Kennedy: The Classic Biography (116 page)

But the President’s pride was still the Army Special Forces, rapidly growing to a level some five or six times as large as when he took office, although still small both in total numbers and in relation to the need for more. The President directed—again over the opposition of top generals—that the Special Forces wear green berets as a mark of distinction. He wanted them to be a dedicated, high-quality elite corps of specialists, trained to train local partisans in guerrilla warfare, prepared to perform a wide range of civilian as well as military tasks, able to live off the bush, in a village or behind enemy lines. He personally supervised the selection of new equipment—the replacement of heavy, noisy combat boots with sneakers, for example, and, when the sneakers proved vulnerable to bamboo spikes, their reinforcement with flexible steel inner soles. He ordered more helicopters, lighter field radios and—for use by the smaller Vietnamese—a shorter, lighter rifle, with a less powerful kick, which still provided all the range jungle warfare required.

In time, despite continued opposition from much of the top Army brass, the new antiguerrilla forces proved one of his most important military contributions. In South Vietnam they delivered babies, chopped trails, dug wells, prevented ambushes, raised morale and formed effective bands against the Communists. “You can’t say enough good things about these men,” reported one observer back from that war four years after Kennedy launched the program. “Unfortunately, there aren’t enough green hats…in Vietnam.” More were on the way. But one green hat not in Vietnam that year rested in a place of honor in Arlington Cemetery.

1
Adzhubei told me that fall the latest advice to Russians on the subject from the “Armenian Radio”:

Q—What should I do if a nuclear bomb falls?

A—Cover yourself with a sheet and crawl slowly to the nearest cemetery.

Q—Why slowly?

A—To avoid panic,

2
One
megaton is considered the equivalent—although the comparison is almost meaningless—of one million tons or two billion pounds of TNT explosives; and it is fifty times more powerful than the bomb that destroyed Hiroshima.

3
His statement to a magazine interviewer that “a clear attack on Western Europe” might require us to use nuclear weapons first was not new policy, but others read “preventive war” or “pre-emptive strike” overtones into it and he took prompt steps to quash them.

4
In Latin America, on the other hand, our military aid was often motivated—and used—more for political than security reasons. Even in Iran the Shah insisted on our supporting an expensive army too large for border incidents and internal security and of no use in all-out war. His army, said one government adviser, resembled the proverbial man who was too heavy to do any light work and too light to do any heavy work.

5
That makes no sense, said Kennedy. Did anyone believe that the Soviet Union’s maintenance of massive land armies cast any doubt on
its
willingness to use nuclear weapons?

6
Others included Henry Cabot Lodge as Ambassador to Vietnam, a Boston Federal judge never appointed and Kennedy’s final appointment to the Federal Reserve Board.

CHAPTER XXIII
THE CONTINUING CRISES

I
T WAS NOT POSSIBLE
for John Kennedy to organize his approach to foreign affairs as arbitrarily as the chapters of this or any book. Military conflicts required more than military solutions. The Communists exploited genuine non-Communist grievances. The problems of aid and trade, the need for conventional and unconventional forces, the roles of allies and neutrals, all were tangled together. Nowhere were these interrelationships more complex than in those situations in the new and developing nations which Khrushchev somewhat hypocritically called “wars of liberation.” The extent of U.S. commitment and of Communist power involvement differed from one to the other, but the dilemma facing John Kennedy in each one was essentially the same: how to disengage the Russians from the “liberation” movement and prevent a Communist military conquest without precipitating a major Soviet-American military confrontation.

On Inauguration Day, 1961, three such dilemmas were on Kennedy’s desk, with dire predictions of catastrophe before the year was out: the Congo, Laos and South Vietnam. In none of these cases were those predictions fulfilled, even by the end of Kennedy’s term. Supporting the UN in the Congo, seeking a neutral coalition in Laos and trying to broaden the political appeal of the local regime in Vietnam, he rejected the purely militaristic and automatically anti-Communist answer to pursue more meaningful objectives in all three countries. While these objectives also remained unfulfilled, their conflicts were at least adequately managed and confined, partly because of his growing grasp of their nonmilitary implications, partly because the Sino-Soviet split restrained as well as aggravated these situations, and partly because of the lessons John Kennedy had learned since the Bay of Pigs.

THE CONGO

The chaos in the Congo would have resembed an implausibly slapstick comic opera were it not for its grim toll of human life. After nearly eighty years of rule by a nation one-eighteenth as large, the former Belgian colony was cast adrift in the summer of 1960 in the name of independence without any solid preparation for independence. Its forces of law and order were lawless and disorderly. Its richest province promptly seceded. Its national capital soon contained almost as many self-proclaimed premiers and presidents as native college graduates. Its power centers were leaderless and its leaders powerless. It was a nation with little sense of nationhood, torn by rivalries between dozens of local political parties and hundreds of tribes. Inflation, graft, tribal friction and unemployment were rampant.

Belgian technicians were driven out and then sorely missed. Blacks massacred blacks as well as whites, and white fought against white to see which black man would prevail. President Kasavubu dismissed Prime Minister Lumumba, who dismissed Kasavubu. Lumumba attacked provincial leader Tshombe for not recognizing the authority of the Central Government, and was in turn arrested by Colonel Mobutu for saying he was the Central Government. Troops holding Lumumba for mutiny mutinied. Unity conferences produced further disunity. And rushing in to fill this gaping power vacuum with advice, technicians, trucks, transport planes and equipment—with troops to follow, if necessary—was the Soviet Union, eager to build a power base in the heart of Africa.

The only effective counter to Communist penetration and domination in the Congo was the United Nations, free from the taints of white supremacy and the appearance of direct big-power intervention. This country’s unilateral intervention might have produced a needless, endless jungle war. When, in 1960, the United Nations was asked by the Congolese Government to intervene, the United States supported that effort. By the combination of a Soviet boycott of the operation, a favorable majority in the Assembly and the forceful initiative of the Secretary General, a surprisingly bold UN presence was established.

But tensions were mounting again as John Kennedy prepared to take office. Afro-Asian nations disillusioned by the UN’s impartiality threatened to undermine its operation by the withdrawal of their troops. Soviet anger at Hammarskjöld’s role was rising.

The Kennedy Congo policy was largely an extension of the Eisenhower policy. Its aim was the restoration of stability and order to a reunited, independent and viable Congo, free from Communist domination and free from both civil war and cold war conflicts. The chief channel of this policy was our support—diplomatic, economic and, to the extent of providing air transport, military—of the United Nations in its effort to pacify the country and reconcile its factions.

Kennedy did not want the Congo to become another Laos, draining American energies and goodwill in a jungle war against Communist-supported local troops. Nor did he want it to become another Cuba, providing Communism with a strategically located military base, vast natural resources and a fertile breeding ground of subversives and guerrillas.

His first move—taken during his first week in office—was to relieve the widespread hunger and human distress that had been created by the collapse of the Congolese economy. From our surplus stocks, he dispatched rice, corn meal, dry milk and other foodstuffs in an emergency airlift.

But little more than two weeks later he faced a sterner test. Patrice Lumumba, the erratic admirer of Ghana’s Nkrumah who had served briefly as the Congo’s first premier—a man who both used and was used by Soviet ambitions—was assassinated. As Communist and African nationalist mobs turned out to protest in front of Western embassies and even inside the UN chambers, the Soviets savagely demanded the removal of the UN from the Congo and the removal of Hammarskjöld—as an “accomplice and organizer of murders”—from the UN. They quickly recognized Lumumba’s old Vice Premier, Antoine Gizenga (much more of a Marxist than Lumumba), as the legitimate head of the Congo, and promised him “all possible assistance and support.” The threat of military force was clearly implied.

Kennedy, in an opening statement at his February 15 news conference, pledged support to the United Nations presence, backing to the UN-recognized government of President Kasavubu, and resistance to any government’s attempt to intervene unilaterally “in the internal affairs of the Republic of the Congo.” “There should be no misunderstanding of the position of the United States,” he said, if “any government is really planning to take so dangerous and irresponsible a step.”

The Russians, no more eager for a major confrontation there than we, did not take that step. The military logistics and the political balance were both against them. The General Assembly voted to back up the Hammarskjöld effort; and the Gizenga movement and Communist influence began to fade. A new constitution, a broader-based government and a renewed UN economic as well as police-keeping effort in time eased the crisis, despite Hammarskjöld’s death; and a new U.S. effort to woo Africa, discussed in an earlier chapter, brought a waning of Khrushchev’s influence on the entire continent.

The secession of Moise Tshombe’s Katanga Province, however, was a more difficult hurdle. It was always clear to Kennedy that, if the Central Congolese Government fell over this hurdle, Gizenga or some other Communist-backed leader would not be long moving in. Katanga, with less than one-twelfth of the Congo’s territory and one-twentieth of its population, produced three-fifths of its revenue and possessed the bulk of its mineral wealth—particularly the rich copper and cobalt mines of the giant Union Minière combine. Tshombe, the province’s shrewd leader, used these resources and revenues to enlist help from powerful European investors, to pay white mercenaries in his army and to employ lobbyists in the UN and Washington. White supremacists in the United States Senate praised him as a black anti-Communist hero. Other black African nations, looking upon him as a tool for white neo-colonialism, urged swift action to crush him. West European nations, eager to keep Katanga’s copper, cobalt, diamond and uranium mines safe and running, urged a go-slow policy. The African and European desks in Kennedy’s State Department reflected a similar split.

Kennedy’s own thinking was divided in quite a different way. The unification of the Congo was consistent with over-all American policy in Africa. UN pacification of Katanga was preferable to a bloody civil war that could drag in the other African states on both sides—the black nationalists against the white supremacists—and ultimately drag in the great powers as well. He was concerned, however, that the UN did not have the means to achieve this goal, and he wanted no undertakings launched which would shift the burden of achieving it to direct American action. He recognized the unpopularity in this country of supporting with funds and planes a UN peace-keeping operation that was neither peaceful nor aimed at Communists. He disliked disagreeing with the British, French and other Allies who were more inclined to protect Katanga—although Belgium’s Paul Spaak, he felt, had shown great courage and restraint in reversing that nation’s encouragement of Tshombe’s secession. But backed by his able Ambassador, Edward Gullion, he believed that world peace, the effort to keep Communism out of Africa and our relations with the other African nations were all best served by opposing all tribal secessions in the Congo, and by supporting instead the UN’s precedent-setting role as a nation-builder.

For nearly two years, during 1961-1962, the Congo question constantly intruded upon the President’s agenda, as a variety of tactics, special missions and subtle shifts in U.S. policy Were tried and failed. A series of clashes, cease-fires and conferences of Congolese leaders produced no reintegration, only a continuing drain on the UN’s finances and on Kennedy’s patience with both sides. By late 1962 the Soviets had begun casting hungry eyes in the Congo’s direction once again. India, for both financial and political reasons, threatened to withdraw her troops, which formed the heart of the UN contingent. Tshombe talked cooperation, thus persuading the British and Belgians to hold off the economic sanctions the U.S. requested; but he had both the funds and forces to sit tight. Congolese Premier Adoula, showing little talent for maneuver or political flexibility, was in danger of overthrow or replacement by a more radical regime committed to the conquest of Katanga by force. If the UN would not do it, Communist bloc arms would be sought directly or through Algeria and Ghana.