For much of the twentieth century Cuba had remained a quasi-colony of the USA. In the 1950s, Fulgencio Batista, the last of its pliant dictators, struck lucrative deals with American gangsters, who built lavish hotels and casinos, filled them with American tourists, and turned Havana into the most glaringly sinful city in the hemisphere. American businesses dominated the country. They owned most of its sugar plantations and were heavily invested in oil, railroads, utilities, mining, and cattle ranching. Eighty percent of Cuban imports came from the United States.
Although most Americans could not or did not want to see it, Cuba’s corrupt tyranny was increasingly unpopular. In 1958 Fidel Castro’s guerrillas won a series of victories, and on the last day of the year, Batista resigned, fleeing to the Dominican Republic and taking several hundred million dollars with him. A week later, after a victorious trip across the island, Castro arrived in Havana and began a political career that would shape world history.
Secretary of State John Foster Dulles, the older brother of the infamous CIA director Allen Dulles, was recuperating in nearby Jamaica when Castro seized power. “I don’t know whether this is good or bad for us,” he mused after hearing the news.
Three months later Fidel Castro made his tumultuous trip to the United States. The nascent counterculture embraced him; Malcolm X came to his hotel in Harlem while supporters cheered outside. After returning home, Castro gave a speech scorning Vice President Nixon, the highest-ranking American he met, as “an impenitent disciple of the gloomy and obstinate Foster Dulles.” Soon afterward he confiscated hundreds of millions of dollars in American investments, imprisoned thousands of suspected counterrevolutionaries, including some with close ties to the United States, and executed several hundred. Anti-Castro terror began. A large department store in Havana was set on fire, a ship in the harbor was blown up with the loss of more than one hundred lives, sugar plantations were burned, and planes from Florida dropped bombs and mysteriously disappeared. While some of the first attacks might have really been carried out by self-employed exiles, CIA Director Allen Dulles soon took control of the operation, entrusting it to his deputy director for plans, Richard Bissell, one of the restless sons of privilege Allen had recruited to help him run the CIA.
On January 15 Allen asked the Special Group (the secret body that reviewed covert operations) for authorization to begin plotting against Castro. President Eisenhower said he would favor any plot to “throw Castro out” because he was a “madman.” By mid-January, the CIA had eighteen officers in Washington and another twenty-two in Cuba designing “proposed Cuba operations.”
A lifetime of military command had given Ike the habit of denying covert operations, and he maintained it as president. Less than two weeks after he authorized plotting against the Cuban dictator, he told reporters that although he was “concerned and perplexed” by Castro’s anti-American statements, the United States would take no action against him. At a Special Group meeting on February 17, however, he brushed aside a proposal from Allen under which the CIA would sabotage Cuban sugar mills and urged him to come up with more audacious ideas, “including even possibly things that might be drastic.”
In general, Eisenhower launched the anti-Castro operation with determination and focused enthusiasm. He gave his orders directly to Allen and Dickie, and when on March 17, Dulles presented “A Program of Covert Action Against the Castro Regime,” written by Bissell, which proposed a multistage operation “to bring about the replacement of the Castro regime with one more devoted to the interests of the Cuban people and more acceptable to the US, in such a manner as to avoid any appearance of US intervention" by building a covert network inside Cuba, saturating the island with anti-Castro propaganda, infiltrating small teams of guerrilla fighters, using them to set off a domestic uprising, and providing a “responsible, appealing, and unified” new regime, Eisenhower said he could imagine “no better plan” and approved. He insisted only on one condition: US involvement must be kept strictly secret. “The great problem is leakage and breach of security,” he said. “Everyone must be prepared to swear he has not heard of it.”
With that statement, Ike made the overthrow of Castro an official but secret U.S. policy goal.
Notably, another curious detail emerged from this meeting: Allen spoke first, but when there were questions, he deferred to Bissell; it was an early sign that unlike in all previous oversea operations, such as the Iran coup, he would not supervise this operation. The anti-Castro plot was as ambitious a project as the CIA had ever undertaken, and much hung on the outcome. Allen, however, floated above it. Each time he and Bissell came to the White House to brief Eisenhower on its progress, Bissell took the lead while Allen listened. When Dickie briefed the Joint Chiefs of Staff on April 8, Dulles did not even attend.
The bulk of Dickie Bissell's experience with the CIA came from running the theatrical “rebel air force” that had helped push Jacobo Arbenz from power in Guatemala in 1954. Most of the officers he assembled for his anti-Castro operation were also veterans of the Guatemala campaign. All had enough experience to recognize the considerable differences between Guatemala in 1954 and Cuba in 1960. One of Castro’s closest comrades, the Argentine-born guerrilla Che Guevara, had been in Guatemala in 1954 and witnessed the coup against Arbenz. Later he told Castro why it succeeded: Arbenz had foolishly tolerated an open society, which the CIA penetrated and subverted, and also preserved the existing army, which the CIA turned into its instrument. Castro agreed that a revolutionary regime in Cuba must avoid those mistakes. Upon taking power, he repressed dissent and purged the army. Many Cubans supported his regime and were ready to defend it. All of this made the prospect of overthrowing him quite daunting.
However, most of the CIA’s “best men” came from backgrounds where all things were possible, nothing ever went seriously wrong, and catastrophic reversals of fortune happened only to others. World leaders had fallen to their power. They never believed that deposing Castro would be easy, but they also enjoyed the challenge. This was why they had joined the CIA, after all. Quietly, but watched closely by Castro’s spies, CIA officers rushed across the Cuban sections of Miami, where anti-Castro fervor "ran hot", and recruited a handful of exiles to serve as the political facade for a counterrevolutionary movement, and dozens more who wanted to fight. Those would-be guerrillas were brought to camps in Florida, Puerto Rico, Guatemala, and the Panama Canal Zone and trained in tactics ranging from air assault to underwater demolition.
Meanwhile, tensions between Washington and Havana rose steadily. Cuba recognized the People’s Republic of China and signed a trade agreement with the Soviet Union. Tankers carrying Soviet petroleum arrived in Cuba. American oil companies refused to refine it. Castro nationalized the recalcitrant companies. The United States stopped buying most Cuban sugar. Cuba began selling sugar to the Soviets. In mid-1960 this hostility broke beyond politics and economics straight into the Cuban soul: the Eisenhower administration pressed the International League, one of professional baseball’s top minor leagues, to announce that it was pulling its baseball team, the Sugar Kings, out of Havana. Love of baseball is deeply ingrained in the Cuban soul. Castro, an avid fan who had been known to suspend cabinet meetings so he could watch the Sugar Kings play, protested that this blow violated “all codes of sportsmanship" and even offered to pay the team’s debts. It was to no avail. The Cuban people lost one of their strongest sentimental ties to the United States. America did to Cuba what should never be done to revolutionary countries – she pushed the Cubans behind an iron curtain raised by herself.
When on the morning of January 19, 1961, Eisenhower’s last full day in office, he welcomed Kennedy to the White House, Kennedy brought up the second most obvious crisis after Laos. He asked if they should support guerrilla operations in Cuba. “To the utmost,” Eisenhower replied. “We cannot have the present government there go on."
Thus, Kennedy faced a no-win situation: he was young, inexperienced in world affairs, and new in office. During his electoral campaign he had vowed to confront Castro. Many Americans wished him to do so. Now Allen, whom he had decided to keep at his post as Director of Central Intelligence, and Bissel were giving him a plan. Allen pointedly reminded Kennedy that canceling the operation would give him a "disposal" problem: Cuban exiles at the Guatemala camp would have to be discharged; many would return to Miami; their story would be, “We were about to overthrow Castro, but Kennedy lost his nerve and wouldn’t let us try.” This narrative would become part of Kennedy’s permanent legacy. In short, Dulles made it very clear to the President that to call off the operation would result in a very unpleasant situation.
Thus, in the words of one of Kennedy's aides, Allen and Dick didn't just brief them on the Cuban operation; they sold them on it. In a typically CIA manner, the Central Intelligence "fell in love with the plan" and ceased to think critically about it. Allen agreed with those statements, reasoning that "you present a plan, and it isn’t your job to say, ‘Well, that’s a rotten plan I’ve presented.' In presenting the merits of the plan, the tendency is always – because you’re meeting a position, you’re meeting this criticism and that criticism – to be drawn into more of a salesmanship job than you should.”
While none of the unexperienced president's secret advisers raised serious doubts about the plan, other powerful people did. Arthur Schlesinger Jr. sent Kennedy a memo warning that the United States would certainly be blamed for any invasion of Cuba, and that this would “fix a malevolent image of the new Administration in the minds of millions.” When former secretary of state Dean Acheson visited the White House and was informed about the plan for invasion of Cuba by Kennedy, Acheson was incredulous. “Are you serious?” he asked. “It doesn’t take Price Waterhouse to figure out that fifteen hundred Cubans aren’t as good as twenty-five thousand.”
Yet, Bissell somehow managed to accommodate all Kennedy's doubts about the plan. When the President complained that the chosen location for the invasion, a town below the Escambray Mountains, would be too "noisy", Dickie satisfied him by choosing a remote beach one hundred miles eastward, at the Bay of Pigs. When Kennedy worried that using sixteen disguised planes for the first wave of air strikes would increase the odds that the CIA’s role would become clear, Bissell agreed to cut the fleet to eight. Kennedy insisted that the United States military must not be involved – Bissell assured him this would not be necessary.
What made Dick Bissell allow the operation to proceed despite all these major changes, rather than telling Kennedy that they greatly reduced the chances for success, remains a mystery. Personal pride and ambition may have encouraged him; his reputation in the Central Intelligence Agency and the Kennedy administration depended on this operation, as was his position as the heir of Allen Dulles. To pull out would have equalled forfeit. Another possible reason was that Bissell assumed President Kennedy would not let it fail – would eventually do whatever was necessary to make it succeed, even if that meant sending US military forces to the rescue.
Whatever the reason, Dickie also ignored one last, glaring warning, which came only nine days before the Bay of Pigs invasion. On April 9, Jacob Esterline, the CIA officer he had put in day-to-day charge of the operation, and Colonel Jack Hawkins, its senior military planner, told him what he already knew – the new landing beach was isolated, with no local population to support the invaders and few escape routes; there would not be enough air cover to prevent Castro from counterattacking; the secrecy that was an essential part of the original plan had long ago evaporated. Given these new conditions, concluded the two, the invasion was certain to end in “terrible disaster.”
Despite Esterline and Hawkins's appeals, Bissell refused to call the plot off, and their last hope vanished. Strikingly, the two officers had considered Dick Bissell the only target for their plea; Allen Dulles had so successfully distanced himself from the operation's planning.
When on April 17, the exile force waded ashore at the Bay of Pigs, thousands of Cuban troops counterattacked. Fidel Castro himself arrived to take command. At a news conference only five days earlier, President JFK had again emphasized that there would not be, under any conditions, an intervention in Cuba by United States armed forces. When the crucial moment came, he refused to change his mind.
On that calamitous day, the invasion force was scattered by Cuban artillery, attacked by Cuban bombers, and overwhelmed by Cuban troops. At White House meetings the next day, Kennedy fended off more pleas that he send U.S. forces to support the Bay of Pigs invaders. The strongest came from his chief of naval operations, Admiral Arleigh Burke, who came to the Oval Office with an equally agitated Bissell:
“Let me take two jets and shoot down those enemy aircraft,” Burke pleaded.
“No,” Kennedy replied. “I don’t want to get the United States involved in this.”
“Can I not send in an air strike?”
“No.”
“Can we send in a few planes?”
“No, because they could be identified as United States.”
“Can we paint out their numbers?”
“No.”
Grasping for options, Burke asked if Kennedy would authorize artillery attacks on Cuban forces from American destroyers. The answer was the same: “No.”
Later that day Kennedy told an aide that he had probably made a mistake keeping Allen Dulles. By then the full scope of the disaster had also dawned on Allen, who had acted quite nonchalantly the previous day. Arriving at his old friend Richard Nixon's house, he told him that "[t]his is the worst they of my life" and that "everything is lost".
Everything was lost, indeed. More than one hundred of the invaders died. Most of the rest were rounded up and imprisoned. For Castro it was a brilliant triumph. Kennedy was staggered. “How could I have been so stupid?” he wondered aloud. Standing before reporters in the White House, the President took “sole responsibility” for the failure. Victory has a hundred fathers and defeat is an orphan, mused he. From this moment on he stopped trusting experts and mainly conferred with his brother Bobby.
A year later, Castro released the Bay of Pigs prisoners in exchange for $52 million in donated food and medicine. That hardly closed the episode, however. Its effects have reverberated through history. This was the first time the CIA was fully unmasked seeking to depose the leader of a small country whose crime was defying the United States. It became a reviled symbol of imperialist intervention. A new wave of anti-Americanism began coursing around the world...
"THE BRILLIANT DISASTER" is a gripping, action-packed account of the ill-starred CIA coup against Fidel Castro. Jim Rasenberger's research is impressively meticulous, his attention to the smallest details showing through the narrative. This history both gives us access to JFK's thoughts and allows us to peek over Castro's shoulder, as well as thrusts us in the very core of action. Outstanding.