On June 10, six days after he left Vienna, Khrushchev publicly released the aide-mémoire he had given Kennedy insisting on a German peace treaty that he hoped could be used to alter Western rights of unfettered access to Berlin through East Germany. Two days later, the Soviet delegate at the Geneva test ban talks “dropped all pretense of serious interest in concluding an agreement.” Khrushchev had “no further interest in keeping the test talks alive as a means of promoting an accommodation with Washington,” the CIA concluded. On June 15, Khrushchev spoke to his people on television about the urgency of concluding a peace treaty and changing the status of Berlin. East Germany’s head of government, Walter Ulbricht, added to the sense of crisis by threatening to shut off Western access to Berlin, including the city’s Tempelhof Airport.
Kennedy’s initial public response was muted. In the three weeks after Moscow released the aide-mémoire, he said nothing directly about Berlin. Instead of making him look responsible, Kennedy’s silence made him seem like an indecisive leader or perhaps a politician seeking a middle ground. International relations expert Hans J. Morgenthau complained that Kennedy’s response to Khrushchev’s threat to Berlin was reminiscent of the failed “half-measures” he had used during the Cuban invasion.
But behind the scenes, Berlin was Kennedy’s greatest daily concern. “He’s imprisoned by Berlin, that’s all he thinks about,” cabinet members complained. It was the highest priority for almost everybody around the president. National security advisers, academic experts, journalists close to the administration, and even Acheson were asked for their input on how to discourage Soviet implementation of the aide-mémoire and what to do if Khrushchev went ahead.
Much of the argument now revolved around “the need for re-establishing the credibility of the nuclear deterrent.” Acheson pressed for acceptance of a formal proposition that the U.S. might have to resort to nuclear war. A failure to defend Western rights in Berlin, he argued, would destroy international confidence in the United States. “The whole position of the United States is in the balance,” Acheson said. The Soviets might make nuclear war unavoidable, but in the meantime Kennedy needed “to increase the nuclear deterrent to the greatest extent we can devise. This . . . offers the best hope of avoiding war short of submitting to Moscow’s demands.”
By the end of June, Kennedy was under irresistible pressure to speak publicly again on Berlin. Stories in Time and Newsweek that made him seem well behind the public and the Pentagon in determination to face down the Soviets in Germany incensed him. “Look at this shit. This shit has got to stop,” he told Salinger. A Nixon dig that “never in American history has a man talked so big and acted so little” was an additional incentive to speak out.
When Kennedy finally did say something at a press conference on June 28, his remarks were measured, calculated to restrain Moscow without deepening the crisis. The Soviet insistence on signing a peace treaty was “to make permanent the partition of Germany” and close off allied access to West Berlin. “No one can fail to appreciate the gravity of this threat,” Kennedy said. “It involves the peace and security of the Western world.” Kennedy also complained of Moscow’s refusal to negotiate a test ban and warned that the United States would respond to renewed Soviet nuclear testing with tests of its own. He then turned Khrushchev’s claim that the USSR would outproduce the United States by 1970 into a call for peaceful competition. He predicted that the Soviet Union, whose GNP was 39 percent of America’s, would not outproduce the United States in the twentieth century. But he encouraged Moscow to try; it “could only result in a better living standard for both of our people.”
When reporters tried to draw Kennedy into more concrete statements about the gravity of the “crisis” or U.S. intentions, he refused. He denied that any proposal for a partial mobilization to meet the Berlin threat had come before him, “though of course we will be considering a whole variety of measures”; defended the value of the Vienna meeting, which had added to his store of information about the Soviets, though no plans for another meeting were in the works; denied any evidence of renewed Soviet nuclear testing; and declared that decisions on measures to counter the Soviet threat to Berlin were under consideration and that public discussion of a matter of such “extreme seriousness” should wait until the administration’s deliberations were complete. Kennedy’s remarks struck an effective balance between firmness and restraint, and contrasted Soviet belligerence with American interest in peaceful economic competition.
Behind the scenes, however, a vigorous argument had begun to rage over what all agreed was now a full-blown crisis. On one side stood advocates led by Acheson, the Joint Chiefs, Allen Dulles, and some State and Defense Department officials urging an overt military buildup to intimidate Moscow, and on the other, Rusk, Stevenson, Bowles, Harriman, Schlesinger, and Sorensen arguing for a more flexible response that included possible negotiations coupled with military preparations.
Kennedy refused to choose openly between the two alternatives, nor would he move precipitously. Above all, he was determined to control the decision making. On June 28, he told the Joint Chiefs that they were his principal advisers on all military matters, but that he also regarded them as “more than military men and expected their help in fitting military requirements into the over-all context of any situation, recognizing that the most difficult problem in Government is to combine all assets in a unified, effective pattern.” The message was clear enough: The military needed to understand that it was part of a larger process in which the president would set military considerations alongside other factors before deciding what best served the national interest.
In a meeting with Acheson and national security officials the next day, Kennedy, who said little, nevertheless made clear that he would not foreclose additional discussions with Khrushchev about Berlin. Although Acheson believed that “no negotiation can accomplish more than to cover with face-saving devices submission to Soviet demands,” Kennedy asked him what would be “the right answer” if the chairman proposed a summit that summer. Acheson suggested that talks could begin at “a lower level. . . . There were plenty of ‘elderly unemployed’ people like himself who could be sent to interminable meetings” and “could converse indefinitely without negotiating at all.” Kennedy’s preference for talks had registered three days before when he met with three Soviet journalists. Most of the discussion was about Berlin: He explained that the American people would impeach him if he gave up U.S. rights in Berlin, urged against a showdown over the city, and predicted that a Soviet-American war would “leave everything to the rest of the world—including the Chinese,” a prediction Kennedy understood would not be lost on the Russians, who were growing increasingly apprehensive about their competition with Peking.
During the first week of July, Newsweek boosted Soviet-American tensions over Berlin by reporting a leak about Pentagon planning that included a declaration of limited national emergency, the removal of U.S. military dependents from West Germany and France, the reinforcement and increase of American divisions in Germany, and “some demonstration of U.S. intent to employ nuclear weapons,” either by a resumption of testing or by moving atomic weapons in the NATO stockpile “to advanced ‘ready’ positions.” Kennedy may have authorized the leak to send Khrushchev an unmistakable message. In response, Khrushchev gave private and public indications that Moscow was both ready for and horrified at the prospect of a nuclear fight. “Why should two hundred million people die for two million Berliners?” he asked the British ambassador. Upping the ante on his side, on July 8, Khrushchev publicly canceled plans to reduce Soviet forces by more than a million men, announcing instead a one-third increase in the defense budget.
Kennedy now pressed advisers for political alternatives to the potential military confrontation. He complained to Schlesinger that Acheson was “far too narrowly” focused on military solutions and asked him to bring Berlin planning “back into balance.” Kennedy, who was leaving that afternoon for a weekend in
Hyannis Port, where he was to meet with Rusk, McNamara, and General Maxwell Taylor, instructed Schlesinger to write a paper on the unexplored Berlin political issues. Working furiously for two hours with State Department counselor Abram Chayes and Harvard professor Henry Kissinger, Schlesinger delivered a memo as Kennedy was about to leave in a helicopter from the White House south lawn. The memo concluded that Kennedy should ask Rusk “to explore negotiating alternatives, and ask Acheson to supply the missing political dimension in his argument.”
Kennedy’s determination to give himself more than the nuclear option in the growing crisis registered forcefully on his three weekend companions. While they cruised off Cape Cod, Kennedy peppered Rusk, inappropriately dressed in a business suit (which perfectly symbolized his and the State Department’s unhelpful formality and inability to think imaginatively), McNamara, and Taylor with questions about diplomatic initiatives and military alternatives that might deter Moscow from a nuclear attack.
Determined not to find himself confronting inadequate military options, as he had during the Bay of Pigs, and to rein in public pressure for overt military preparations, which might prove wasteful and dangerous, Kennedy asked McNamara and Bundy to extract concrete explanations from the Pentagon on anticipated Berlin outcomes. At the same time, he directed Pentagon press officer Arthur Sylvester to write William Randolph Hearst Jr., providing a catalogue of actions refuting complaints in his newspapers about insufficient military preparedness. Sylvester hoped that Hearst would “give these additional facts . . . the same prominence that you gave your earlier report.”
During July, as planning proceeded on how to respond to the Soviet threat, Kennedy sought the greatest possible flexibility. He wanted no part of a Pentagon plan that saw a ground war with Soviet forces as hopeless and favored a quick resort to nuclear weapons. Nor did he want pseudonegotiations that would make the United States look weak and ready to yield before Soviet pressure. He believed that “the only alternatives were authentic negotiation or mutual annihilation.” As he told New York Post editor James Wechsler, “If Khrushchev wants to rub my nose in the dirt, it’s all over.”
To make his intentions clear to Moscow and reassure Americans and European allies, Kennedy scheduled a highly publicized television address on July 25. As a run-up to the speech, he used a July 19 press conference to urge Moscow “to return to the path of constructive cooperation,” looking toward “a just and enduring settlement of issues remaining from” World War II. He also outlined the themes of his forthcoming speech, promising a discussion of responsibilities and hazards as well as a statement of “what we must do and what our allies must do to move through not merely the present difficulties” but also the many challenges ahead.
As Sorensen and several other aides helped Kennedy draft his television address, the president continued to worry about perceptions that he lacked the guts to fight an all-out war. Bobby heard from a Soviet embassy source that Moscow’s ambassador Mikhail Menshikov was privately telling Khrushchev that JFK “didn’t amount to very much, didn’t have much courage.” Bobby dismissed this as Menshikov “telling Khrushchev what he’d like to hear,” but American press reports (probably leaked by Pentagon sources eager to pressure the White House) of Menshikov’s opinion added to Kennedy’s problem over Berlin.
Acheson privately shared Menshikov’s assessment. After Kennedy made clear in the July meetings that he would not strictly follow Acheson’s advice, the former secretary of state said to a small working group, “Gentlemen, you might as well face it. This nation is without leadership.” Mac Bundy believed it essential for the president to counter these impressions.
Given all this, Kennedy’s speech on the twenty-fifth was the most difficult moment for him since the Bay of Pigs. Speaking from the Oval Office, crowded with TV cameras and klieg lights that added to the heat of the summer night, Kennedy struggled not to appear uncomfortable. Additional steroids helped ease the tensions of the moment, but he suffered physical discomfort nevertheless, which added to the pressure of speaking to hundreds of millions of people around the world seeking reassurance that the young American president would fend off a disastrous conflict. Too little emphasis on military planning and too much on negotiations seemed certain to bring cries of appeasement; too much talk of readiness to fight and too little on possible discussions or interest in another summit would provoke shouts of warmonger.
But the speech struck a masterful balance between the competing options, effectively blaming the crisis on Moscow. More important, Kennedy made it clear that he would not permit the Soviets to overturn America’s legal rights in West Berlin or its promise “to make good on our commitment to the two million free people of that city.” Using a map, he illustrated the Soviet-East German ability to close off Western access to the city. But it would be a mistake, he said, for Moscow to look upon Berlin as “a tempting target” because of its location. It had “now become—as never before—the great testing place of Western courage and will. . . . We cannot and will not permit the Communists to drive us out of Berlin, either gradually or by force. . . . We will at all times be ready to talk, if talk will help. But we must also be ready to resist with force, if force is used upon us.” And to make sure that the United States had “a wider choice than humiliation or all-out nuclear action,” Kennedy declared his intention to ask Congress for an additional $3.25 billion appropriation for defense, an increase in army strength from 875,000 to one million men, with smaller increases in navy and air force personnel, a doubling and then tripling of draft quotas, a call-up of reserves to meet manpower needs, and expanded funding for greater civil defense planning.
The choice, however, was “not merely between resistance and retreat, between atomic holocaust and surrender. . . . Our response to the Berlin crisis will not be merely military or negative,” Kennedy declared. “We do not intend to abandon our duty to mankind to seek a peaceful solution.” He was ready to talk with other nations if they had constructive proposals and if they sought “genuine understanding—not concession of our rights.” He expressed sympathy for Moscow’s security concerns “after a series of ravaging invasions,” but not at the expense of Berlin’s freedom or Western treaty rights. “To sum it all up: we seek peace—but we shall not surrender.”
The response to Kennedy’s speech pleased and partly surprised the White House. Predictably, it created a “rally” effect, with Americans and West Europeans approving of the president’s “determination and firmness.” Majorities in the United States and the Western European countries backed Kennedy’s intention to defend American rights in Berlin and supported the right of Berliners to self-determination. What startled Kennedy and others in the administration was the public’s lack of support for negotiations. And reactions in the press and Congress and from Nixon reflected the current national view that an unbridgeable divide between the U.S. and the USSR would end in a nuclear war. Sixty percent of Americans believed that Soviet insistence on control of Berlin would mean a war, and 55 percent thought that chances were either nil or poor that Moscow would give in. The press, which always found conflict more interesting than diplomacy, saw the U.S. military buildup as the headline in Kennedy’s speech, even though the White House leaked suggestions that the president might be ready to accept alterations in East Germany’s boundary or a nonaggression pact with Moscow guaranteeing Russian safety from a German attack. As a result, Congress rushed to approve funding not only for Kennedy’s defense requests but also for arms that the administration believed unnecessary.
Despite public and press militancy, Kennedy was not about to be stampeded into military action. And though Khrushchev was unhappy with Kennedy’s speech, he also deciphered Kennedy’s restraint. Khrushchev publicly emphasized his determination not to be intimidated and predicted that Soviet nuclear superiority could make Kennedy America’s last president, but he also declared his continuing faith in Kennedy’s reason and said that “after thunderstorms people cool off, think problems over and re
sume human shape, casting away threats.”
During the next two weeks, Khrushchev publicly mixed harsh warnings with invitations to negotiate. It was what a State Department analyst called the “twin tactics” of “maintaining, even stepping up his threats . . . and at the same time, gradually broadening the possible terms of negotiation.” It was more stick than carrot, but it allowed Khrushchev to save face while Moscow laid plans to extricate itself from a confrontation in which it was increasingly clear Kennedy would not give ground.
EARLY SUNDAY MORNING, August 13, while Kennedy was in Hyannis Port, East German security forces threw up barriers that blocked access from East to West Berlin. There had been some talk in Washington about such a development. In a television interview on July 30, Senator William Fulbright had wondered “why the East Germans didn’t close their border, because I think they have a right to close it.” Five days later, during a stroll in the White House Rose Garden with Walt Rostow, Kennedy, reflecting on how unbearable Khrushchev’s refugee problem was, said, “East Germany is hemorrhaging to death. The entire East bloc is in danger. He has to do something to stop this. Perhaps a wall. And there’s not a damn thing we can do about it.” Kennedy also said: “I can get the alliance to move if he tries to do anything about West Berlin but not if he just does something about East Berlin.”
But this was all conjecture; Kennedy had no advance knowledge of Khrushchev’s plan, and the administration’s failure to anticipate the development left him frustrated and angry. Moreover, there is no indication that he saw the border closing as ending the Berlin crisis; quite the opposite: “With this weekend’s occurrences in Berlin there will be more and more pressure for us to adopt a harder military posture,” he told McNamara. “I do not think we can leave unused any of the men or money that were offered by the Congress with the exception perhaps of the bomber money.” At the same time, Kennedy asked Rusk, “What steps will we take this week to exploit politically propagandawise the Soviet-East German cut-off of the border? This seems to me to show how hollow is the phrase ‘free city’ and how despised is the East German government, which the Soviet Union tries to make respectable. The question we must decide is how far we should push this. It offers us a very good propaganda stick.”