Power Game (113 page)

The Iceland gambit represented Reagan’s old pattern of end-run foreign policy-making. This time it was quite clearly the president’s option, not just his staff’s. Once again Poindexter was at his elbow, but this time in league with Shultz and without Weinberger or the military. Any president has the prerogative to launch policy initiatives. But nuclear issues touch so many interests, not only American but also West European and Japanese, that major changes of nuclear policy require much more advance discussion than most normal political issues. At Reykjavík, Reagan ignored long-standing custom—just as he had when he announced the SDI program.

Reagan went far out on a limb without consulting allies dependent on American protection, and he did it without consulting his military joint Chiefs of Staff. When the Chiefs found out about Reagan’s proposal, they were angered at being disregarded, horrified by what Reagan had proposed, and relieved that Gorbachev had not accepted Reagan’s offer, which they regarded as unsound and unworkable. The Reagan proposal, as Les Aspin put it, “scared the bejesus out of the [U.S.] military.” Admiral William J. Crowe, Jr., chairman of the Joint Chiefs, was so opposed that he advised the president against offering it formally at the Geneva arms talks. But in an echo of the SDI episode, Crowe’s dissent came too late.
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What these episodes show is a president zigzagging between orderly process and sudden policy lurches, between burying issues with paralyzing debate—as on SALT II—and giving them quick, premature birth—as on SDI. One senior adviser summed up his erratic style: “If you’re hamstrung in any kind of coherent planning, then you go for broke when you’re not hamstrung.” At Reykjavík, Reagan did not have a full team of advisers to bog him down, so he went for broke with the faction that was urging him on.

Some Reagan partisans justify his policy lunges by the need for secrecy, but that is only part of the explanation. By several inside accounts, Reagan not only plunges ahead when seized with ideas, but he is clearly pained by the alternative: having to deal with strong policy dissent within his official family. He sometimes found it hard to overrule his most trusted advisers face-to-face and thus delayed and delayed. But if he did not have to face them all at once, he was willing to short-circuit some important advisers. That is an essential ingredient of the Iran story and of Reykjavík.

Arms negotiations are inherently intricate and prolonged; proposals need to be checked out all around. In theory, that should make them less vulnerable to snap decisions and end runs. Typical was the six-year marathon battle between Shultz and Weinberger over the SALT II Treaty and their subsequent battle over whether the ABM treaty allowed Reagan to test and develop space-based strategic defenses. What’s more, the Reagan camp was on record against arms control end runs. They had attacked Kissinger for bypassing regular channels in 1972 to achieve the SALT I and ABM treaties. Also, the Pentagon and Reagan White House were infuriated in 1983 when Reagan’s arms negotiator, Paul Nitze, reached tentative agreement on limiting intermediate range missiles in Europe during his back-channel “walks in the woods” with Soviet negotiator Yuli Kvitsinsky.

Nonetheless, at Reykjavík Reagan broke some time-tested rules of the foreign policy game by improvising a major departure on the spot. With hype and confusion, the president came away hailing his new package—to eliminate all offensive ballistics missiles by 1997—as “Perhaps the most sweeping and important arms-reduction proposal in the history of the world.” And he blamed the summit’s failure on Gorbachev’s demands for strictly limiting strategic defenses to “laboratory research.” Actually, Gorbachev was more sweeping than Reagan; he proposed banning all offensive strategic systems—bombers and cruise missiles, as well as ballistics missiles. Also, some Reagan advisers felt Gorbachev saved Reagan, at home and with Western allies, by not accepting the ten-year “zero BM” plan.

Because arms control is so intricate and affects such vital matters, it is a well-tested axiom of the foreign policy game is that no major arms proposal should be put forward in face-to-face summit sessions without being well studied in advance so that its ramifications are well understood. The price of mistakes is enormously high. A second cardinal rule is that no arms agreement can win ratification politically without backing from the military Joint Chiefs because Congress relies on their judgment of the nation’s safety. Their disapproval is powerful—if not fatal—ammunition against a president who ignores their advice. Reagan ignored both axioms. But he was spared from disaster by Gorbachev’s countermoves and because Reykjavík was overshadowed by the blowup over the Iranian affair.

Banning ballistics missiles has natural popular appeal—and great appeal to Reagan, with his urge for a nuclear-weapons-free world. Ballistics missiles are powerful, accurate, and fast. Their thirty-minute flight time, continent to continent, and the great destructive power of
their warheads makes them the most dangerous of all weapons, the ones that threaten surprise attack. Obviously Americans would like to do away with Soviet ballistics missiles. But these missiles also comprise two thirds of the American deterrent force, based on land and in submarines. The third leg of the nuclear triad is strategic bombers carrying nuclear-tipped cruise missiles, but ballistics missiles are the backbone of deterrence, threatening Moscow with massive reprisal for any attack. So doing away with them is a radical idea.

But proposing a ban on ballistics missiles—
zero BM
, in arms-control shorthand—without actually having to implement the idea is a clever ploy. In early 1986, Reagan needed a gambit to match Gorbachev’s call for a halt to nuclear testing and for the elimination of all strategic weapons by the year 2000. Pentagon hawks, such as Fred Iklé and Richard Perle, pushed zero BM as an American response, because it cut the heart of the Soviet nuclear arsenal (ninety percent of Soviet nuclear warheads are on ballistics missiles), but it left us with a big advantage in nuclear bombers and cruise missiles.

Zero BM was injected into Reagan’s policy stream in late May 1986, when Soviet arms negotiators in Geneva began making significant concessions. Reagan wanted a deal with Gorbachev; he also felt, as one top aide told me, that he had only two years left and “needed to take steps to make sure that SDI survives this administration.” Gorbachev was trying to stop SDI, pressing for American guarantees not to withdraw from the ABM Treaty for fifteen years—i.e., no deployment of SDI during that period.

After meetings with Shultz, Weinberger, and Poindexter, and reactions from a dozen other top officials, Reagan bought zero BM. He put it in a July 25 letter to Gorbachev, coupled with a promise not to withdraw from the ABM treaty for seven and a half years, provided that after that period, either side could deploy strategic defenses. Reagan’s aides said the zero-BM idea was intended to meet Gorbachev’s worry that Reagan wanted a strategic defense in order to mount a first strike against Moscow—to hit first with ballistics missiles and then block a Soviet reprisal with SDI. By offering to give up American ballistics missiles, Reagan felt he was showing Gorbachev that was not his intention.

What is crucially important is that the zero-BM proposal in Reagan’s letter to Gorbachev was deliberately vague. Reagan did not promise to get rid of ballistics missiles or set any time frame for eliminating them. Reagan’s letter, according to officials who read it, only required that the side which first wanted to deploy strategic defenses had to
produce a
plan
on how to get rid of ballistics missiles, but there was
no actual commitment to get rid of them
. As one high official told me, “That’s like saying I can plan how I’m gonna jump ten feet high for you—eat Wheaties every morning and all that. But it doesn’t mean I actually have to jump ten feet high.” Between the lines, that meant Reagan’s SDI could be deployed
and
ballistics missiles could remain. That was the American safety catch. Still, Admiral William Crowe, chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and Ken Adelman, head of the Arms Control and Disarmament Agency, ridiculed zero BM as meaningless because it was so vague and as unacceptable to Moscow.

Going for Broke—Reykjavík

At the Iceland summit, zero BM surfaced again—but in dramatically different form. The differences were crucial and they were not reviewed by the same range of officials as in the summer—testimony to Reagan’s bent for short-circuit decisions and “going for broke.”

At Reykjavík, Gorbachev surprised Reagan and company by unveiling a full-fledged arms package and making major concessions. At his first session with Reagan on Saturday morning, October 11, Gorbachev proposed complete elimination of medium-range nuclear missiles in Europe, a fifty-percent reduction in strategic nuclear weapons in five years, a commitment not to withdraw from the ABM treaty for ten years, and restriction of SDI to “research and testing in laboratories.” That night, American and Soviet teams reached surprising agreement on much of what Gorbachev had proposed. But there was deadlock on SDI and the ABM Treaty.

The issues came to a head Sunday afternoon when Shultz met Soviet Foreign Minister Eduard Shevardnadze. With Shultz were Paul Nitze, his veteran arms adviser; Max Kampelman, chief American negotiator in Geneva; NSC chief John Poindexter; the Pentagon’s Richard Perle; and Colonel Robert Linhard, NSC staff expert on strategic nuclear planning and arms control. But there was no representative of the Joint Chiefs of Staff or of the Arms Control Agency.

Shevardnadze pressed for Reagan to agree not to withdraw from the ABM treaty for ten years and to accept “strict adherence” to the treaty. All Soviet concessions hinged on that, he said.

“Are you prepared to agree to ten years?” Shevardnadze asked Shultz. He needled the Americans for a counteroffer.
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While he was speaking, Perle and Linhard were writing in longhand on a yellow legal pad. They passed their paper to Poindexter who looked
at it, nodded, and passed it to Shultz. Then, without showing it to Nitze or Kampelman, Shultz told Shevardnadze that the Americans had an idea for breaking the impasse, and he read from the Perle-Linhard paper. It reaffirmed what had been negotiated the night before—that both sides would “adhere” to the ABM treaty for five years while cutting their strategic offensive arsenals by fifty percent, and then—the new part—they would adhere to the treaty for a second five years, provided that all remaining ballistics missiles were eliminated (zero BM). Both sides would then be free to deploy strategic defenses.

Shultz emphasized that this was a conditional proposal. “I haven’t discussed this with the president,” he said, “and I have to consult with him to see whether he will table [offer] it formally.” The session broke up without much discussion.

Zero BM had suddenly been transformed, it was no longer just a promise to produce a plan, but an actual commitment to do away with ballistics missiles. And it was no longer open-ended, but it had a ten-year deadline. Although some officials, notably Perle, Linhard, and Poindexter, had kicked around such ideas, no serious study had been done on the military impact of this radical proposal. The Joint Chiefs had never been asked to examine how it would affect the American defensive posture, military budgets, or the balance of forces in Europe. They had a representative at Reykjavík, Lieutenant General John H. Moellering, but Moellering had not been in the session with Shevardnadze, nor was he included in the subsequent policy huddle with President Reagan. The Arms Control Agency was left out, too. Weinberger, whose offensive buildup would be cut off by this plan, was traveling in Asia, unaware of the improvised proposal. His agent, Perle, did not contact him. No one consulted the European allies.

The president, meeting with Shultz’s small group plus Don Regan, liked the Perle-Linhard proposal. But he wanted to know its impact on both Soviet and American arsenals, whether it was sound and practical. Would it eliminate the heavy Soviet SS-18 missiles, Reagan asked. Linhard replied that it would do away with that worry, as well as with other Soviet ICBMs and submarine-launched ballistics missiles. What’s more, Linhard told Reagan, zero BM would help European and Asian allies by removing intermediate and short-range ballistics missiles.

Reagan turned to Perle: Could the United States actually eliminate its ballistics missiles in a decade? Perle thought this could be done, and said it suited American weapons trends. Not only did the United States have an edge over the Russians in existing bomber forces and air-launched
cruise missiles, Perle said, but it was moving faster than Moscow on new technology—a Stealth bomber and newer, hard-to-detect versions of cruise missiles. Perle told Reagan that zero BM would return the United States to the days of the 1950s, with much less threat of surprise attack. Shultz and Poindexter added their assent. Nitze offered no assessment.

It was a small group; only Linhard, Perle and Poindexter were expert on military issues, and they had no time to consult other experts. Dissent is vital for sharp consideration of major issues, and there were no strong dissenters in the group. Shultz, whose knowledge of arms issues is limited, felt a momentous opportunity at hand and was eager to seize it. Perle and Linhard saw military advantages for the United States. What’s more, Perle told another official, “The Soviets will save us, they’ll never agree.” In other words, it was a great debating position.

Reagan did not tip his hand before rushing into his final session with Gorbachev. Only later did the others learn that he had proposed the Perle-Linhard ten-year ban on ballistics missiles. Gorbachev countered with his more sweeping proposal, to eliminate bombers and cruise missiles, too. The summit broke up, stuck not only on offensive arms but also on the Soviet demand for restricting SDI to “laboratory” research and testing.

In the summit’s chaotic aftermath, the significance of Reagan’s proposal was lost. Reagan’s grimness after the session and Shultz’s clear disappointment focused attention on why the summit had collapsed and on Reagan’s assertion that SDI was the sticking point.