THE VIETNAM WAR (1955–1975) was ostensibly fought between North Vietnam and South Vietnam, but it is often regarded as having been a proxy war between the Soviet Union and the United States. The United States and its allies supported the South Vietnamese government based in Saigon. The Soviets, along with other communist states, supported the North Vietnamese and the National Liberation Front (NLF, AKA the Viet Cong), a heavily armed communist insurgency in the South. Although US involvement in Vietnam dates to the early 1950s, the water-shed moment for increased US military involvement occurred in August 1964. This is when the infamous “Gulf of Tonkin” incidents took place. In two separate incidents, the US Navy reported attacks initiated by the North Vietnamese. These gave President Johnson the justification to ask Congress to authorize an expanded military campaign against the North.
Arguments still persist about whether legitimate US national interests were at stake in trying to keep Vietnam from “turning communist,” but there is no debate about the reprehensible manner in which congressional support was garnered. As it turns out, in the first Tonkin incident, it was the United States that had initiated the attack, not the North Vietnamese. As for the second incident—it never occurred.1 President Johnson and his administration were aware of the grave uncertainty surrounding the alleged attacks, but this was neither admitted, nor reported to Congress. The Gulf of Tonkin Resolution passed overwhelmingly and paved the way for what is now largely considered a disastrous escalation. More than 58,000 Americans died, and while estimates vary, so did well over a million others.
By 1968, it was evident that US military success was unlikely in Vietnam, especially given strong opposition to the war among the American public. The year started with the Tet Offensive, a massive urban military campaign in which the North Vietnamese Army and their NLF allies attacked scores of cities in the South. While the US and South Vietnamese response to the Tet Offensive was arguably a military success, it was achieved at tremendous cost: extensive casualties and large-scale disenchantment with the war effort. Perhaps unsurprisingly, 1968 was also the year that peace negotiations were initiated.
Peace would not be easy to achieve. One of the first stumbling blocks was a five-month delay, between May and October of 1968, during which the North Vietnamese refused to come to the negotiation table until President Johnson stopped bombing North Vietnam. Eventually, air strikes were halted, making way for the start of substantive negotiations—or so the would-be peacemakers might have hoped. Negotiating the conditions under which parties will come to the bargaining table is a common enough problem. But what to do when the parties are ready to come to the table, but cannot even agree on the shape of the table? On this issue, referred to obliquely in diplomatic cables as “the procedural matter,” the parties reached an impasse.
The problem surfaced in early December. The North Vietnamese (NV) wanted a square table at which the parties to the conflict would sit, each with its respective flag: North Vietnam, NLF, South Vietnam, and the United States of America. The South Vietnamese (SV) wanted two rectangular tables facing each other, one for each side of the conflict because, from their point of view, there were only two parties to the conflict, North and South. More importantly, the South was unwilling to accept the NLF as a legitimate party in the conflict. What followed can best be described as the most awesomely absurd investment of diplomatic ingenuity in history.2
On December 11, the ambassador from the SV delegation reiterated to the Americans his position that maintaining the “two-sides formula” was crucial and that no concession on this issue would be acceptable. A number of other shapes were then proposed by the Americans, with the argument that these were “not concessions but alternatives” that “were consistent with the two-sides principle: two semi-circles; four tables, two facing two; a diamond broken in two places; and a round table.” The SV delegation held firm on what it considered to be its best offer: two long tables facing each other.
The following day, the American delegation sent a message to President Johnson informing him of an additional procedural challenge: the order of speaking. “It is agreed that names will be drawn at random from a hat; but [NV] wants four names drawn … to underline this is a ‘four power’ conference. We and the [SV] want only two names drawn, symbolizing our view that this is a ‘your-side, my-side’ conference. The two members of each side would then speak.” Meanwhile, table-shape negotiations continued: the NV proposed using four separate tables, and then suggested a round table with all parties sitting around it, an idea that the US had previously failed to sell to the SV.
The delays continued, and not without risks: advice to President Johnson included the possibility of restarting air strikes “as a response to foot-dragging at the conference table.” A member of the US delegation pointed out to the vice president of South Vietnam that “people in the US, and elsewhere in the world, and … even in Vietnam itself, could not be expected to understand our arguing over table shapes and who would speak in what order while the fighting and dying continued.” But no solutions were forthcoming.
The SV vice president then proposed adopting a three-phased process, with the first phase focused only on issues that “had nothing to do with the NLF.” This way, the NLF could be naturally excluded, without reliance on an agreement on table shape. The US would not support the proposal on the grounds that it was too transparent and would derail talks before they began. The Americans also started to consider the option of negotiating bilaterally with the North if the South was too rigid on matters of procedure.
On January 2, 1969, some progress was made. The North was still insisting on a “simple, round table” but had agreed to the SV position on having no flags or nameplates if the table-shape issue could be resolved. On speaking turns, the North agreed to the US proposal of two lots being drawn instead of four, but they insisted that the people doing the drawing be representatives of the SV and the NLF, not the US and NV. The SV were unimpressed with the concessions they had won and demanded that if a round table was to be used, it must have a cloth strip running down the middle of it to clearly signify two sides to the circle. The exasperated US team tried to argue that the clarity of two sides could be just as easily achieved by how closely different people sat to each other.
On January 4, the SV offered a way to resolve the issue of who would draw lots: they could “simply toss a coin, or let the other speak first.” The US, meanwhile, considered whether the SV would be willing to settle the matter of an “unmarked” versus “divided” round table with a coin toss. The US also started to work on ensuring that the conference attendees enter the room from two separate entrances, thereby further highlighting the two-sided nature of the talks. US efforts throughout were aimed at quelling flabbergasted public opinion on this issue, as well as starting substantive talks before the new US President, Richard Nixon, came into office on January 20. The hope was that the SV could be convinced to agree to having an unmarked round table in exchange for NV concessions on flags, nameplates, and speaking turn.
For lack of a solution, the table-shape dispute was escalated to the head of state. On January 7, an exasperated President Johnson told his team, “I’m fed up!” and wondered aloud whether SV intransigence was somehow being fomented by the incoming Nixon administration. He then sent a letter to the SV president, in which he put the full force of the American presidency behind the demand for a simple, round conference table:
Neither the American public nor the American Congress can understand our inability to accept a continuous, and if necessary unmarked, round table. Such a table is not inherently four-sided in any way. With space at the table divided, as it would be, on a 50–50 basis, the table would indeed have a clear two-sided tendency even if it were not marked. . . . At the present moment, the situation in the Congress and in the American public is as dangerous and volatile as I have seen it at any time in the last four years, or indeed in my 40 years of public service. Failure to make these reasonable adjustments in our position can only mean a real avalanche of criticism directed in part at the American Government, but far more acutely and damagingly at the image of your government in the American Congress and with the American people. . . . You and I have a long history of close and constructive collaboration. We have tried always to do the right thing, and this is what I am asking you to do now—in the firm belief that it is right, and in the equally firm belief that it is essential if my country is to go on with the basic course of action which I have supported throughout. Please do not force the United States to reconsider its basic position on Viet-Nam.3
Before handing the letter to the SV president, the US delegate reiterated the US position that the time had come to settle this issue.
We will take measures to make clear that the table arrangement is essentially two-sided. This can be done in several ways. One way, which we had discussed earlier, involves leaving a space between our side and their side, by removing one chair at each mid-point or leaving it unoccupied. Another way is to put a pile of books or files of briefing papers on top of the table between our side and their side. . . . It is now more than two months since the final bombing halt, over a month since the GVN [Government of Vietnam] delegation arrived in Paris, eight months since the talks began in Paris between the United States and DRV, and in the view of my government the time has definitely come when we must move to substantive matters on which we can together present a firm united front. The issue of the shape of the table is a liability for both of us.4
And yet, the negotiations continued. There was even some debate about the difference between a round and a circular table. Eventually, the SV offered another compromise solution, in which the cloth strip could be replaced by a “thin but visible line separating the two sides.” On the speaking issue, a new possibility arose: “drawing from two lots, e.g., one red and one yellow. The drawing to be by a third party (possibly a French official).”
Not for a lack of persistence or ingenuity up to this point, but it turns out that sometimes you just need a new set of eyes to see the problem. With impasse looming, a new proposal was introduced on January 13 by the minister-counselor of the Soviet Embassy in France: “a round table with two small rectangular tables adjacent at opposite sides.” Success was within reach!
On January 16, the disputing parties agreed to the following: A circular unmarked table with two rectangular tables at opposite points of the circle, 45 centimeters from it. There would be no flags or name plates. A French diplomat would draw lots or toss a coin to determine which side spoke first. The side that won would speak first with two speeches permitted. One final, albeit minor, problem did surface: the SV president did not want the coin flip to take place at the Quai, as initially proposed, but rather at the Hotel Majestic. This, mercifully, did not derail matters. The first meeting of the Paris peace talks began on the morning of January 18, 1969, at the Hotel Majestic.
When you have spent six weeks discussing the shape of a table, you can be sure that actual peace will not be easily achieved. The Paris Peace Accords were not signed until 1973, at which point a cease-fire was agreed to and the United States began its official withdrawal from the war. Although the Agreement on Ending the War and Restoring Peace in Vietnam called for a cease-fire, to be followed by a peaceful political process for resolving governance issues, the war in fact continued on until North Vietnam defeated the South and established a communist government in the entire country.
As is evident here, it is certainly possible for negotiators to get bogged down with process concerns. For example, parties in a dispute might never get to the point where they discuss potential solutions if they can’t decide who will make the initial settlement offer. A business deal that is expected to be good for both sides might still fail to materialize if one side wants a decision to be made quickly, but the other side prefers more time to shop around or to consider alternative options. In each case, the parties are understandably concerned about getting the process right, but getting stuck on process can lead to costly delays or put the possibility of reaching agreement in jeopardy.
There are a few common reasons why this happens. Sometimes it is due to insufficient groundwork: negotiators have not given enough thought to process issues, or differing views on the same team have not been reconciled in advance, complicating the discussions with the other side. Other times, it is analysis-paralysis that keeps parties from agreeing to a path forward: no process is “perfect,” and the pursuit of an optimal process can lead to unnecessary delays. In some cases, it is an overblown desire for strategic flexibility (wanting to “keep all options open”) that delays commitment on process, even though further delays are costly. All of these problems can be prevented, or at least mitigated, with adequate preparation.
As much as we might like to think of substance and process as being independent elements in deal making or diplomacy—each requiring a strategic approach—they often become intertwined in the minds of the negotiators and/or their audiences. To some degree, this is appropriate. Parties may recognize that decisions such as “who is in the room” and “how long will the negotiations last” can have substantive impact, and when this is true, these discussions should not be taken lightly. At the same time, an excessive focus on crafting the perfect or most advantageous process is a recipe for disaster. When this happens, the transition from process negotiation to substantive deal making is put in peril. In an ideal world, negotiators would set aside substantive discussions until there is a viable process in place. However, when it seems that prolonged process discussions are putting at risk the possibility of progress on substance, it may be wiser to (a) try to reach agreement on an imperfect process that can be revised later, or (b) start substantive negotiations in parallel with ongoing process negotiations.
The problem is greater when the parties see even minor concessions on process as tantamount to sacrificing significant leverage or legitimacy in the deal. This is especially likely when there is uncertainty or ambiguity surrounding who has the dominant position. It is easier to settle on a process when the status-hierarchy and power dynamics are well established and stable, because neither side perceives much benefit in jockeying for position in the early stages of engagement. But when there is no mutually acknowledged pattern of deference, process becomes substance. As strange as it may seem to outside observers, to those embroiled in such conflicts even seemingly trivial issues surrounding the rules of engagement are seen as the earliest tests of resolve, leverage, and legitimacy. We see this clearly in a pointed dispatch from the American Embassy to the US State Department, on December 19, which included the following assessment of the table-shape negotiations:
… the [SV] made some points which in their view go to the very heart of the problem, especially that they must not be placed on the same footing as the National Liberation Front. The [SV] regards these matters as of the utmost importance. They see the initial moves as critical, believing the enemy will conclude from them whether he can get us to make important concessions on matters of substance and whether he can divide the US and the [SV]. . . . To the North Vietnamese—as to the South Vietnamese, procedure is substance, because procedure can determine substance. The South Vietnamese fear that we may be over eager to make concessions … I think they are right in their assessment of the effect of premature concessions on the climate here in South Viet-Nam. If our side caves in during the first preliminary round, there could be a serious decline in morale here. People will judge the chances of freedom in South Viet-Nam, and the firmness of our commitment to that freedom, by how we handle ourselves—the US and the [SV] together—during the opening phase of the talks. The enemy said for years he would not negotiate while the bombing went on, then he did negotiate while the bombing went on, said we had to meet in Phnom Penh or Warsaw, and then he agreed to meet in Paris. He said he would not accept conditions in return for the bombing halt; finally he did accept conditions. . . . He now says that he will not sit down unless the “four-sided” character of the negotiations is recognized. Since we are not going to recognize that, he will settle for less. With the Communists (indeed, in my experience, this is not confined to the Communists), fruitful negotiations are rarely advanced by being accommodating, especially at the beginning. In fact, I believe that by showing ourselves too eager for early results, we may make the achievement of a viable solution to the conflict more difficult and more time consuming in the end.5
This is not to say that taking a tough stand on process is never a good idea. In fact, how you behave during process negotiations can have an effect on how the other side will treat you in substantive negotiations. Not long ago, I was advising a small company that was negotiating a strategic partnership with a much larger company that had many billions of dollars in annual revenue. There was goodwill on both sides of the table, but it became apparent early on that the other team was planning on treating us like all other small companies with whom they had dealt—which is to say, they would dictate terms and expect us to nod along. To be fair, there was no real ill intent. From their perspective, there were plenty of small firms lining up for a chance to associate with them because they offered tremendous brand value and huge distribution capability. The problem was that we did not see ourselves as a struggling start-up. To the contrary, an objective assessment would reveal that we also brought tremendous value to them, specifically addressing one of their major strategic needs.
From my perspective, the problem was about the psychology of the deal: they knew and we knew that we brought at least as much value as they did, but they assumed we would acknowledge that this would not be a discussion among equals. I told our team that we needed to keep in mind that the other party negotiated deals with two kinds of partners: those they considered equals and those they thought should feel lucky to even be there. Because they treated these two groups very differently, we needed to make sure that the “equals” frame, not the “lucky” frame, was established from the outset. If the “lucky” frame took hold, we would be expected to defer throughout the deal-making process.
So I advised that we make a stand early on, and to make it on process. More specifically, we decided we would push back on even very small process demands if we believed these would not have been imposed on someone who was considered an equal. In the early weeks, there was more back-and-forth on process than either side would have liked, but it did the trick. By the time we got to substantive negotiations, it was much easier for us—and not at all surprising to them—when we stood firm against anything that seemed asymmetric or unfair.
Why did our approach to negotiating with the large firm not devolve into the kind of nonsense witnessed in Vietnam? Obviously, there are countless differences between the two situations, but here are a few things to keep in mind when deciding to put your foot down on process. First, we were motivated by a desire for equal footing, not vying for advantage over the other side. Conflicts are much more likely to spiral out of control if you are perceived as trying to achieve a dominant position. We sent a consistent message regarding this motivation because we not only pushed back on their one-sided demands but also avoided language or proposals that could be interpreted as wildly asymmetric in our favor. Second, we understood that process and substance are sometimes linked, and we were careful not to let process disputes interfere with substantive considerations. For example, a discussion regarding deadlines (process) can have an impact on the scope of the deal you will be able to negotiate (substance). Likewise, whether you agree to an exclusive negotiating period has both process and substantive consequences. In such cases, look for ways to separate process and substantive concerns. For example, to meet one side’s deadline for announcing the deal and the other side’s interest in a broader scope for the partnership, you can structure the deal so that it takes full shape in phases. To reconcile the other side’s desire for your complete attention during the deal-making phase with your interest in maintaining leverage, you could agree to partial or provisional exclusivity, to be extended on the basis of progress. Finally, we negotiated process in parallel with substance. Unlike what happened in Vietnam, the negotiators at the Vietnam peace talks did not let the lack of a fully articulated process delay progress on substantive issues when progress on substance seemed possible and beneficial.
Throughout this section we have seen how negotiating the process—without letting it get out of hand—can help avoid or overcome deadlock and conflict. In the final chapter of this section, let’s zoom out and think about how effective negotiators can act with foresight to entirely reshape the terms of future engagement.