Henry Kissinger has probably inflicted more suffering and death than any single public official in U.S. history. By now much of the evidence is public record, including the four years of relentless slaughter in Indochina and the murderous military coup he engineered against the democratically elected government of Chile. But there is also Kissinger's decision to back the Pakistani government during its slaughter of as many as a million Bengalis, and the Indonesian invasion of East Timor, which began just hours after Kissinger and President Ford finished a series of meetings with top Indonesian officials. The invasion resulted in the massacre of 100,000 Timorese. Seymour Hersh's recent book The Price of Power comprises an exhaustive indictment of Kissinger's crimes, including several lesser counts of illegal wiretapping and perjury.
In a recent issue of The Nation, political analyst Alan Wolfe writes that for the United States to "ever again be morally whole, it would have to convict Henry Kissinger of war crimes." But Kissinger committed his crimes thousands of miles away, by proxy and often in secrecy; therefore he has never been prosecuted or even seriously interrogated. Rather than being dragged into court, Kissinger is dragged into our living rooms via network television, where he is presented with deference and awe. Page after page of the prestigious news-weeklies are given over to his pronouncements as well, regardless of their newsworthiness or accuracy.
The media's treatment of Kissinger implies that he is the smartest man in America, and that if there were any justice he would rule at least the United States and perhaps the world. The fact that Kissinger shares this assessment seems only to add to the ironic charm that so bewitches the pundits. Time and again they remind us of Kissinger's urbane wit and the subtlety of his intellect.
Kissinger bears no relation to the pathetic Faustian character who sells his soul to the devil for some petty earthly advantage. He more closely resembles the prince of darkness himself as he flies about the globe striking bargains for the souls of not just individuals but nations, and consigning to a fiery death those who meet his disfavor.
In and out of office Kissinger has exerted enormous influence on U.S. foreign policy for almost 15 years. And as his return to the official scene with the Central America commission suggests, he is likely to be a dominant force for years to come. This month we look back at the Kissinger-engineered coup in Chile in September, 1973 (see "Chile," page 10), and we look with trepidation toward the onset of the next Kissinger war. It seems appropriate to reflect on the career of this war criminal who enjoys the celebrity of a movie star and the prestige of a philosopher king.
Kissinger entered the public eye with the 1957 publication of his first book, Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy, commissioned by the elite Council on Foreign Relations. In it Kissinger attacked Eisenhower's nuclear strategy of "massive retaliation," arguing instead for a defense based on fighting "limited war" with tactical nuclear weapons. At that time Kissinger thought the only purpose for U.S. conventional forces was to help the "backward peoples" of the world "visualize our power."
The young Kissinger's love of the bomb and his contempt for "backward peoples" made an impression in some very high places. He was soon awarded a post with the Rockefeller Brothers Fund overseeing the development of policy proposals. This marked the beginning of a close association with the Rockefeller family.
In 1968 Kissinger immersed himself in presidential politics, first as an adviser in Nelson Rockefeller's losing campaign for the Republican nomination, and later as a quiet consultant to both the Nixon and Humphrey camps. Nixon won the 1968 election largely on the promise that he had a "secret plan" to end the war in Vietnam. In fact, no such plan existed until after the election, when Kissinger was called in to help devise it.
By the time the secret plan reached the public it was called Vietnamization. It resulted in the gradual withdrawal of U.S. troops and the end of draft inductions. But the war ground on for four more years and in fact was widened to include Cambodia and Laos.
As U.S. ground troops were removed, the aerial bombardment of Indochina was escalated to a maniacal frenzy. Kissinger hoped to inflict such pain on the Vietnamese people that their leaders would be forced to accept U.S. terms for peace. This strategy of negotiations by terror reached its peak with the Christmas bombings of 1972, during which Kissinger unleashed several days of the most ferocious saturation bombing in history. Whole sections of Hanoi and Haiphong were leveled, including schools, orphanages, and hospitals.
It didn't work. In January, 1973, the U.S. finally signed a peace agreement with Vietnam on terms virtually identical to those available four years before. For his part in negotiating the accords, Kissinger was awarded a Nobel Peace Prize. He then proceeded to brazenly violate the terms of the agreement for another two years. The most intense bombing of Cambodian villages took place in the months after the supposed peace.
Patterns in Kissinger's handling of Vietnam and other Third World rebellions give an indication of what he will recommend in his new and unfamiliar role as a Central America expert. First, like Reagan, Kissinger assumes that every conflict in the Third World is an arena for U.S.-Soviet competition regardless of the regional, historical, or social context. This obsession with the East-West conflict is demonstrated in a conversation between Kissinger and the pre-Allende foreign minister of Chile recounted in The Price of Power. Speaking of Latin America, Kissinger said, "History has never been produced in the South. The axis of history starts in Moscow, goes to Bonn, crosses over to Washington, and then goes to Tokyo." The Chilean replied, "Mr. Kissinger, you know nothing of the South." Kissinger answered, "No, and I don't care."
Kissinger's record is also marked by an obvious disdain for any pretense of democracy. His answer to public opinion is to carry out his policies in secret, as in the secret bombing of Cambodia, the secret war in Laos, the covert campaign against Chile, and the aborted secret war in Angola. One of Kissinger's first public comments about Central America was that the U.S. must "avoid the bitter debates that characterized the Vietnam period." Kissinger's role in the domestic covert action of the Nixon era suggests that if public debate can't be avoided, he is willing to have it suppressed.
From his beginnings as an enthusiast of limited nuclear war, Kissinger has shown an astounding disregard for human life. Civilian populations, especially those of a Third World complexion, simply don't enter his "conceptual framework." In his thinking, the willingness to kill thousands of non-combatants translates as the "courage" to demonstrate U.S. resolve. This attitude fits quite well with the moral tone of current U.S.-backed activities in Central America.
But the most important Kissinger quality is his ability to bedazzle mainstream media and politicians, the very people Reagan most needs to convince on Central America. The same journalists and members of Congress who softly chuckle when Reagan calls the Nicaraguan contras "freedom fighters" may stand up and cheer when Kissinger outlines the Sandinista threat to "global equilibrium." Historian Ronald Steel has called this gift Kissinger's special ability "to provide a compelling rationale for doing the unspeakable in service of the unnecessary."
Kissinger has a certain charisma. Or perhaps, considering the biblical usage of that term, we should call it Kissinger's anti-charisma. Whatever the name, it is that quality which allows Kissinger to engage in the worst villainies and be considered a hero. It allows him to torture whole nations and be perceived as humane. He can even revel in warfare and be hailed as a peacemaker.
It may be that our most appropriate response to Kissinger's re-emergence will be some renewed reflection on what the apostle Paul meant when he wrote in Ephesians, "For we wrestle not against flesh and blood ... but against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places."
Danny Collum was an associate editor of Sojourners magazine when this article appeared.
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