Leadership: Six Studies in World Strategy

“Leading thinkers—social historians, political philosophers and international relations theorists alike—have imbued inchoate forces with the strength of destiny. Before ‘movements,’ ‘structures’ and ‘distributions of power’, one is told, humanity is denied all choice—and by extension, cannot but abdicate all responsibility. These are, of course, valid concepts of historical analysis, and any leader must be conscious of their force. But they are always applied through human agency and filtered through human perception. Ironically, there has been no more efficient tool for the malign consolidation of power by individuals than theories of the inevitable laws of history.”

Kissinger’s concern is that many scholars, including some of his fellow ‘realists,’ are too willing to downgrade the importance of human beings, instead looking to general laws and concepts that move the world forward. All politics is ultimately the result of human action, though, and so it matters what humans believe. Kissinger maintains that humans are more likely to succumb to fate if they believe that they have no choice, and will be more capable of great actions if they instead believe that great actions are within their reach.

“[Adenauer] chose a course both humble and daring: to confess German iniquities; accept the penalties of defeat and impotence, including the partition of his country; allow the dismantling of its industrial base as war reparations; and seek through submission to build a new European structure within which Germany could become a trusted partner. Germany, he hoped, would become a normal country, though always, he knew, with an abnormal memory.”

Adenauer orchestrated one of the most remarkable turnarounds in the history of foreign policy, turning a hyperaggressive and genocidal state into a contrite, humble member of the family of European nations. In doing so, he placed a seminal role in the establishment of what would later be known as the European Union, placing Germany at the mercy of its neighbors, many of them clamoring for vengeance, and instead assuring them that cooperation was preferable to mutual recrimination.

“Adenauer had a sharp eye for character, and his observations were occasionally phrased sardonically. In a discussion on the qualities of strong leadership, he cautioned me ‘never to confuse energy with strength.’ On another occasion, he was ushering me into his office just as another visitor, who had recently won media attention by attacking him, was leaving. My surprise must have been evident at the cordial manner of their parting. Adenauer began the conversation with: ‘My dear Mr. Professor, in politics it is important to retaliate in cold blood.’”

Kissinger contends that the personalities of each profiled leader matter tremendously and often reflect their geopolitical circumstances. It would be tempting to view someone in Adenauer’s position as weak, given his willingness to accept a major downgrade in Germany’s global standing from what it had enjoyed since unification in 1871. Yet he pursued this policy with such adamance and consistency that he turned it into a display of strength, rooted in moral character and a responsibility before the judgment of history.

“Adenauer reaffirmed, in his last words to me, his commitment to the Atlantic partnership—even while expressing reservations about the complexity of implementing it. Accepting the strategy that would contain the Soviet Union for almost half a century, he realized that this very ambiguity created the deterrence on which America’s allies could count for their evolution within a European political structure and partnership with America.”

Germany was always the linchpin of the Atlantic alliance. With it, Germany would maintain a distinct strategic advantage over the Soviets. This does not mean, of course, that the US would have risked its soldiers—or its cities—to hold the alliance together, and their ambiguities would generate plenty of tension with Adenauer and other European leaders in the decades to come. But in spite of many challenges, Adenauer came to accept that ambiguity was the cost of keeping the Soviets off base long enough for the weaknesses of their own system to consume them.

“First as a leader of the Free French during the war, later as founder and president of the Fifth Republic, he conjured up visions that transcended objective reality, in the process persuading his audiences to treat them as fact. For de Gaulle, politics was not the art of the possible but the art of the willed.”

From a certain angle, one can view de Gaulle as a fantasist, propounding a vision of France utterly at odds with its diminishing material capabilities. The convulsive period over which de Gaulle presided, however, made it all the more necessary to paint matters in a light that, if not accurate, helped a nation make sense of itself as its position in the underworld went through such enormous changes.

“This idea of state [as an eternal partnership between the living and the dead] served to salvage France’s self-respect by portraying Vichy as an erroneous interregnum between a glorious past and a bright future—and Free France as the true continuity of the state. Had de Gaulle not been as determined a fighter for French identity during the war years—or had he not asserted his leadership of an internationally based French alternative to Vichy—the myth of continuity would have been implausible. As we have seen, only a comparatively small share of the French public actively supported the Free French; yet the spell cast by de Gaulle was sufficiently powerful that it effectively banished this fact from French memory. Forgetfulness, paradoxically, is sometimes the glue for societies that would not otherwise cohere.”

World War II was an accumulation of traumas for France, beginning with the stunning collapse of their army in the spring and summer of 1940, the fall of their empire to Germany and Japan, and then the humiliating experience of a Nazi collaborationist regime, which then suffered another defeat at the hands of the Allies. De Gaulle’s vision of the French state, with its broad historical sweep and reliance on noble abstractions, was capacious enough to appeal to a wide swath of the French body politic and vague enough to elide some of the less noble aspects of its recent history.

“In his judgment, Algeria had become a drain on France, isolating it among allies and handing to the Soviet Union and other radical forces an irresistible opportunity for intervention. Amputating Algeria saved the vitality of the Fifth Republic; it was the price France had to pay for the ability to conduct its own independent foreign policy and to fulfill de Gaulle’s vision of its role in the emerging world order. He was hardly engaging in hyperbole when, as his Algeria policy was unfurling in 1959, he privately characterized it as perhaps ‘the greatest service I will have rendered to France.’ De Gaulle had defied history in order to channel it in a different direction.”

Kissinger states that Algeria represented the most important and most painful chapter of de Gaulle’s career. It had been the crown jewel of the French empire, essential to de Gaulle’s vision of France as a great empire. Once it became evident, though, that France could not hold its colony without endless strife and pain, de Gaulle managed to redefine French glory as the absence of an empire, an unburdening that would allow it to return focus to its own European neighborhood.

“Washington, confident of America’s dominance, focused on immediate, practical tasks; it urged an alliance structure that, in the name of integration, would encourage joint Allied action and impede autonomous initiatives. De Gaulle, governing a country racked by generations of international and civil conflict, insisted that the manner of cooperation was as important as the goal. France, if it were to recover its identity, had to be perceived as acting out of choice, not compulsion, and it therefore needed to preserve its freedom of action.”

The United States has long viewed the NATO alliance through the lens of collective security, where an attack on one is an attack on all, and so the credibility of its deterrent capability requires unanimity among its partners. De Gaulle accepted the ultimate purposes of the Atlantic Alliance, but refused to accept a unity that in practice meant conformity to American standards. It would act when it saw the need to act, but would maintain the traditional view of an alliance as a means of enhancing its own interests and not a partnership to which it must sublimate its own identity.

“In the seventeenth century, Richelieu had devised the policy of a great state, but did so on behalf of a king whom he needed to persuade of the correct course. De Gaulle had to define the vision while he was in the process of implementing it, and it was the French people whom he had to convince at different stages. His statements do not therefore have the character of maxims; they are designed less to direct than to inspire. And he always referred to himself in the third person, as if his views were not his own but were to be perceived as expressions of destiny.”

Richelieu is one of the heroes of Kissinger’s Diplomacy (1995), and so the comparison is a way of conferring high praise. Kissinger rightfully notes the differences in both time and circumstance animating these great French statesmen. Where Richelieu famously wrote a book of maxims that the king would keep on his desk, de Gaulle’s words were meant for momentary inspiration and could therefore change radically based on the mood of his audience.

“[Nixon] viewed peace as a state of fragile and fluid equilibrium among the great powers, a precarious balance that in turn constituted a vital component of international stability. In an interview for Time in January 1972, he stressed a balance of power as a prerequisite for peace: ‘it is when one nation becomes infinitely more powerful in relation to its potential competitor that the danger of war arises. So I believe in a world in which the United States is powerful. I think it will be a safer world and a better world if we have a strong, healthy United States, Europe, Soviet Union, China, Japan, each balancing the other, not playing one another the other, an even balance.’”

Kissinger underscores Nixon’s claims that advocating for US interests was a way of generating a balance of power on the global stage that was vital to international peace. Kissinger sees exemplified in this sentiment Nixon’s balancing of US domestic interests with international diplomacy, something Kissinger thinks plays an important part in effective leadership.

“There are only two issues left for us in this war. First in the face of a massive invasion do we stand by, jeopardize the lives of 60,000 Americans [including civilian staffs], and leave the South Vietnamese to a long night of terror? This will not happen. We shall do whatever is required to safeguard American lives and American honor. Second, in the face of complete intransigence at the conference table, do we join with our enemy to install a Communist government in South Vietnam? This, too, will not happen. We will not cross the line from generosity to treachery.”

This passage is a quote from President Nixon, summarizing the dilemma of the US position in Vietnam. In his view, an unconditional withdrawal would have been a humanitarian and psychological catastrophe, costing countless lives and wreaking incalculable damage on American prestige. The implied portion of this statement is that the US ultimately had to leave South Vietnam to its own devices, and so the trick (which proved elusive) was to execute that withdrawal in a way that both ensured US credibility and kept South Vietnam alive. It assuredly failed on the latter task, and the former is very much up for debate.

“Nixon once expressed to a journalist that executive leadership in the nuclear age required, among other qualities, a willingness to suggest one’s readiness to perform irrational acts on behalf of the national interest. Although this statement was an instance of Nixon trying to impress an interlocutor rather than to convey an operational message, it nonetheless elicited intense criticism of his supposed recklessness. And yet in its essence it reflected a fundamental and enduring truth about the destructiveness in the hands of the nuclear powers.”

This expresses the so-called “madman theory,” the idea that one can induce restraint in one’s rivals with the apparent willingness to do anything, even launch a nuclear weapon. Kissinger does not elaborate what the “fundamental and enduring truth” is, although it is reasonable to surmise that reminding people of the imminent prospect of a nuclear exchange might, however paradoxically, be the best way to avoid it.

“A Nixonian flexibility, at once realistic and creative, is needed for American foreign policy. Despite many important differences between Nixon’s time in office and today, three familiar principles from his statesmanship would continue to benefit the United States: the centrality of the national interest, the maintenance of the global equilibrium and the creation of sustained and intense discussions among major countries to construct a framework of legitimacy within which the balance of power can be defined and observed.”

Nixon lives in the history books largely for the Watergate scandal, and no one has done more than Henry Kissinger to try to rescue an alternative view of Nixon as a noble, misunderstood statesmen whose flaws should not distract from his remarkable accomplishments. The Nixonian legacy as construed here is very broad, but nonetheless presents an alternative against an overly ideological conception of world affairs that regards conflict with adversaries as inevitable, rather than seeking out cooperation where a reasonable assessment of interests makes it possible.

“[Sadat’s] strategy prioritized national sovereignty, an alignment with the United States over the pan-Arab nationalism and nonalignment then sweeping the Arab and Islamic world. To his strategic imagination Sadat added extraordinary human qualities: empathy, audacity and a gravitas, at once practical and mystical. His policies flowed organically from his personal reflections and his own interior transformations.”

The case studies in this book all buck the conventional wisdom, and perhaps none more so than Sadat, especially since he had spent so much of his career as the articulator of the conventional wisdom before he came to revise it. Having been Nasser’s right hand man in demonizing the Americans and calling for Arab nationalism, his own time at the helm prompted a remarkable turn of events where he introduced an idea so radical that it led to his death, only to become a conventional wisdom that remains a cornerstone of regional politics to the present day.

“The combination of his quietist personality and his friendship with Nasser had limited the usual incentives to develop a political base of his own—and he was never a natural politician. He spent more time in reflection, and in a way at prayer, than at the podium. His tendency toward solitude endowed him with insight and independent thought but also marked him as a loner.”

Many leaders chronicled in this book were unpopular, but none seem so profoundly alone as Sadat, except for the companionship of his wife. In political terms, he never really moved out of the shadow of Nasser because he didn’t want to, preferring to cultivate relationships as a means of securing his desired ends rather than rallying the masses.

“Forty years later, the long-lived Egypt-Israel peace agreement, the parallel Israeli agreement with Jordan, even the Syrian disengagement agreement and most recently the Abraham Accords—a series of diplomatic normalizations between Israel and Arab nations signed in the summer and fall of 2020—stand as Sadat’s vindication. What is more, even where formal agreements have yet to be concluded, time has worn away some of the sands of illusion to expose the harder rock of Sadat’s truth.”

Sadat’s assassination cut short his broader vision of regional peace, and there can be little doubt that peace remains elusive in the region as there are numerous conflicts both internal and external. Yet Sadat did achieve in building an infrastructure for peace of a certain kind, where now nearly all of its Arab neighbors either openly accept Israel as a legitimate state and trading partner or at least implicitly do so. Sadat made the first move, and paid a heavy price, but it was not in vain.

“Only what Lee deemed ‘a tightly knit, rugged, and adaptable people’—a people united by national feeling—could endure the manifold tests of independence and guard against his two daunting nightmares: internal disorder and foreign aggression. His challenge was not primarily a technocratic task. Sacrifices might be imposed by force, but they could be sustained only by a sense of common belonging and shared destiny.”

Lee was not a democratic leader, at least as that term is understood in the West, as his party was eventually able to achieve a monopoly of power and so elections served more as popular referenda than as a means of determining the ruling party. He understood this as necessary for securing Singapore’s place on the world stage, given its precarious situation both at home and in its region, which upon being established could eventually give rise to a more thoroughly democratic mode of governance.

“Lee counseled America not to ‘treat China as an enemy from the outset’, lest it ‘develop a counterstrategy to demolish the U.S. in the Asia-Pacific.’ He warned that, in fact, the Chinese could already envision such a scenario, but that an inevitable ‘contest between the two countries for supremacy in the western Pacific…need not lead to conflict.’ Accordingly, Lee advised Washington to integrate Beijing into the international community and accept ‘China as a big, powerful, rising state’ with ‘a seat at the boardroom.’”

Lee’s advice is startlingly prescient in the present day, when the rivalry between the US and China has become a dominant facet of international politics, and both sides seek to secure their interests without plunging the world into a destructive conflict. Lee seemed to believe that it was up to the United States, as the more established global power, to make the choice to incorporate China into a broader international order or push it into rivalry and challenge.

“Lee’s statesmanship illustrates that the best determinants of a society’s fate are neither its material wealth nor other conventional measures of power but rather the quality of its people and the vision of its leaders. As Lee said, ‘if you are just realistic, you become pedestrian, plebeian, you will fail. Therefore you must be able to soar above the reality and say, ‘this is also possible.’”

Singapore was and remains a tiny country with few natural resources of its own and a multiethnic population—its distinct identity springs mainly from the British naval base near its strategically vital harbor. Before Lee could even think about acting like a realist statesman on the world stage, defending the interests of his nation against similarly competitive nations, he had to define a nation, a decidedly moral task that could never be extricated from the question of national power and interest.

“Was her final proposal based on cold, rational analysis? Or was there a Machiavellian element in Thatcher’s stance? Having witnessed Argentine intransigence throughout the negotiations, she may have concluded that chances were slim that Galtieri would accept her offer. The offer may also have been a fallback if the fleet by then approaching the Falklands were to suffer unacceptable losses. With such an uncertain outcome, and in pursuit of the high ground bestowed by a UN-brokered solution, she assumed considerable risk.”

Thatcher’s critics accuse her of engineering the war with Argentina as a way of manufacturing an easy foreign triumph to bolster her image. Kissinger’s evaluation of her tactics in the leadup to the war initially hint at that possibility, but he ultimately comes to a more nuanced conclusion. She was offering a substantial concession, especially in light of her earlier rhetoric suggesting no compromise at all would be possible, and so Argentina’s refusal seemed to prove to her that there really was no choice between confrontation and capitulation.

“Reagan’s attitude to the Soviets was the essence of simplicity: ‘we win, they lose.’ Thatcher’s view was more nuanced, but she nonetheless admired the assertiveness, energy, and optimism Reagan brought to the struggle. Above all, she shared his commitment to democratic value. She encouraged him as best she could, while Reagan, for his part, understood the value of advice from a trusted and ideologically compatible outsider.”

Thatcher and Reagan’s partnership constitutes a legendary chapter in the history of the Cold War, particularly in conservative circles. Kissinger’s description helps to flesh her out not just as a junior partner in the Special Relationship, but as someone who could help to reconcile Reagan’s broad moral vision with the complexities of NATO, German reunification, and other consequences for Europe and the wider world. Like any great partnership, each would have been incomplete without the other.

“Thatcher’s ideals echoed those of the greatest Conservative leaders since Disraeli: preservation of the United Kingdom, international engagement on the basis of democratic principles and domestic governance founded on individual self-sufficiency—supplemented by acknowledgment of Britain’s postwar consensus on the need for a stable health service and welfare state.”

Kissinger is correct to identify Thatcher as a distinctly Conservative figure, which in the British tradition represents a gradual acceptance of social change while sticking to bedrock principles—paradoxically, some of those bedrock principles are likely to change over time, but the conservative insists that such change is not radical. Accordingly, Thatcher’s wholehearted embrace of social welfare programs like the National Health Service, consultation with Ireland over the North, and embrace of global capitalism is not necessarily an intrinsic part of the Conservative tradition, but represents its overall ethos of directing change within existing institutions.

“Unlike their aristocratic forebears, these leaders had a deeply rooted sense of national identity, which inspired their conviction that the loftiest ambition was to serve their fellow citizens through leadership of the state. They did not style themselves ‘citizens of the world.’ Lee may have received his education in Britain, and Nixon may have prided himself on the extent of his travels before becoming president, but neither adopted a cosmopolitan identity. To them, the privilege of citizenship implied a responsibility to exemplify the particular virtues of their own nations.”

The figures in Kissinger’s book mark for him a midpoint of meritocracy, straddled between two aristocratic ages. In the previous one, a hereditary nobility shared ties of blood, privilege, and noblesse oblige, whereas the aristocracy of the current generation is, in Kissinger’s view, worldly for the sake of individual fulfillment and negligent of any sense of responsibility. His case studies are in his view a golden mean of talent and character—the old generation had character, the new one has talent, but neither is complete without the other.