A Moment of Subdued Thanksgiving

AT last, a truce. At last, after a season of false moves and false dawns, the papers were signed. At last, after years of death and destruction, the war that four U.S. Presidents had considered a necessary act of resistance against international Communism was ending in an ambiguous stalemate. For the U.S., at least, it was over. In Viet Nam, fighting may well resume--or never entirely stop. Yet for the moment, those on all sides who had once sought victory now felt an exhausted sense of relief.

When President Thieu announced the settlement last week, Saigon burst out in a blaze of color. South Viet Nam's red-striped flag suddenly appeared everywhere. Banners strung from lampposts proclaimed a great victory. But the mood of the people did not match the display. There was no dancing in the streets, or anywhere else. There were no cheers, not even any more smiles than usual. At the Givral cafe, where politics are passionately argued over tea, only a single radio carried Thieu's message, and half the customers did not pay any attention. "It is only a piece of paper," remarked a government minister. "Its value depends entirely on the future."

The reaction in the U.S. was similarly subdued. In Wayne, Mich., Mayor Patrick Norton interrupted a debate of the city council to ask if the councilmen would like to hear President Nixon's speech on the settlement. They preferred to continue discussing a proposed apartment building for senior citizens. "I thought it all very strange," said the mayor. "We waited all these years for the war to be over, and then we were too busy to hear the announcement."

Bingo. Members of the NCO club at Fort Jackson, S.C., were also too busy. Only a dozen watched Nixon on television, while more than 300 continued to play bingo. When WLS-TV in Chicago interrupted the all-star basketball game to carry the President's speech, the station was flooded with calls from irate viewers. Like most public officials, Houston Mayor Louis Welch issued no formal statement. He explained: "People view the end of this war with more thanksgiving than celebration." The Boston Globe commented that the war concludes "not with a cheer but a sigh."

At the time the cease-fire was actually to go into effect, Richard Nixon led the nation in prayer. It was an extraordinary hour for him personally.

Regardless of the questions that would haunt the U.S. for years--whether this kind of peace could have been achieved earlier, whether all the violence, the death, the deviousness of the last four years were ultimately worth it--he had accomplished the American exit from Viet Nam. He had not achieved the terms he had originally proclaimed, but the U.S. was out and Thieu was still in office in Saigon.

The ending of the longest war in U.S. history, with its bitter sacrifice of lives and money, undoubtedly deserved more of a tribute. But the American public was obviously in no mood to celebrate. Peace had been promised so often that even now some people were not sure that it had really come, or would last. Others had been so emotionally numbed by the war that they found it hard to react at all. There would be no heroic memories to cherish--no Valley Forge, no San Juan Hill. And not many heroes either. As the nation last week observed the funeral of former President Lyndon Johnson (see page 29), it heard lavish eulogies of his domestic initiatives, but there was only irony in the sad coincidence that this war leader had died on the eve of peace.

The Viet Nam War was not the bloodiest in U.S. history--despite nearly 50,000 dead by enemy action plus another 300,000 wounded. Americans suffered more casualties in the Civil War and the two World Wars. Physically speaking, most Americans were untouched by the war. There were no airraid drills; they did not have to fear for their lives (and now the draft has ended). Business went on pretty much as usual. Psychologically, however, Americans had never endured such a war.

Increasingly it seemed to lack meaning and therefore justification. The official arguments for fighting it kept changing--and kept being undermined. How could a war to stop Communist expansion be explained when President Nixon was making friends with the leaders of the two great Communist powers? To a country that takes pride in being practical, the Viet Nam dilemma seemed insoluble and ultimately too expensive by any reckoning. Morally expensive, as well. Too many memories, from My Lai to the massive bombing of last Christmas, would continue to weigh on the American spirit.

The U.S. changed drastically under the impact of this war. In the eyes of the disaffected, the American way of life itself became suspect. If it could lead to Viet Nam, then how could it be trusted in other respects? To the critics, all American institutions eventually seemed to be tainted, the democratic process itself in jeopardy. Compromise gave way to confrontation, and violence increasingly became the means of settling disputes. America split into distinct social parts: one iconoclastic and alienated, the other clinging more stubbornly than ever to the traditional values under assault. It was a country that could scarcely be governed until it could be put back together.

Healing. For that reason, the mood in which peace has been accepted may be reassuring: no boasts of victory, no cries of betrayal. From the President on down, few Americans are making exaggerated claims--a refreshing change in style for U.S. rhetoric. In his eloquent press briefing (see page 13), Henry Kissinger remarked that "it should be clear by now that no one in the war has had a monopoly of anguish and that no one has a monopoly of insight." It is a recognition of the fact that in the future the U.S. will have to adopt a more modest posture before the complex processes of history, to refrain from trying to remake the world in its own image, to learn to live with evils that cannot be removed.

The President mentioned achieving "peace with honor," but it is a dubious and troubling phrase to apply to Viet Nam. No matter what honor the U.S. could still extract from that cruel battleground, honor must now be sought at home as much as abroad. As Kissinger put it in his briefing: "Together with healing the wounds in Indochina, we can begin to heal the wounds in America."

When he met with congressional leaders last week, the President indicated that this was his intention. The lawmakers were struck by his humility, a quality that had not impressed them in the past. "He seemed extremely grave and sober," said a Senator. "There was no great jubilation." Nixon explained that he had remained isolated and uncommunicative because of the need for secrecy during the negotiations. "I respect the views of my critics," he said. Then he added emotionally: "I thank God for those who stood, thank God for those who gave their lives, thank God for those who suffered. We're damned proud of them." The Congressional leaders arose and applauded.

The question is whether this conciliatory mood will last. The policies the President is pursuing are bound to be abrasive. His budget, burying the high-reaching plans of Lyndon Johnson's Great Society, will cut back many federal programs. Some of these programs are not working very well, and their disappearance would be a net gain. Others have the support of powerful constituencies in Congress and among the public, and they will not be surrendered without a fight (see page 24).

This was a week, undeniably, in which the wheels of history turned. "With the war out of the way," says a presidential aide, "the potential is there for creative tension instead of destructive disagreement." Much will depend on how the President shifts from a wartime to a peacetime leader; whether he ignores the bitter internal divisions left by the war or tries to heal them; whether he treats Congress as an enemy or a partner; whether he uses his electoral mandate as an excuse to close himself off or as an added reason to be open with the nation.

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