Westmoreland: The General Who Lost Vietnam

by Lewis Sorley

  IN APRIL 1967 Westmoreland was brought back to the United States to help with the Progress Offensive. In New York City he addressed Associated Press Managing Editors at the Waldorf-Astoria while, outside the hotel, protestors burned him in effigy. "We will have to grind him down," Westmoreland told the newsmen, describing how to deal with the enemy in the war of attrition they were fighting in Vietnam. Even so, he admitted, "I do not see any end of the war in sight."8

  Before going to Manhattan, Westmoreland and his entourage had spent several days at West Point. There he had rehearsed his AP Editors talk, using a television camera with instant playback. General Donald Bennett, the Superintendent, put together a "group of young upstarts, all Vietnam vets." Their mission was to listen to the talk, then ask the hardest questions they could come up with. At the first question, Bennett remembered, Westmoreland "got all insulted and really became angry. We calmed him down, showed him how he looked on the television screen." Then some more questions. "I told him at one point," said Bennett, "that his face was saying one thing and his words another. Showed him that on the screen, too." Afterward the conclusion was that they hadn't succeeded in changing the content of what Westmoreland had to say, but at least they had helped him polish his delivery.9

  Moving on to Washington for talks at the White House, Westmoreland reported having reached the point at which his forces were killing enemy troops faster than they could be replaced. "It appears that last month we reached the crossover point," he told the President on 27 April 1967.10

  Next came Westmoreland's most cherished moment. On 28 April 1967 he addressed a Joint Session of Congress on progress in the war. He was very warmly received, rendered a confident and optimistic report, and was trailed by applause all the way from the Capitol chamber out to his waiting limousine. But that, as Westmoreland's biographer Samuel Zaffiri put it, was all the applause there was: "When it finally died, it died for good."11

  Westmoreland had told the legislators that the allies were winning the war militarily, citing various statistical indicators of progress, and suggested that withdrawal of U.S. forces could begin within two years. "Given the nature of the enemy," he said, "it seems to me that the strategy we are following at this time is the proper one, and that it is producing results." He assured them, "I command the most professional, competent, dedicated and courageous servicemen and women in our military experience."12

  Afterward Westmoreland was extremely pleased with his performance, dictating for his history file that "the speech was well received and I was overwhelmed by the ovation. After it had continued for some time I turned around and saluted the Vice President, the Speaker, and both sides of the aisles. My spontaneous reaction brought forth further response." The speech also elicited a charming message from Westmoreland's older daughter, a telegram sent care of Secretary of State Dean Rusk that said simply: "Maximum I love you. Stevie."

  Even the gossip columnists, however, were surprised by Westmoreland's return from the combat zone for such a speaking engagement. Wrote Lloyd Shearer, "Westy Westmoreland is the only general in U.S. history who ever left a war he was leading to address a joint session of Congress." But Westmoreland treasured the occasion, later telling a correspondent that "my most memorable moment in my military career was the occasion of my address to a joint session of Congress in April 1967."13 It seems both ironic and sad that, as he saw it, the most memorable moment in a famous general's military career was a political event.

  For some reason Westmoreland later insisted that he had not known beforehand that he would be speaking to a Joint Session of Congress, a claim he made in later press interviews, speeches, correspondence, his memoirs, and his official oral history, saying in the latter, " [A]fter I got back [to the United States] I learned that I was going to talk to a joint session of Congress." But that was incorrect. Westmoreland had advance notice of the impending speech and prepared for it beforehand.

  On 24 March 1967, a full month before the trip to the United States, General Wheeler cabled Westmoreland about concerns that during his visit various Congressional elements would want to drag him in for hearings on the war. "The problem," he said, "is to keep you away from all Congressional committees. I believe that the solution will be for you to address a joint session and then depart the country rather promptly."14

  In Saigon the staff had worked on Westmoreland's speech. Douglas Kinnard, then Chief of the Operations Analysis Branch of MACV J-3, recalled it. "I became aware of this journey when called by Fly Flanagan, working for Westmoreland and drafting the talks. What he needed from me was some ammunition from the Measurement of Progress report. Material that I gave him over the telephone appeared in both speeches," said Kinnard, referring to "the April 24 luncheon of the Associated Press executives in New York and, on April 28, a joint session of Congress."15

  WESTMORELAND MAINTAINED THAT on these occasions he had not been told what to say and that there was no pressure on him to report good news.16 Whether or not the pressure was overt, the record does reveal other cases of what might be termed "directed optimism." On 1 March 1967, for example, Wheeler cabled Westmoreland to say that "Highest Authority" wanted him to hold a press conference as soon as possible and to state the results of air operations in "positive terms."

  Later, acknowledging such a reality in the course of his libel suit against CBS, Westmoreland would write to his attorney that "at the same time [referring to June 1967], and continuing until the end of the year, there was cable traffic between the State Dept. and the White House and the Ambassador's office to attempt to emphasize the positive side of the war and to make known progress that we in Vietnam thought was being made in the field of pacification and in our efforts to attrite the enemy in the South."17

  Addressing a university audience in 1972, Westmoreland stated that "during 1967 and 1968 a polarization situation occurred in Saigon. The media were inclined to accentuate the negative. To balance the picture, the U.S. authorities in Saigon were prone and encouraged by Washington to accentuate the positive."18 Over a decade later, during his libel suit against CBS, Westmoreland reverted to his denial stance. "Was there pressure on you, General Westmoreland, to come up with better news about Vietnam than you were capable of giving at that point?" he was asked. "Well I—I was unaware of the pressure, and I—if I had discerned pressure, I would've—would've really resented it," he maintained.19

  Westmoreland's accomplishments at this time were, as always, reported by the Class of 1936 Scribe in the pages of Assembly: "Westy is developing a very particular image in our history which may stamp him as one of our great wartime commanders. His record: perfect!"

  BACK IN SAIGON Westmoreland gave a background briefing for the press and was quickly challenged on his optimistic pronouncements. R. W. Apple of the New York Times led the charge, pointing out large increases in enemy strength over the past two years and asking Westmoreland, "How do you make that fit with the general picture of success you've painted?" "Well," ventured Westmoreland, "it is a relative thing. As we entered troops, so did he." Challenged on his claims of having reached the crossover point, Westmoreland took several stabs at it, finally reduced to this: "This numbers game is a very vexing thing—for us all." And: "Frankly, our intelligence is just not that good." And finally: "You have to make certain extrapolations and certain estimates."20

  IN EARLY JULY Secretary McNamara made another of his periodic visits to Saigon, this one to be marked by two dramatic episodes. In the first, after Westmoreland had given an overview of the current situation, the J-2 briefer addressed the estimated enemy personnel situation. "We hear frequently of the so-called cross-over point," he said. "This is a nebulous figure, composed as you have seen of several tenuous variables. We may have reached the crossover point in March and May of this year, but we will not know for some months."21 Westmoreland's intelligence staff thereby undercut, in the presence of McNamara, Westmoreland's statement during his last visit to Washington that the crossover point had been reached. McNamara of c
ourse perceived the discrepancy, later writing that between 1965 and 1967 Westmoreland had "intensified his pursuit of an attrition strategy aimed at inflicting more casualties on the Vietcong and North Vietnamese than they could replace. But the facts proved otherwise. However much Westy, I, and many others wished differently, the evidence showed that our adversaries... expanded their combat numbers substantially. Vietcong and North Vietnamese forces increased in size throughout 1966 and into 1967."22

  The second notable episode was even more dramatic because it was public. After the deliberations were finished, McNamara gave his usual press conference before he departed. When someone asked about possible further troop increases, his response was newsworthy. We will, as in the past, he assured the press, "provide the troops which our commanders consider necessary." But, he added, "I want to emphasize a corollary, that what is necessary depends on the extent to which we are using effectively the resources we have available to us." That was breaking news, and McNamara added emphasis: "We have over a million men here under arms and there are many, many opportunities open to us to increase the effective use of those men, and we will set our minds and hearts to doing that."23 This constituted a stunning revelation that the administration's patience with Westmoreland was finally running out.

  Westmoreland had returned to the United States before McNamara's visit ended, a trip precipitated by his mother's death. After attending her funeral, Westmoreland made his way to Washington and the inevitable press conference. "Do you agree with Secretary McNamara's statement that some parts of your forces are not being used efficiently?" he was asked. Westmoreland refused to validate the premise of the question. "I don't think Secretary McNamara made that statement," he responded.

  But they had McNamara's statement on tape, including his observation that "more effective use" could be made of the forces already in Vietnam. Westmoreland reverted to a fallback position: "At least he has not discussed it with me." The reporter switched to Westmoreland's own views: "Do you feel, sir, that your force is being used as efficiently as possible?" "I do, indeed," he said, launching into a lengthy dissertation on logistical buildup and base development. "Are you annoyed, sir, that this feeling has gotten so widespread that you weren't using your troops as efficiently as possible?" "Well, I'm—I don't accept that this has been interpreted. Because he did not discuss it with me."

  Regardless of the semantics, the days of automatic approval of Westmoreland's troop requests had clearly come to an end.

  WHEN CREIGHTON ABRAMS was sent out in May 1967 to be Westmoreland's deputy, it was planned that he would succeed to the top command within a matter of weeks. In anticipation of that, he was allowed to choose his own chief of staff and to bring that officer with him when he traveled to Saigon. Abrams chose Major General Walter T. "Dutch" Kerwin Jr., who did become MACV chief of staff almost right away.24 Meanwhile Abrams languished in the deputy's slot for over a year.

  There were difficult challenges for Kerwin in the assignment. One was that, as he later stated it, "Westy was a man of very strong opinions. Once he glommed onto something, it was difficult for him—once committed—to modify it or drop it." Veteran journalist George McArthur noted the same trait. "Westy was so convinced he was right on everything," he said. "Westy really thought he was God's gift to the military."25 Even more awkward for Kerwin was that there were things Westmoreland told him not to reveal to General Abrams, even though Abrams was the Deputy COMUSMACV. Kerwin found it a long, hard year.

  Initially it had not looked as though there would be such a lengthy delay in the change of command. Brigadier General John Chaisson had written to his wife on 20 May 1967 that "I have no doubt whatsoever that Westy will leave this summer. The air is filled with the feeling of change."26 Former Deputy Secretary of Defense Cyrus Vance confirmed that "when Abe went out to Vietnam as deputy it was planned that he would succeed Westmoreland within two or three months. I remember talking with Bob McNamara and saying we had to get Abrams out there."27

  Veteran reporter Keyes Beech said, "I can confirm that we expected Abrams to take over soon after arrival. I did a profile on Westmoreland after Tet, and I remember his saying: 'You know, I was supposed to leave before this. Now I'm going to be looked on as the guy who lost the war.'"28

  When the succession did not happen as anticipated, Major General Phillip Davidson, Westmoreland's J-2, thought he knew why and described it to some of his staff officers during a briefing rehearsal. Recalling McNamara's July 1967 trip to Saigon, Davidson suggested the issue of effective utilization of troops had been the hidden agenda item for the whole visit. The central question was, he said, "What are you doing with your own troops?" That was the theme. "Mr. McNamara bad-mouthing General Westmoreland's manpower conservation and use, I'm confident, kept poor General Westmoreland over one more year than he was supposed to have been kept over. And, in effect, led him down the Tet path, et cetera, et cetera. I'm absolutely convinced of it."29

  Columnist Jack Anderson reported similarly, noting that earlier "the White House had every intention of relieving Gen. Westmoreland of the South Vietnam command," and that accordingly "Gen. Creighton Abrams was sent to Saigon to be on hand to relieve him. After the widely publicized reports of differences between Westmoreland and McNamara, however, the general will not be relieved. It would be interpreted as a slap."30

  The President may also have realized that, while Westmoreland was willing to play his assigned role in the Progress Offensive, it was not assured that a successor would be similarly amenable.

  There is one more possible reason for LBJ's delay in replacing Westmoreland, which, while entirely speculative, has some plausibility given the source. "I got to know LBJ pretty well," Westmoreland told John Raughter, editor of the American Legion Magazine. "He had good personal instincts and, early on, thought I was after his job. Once I assured him that I wasn't, we got along fine."31

  In 1967 the South Carolina General Assembly had adopted a resolution to "prevail upon" their native son Westmoreland to become a candidate for the presidency. A cautious and canny politician, Johnson may well have decided to take no chances. By leaving Westmoreland 12,000 miles away and under his authority as commander-in-chief, he nullified any chance of having to confront him in the political arena.

  MORE PROGRESS OFFENSIVE markers had been laid down by Westmoreland during his July 1967 visit to Washington, where at a press conference he asserted that "the statement that we are in a stalemate is complete fiction. It is completely unrealistic. During the past year tremendous progress has been made."32

  In contrast, just two months earlier LBJ had stated publicly his conclusion that the war was a "bloody impasse."33 During that same month Westmoreland himself laid out a radically more pessimistic view. At a MACV commanders' conference he presented an assessment including the admission that "the main force war is accelerating at a rapid, almost alarming, rate. The enemy is reinforcing his four main force fronts with people and weapons."34 The conclusion is inescapable that Westmoreland had not believed all those positive things he proclaimed back in the United States and thus deserved the subsequent loss of credibility and collapse of his reputation after the Tet Offensive.

  By late summer Wheeler was cabling Westmoreland and Sharp with a warning. "Both of you should know," he cautioned, "that there is deep concern here in Washington because of the eroding support for our war effort."35 Despite all the rosy reports and forecasts, the Progress Offensive was, like the allied offensive in Vietnam, failing to gain its objectives. Westmoreland again got on the bandwagon. "General Westmoreland has become increasingly concerned with the fact that the U.S. press is painting a pessimistic, stalemated situation in RVN," said General Bruce Palmer in a 19 August 1967 message to General Johnson. "To counteract this distorted impression of the true situation, he is launching a local campaign to portray and articulate the very real progress underway in the Vietnamese War."36 Far from being the reluctant participant he sometimes claimed to be, Westmoreland was opening his own b
ranch office of the Progress Offensive. He himself reported these plans to General Wheeler and others, noting in early August 1967 that "of course we must make haste carefully in order to avoid charges that the military establishment is conducting an organized propaganda campaign, either overt or covert." Thus, "while we work on the nerve endings here we hope that careful attention will be paid to the roots there—the confused or unknowledgeable pundits who serve as sources for each other."37

  MORE OF THE DEEP concern reported by Wheeler surfaced in an August 1967 New York Times article by R. W. Apple, "Vietnam: The Signs of Stalemate." Murray Fromson, then based in Saigon as a CBS correspondent, had met an officer—identified only as "an American general"—who told him, "Westy just doesn't get it. The war is unwinnable. We've reached a stalemate and we should find a dignified way out." Subsequently that officer met for further discussion with Fromson and one other reporter of his choice. Fromson selected Apple, and later both reporters filed stories based on that discussion. "I've destroyed a single division three times," said their host. "I've chased main-force units all over the country and the impact was zilch. It meant nothing to the people. Unless a more positive and more stirring theme than simple anti-communism can be found, the war appears likely to go on until someone gets tired and quits, which could take generations."38

  Among those outraged by these anonymous views were LBJ, Wheeler, and of course Westmoreland. Wheeler sent out an anguished cable, to which Westmoreland responded that "no general of mine would ever have said that." One had, however, a very senior, experienced, and highly regarded general. His identity remained secret for nearly four decades, even though earlier the reporters had asked to be released from their pledge of confidentiality. "Westy is an old friend," said their informant, "and I would not want to hurt or embarrass him. Let's wait until he's no longer with us." Wait they did until Westmoreland and Apple were both gone. Then Fromson again contacted the source, and this time General Fred Weyand agreed to be publicly identified.39