The General vs. the President

by H. W. Brands

  It wasn’t MacArthur’s first such failure, and it followed a personal history of believing he knew better than his civilian superiors what the American interest required. Following the Billy Mitchell trial, MacArthur had been appointed army chief of staff, and in this position, during the Great Depression summer of 1932, he watched with growing concern the arrival in Washington of thousands of unemployed veterans of World War I come to petition Congress for early payment of bonuses promised to them for 1945. The vets called themselves the Bonus Expeditionary Force, or Bonus Army, and many brought wives and children. Some members of Congress sympathized, but President Herbert Hoover did not. He said the federal budget couldn’t bear the expense. He urged the vets to go home.

  But many had no homes to go to. They bivouacked on the south bank of the Anacostia River, two miles from the Capitol. They policed themselves well, yet their lingering alarmed Hoover, who knew that disgruntled European veterans of the war had helped overturn democracy in Italy and were threatening to do so in Germany. When some communists attached themselves to the Bonus Army, Hoover caught a stronger whiff of revolution.

  MacArthur did too. He declared that many of those passing themselves off as veterans were phonies and that a large portion of these were reds. As the summer dragged on and some of the discouraged veterans departed the capital, the radical ratio increased. “Not more than one in ten of those who stayed was a veteran,” he later asserted. He told his adjutant, Major Dwight Eisenhower, that there was “incipient revolution in the air.”

  MacArthur responded with alacrity when Hoover ordered the regular army to move against the Bonus Army. MacArthur often wore a business suit to work, but for this occasion he changed into full uniform. Eisenhower urged him to assign the operation to a subordinate, saying it was beneath the dignity of the chief of staff to engage in crowd control. MacArthur ignored the advice and took personal command.

  The petitioners retreated before MacArthur’s column of several hundred fully equipped troops. Hoover, pleased with the success of the operation, had the secretary of war, Patrick Hurley, send a messenger directing MacArthur not to cross the Anacostia River into the Bonus Army’s camp. MacArthur refused to receive the messenger or the message. Hurley sent another messenger. Again MacArthur refused to listen. Eisenhower, who accompanied MacArthur, recalled, “He said he was too busy and did not want either himself or his staff bothered by people coming down and pretending to bring orders.”

  MacArthur’s column crossed the river and entered the camp. The troops set fire to the tents, shacks and lean-tos, depriving the residents of such homes as they had cobbled together and destroying their meager possessions. One infant died from tear gas, and a small boy was bayoneted while trying to save his pet rabbit. Photographers recorded the destruction and its human cost.

  MacArthur was unrepentant. He called a press conference to proclaim the victory. Yet perhaps worrying that he might be seen as having gone too far, he credited Hoover rather than himself. “Had he waited another week, I believe the institutions of our government would have been threatened,” he said.

  Neither Hoover nor Hurley mentioned that MacArthur had rebuffed the president. Hurley publicly offered praise. “Mac did a great job,” Hurley said. “He’s the man of the hour.”

  Another observer was more insightful. Franklin Roosevelt, the Democratic nominee for president, was preparing his campaign against Hoover. As he read the accounts of what was already being derided as the “Battle of Anacostia Flats,” he turned to adviser Felix Frankfurter. “Well, Felix,” Roosevelt said, “this will elect me.”

  After Roosevelt was indeed elected, he kept a close eye on MacArthur, whom he considered a threat to democracy. Rexford Tugwell, another Roosevelt adviser, overheard Roosevelt speaking on the telephone to Huey Long, the Louisiana senator and demagogue. Roosevelt remarked, after he put down the phone, that Long was the second most dangerous man in America. Tugwell inquired who was the first. “Douglas MacArthur,” Roosevelt replied.

  The new president arranged for MacArthur to take charge of the creation of an army for the Philippines, which Congress had slated for independence in a decade’s time. The perquisites of the job included the rank and salary of a Philippine field marshal. To encourage MacArthur to accept the offer, Roosevelt allowed him to retain his rank and salary in the U.S. Army.

  No American had ever been a field marshal before, and MacArthur liked the distinction. Dwight Eisenhower, who was assigned to assist MacArthur in the Philippines, thought it was silly. “General,” he told MacArthur, “you have been a four-star general. This is a proud thing. There’s only been a few who had it. Why in the hell do you want a banana country giving you a field-marshalship?”

  MacArthur waved aside the criticism. He told Eisenhower that Asians were impressed with rank and title. He accepted the field marshalship and designed his own uniform: black and white sharkskin, with stars and braid. Eisenhower concluded that MacArthur was becoming too political. MacArthur thought he had no choice. Not for the last time, and hardly alone among military commanders, MacArthur judged his theater preeminently vital to his nation’s security. He continually importuned Washington to increase spending for the Philippine military, arguing that Japan posed the greatest threat to America and that the Philippines constituted America’s first line of defense.

  But during the 1930s Congress and the American people preferred pretending that the oceans were as wide as ever, and the lawmakers ignored his pleas for funding. The result was that when war came to America at Pearl Harbor, the Philippines were indefensible. For this MacArthur could blame Washington, and he did. Less plausible was his explanation as to why he allowed his airplanes to remain on the ground, easy targets for Japanese bombers, nine hours after his signalmen received reports of the Pearl Harbor attack. He blamed his subordinates and miscommunications. The consequence was the destruction of half of MacArthur’s air force, and with it such slim hope as had existed for preventing a Japanese landing in the Philippines. Once the enemy established a beachhead, the loss of the islands was inevitable.

  MacArthur called on Washington to strike back hard. “The time is ripe for a brilliant thrust with air carriers,” he declared. He demanded that the U.S. government press the Soviet Union to attack Japan from the north. “Entry of Russia is enemy’s greatest fear,” he cabled.

  Roosevelt and the War Department ignored his pleas. Finding itself, after Germany’s declaration of war against the United States, in a two-theater war, the administration in Washington made a fundamental decision to focus on defeating Hitler. The Pacific would have to wait. As for Russia, Stalin’s regime was fighting for its life against the Nazis in Europe. It was not at war against Japan and was not about to go to war against Japan, despite anything Washington might say.

  When MacArthur realized he was on his own, he did an extraordinary thing. He endorsed a request by Philippine president Manuel Quezon to Roosevelt to allow the Philippines to seek a separate peace with Japan. Such a deal might be the only way to avert a “disastrous debacle,” MacArthur wrote to Roosevelt. Contradicting his earlier statements about the indispensability of the Philippines to American defense, he now declared that the Philippines mattered little to the larger balance of the war.

  Dwight Eisenhower, at this point assistant to Chief of Staff George Marshall, read MacArthur’s proposal and concluded that his old boss was “losing his nerve.” Roosevelt rejected the request out of hand. “American forces will continue to keep our flag flying in the Philippines so long as there remains any possibility of resistance,” the president ordered MacArthur. “It is mandatory that there be established once and for all in the minds of all peoples complete evidence that the American determination and indomitable will to win carries on down to the last unit.”

  But the last unit did not mean the last man. MacArthur directed a fighting retreat to the Bataan peninsula and Corregidor Island. American and Philippine troops on Bataan suffered grievously from lack of food and other s
upplies. MacArthur and his staff on Corregidor endured repeated bombardment from Japanese planes and guns. MacArthur tried to lift his men’s spirits. “Help is on the way from the United States,” he declared. “Thousands of troops and hundreds of planes are being dispatched.” The statement was not true, and MacArthur knew it was not true. Perhaps he hoped to make it true by shaming Washington. If so, he failed. His men held the false promise against him.

  As the Japanese closed in, Roosevelt ordered MacArthur to leave. It was one thing to lose a garrison, but to lose a general of MacArthur’s stature, just months into the war, was too much for the president to risk. MacArthur should depart Corregidor and proceed to Australia, where he would assume command of combined Allied forces in the southwestern Pacific.

  MacArthur made a show of resisting. “These people are depending on me now,” he said of the Filipinos. “Any idea that I was being withdrawn for any other purpose than to bring them immediate relief could not be explained.”

  Roosevelt reiterated his order. And so MacArthur slipped off Corregidor aboard a PT boat and escaped to the southern Philippines. There he boarded a plane to Australia. On arrival he explained that the president had ordered him to break through the Japanese lines and go to Australia to organize a counteroffensive against Japan and for the relief of the Philippines. “I came through,” he said, “and I shall return.”

  Roosevelt chose to treat MacArthur’s flight from the Philippines as an act of great courage and insisted that the general receive the Medal of Honor. America needed heroes, the president judged, and MacArthur was the closest approximation at the moment. Three years later, MacArthur did return to the Philippines, en route to Japan. In the excitement of the victory in the Pacific war, the general’s failure to anticipate the Japanese attack in 1941 was largely forgotten—though not by the American soldiers MacArthur left behind after his escape from Corregidor, who suffered some of the worst brutality the Japanese meted out anywhere.

  —

  MACARTHUR’S FAILURE TO anticipate the North Korean attack in 1950 did less immediate damage to American forces than the surprise he suffered in 1941; it was the South Koreans who bore the initial weight of the North Korean onslaught. MacArthur, disguising any discomposure, moved at once to parry the communist blow. Without awaiting orders from Washington, he dispatched a cargo ship filled with ammunition to South Korea. He ordered American warships and planes based in Japan to escort the cargo vessel. Only the next day, following Truman’s Blair House meeting with Acheson and the other advisers, did MacArthur receive authorization for these actions, as well as instructions to provide naval support and air cover for the evacuation of American dependents from Korea.

  His mission soon escalated. As ROK defenses crumbled before the communist advance, Truman approved the offensive use of American air and naval power against the North Koreans in South Korea. MacArthur sent his planes and ships into action. Within hours American warplanes were engaging North Korean planes, and within days they had shot down dozens.

  Again per instructions from Washington, MacArthur sent a survey group to South Korea. The group had no sooner reached the battle zone than its leader cabled MacArthur declaring that the ROK forces, even aided by American air and naval units, were utterly inadequate to withstand the communist pressure. To prevent the overrunning of South Korea, American ground troops were necessary.

  MacArthur decided to see for himself. His plane, the Bataan, took off in a rainstorm and landed in the wake of a North Korean attack near the spot where South Korean president Rhee now stood to meet him. MacArthur listened to Rhee boast of the numbers of men he could have under arms shortly. He heard less optimistic comments from American ambassador Muccio. MacArthur then insisted on being driven to the battlefront. He and his entourage piled into three old cars and headed toward the sound of fire. Mortar shells began falling around them, but MacArthur demanded that they press on. He observed South Korean soldiers streaming away from the fighting. He took mental notes before turning to one of his aides and remarking, “It is a strange thing to me that all these men have their rifles and ammunition, they all know how to salute, they all seem to be more or less happy, but I haven’t seen a wounded man yet.” He concluded that they hadn’t actually fought and probably would not fight, absent a major shift in the balance of forces.

  En route back to Japan, MacArthur told a reporter, “The moment I reach Tokyo, I shall send President Truman my recommendation for the immediate dispatch of American divisions to Korea.” In the event, it was the next day before he got the message off, but his counsel was stark. “The Korean army and coastal forces are in confusion, have not seriously fought, and lack leadership through their own means,” he wrote. “Organized and equipped as a light force for maintenance of interior order, they were unprepared for attack by armor and air. Conversely, they are incapable of gaining the initiative over such a force as that embodied in the North Korean army.” Yet the country could be saved. “The civilian populace is tranquil, orderly and prosperous according to their scale of living. They have retained a high national spirit and firm belief in the Americans. The roads leading south from Seoul are crowded with refugees refusing to accept the Communist rule.” But they could retreat only so far. “It is essential that the enemy advance be held or its impetus will threaten the overrunning of all Korea….The Korean army is entirely incapable of counter action and there is grave danger of a further breakthrough. If the enemy advance continues much further it will seriously threaten the fall of the Republic.” The conclusion was unavoidable. “The only assurance for the holding of the present line, and the ability to regain later the lost ground, is through the introduction of U.S. ground combat forces into the Korean battle area.”

  12

  TRUMAN DID NOT want to send ground troops to Korea. He did not want to go to war. He didn’t like the sound of the word, and he liked the reality even less. “Mr. President,” a reporter inquired of him while MacArthur was in Korea, “everybody is asking in this country, are we or are we not at war?”

  “We are not at war,” Truman declared.

  “Are we going to use ground troops in Korea?”

  Truman hoped not, but he wasn’t prepared to say so. “No comment on that,” he said.

  “Mr. President, in that connection it has been asked whether there might be any possibility of having to use the atomic bomb?”

  “No comment.”

  A reporter returned to Truman’s first answer. Reporters were not automatically allowed to quote from Truman’s news conferences, and this reporter wanted to get the president on record. “Mr. President, could you elaborate on this statement that—I believe the direct quote was, ‘We are not at war.’ Could we use that quote in quotes?”

  “Yes, I will allow you to use that,” Truman said. “We are not at war.”

  The reporter followed up. “Could you elaborate, sir, a little more on the reason for this move, and the peace angle on it?”

  “The Republic of Korea was set up with the United Nations’ help,” Truman said. “It is a recognized government by the members of the United Nations. It was unlawfully attacked by a bunch of bandits.” The UN Security Council had called on the world community to aid the South Koreans in resisting the aggression. “The members of the United Nations are going to the relief of the Korean Republic to suppress a bandit raid on the Republic of Korea.”

  A reporter gave Truman the label he was looking for. “Mr. President,” he said, “would it be correct, against your explanation, to call this a police action under the United Nations?”

  “Yes,” Truman said. “That is exactly what it amounts to.”

  —

  THE TERM HAD been used before, often by colonial powers attempting to impose their will on unruly locals. The term claimed a legitimacy for the imposition, with the policing powers asserting their own definition of order and good government. Truman, in the middle of his press conference, didn’t parse the phrase and its use; he was searching for an
alternative label to war, and he clutched the one the reporter offered. But neither did he disavow it afterward, and the label stuck.

  MacArthur sneered when he heard the phrase. He was a soldier, not a policeman. And war was war, not a police action. “Even then, it was evident that this was far more than a ‘police action,’ ” he wrote later. “In Korea, Communism had hurled its first challenge to war against the free world. Now was the time for decision. Now it was as clear as it would ever be that this was a battle against imperialistic Communism. Now was the time to recognize what the history of the world has taught from the beginning of time: that timidity breeds conflict, and courage often prevents it.”

  —

  TRUMAN WASN’T TIMID, but neither did he wish to be rash. He knew he had to respond to the communist challenge in Korea; lack of response to fascist aggression in the 1930s had invited World War II, and he wasn’t going to repeat the mistake. Yet he didn’t want to widen the conflict unnecessarily. Korea was no more vital, per se, to American national security than it had been when Dean Acheson omitted it from America’s defensive perimeter. What was vital was the support of America’s allies and the United Nations for the overall concept of collective security. The UN had ordered the defense of South Korea, and America’s allies and other member states were rallying to the call. Truman didn’t want to have to choose between Korea and collective security, but if forced, he would take the latter over the former. The United States could survive without Korea; it could not survive without allies.