“‘I have not addressed such a distinguished audience since dining alone in the hall of mirrors’” (p. 307)
This direct quote by Henry Kissinger, uttered at the historic first meeting of the ambassadors (to Washington) of Israel and Egypt, pretty much sums up Kissinger’s estimation of himself.
Let me say first off that this is a superb bit of journalism – not only superbly written, but also superbly (not to say ‘superhumanly’) researched. It’s also not an easy read. But the difficulty in reading it lies in the length and in the extraordinary detail describing a time, a series of events, a pair of men (even if Nixon and Kissinger are hardly alone in their nefarious actions), and a war that most of us would rather forget.
The problem is – as George Santayana once so knowingly admonished – “he who ignores history is condemned to repeat it.” And because we apparently learned very little from our debacle in Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos, we’re repeated the selfsame errors in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Right up until George W. Bush became president, I’d always thought Richard Nixon was the worst we’d ever elected to that office. I’m inclined, after reading Sideshow, to return to my previous judgment. Now, however, I’d like to add Kissinger as an additional stain on Nixon’s original sin.
Much to his credit, William Shawcross doesn’t inject his own opinion into his reporting. Instead, he lets the facts speak for themselves. One exception – and one I think worth quoting at length – is this final paragraph, on p. 299, of Chapter 19, titled “The Bombing”:
“For those men [the Khmer Rouge], 1973 confirmed a historic conviction that survival, let alone victory, could be guaranteed only by absolute independence and astonishing fixity of purpose. They faced an enemy who at least appeared to have enormous support from his sponsor, while they themselves could not trust even their own leader [Pol Pot], let alone their friends. The attack upon Phnom Penh was a madness born of desperate isolation, which bred a dreadful hatred of their enemy and a contempt for the attitudes of the outside world. But for the [American] bombing and their shortages of munitions, they might have won the war that summer. As it was, the indifference of their allies and the assault upon them by the supporters of their enemy stamped out thousands upon thousands of them, and the survivors had neither the men nor the firepower for a final assault upon the capital when, after August 15, 1973, the rains re-inherited the skies.”
(The insertions between parentheses are my own, supplied to aid in the understanding of this paragraph out of context.)
On p. 329, we find this personal quote from Kissinger, so typical of the way both he and Nixon thought and acted: “I would like to think that when the record is written some may remember that perhaps some lives were saved and that perhaps some mothers can rest more at ease …. But I leave that to history. What I will not leave to history is a discussion of my personal honor.” Keep in mind that these two men were exclusively responsible for the deaths of thousands of American servicemen and millions of Vietnamese, Cambodian and Laotian civilians while the two of them continuously lied – to Congress, to subordinates, to journalists, and even to each other. “Personal honor” indeed. It’s enough to make one retch.
But the central issue of this book – the real issue, to which Nixon and Kissinger are, themselves, merely a sideshow – is the tragic, and often barbaric, history of Cambodia. After all, and as William Shawcross says in his conclusion (on p. 396), “(n)either the United States nor its friends nor those who are caught helplessly in its embrace are well served when its leaders act, as Nixon and Kissinger acted, without care. Cambodia was not a mistake; it was a crime. The world is diminished by the experience.”
And what, in sum, was that experience? I’ll return to p. 367 to name it. “The nature of Angka was not clear to the evacuees at first, but within hours millions of Cambodians had realized that its orders, transmitted through the fierce young soldiers who supervised their trek, were to be obeyed instantly, and that complaints were often met by immediate execution. As they walked into that first night of April 17, 1975, they were told that from now on only Angka ruled and that Cambodia was beginning again. This was ‘Year Zero.’”
RRB
04/19/15
Brooklyn, NY