ambiguous statements on the tape, to be sure. For example, I had talked about “putting your fingers in the dikes every time that leaks have sprung.” But I was thinking of the fact that he was monitoring so many congressional, civil, and criminal investigations that had potential political impact. It was clear from the tape that however much Dean was concentrating on the criminal vulnerabilities, I was concentrating solely on the potential for political embarrassment.

  Dean testified that in our meeting on February 28, 1973, he had described for me his own legal problems concerning “obstruction of justice.” He said that he had given me a “general picture” of his “conduit activities” and left me clearly aware of his role in the “cover-up.” Here too the tape shows that exactly the opposite occurred. In that meeting I had said to Dean that he, at least, had no vulnerability to the Watergate committee: “I think they realize you are the lawyer and they know you didn’t have a goddamn thing to do with the campaign,” I said.

  “That’s right,” Dean had replied.

  The tape shows that I said that the important thing about the whole Watergate mess was my own isolation from it. “That, fortunately, is totally true,” I said.

  “I know that, sir,” he had affirmed.

  Now, four months later, he was testifying that this conversation was one of the reasons he was convinced of my involvement in the cover-up.

  Dean testified that on March 13 he had told me about the money being paid to the Watergate defendants. If that were true, it would have undercut my public assertion that I had first learned about the cover-up on March 21. But Dean was wrong, and it seemed to me that he must have deliberately changed the correct date, because as recently as our conversation of April 16, 1973, he had remembered that our “cancer on the presidency” discussion had taken place “on the Wednesday before they were sentenced”—and that was March 21.

  In his testimony concerning the meeting of March 17 Dean made another omission that seemed too significant to be accidental. This was the meeting in which he had told me about the break-in at Ellsberg’s psychiatrist’s office. As the tape shows, I had reacted with utter shock. But Dean apparently wanted to leave an impression that knowledge of the Ellsberg break-in was a motive for my role in the Watergate cover-up. He testified that the meeting consisted of a “rambling conversation” with only brief reference to Pat Gray’s confirmation hearings and the general problems confronting the White House. That same day I observed that, unlike others, he had not participated in the break-in and had no criminal liability. “That’s right,” Dean agreed.

  Dean testified that on March 21, 1973, he had finally told me everything. He said flatly under questioning: “On March 21 I certainly told the President everything I knew at that point in time.” As the tape proves, however, he did not tell me the extent of his active involvement in suborning perjury, in promising clemency, or in revealing confidential FBI information to the lawyers for the CRP. He did not tell me, nor did he tell the Watergate Committee, that he had also destroyed evidence from Howard Hunt’s safe. He minimized his role in the fund-raising and said his primary problem was the fact that he had been a “conduit of information” on paying blackmail to defendants. Because of all these things I thought he was being inadvertently, unfairly, and tangentially drawn in; as late as March 26 I had dictated in my diary that Dean had always acted as counsel, giving his best advice and “avoiding anything that would smack of illegal or improper activities.”

  Dean implied that since the first days after the break-in everyone in the White House shared the understanding that there was White House “involvement” in the Watergate bugging, even if there was no direct participation in ordering the June 17 break-in. But in March I was stunned by his assertion that Gordon Strachan knew about the existence of the bug, and the i
nformation that a Colson phone call may have triggered it—and this was nine months after the break-in.

  In his testimony Dean said that I had “never at any time” asked him to write a report concerning Watergate. In fact, I had pointedly suggested on March 22 that he go to Camp David, away from the phone, and prepare a written report.

  Dean now implied that from the beginning he had had actual knowledge of Magruder’s involvement and perjury and that everyone else did too. Yet on a tape from March 22 Haldeman says of Magruder: “On the other hand, we don’t, we can’t, prove he perjured himself, that’s Dean’s opinion.” On March 26 Dean was still saying that he did not have any firsthand “off-the-record” knowledge of whether Magruder was involved in the break-in and therefore he could not be sure whether Magruder had committed perjury.

  In the spring both Haldeman and I had repeatedly urged Dean to put out the full story regarding Segretti, and he had consistently resisted; now he charged that the White House effort to “cover-up” the Segretti episode was “consistent with other parts of the general White House cover-up” which followed Watergate. Similarly, he now insisted that our efforts to thwart a partisan pre-election move to hold congressional hearings on Watergate were in part an effort to avoid “unraveling the cover-up”; at the time, however, I had analyzed the problem of the hearings this way: “That’s what this is, public relations.” “That’s all it is,” John Dean had agreed.

  Dean claimed that during March and April Haldeman and Ehrlichman had tried to protect themselves at his expense and that he had only been concerned that the truth be told. Ironically, it had been Dean who had done the manipulating. In March he minimized the problem his testimony would pose to others, apparently hoping to gain White House sponsorship for immunity. “Let’s say the President sent me to the grand jury to make a report,” he said on the afternoon of March 21, “who could I actually do anything to or cause any problems for? As a practical matter, firsthand knowledge, almost no one.” After his first contacts with the prosecutors he kept up his phone calls to Haldeman, his appearance of mutual concern, and his references to “potential” problems on the cover-up, problems he thought possibly could be handled. Only in mid-April, when his bargaining with the prosecutors was under way, did he let it be known that Haldeman and Ehrlichman were in fact his bargaining chips and that he had been positioning himself to get the most from their destruction.