As the Vietnam War moves to an uncertain conclusion, it is evident that the nation has undertaken an extensive re-examination of many heretofore unquestioned assumptions that have governed America’s foreign policy since the Truman Doctrine was enunciated in 1947. One of these assumptions—which has provided the rationale for the use of force throughout the post-World War II era and which is already in question—relates to the use of limited war as an instrument of foreign policy.
The outcome of this re-examination will have a heavy impact upon the kind of military forces we must maintain, as it will also influence such national security policy matters as our overseas base posture, our system of alliances, and the manner by which we will raise and maintain our military forces. These issues are even now being publicly debated. Let us therefore focus our attention first on the more fundamental question—that having to do with the future role of limited war as an instrument of national policy.
Two things have already gone awry in this debate over the future of limited war. First, limited war, as an instrument of policy, has become divorced from the consideration of our foreign policy goals. In the case of Vietnam, the rationale has gone something like this: (a) There is widespread dissatisfaction with the Vietnam War on various grounds, some having to do with the conduct of the war itself, some having to do with U. S. goals in Vietnam, (b) Nevertheless, that side of the problem which relates to our goals in Vietnam is being down-played; dissatisfaction is settling upon the verdict that the fault lies within the doctrine of limited war itself. In short, it is easier to blame a “failure” on the means rather than on the objective. Too many war critics fail to examine the validity of the U. S. objectives in Vietnam, rather than the means chosen. This essay is not about the Vietnam War, but the point here is an important one that would seem to apply to all limited wars: They are entered into as a means to an end, and only after other means have failed. The war may still be badly executed, of course, causing a failure to achieve the desired end, but that issue must be left for a later discussion. In any event, President Lyndon B. Johnson’s administration, in defense of the war policy, made it clear that it regarded the political, economic, and psychological means alone as inadequate in Vietnam. If this decision was wrong—and it is yet to be so established by history—then should not the validity of our goals in Vietnam also be examined before we proceed to dismiss out of hand the means adopted?
The second problem with current discussions about the future of limited war is that a good understanding of the meaning of limited war has not been forthcoming. Because such limited wars as we have thus far experienced (Korea and Vietnam) were conducted without the use of atomic weapons, many assume that that is what is meant by limited war—a war that is limited to the use of conventional arms. But this is not the basis for a good definition. While it is true that earlier literature examined limited war doctrine almost exclusively in terms of the question of whether or not nuclear arms could or should be employed, the fact is that these examinations did not arrive at a nuclear or non-nuclear conceptual basis for the definition. In the late 1950s, for example, Henry Kissinger’s best seller, Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy, argued for the tactical use of nuclear weapons in limited war. At the same time, Arnold Wolfers, in a less well known treatise, Could a War in Europe be Limited? presented a strong case for the proposition that a European war could be fought as a limited war—even if nuclear weapons were employed. The Vietnam War actually interrupted a very important on-going debate over this question. Perhaps this debate should be resumed. It is submitted that if our attention were to be focused more on the limited objectives (from the standpoint of the major powers at least) which characterize limited wars, then perhaps we could more readily understand that nuclear arms might be employed without changing the character of such a war. Indeed, once the smaller powers acquire nuclear arms, we may find that they will feel less restraint in the employment of these weapons than have the larger powers. It should be remembered in this connection that an issue of small importance to a major power may be all important to the small state engaged in a “limited war.” The present situation around Israel raises just such a specter. Thus, it is not at all certain that future limited wars will not see the appearance of atomic arms on the battlefield. Later in this essay we will need to return to this question. It is sufficient here to record the fact that the definition of limited war does not rest on this criterion.
There is also a tendency for many to assume that a limited war is one in which the two superpowers do not directly engage each other. This arises out of the fact that the limited wars since 1945 have seen an absence of any direct confrontation between the two major powers, Russia and the United States. But this concept, too, is inadequate for our definition, for there are many limited war scenarios (a war confined to the sea would be one) in which U. S. and Russian arms could be engaged against each other in situations short of general war.[1]
Limited war, then, is not defined by the arms employed or by the adversaries; what is the criterion? Limited wars, I submit, are defined by the “limited” nature of the objectives. Korea was a limited war from the U. S. point of view because our objective in Korea was confined to certain political goals which did not threaten the survival of North Korea, China, or Russia. The same has certainly been true of U. S. goals in Vietnam. In saying this, we are also observing that the power balance (or strategic balance between Russia and the United States) has in neither case been threatened. Some small increment of that balance may indeed be at issue—for example, North Korea’s overrunning of South Korea could have in 1950 jeopardized the orientation of Japan—but such changes in orientation do not of themselves threaten the survival of either of the great powers. An accumulation of such changes in orientation could produce in time, of course, a rather decisive change in the strategic balance. It is for this reason that even limited wars, like Korea or Vietnam, which do not threaten the survival of a major power, can ultimately be of great importance to the major powers. But look at these same wars from the point of view of Seoul or Saigon. From their point of view these wars were unlimited! The attackers threatened, in each case, the survival of the target countries. The attacker’s goal was to change the political status quo, and in this sense to alter a local balance of power situation.
Some argue that North Korea’s and, even more, North Vietnam’s actions in undertaking “unlimited” war against their southern neighbors, were but the exercising of the right of national unification (or “nationalism”), and that the United States therefore possessed no right or obligation to interpose itself in what were essentially “civil wars.” Senator J. William Fulbright implicitly takes that view in his discussion on revolutions of the “third world” in Chapter III of his book The Arrogance of Power. The final paragraph of Chapter III reads:
The point that I wish to make is not that communism is not a harsh and, to us, a repugnant system of organizing society, but that its doctrine has redeeming tenets of humanitarianism; that the worst thing about it is not its philosophy but its fanaticism; that history suggests the probability of an abatement of revolutionary fervor; that in practice fanaticism has abated in a number of countries including the Soviet Union; that some countries are probably better off under communist rule than they were under preceding regimes; that some people may even want to live under communism; that in general the United States has more to gain from the success of nationalism than from the destruction of communism; and finally . . . that it is neither the duty nor the right of the United States to sort out all these problems for the revolutionary and potentially revolutionary societies of Asia, Africa, and Latin America.
The fact that this argument overlooks certain moral/political questions may be objected to by some. For example, by what mandate did Pyongyang and Hanoi determine that they had more right to represent the will of the people in the south than did the established governments there—and, what are the consequences of a failure to act against such “international lawlessness?” Such inevitable questions suggest the futility of our trying to determine U. S. foreign policy on the basis of “who’s in the right.” The debate tends finally to be decided by each American on the basis of his own personal and moral understanding of the issues. As we are a nation of many differing moral outlooks, and as the facts bearing on such issues tend to be obfuscated by competing propaganda and faulty news reporting, our chances for arriving at a coherent national policy on this basis are not good. This seems to have been just what has occurred in the case of Vietnam. In any case, it is doubtful that issues having to do with shifts in the balance of power should be decided on the basis of the volume of moral fervor that can be aroused among Americans for some particular foreign cause. I therefore set aside—from this point on—the “who’s right” issue, in order to concentrate on the issue which follows.
Consider now the term “balance of power.” It is a concept almost universally misunderstood by the average American. He regards it—if he thinks about it at all—as something out of date, cynical, left over from Metternich or Bismarck, a carry-over from the pre-World War I era when it is said to have failed to keep the peace.
In addition, he subconsciously attaches a certain stigma to the concept of balance of power, as being something that is morally wrong or at least not talked about—even if it is part of the “real world.” But balance of power is a fact of life today—perhaps more than ever before.
Professor Frederick L. Schuman has written of balance of power that it “has become an avowed principle of foreign policy, accepted and acted upon so consistently by all the great states that it may well be viewed as the central theme about which the web of diplomacy is woven.” Nevertheless, Americans continue to shy away from it as a premise for the conduct of their national foreign policy. We are the nation that has twice tried to substitute international organization, in place of balance of power, as a method to ensure the peace. We failed to perceive until it was too late that the League of Nations was an inadequate substitute for power politics, and the neo-isolationists of today would have us rely upon an equally impotent United Nations. In the wake of Vietnam disillusionment, they argue against a continuation of “power politics” and limited war as instruments of policy. They are correct in recognizing that our involvement in Korea and Vietnam derived out of a very fundamental U. S. policy dedication to the preservation of the balance of power in those two strategic regions. Whatever additional reasons may be given to explain our involvement, fundamentally we are in Korea and Vietnam in order to preserve a balance of power situation which is favorable to our interests. And thus far, in Asia, at least, this policy has been successful. It has resulted in an Asia that is predominantly oriented to the West and that is becoming increasingly prosperous and stable. The economic success of Japan, South Korea, Taiwan, Thailand, and other Asian nations derives in part from the stability we have been able to engender for them. Such political reorientations as have occurred in Indonesia and Singapore during the time that the United States has been holding the line in South Vietnam also attest to the soundness of our balance of power policies in Asia. We should not—in a moment of transitory disillusionment over Vietnam—abandon a policy which has served so well.
Here the point must be highlighted that balance of power in the atomic-missile-computer age is more complicated than it was in the time of Metternich or Bismarck. They understood the process as a rather simple one in which alliances were maintained in such a fashion that no nation or group of nations within the European state system possessed at any time sufficient power to extend its control over a majority of the others. Each power thus retained its independence, and the system was preserved. This process primarily affected the five or six major powers of pre-World War I Europe. At best, it enabled these great powers (which also became the colonial powers) to more or less amicably divide up the rest of the world. At worst, it confined the competition for a superior power status to colonial exploitation or to a shifting back and forth within the alliance system. The small states of Europe, being relatively impotent to influence the process and having no power interests of their own save the preservation of their independence, were able to fit themselves into the shifting power relations of their mightier neighbors. At any one time the stability of the system rested upon the degree of equilibrium-in-being between the military capabilities of rival groups.
In today’s world the principle is the same; but a thorough understanding of the existing equilibrium requires a many faceted inquiry. A comparison of military capabilities alone will not suffice. Power today derives mainly out of technological and economic superiority. This means, in addition, the degree of access to the world’s resources, material and human, which in turn produce both technological and economic advantages. The application of these technological and economic advantages to modern warfare is a costly undertaking, which today only a few nations can contemplate, and of which, at this juncture, only two (Russia and the United States) have amassed sufficient leverage to be classed as major military powers, indeed, superpowers. A third, China, may join this duo in future decades; but even such economic giants as West Germany and Japan now appear to have opted out of the balance of power race at the superpower level. They, along with the limited atomic capabilities of Great Britain and France, would be relatively unimportant in a general war between the United States and Russia. All the world knows this, and takes some comfort in the equilibrium which now obtains between the two superpowers. But, as I have already noted, atomic-missile-computer age balance of power is a many-faceted thing, and we have here taken cognizance of only the most obvious facet—the general war level.
Below the level of general war there exists another important dimension of the present world equilibrium. It arises because general war is simply too terrible to contemplate. This dimension involves, simply, a balance of power at the sub-general war level—or at the level of limited war, so far as the two superpowers are concerned. It embraces the general world alignment of the smaller nations around the superpowers. It thus includes the orientation of the “neutralists” or the “Third World,” as well as the orientation of allies. The present “standoff” at the general war level means that the strategic balance contest is being waged at the lower level, where the consequences, even for the “winner,” are less risky. At issue are such power factors as political influence—which continues to play an important role—and moral (or psychological) suasion. But most important (in terms of the strategic balance) is the question of the use of the world’s human and material resources—whether these resources will be channeled toward the enhancement of the power status of one or the other of the superpowers. Ideally, one might argue, the resources of the world should be channeled toward neither of the superpowers. The growth of “polycenterism” on both sides of the Iron Curtain suggests that this could be the present trend. But both a large innocence about history and a simple belief in altruism are necessary to conclude that the superpowers will not continue to compete for control, at least over the direction of utilization of the world’s resources.
This sub-general war level of the balance of power equation is now the scene of intense competition between the superpowers. Happily, both the United States and Russia apparently recognize that general war is wholly impractical; they have thus come to the point where their main efforts at achieving a balance of power advantage are taking place at this sub-level. The impact of this competition between the superpowers upon the inherently unstable modernizing societies is evident. It exaggerates an already volatile situation. Such was very much the case in Vietnam. Had it not been that this U. S.-Russian competition in Indochina was indeed a “fact”—long before 1965—it might have been possible for the U. S. to ignore what was happening in South Vietnam. Critics of our policy in Vietnam are justified in pointing this out. They are even entitled to argue that this competition between the superpowers should not be allowed to become involved in the problems of “modernization” within these smaller nations. But they should not be permitted to pretend that this competition does not exist, or that—when it does become embroiled in the problems of modernizing societies—it is unimportant. At this juncture, no one can say with certainty that a North Vietnamese takeover of the South would lead to further take-overs in Southeast Asia. But—given the North Vietnamese activities this year in Cambodia, neither can one say with confidence that it would not.
At this sub-level of the balance of power competition, the role of such lesser powers as Japan, Germany, Great Britain, and France, is of great importance. They not only exercise control over important portions of the world’s human and material resources, in and of themselves, but they also are influential in establishing the orientation of other nations and regions, such as Western Europe or Eastern Asia. Smaller states, too, can figure significantly in the power equation. Such has been the case in such small, but important, peripheral states as Korea, Cuba, the U.A.R., Hungary, Czechoslovakia, and Vietnam. Also, an otherwise marginally important issue, such as the direction of orientation of one small nation, may expressly become of major importance if one of the superpowers, through its involvement in an otherwise “local” situation, has laid its credibility on the line. Thus, as in the Vietnam case, there is much more at stake than merely the orientation of one small state. Finally, these smaller states may be important to the superpowers simply because of their geographic location. Turkey—even remote South Africa—would be examples.
Unfortunately, the revulsion which many Americans feel over the Vietnam War is already taking us in a direction contrary to that which would be prudent in terms of our balance of power interests at this sub-general war level. Many Americans are now all too ready to say that such “dirty little wars” are not important anyway[2]—that nuclear superiority or “parity”—is all we really need.
But nuclear “parity” is not enough. I must agree with Albert Wohlstetter that such criticisms “exhibit a certain nostalgia for policies which seem to eliminate choices in between massive nuclear retaliation and not responding at all to an aggression.” There are two major flaws with the narrowing of options suggested by the national mood arising out of anti-Vietnam sentiment. First, no nation on earth would risk more in a general war than we would. The aim of avoiding such a nuclear confrontation should be the first goal of our national security policy. Presumably this is well understood by most Americans. But apparently only a few Americans understand the second flaw, and perceive that it can lead to the same dilemma as the first. The second fault with such narrowing of options is that it would allow our competitor a free hand in the sub-level balance of power struggle described in preceding paragraphs. It would, in short, allow an erosion of the strategic balance to the point where Russia could assert a power advantage, in terms of its ability to exploit the world’s material and human resources. Perhaps at that point, or somewhat before, the United States would feel compelled to fall back on its nuclear capabilities to force a showdown, rather than allow itself to be nibbled to death. As that is the very condition we seek to avoid, the foregoing line of reasoning suggests that the avoidance of such an undesirable nuclear showdown requires the continued maintenance of our limited war capabilities, and a concomitant willingness to use those capabilities in limited war when “balance of power” is the issue.
This does not say that our approach to the conduct of these limited wars is not in need of substantial revision. The national reaction to the Vietnam experience cries out to tell us that some changes in our approach to these wars are in order. In here beginning a discussion of what I hope will lead to a new national doctrine for limited war, I submit the following principles as those which should guide us in the formulation of such a doctrine.
First, not all limited war situations merit U. S. involvement. The recent situation in Nigeria illustrates the case. The criteria, of course, are: What could be the consequences upon the strategic balance, and what is the likelihood that U. S. involvement would favorably influence those consequences? Each situation must be evaluated on its own merit.
Some will argue that the important criterion in deciding whether or not to enter a limited war should be the likelihood of a larger war. On the face of it, this seems an easily defensible proposition. It is certainly believed by many Americans with whom it holds great appeal. If the likelihood of a larger war appears to be high, it is argued, stay out! If the risk is low—if it appears to be a “cheap,” “safe” undertaking—wage limited war. Many readers will be aware that this argument surfaced from time to time in connection with Vietnam policy formulation. But this logic is fallacious on both counts.
In the first place, the true “risk” in a given situation is likely to be a function of what is at stake: How important is the issue? Thus, one must be prepared to engage the enemy—even in high risk situations—if the “issue” merits the involvement. The Cuban crisis was the proof of this. Secondly, once an adversary calculates that your national policy calls for involvement only in low risk situations, he is encouraged to raise the apparent level of risk—to bluff. Surely history has now taught us that a policy which encourages “bluffers” is the road to larger wars.
Risk, then, as a criterion for engaging in limited war, must always be related to what is at stake. In this turbulent world of unstable, modernizing young nations, we do need to understand that not all revolutions or civil wars inspired by ideologists, demagogues, or patriotic colonels will importantly affect that balance of power equation that is vital to the United States. But at the same time, neither can we forget that the turmoil of these societies may also take place in such a manner as to undermine the Free World competitive status in important locales, and in such cases we must retain the option to act, particularly when that turmoil is being exploited by the other side. In this connection, Sir Robert Thompson has observed that the U. S. “option” in Vietnam is really a “No Exit” obligation.
Second, we seek limited objectives. U. S. statements and actions should clearly proclaim such a policy and confirm it at every juncture. In and of itself, this policy imposes no limitations upon the arms we will employ to bring the combat to a speedy, successful conclusion. This means that in the interest of preserving what is essentially a status quo in the balance of power, nuclear arms, if appropriate to the tactical situation, might be employed. We need publicly to retain this option if we are to avoid in the future the costly, time-consuming kind of involvement we have experienced in Vietnam. Nuclear arms are not a panacea for limited wars, or for the kind of situations that produce limited war. Most readers will be acutely conscious of the many other factors, besides the military situation, that complicated a solution in Vietnam—factors arising out of political, economic, social and cultural realities. These factors are likely to be operative in many other limited war situations as well. But the fact remains that speedy progress in the correction of these nonmilitary complications was not possible in Vietnam until the military situation had been at least stabilized. Inasmuch as this stabilization was prevented by the high levels of troop infiltration from the north, and by U. S. force levels that were spread too thin over a large country of difficult terrain, nuclear arms (or the fear of nuclear arms) might have served to deter this continued infiltration. In Vietnam we lost even the deterrent effect of this option by a limited war doctrine that implicitly, if not explicitly, ruled it out.[3]
Third, I submit that gradualism in limited war is self-defeating. Both in Korea and in Vietnam we have seen that our opponents feed upon a vacillating U. S. war policy. Moreover, as noted above, a speedy military conclusion is likely to be the prerequisite for progress in other areas that may be more important to a longterm solution.
We got into our difficulties with gradualism in Vietnam by a rigid application of the “escalation ladder” concept for controlling the level of violence. Although this theory was the brainchild of Herman Kahn of the Hudson Institute, Dr. Kahn is entitled to disclaim much of the responsibility for Vietnam by merely pointing out the many instances wherein his principles were misapplied. In his words: “A nation that denies itself access to a whole spectrum of violence by adhering to restrained war conventions which may at any time be breached by a ruthless aggressor does, in fact, run a serious risk of defeat.” In this same vein and leaving aside the U. S. denial of its atomic-warfare capabilities, why, for example, did we deny ourselves the broad spectrum of force options afforded by our clear-cut naval superiority, such as blockade or mining? In addition, history will surely record that even the U. S. air war against North Vietnam was applied with unprecedented restraint.
These self-imposed limitations upon the kinds of U. S. force available for the escalation ladder process negated its designed effect. In the face of virtual certain knowledge that it would not be subjected to the really painful applications of force which the broad spectrum of U. S. capabilities presented, Hanoi was provided the incentive—rather than deterrence—to fight on, to match each increase of U. S. ground troops with an increase of its own. As noted above in the Herman Kahn quotation, this is not the way the escalation ladder was intended to be applied. The fact that a war is limited (in terms of the objective of the major power) does not impose the requirement for this kind of restraint—unless the meaning of limited war is totally misunderstood, as it apparently has been within many policy-making centers in the United States recently.
The escalation ladder may not even be applicable to limited war. It arose out of an understandable desire to restrain situations where a precipitous escalation to general war was possible. In principle, it requires that each side, by some means, usually implicit within the ladder itself, communicate its determination to raise the ante if the other side continues on its offending course. It is valid to the degree that determination and intentions are successfully communicated. This, of course, rests upon the degree to which the two sides are confident that they understand each other. It is probably hopeful in general war situations, and may have proved its usefulness in the Cuban crisis. But the very thing which makes it work in risky general war situations—confidence—renders it self-defeating in the limited war situation. For if an adversary in limited war is confident that his stronger opponent will carefully march up the escalation ladder, only a rung at a time, he will also be confident that he runs very little risk in “calling the raise.” Thomas Schelling has emphasized this point:
War is always a bargaining process, one in which threats and proposals and counterthreats, offers and assurances, concessions and demonstrations, take the form of actions rather than words, or actions accompanied by words. It is in the wars that we have come to call ‘limited wars’ that the bargaining appears most vividly and is conducted most consciously. The critical targets in such a war are in the mind of the enemy as much as on the battlefield; the state of the enemy’s expectations is as important as the state of his troops; the threat of violence in reserve is more important than the commitment of force in the field.[4]
Thus, as in Vietnam, the major power that fails to bargain with all of its options finds itself in a situation like that of a millionaire at a penny-ante poker game. The full weight of its resources cannot be brought to bear. Raising the “pot” a penny or a nickel at a time provides the opponent with the incentive to “stay in” rather than “drop out.” Make no mistake about it, this was the story of the Vietnam War.
In order to avoid the consequences of “gradualism” our limited war doctrine in the future need not so deny us of the broad scope of our military capabilities. Ample advance advertisement of that fact will also serve to make this principle more effective.
Fourth, in preparing our military capabilities for limited war, priority should be given to forces having multiple capabilities. As one scans the possible areas—and types—of conflict which could arise in this limited war arena for the maintenance of power balances and stability across the globe, a variety of possible kinds of conflict come into view. Limited war combat could occur in deserts as well as in jungles, in cold climates as well as hot. It could range across the spectrum of modern warfare from guerrilla subversive wars to “wars at sea” that would not even involve ground forces. Planning for the broad range of contingencies suggested here is a major challenge to all military force planners today. The obvious problems suggested by the above variety of contingencies are sure to be accentuated by the competing demands for the defense dollar which is already being felt, and which gives every indication of becoming more acute in the future.
Surely no perceptive civilian or military leader in our national defense organization believes that in the future we will be able to spend for and provide for virtually every contingency as we have attempted to do in the past. The issue then becomes one of priorities—of deciding for which contingencies we will plan and for which we will not. It is at this juncture that an added principle for our limited war doctrine appears to be in order. Our national force planning must give priority to forces having the broadest range of capabilities and missions. Flexibility is always a virtue in military strategy and force composition—here it becomes a necessity. We can expect that the nation, and our political leadership, will respect most those military force planners who recognize that single-purpose ships, aircraft, and troops have become luxuries that can no longer be supported within the constraints of budget and combat needs. Even the MacNamara [sic] concept of a distinction between “General Purpose Forces” and “Strategic Forces,” as currently differentiated in the Pentagon, may need to be revised, for there are forces which are capable of performing effectively in both a limited war and general war role—the naval attack aircraft carrier remains one such example. The thoughts suggested here do not constitute the doctrine of “flexible response” reworded. Flexible response dictated the need for a large variety of forces, each to provide the national commander with a separate option or military capability. What is suggested here would be better called “multiple response”—with each fighting force or unit deliberately having many multiple capabilities built in to it.
Fifth, our forces for limited war must be professional. A large, conventional draft army does not appear to be the ideal instrument for conducting these conflicts where the national survival is not threatened in such a way that the citizen-soldier perceives the need to respond. It is difficult to assess the extent to which our effort in Vietnam suffered because of its becoming embroiled with the draft issue. Politically, of course, this issue was the means by which the most pressure was brought to bear against the national policy. It was unfortunate that the proper distinction was not made—perhaps could not have been made—between the two separate issues: the draft and the war. Given the Vietnam precedent, however, we must accept that it is now unlikely that the proper distinction could be made in any future limited war. The exigencies of today’s warfare—both nuclear and conventional—have taken us well past the time when we can rely upon the “minuteman” concept, whereby Joe Citizen grabs his musket and dashes off to war when the alarm is sounded.
The training and technological skills required in modern warfare also argue against the wasteful personnel consequences of draft army, navy, or air forces. This undoubtedly means that the entire nation must change its thinking about the provision of manpower for its defense establishment. Our traditional approach to national defense—the product of our history and our geographic isolation—will no longer suffice.
If a professional military force is to do the nation’s fighting, the citizen who chooses to remain a civilian must understand that the present remunerations of military life will need to be substantially increased before they will become competitive with the other alternatives that confront young men of military age (and their more senior officers) in our affluent society. Let each citizen also understand that military service normally involves family separations, arduous work hours and duty schedules, and even risk of life, which are factors that of themselves must in some way be recompensed above the so-called competitive pay scales of the civilian world. In fact, these extra demands of military service, which are not normal to the civilian world, have never been adequately taken into account by military pay systems—not even the recent efforts to achieve “parity” with other government civil service workers. Many of us, who have experience of the military personnel situation from the inside, are quite aware that our government’s failure to arrive at a basis for adequate compensation of these extra demands is already producing a crisis in some critical military manpower areas. I predict that unless something dramatic is undertaken in this respect in the near future, the end of the Vietnam conflict will see a mass exodus of military men and their families from the Services. And I refer not just to “draftees,” but also to men who had regarded their military service as a profession, for the hard fact is that the anti-Vietnam agitation has had an impact upon these “professionals” and their families as well as upon the “civilian soldiers.”
The pay and personnel aspects of a professional force for the conduct of limited wars are, of course, very complicated, and cannot be fully treated here. But a number of possibilities do suggest themselves as we consider new policies. We could consider the desirability of further varying our pay scales, promotion policies, etc., in the case of combat personnel as against noncombat. I say “further varying” because, of course, the fact is that this is now done more than may generally be realized. We might even establish our limited war fighters as a distinctly separate group of men, with separate personnel and pay policies governing their organization. This seems at one time in our history to have been the philosophy behind the maintenance of a Marine Corps.
In addition, perhaps we need to recognize in our personnel policies—more than we do now—that there are many avenues to success and service for our career people. The stereotyped concepts of “ideal” career patterns, which now hold sway in our service personnel management bureaus and officer promotion boards, are simply incongruous to the highly specialized technological society in which we live. They are inefficient, costly and wasteful of manpower skills. In the name of achieving the “ideal,” well-rounded career pattern, they automatically and too frequently rotate officers and men (often with demoralizing impact upon the families). I no longer believe that this “well-rounded” philosophy serves even the best interests of the Services. Costly, cultivated, special skills, like language training or engineering skills, are not fully used. Valuable experience is lost—as in the Machiavellian world of the Washington bureaucracies—when an accomplished officer bureaucrat is ordered to sea and immediately becomes a mediocre “boat driver” or pilot. Similarly, the accomplished sea commander and pilot are then rotated to Washington where—for at least the first year or so—they will be mediocre bureaucrats. And in that interval the full-time civilian professional in Washington overpowers them with a “systems-analysis solution” to a problem that, in another year or two, their successors will expend much effort and time trying to untangle. These practices run counter to a national security organization that would maximize its capabilities and strengths over the long haul within the confines of limited budget and resources. Perhaps we can hope that one of the consequences of the coming squeeze on the defense dollar will be an across-the-board streamlining of our military manpower policies.
Sixth, the final principle which our limited war doctrine should address is a revision of our overseas base posture. Our overseas bases largely exist in support of possible local war situations and have been justified mainly on that basis. (There are important exceptions, of course, such as our Polaris submarine facilities in Great Britain and Spain.) Nevertheless, the present attitude of the Libyans and Japanese, for example, suggests that we should not plan on an indefinite continuation of our bases there. This pattern is not unique to Japan or Libya. Other recent examples where the continuation of our bases has been put in doubt would include Spain, Pakistan, Thailand, and the Philippines.
Many military commanders regard these bases as necessary for the support of limited wars, but it is not always clear that they are truly “necessary” in advance of war. It is also true that they may be costly burdens awaiting contingencies that never happen. Additionally, they can have an opposite effect: that of creating problems, particularly anti-Americanism, that otherwise would not arise. There will continue to be some instances wherein the American base (and the presence of American forces) is necessary to prove the depth of the American commitment. Korea, and perhaps Western Europe, would appear to qualify on this basis. But this does not account for all of our bases scattered across the globe. Surely it does not explain even the majority of them. In any case, we do appear to be entering an era in which more and more governments and peoples are going to be less and less willing to allow on their soil the presence of large, visible U. S. military facilities.
We could, as a part of our limited war doctrine, seek to maximize the invisibility of these facilities. In some cases this would be a costly undertaking, particularly where relocation away from populous urban areas is required—as with the many bases that dot the Kanto Plain around Tokyo. But it is a plausible course of action that might reduce much of the anti-base pressure we now experience.
We could also, of course, reduce the number of bases on which we rely. As noted above, it now appears that this is going to occur to some extent, in spite of military objections. If it does not occur as a consequence of foreign pressures, it may derive out of the defense-dollar squeeze previously cited. But in any event, there are many things we can do—mainly by the manner in which we “tailor” our limited war forces—that could enable us to become virtually independent of overseas bases, while still maintaining a high level of limited war readiness. We proved in Vietnam that we could create bases and ports where none had existed. We can improve upon that capability. In both of our major limited wars to date—Korea and Vietnam—carrier-based air power succeeded in gaining control of the air over the objective area for a sufficient period of time to enable the construction of air bases and other facilities ashore. We can preserve that capability.
The minimizing of our reliance upon overseas bases, called for here, would require mainly that we fashion limited war forces which would be endowed with even more mobility and operational flexibility than has been provided in the past. It is certainly within our economic and technological prowess to do so, and a national commitment to this goal to complete the rethinking that should now be undertaken in the formulation of a U. S. doctrine for limited war.
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Commander Beavers received his commission in 1952 via the NROTC at the University of Missouri. He received his M.A. in Political Science from the University of Maryland in June 1970, and is continuing his studies toward a Ph.D. His last sea duty was as Executive Officer of the USS George K. Mackenzie (DD-836). For the past three years he has been assigned to OpNav, and is presently attached to the Arms Control and Disarmament Agency in Washington, D.C. He is the author of “Seapower and Geopolitics in the Missile Age,” which appeared in the June 1959 issue of the Proceedings.
[1]The Joint Chiefs of Staff define General War as “Armed conflict between major powers in which the total resources of the belligerents are employed, and the national survival of a major belligerent is in jeopardy.” Dictionary of United States Military Terms for Joint Usage (JCS Pub. 1), 1 August 1968, p. 96. Those words which have been italicized by the author are clearly the operative words. This definition is quite clear, so that its meaning cannot be misunderstood. It is total war wherein the objective is survival on the one hand and the elimination of the competitor’s ability to threaten that survival on the other hand. The JCS definition for Limited War is unfortunately less adequate. It is defined as involving overt military forces “short of general war.”
[2]The position taken by Professor Hans Morgenthau at the Adlai Stevenson Institute seminar is a more balanced one: “I have opposed involvement in Vietnam from the very beginning, from 1961 onward, not because I am opposed to the involvement of the United States in Asia, but because I have always considered this particular involvement under these particular circumstances to be politically unprofitable and militarily preposterous. However, to argue against a particular move on the Asian continent is not tantamount to arguing against the vital American interests in the maintenance or, if need be, the restoration of the balance of power in Asia.”
[3] By the Presidential election campaign debate of 1964 on this issue.
[4]Thomas C. Schelling, Arms and Influence, pp. 142-143. I do not know that Dr. Schelling would agree with the thesis set forth in this paragraph of the text, and the preceding two, but it is largely his rationale that leads me to the conclusions I have offered. We should not lose sight of the fact that the U. S. war policy in Vietnam irrationally denied itself the most important bargaining powers it possessed. And this judgment need not rest on the military point of view. The body of literature which political scientists and cold war philosophers have been producing since 1947 (of which Thomas Schelling is easily the most convincing) had provided a very adequate basis for U. S. policy makers to have undertaken in Vietnam a hard bargaining process with power and from power. But something happened. Like the Emergency Fire Bill aboard ship that is forgotten in a crisis, so was our carefully conceived rationale for avoiding large land wars in Asia and for deriving maximum benefit from our clear naval and air superiority.