The Nation: The Particular Tragedy of Robert McNamara

IT is only the latest paradox in the career of Robert McNamara that he turns out to be a chief victim of the Viet Nam study that he initiated. In the documents that have been revealed to date—a partial picture, to be sure —the judgment of the once infallible Defense Secretary seems badly flawed. In the early 1960s, few other Government officials had quite his sense of assurance that escalation would pay off, that a steady application of American pressure and resources would turn the tide of war.

Somehow the strategies that won praise for McNamara in his early years as Pentagon chief landed him in deep trouble later. He wanted to escape from the Eisenhower era's reliance on massive retaliation, so he pursued what was then considered a liberal course. He prepared for conventional war to combat Communism wherever it appeared to threaten American interests. Yet he helped lead the nation into a war of unforeseen magnitude. His business acumen enabled him to gain control of the sprawling Defense establishment. Yet he was so infatuated with statistics that he was long blinded to the human factors in the Viet Nam conflict. It was a puzzling outcome for a man who had entered Government renowned for his humane instincts as well as his technological brilliance. McNamara became a divided personality.

At first his personality seemed monolithic enough. He gave a powerful impression of the assured technician. Even reporters who did not cover the Pentagon liked to attend his press conferences. Briefed to the eyeballs behind his almost rimless glasses, his gleaming black hair immaculately slicked, McNamara delivered an unstoppable stream of convincing detail. He had a swift answer for every question, a sharp rebuttal for every doubt.

McNamara overawed the generals and admirals who worked for him, and he barely disguised his contempt for the military way of doing things. His notion of opening a conversation was not "Hello" but "I've got ten minutes for this one." And ten minutes it was. The military resented the fact that he and his small band of "Whiz Kids" shunned their advice and blithely turned down the weapons they wanted. They grudgingly admitted that McNamara's cost-effectiveness program had brought rationality to much Pentagon planning, but they could not forgive him for never admitting he was wrong. He was once summoned to appear before the House Armed Services Committee to explain why he had ordered the closing of 672 Army bases. Could he have made a mistake in the case of one or two? asked Representative Edward Hebert. "No," said McNamara emphatically. Replied an exasperated Hebert: "Six hundred and seventy-two decisions and not a single mistake? You're better than Jesus Christ. He had only twelve decisions to make and he blew one of them."