An erudite and flinty Democrat from Arkansas, Fulbright served from 1959 to 1974 as chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee and in that position made himself a force to reckon with. As Lyndon Johnson Americanized the Vietnam War, the senator became increasingly vocal not only in opposing it but in questioning the a.s.sumptions that informed U.S. policy. Through a series of Senate hearings, speeches, and writings, he vented those concerns, most completely and compellingly in his widely read 1966 book Foreign Relations Committee and in that position made himself a force to reckon with. As Lyndon Johnson Americanized the Vietnam War, the senator became increasingly vocal not only in opposing it but in questioning the a.s.sumptions that informed U.S. policy. Through a series of Senate hearings, speeches, and writings, he vented those concerns, most completely and compellingly in his widely read 1966 book The Arrogance of Power The Arrogance of Power.

Fulbright's purpose in writing the book was to expose as defective Washington's existing approach to exercising global leadership and to offer an alternative. On all matters pertaining to foreign policy, Fulbright took for granted American good intentions. Problems occurred when good intentions were married to seemingly bottomless reserves of power. The result was self-delusion combined with a tendency to lose touch with reality. Power, Fulbright wrote, tends to confuse itself with virtue and a great nation is peculiarly susceptible to the idea that its power is a sign of G.o.d's favor, conferring upon it a special responsibility for other nations-to make them richer and happier and wiser, to remake them, that is, in its own shining image.... Once imbued with the idea of mission, a great nation easily a.s.sumes that it has the means as well as the duty to do G.o.d's work. The Lord, after all, would surely not choose you as His agent and then deny you the sword with which to work His will.1 According to Fulbright, this described the delusions to which Washington had succ.u.mbed since World War II. Among the chief fruits of those delusions was the disastrous and utterly unnecessary war then under way in Southeast Asia. The folly of those who insisted on fighting that war suggested that the United States was rapidly losing any "perspective on what exactly is within the realm of its power and what is beyond it." Fulbright stressed his unwillingness to question the motives of the war's architects: No doubt President Johnson and his advisers meant well. "What I do question," he wrote, "is the ability of the United States ... to go into a small, alien, undeveloped Asian nation and create stability where there is chaos, the will to fight where there is defeatism, democracy where there is no tradition of it, and honest government where corruption is almost a way of life." of those who insisted on fighting that war suggested that the United States was rapidly losing any "perspective on what exactly is within the realm of its power and what is beyond it." Fulbright stressed his unwillingness to question the motives of the war's architects: No doubt President Johnson and his advisers meant well. "What I do question," he wrote, "is the ability of the United States ... to go into a small, alien, undeveloped Asian nation and create stability where there is chaos, the will to fight where there is defeatism, democracy where there is no tradition of it, and honest government where corruption is almost a way of life."2 Those wielding authority in Washington, he believed, had lost their ability to see the world as it actually existed. Foreign policy had become "a kind of voodoo," with incantations supplanting reasoned a.n.a.lysis. "Certain drums have to be beaten regularly to ward off evil spirits." Chief among the incantatory words meant to deflect all serious criticism were appeas.e.m.e.nt, isolationism appeas.e.m.e.nt, isolationism, and the ever-present danger of insufficient vigilance insufficient vigilance. Impatient with complexity or nuance, policy makers found it easier to indulge "the crusading spirit" in places like Vietnam. "Who are the self-appointed emissaries of G.o.d who have wrought so much violence in the world?" Fulbright asked.

They are men with doctrines ... who believe in some cause without doubt and practice their beliefs without scruple, men who cease to be human beings ... and become instead living, breathing, embodiments of some faith or ideology.3 For Fulbright, ideology and statecraft made for a combustible mix. "I think the world has endured about all it can of the crusades of high-minded men bent on the regeneration of the human race." Any people setting out "upon self-appointed missions to police the world, to defeat all tyrannies, to make their fellow men rich and happy and free" were less likely to advance the cause of world peace than to wreak "havoc, bringing misery to their intended beneficiaries and destruction upon themselves." of the human race." Any people setting out "upon self-appointed missions to police the world, to defeat all tyrannies, to make their fellow men rich and happy and free" were less likely to advance the cause of world peace than to wreak "havoc, bringing misery to their intended beneficiaries and destruction upon themselves."4 Americans needed to rethink what it meant to lead. "Maybe we are not really cut out for the job of spreading the gospel of democracy," Fulbright suggested. "Maybe it would profit us to concentrate on our own democracy instead of trying to inflict our own particular version of it" on others. "If America has a service to perform in the world," he continued, "it is in large part the service of her own example. In our excessive involvement in the affairs of other countries we are not only living off our a.s.sets ... we are also denying the world the example of a free society enjoying freedom to the fullest."5 Fulbright denied that he was advocating global disengagement. Instead he was proposing "a redress in the heavy imbalance" that privileged foreign affairs above the nation's domestic well-being. "An excessive preoccupation with foreign relations over a long period of time," he warned, "diverts a nation from the sources of its strength, which are in its domestic life. A nation immersed in foreign affairs is expending its capital, human as well as material." To heedlessly draw down that capital was to invite disaster. Fulbright compared an ambitious foreign policy supported by a deteriorating domestic base to "the light cast by an extinct star," destined to fade and fail. He judged it "unnatural and unhealthy for a nation to be engaged in global crusades for some principle or ideal while neglecting the needs of its own people." In the long run, "an effective policy abroad depends upon a healthy society at home."6 Then there was the matter of force. As Fulbright saw it, crusaders were too quick to reach for the gun. Although military action had "a deceptive appeal," with advocates of force promising "quick and easy solutions to difficult problems," the promises inevitably proved false and exacted a painful toll in blood. In Vietnam, Fulbright noted, the crusading burden fell largely on young Americans, few allies showing much willingness to a.s.sist; "while their young men go to school, get jobs, and raise families, they are quite reconciled to having American boys fight and die in the jungles of Southeast Asia." Fulbright rejected the notion that "force is the ultimate proof of superiority-that when a nation shows it has a stronger army, it is also proving that it has better people, better inst.i.tutions, better principles, and, in general, a better civilization." In nations as in individuals, he wrote, "bellicosity is a mark of weakness and self-doubt rather than of strength and self-a.s.surance," adding that "the true mark of greatness is not stridency but magnanimity."7 Magnanimity combined with realism might cure Americans of their tendency to view adversaries as abstractions ("Communists" in the 1960s, "terrorists" today). After all, Fulbright wrote, the communist world had "ceased to be the monolith it seemed to be in Stalin's time." To formulate policy according to some sort of strict ideological litmus test had become self-defeating. An obsession with communism had caused the United States "to see principles where there are only interests and conspiracy where there is only misfortune." The time had come to treat nations in the Eastern bloc not as puppets of the Kremlin but as distinctive ent.i.ties.

Fulbright saw nationalism as a solvent that was eroding whatever bonds held together the Soviet Empire. "Far from being unified in a design for world conquest, the communist countries are deeply divided among themselves, with widely varying foreign policies and widely varying concepts of their own national interests." In this diversity lay opportunities for creative diplomacy. Fulbright wanted Americans to become "the friends of social revolution," to "make our society an example of human happiness," and to "go beyond simple reciprocity in the effort to reconcile hostile worlds." widely varying foreign policies and widely varying concepts of their own national interests." In this diversity lay opportunities for creative diplomacy. Fulbright wanted Americans to become "the friends of social revolution," to "make our society an example of human happiness," and to "go beyond simple reciprocity in the effort to reconcile hostile worlds."8 Above all, Fulbright counseled modesty. Notwithstanding the grandiose claims routinely made by American statesmen, putting the world right and eliminating the woes afflicting humankind lay well beyond the capacity of the United States or any other nation to achieve. The best one might hope to accomplish was to cope with history's complexities while promoting incremental improvements "to make life a little more civilized, a little more satisfying, and a little more serene." That defined success. "I think man is qualified to contemplate metaphysics but not to practice it," Fulbright concluded. "The practice of metaphysics is G.o.d's work."9 Like Fulbright, David Shoup was a son of the Middle Border, born and raised in Indiana and carrying to Washington a wariness of East Coast elites. There the comparison ends. Unlike the sophisticated Fulbright, who attended Oxford as a Rhodes Scholar, Shoup worked his way through DePauw University, joining the ROTC to help pay for his schooling. Finding this first brush with military life appealing, upon graduation he applied for and received a commission as a marine corps second lieutenant.

The corps soon became Shoup's life. Unrefined, even uncouth, given to action rather than reflection, he became an excellent marine. In 1943, for heroism while commanding a battalion at Tarawa, he received the Medal of Honor. Although wounded and "under constant, withering enemy fire," Shoup led a series of "smashing attacks against unbelievably strong and fanatically defended j.a.panese positions despite innumerable obstacles and heavy casualties." The capstone of his career came in 1959 when President Eisenhower selected Shoup, then a two-star general, to become the marine corps commandant, vaulting him over the heads of several more senior officers. He served in that position until retiring in late 1963. and fanatically defended j.a.panese positions despite innumerable obstacles and heavy casualties." The capstone of his career came in 1959 when President Eisenhower selected Shoup, then a two-star general, to become the marine corps commandant, vaulting him over the heads of several more senior officers. He served in that position until retiring in late 1963.10 As commandant, Shoup had reacted warily to the Kennedy administration's quest for innovative ways to employ force. His own instincts were to avoid war except when the issue really mattered: For Shoup, the survival of South Vietnam didn't qualify. When it was necessary to fight, Shoup favored going in big: The romance of counterinsurgency and nation building eluded him. A closeted dove, Shoup failed while a serving officer and member of the JCS to resist the drift toward direct intervention in Vietnam.

Only after leaving active duty did he discover his inner Smedley Butler. Another cantankerous marine general and Medal of Honor recipient, Butler in retirement had famously declared that "war is a racket" and blasted U.S. foreign policy between the world wars as a game rigged in favor of Wall Street. Butler spoke from a populist perspective. Shoup's visceral opposition to the Vietnam War prodded him to formulate an a.n.a.logous critique.

In a speech to a gathering of students in Los Angeles on May 14, 1966, the former marine revealed his own populist inclinations, targeting what he saw as the bogus rendering of U.S. history that Americans had been conditioned to accept. In surveying the landscape of the past, Shoup saw mostly lies. When he looked at the present, he saw more lies, all of them intended to produce citizens "about as thoughtful as the inhabitants of a second-hand wax museum." The following pa.s.sage captures the overall tone of his presentation: You are taught that our people can get what the majority wants, by the ballot. Well, we got President Wilson that way because his campaign slogan was, "He kept us out of war." A few days after his inauguration we were in the First World War.

I don't have to tell you what we have now [alluding to Vietnam], how we got it; nor what's happened since. You've seen it happen.

The Johnson administration had sold the war under false pretenses.

You read, you're televised to, you're radioed to, you're preached to that it is necessary that we have our armed forces fight, get killed and maimed, and kill and maim other human beings including women and children because now is the time we must stop some kind of unwanted ideology from creeping up on this nation.

Shoup mocked the notion of events in Vietnam-"8,000 miles away with water in between"-posing a threat to U.S. security. "I don't think the whole of Southeast Asia, as related to the present and future safety and freedom of the people of this country, is worth the life or limb of a single American."

Perhaps the people inhabiting the region deserved some consideration. If so, what they deserved above all was the chance to determine their own fate. Given half a chance, they were perfectly capable of doing just that, Shoup believed. If the United States kept its "dirty, b.l.o.o.d.y, dollar-crooked fingers out of the business of these nations so full of depressed, exploited people, they might well arrive at a solution of their own." Although the creation of a just and equitable social order might require revolutionary upheaval, the United States should allow the local population to figure out what that revolution entailed rather than having some Washington-concocted blueprint "crammed down their throats." solution of their own." Although the creation of a just and equitable social order might require revolutionary upheaval, the United States should allow the local population to figure out what that revolution entailed rather than having some Washington-concocted blueprint "crammed down their throats."

When it came to communism, Shoup was even more dismissive than Fulbright. In explaining the origins of the Cold War, Shoup offered a strikingly revisionist perspective. After 1945, "Russia had no nuclear weapons. We encircled her with nuclear bombs and missiles.... From here it was easy [for Kremlin autocrats] to get these people to forego b.u.t.ter for guns. To sacrifice and toil cheerfully so they could have some weapons to protect their homeland from the threat of destruction."

Shoup acknowledged that the existing Soviet nuclear threat was real and menacing. Yet this was a problem that did not invite a military solution. By comparison, he characterized the Soviet ideological threat as mostly hype. "Don't let yourself get too shook-up by the over-advertised encroachment of communism," Shoup told his student audience. "Help people to get things and the idea of communism will strangle by its own umbilical cord."11 The former marine was by no means the only senior military officer to speak out in opposition to the Vietnam War. Gen. Matthew Ridgway and Gen. James Gavin, prominent army officers who became prominent critics of U.S. policy, also voiced concerns. Yet Shoup was far more vocal and far less nuanced. For a reporter looking for an outspoken former general, he became the go-to guy, willing to blast away with both barrels. Skewering the proponents of the so-called domino theory, for example, he remarked in one 1967 interview, "They just keep trying to keep the people worried about the communists crawling up the banks of Pearl Harbor, crawling up the Palisades, or crawling up the beaches of Los Angeles, which of course is a bunch of pure unadulterated poppyc.o.c.k." people worried about the communists crawling up the banks of Pearl Harbor, crawling up the Palisades, or crawling up the beaches of Los Angeles, which of course is a bunch of pure unadulterated poppyc.o.c.k."12 Unlike Fulbright, he refused even to concede that the war's architects might be well intentioned. He depicted them as malevolent scoundrels. Unlike Fulbright, he refused even to concede that the war's architects might be well intentioned. He depicted them as malevolent scoundrels.

In 1967 and again in 1968, just after the Tet Offensive that marked a dramatic turning point in the war, Shoup testified before Fulbright's Senate Foreign Relations Committee. In the latter case, Senator Albert Gore, Democrat of Tennessee, posed what had emerged as the central question of the day: "What do we win if we win?" Fulbright had remarked earlier in the proceedings that "this war is supposed to prove that aggression doesn't pay, not only in Vietnam, but everywhere else." Success in Vietnam would, it was claimed, preclude similar challenges elsewhere. "If we win this war," Fulbright continued, "and if we stay the course and if our will does not weaken, from now on all Communists are going to be good boys and there will be no more aggression. Isn't that the theory?"

Shoup responded that even if the United States managed to prevail militarily-an unlikely prospect-it would achieve nothing of value. "I do not think that the gain, no matter how greatly embellished," he told Gore, "will ever equal one one-thousandth of the cost." a.s.sume victory, Shoup said: "[W]hat is the reason, where is the proof, that the same situation wouldn't break out within months in Laos, Cambodia, Thailand, Burma, Korea, and you could keep on going." Vietnam was a limited war conducted against the backdrop of putatively unlimited obligations and informed by an a.s.sumption of inexhaustible resources. But the a.s.sumption was false: "[S]omeplace up the line," Shoup argued, the United States was going to say, " 'it is too much for us,' and at that spot, whether we like it or not, we are going to have to say, 'we can't help.' " Regardless of the Vietnam War's immediate outcome, "there is no finality; no finish to this thing." The logic ostensibly impelling the United States to make a stand in Vietnam held out the prospect of war without end. was going to say, " 'it is too much for us,' and at that spot, whether we like it or not, we are going to have to say, 'we can't help.' " Regardless of the Vietnam War's immediate outcome, "there is no finality; no finish to this thing." The logic ostensibly impelling the United States to make a stand in Vietnam held out the prospect of war without end.13 The longer the fighting in Vietnam dragged on, the more radicalized Shoup became. By April 1969, when the Atlantic Atlantic published his essay "The New American Militarism," Shoup might have pa.s.sed himself off as a hard-core leftist. Fidel Castro himself would have found little in the essay with which to disagree. published his essay "The New American Militarism," Shoup might have pa.s.sed himself off as a hard-core leftist. Fidel Castro himself would have found little in the essay with which to disagree.

The United States, Shoup now charged, had become "a militaristic and aggressive nation." Here lay the ultimate explanation for why Americans found themselves in the "tragic military and political mora.s.s of Vietnam." In describing the origins of this new militarism, Shoup suggested that there was plenty of blame to go around. Sharing in that blame were "pugnacious and chauvinistic" veterans groups; greedy defense contractors always keen to fatten their profit margins; a public deluged with manufactured images fostering a distorted understanding of combat; handsomely funded think tanks that fed "militaristic new philosophies into the Defense Department"; and, worst of all, generals eager to try out new toys, test young officers, or advance their own careers. For these groups, the phrase communist aggression communist aggression served as an all-purpose justification for demanding more resources and more vigorous action. "Militarism in America is in full bloom," Shoup concluded, "and promises a future of vigorous self-pollination-unless the blight of Vietnam reveals that militarism is more a poisonous weed than a glorious blossom." served as an all-purpose justification for demanding more resources and more vigorous action. "Militarism in America is in full bloom," Shoup concluded, "and promises a future of vigorous self-pollination-unless the blight of Vietnam reveals that militarism is more a poisonous weed than a glorious blossom."14 Like a good marine, Shoup swung from the heels, holding nothing back. Whereas Fulbright sought to educate and influence, Shoup had a different purpose: to chastise and denounce. Fulbright was cool, Shoup white hot. Still, the angry general created a stir. Together with Fulbright, he drove home the point that the credo and the trinity had not been handed down from Mount Sinai. Alternatives to the Washington rules did indeed exist. Whether Washington would seriously entertain those alternatives was another matter. nothing back. Whereas Fulbright sought to educate and influence, Shoup had a different purpose: to chastise and denounce. Fulbright was cool, Shoup white hot. Still, the angry general created a stir. Together with Fulbright, he drove home the point that the credo and the trinity had not been handed down from Mount Sinai. Alternatives to the Washington rules did indeed exist. Whether Washington would seriously entertain those alternatives was another matter.

PEACE WITH HONOR.

By the time General Shoup's tirade against American militarism hit the newsstands, Richard M. Nixon had succeeded Lyndon Johnson as president. Guided by Nixon's promise to achieve "peace with honor," the process of getting out of Vietnam proved nearly as protracted, and at least as costly, as getting in.

The new president had little use for the moral daintiness to which the proponents of flexible response had been p.r.o.ne. Nixon's preferred modus operandi emphasized toughness. By the time he ended the war-or at least ended direct U.S. involvement in it-Strategic Air Command B-52s had rained bombs on North Vietnamese cities with an intensity reminiscent of the raids that B-29s had conducted against j.a.panese cities nearly three decades earlier.

Operation Linebacker II, which deposited over twenty thousand tons of high explosives on Hanoi and Hai Phong from December 18 to December 29 in 1972, signified a brief reversion to the Curtis LeMay school of power projection. Yet this "Christmas bombing" marked that school's permanent closure. Rather than a portent of things to come, it was a final backhanded salute. Never again would the United States employ violence on such a scale with such little regard for exactly who was being killed and what was being destroyed. for exactly who was being killed and what was being destroyed.

By this time, LeMay himself had become an embarra.s.sment, mocked and vilified rather than venerated. Between the moment Johnson became president and the day he surrendered the office to Nixon, a tsunami had swept across American culture. Among the many things affected was the national security consensus. For ordinary citizens, especially younger ones viewed by the state as prime timber for military service, Washington's insistence on calling the shots globally no longer commanded automatic a.s.sent. To those who had been radicalized by the events of the 1960s, both at home and abroad, the notion that American values were universal values and that the United States should be granted special privileges in advancing those values seemed laughable.

Large numbers of Americans had lost faith in the sacred trinity as well. In the wake of Vietnam, they no longer believed that policies based on global presence, power projection, and interventionism worked or were morally justifiable. In the eyes of such critics, LeMay's approach, which had once defined the American way of war, now became so repugnant as to be unimaginable.

Hollywood, typically a lagging indicator of changes in the zeitgeist, managed in this instance to antic.i.p.ate the shift in att.i.tudes. During the early Cold War, films such as Strategic Air Command Strategic Air Command (1955), directed by Anthony Mann and starring James Stewart, and (1955), directed by Anthony Mann and starring James Stewart, and Gathering of Eagles Gathering of Eagles (1963), directed by Delbert Mann and starring Rock Hudson, treated SAC-and LeMay-with a respect approaching reverence. The men charged with standing ready to wage nuclear war (for the women who stayed home tending the kids) were dedicated (1963), directed by Delbert Mann and starring Rock Hudson, treated SAC-and LeMay-with a respect approaching reverence. The men charged with standing ready to wage nuclear war (for the women who stayed home tending the kids) were dedicated professionals, maintaining a firm grip on their humanity despite bearing the weightiest responsibilities. professionals, maintaining a firm grip on their humanity despite bearing the weightiest responsibilities.

By the time Dr. Strangelove, or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb Dr. Strangelove, or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb appeared in 1964, a cultural switch was ready to flip. Directed by Stanley Kubrick and starring Peter Sellers, George C. Scott, Sterling Hayden, and Slim Pickens, appeared in 1964, a cultural switch was ready to flip. Directed by Stanley Kubrick and starring Peter Sellers, George C. Scott, Sterling Hayden, and Slim Pickens, Dr. Strangelove Dr. Strangelove depicted SAC's ethos as an amalgam of arrogant condescension (Gen. Buck Turgidson), quasi-religious fanaticism (Brig. Gen. Jack D. Ripper), and mindless obedience (Maj. T. J. "King" Kong), laced with a tincture of n.a.z.ism (Dr. Strangelove himself). None of Kubrick's warrior-protagonists demonstrated more than a tenuous hold on reality. depicted SAC's ethos as an amalgam of arrogant condescension (Gen. Buck Turgidson), quasi-religious fanaticism (Brig. Gen. Jack D. Ripper), and mindless obedience (Maj. T. J. "King" Kong), laced with a tincture of n.a.z.ism (Dr. Strangelove himself). None of Kubrick's warrior-protagonists demonstrated more than a tenuous hold on reality.

Several decades later, Strategic Air Command Strategic Air Command and and Gathering of Eagles Gathering of Eagles, serious movies made by serious filmmakers, qualify as camp. Meanwhile, Dr. Strangelove Dr. Strangelove, an exceedingly funny movie, retains its standing as a serious commentary on the absurdity of nuclear war and the madness of those who insisted upon seeing nuclear weapons as holding the key to peace and security.

From the late 1940s through the 1950s, a smattering of peaceniks apart, most Americans had seen nuclear weapons as legitimate, useable, even essential weapons. Across mainstream America during the age of Truman and Eisenhower, nukes had on balance been coded "good." Yet the general sense that nuclear weapons entrusted to the hands of responsible U.S. officials made war less rather than more likely did not survive the 1960s. Bit by bit, more or less in tandem with racial prejudice and anti-Semitism, nukes were recoded as "bad." Their use became unthinkable, their very existence a bane to humanity. To depart from these views was to mark oneself a Neanderthal.

By 1968, this had become LeMay's fate. As that year's vice presidential nominee of the American Independent Party running alongside George Wallace, the segregationist governor of Alabama, the aging general insisted that a few well-placed nuclear bombs could still reverse the tide in Vietnam and thereby made himself a laughingstock.

The former SAC commander's rapid descent from the status of national hero to dangerous buffoon offered a vivid expression of the damage incurred by proponents of the sacred trinity during the Vietnam era. Yet SAC was by no means the only instrument of power to emerge from the 1960s the worse for wear.

By the end of the Vietnam War, journalistic charges that the CIA had spied illegally on American citizens, compounded by acc.u.mulating reports of Agency malfeasance and inept.i.tude, prompted outrage. This was especially true among congressional Democrats awakened to the dangers of an imperial presidency now that Republicans once again occupied the White House.15 "In the Congress," the CIA's chief historian has written, "there was no longer a consensus to support intelligence activities blindly." House and Senate leaders suddenly evinced a curiosity to know what the CIA had been up to all these years and to have a greater say in whatever it might do in the future. The upshot was that "[f]or the first time in the Agency's history, CIA officials faced hostile Congressional committees bent on the exposure of abuses by intelligence agencies and on major reforms." "In the Congress," the CIA's chief historian has written, "there was no longer a consensus to support intelligence activities blindly." House and Senate leaders suddenly evinced a curiosity to know what the CIA had been up to all these years and to have a greater say in whatever it might do in the future. The upshot was that "[f]or the first time in the Agency's history, CIA officials faced hostile Congressional committees bent on the exposure of abuses by intelligence agencies and on major reforms."16 The CIA also experienced a cultural recoding. It now became, in the phrase of the day, a "rogue elephant." The CIA also experienced a cultural recoding. It now became, in the phrase of the day, a "rogue elephant."

Yet if, by the 1970s, the legacies of Curtis LeMay and Allen Dulles appeared tarnished, the army emerged from the Vietnam War in truly dire shape, rife with indiscipline, racked by an epidemic of drug abuse, and divided internally along racial lines. Proponents of flexible response had looked to the army to bridge the gap between the extremes of nuclear warfare on the one hand and covert dirty tricks on the other. Maxwell Taylor had, in fact, touted his old service as a reservoir of capabilities. Yet the various methods implemented by the army in Vietnam-counterinsurgency, pacification, and nation building, along with the "search and destroy" tactics devised by Gen. William Westmoreland, the senior U.S. field commander in South Vietnam-had singularly failed. The cultural coding appended to the U.S. military as a whole now read "incompetent." along racial lines. Proponents of flexible response had looked to the army to bridge the gap between the extremes of nuclear warfare on the one hand and covert dirty tricks on the other. Maxwell Taylor had, in fact, touted his old service as a reservoir of capabilities. Yet the various methods implemented by the army in Vietnam-counterinsurgency, pacification, and nation building, along with the "search and destroy" tactics devised by Gen. William Westmoreland, the senior U.S. field commander in South Vietnam-had singularly failed. The cultural coding appended to the U.S. military as a whole now read "incompetent."

Worse, the resource most essential for replenishing the army's reservoir of capabilities-soldiers-had become a scarce commodity. Previously, the army had seemed attractive as an instrument of power projection, in part because of the ease with which it could be expanded. In Washington you opened the tap, increasing the monthly draft call, and the army got bigger. Relying chiefly on conscription, it had gone from 190,000 in 1939 to 8 million in 1944, from less than 600,000 in 1950 to 1.6 million by 1952, from 963,000 in 1965 to 1.5 million in 1968.17 Draftees were cheap to boot: In 1965, as the U.S. commenced its buildup in South Vietnam, new recruits were paid $87.90 per month. Draftees were cheap to boot: In 1965, as the U.S. commenced its buildup in South Vietnam, new recruits were paid $87.90 per month.18 Under the weight of Vietnam, however, conscription collapsed. Americans withdrew from the federal government the authority to order citizens to serve in uniform. President Nixon accepted that verdict and ended the draft. He antic.i.p.ated-as events soon showed, correctly-that doing so would undercut the antiwar movement and thereby enable him to continue the war under the guise of seeking "peace with honor."

So, beginning in 1973, the U.S. military became an "all-volunteer" force. Power projection now became dependent in part at least upon the Pentagon's ability to induce sufficient numbers of qualified young Americans to volunteer. Given the existing antimilitary climate, this alone seemed likely to oblige policy makers in Washington to demonstrate greater self-restraint. That the transformation of a people's army into a professional force had the potential to produce just the opposite effect-decision makers gaining a free hand to use a military over which the American people had forfeited any ownership-was a prospect few antic.i.p.ated. in part at least upon the Pentagon's ability to induce sufficient numbers of qualified young Americans to volunteer. Given the existing antimilitary climate, this alone seemed likely to oblige policy makers in Washington to demonstrate greater self-restraint. That the transformation of a people's army into a professional force had the potential to produce just the opposite effect-decision makers gaining a free hand to use a military over which the American people had forfeited any ownership-was a prospect few antic.i.p.ated.

Vietnam adversely affected the remaining two elements of the national security triad as well. The humiliating withdrawal from Southeast Asia made the need for a continuing U.S. troop presence elsewhere the subject of debate. Senator Mansfield, for example, questioned the need to garrison U.S. troops in Europe. "I believe it is time," he argued, "for us to insist that the European nations themselves take on the primary military and financial responsibilities for their defense."19 For years thereafter Mansfield persisted in this effort, which struck at the very heart of the proposition that defending the United States against the communist threat required the quasi-permanent forward positioning of U.S. forces around the globe. For years thereafter Mansfield persisted in this effort, which struck at the very heart of the proposition that defending the United States against the communist threat required the quasi-permanent forward positioning of U.S. forces around the globe.20 Most severely challenged of all was the triad's third element: the penchant for global interventionism. Vietnam seemed to have exhausted the nation's appet.i.te for liberating the oppressed, subverting unfriendly governments, or otherwise meddling in the affairs of far-off countries. Responding to this "Vietnam syndrome," Congress acted to curtail the authority of the commander in chief. The War Powers Resolution, pa.s.sed in 1973 over a Nixon veto, stated that the president could "introduce United States Armed Forces into hostilities, or into situations where imminent involvement in hostilities is clearly indicated" only in response to a direct attack, a declaration of war, or "specific statutory authorization." hostilities is clearly indicated" only in response to a direct attack, a declaration of war, or "specific statutory authorization."21 No longer could the chief executive act first and then seek permission later or maneuver Congress into a situation in which it seemingly had no choice but to rubber-stamp war policies concocted in the White House. This, at least, was what the sponsors of the resolution hoped to accomplish. No longer could the chief executive act first and then seek permission later or maneuver Congress into a situation in which it seemingly had no choice but to rubber-stamp war policies concocted in the White House. This, at least, was what the sponsors of the resolution hoped to accomplish.

Soon thereafter came the Hughes-Ryan Act of 1974, requiring the president to provide Congress with advance notification of planned covert activities. The following year two investigative committees-one in the House, chaired by Representative Otis Pike, Democrat of New York; a second in the Senate, chaired by Frank Church, Democrat of Idaho-launched highly publicized hearings that reviewed the whole record of covert actions since the 1940s. These investigations eventually resulted in the pa.s.sage of the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act of 1978, curbing domestic intelligence collection and mandating more thoroughgoing congressional oversight of sensitive intelligence activities. In the wake of Vietnam, the barriers to intervention, whether overt or covert, had risen appreciably. For any president inclined to surmount those barriers, so too had the political risks involved.

FAHGETTABOUDIT.

In sum, failure in Vietnam seemingly left the Washington rules in tatters. That within five years of Saigon's fall they were well on their way to reconst.i.tution qualifies as remarkable. That within another decade the American credo and sacred trinity had been fully restored deserves to be seen as astonishing. In retrospect, what distinguishes the legacy of Vietnam is not how much things changed, but how little. Seldom has a war been so fervently memorialized even as it was being so thoroughly drained of meaning. Seldom has a war been so fervently memorialized even as it was being so thoroughly drained of meaning.

American elites, civilian and military, reacted to defeat in Vietnam much as German elites, civilian and military, did after the Great War of 1914 to 1918. Priority number one was to identify scapegoats. In both countries, stab-in-the-back theories flourished, Jews and leftists being blamed in Germany, liberals, academics, and biased media being singled out for abuse in the United States. Priority number two was to begin the hard work of reversing the war's apparent verdict. In each country, this undertaking met with considerable success, at least in the short term.

In the case of both Germany and the United States, a bitter defeat thought to mark a historical turning point turned out to be nothing of the sort. Fifteen years after the armistice of 1918, Germany was back, its ambitions bigger than ever, its confidence in the German soldier restored. Fifteen years after the fall of Saigon, the same could be said of the United States. By 1990, Washington had rea.s.serted its claims to global leadership. Indeed, as the Cold War wound down, those claims became all the more expansive. The United States now donned the mantle of "sole superpower," having seemingly vanquished all challengers. Furthermore, Americans rediscovered the allure of garrisoning the planet, once again reconfigured the armed forces for global power projection, and restored military intervention to its status as preferred foreign policy option.

How to explain this turnaround? A large measure of credit belongs to those who bent themselves to the task of discerning and reinterpreting the lessons of failure. In post-1918 Germany, that work fell primarily to the officer corps, which reached conclusions that meshed (for a time) with the ambitions of the n.a.z.i Party. In the United States, the search for lessons also preoccupied the officer corps, which reached conclusions that proved compatible (for a time) with the preferences of the permanent foreign policy establishment. for lessons also preoccupied the officer corps, which reached conclusions that proved compatible (for a time) with the preferences of the permanent foreign policy establishment.

In the end, though, the views of the officer corps-both German and American soldiers were primarily intent on restoring the prestige and autonomy of the military profession-mattered less than those of the civilian elites.22 Elite concern elevated one issue above all others: repealing the outcome already decided on the field of battle. True in Germany during the 1920s, this was true as well in the United States during the late 1970s and 1980s.

Consider just one cla.s.sic expression of elite opinion: The Vietnam Legacy: The War, American Society, and the Future of American Foreign Policy The Vietnam Legacy: The War, American Society, and the Future of American Foreign Policy, a volume published in 1976 under the auspices of the august Council on Foreign Relations. The book collected the perspectives of twenty-four observers, described by Anthony Lake, who presided over the project, as "authors of diverse backgrounds and points of view." Lake, who by resigning in protest from Nixon's National Security Council staff had demonstrated what in Washington pa.s.sed for independence and integrity, added that the essays produced by this diverse group "differ in style, in substance, and in method of expression."23 In fact, a more accurate description of the group would be clubby clubby and of its findings and of its findings h.o.m.ogenized h.o.m.ogenized. The roster of contributors a.s.sembled by Lake was all-white, all-male, and with only two exceptions-a British academic and a French journalist-consisted entirely of Americans. The group included name-brand politicians (Senators Hubert Humphrey of Minnesota and John Tower of Texas), once-and-future high-ranking officials (Richard Holbrooke and Paul Warnke), well-known academics (Ernest May and Edward Shils), and prominent journalists (Leslie Gelb and Irving Kristol), along with various representatives of the think-tank world. They were, to a man, eminently respectable and eminently reliable, known quant.i.ties who could be counted on to confine their disagreements to matters where disagreement was deemed permissible. If tempted to rock the boat, they would do so politely and gently. Kristol), along with various representatives of the think-tank world. They were, to a man, eminently respectable and eminently reliable, known quant.i.ties who could be counted on to confine their disagreements to matters where disagreement was deemed permissible. If tempted to rock the boat, they would do so politely and gently.

In short, the outcome of Lake's project was predetermined by the roster of partic.i.p.ants. As is so often the case in Washington-from Maxwell Taylor's inquiry into the Bay of Pigs down to the various investigations conducted in the wake of the Abu Ghraib torture and abuse scandal-what purported to be a searching examination was in reality a carefully staged exercise intended to foreclose unwanted conclusions.

None of Lake's contributors possessed the capacity to a.s.sess the war from a Vietnamese perspective, nor did any even think it worth bothering to try. None had served in Vietnam as combatants. The one soldier recruited for the project was, predictably enough, Maxwell Taylor. Although the war had fostered fundamental cleavages in American society, none of the contributors offered an antiestablishment or countercultural take on the war. There were no voices that might even remotely qualify as radical-no socialists, Marxists, pacifists, one-worlders, neo-agrarians, or libertarians. There was no room for Senator Fulbright or General Shoup. The 1960s had given rise to a "New Left," which was then all the rage in the hipper quarters of academe. No New Left figure made the cut. Nor did any exponent of the anti-interventionist tradition, commonly if inaccurately referred to as isolationism. Lake included a single token contrarian: Richard J. Barnet, of the left-leaning Inst.i.tute for Policy Studies, who made the case for putting social justice and human rights at the forefront of U.S. policy objectives. social justice and human rights at the forefront of U.S. policy objectives.

During the course of the Vietnam War, none of Lake's contributors had gone to jail, gone underground, or gone into exile. They had, instead, gone to the White House, the Pentagon, and the Capitol. A single partic.i.p.ant had actively engaged in antiwar protest at something approximating the gra.s.sroots level. Yet Sam Brown, a founder of the Vietnam Moratorium Committee in 1969, t.i.tled his essay "The Defeat of the Antiwar Movement." Brown launched his a.s.sessment by bluntly declaring that opposition to the war had "had little lasting influence on the nature of either American society or its approach to the world," thereby obviating any need for further discussion. By implication, popular gra.s.sroots opposition to U.S. policy had been an epiphenomenon, lacking in real significance.24 For the partic.i.p.ants in Lake's study, significance lay in identifying what precisely had gone wrong-mistakes made that, once identified, could put Vietnam definitively to rest. In his introduction, Lake approvingly quoted Henry Kissinger, no longer an obscure professor, who insisted that unearthing such lessons was essential "if we are not going to have another disaster that may have a quite different look but will have the same essential flaws."25 When it came to specifying those flaws, the partic.i.p.ants in Lake's study did not reach a uniform set of conclusions. They did, however, adhere to a common a.n.a.lytical framework, one that treated Vietnam as an anomaly. The big problem was the loss of consensus, control, and legitimacy that failure in Vietnam had prompted. For Professor Shils of the University of Chicago, all the controversy over the war had stirred up "ideas of partic.i.p.atory democracy" along with populism, "bohemianism, animosity against businessmen and politicians, and muckraking." with populism, "bohemianism, animosity against businessmen and politicians, and muckraking."26 Plain folk had gotten uppity, which undermined the authority of inst.i.tutions long in the habit of exercising authority. Plain folk had gotten uppity, which undermined the authority of inst.i.tutions long in the habit of exercising authority.

Irving Kristol, remembered today as a founding father of neoconservatism, a.s.sessed the foreign policy consensus as "under powerful attack" by both "the educated, idealistic 'cosmopolitans' " who had created it back in the 1940s and by "the bulk of 'provincial' America," which had never especially cared for that consensus in the first place.27 According to Kristol, the cosmopolitans needed to recover their nerve; the provincials needed to relearn their place. According to Kristol, the cosmopolitans needed to recover their nerve; the provincials needed to relearn their place.

This erosion of consensus, control, and legitimacy threatened to open the door to irresponsible behavior, usually described as some variant of "isolationism." Only by stemming that erosion would it be possible to get national security policy back on track. Humphrey, the former vice president who had returned to the Senate, bemoaned the fact that after Vietnam so many Americans "seem afflicted with syndromes of self-condemnation over our past mistakes and self-pity over what we perceive as a lack of appreciation."28 The United States may have overreached in Vietnam, but people needed to pull up their socks and move on. David Abshire of the Center for Strategic and International Studies urged "a true dialogue on foreign policy out of which can emerge a new and sound consensus." The United States may have overreached in Vietnam, but people needed to pull up their socks and move on. David Abshire of the Center for Strategic and International Studies urged "a true dialogue on foreign policy out of which can emerge a new and sound consensus."29 To rea.s.sure confused and angry Americans, elites in Washington needed to reconst.i.tute a bipartisan image of confidence and self-a.s.surance. To rea.s.sure confused and angry Americans, elites in Washington needed to reconst.i.tute a bipartisan image of confidence and self-a.s.surance.

For his part, Lake warned against the possibility that the United States might succ.u.mb to a "mean-spirited foreign policy," reminiscent of the period between the world wars. He worried that "a Vietnam a.n.a.logy" could "amend or replace the Munich a.n.a.logy," with Americans concluding "that the United States should avoid foreign wars not by nipping them in the bud, but simply by staying out of them." replace the Munich a.n.a.logy," with Americans concluding "that the United States should avoid foreign wars not by nipping them in the bud, but simply by staying out of them."30 Until Vietnam intruded, had U.S. national security policy since World War II consisted of nipping foreign wars in the bud? Only a true believer in the Washington rules, devoted to the proposition that American global preeminence had been and remained benign, essential, and irreplaceable, could think so. Yet there exists no reason to question Lake's sincerity.

After Vietnam, the noisiest and most noxious of the 1960s revolutionaries gravitated to academe, eventually becoming "tenured radicals." These devout leftists seized control of American colleges and universities and severely compromised the quality of American higher education-this at least is the perception that persists, even today, among devout right wingers.

Yet even if we stipulate for the sake of argument that this is true, a mirror image of that process occurred in the realm of national security policy. With real, if by no means radical, change in the wind-amending or replacing the Munich a.n.a.logy does not exactly qualify as storming the Bastille-defenders of the Washington rules rallied, intent on restoring consensus, control, and legitimacy. They quietly but firmly excluded from serious consideration views that smacked, however remotely, of being heretical. They dismissed the charge coming from the Vietnam War's most vehement critics that the war itself testified to something essential (and essentially defective) about U.S. policy and American society-that Vietnam, in the words of Martin Luther King, had been "but a symptom of a far deeper malady within the American spirit."31 Members of the foreign policy establishment offered a carefully crafted interpretation of the war's significance that served ultimately to demonstrate its insignificance. The conclusion was obvious: Revisiting or rea.s.sessing the core a.s.sumptions informing U.S. policy was simply unnecessary. Things went awry in Vietnam as a result of specific misjudgments and miscalculations, not deep-seated systemic flaws in the American way of life, in the American tradition of statecraft, or in the triad of principles guiding U.S. military policy: This defined their position. carefully crafted interpretation of the war's significance that served ultimately to demonstrate its insignificance. The conclusion was obvious: Revisiting or rea.s.sessing the core a.s.sumptions informing U.S. policy was simply unnecessary. Things went awry in Vietnam as a result of specific misjudgments and miscalculations, not deep-seated systemic flaws in the American way of life, in the American tradition of statecraft, or in the triad of principles guiding U.S. military policy: This defined their position.

The reb.u.t.tal, of which The Vietnam Legacy The Vietnam Legacy is an artifact, succeeded brilliantly. The defenders of the Washington rules achieved-and retain today-a level of mastery that "tenured radicals" on university campuses can only dream of. is an artifact, succeeded brilliantly. The defenders of the Washington rules achieved-and retain today-a level of mastery that "tenured radicals" on university campuses can only dream of.32 Indeed, the range of acceptable opinion in a typical faculty lounge is orders of magnitude greater than that which prevails in precincts where U.S. national security policy gets discussed and formulated. Indeed, the range of acceptable opinion in a typical faculty lounge is orders of magnitude greater than that which prevails in precincts where U.S. national security policy gets discussed and formulated.

So, in remarkably short order, Vietnam became enshrined as a one-off event. Briefly challenged during the 1960s, the conventions to which Washington remained devoted emerged unscathed. The precepts of American global leadership remained fixed. Even the Democratic Party-acutely burned by its a.s.sociation with Vietnam and presumably more sensitive to the dangers of any recurrence-wasted little time in abandoning its flirtation with the idea of America "coming home."

By 1980, Vietnam's relevance to policy had all but vanished, with both political parties tacitly agreeing to airbrush the episode out of existence. The Republican Party platform of that year, a forty-three-page doc.u.ment compiled to support former governor Ronald Reagan's challenge to inc.u.mbent president Jimmy Carter, contained not a single reference to the Vietnam War. The platform did, however, signal the party's adherence to the preexisting national security consensus. To "hearten and fortify the love of freedom everywhere in the world; and to achieve a secure environment in the world in which freedom, democracy, and justice may flourish"-this was America's calling, one that required the United States to "reach the position of military superiority that the American people demand." Amid much bashing of President Carter's performance, the GOP made clear its commitment to a definition of American global a.s.sertiveness unaffected by the events of Vietnam. the party's adherence to the preexisting national security consensus. To "hearten and fortify the love of freedom everywhere in the world; and to achieve a secure environment in the world in which freedom, democracy, and justice may flourish"-this was America's calling, one that required the United States to "reach the position of military superiority that the American people demand." Amid much bashing of President Carter's performance, the GOP made clear its commitment to a definition of American global a.s.sertiveness unaffected by the events of Vietnam.33 Not surprisingly, the Democratic Party platform of that same year offered a different take on Carter's record. Yet when it came to national security policy, Democrats and Republicans occupied the same page. The Democratic platform contained but a single cryptic reference to "a tragic war in Asia." Apart from promising to study the effects of Agent Orange and to support "the construction of a memorial in the nation's capital to those who died in service to their country in Southeast Asia," the Democrats did not trouble themselves to reflect on the causes, consequences, or implications of that tragedy. When it came to national security policy, Democrats-intent on refuting the charge that theirs had become the cut-and-run party-wanted it known that their views did not differ appreciably from their rivals'. America's purpose was "to be a beacon of liberty," employing American power and American ideals "as a means of shaping not only a more secure, but also a more decent world."

The drafters of the Democratic platform made it clear that power power meant military power. "America's military strength is and must be unsurpa.s.sed," they a.s.serted. Yet unsurpa.s.sed was not good enough and Democrats vowed to "strengthen the military security of the United States" even further by increasing the level of Pentagon spending-a promise on meant military power. "America's military strength is and must be unsurpa.s.sed," they a.s.serted. Yet unsurpa.s.sed was not good enough and Democrats vowed to "strengthen the military security of the United States" even further by increasing the level of Pentagon spending-a promise on which Carter and members of his party had, in fact, already begun to make good. which Carter and members of his party had, in fact, already begun to make good.

The point of citing these two doc.u.ments is not to suggest that they represent serious statements of policy. The drafting of platforms is an exercise in political posturing. Yet this quadrennial compendium of grand aspirations and ponderous cliches does testify to the prevailing national mood, as interpreted by the political cla.s.s. By 1980, both major parties had concluded that Vietnam was best forgotten while the energetic rea.s.sertion of American global leadership, backed by plentiful supplies of firepower, had once more become the order of the day.

Running to depose Carter, candidate Reagan described the American misadventure in Southeast Asia as a "n.o.ble cause," adding, "For too long we have lived with the Vietnam syndrome."34 Reagan's election in November sealed the triumph of Vietnam revisionism. A mere five years after the fall of Saigon, antiwar or anti-interventionist views had once again been consigned to the fringes of American politics. Reagan's election in November sealed the triumph of Vietnam revisionism. A mere five years after the fall of Saigon, antiwar or anti-interventionist views had once again been consigned to the fringes of American politics.

As events soon demonstrated, Anthony Lake need not have fretted about the United States seeking to avoid wars by staying out of them. During the 1980s, opportunities to "nip wars in the bud" by committing U.S. forces to Beirut, Grenada, Libya, and Central America and in the waters of the Persian Gulf proved legion. If Vietnam had induced a reluctance to act, that reluctance faded remarkably quickly.

In search of historical a.n.a.logies to justify this renewed activism, Reagan and his successors ignored Vietnam in favor of Munich. "Neville Chamberlain thought of peace as a vague policy in the 1930s," Reagan remarked in a 1983 speech, "and the result brought us closer to World War II. History teaches us that by being strong and resolute we can keep the peace." George H. W. Bush concurred. "Half a century ago, the world had the chance to stop a ruthless aggressor and missed it," he declared in explaining his intended response to Saddam Hussein's 1990 invasion of Kuwait. "I pledge to you: We will not make the same mistake again." keep the peace." George H. W. Bush concurred. "Half a century ago, the world had the chance to stop a ruthless aggressor and missed it," he declared in explaining his intended response to Saddam Hussein's 1990 invasion of Kuwait. "I pledge to you: We will not make the same mistake again."35 Within months, Bush, having-so it seemed-handily disposed of Saddam in Gulf War I, announced with satisfaction that "we've kicked the Vietnam syndrome." Demonstrating an even greater penchant for military activism, Bush's successor Bill Clinton affirmed that judgment. Within months, Bush, having-so it seemed-handily disposed of Saddam in Gulf War I, announced with satisfaction that "we've kicked the Vietnam syndrome." Demonstrating an even greater penchant for military activism, Bush's successor Bill Clinton affirmed that judgment.36 To justify the use of force, Clinton too deployed the lessons of Munich. To justify the use of force, Clinton too deployed the lessons of Munich.37 Appeas.e.m.e.nt rather than overreaction had once again become the sin to be avoided at all costs. Appeas.e.m.e.nt rather than overreaction had once again become the sin to be avoided at all costs.

For Reagan, Bush, Clinton, and the entire foreign policy establishment, the most important conclusion to be derived from Vietnam was that the American experience there was sui generis. This meant, of course, that the war had no truly important lessons to teach, none at least that should call into question the larger record of U.S. policy or alter its future course. Reflecting on the past took a backseat to looking ahead.

Henry Kissinger himself both antic.i.p.ated and helped to ensure this outcome. For public consumption, Kissinger made a show of wanting to plumb the Vietnam experience for whatever it had to teach. Behind closed doors, he took the position that combing through the debris left by the U.S. failure would yield little of value. Already in 1975, in a memo drafted for President Gerald Ford, Kissinger, then secretary of state, called it "remarkable, considering how long the war lasted and how intensely it was reported and commented [upon], that there are really not very many lessons from our experience in Vietnam that can be usefully applied elsewhere despite the obvious temptation to try." Kissinger continued: Vietnam represented a unique situation, geographically, ethnically, politically, militarily, and diplomatically. We should probably be grateful for that and should recognize it for what it is, instead of trying to apply the "lessons of Vietnam" as universally as we once tried to apply the "lessons of Munich." ... [T]he war had almost universal effects but it did not provide a universal catechism.38 Regarding Vietnam's policy significance, Kissinger proved remarkably prescient. Within a decade, Washington had all but forgotten Vietnam. The catechism to which policy makers adhered during the 1980s and beyond did not differ perceptibly from the one that landed the United States in Vietnam in the first place.

SEAMLESS TRANSITION.

If the disaster of Vietnam posed only a momentary challenge, the pa.s.sing of the Cold War and the disintegration of the Soviet Empire posed none at all. It was after all the threat of totalitarianism originating during the middle third of the twentieth century that had ostensibly summoned the United States to shoulder unprecedented burdens. As it turned out, however, the disappearance of the totalitarian threat in no way eased those burdens. The emergency that had begun in the 1930s finally ended; the imperative for exercising global leadership persisted.

Beginning with Franklin Roosevelt, every U.S. president had insisted that at the far side of America's resistance to totalitarianism world peace awaited. The reward for exertions today was to be a reduced need for exertions on the morrow.

Yet the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 and the disappearance of Ronald Reagan's "Evil Empire" in 1991 elicited a chorus of warnings against any hint of backsliding. According to people in the know, peace was not in the offing, not yet anyway. Indeed, according to proponents of the Washington rules, the end of the Cold War confronted the United States with new, even more daunting challenges. In a world of ever-growing complexity, with the tempo of change accelerating, dangers loomed. The Red Menace had disappeared, but humankind more than ever needed the United States to show the way.

It was a great paradox. On the one hand, triumphalists celebrated the end of the Cold War as an achievement of profound significance. On the other hand, those who celebrated this victory were quick to caution against entertaining the notion that Americans could afford to rest on their laurels. The Promised Land still beckoned just yonder. Now more than ever it became essential to protect Americans from thinking that the best way to avoid wars was to stay out of them.

To ill.u.s.trate this point, consider the testimony of Madeleine Albright. During the brief interval between the Cold War and the global war on terror, Albright cut a wide swath. Serving successively as UN amba.s.sador and then as secretary of state, the first woman ever to hold the latter post, she did much to advance the cause of gender equality in public life. That said, her substantive contributions to diplomacy were exceedingly thin. Unlike, say, George C. Marshall, she launched no major policy initiatives that outlived her tenure. Unlike Kissinger, she did not engineer the reordering of great-power relationships. There is today no distinctive Albright Doctrine or Albright Plan or Albright Principle that animates or even influences U.S. policy.

Yet historians of American statecraft will surely grant Albright a prominent place, less for anything she did than for things she said. During her years in the spotlight, Albright held forth as the preeminent booster and exponent of a recalibrated Washington consensus. Although never especially eloquent and possessing little personal charisma, she had a gift for rhetorical repackaging. More effectively than any of the men who dominated the world in which she worked, she described, justified, and celebrated a version of American global a.s.sertiveness said to account for the new conditions created by the pa.s.sing of the Cold War.

In making