Introduction

The Public and State Violence

The 1986 “scandals” and their aftermath are instructive for those who are concerned to understand American society, and particularly, for those who hope to change its character and course. Temporarily at least, the scandals caused some disarray and retreat among state planners and ideologists, discrediting certain of the more violent policies as they were partially exposed. These developments encouraged moves within Central America towards the kind of political settlement that would long have been possible had it not been for the commitment of the United States to establish its own terms by force. Even if successful, these steps could not in themselves lay the groundwork for confronting the deep-seated problems facing the societies of Central America, problems that result in no small measure from earlier U.S. intervention in the region, where the U.S. has been the dominant outside influence through the century. But if domestic inhibitions suffice to constrain the advocates of force in Washington, then there might be a respite from the worst terror, and a small window of opportunity might open for constructive efforts to overcome the legacy of a bitter past.

The scandals of 1986, in turn, are a tribute to the popular movements that developed in the 1960s and that have not been tamed, despite major efforts by business, government and intellectual elites in the post-Vietnam period. This important fact will not be the topic of books and articles, and indeed will not penetrate to official history, just as the comparable lesson of the Vietnam years can hardly be recognized within an ideological system dedicated to the service of power. It is important, however, for concerned citizens to think through the matter for themselves, and to understand just how the public was able to influence state policy.

During the Vietnam years, the public played a significant though indirect role in influencing policy. Evidently, the influence was not expressed through the electoral system; a 2-1 vote for the “peace candidate” in 1964 did not deter Lyndon Johnson and his associates from carrying out the plans for escalation they were in the process of developing while the election was won on the promise that we do not want a wider war. But as the Vietnam war escalated through the stages of subversion, state terrorism, and outright U.S. aggression,1 disaffection and protest among the public became a significant force, preventing the government from declaring the national mobilization that would have been required to win what was becoming a major war. The effort to fight a “guns and butter war” so as to pacify an increasingly restive public gave rise to severe economic problems. These were a factor in leading elite elements to urge that the enterprise be reduced in scale or liquidated by early 1968. The general dissidence, particularly among the youth, was perceived in elite circles as a serious problem in itself by 1968, while within the Pentagon, there was concern that sufficient military force be held in reserve to control domestic disorder if the U.S. aggression visibly increased. The key phrase is “visibly”; it was fear of the public that led to the expansion of clandestine operations in those years, on the usual principle that in our form of democracy, if the public escapes from passivity, it must be deceived—for its own good. The collapse of will among the troops in the field, influenced by rising dissidence at home, also became a matter of elite concern, teaching the lesson that it was a mistake to employ a citizen’s army to fight a brutal colonial war rather than mercenary forces, foreign or locally recruited, as has been traditional practice. These problems convinced economic and political elites to change course after the Tet offensive of January 1968 made it clear that military victory remained a distant prospect without escalation of the sort that the population would not easily tolerate.

Similar factors inhibited U.S. intervention in Central America in the 1980s. The scale of domestic dissidence was greater and it was more broadly based than at comparable stages of the Indochina wars. The Reagan administration was therefore unable to carry out the Kennedy-Johnson transition from state terrorism to direct aggression. Had the public been quiescent, it would have been possible for Reagan to send the Marines in the style of Lyndon Johnson when it became necessary to avert the threat of democracy in the Dominican Republic in 1965, or to emulate John F. Kennedy, who sent the U.S. Air Force to bomb and defoliate South Vietnam to counter what his administration called “internal aggression” there. Much to the dismay of U.S. elites, direct aggression is now impeded by the enemy of the state at home, the domestic population, and the resort to indirect means brings with it inevitable problems. Devious means are less efficient than the direct exercise of violence. Furthermore, despite the general loyalty of the ideological institutions, there is a risk of exposure. When suppression is no longer possible, some opposition will be aroused among groups that are concerned to protect their own power and prerogatives (Congress, in the present case). And no less seriously, the exposures tend to undermine the rhetoric that is used to pacify the general population—in particular, the hypocritical pose of “combating terrorism” regularly affected by some of the world’s leading terrorist commanders, but difficult to sustain when they are found to be dealing with Iran.

Domestic dissidence was the essential factor that forced state terror underground in the 1980s, leading to problems when certain of its facets were exposed to a broad public during the scandals of 1986. I will return to these recent developments and their immediate background, but it is important not to allow the central conclusion to be effaced in a welter of detail.

The most important conclusion to be drawn from these events is that they demonstrate, once again, that even in a largely depoliticized society such as the United States, with no political parties or opposition press beyond the narrow spectrum of the business-dominated consensus, it is possible for popular action to have a significant impact on policy, though indirectly. That was an important lesson of the Indochina wars. It is underscored, once again, by the experience of the 1980s with regard to Central America. And it should be remembered for the future.