Of Peace and Politics

For better or worse, the speech would be his own—all his own. As he worked past midnight in his hideaway study in the Executive Office Building and in isolation at Camp David, there were no proposed drafts, no stacks of memos, no turgid position papers to help. "He's writing it himself—with his pen on his little yellow pad," confided Communications Director Herb Klein. Although he may not have wanted it that way, President Nixon's speech on Viet Nam this week had shaped up as one of the most important of his Administration to date.

Nixon tried to hold his more routine appointments down to steal time for the speech. Lunch on several days was off a tray. Not since he secluded himself to draft the speech accepting his party's nomination had he devoted himself so totally to a writing job. He kept the content to himself, brushing off even the specific questioning of Republican congressional leaders at their weekly White House breakfast. He revealed only that the speech would be a review of "where we've been, where we are and where we're going."

For formal advice, Nixon held just one meeting. It was a conference of a close quartet: Secretary of State William Rogers, Secretary of Defense Melvin Laird, National Security Adviser Henry Kissinger and Attorney General John Mitchell. In the past, Laird and Rogers have privately advocated more urgent action to speed up troop withdrawals. Some White House observers assumed that Mitchell was there to help Kissinger argue for a more cautious troop policy that would enable the Administration to maintain negotiating pressure on Hanoi.

Boxed In. Even Administration officials conceded that the early announcement (Oct. 13) of the speech had been a tactical mistake. It had allowed speculation about sensational new offers of breakthroughs to soar. It gave critics time to offer public suggestions that created new pressure and expectations. A few critics expressed such surprising optimism about the speech that they seemed to be deliberately setting the President up for a public letdown. Even if there was no Machiavellian scheming, it was obvious that Nixon himself, perhaps unwittingly, had created a situation in which anything short of a dramatic announcement might lead to disappointment. But repeated White House warnings not to anticipate anything sensational finally managed to lower the pitch of public expectation.

Why had the President timed the speech in such a way? The reasoning seemed to be that advance notice would dilute some of the antiwar fervor, put the protesters in an awkward position and buy time. Then the President could deliver a calm, judicious review of his strategy, contrast it with the situation he had inherited and try to win more public understanding.

Rebuff Ahead. Despite the importance of the Viet Nam speech, other events converged on the President demanding his attention. His address on Latin America, which proved more pragmatic than inspiring, drew a mixed response south of the border. The General Electric strike posed a threat to the economy (see THE WORLD and BUSINESS). Nixon was stung by the Supreme Court decision insisting on the instant school integration that he had earlier termed "extreme."